Chevalier (Ondine Quartet #2.2) (2 page)

Phone buzzed and her text popped up on the screen.

He's coming your way
.

About time.

I turned back to the bar and moved so the only open space was beside me. He arrived just as I ordered another drink.

"Scotch and soda." His voice was rough, stained with violence. The sheen of his Origin mark winked under the bar lights.

"You working?"

His head whipped toward me in an inhumanly fast movement. I lifted both hands in submission and tilted my head. He examined the "X" discoloration located on my carotid.

A perfect match to his.

When we arrived at the club, I altered our glamour to suit the new location. Everything was calculated down to the last detail.

Gone was the chunky, disheveled student. I was now in my mid-twenties. Medium height, solid build. Dark, Mediterranean coloring.

The key was to do just enough without becoming a threat. I was old enough to be taken seriously, but young enough I could still be influenced and controlled.

Same thing with looks. Enough to pass the standards for this club, but not enough to make him feel insecure.

Grey eyes coldly looked me over. "I don't know you."

I shrugged. "Don't know you, either. But we serve the same source."

Bartender brought us our drinks. He took a sip and studied me over the top of his glass.

"Barry," he finally said.

"Jack."

"You from here?"

I shook my head. "Lyondale."

His eyes widened. So news had spread fast. "You survived that?"

"Barely. Entire cell was taken out."

"Warrior Prince and
sondaleur
, right?"

Did I really have to hear about them from him, too?

"And the chevaliers," I muttered. Pathetic.

"Heard she took out the Lieutenant—"

"City changed." The less Aquidae knew about her true abilities, the better. "So I left. Came here to see what I could do."

His laughter sliced through my head. "New York's not like other cities. It's not a place you fuck around with."

Maybe he had a point.

It took us four days to locate him and according to Rivelleu's security reports, chevaliers rarely encountered one on patrols.

Whoever ran the Manhattan cell, ran a tight ship.

He leaned in. "I mean my lieutenant reports directly to the Big Boss. Has seen him and everything."

Oh, really.

"Think he might have a spot for me?"

Just enough doubt to convince him of my intimidation.

He looked pleased. "Depends on what you can bring."

I studied my drink, watching the ice slowly melt into the alcohol. Diluting its taste, weakening its potency.

Whatever I brought had to be important enough that they'd take me seriously, but not compromise her safety.

"Information."

His brow raised. "On?"

I hesitated. Wondered if there was another way to do this.

Then I remembered the way she looked at him in the factory basement.

"Information on the Warrior Prince," I said. "I think your superiors might find it very useful."

Interest gleamed in his eyes. "That might be enough to get you a meeting. Give me a number to reach you."

A human female wobbled over as he entered it into his phone. Young, cute, flame red hair. She was so smashed she didn't even realize I was there.

"You ready to go, baby?" she slurred.

So this was what he'd been doing earlier.

"Sure thing, gorgeous."

Barry wrapped an arm around her waist, expression predatory.

"Hey." I lowered my voice. "You sure about her? She might not be too much fun."

"She's not for me." His teeth glistened under the pulsing lights. "Got my orders."

Following command was important in every Aquidae cell. If I tried to stop him, I'd lose my only lead.

"Let's go." Tugging on his arm, the girl swayed and giggled. She could barely stand."I'm real popular tonight. Some girl started hitting on me and wouldn't take no for an answer."

Kendra.

Fingers tightened around my drink. There was nothing I could do without breaking cover.

Saving her wouldn't change anything. Barry would simply pick someone else.

I clung to every flimsy possibility. Depending on his cell's protocols, she might be okay. Maybe they wouldn't really hurt her. Maybe she'd pass out and simply wake up with a monster hangover.

"Jack, I'll call you tomorrow." He pulled her tighter to his side.

Coldness dripped, encasing every emotion in layer after layer.

Until there was nothing left.

I let the ice show in my eyes. "Have fun."

My voice was steady.

THREE

Soft light reflected muted walls and polished floors. Hushed tones of conversation filtered through the galleries.

The soothing environment did little to ease her frustration.

"If her friend hadn't been stupid enough to call security, I could've gotten her into a cab and —"

I shook my head. "If it wasn't her, it would be someone else. The only way to have stopped it was killing Barry."

And that would've put a serious damper on the progress of an already frustrating investigation.

Exhaling, she rubbed her forehead. She knew I was right.

"You really think he's going to call?"

"Maybe. If not, we start from square one." I stopped and studied a Degas. Cool pinks and greens washed over me. "Do surveillance. Attempt another approach under a different identity."

She stood beside me. "Do you think she's alive?"

Her voice was very quiet.

"I don't know." In the painting, a young dancer extended her leg in class while an old man watched in judgment. "But I do know we did our job. Things are what they are. You can't change the nature of something."

The key was to never question it. To never ask why because there was no answer.

Moving on to the next action. That was the only way I knew how to exist.

"Come on. The next section is one of my favorites."

Much as I hated Haverleau dictating our actions, I had to admit I was pleased with today's educational excursion. I'd visited the Metropolitan Museum countless times over the years, losing myself in vast halls full of wondrous marvels.

Sharing it with her felt strangely intimate, as though we were enjoying the simple pleasures of a Saturday morning date. I'd even left our appearances untouched, only using magic to dim her aura.

We'd already leisurely explored the Sculpture Court and Surrealists.

Rich layers of color, suffused with light, now surrounded us as we entered the gallery of Impressionists.

She stopped in front of an early painting by Cezanne. A group of curvaceous women relaxed beside a river winding through the woods.

"Good taste, sweet iris. One of my favorite artists."

She eyed the bathing women. "Why am I not surprised they're nude?"

I chuckled. "Is that what you see when you look at it?"

Scowling, she took a few steps closer. She studied the painting with the same intensity she did everything.

Mind drifted to her in the brownstone's bedroom. Imagining caramel hair spilling behind her. Satin sheets against that skin. Her face tilted up to me. Glittering eyes filled not with anger but something very different —

"Viewpoint feels distant."

She wasn't distant. She was close enough to touch.

Upper arm brushed against mine and heat flared through my veins.

Shit. I was getting turned on in the middle of the damned museum.

"Darker, muted palette. Flat, diagonal strokes."

I stared at her perfectly curved mouth, enjoying the way she shaped the words.

"But there's something… hesitant. He still hasn't adopted the style he used in later works. Almost like the painting doesn't know what it wants to be."

I blinked. "What?"

She gave me a strange look. "Am I wrong?"

It took a few moments to get back on track.

"No. You picked up on the difference in technique. What you interpret is subjective."

"So what do you see when you look at it?"

"Freedom," I murmured.

It was in the exertion behind the brushstrokes. Cezanne's attempt to redo color gradations into something that made sense to him.

"He doesn't want light and shadow. He wants to break form, explore a new perspective. See through the lines of reality to all the shades and possibilities between. Find a way to paint for himself."

Her expression shifted and once again, I knew I'd shown too much.

So I lifted my shoulder and gave her a cocky smile. The one that provoked her from a safe distance away.

"Then again, maybe I just like looking at naked women."

"Of course you do," she muttered.

Haverleau was gradually pulling her into a black hole of rigid obligations and rules, locking her into an archaic way of life that no longer made sense.

She was in New York preparing to become the next Governor. It didn't get any more establishment than that.

The more I tried to close the distance, the more she drifted away. But here, away from elementals, from
him
, it was different.

We discussed and debated, pushed and pulled, fed off the energy of a city so vibrant, there was no need for anything else.

We became normal.

Not just partners investigating a centuries-long evil, or outcasts whose fates were decided by chance.

She'd spent her life Rogue, not being the
sondaleur
. She was meant to live among humans. To be free.

Like me, she wasn't meant for the elemental world.

So while we immersed ourselves in the beauty of works produced by human civilization, I imagined what it would be like to experience this for more than just a day.

Or a month.

If she wanted, we could have this.

I could give this to her.

But as soon as we walked into the main lobby, the demands of elementals snapped us back to reality.

Her shoulders tensed. Head jerked.

Fingers circled my arm, yanking me behind a large column next to the Membership Information booth.

My Virtue immediately flared, the controlled current of magic rippling under my skin like a thousand tiny streams.

Air faintly shimmered and the illusion fell into place.

She took in her bright blonde hair and gave me an appraising look. "Danish?"

Close enough. "I was going for Norwegian tourists. Where?"

She motioned toward the entrance of the corridor leading to the South wing. "It's our friend from last night."

Dressed in a three-piece wool suit, Barry strode across the lobby and stopped at the coat check.

"You think his cell is involved with the Met?"

I had a hard time believing Aquidae would work with this kind of institution. But the behavior of demons in this city was proving difficult to understand.

"Find out who he saw and what he was doing here."

She stared at the hundreds of tourists milling about the area.

"LeVeq, this is one of the largest museums in the world. How am I supposed to narrow down —"

"You'll figure it out." The girl behind the counter handed him his coat. "I'll follow him and see what I can get. We'll meet back here."

I left her cursing under her breath and slipped out into the cold, grey afternoon.

FOUR

Cars and buses moved down Fifth Avenue at a steady clip. I followed Barry on the opposite side of the street, keeping a visual on him through the gaps between vehicles.

A few blocks uptown, he had a friendly conversation with a doorman and entered a luxury building on the corner of Eighty-Seventh.

According to our information, he didn't own real estate on this side of the city. Which meant he was visiting someone. Business related? Aquidae related?

It'd take Kendra a few minutes to get the information we needed.

So I settled on one of the benches lining Central Park and decided to wait.

"Admit it," an amused voice said. "You came all the way to New York to stare at rich people."

I hadn't noticed her approach. "Not bad."

Renee Bessette grinned. "I've been working on it."

Sleek, ebony hair hung down her back, high cheeks pink with cold, ever-present sketch book tucked under her arm. A hint of turquoise and red peeked out from her scarf, the top of an intricate phoenix tattoo that ran from her neck to right wrist.

She sat next to me and squinted at the building. "Got a lead?"

"Don't know what you're talking about," I said easily. "I'm just enjoying a pleasant day outdoors."

"Come on." She leaned back and gave a smug smile. "You didn't even know I was following you."

"How did you even know it was me?"

She was one of only five people in New York who knew about my Virtue.

"Saw you do your illusion act at the Met." Irritation flashed through her bright, tawny eyes. "Where's your trusty sidekick? Not like her to miss all the action."

Renee and Kendra had clashed from the moment we arrived. Probably because they were more alike than either wanted to admit.

"She's following up on something else." An idea began to take shape. "And it just so happens I'm in need of female help. Feel like working some of that charm of yours?"