Lynne Connolly

by The Chemistry Of Evil (Triskelion) (lit)

  She mustn’t let Meghan come. She had to keep her on the brink, keep her waiting and wanting. Only then would she be able to achieve her real aim.

  Evan moved, sliding his body slowly towards hers. Almost holding her breath, only allowing herself the shallowest of respiration she opened her legs, allowing him to slide between them. She felt his penis, hard and straining, touch her nether lips. Nearly there.

  Agony. Curving her tongue Sofie worked it around the clit, curling and teasing, before she took the hard bead into her mouth. Meghan screamed. “Oh God, Sofie, don’t stop, I’ll do anything, just don’t stop!”

  Evan touched Sofie’s body, slipping a finger briefly inside her before holding his penis up for her. She settled it into place and plunged, at the same time tearing her face away from Meghan.

  Meghan’s scream of release mingled with Evan’s sigh as he entered her. Nothing between them. Ignoring Meghan for the time being Sofie used her hair to wipe her mouth, and leaned down to kiss Evan.

  He ate at her, took everything away and gave her himself, cleansed her. Sofie opened to him, mind and body receptive to his touch, his invasion.

  At first she thought she’d failed, but then she felt him in her mind, familiar. Awakening. His hands came around her body to clutch her bottom and hold her more securely in place as he invaded her. Her alone.

  She leaned back to see his eyes open, fully aware. “Sofie,” he breathed.

  He knew her. His love was intact, his mind whole.

  Meghan’s voice came from just to her right. “Very clever.” She sounded steadier than Sofie felt. “Very nice, too. I knew, but I allowed it. You paid for him, Sofie, you earned him. Love him, for you’ll never be free of him now.”

  Sofie glanced to the side. Meghan was smiling. “I was never my sister’s creature,” she said, her eyes full of knowledge and wisdom. “It was the only way to keep him from becoming hers. I got in the way, and she killed me for it, but tell her I’ll see her soon.”

  Mouthing “thank you” Meghan got off the bed.

  Sofie fell forward into Evan’s waiting arms and felt him surge within her, loving her, bringing her to a climax she welcomed with all her heart and soul. She closed her eyes and said the only words that mattered. “I love you, Evan. I’ll always love you.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Evan continued to move lazily in Sofie. It didn’t matter if he came or not. All he wanted to do was bring pleasure to this woman, who had so quickly become his whole life. He couldn’t imagine living without her now.

  When he opened his eyes they were in his apartment – their apartment, lying on his bed – their bed. Somehow it didn’t surprise him. He rolled to one side, taking her with him, continuing to pleasure her, and confronted something most surprising.

  “This bed is wet! Really wet. And cold, too. What have you been doing?”

  She opened her eyes and stared at him. “We’re back?” The slow smile that spread over her face filled his mind with joy. At least that part of him that hadn’t come into contact with cold, clammy bedclothes. “I threw a jug of water over you when you wouldn’t wake up.”

  “Let’s move.” Reluctantly withdrawing from her he braced himself, rolled over the soaking bedclothes and stood up. His pants and shirt were screwed up together at the bottom of the bed, so he took them up and stripped the bedclothes off the mattress, putting the dry things over the wet spot to soak up the water.

  Sofie smiled at him, so he took her hand and led her into the guest room. “We’ll camp out here till it’s dry,” he murmured, and drew her back into his arms. “Now where were we?”

  It didn’t take him long to remember. Laying her down on the cool, but blessedly dry sheets, he mounted her, and loved her, feeling the bliss eddy through his mind and his body. She moved, just a fraction, making his contact with her complete, arranging him so he was exactly where she wanted him. He thrust hard and rhythmically until she tightened, inside and out, clenching her muscles around him, taking him in.

  He felt his semen pour into her, hotly surging, and opened everything he had to her, feeling her warmth, her essence.

  When the final tremors had blended with the flow of their bodies he rolled onto his back and felt her curl around him. He pulled up the covers, feeling the need to care for her. “Wow,” he murmured, staring up at the featureless ceiling.

  “Mmm,” she murmured in response.

  “You met Meghan.”

  “I did more than meet her.”

  “So you did.” He turned his head, gazing into her eyes. “You know what this means?”

  “Some of it.”

  “I never slept with her. You stopped me doing it. You appeared at the moment I gave in, and you stopped me from sleeping with her. We never had sex, so we never linked. I can’t remember her death like I did before, I can’t feel it, I can’t experience it.” He touched her chin, stroking gently up to her ear. “Thank you.” He leaned forward and kissed her.

  Sofie had removed the darkest part of his soul, taken the frozen part of him away as though it had never been. He felt able to go on, to think of other things. To make a real life.

  “Marry me.”

  “What?” He was gratified to see that her eyes could get larger, as her lids withdrew completely in shock for a brief second.

  “Marry me, Sofie. For real, and soon.”

  “But – “

  He smiled when she paused. “But what? You want to wait? What for?” When she continued to stare he leaned forward and kissed her very gently. “Say yes.”

  She lifted her hand to his cheek, cupping it. “Yes.”

  The next few minutes contained few words and many kisses. Evan pulled Sofie on top of him, curled his arms around her. “When this is over we’ll go choose a ring. Are you religious?”

  “See? You don’t know a thing about me! And I want my mother here.”

  “Do you think she’ll get on with Miranda? There’ll be room at her place for guests. Do you want anyone else?” He wanted nothing but to make her happy.

  “I’ll think about it.” She propped herself up on her elbows, one on each side of his chest. “Cristos was going to see Harry Bent. I think they’re close to catching Mrs. Bull and the lovely Anna.”

  “They’d better be.” Evan’s thoughts turned grim, and Sofie picked them up from him. She caressed his chest, but said nothing. “It’s making more sense.”

  “I think so, too.” She glanced down, then back at his face. “What do you know about the Arthur legend?”

  “Some stories.”

  “Let me tell you some more.”

  “I love your stories.” Evan opened his mind to her, and let her flood him with her knowledge. Some of it he knew; some of it he did not know, but after five minutes he saw the pattern, and understood. “Meghan spoke about her sister,” he said slowly.

  “If she was Morgan Le Fay, her sister was Morgause.”

  “Mordred’s mother.” He stroked her back, feeling the smooth skin under his hands. “There’s a parallel with all the victims. I don’t know about the Frenchman.”

  “He’ll fit.”

  “Do you believe all this?” Even when he saw the pattern he found it hard to believe. Mrs. Bull and her daughter, Anna. Even Gwyneth could have been part of it. Guinevere, Elaine, Morgan. So who was he? And who was Sofie?

  “It doesn’t matter if I believe it, or if you do. They do, and they’re murdering people because of it.”

  “Why? What do they want?”

  “I don’t know. I think we need to talk to Cristos and Harry Bent.”

  Evan realized she was right. He heaved a sigh, then chuckled when he saw her rise and fall with his deep breath. “We do. I’d rather anticipate the honeymoon a little, but let’s get it done.”

  She pushed herself off him and he enjoyed the view when she walked out the room. Shapely, beautiful and his.

  He’d never known this kind of peace since before Meghan. No, he’d never known it. He was sure, could
n’t be more sure. He loved her, and wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with her. There was nothing he couldn’t share with her now.

  He reached for his mobile, but his clothes were all on the wet bed. He swung his feet over the side of the bed, but caught something that fell to the floor. Something round. He bent to retrieve it and found it was Sofie’s night-time moisturizer. Before he set it back on the bedside table he changed his mind. He went into the bathroom where Sofie was just stepping out of the shower. Still holding the tub of cream he found a towel for her. She must have felt it against her when he wrapped the towel around her. “Got a patch of rough skin?” She looked up at him, smiling, but he didn’t smile.

  “Where did you get this?”

  “Boots the Chemist, I think. Why?”

  He clucked his tongue. “No, that’s not what I mean. Was this in the bag Archie brought you when he visited that time?”

  She glanced at the pot of cream, then at his face. “Yes.”

  He held her close. “Sofie, I was drugged, and my dreams were like yours. Not in content, but they went to my fears, and they were vivid and realistic. I think you were drugged, too. With this. Belladonna can be absorbed through the skin, if it’s prepared properly.”

  “So I don’t have to dream?”

  “Never again, my darling. If you do, I’ll be there. But this would have enhanced them, perhaps made you more susceptible to them, taken you deeper.”

  She took the pot of cream off him and turned it in her hand. “You think it’s this?”

  “What else was in the bag?”

  “Some talcum powder, but I haven’t used that recently. Some cleanser. The things I left in the bathroom.” She gave him the pot back. “I’ll find them. They could all have been contaminated. More evidence.”

  Evan put the pot aside, very, very gently. “I’ll see the bastards fry for that.”

  *

  An hour later the phone rang. Evan answered it, then went upstairs to tell Sofie the news. “My mother needs me. It’s not serious, but she’s locked herself out again.”

  “Why don’t you give her the kind of lock you have here?”

  Evan grinned. “She doesn’t trust them. She prefers keys, which she’s always losing. I’ve a spare pair.”

  “Is it safe for you to go out?”

  He bent and kissed her. “It’s you they’re after, love, not me. I’ll be back within the hour. Don’t let anyone in except me.”

  “What about Cristos.”

  “And Cristos,” he amended.

  He left her after one last kiss.

  Sofie felt the tension seep away from her. For the first time since she’d entered this apartment she felt content, replete. It would be all right, at least for her. For Gwynnie, for Elaine, for Meghan, and for the Frenchman who’d died in his hotel room it would never be right, but she had been spared and so had Evan. Now all she and Evan needed to do was to tell Cristos and Harry Bent everything they knew and leave it to them.

  This was right. It felt right, as her affair with Archie never had, and now, at last, she knew what was missing from her previous relationship. Completion. Total understanding, and total acceptance.

  The doorbell rang and Sofie wasn’t surprised to see Cristos, with the darker, taller shadow of Harry Bent behind him. She pressed the release to let them in, and turned to greet them.

  The greeting froze on her lips. It wasn’t Cristos. Archie followed Mrs. Bull into the room. Before she could cry out, before her dazed mind had quite grasped what was going on Archie raced across the room and stuck something in her arm.

  She looked down. A small syringe, quickly withdrawn. All she had time to do was to cry out in her mind the single word Help! before she sank into deep, dreamless unconsciousness.

  *

  Sofie woke up in a room she’d never seen before. Blinking at the bright, fluorescent light above her she turned her head aside. Archie sat in an office chair, watching her. “Hello, darling,” he drawled.

  “Archie.”

  “One of them.”

  A movement to one side made Sofie realize she wasn’t alone here with Archie. Her head throbbed, but it wasn’t a headache. She felt raped, as though she’d been scraped inside out. “Welcome back, my dear.”

  The voice sounded like one she’d heard recently, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Not surprising, considering how she felt. She turned towards the voice. Her hands were bound in front of her, her ankles confined in the same way.

  Sofie came face to face with Mrs. Bull. Dark hair scraped back into a bun, reminding her of the photos of the late Duchess of Windsor on her wedding day. Small, dark eyes. A thin, red lipsticked mouth. An elegant suit, careful posture. This woman reeked of money. Old money at that. “Where am I?” Her voice came out reedy and thin, but it came out. “Why have you done this?”

  Mrs. Bull tossed a shiny silver object in the air and caught it again, deftly. “For this.”

  The whistle. Sofie cursed. They should have locked it up as soon as they’d realized its value, but they’d intended to give it to Cristos today.

  “How did you trick me?”

  Mrs. Bull smiled wickedly, small, perfect teeth gleaming. “A small trick. It used to be called glamour, creating a gloss that doesn’t last long. Easy, when you know how.” Her accent was pure New York, but Sofie remembered who she reminded her of.

  Meghan. Meghan had been younger, her face slightly sharper but it was there, something reminiscent. And she had spoken of her sister. “I have a message for you.”

  A frown briefly creased the smooth brow, quickly eased away. “From whom?”

  “From your sister. You and your daughter drugged Evan, but he survived. Your sister helped. Meghan. She said she would see you soon.”

  “Did she, by God!” The frown deepened. “She will not. Morgan is dead. As for Anna –“ she waved her hand, dismissing the thought. “She did that on her own, and it was not with my permission. She has been chastised.”

  The last word was chilling, spoken with a relish Sofie found terrible. She didn’t want to know what ‘chastised’ meant in this context.

  The pair watched her with an inflexibility and sense of purpose that made her shiver. She would die, she had no doubt about that. It was in their eyes. Unless…

  Archie moved around the blanket where she lay on the hard floor to join Mrs. Bull. “Do you know where you are?”

  “The Gallery?”

  Archie’s small smile told her she was correct. She was hard put not to return his smile. She had a chance, now.

  Evan?

  His reply came in a gush of relief. Sofie? Where are you, sweetheart? What happened?

  Mrs. Bull and Archie fooled me into thinking they were someone else.

  Cristos.

  Yes. I let them in. They drugged me. I’m at the Gallery, Evan.

  Stall them. I’m on my way.

  Alarm spiked. Don’t come alone!

  Don’t worry. Cristos and Bent are here. They’ll bring the cavalry. Hold on. Talk to them, keep them talking.

  Sofie stared at the couple, who were watching her closely. Uneasiness crept through her mind, but she dismissed it. She had to keep herself alive for a while, for a short while. “What are you planning to do?”

  “When the time is right we’ll show you. In a very short while, now.” Mrs. Bull exchanged a smile with Archie, a small, secretive smile, a parody of the broad grins he used to bestow on all and sundry.

  “What happened, Archie?” she whispered. “Why are you doing this? You’re not the Archie I knew, are you?”

  Slowly Archie shook his head. “No, I’m not the Archie you knew. You called me, darling, you made me into this.”

  “How?” Sofie pulled against her bonds, trying to discover what they were. They felt silken, tight against her hands. She glanced down. Silk scarves bound her tightly, but she wasn’t secured to anything else. She couldn’t get out of the bonds without help, or a weapon. They had taken h
er socks off to bind her, so she couldn’t slip out that way. She wore T-shirt and jeans, the clothes she’d hastily donned that morning, wondering when Evan would help her to remove them again. Looking forward to it.

  “You called me with this.” He leaned forward and stroked the small, silver item Mrs. Bull held loosely between her fingers. “I should never have given it to you.”

  Sofie hazarded a guess. “Mordred?”

  “Why, how clever of you!” Mrs. Bull purred her approval, an edge of sarcasm coloring her voice. “Yes, my dear, you called him. Mordred, my son, my beloved. The person I’ve been searching for. You called him, and now he’s ready to take his place.”

  “As what? Ruler of England?” Sofie remembered the old legends, but hadn’t believed them until now. Until she looked into Archie’s blue eyes and saw something else there, something she could only describe as pure evil. Whatever, whoever he was, he had to be stopped. Now, today.

  “Better than that.” Mrs. Bull glanced at Archie, a glance full of adoration. A besotted mother to her child, lover to lover, ruler to ruler. “We will contrive with this little instrument we can make him immortal. Just one more play, and we’re there.”

  “Play?”

  “Throw of the dice. Of the loaded dice.” Mrs. Bull laughed. “You have helped us put the last piece into play.”

  “What?” Sofie remembered something, something she badly wanted an answer to. “What does that symbol mean?”

  Mrs. Bull frowned, but Archie seemed to understand. “The one over their hearts?”

  “On their chests, yes.” Professional curiosity turned to avid desire to learn as much as she could. And to keep them talking.

  “It stops them rising again.” Mrs. Bull got to her feet, rolling the smooth end of the whistle against her lower lip as though she would blow on it. She drew it away. “We were all cursed, when Arthur died. All of us, good and evil. We were to rise again, until one side learned how to defeat the other. To war for all time, to keep the balance of good and evil. Well, we’re close to an ending now. All we need is one more thing. One more person.”