But he’d betrayed me, not by leaving me for his version of true love, or even because he’d failed to warn or protect me from Mackie. But he had been the one to tell Solange who I was, so that she could whisper it into Mackie’s ear. Go after Olivia Archer, I could practically hear her purr. Joanna’s alias in that parallel world.
I shut my eyes and leaned my head back on the buttery headrest. Whomever contacted me that afternoon had been right. I should never have gone out tonight.
True love never dies…even when it’s gone, its memory keeps you safe.
“Bullshit,” I whispered, though I didn’t believe love, once felt, just disappeared. My first love, Ben, still influenced my life, though our love belonged to a different place and time. No less meaningful, but no longer relevant to the woman I was today.
Yet my burgeoning love for Hunter had been different. We were two fallible people with scarred pasts that had springboarded us into the same passion. I might have been wrong about the permanence of both relationships, but they had shaped me. Love, truly felt, really did leave a mark.
But so did getting whacked with a tire iron. And in my experience, that’s how love marked a person’s life. It was as random as violence. As senseless as an early death. And Suzanne was dead wrong about one thing in particular, I thought, a lone tear slipping over my cheek. Love could be dangerous.
Mine was fucking killing me.
7
Las Vegas actually dozes in the early morning hours, resting up from the roughshod night, and catching its breath before it rides again. Unfortunately, you don’t fall asleep after a night like I had. You drop into a pool of exhaustion, and land in restless half-consciousness. But only after locating a place of relative safety, where demons wearing bowler hats can’t plow soul-stealing blades through your innards.
For me, that place turned out to be a bright conference room streaming with morning sun, espresso fumes, and the disapproval of twelve board members constituting the whole of Archer Enterprises.
“Ms. Archer?”
Too late I realized my head had lolled on my neck again. Snapping upright, I checked for drool. Seriously, these blue bloods were so boring they could send Mackie back into his coma. Still, it was my first board meeting of Archer Enterprises, where I’d just replaced Xavier Archer as chairman of the board. It occurred to me that maybe I should make an effort. I yanked off my oversized shades and shielded a ginormous yawn.
“Sorry. You lost me at the bit about that vesting thing.” They’d drawn the subject out so long I think oceanic plates had shifted.
The man to my left, six feet away but still seated closest at the long, glossed table, studied me drolly. “Late night?”
“It was a killer,” I replied huskily, and reached for the water.
The man beyond him-indistinguishable but for the three feet separating them-placed his pen down and folded his hands in front of him. “Yes, word is your traveling disco got hijacked. It must have been terribly traumatic for you.”
I let my water glass dangle dangerously from two fingers just to see him squirm, and discarded the idea of detailing what “trauma” really meant to me. “It was more of a rave than a disco,” I said, angling my glass in a halfhearted toast.
He stared at me with undisguised disdain, and though I hated to do so, I blinked first. Olivia Archer didn’t “do” stare-downs, though I quickly followed up with another gaping yawn. At least that didn’t have to be faked.
“Perhaps we can get back to the business at hand?” One of the eleven identical twins intoned. It was John, Xavier’s attorney, whom I’d apparently inherited as well. “The compensation plan again, then?”
I replaced my water glass with a pen and waved down the table with my free hand. “That would rock.”
He began his monotonous intonation again…and I began to doodle. Catching the words “strip” and “straddle,” I perked up a bit, then realized he was talking about how they intended to keep the money I paid them this year. Oh well, I thought, broadening my pen stroke along my pad. Someone would go over all this with me later, I was sure. Ad nauseam.
As John droned, a shape formed beneath my pen. I jolted upon recognizing it, marring the precise whorls, but was back at it before it could escape me. I began sharpening the outline more consciously, scrollwork leading up to a pair of wings. It wasn’t just familiar, it was somehow mundane. I pulled back my pen, frowning. It was also the symbol I’d spotted on the giant chest from in the previous night’s treasure hunt. Cher’s report that Arun’s servants were the ones to arrange the hunt and plant the clues initially surprised me, but it was now clear that someone with unnatural powers had infiltrated Arun’s little cadre. Maybe, I thought, pen stilling, Arun Brahma himself. Could he be an agent? A rogue newly arrived in the valley, and using Suzanne and Cher to get to me?
Or, if the weapons were left for me, could he actually be some sort of ally? My pulse leapt at the thought, not because it was particularly likely, but because the idea of an ally in a world rife with enemies was shiny enough to draw even a magpie’s attention.
It was worth looking into either way, if only because of Suzanne and Cher. I might not be a superhero anymore, but I’d die before I allowed another attack on someone I cared for, like the one that’d taken Olivia’s life.
Making a mental note to research Arun Brahma when I wasn’t being bombarded by balance sheets and cash flow statements, I started drawing the emerging symbol again, trying to remember where else I’d seen it. And what did it mean?
“Excuse me, Ms. Archer?”
Blinking, I startled into awareness. “What?”
“You said something?”
Shit. I’d spoken aloud. “Um, I said…what does that mean?”
“Which part?”
“Um. The last part.”
John lifted a brow.
I waved my hand. “Just the bit before I interrupted.”
He sighed, and started over.
I tapped my pen. Maybe the symbol was benign. Or meaningless alone. Stripping it of context might also have removed its significance. But I’d had Cher take a picture of the chest. I could study that and try to make out the surrounding carvings. A quick Internet search might yield the information I needed.
Yeah, but will it keep you alive?
I sighed heavily, and the attention of the room shifted my way. I ignored it. Let them think I was shallow, hungover, and ineffectual. A death-dealer on a mission took precedence over stock options any day.
Then the door to the conference room opened . Or maybe not.
Dropping my pen, I crumpled the paper with the strange symbol between my palms, and slid my hands-with their printless fingertips-into my pocket. Then, touching the phone Warren had given me, I watched the leader of the paranormal underworld, my birth father, enter the room. His flinty gaze roamed the length of the suddenly silent conference table before landing on me, at its head. My mouth went dry. He sensed it…and smiled.
Here’s the thing about the Tulpa. You never knew when or where he was going to turn up. The agents of Light had long known he’d been Xavier Archer’s benefactor, and the one who actually ran Archer Enterprises, but his appearances were as random as tornadoes. As far as I could tell, even his own troop didn’t know when he’d drop in. Grasping the phone tighter, I slid lower, like I was again nodding off.