SEDUCTIVE SUPERNATURALS: 12 Tales of Shapeshifters, Vampires & Sexy Spirits (114 page)

I had no idea of the reason he was in this room with me, and my adrenaline sped up as he spoke in a voice that was somehow familiar, even though I couldn’t place it.

“That’s your name. Lilly. Do you…remember?”

I shook my head, and the man peered at the wood floor, his jaw tight, his hands in fists. As I continued to eye him, he glanced back up, and there was such a devastating slant to his expression that I pulled the bed sheet round me.

Who
was
he?

There was a twitch against my legs, below the sheet, and suddenly I…

I knew that this man wasn’t here to hurt me—that I could completely trust him. I couldn’t say how, but there it was.

As I calmed myself, I looked down, finding myself dressed in a long T-shirt. Another twitchy sensation needled my legs, and I yanked the sheet away to find…

Boots? Was that what these were?

Why would I be starkers in bed but for a T-shirt and weird boots?

The man went to a paint-faded, beautifully worked dresser that looked as if it belonged in a fancy house in the swamplands, if such a house existed, and he picked up a pile of clothing, setting it on the bed.

“I washed them for you,” he said in a scratchy tone. “After yesterday, they needed it.”

“What happened yesterday?” I asked.

I faintly caught his pained look as he turned away. The word “tormented” ripped through me, although I had no explanation for it. Frigging hell, I had no explanation for anything.

What was wrong with me? And who was
me
besides “Lilly”?

He went back to the dresser, where a laptop computer had also been waiting, then brought it to me.

“Amari gave me a flash drive with your old files on it,” he said. “You didn’t get to make any new ones yesterday to update, so I did some filming today. You should watch this one first, though, since it gives you answers to the basics. I already accessed it for you, knowing you were gonna wake up soon.”

“Who is Amari?” However, I knew very well what a flash drive was. Curious.

“She’s your friend, just as I’m your friend, Lilly. You’ll want to watch those videos as soon as you can. They’ll give you answers.”

He woke up the computer, and I saw an arrow in the middle of the screen. I knew I should press Play, but before I could do so, I asked the man, “Who are
you?
”

He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, his expression was blank, as if he had put all his energy into feeling nothing. As if he had lost something and had just now accepted he would never have it returned.

“Philippe,” he said. “I’m Philippe Angier.”

Pulses hacked through me as if trying to bring down a door that would allow me to walk into another place altogether.

Still, that door remained closed as I attempted to unravel everything.

Philippe sat in a chair by the bed, hunched over, leaning his arms on his legs and looking down, silent.

I pressed Play, and on the computer screen, a girl—was it I?—greeted me. “Delighted to see you again, Lilly,” she said. “I hope you enjoyed a refreshing sleep, luv…”

* * *

I finished the first file, in which I explained to myself who I was as well as the reasons for my memory loss. All the while, my boots had been attempting to supplement the video with flashes of essential memory, but there were still many blank spaces left inside me. Even worse, Philippe had been staring at the floor, brooding, unless he had something to add to the video.

Was that because of what the Lilly on the video had told me about how he had betrayed me a couple months ago, turning his revolver on me and nearly taking me in for Meratoliage bounty? But he had redeemed himself during that adventure, so that couldn’t have been it. I even understood his reasoning there.

A pit formed in my stomach as I thought of other explanations. Was he detaching himself because I lost my memory every day? Did
that
explain the hint of loss I had seen in his eyes earlier, or was there something deeper I didn’t comprehend?

There was also another possibility… Did he always act like this with me because he had seen what I looked like without my boots—burnt and grotesque?

Shame infused me at the mere thought because, at some point, this man had seen me at my worst, and that made me feel stripped in his presence. I wished I knew for certain.

As I sat there, my boots prodded me with information:
Philippe with me in the park, taking touch readings from an oak; Philippe consulting Tarot cards about Etienne; Philippe rushing me away from the cemetery as I bled from my arm…

Was that all? He
was
merely a partner?

If only my boots considered my
relationship
with him essential…but I had already learned that they had been instructed by Amari and her white magic to conserve energy, sending me only the memories that might help keep me—and them—alive and healthy. And that was during the best of times. Philippe had told me they were still recovering from yesterday, so they were being extra stingy with the memories. Evidently, they considered my connection with Philippe secondary to healing and infusing me with new life. Or perhaps there was nothing
to
my relationship with him.

As if grumbling and giving in, the vines shot me one more thing:
Philippe’s lips on mine
.

Surprised that they had given me this image, I glanced at him, and the vines gave a hop. It even seemed as if they were mentally reaching through me to strangle my heart.

He stood from his chair, and when he meandered to the bed, my pulse joggled. He leaned over me to tap a button on the keyboard to access a different video, and I smelled his skin. Cedar, fresh and heady, and my chest wrapped into itself.

Backing away from the bed, he said, “I made this next video while you were sleeping today. It’s information about a murder case we’ve been looking into with Amari’s blessings. You should really watch it now.”

I looked into his eyes, trying to see if there was anything there that would tell me…well, everything else the boots were conserving. But he seemed guarded, as if he had wounds so deep they were taking some time to heal. There was a helplessness there, as well, and that didn’t seem right for a man like Philippe Angier, who otherwise gave the impression of utter strength and capability.

Loss
, I thought randomly.
His distance has something to do with him losing…

“Thank you,” I said, not knowing what else to tell him.

He gestured toward the door. “You hungry?”

Without even thinking about it, I nodded. “Breakfast would be brilliant.”

He smiled wistfully, as if responding to my verve, but the emotion disappeared. “Hope you like omelets, even at night. But I suppose it’s breakfast time for you at least.”

“I do like them.”

If he thought it odd that I could remember this detail about myself and not much else, he didn’t comment. In fact, there were many bizarre tidbits clacking through my head: the knowledge that I liked wearing singlets, just like the one still waiting on the bed along with a pair of cutoff jeans shorts; that I knew how to speak with a British accent—and I knew I
was
British; that I knew what a TV and iPod were. Basics, yet nothing that would help me solve myself.

Philippe exited the room, his shoulders stiff, as if he were carrying loads and loads of baggage on them. I paused before accessing this file.

It was as if my heart was expanding in me, reaching for him, and I sighed. And when Philippe himself appeared on the computer screen, I was only slightly appeased. He was sitting in what I guessed to be his front room, and I reckoned that was because I had been out like a shattered light in this bedroom today and he hadn’t wanted to disturb me.

“Hey,
cher
…Lilly,” he said on the screen. A melancholy smile lit over him, again, as if he didn’t know how to talk with me. “I’m here to tell you about last night…” His expression only darkened before he leaned forward on his sofa. “I should stick to the easy stuff first, though.”

It seemed as if he allowed one last anguished thought to claw through him before he continued. “Last night, we both set out for City Park, because I had a vision about two murders…”

By the time Computer Philippe had told me about Etienne, the murders, and this monster’s sorrowful history, I was torn. My boots had been peppering me with lightening-fast memories about the creature, and my sympathies automatically—and oddly—stretched out to him, but there was something inside me that craved a reckoning, too. The boots helped me to picture his two victims, Matt and Michelle, a sword through one, the other’s neck broken. Anger flooded me, and I had a twitch that some of it had to do with redeeming myself for being a Meratoliage—for being the type of person who had once committed similar sins.

My boots sent me a flash not unlike the ones it had been feeding me during the first basic video.
Red eyes…shadows…burns and screams and such agony…

I forcefully pushed the memory aside and concentrated on this video until it ended. My boots were keeping me on my toes for the Meratoliages during this video, but I knew that my family wasn’t as important as Etienne if he had managed to stay alive after his car accident. I had to be ready for him, even if my nerves were quivering.

My boots zapped me like a stern professor smacking a student with a ruler. But with that zap, I was able to push aside my fear, because now I felt how satisfied I had been when Philippe and I had nearly triumphed over Etienne in the cemetery…

Before I went on to another video about my experiences with the dragon, I changed into the clothing Philippe had left for me. When he entered the room with an omelet, it smelled so delish that I plopped back on the bed, my stomach rumbling.

I was certain that food trumped dragons every time.

“You got through the Etienne file?” Philippe asked, his voice flat.

“Yes.” I frowned as I tried to decipher him once again.

He turned away, and I hoped he wasn’t about to return to the kitchen. There was a pull between us, heavy and undeniable.

When he stayed put, I smiled.

“I didn’t have time to record another file for today,” he said, “so I’ll just catch you up on current events.”

“Excellent.” Because having him here surely was that.

He glanced at me as if he truly wished to ask me other questions, deeper questions. Or perhaps it was merely my hopes.

“While you were sleepin’,” he said, “I went to the cops about my visions of Etienne.”

So it
was
back to business. Fair enough. Perhaps the snoggy stuff would come later?

“On the computer, you had mentioned wanting to pay them a visit,” I said. “Did you find out if they were they able to identify you…us…on any cameras or from eyewitnesses at City Park or the cemetery?”

“They barely paid any attention to me at the station. They blew off my psychic nonsense with a polite ‘Thanks for comin’ in’ and acted like they had a handle on the case. But when I shook the detective’s hand, I saw that she had no suspects or leads in mind.”

“They should’ve listened to you, even if they think you’re barmy, accusing a shapeshifter of the crime.”

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged. “When I mentioned that the killer was a little out of the ordinary, that was the beginning of the end. The sad thing is that Matt and Michelle aren’t going to get their due unless…”

“Unless Etienne is already dead? Did you have any visions about that?”

He shook his head, his eyes as gray as granite.

My boots shot me another nonessential flash of memory.
Loss…helpless in the face of visions…never able to act quickly enough…

Now I understood the reason he seemed tortured. Even if his visions were powerful, he was powerless to do anything about them at times.

Was he afraid he was losing me every time I woke up without a memory? Was that the reason for his broodiness?

Did I matter that much?

I yearned to stand from the bed and go to him, resting a hand on his arm. What would I feel if I touched him? Would it be a million times more electric than the warm, mysterious hum surrounding my heart now?

He nodded toward my plate. “Eat up,
cher
. Those eggs won’t disappear themselves.”

I laughed, and that pulled a smile from him. Our gazes connected, sparked, and he tensed again.

Back to business? Perhaps he was more comfortable with that. Perhaps he was quite the straight-laced psychic-detective who wanted to close this case and he regretted kissing me. That would explain his uptightness.

“I should also add,” he said, “that today, after I grabbed a nap, I managed to track down the security guard who was on property at City Park when Matt and Michelle were murdered. He seemed relieved that I was open to hearing about this disappearing ‘phantom’ he saw. Apparently, I’m the only one who seemed interested in his story.”

I knew Etienne was no phantom. “So it appears we’re members of an exclusive club—the Know Betters.”

An awkward pause consumed the air, and I took a bite of the omelet, which had cheese and vegetables in it. I smiled at him again, but he was back to watching me with that intense, disturbed gaze.

I laid down my fork. “If Etienne
is
dead, does that mean you’re going to take me back to Amari’s now? Is this over?”

This
. I wasn’t only talking about the case we had been working. I was making my way to asking him why he was so forlorn, but even if I was supposed to be a tough girl with enough muscle memory to send a whirlwind kick to a Meratoliage’s face, I was afraid of the answer.

Some hard-arse
I
was.

Philippe exhaled. “Maybe it’s time you had a look at another file I made today. I haven’t brought it up before now because I didn’t want to be an impatient asshole and make you uncomfortable, and I was waiting to see if you remembered, but…you haven’t.”

Why was I getting the feeling this video had nothing to do with a duelist in City Park or the dragon I used to defend as a Meratoliage?

My boots came fully awake, reluctantly blasting an image into me.