Serpent's Sacrifice Page 24

  “Casablanca was playing,” Marco said, waving a hand at the theater. “And I had promised Alice we’d see it before it left.”

  Lionel nodded. “I see. Well, we were just going to get a drink at the Solomon Lounge. You want to join us?”

  The blond rolled her eyes. “But, we only have reservations for two.”

  “That’s alright, they can make an exception for me. What d’you say?”

  Marco looked down, and then at Alice.

  “Not for me, thanks, but if you want to go, that’s fine.”

  Alice shook her head. “I’m not really dressed for—”

  “Oh, come on! You two need a little excitement.” Lionel’s voice had taken on a hard edge and Alice noticed his face was getting flushed.

  “I think we have enough, thanks,” Alice said, turning away.

  Lionel grabbed her arm, jerking her back around. She felt his fingers dig into her skin. An old, nearly forgotten, fear shot through her.

  “Let her go,” Marco said, stepping up to Lionel.

  Alice stared in shock as they glared at each other. Lionel’s body tensed as if he were ready for a fight, while Marco’s face became stony, his fingers twitching like they did just before he used his powers.

  She’d seen them argue before, even seen them come to blows once, but this was different. Marco usually had enough patience to diffuse Lionel’s temper and impulsiveness. Maybe it was seeing Lionel grab her, maybe it was her fear. Alice could understand that, but what was Lionel’s excuse? He’d never laid a hand on her that wasn’t helpful or considerate.

  It was then, caught in the middle of this, that Alice noticed a red, rather large, scratch along Lionel’s cheek.

  Pulling her arm out of his grasp, Alice reached for it, but Lionel jerked away.

  “What happened?” Alice said.

  Lionel blinked, shaking his head like someone who’d just woke up from a bad dream. “I-uh-It was just...something from...”

  “That hobby of yours?” Marco asked.

  “Right, yeah. My...hobby.”

  Alice’s frown deepened. “You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.”

  Lionel wouldn’t meet her gaze and, for a moment, she thought he was about to apologize. But then, his crooked smile reappeared and he looked back at his date, who’d retreated a few steps, compact out and checking her makeup.

  “Shall we?”

  “Sure,” she said, taking his arm without another look at Alice or Marco.

  “I’ll see you two later?” His tone was light, but underneath it was a desperate pleading.

  “Definitely,” Marco said.

  Lionel smiled and walked on as if he had just been having a friendly conversation.

  “What the hell was that?” Alice asked.

  Marco sighed. “We went patrolling last night—”

  “Without me? Again?”

  “Lionel is scared you’re going to get hurt again. He keeps telling me that you’re busy doing research and rather than argue with him, I went. We were attacked, same kind of guys as Percy had. One of them had a large ring on one hand, and when he punched Lionel, he scratched him with it. Gerald said he thinks the reason it’s not healing is because there was a foreign substance on the ring. He can’t see anything wrong with Lionel, exactly, but that substance is in Lionel’s bloodstream. He doesn’t know how long it’ll last or what it’s going to do.”

  Alice felt her stomach twist. “It’s not poison?”

  “Gerald said he didn’t think so.”

  “Didn’t think so? Lionel could drop dead!”

  “We’ve run into poison before, it has no effect on Lionel.”

  “Unless the Syndicate and this Phantasm have found one that will.”

  She sank onto a nearby bench and buried her face in her small hands.

  The bench creaked as Marco joined her.

  “This isn’t your fault.”

  “I wish everyone would stop saying that!”

  “Maybe when you start believing it, we will.”

  She looked up at him and sighed, desperate to change the subject. “Lionel wasn’t his usual self tonight; do you think it has something to do with whatever was on that ring?”

  Marco looked down at his hands.

  “I’m not sure, there could be other reasons for tonight, not that it excuses grabbing you like that.”

  “I’ve never seen him like that. He was...aggressive, angry.”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  Alice shrugged. “He scared me. It’s funny...it’s been twelve, almost thirteen years, since my dad beat me, and someone I know and trust grabs me like that...and it all comes rushing back.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

  A square-bodied, newspaper delivery truck pulled up at the news stand across the street, dumping bundles of newspapers with a dull thud before speeding away.

  “I’m gonna get a paper, want anything?” Marco asked.

  She shook her head, trying not to feel panic at the thought that Lionel was infected with something lethal. How would the Syndicate even know how to create something lethal to Lionel? Did they have blood from one of the crime scenes Lionel had been at? Was there someone they knew who could get close enough to Lionel for that? Maybe Phantasm was using one of Lionel’s dates?

  Alice had to chuckle at that idea, the blond looked about as threatening as a box of crackers.

  “Alice, look at this,” Marco said, a deep frown hooding his eyes as he handed her the newspaper.

  Underneath an article about two more deaths from the drug, Fantasy, was a headline that stopped Alice’s heart cold.

  HEIR OF DEAD PHILANTHROPIST SUSPECTED OF EMBEZZLEMENT.

  Police investigation into Miss Seymour’s finances pending.

  The article was short, but damning. It stated that an anonymous source had come forward with evidence that Alice had been embezzling money for the past nine months. Someone from the Philanthropic Society, who refused to be named, stated that Alice had always seemed not just out of her depth, but angry at having to take over her aunt’s legacy.

  The article ended with a statement that police were looking into the allegations.

  But no one has contacted me, this is the first I’ve heard!

  Alice stared at the article for a long while, refusing to process what she was reading. Questions sped through her mind so fast she didn’t have a chance to grab hold of any of them, and in the end, Marco took the paper from her shaking hands, looking through it for any other information.

  “Your uncle doesn’t have an article in the entire edition. I wonder if he’s protesting.”

  She jumped to her feet, flats patting in an erratic rhythm as she paced in front of the bench. Words kept trying to get out, but all she managed was a throaty grunt of complete anger and frustration.

  That must’ve been what was needed to open the flood gates, because once she started talking she couldn’t stop.

  “What am I going to do?! Whoever this is, they have me! And I think Douglas is right. This is only the beginning. And if this is the beginning, what the hell is next? Boils, plague? Is he going after you? Or Uncle Logan or—who? My fifth-grade teacher? I liked her pretty well.”

  “Stop,” Marco said, holding her arms. “We will figure this out. We hurt him and that’s a good thing, but it also means we have to accept some fallout.”

  He was so calm, so solid and sure, a quiet place in the middle of a storm of questions and worries. She leaned against him, her head on his chest and closed her eyes, soaking in all he had to offer. His arms were strong and gentle around her, his long fingers stroking her back.

  “The first real bump in the road and I fall apart. Some hero I am.”

  Marco’s chest rumbled in a soft laugh.

  “It’s a pretty big bump, give yourself a break.”

  She took a few deep breaths and realized that he was right. It was unexpected, but she wouldn’t make that
mistake again. Besides, if she fell apart every time Phantasm retaliated, she’d never stop him. It was time to stop complaining, stop being afraid, and do something.

  “I have work to do.” She stepped back, brushing back curls that had flopped into her face. “I’m going to go back to Mrs. Frost’s house and figure out what to do about these accusations.”

  “And then, tomorrow, you might want to go to Douglas and see if he has any information for us.”

  She smiled up at him. “Thanks.”

  “For what?”

  “Not letting me wallow. Sometimes I think Uncle Logan and Lionel don’t want me doing this, so they don’t push me very much. You do, and it’s..well, not always nice, but it’s appreciated.”

  He shrugged. “Any time.”

  The bell hadn’t stopped ringing when the door was jerked open by Mrs. Frost’s surly butler.

  “Is Mrs. Frost—”

  “She’s been expecting you,” he said, stepping aside.

  Alice followed him through the massive entryway and into a huge downstairs study with book cases of dark wood lining every wall. An antique desk with lion’s paws at the end of each leg sat to the right of the door. Dark brown overstuffed leather chairs and a settee sat near a huge fireplace, while a sparkling sidebar was nestled between two book shelves.

  Mrs. Frost looked small compared to the vastness of the room and the furniture, but the fierce gleam in her eyes and the tap of her cane as she approached Alice more than made up for it.

  “You’ve read it, then?” Mrs. Frost said, her throaty voice harsh with anger.

  “Yes.”

  Mrs. Frost pressed her lips so tightly together that they disappeared. Waving a hand toward the bar and sitting down, she waited with impatient taps of her cane as Alice made her a drink.

  Sitting across from her, Alice didn’t know quite what to expect. Would she blame Alice for this?

  Mrs. Frost took a sip of the drink and shook her head.

  “How did this happen?”

  Alice took a deep breath. She’d been wracking her brain the entire cab ride and had felt like an idiot for not seeing the obvious.

  “The quarterly reports. They weren’t lost, someone must’ve bribed the courier and tampered with them.”

  “Of course! I have been so distracted...never mind.” She made a disgusted grunt in the back of her throat. “I am one of the chief executives of the board and no one asked me anything! They probably spoke with Mrs. Grace, and that busy-body of a woman, Mrs. Pole. And I doubt your uncle knew anything or he would have warned you. The nerve of whoever is doing this.”

  “Mrs. Frost—”

  “And if you are about to apologize or become weepy, you can leave! That does us no good. The gauntlet has been thrown down, you must respond.”

  “I agree.”

  Mrs. Frost nodded.

  “Good. Now, you are too new at this to know what to do, so until all this blows over, I want you to sign the power of your vote to me, and allow me to make decisions for the charities. It will only be temporary; and once all is done it will go back to you. My lawyer is drafting the papers now and you can sign them tomorrow.”

  Alice gaped at her.

  “How many times have you told me to take responsibility, to accept it and make it my own? And now you want to take it from me?”

  “Nothing of the kind! How can you fight against these allegations, while trying to fight the Syndicate and Phantasm? You cannot split your focus. I think whoever this is may have been counting on that, and now we can foil that part of his plan.”

  Alice hated to admit the wisdom of it.

  “I need to make a statement at least. I can’t go run and hide.”

  “Agreed. I will write something up and we will hold the press conference here. You can announce that I will be taking over until these ridiculous allegations are disproved. We can say it is to assure that no one has any cause to suspect anything underhanded, or some such.”

  Alice leaned back into the chair.

  They sat in unusually comfortable silence, until Alice couldn’t hold back the question that had been nagging her for a week now.

  “Do you think whoever Phantasm is, that he knows who I am?”

  Mrs. Frost looked down at her glass.

  “Yes, these attacks are specific and personal.”

  “What do I do?”

  “You fight and you win.”

  Alice nodded, her hair rustling against the leather of the chair.

  “I’m afraid.”

  “As you should be.”

  The brutal honesty should’ve angered Alice, but instead, she found it oddly comforting. Here, at least, was someone who would always be completely honest with her and never coddle her.

  I never saw that part of her as a good thing. She was just an angry old woman. But, now...

  Alice looked at Mrs. Frost and smiled.

  “An odd expression for so serious a moment,” Mrs. Frost said. “I assume it is from your date this evening.”

  “It wasn’t a date. And no, I wasn’t thinking about Marco.”

  “Try to avoid romance until you have captured this man,” Mrs. Frost said. “It will only be a distraction.”

  “There’s no romance, don’t worry.”

  Mrs. Frost grunted and finished off her drink.

  “An adversary like this is something Diana and I never had to face, but you have something we did not, a team. It evens the odds. As much as can be anyway. But you must focus, now more than ever. This fear you feel, it can make you careful or it can make you stupid. Use it.”

  Alice nodded, waiting for the one thing Mrs. Frost hadn’t said. The one thing Alice had been thinking the whole cab ride over: She had been right.

  Being a hero was all Alice cared about since Aunt Diana died. The public persona that Mrs. Frost had been pushing on her since day one had always felt like wearing a hair shirt. She hated every lesson, every fundraiser and meeting. Alice didn’t care if she was rude or unsettling to the socialites she was forced to be around, and, by extension, didn’t care if Mrs. Frost had to smooth things over. Alice saw it all as nonsense concocted by an old woman who was out of touch with what was needed. And even though Alice still wasn’t sure she needed such a public alter ego, she did see now that if she had listened, been more attentive to things, then she might not be in this mess.

  Mrs. Frost looked up at her and, for a moment, Alice felt as if the old woman could see what she was thinking.

  She gave Alice a little smile.

  “I will see you tomorrow, nine-thirty in the morning for a ten o’clock press conference. Do not be late.”

  “I’m never late.”

  Mrs. Frost leaned on her cane and winced as she tried to stand, her hand moving to her stomach. For a heart stopping moment, Alice thought that Mrs. Frost would be Phantasm’s next victim. But in a moment, the pain must’ve eased, because Mrs. Frost stood up straight, her face tense as she squared her shoulders.

  Waving her hand and dismissing the look of worry on Alice’s round face, she said, “A little indigestion. Dr. Allen has been trying to get me to stop eating tomato sauce and cheeses for a while, I suppose I should start listening.”

  Something about the way she said it made Alice know it was a lie, but she didn’t think Mrs. Frost would admit it tonight. So, she just nodded, promising again not to be late before turning to leave.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  It had taken more than a morning press conference to handle the growing scandal against her. Though Mrs. Frost’s lawyers said that the charges hung on very thin evidence, Alice had been forced to surrender every scrap of paper for the charities and Atlas Books. It had taken her and Uncle Logan days to collect it all and get it to the attorney’s.

  Mrs. Frost’s lawyers had also negotiated a voluntary questioning, instead of an arrest. So, two days after the story broke, Alice went to the police station and endured hours of questions. When she finally saw the quarterly books, it was obvious t
hat someone had tampered with them. After the questioning was over, the lawyers convinced the detectives that Alice wasn’t a flight risk and she was released, pending an investigation.

  As the sun set in a vibrant chaos of gold and orange, Alice climbed the steps to the loft. Her head ached and her body was buzzing with unspent energy.

  Just before opening the door, the smell of roast beef and potatoes met her nostrils and a slow smile spread across her heart-shaped face as she opened the door.

  Marco stood at the stove, a white apron around his waist, and Lionel was at the record player. The sultry voice of Billie Holiday floated through the room.

  “Hungry?” Marco asked.

  With a sigh of exhaustion, she threw her arms around him. He smelled like baking bread and thyme. His arms wound around her, holding her tight, and for a moment there was no one else in the world but the two of them. She could hear his heart beat, feel the wiry muscles under his shirt flex as he tightened his embrace.

  “It’s going to be okay,” he whispered.

  She nodded as weary tears made tracks down her round cheeks.

  “I’d offer you a drink,” Lionel said, as Alice pulled away from Marco. “But you don’t do that.”

  If there’d ever been a day she wanted a drink, it was this one. But instead, Lionel handed her a club soda.

  “Cheer up,” he said, fingers brushing against her arm. “We’re here now.”

  It was two weeks, since the story first broke, before she was finally able to see Douglas. Every lead they had on the Syndicate had turned up either a small-time operation or an abandoned one. It had gotten to the point where Garrick was starting to accuse them of wasting police resources. Alice was itching for any kind of pay-back she could render on Phantasm, and for the first time, she was looking forward to a visit with Douglas.

  She expected him to be mostly recovered from the knife wound, but when she was escorted toward the infirmary once again Alice began to worry that something else was wrong. The quarantine room was just as she remembered it, except that there was an extra table with half a dozen grubby paperback books stacked on it beside a small, static-ridden radio.