“How old are the kids you recruit?” Haven asked. “The ones in the waiting room looked about the same age to me.”
“They’re all nine years old,” Adam said.
“Why nine?”
Adam smiled as if he were embarrassed. “I suppose the number has a sentimental significance. You were nine years old when I found you in this lifetime. In fact, you were the inspiration for the initiative.”
“How flattering,” Haven said flatly. “I heard you opened some sort of academy for your little recruits?”
“Certainly. They have unique educational needs,” Adam said. “Most would only be bored in an average school. You can’t ask a child who once designed space shuttles to listen to teachers drone on about long division or spelling rules. It would be almost cruel. But why do you ask? I never knew you were terribly interested in children—or school for that matter.”
“I’m not,” Haven said. “I’m just trying to make small talk.”
“Ah. I see.”
The conversation stalled, and Haven pretended to admire the lifeless park all around her as she searched for something to say. The trees’ branches were bare and the grass brown. Patches of snow still lingered beneath the trees. The space felt smaller, more confined. A peculiar aroma seemed to rise from the ground—the scent of things hidden away from the sun, like the gills of toadstools or the soil dug up to make room for a grave.
As they passed a redbrick mansion a few doors down from the Ouroboros Society, Haven felt a sudden rush of panic. It was so easy to forget that the charming, handsome young man at her side was responsible for the most horrific crimes she could ever imagine. Yet the redbrick mansion was undeniable proof. The things she’d seen in that building still kept her awake some nights. The top floor of the mansion, she’d once discovered, was devoted to a museum of sorts, filled with artifacts from Haven’s many lives. Adam had collected them over the centuries. There were dresses and jewels and photographs brittle with age. And tucked away in a large wooden cabinet were six desiccated bodies. They all belonged to women Haven had once been—women who had fallen into Adam’s trap. If she wasn’t careful, Haven knew there was a good chance she might join them.
“Haven? Are you there?”
She jumped at the sound of Adam’s voice. Had he somehow managed to read her thoughts?
“Sorry,” she said, surprised at how easily she was able to manufacture a smile. “I was searching for the little boy’s bird. Did you say something?”
“Nothing important,” Adam replied. He stopped on the path without warning, and Haven took several steps past him before she caught on. When she faced Adam, she found his arms were crossed and his expression businesslike. In the afternoon light, his pale skin had a bluish tinge, and his lips were a crimson red. It was a striking combination, one that reminded Haven of black-and-white photographs colored by an artist’s hand.
“I wish you were here for the pleasure of my company, Haven. However, I know that can’t be the case. Why do you want to talk to me today?”
Reminded of her mission, Haven felt her fears begin to fade once more. “Beau is still missing. The police are looking for him, but they haven’t made any progress. I’ve thought about the offer you made me. If you’re still open to it, I really could use your help.”
“You must be terribly worried,” Adam noted, “if you’re willing to turn to me for assistance. I will make a few calls as soon as I’m back inside. ”
“I appreciate it. But there’s one more thing. I hate to ask.”
“Anything. Just tell me what it is and it’s yours.” He made the promise without a pause, and Haven knew that whatever she asked for, Adam would deliver it. She seemed to have a power over him—one that surprised even her.
“I’m having a few financial problems. You probably heard that I inherited Iain Morrow’s fortune.”
Adam blinked at the mention of Iain’s name. “I did,” he said.
“Well, I’ve lost it. His mother claims that I forged his will. All of my accounts have been frozen.”
“I can fix that too,” Adam said. “I knew Virginia Morrow. She won’t pose a problem at all.”
“How do you know Virginia Morrow?” Haven asked, trying not to make the question sound like an accusation. Still, the true meaning of the words wasn’t lost on Adam.
“I knew Virginia,” he corrected Haven. “She spent some time at the Society in the early nineties. I haven’t seen or spoken to her in years. But I suspect she hasn’t changed. If she’s harassing you, I can put an end to it.”
His offer was tantalizing. Virginia Morrow deserved whatever punishment Adam could deliver. “Thank you,” Haven forced herself to say. “But that’s not what I’m after. What I really need is a place to stay while I’m searching for Beau.”
“You want me to find you a place to stay?” Adam seemed certain he’d misheard. When Haven nodded, his face remained somber, but his dark eyes flashed. “This is quite unusual. I never expected you to return to me—to New York—like this.”
Haven’s heart was racing again, but she played her part to perfection. She could even feel tears welling in her eyes. “I’m alone and broke and my best friend is missing. I don’t have anyone else to turn to.”
“So you’re using me,” Adam said.
“No! It’s not like that. . . .”
“It is—but I don’t mind. We all have to start somewhere, don’t we? I want to take care of you, Haven. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I’ve made a mess of things in the past, but I’ll help you in any way that I can.”
Haven’s sense of relief was so strong that the smile she presented to Adam was almost entirely genuine.
“I will have a suite reserved for you at the Gramercy Gardens Hotel,” he continued, once again leading the way along the park’s gravel path. He seemed more relaxed, less suspicious. “You can check in as soon as you like. And I’ll have a bank account opened in your name.”
“That’s okay. I don’t need money,” Haven insisted. “Or a fancy suite. I just need someplace to sleep. I can live without everything but a bed.”
“It seems your one necessity is my ultimate luxury,” Adam mused. “Sleep is the only thing I can’t afford.”
Haven thought of her last visit to Adam’s house, an ancient building on Water Street. Most of the rooms had been empty. She remembered finding a wall covered with Marta Vega’s disaster paintings. And Haven would never forget the pit she’d discovered in the basement. But she didn’t recall having seen a bed.
“You don’t sleep?” she asked.
“I never have time,” Adam said. “There’s too much to be done.”
“Do you eat?”
Adam glanced at Haven out of the corner of his eye. At first she worried she’d gone too far, but he only appeared amused. “I could eat, but I’m rarely hungry. This is an odd line of questioning, Haven. Are you trying to determine whether I’m human?”
“I’m just curious. I hope you don’t mind.”
“The truth is, I don’t know what I am. I never have. Most of the time, I feel very little. I don’t experience hunger or fatigue. I usually have no urges or desires. That all changes when I’m with you. I come alive in your presence. I feel things. It doesn’t matter that it’s mostly pain. At least for now it’s something.”
“I cause you pain?” Haven slowed her stride. She could see it when he turned to her—the grimace that he forced into another toothy smile.
“I once spent a long winter traveling across Russia with Napoleon’s army. The French soldiers told me that it doesn’t hurt to freeze. The pain comes only when you begin to thaw.” Adam pointed to the space between them. “Keeping this distance prolongs the agony. I want nothing more than to absorb as much of your warmth as I can. I could end my torture by touching you. But I can’t do that—I won’t do that.” His attention turned to the sidewalk beyond the park’s fence. A homeless woman was staring back at him. “Pardon me for a moment.”
Adam stepp
ed off the gravel path and charged across beds of dead flowers toward the woman standing outside the park. Haven could hear his voice rise in anger as he spoke with her. Finally, a car pulled over, and two men in suits picked up the woman and deposited her in the car’s backseat. Adam’s face was dark as he trudged back toward his guest.
“Who was that?” Haven demanded. She had almost let down her guard again. She’d almost forgotten who Adam was. “What did you do to that poor woman?”
“Poor woman?” Adam’s laugh sounded sharp and bitter. “That ‘poor woman’ is the former president of the Ouroboros Society. The same woman who tried to murder you twice and succeeded once.”
“Padma Singh?” Haven gasped. “I thought—”
“You thought I’d had her executed.”
“I read in the papers that she disappeared. And you did tell me you’d make her pay for the things she’d done.”
“Believe me—Padma is suffering for her sins,” Adam assured her. “But I did nothing to harm her physically. I banished her from the Society instead. Every few days, she comes to beg my forgiveness. Tonight she claimed to have information I’d be willing to buy. The woman is a nuisance I would rather not endure, and I could strangle her with my own hands for what she’s done to you. But I know you would not want anyone executed in your name. Or was I mistaken? Would you rather I have her killed?”
“No! Of course not!” Haven exclaimed.
“That’s what I thought. So I won’t,” Adam said. He seemed almost proud of himself. “I am a very old creature, and I’m set in my ways. I learn slowly. But I learn.” He was suddenly pointing toward the sky. “Look! There he is!”
“Who?” Haven asked.
“Jeremiah’s black-legged kittiwake.”
A small gull sat perched on a tree branch, shivering as it tried to blend in with the overcast skies. It must have been blown off course, Haven thought. Just like her, it belonged somewhere warm and green. Not in this cold winter wasteland. She wondered if either of them had any hope of finding their way home.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Haven’s hotel room was set in a corner, and from the tall windows she could see the frozen rivers on either side of Manhattan. Flat slabs of ice floated on the surface of the East River, and the Hudson was almost a solid, snow-dusted sheet. Down in the dark trenches that passed for city streets, it was easy to forget the rivers were there, encircling the island like a moat designed to keep residents in—and the rest of the world out. At the far end of Manhattan, where the waters merged, a clump of skyscrapers stood like steel sentries, towering over the boats that sailed into the harbor. Haven felt like a spy inside an enemy fortress—a saboteur sent to destroy the opposition on his own home ground. There would be nowhere to flee if she didn’t succeed.
Twenty-four hours had passed since she and Iain had last been together. It had been more than a year since they’d been apart for so long. Haven felt empty and numb, as if she’d spent the night on an operating table. Something inside her had been removed, and the anesthesia wouldn’t wear off. She couldn’t recall falling asleep—just staring into the darkness for hours on end and praying she could find Beau quickly and satisfy the Horae.
Haven’s stomach grumbled, and she unwrapped an energy bar. There was a small pile of them on the bedside table. They tasted no better than sugared dirt, but they were all Haven could afford. And each bite helped remind her why she was standing in room 2024 of the Gramercy Gardens Hotel. Eighteen months earlier, after the fire that had “killed” Iain Morrow, Beau had refused to leave Haven’s side. She hadn’t asked him to stay in New York—he just had. With little money between them, they ate energy bars three meals a day. Beau must have been starving, Haven realized. But he had waited patiently until Haven was ready to say goodbye to the city, and only then did he toss her bags into the bed of his truck and drive her back down to east Tennessee.
Now, room service carts laden with delicacies arrived at Haven’s hotel room door every three or four hours. She let the carts sit untouched until the food grew cold, then wheeled them out into the hall to be collected. She didn’t dare sample a thing on the trays. There had been other deliveries too. A bank card presented by a dapper man who might well have been the bank’s president. Flowers of every imaginable hue and variety. Haven refused all of Adam’s gifts. But it was impossible not to appreciate the aura of decadence that surrounded her at the hotel. The staff bowed and scraped before her as though she were vacationing royalty. Everyone knew her name, and her every desire was anticipated.
Haven swallowed the last chunk of the energy bar and checked her reflection in the mirror. She’d chosen a simple gray dress from her own collection for the meeting Adam had arranged with the police. But even with its high neckline and knee-length hem, the outfit seemed a little too sexy for an afternoon appointment. Haven knew the Horae would approve.
She frowned and tried to shove the twelve sisters out of her head. She didn’t relish being their bait. Adam Rosier had to be locked away. But Haven hated that she had been recruited to do Phoebe’s dirty work. If there was a chance Adam’s feelings for her were real, it would be cruel to use his love to destroy him. But Haven had no choice in the matter. Whatever it took, she’d do it for Beau.
As the elevator slid down its shaft toward the lobby, Haven removed the ring Iain had given her and dropped it into her handbag. She rubbed at the impression on her skin until there was no evidence that the golden band had ever graced her finger. As much as it hurt her, there was no other way. She couldn’t afford to make any more mistakes. She couldn’t leave behind any more clues that Iain Morrow was still alive. Maybe Adam did love her, but Haven had no intention of testing his powers of forgiveness.
ADAM WAS WAITING for her in the reception area of the Ouroboros Society. Haven arrived to find him lounging in one of the beige leather chairs, his long, pale fingers laced together with his chin resting on top. Two boys chased each other around the room. A little girl was wailing. The child who had apparently walloped her with a textbook was being lectured by her father. The bedlam hadn’t disturbed Adam’s calm. Before he saw her, his expression was serene, even vaguely amused. Yet Haven thought she noticed him twitch when he spotted her coming toward him across the room, as if her presence had briefly knocked him off balance.
“You look stunning.” Adam stood to greet her.
“Thank you.” Haven wished Adam would look at something other than her dress. His gaze seemed almost obscene, and she could feel herself beginning to blush. He wanted her badly, and he could have taken her whenever he liked. Why was he so willing to wait?
At last Adam’s eyes rose to meet Haven’s, and she wondered if he had read her mind. “Follow me,” he said with a hint of a smile on his lips. When he put his hand on her back to guide her, Haven could feel his icy touch through the wool of her dress, and a pleasant chill tickled her spine. “They’re waiting for us in the conference room.”
At the end of the hall, Adam opened a door to reveal four men and one woman sitting around a long glass table, their hands in their laps. They were in their forties or fifties, hardened professionals whose faces bore wrinkles and grooves etched by decades of stress. Yet they all regarded the youthful-looking man in black with a mixture of respect, curiosity, and fear.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Adam announced, “this is my friend Haven Moore. Haven, I’d like to introduce you to Gordon Williams, New York’s police commissioner.” A burly man in double-breasted suit rose to shake Haven’s hand. “Commissioner Williams has brought two of his finest colleagues, Detectives Harvey and Hayes. We also have two representatives from the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Agents Jackson and Agnelli.” Adam pulled out a chair for Haven and she sat. “So, shall we begin?” he asked the group.
“May I say a few words first?” the police commissioner inquired.
“Certainly,” Adam said.
“Thank you.” The commissioner spoke in a thick Brooklyn accent that sounded quaint to Haven
’s ears. “I would just like to remind the law enforcement professionals gathered here that you were chosen for your discretion. Nothing you hear today will ever leave this room. If there are any leaks, I will personally punish the person responsible. Do I make myself clear?”
The other guests exchanged anxious glances, none of them sure what to say.
“Do I make myself clear?” Gordon Williams repeated.
“Yes,” someone offered.
“Good. So, Miss Moore—what seems to be the problem?”
Haven glanced over at Adam, and he gave her a nod of encouragement. She suddenly realized that he hadn’t told his guests anything. They had gathered at the Ouroboros Society without knowing whether they’d be tasked with rescuing a kitten from a sewer drain or saving the city from terrorists.
Haven cleared her throat. “A friend of mine has disappeared. The police have been looking for him for almost a week, but they haven’t found him yet. He flew here from Nashville, Tennessee—”
“Wait one second,” interrupted Gordon Williams. Haven braced for a lecture. She expected him to say that an ordinary missing-person case wasn’t worth the police commissioner’s valuable time. Instead, he pulled a pencil and small notebook out of his jacket’s inside pocket. “Sorry about the interruption, Miss Moore. I just want to make sure that I get all of this down.”
THE BRIEFING LASTED for more than two hours. The lawmen wanted to know everything about Beau—from the color of his hair to his father’s war record. Haven supplied all the details she could while Commissioner Williams and his colleagues nodded solemnly and took copious notes. When she touched on the subject of Beau’s trip to New York, she could see one of the FBI agents growing increasingly agitated.
“Is there something wrong, Agent Jackson?” Adam asked at last. He, too, had noticed the man fidgeting.
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