My Dangerous Pleasure (35 page)

He searched the pockets of his suit and found a cell phone and wallet intact. This was not his home but a hotel suite, an expensive one he gathered, since he was standing in a living room from which he could see through to the bedroom. Details registered in his mind with the speed of a desert tortoise. He found seven hundred dollars in hundreds and fifties in the wallet as well as three credit cards and a California state driver’s license, all of them issued to someone named Rasmus Kessler. The license was inside a clear plastic sleeve. Kessler was an organ donor, he noted.

He found the bathroom and compared himself to the license photo. The face that gazed at him from the mirror was thinner than the one in the photo, and that man’s hair was not braided as his was, but other than that, he appeared to be Rasmus Kessler.

The red beads worked into the dozens of braids clicked softly. The sound sparked a memory. The beads were rubies and they helped him somehow… The fragment of recollection dissolved.

There was, he noticed, a slip of paper tucked into the back of the sleeve that held the driver’s license. He took it out and unfolded it to find a phone number written on it with the phrase
Nikodemus must be warned
scrawled underneath. The word
must
had been underlined several times, at least once hard enough to make a hole in the paper.

Warned of what?

He took out the cell phone and saw there was no list of recent calls and no phone numbers in the contacts. Whoever had used the phone last had wiped the device of any personal information. An interesting level of paranoia. Or wise. Very wise.

Rasmus dialed the number on the scrap of paper. His pulse raced while he listened to the ringing on the other end. Had he done this before? He strode out of the bathroom and into the living room just as a woman answered on the other end.

“Alexandrine speaking.”

His breath caught. He grabbed a padded leatherette binder from one of the tables near the sofa. The name of the hotel was embossed on the front.
Palace Hotel
. Underneath that, in smaller letters, was the location. San Francisco.

He still could not connect the name
Rasmus Kessler
to himself, though that had to be his name. In the same way, he knew he lived across the bay in Berkeley only because of the address on the license. Chasing down those thoughts did no good. His mind refused to offer up anything else. No assurance of his name. No memories of his house.

“Hello?” the woman said. “You still there?”

His skin prickled. Her voice was familiar, but there was nothing more beyond his certainty that he had at least spoken to her before. Words jammed in his throat. “Nikodemus must be warned.”

“About what?” the woman said.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I do not know.”

“Do you need help?”

“Yes.”

“We can do that.”

Someone in the hall outside the door laughed. The locking mechanism emitted a mechanized buzz. Fen. “It’s her,” he said to the woman on the phone. “If she discovers that I’ve called you, she will do worse than kill me.”

“Who is this, and where can we find you?

“Rasmus Kessler. I am at the Palace Hotel.”

There was dead silence on the other end. “Well, fuck you, Daddy.”

The response made no sense to him, and there was no time to figure it out. “I do not know what room I am in. You must warn Nikodemus.”

Rasmus pressed the
RESET
button on the phone so that Fen wouldn’t find out who he’d called. At least not from the phone. He dropped it into his pocket as the suite’s door swung open.

C
HAPTER 31

Broadway and Baker, San Francisco

T
urned out the mage arrived in fewer than five minutes. Paisley felt the reaction thirty seconds before he appeared, and her reaction lagged behind most of others by a bit. Iskander moved closer to her as a florid man in a very expensive suit walked in with six men behind him. A screamer. She flinched and steeled herself against clapping her hands over her ears. The six men were magehelds. All six wore suits and all six had their hair buzzed short.

Iskander put a hand on her shoulder. Having him close helped. Everyone in the room tensed except Harsh, who went to the table and gathered a plate of desserts, which he presented to the man with a nod and a greeting. “Yevgeny. Welcome.”

The Russian accepted the plate without acknowledging Harsh. He gave a tight nod to Nikodemus. “Warlord.” He spoke with a strong accent. “Please accept greetings from Bratislava Demitrova.”

Nikodemus crossed his arms over his chest. “Yevgeny. I thought I made myself clear to both of you about who I’d accept as a representative in my territory. Was there a misunderstanding?”

Yevgeny handed his plate to one of the men with him and said something in Russian. The man took the fork and sampled everything on the plate. “These are dangerous times, Warlord. What you asked is not possible. To give up anything such as you ask.” He lifted both hands. “Unthinkable.”

“I don’t give a shit what you can or can’t think about. I made myself clear.”

Yevgeny smiled and clasped his hands in front of his crotch. His magehelds moved in closer.

“Magekind in my territory cannot keep magic they killed to get. End of story. You shouldn’t be here,” Nikodemus said.

“If you kill me, Bratislava will not take it kindly.”

Kynan, Harsh, and Xia moved closer to Nikodemus. There was enough magic in the room to make the air crackle. “We don’t take kindly to being murdered.”

“There will be war.” Yevgeny took a step back. “No one wants that.”

Nikodemus smiled. “I don’t need to kill you. I just need to send you home with only the magic you were born with.”

The Russian glanced at his magehelds. The screaming coming from him got louder, slicing through Paisley like a blade. The mageheld holding the plate of food put it down on a nearby table.

At her side, Iskander put a hand on her lower back. Paisley’s heart about galloped out of her chest. This wasn’t like the other times she’d done this. There hadn’t been magehelds involved or a mage who knew what was going to happen to him.

“Give up the magic you stole, or it will be taken from you.”

Yevgeny smiled engagingly. It was easy to imagine sitting down to drinks with him. His eyes were pretty, as blue as the sky and darkly lashed, with a sleepy look belied by the awareness there. “My answer is no.”

“Paisley.” Nikodemus gestured.

She swallowed once, hard, and walked toward Yevgeny and his magehelds. Iskander went with her. His body was loose, his hands swinging free at his sides. He was pulling magic, and it raised gooseflesh on her skin. Iskander wasn’t the only one pulling, either.

“You swore your fiends would not attack me.”

Nikodemus waved a hand in dismissal. “Bratislava knew my terms. She should not have sent you without you complying.”

“An impasse, then.” He kept a nervous eye on Iskander. “Can we not agree that she was wrong and have our discussion? There is much she wished me to bring up to you, Warlord.”

“No.”

Yevgeny looked Paisley up and down. The screams echoing in her head drowned out her fear. “Pretty girl. I will regret if she comes to harm.”

“His job is to protect her, Yevgeny,” Nikodemus said, hooking his thumb in Iskander’s direction. “With his life, so be careful what you do when she’s done.”

When she was close enough, Paisley lifted a hand. One of the magehelds reached to block her. Iskander’s arm shot out and gripped the mageheld’s wrist. “Touch her,” he said in a low voice as he pushed away the mageheld’s arm, “and you will die.”

The inside of her head filled with shrieks, and it was killing her to hear that horrible sound without cease. She lifted her hand again. The same mageheld moved to intercept her. Iskander’s body became a blur. She didn’t see how the mageheld died; she just felt it happen. In the space between her heartbeats, she touched Yevgeny’s chest. Agonized screams rushed toward her, through her, like a hurricane. She yanked back.

Yevgeny shrieked.

She fell back at the same time two of the Russian’s magehelds lunged for her. Iskander was there, impossibly fast. The two went down, and she was aware they weren’t moving and that the Russian was still screaming. The other three stood, eyes wide, uncertain what to do.

She opened her fingers and the screaming in her head stopped. Blessed silence. At last.

On the floor, Yevgeny groaned, hands over his chest. He spoke in Russian again, and then in English. “Kill them all.”

Out of nowhere, one of the men who’d been standing by Nikodemus appeared by the Russians. Durian, she thought his name was. The assassin. Magic poured from him. Iskander moved again, a blur of red mist blossoming in the air. Her hair blew in a desert wind, whipping around her face, blinding her and a booming sound echoed through her body. When she could see again, Durian was on one knee, his fingers pressed to his forehead, and Carson was stepping away from one of the magehelds.

Paisley blinked and tried to make sense of what had happened. Yevgeny was still on the floor, hands to his chest and breathing hard. Two magehelds were still alive, but they felt different to her. Both them were in various stages of some kind of convulsive collapse. She shivered, even though her skin felt hot.

The warlord approached Yevgeny, radiating enough power to heat the air around him. “I never make threats,” he said. The Russian muttered something and Nikodemus shook his head. “Not here. Not in my house. Your magic won’t work here.” He leaned over the Russian. “I told Bratislava what would happen if she sent someone like you. Go home without your goddamned slaves and without our blood on your soul, and you make sure everyone you meet understands the terms I’m offering. Clear?”

Yevgeny growled.

“Harsh, see our Russian friend to the door, would you? Get him a cab if he needs one to get to his hotel. Xia and Alexandrine, go with him and sever any magehelds he left outside.”

Harsh nodded. “Warlord.”

Holding hands, Xia and the tall blond woman followed Harsh and Yevgeny out.

In the ensuing silence, Durian turned to Paisley. “I didn’t believe such a thing was possible. What you did to the mage.” He touched three fingers to his forehead. “Thank you.”

Iskander bumped shoulders with Paisley, then caught her around the waist and pulled her close. From the corner of her eye, she saw Maddy cock her head. “That’s my girl.”

“Is it true you hear them screaming?” Kynan asked. He looked sickened by the possibility.

She held out a fist and slowly unfurled her fingers. “Until I let go.”

“Jesus,” one of the women whispered.

“If you don’t mind,” Nikodemus said to her, “I’d like a word with you. In private.” He swept a hand toward a door to his left. Paisley felt a tug in her chest and exchanged a look with Iskander, who shrugged.

She went with the warlord to an office with a red leather couch, a red leather chair, and a bookcase filled with empty glass vases. Nikodemus took two bottles of water from a mini-fridge on one side of the room. He handed her one of the waters and sat on the desk. His T-shirt read
I’m with stupid.
“Have a seat.”

“Thanks.”

“Couple things.” He opened his water. “First, good work out there.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ve cut a check to one Ashlin Lau, paying off her loan to you.” He took a drink of water. “I thought about buying your current location but decided I’d wait to hear if you want to find a larger space. I paid the rent for the rest of your lease, so don’t write any more checks to the landlord. If you have an auto payment, cancel it.”

“That’s generous of you. But it’s really not necessary—”

He cut her off with a sharp gesture. “Not your call. I did it. I take care of my people, especially the humans.” He swung his legs. “Maddy will give you a jingle and set up a meeting to go over your corporate structure, get you on the health plan and the 401(k). We do matching, by the way. Flex plan, health club membership. One of my accountants will get in touch with you. My advice to you is take advantage.”