Blood Secrets (35 page)

Two bound ten-thousand-dollar bricks of cash peeked out from the bag’s opening, along with a handwritten note.

With a trembling hand, she picked up the note and read:

Tasha stared at the money, her thoughts racing. If she accepted it, she could afford to hire a lawyer to fight Caleb, and she
might
even stand a chance of winning. It meant she could be the mother she wanted to be to Maya—to be the mother
she
never had.

It also meant that she was someone else’s fucking pawn and nothing would change it.

She shoved the note and money into the bag and tucked it into her box of personal effects. If it kept her from losing her daughter, then she would play the part of a pawn.

Alex peered through the fish-eyed peephole in the front door and saw Director Baudelaire’s distorted face. She swiped at the tears lingering on her cheeks, drew a deep breath in a futile attempt to calm her suddenly racing pulse, and opened the door.

The smile that had started on his face vanished when he saw her. “You’ve been crying. What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. I was—” Her words caught in her throat. “Is there something you wanted, Director?”

His spine stiffened at the use of his formal title. “I wanted to see you—to see if you needed anything.”

Alex shook her head, avoided looking at him, and picked at a spot of peeling paint on the doorjamb.

“Right,” he whispered, shuffling his feet. “Well, if there
is
anything I can do, let me know.” He raked a hand through his hair and backed away. “I should probably go.”

As he turned, sunlight flashed off the badge at his hip, bringing with it a half-formed memory: a glittering pink-diamond ring on a silver chain. Loss washed over her and fresh tears followed the tracks left by their kin.

Strong arms swept her into an embrace. “I’m here, baby,” he whispered. A scent of sandalwood and cinnamon enveloped her. “I’m here.”

Alex clung to a man she had no memory of, and for the first time since she’d learned of the Tribunal’s inquiry or heard the name Peter Strahan, she felt completely safe.

She hoped the feeling would last.

PETER STOOD BEFORE THE DOOR LEADING TO THE HALL
of Records. Varik Baudelaire had no idea what kind of monster he’d unleashed when he killed Peter.

He grinned. He would make Baudelaire pay for what he’d done, and he would pay dearly.

He turned the knob to open the door but it didn’t move. Confused, he tried turning it the other way but met with the same result. “What the fuck is going on here?”

“Hello, Peter.”

He whirled around to find Bernard Sabian standing a few yards away with his hands in the pockets of his dark suit. “What did you do, old man?”

“Having trouble with the door?”

Peter pounded on the door. “What did you do!”

Bernard shrugged. “I didn’t do anything. When you died—”

“I was murdered, old man! Don’t play games with me!”

“Fair enough. When Varik rightly killed your pathetic ass,” Bernard sneered, “all that stored soul energy you used to boost your abilities went
poof
.”

Cold realization began to sink into Peter’s mind.

“The magic you used to create all those dolls, so long as they remained intact, required a beating heart to contain them, and yours doesn’t anymore.”

A wind kicked up, whipping around them and carrying the wail of a thousand souls.

Peter scanned the horizon for its source until he spotted the dark roiling mass heading toward them.

“And here they come now,” Bernard said. “I’d start running if I were you.”

Peter spun and fled, running across the field as fast as his legs would carry him.

The roiling mass gained on him. The shrieks and screams of all the souls he’d trapped spurred his flight.

The mass overtook him and he felt hands grabbing at him. He cried for them to stop, begged them to release him.

The once-trapped souls lifted him from the ground, tossed him about, ripping and tearing his flesh from the bone, and Peter knew his screams would continue as they tormented him.

Forever.