All You Desire (31 page)

“Because you found Padma?” Haven wiped her tears on the bedsheet. Forty-eight hours earlier, she would have been thrilled by the news.

“Yeah. I spent the last few days staking out some of the locations she used for interrogations back when she was president. Yesterday afternoon, I caught her coming out of a horrible rat hole on the Lower East Side.”

“And? Did she agree to help you destroy the Society?” Haven asked.

“No, but she's open to talking, as long as there's something in it for her.”

“So you guys haven't actually made any moves yet?” Haven probed.

“What are you getting at, Haven?” Iain asked, suddenly suspicious.

“I've been thinking, Iain. What if the Society
shouldn't
be destroyed?”

Iain watched Haven as if he expected her to start speaking in tongues. “You can't be serious. The Ouroboros Society is rotten to the core.”

“That's what I thought too, but I'm not so convinced anymore.” Haven edged closer to him, hoping her enthusiasm might be contagious. “I've met some people who could turn the OS into the organization Dr. Strickland meant it to be. There's this one guy, Owen Bell—”

“What about Adam?” Iain asked bluntly. “Have you changed your mind about him as well?”

Haven bit her lip, trying to decide whether he could handle the truth.

“I think Adam is different now,” she admitted, “and I don't want to help the Horae lock him away. I'll betray him if it means keeping you and Beau safe. But I'm going to try to find another solution.”

“See?! This is
exactly
what I didn't want to happen,” Iain interrupted her. “This is why I asked for a week.”

“I don't understand.”

“You're in too deep, Haven. It's only been a few days, and Adam's got you just where he wants you.”

Haven bristled. She was tired of being treated like a naive little girl. “Because I think the Society can be salvaged? Is that really so stupid? You're starting to sound like Phoebe. If you'd just let me introduce you to Owen—”

“I don't have time to meet anyone. We need to leave New York before you can get yourself into any more trouble. Mia can keep looking for Beau. She told me she's hacked into all his accounts. It won't be long before—”

Haven didn't hesitate. “No.”

“No?”

“I mean it, Iain. I know you think I'm crazy, but sometimes you're wrong. Remember what happened in Spain when I was the Emir of Cordoba's daughter? Phoebe told me you wouldn't listen to anyone else, and you ended up getting us both killed! Maybe you should try being a little less pigheaded.”

Haven could see from his stunned reaction that Phoebe had been telling the truth. “How did Phoebe hear about Cordoba?” he asked.

“She was there,” Haven sighed, sorry she'd used the knowledge against him. “If you'd just let me explain why I think the OS—”

“Don't waste your time, Haven,” Iain cut her off. “Look, I'll be the first to admit I've made plenty of mistakes, but this is not one of them. If you had any idea what kind of trouble you're in, you'd
run
to the airport. All those people you've met at the Society—they may not be monsters but they're all Adam's pawns. I saw the paparazzi pictures of you with Alex Harbridge and Calum Daniels. You think those two are your friends? Their loyalties lie with the
Society
, Haven. And how do you know the OS should be saved, anyway? You've only been allowed to see a small part of Adam's operations. Have you been invited to any of the secret meetings he holds at that mansion near the Society's headquarters? Have you taken the train up to Halcyon Hall? Have you figured out what's happening to the children Adam's recruited?”

“Actually, I do know a few things about Halcyon Hall,” Haven interjected. “I don't think anyone's harming those kids. I've met a few of them, and they seem perfectly happy to me. Adam is wonderful with them.”

Iain laughed as though the idea were too foolish to merit any other response. “He's
wonderful
, is he? It's taken less than a week for Adam to transform from the devil himself to a friend of all the little children. No wonder you two go around holding hands and kissing. You sound like you're in love with him.”

“That's not fair!” Haven exclaimed, her face burning.

“You're sure? Not even a little?” Iain asked.

“I chose you over him! I've
always
chosen you over him!”

“But you feel something for Adam now, don't you?”

“Yes. I feel
sorry
for him.” The statement was only half true. Haven remembered the kiss. She had felt far more than pity. Now she felt only guilt. She took Iain's hand, hoping to console him. He lifted her fingers into the light.

“Where's the ring I gave you?” he asked.

The ring. She hadn't thought about it in days. “I had to take it off. Adam noticed it. That ring could have gotten us both in big trouble.”

“That wasn't my question. Where's your ring, Haven?”

“It's in my purse.” She jumped off the bed and returned to Iain with one hand rummaging around at the bottom of her handbag.

“Never mind,” Iain muttered.

Haven knew what he was thinking, and she silently cursed herself. “Please don't be mad! I haven't lost it. It's still in there.” She set the bag aside and sat down on his lap. When she pressed her lips to his, Iain turned his head away.

“Will you leave here with me tonight?” he demanded.

“No.”

“Fine.” Iain rose from the bed with Haven in his arms. She thought he might carry her through the door and out of the hotel. Instead he set her right back on the bed and marched across the room.

“Where are you going?” she called.

“To find a way to save you.”

“Iain!”

The door slammed behind him.

When it became clear that Iain wasn't coming back, Haven hurried to the window, hoping for one last glimpse of him. The streets below were deserted, but the park was not. A solitary figure walked the winding paths. The last thing Haven saw before she was blinded by tears was the figure passing from one shadow to the next.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Beatrice gazed down in horror at the empty plaza below her window, where a body lay facedown on the paving stones. She had watched the man stumble and fall. Not a single soul had come to his aid. Everyone in the square had fled the scene like cockroaches scuttling back into the gutters.
They
were the diseased ones, Beatrice thought. Then a figure in black emerged from a side street. Beatrice had sent a servant to summon a priest. But when the man stopped beside the body and glanced up at Beatrice, it was clear he was not the priest she'd requested. He'd hidden his face behind one of the hideous white masks with long, curving beaks. Using the tip of his cane, he roughly prodded the dead man's flank. A horse-drawn cart rumbled into view. Two men climbed down and picked the body off the ground. They swung the corpse back and forth, then tossed it into the back of their cart, on top of a pile of jumbled limbs, heads, and torsos.

 

HAVEN SLURPED BURNT black coffee from a paper cup as she waited on an underground platform at Grand Central Station. The train pulled in at eight thirty, and Haven found herself surrounded by a swarm of grim-faced men and women in black business attire, all arriving from well-heeled suburbs outside the city. Like automatons performing some preprogrammed task, they marched toward the exit, donning their coats without missing a step. Once the train had emptied, Haven boarded, trying not to slip on all the discarded copies of the
Wall Street Journal
that littered the aisle. As far as she could tell, she was the only passenger heading north.

Haven drained the last of her coffee and hoped it would be enough to keep her alert. She had barely slept after Iain left. Every time she closed her eyes, she heard him say,
You're in too deep
. Was she? Haven wondered. Had she really fallen for Adam—been taken in by his lies? Iain seemed to think it was the only explanation for her change of heart. Maybe he was right, but Haven's gut kept insisting that he had to be wrong. She felt something for Adam. And when she let her thoughts wander, they almost always ended up at the scene of their kiss. In Adam's presence, she felt more than mortal. And she was flattered by the lengths to which he'd gone to win her heart. But Adam hadn't bedazzled her. Haven was still capable of thinking clearly.

That was what she would have to prove if she intended to save her relationship. Iain needed to know that Haven's sudden desire to spare the Society had nothing to do with the feelings she felt for the man in charge of it. Haven had been given a glimpse of the wonders the OS might accomplish with people like Owen working behind the scenes. If she could just show Iain, he might understand. And maybe then he'd see that her love for him hadn't dimmed or died—even if her heart had found room for another.

Finally, at three o'clock in the morning, Haven found a way to put her convictions to the test. The Horae claimed terrible things were happening at Halcyon Hall. Iain seemed convinced as well. But it was time for them to stop taking Phoebe at her word. Even if it meant taking her focus off Beau for a day, Haven needed to see the school with her own eyes. What she found might help her decide whom to believe—all the people who said she was a confused little girl, or the voice that was telling her to trust herself.

 

HALCYON HALL SAT on the outskirts of a tiny town on the eastern side of the Hudson River. As she approached the village, Haven could see a rambling stone and wood structure from the window of the taxi that had picked her up at the Poughkeepsie train station. With its fanciful arches, balconies, and turrets, the building resembled a luxurious ski lodge. It wasn't the bleak, gray institution Haven had been anticipating.

“You're
sure
that's Halcyon Hall?” Haven asked.

“Yup,” said the taxi driver.

“Do you know much about it? I hear it's a little . . .
unusual
.”

“It's just a school,” the man said, making it clear that he was in no mood to chat. “Nothing unusual about it far as I know. Must have cost a mint to fix up that building, though. Used to be a hotel. Then a fancy girls' school. But it was empty for ages. Until Halcyon Hall opened up ten years back, people round here thought the place was an eyesore.”

The driver's eyes disappeared from the rearview mirror as he focused on the task in front of him. Another violent storm had swept through the area the previous evening. Tree branches encased in ice drooped across the road, scraping against the taxi's roof. The plows had already been through, piling five feet of snow along either side of the road, but the asphalt was still slick, and turns could be treacherous. Finally, the car slid into the private drive that led to the school, and Haven waited to encounter some evidence of the security Phoebe had described. The cabbie steered through an open gate and past an empty guard-post by the side of the road. Maybe there had once been a security force at Halcyon Hall, but now the only creatures patrolling the grounds seemed to be a pair of large ravens strutting in circles across the pristine snow. When the taxi pulled up to the main building, no one appeared on the steps to order it to move along.

“Would you mind waiting here?” Haven asked the driver, still expecting to be chased off the property at any moment.

“You mind paying?” he responded.

“No.”

“Then I don't mind waiting.” He let his seat drop back, pulled his cap down over his eyes, and drifted off to the lullaby of his ticking meter.

 

THE GRAND RECEPTION hall was warm, almost cozy. Chandeliers hung from the exposed wooden beams that crisscrossed the ceiling. Two fires crackled at either end of the massive room. The leather sofas and lounge chairs stationed throughout the hall looked as though they might once have been filled with happy families on holiday. A framed photo on one of the rustic stone mantels showed groups of little girls in pristine white dresses playing croquet on the school's front lawn.

“May I help you?” A friendly young man with his tie tucked into a sweater-vest stuck his head out of the school's front office.

“Yes,” Haven started to say as she took off her hat.

“Oh, hello, Miss Moore. I almost failed to recognize you.” The man hurried out to greet her.

“Do we know each other?” Haven tried to camouflage her distress with a smile.

“Yes, but I wouldn't expect you to remember me. We met at the Society a while back. I was working as a receptionist at the time.”

“I'm sorry—”

“Don't be! The OS uniforms aren't designed to make us memorable. My name is Albert Sinclaire. I'm the headmaster's assistant.” He held out a hand, and Haven hesitated briefly before taking it.

“It's nice to see you again,” she said, attempting to shrug off her awkwardness as she shook the man's hand.

“So what can I do for you, Miss Moore?”

“I took the train up to visit some friends this afternoon. I've heard so much about the school, I thought I'd drop by and have a look around. See what all the fuss is about. It's a lovely building—and so large! How many students do you have here?”

“Just short of two hundred at the moment,” Albert Sinclaire said proudly. “Although we may be accepting a larger number than usual next fall. The program has been a remarkable success. You must have heard that our first class will be moving on to college this year. All of our graduates have been accepted at Ivy League schools—without any intervention from Society members, I might add.”