All You Desire (12 page)

“I was told I'd have to see into one of my past lives if I want to find Beau. So I came here to speak to the Pythia. Are you sure you didn't know I was back in New York?”

“You still believe I arranged this encounter?” Adam asked. He almost seemed wounded by the suggestion. “Do you really imagine that I couldn't have found you before this if I'd wanted to? I promised you this lifetime. To be honest, it's a promise I often regret. But it's not one I intend to break. The reason I'm here now is because you came to
me
. The Ouroboros Society has owned this spa for decades. I thought you knew that. Apparently you did not. So you're free to go whenever you like. I only wanted to say hello.” He started for the door.

“Wait,” Haven called. “That's it? But the Pythia said there are people here who've been waiting for me.”

“I don't know what she's talking about,” Adam said. “I suspect Phoebe may spend too much time inhaling the fumes down here. I didn't expect to see you again until your next lifetime. This has been a very pleasant surprise, nothing more. However . . .”

“Yes?” The word slipped out and the conversation continued. Somewhere inside, Haven wasn't quite ready to see Adam leave.

“If you do want my help, the Society has a number of contacts in the law enforcement community. I would be happy to call in a few favors. I could have head of the NYPD searching for your friend in the next fifteen minutes.”

“Why would you do that?” Haven asked warily. Nothing was making sense to her. “You hate Beau. A year and a half ago you wanted him dead. Why would you help me find him? What's in it for you?”

“The chance to spend a little more time in your company, of course,” Adam said with a spark of hope in his eyes. “That's worth more to me than anything. But beyond that, the only thing I'd get is the opportunity to prove that I'm not what you think I am.”

“Not what I think?” Haven laughed bitterly. “Adam, you burned down two of my houses. You murdered my father!”

“I did
not
kill your father,” Adam insisted. “I thought you understood. Tidmore was working alone. As for the houses—no one was meant to be harmed in those fires.”

“Dr. Tidmore . . .” The name still left a terrible taste in her mouth. He was the man Adam had sent to Tennessee to watch over Haven until she came of age. “How is he, anyway? Enjoying his reward for ruining my childhood?”

“I can't say. He left the Society months ago. I haven't seen him since.”

“Really?” Haven laughed bitterly. “After all of his hard work, I would have thought you'd keep Tidmore on as your right-hand man.”

“Things have changed. I no longer have need of his brand of services,” Adam said.

“What—so you're claiming you've been rehabilitated? Does that mean you won't be ordering any more fires or executions?” The idea was too ludicrous to consider.

Adam seemed to absorb the affront. “I'm merely saying that I've come to
understand
a few things. If there's a chance you'll be mine in your next life, I want to be worthy of you. That's why I've offered to help you. It's the only reason.”

“You'll never be worthy, and I don't want your help,” Haven said. “I'd like you to leave.”

Adam didn't move. He stood with his hands still deep in his pockets while his dark eyes swept across every inch of her skin.

“Now.”

“Very well. If that's what you would like,” he agreed at last. “It's been a pleasure to see you again, Haven. I'm sorry you don't feel the same way.”

He disappeared through the door to the lobby, and Haven quickly checked behind her, half hoping someone had been there to witness the exchange. She had asked Adam Rosier to leave, and he had obeyed. Haven felt like she'd lifted an eighteen-wheeler with her bare hands or ripped a door off its hinges. Somehow she had summoned a power she'd never known she possessed. There was no other way to explain her escape.

The door from the baths flew open with a bang, and Frances rushed in.

“Haven! Where the hell did you go?” she screeched as if Haven were a toddler who'd wandered off in a shopping mall. “I've been looking all over the spa for you!”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Haven and Frances parted ways outside the entrance to the baths. Haven no longer had any need for an escort. Adam didn't seem to be a threat to her, and Haven wanted some time alone. It had been a strange experience, having all her darkest fears realized, only to see them fizzle away in the daylight. Was it possible that Adam had somehow been reformed?

Haven wandered north, through Washington Square Park, and stopped outside the Washington Mews. Once, in the middle of that narrow cobblestone lane, there had been a white cottage with a red door and green velvet curtains. Haven couldn't count the times she had stood by its windows, waiting breathlessly for the sound of a key in the lock. She and Iain had called the cottage home in two different lifetimes, and when she closed her eyes, Haven could hear Iain charging up the stairs to the bedroom. She could feel him wrapping her up in his arms. The site had been as sacred to Haven as the memories themselves. She had lived, loved, and died there.

But the cottage was gone now, burned to the ground. Haven's heart broke to see the modern eyesore that had been built in its place. It was all Adam's work—he'd wanted to erase all traces of the lives she and Iain had shared. Haven's anger and fear returned in a rush. The same being who'd destroyed her home could never be anything more than a monster.

 

SHE HOPPED ON the subway at Union Square. A woman dressed like a backup dancer in an old-school rap video boarded behind her. She wedged her spandex-covered butt into the seat beside Haven and proceeded to further invade Haven's space by unfolding a copy of the
New York Daily News.
As the train left the station, the woman spoke.

“You've let down your guard,” she said, keeping her face buried in the newspaper.

“Pardon me?” Haven demanded, her senses instantly on full alert.

“Don't look at me,” the woman ordered. “There's a gray man seated on the other side, half a car down on the right.”

Flustered and frightened, but trying her best to look casual, Haven turned and spotted a man dressed in jeans, sneakers, and a baseball cap with no logo on it. She caught the motion of his head swiveling back in the opposite direction. He'd been watching her. A brief glint of metal told her he was wearing an earpiece. Adam had ordered one of his men to follow her. Haven could feel her veins throbbing and her palms sweating inside of her gloves.

The woman spoke again. “At the next stop, I want you to get off the train. Walk two cars down and get back on. I'll do the rest.”

“Why should I trust you?” Haven tried to speak without moving her lips.

“Because we've helped you many times in the past,” the woman told her.

“We?” Haven asked.

“Shhh,” the woman commanded.

 

THE TRAIN RUMBLED into the Twenty-third Street station. As soon as the subway doors opened, Haven leaped up and joined the crowd shoving each other out onto the platform. Then, exactly as instructed, she hurried toward the back of the train and reentered it two cars down. Gripping a pole, she heard a commotion outside in the station.

“Pervert!” the woman in the spandex pants was screaming at the gray man who'd been tailing Haven. “How dare you grope me! I'll teach you to touch a lady's ass!”

The crowd was cheering her on as she pummeled the man with her oversize handbag.

“Dirty, dirty, dirty bastard!” she shouted, punctuating each word with a whack of her purse.

“Ladies and gentlemen.” It was the voice of the subway conductor. “I'd like to stay here and watch justice be served as much as the rest of you, but I have a schedule to keep. So if you're coming with me, please step back inside the train and stand clear of the closing doors.”

With that, the doors slid shut, and the train lurched forward. Haven scanned the rows of passengers packed onto the plastic benches that lined both sides of the car. Most were reading, some stared into space, and a couple were either napping or recently deceased. One, a pretty Indian girl with long black hair and ruby bindi, was smiling straight at her. To Haven's relief, none of the passengers could have passed for a gray man. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath of stale subway air.

“Hello.”

Haven jumped. The Indian girl had risen from her seat and come over to share Haven's pole. “Remember me?” she asked.

“What?” Haven's dread had returned in full force.

“Do you remember me?” The girl enunciated each word.

“Ummm.” Haven bit her lip and tried to concentrate. The girl's face
was
familiar, but she couldn't quite place her.

“We met at an Indian grocery on Lexington Avenue. You and your brother stopped by one night over a year ago, when there were some men chasing after you.”

A memory flashed through Haven's mind. She was huddled with Beau in a hidden storage space while Adam's men searched the girl's shop. Beau held Haven pressed to his side, and she knew that if the men ever managed to find them, Beau would fight to the death to protect her.

“Of course!” Haven exhaled with relief. “You hid us until they were gone. I always meant to come back and thank you.”

“But you didn't,” the girl noted.

“No,” Haven admitted, taken aback. “I didn't. I'm sorry.”

The girl reached out a dainty hand. “My name is Chandra,” she said.

“Haven Moore.”

The girl nodded as though she already knew Haven's name, and her smug smile suggested she knew much more than that. Chandra was toying with her, though it was hard to tell what her motive might be. Now that Haven was no longer frightened, the games were beginning to piss her off.

“Look, Chandra.” Haven took a step toward the girl, but Chandra held her ground. “This is all just a little
unusual
. What exactly is going on here? Were you with the woman who just helped me?”

“Her name is Cleo. And yes. We belong to the same organization. I've been asked to speak with you on behalf of Phoebe.”

“
Phoebe
?” Haven sputtered. There had been too many surprises in too short a space.

“Some people call her the Pythia. You met her earlier today.”

Haven had just opened her mouth to respond when the train screeched into another station.

“Wait,” Chandra ordered as a small group of European tourists crammed into the car. Haven watched Chandra examine each individual face. A businessman with his eyes glued to a BlackBerry was the last person to board. When he blindly grabbed hold of their pole, Chandra tapped his shoulder. “Don't stop here, big shot. Move it along,” she barked. The man peered down at the pretty girl and shook his head in disbelief. One look at her face, though, and he chose not to argue.

“I know who Phoebe is,” Haven continued once the man had edged further down the car. “What does she want?”

“She wants to help you,” Chandra said. “We all do. We want to help you see the life you need to see.”

“How is
Phoebe
supposed to help me?” Haven asked. “I know she's a fraud. She invents stories to make rich people happy.”

Chandra giggled girlishly. “And who told you that?”

Haven chose not to reply.

“Exactly,” Chandra told her. “Your sources have not been reliable. Phoebe is undercover at the Ouroboros Society. She pretends to be a charlatan, but her gifts are very real.”

“And who are
you
?” Haven demanded. There was something slippery about the girl, and Haven was impatient for her to get to the point.

“I am one of a group of sisters. We call ourselves the Horae. Like you, we have all lived many lives. Unlike you, our lives have been devoted to saving mankind from his influence.”

“His?”

“You call him Adam, but that's not his real name. He has no real name.”

“And how exactly do you save mankind from his influence?”

“Why don't I let Phoebe explain? She has a proposition for you. One that may benefit us all.”

“That sounds great,” said Haven dismissively. “But I'll have to think about it. I didn't come to New York to make new friends. I have things to do while I'm here.”

“We know, and that's part of our plan,” Chandra replied. “You told Phoebe that a friend of yours has vanished. You help us with the one you call Adam, and we promise to help you locate your friend.”

“I don't know. Like I said, I'll have to think about it.”

“You mean you need to discuss the idea with Iain Morrow.”

Spoken at full volume on a crowded subway car, the name was clearly meant to provoke. “Excuse me?” Haven asked, glancing around to make sure no one else had heard.

“Yes, we know about Mr. Morrow. We know he's still alive. And we can help him stay that way. We can even ensure that the two of you never need to hide again. You'll be able to live wherever you like without having to watch over your shoulders for gray men.”

“And how are you going to make that happen?”

“Meet us at 623 Lenox Avenue.” Chandra handed Haven a business card. “This evening at six. Be sure to bring Mr. Morrow. Phoebe will explain everything to you both.”

Haven looked at the card. It was dirty and crumpled, as if it had been picked up off the street. Stamped on the card was the address and a phone number:
534-8987.