The Eternal Ones (33 page)

HAVEN STEPPED INTO a patch of morning sun as she crossed the street. She felt her pale skin start to sizzle before she stepped back into the shadows cast by the buildings of Lexington Avenue. She hurried through two more patches before she suddenly found herself facing a dead end. The avenue no longer stretched out before her. A pair of wrought-iron gates blocked her path. Beyond the fence, Gramercy Park was empty and in bloom. Pink flowers lined the paths like garlands at a wedding. The air bore the scents of freshly cut grass and freesia, and tree branches framed the row of beautiful mansions on the other side of the park. Haven tried to recall the route she’d taken through Midtown. How had she walked so far without noticing?

“Hello, Haven.”

A young man was approaching the gates from inside the park. Tall and lean, he strolled at a confident, leisurely pace, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. Everything he was wearing—from his black T-shirt to his shoes—looked new, never worn. He was very handsome, Haven thought, though it was difficult to see his features clearly beneath the bright morning sun. She might not have recognized him if it hadn’t been for the chunky black glasses that sat on his nose. Haven suspected they were more of a fashion statement than a necessity.

“Hello, Adam,” she replied.

He was now standing less than two feet away, with only a row of iron bars between them. “How lucky to run into you. I was just taking my morning constitutional. Would you like to get that cup of coffee we spoke about?”

Haven knew she should turn around and leave. She’d promised Iain she’d never return to the Ouroboros Society. And after everything she’d learned, she couldn’t understand what might have drawn her back to Gramercy Park. Had some part of herself wanted to return? “I’m not sure I have time,” she told Adam. “I’ll need to head back soon.”

“What’s the rush?” Adam’s resonant voice was hard to resist. “Wouldn’t you like to take a quick stroll through the park? It’s lovely this time of year, and I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again.”

It was flattering to be admired by someone so sure of himself. With his good looks and confidence, Adam could have had anyone. Haven was curious to know why he seemed to have settled on her. So when Adam unlocked the gate, she took a quick look behind her and stepped inside. There was no harm in joining him for a walk, she thought.

“How have you been?” he asked as they ambled side by side. A breeze whipped around them, blending the park’s aromas with less pleasant odors from outside the gates. Once or twice Haven caught a whiff of something old and musty—like a mausoleum opened for the first time in a century. “Have you enjoyed your time in New York so far?”

“It’s been a little crazy,” Haven confided, glancing up at her companion. His long pale face with its prominent cheekbones and strong jaw seemed too perfectly formed to be real.

“I can only imagine,” Adam said. “Have you had a chance to think about joining the Ouroboros Society?”

“Yes,” Haven told him. “I don’t think it’s for me.”

“That’s a shame.” Though he seemed to have anticipated her answer, Haven could tell that he wasn’t prepared to accept it. “I hope your conversation with Padma hasn’t turned you against the Society. She may have gone a little too far, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t want you to go back to Tennessee with the wrong ideas about us.”

Haven stopped in the shadow of a spruce tree. The wind sent her curls flying, and she had to hold her hair back out of her eyes. She looked for the gate, but it was no longer visible. The little park seemed to have swallowed them. “I’m sorry, Adam, but who
are
you?” she asked. “What exactly do you do at the OS?”

“I make sure everything runs properly.” He wasn’t accustomed to answering questions. Haven could tell he was humoring her.

“But Padma is president. And aren’t you a little young to be running anything? What are you—twenty-two?”

Adam looked amused. “I’m older than I look. Padma is the public face of the Society. She oversees the day-to-day affairs. That’s all. We’re not sure how long we’ll allow her to hold that position.”

“We?” Haven asked. “Who are ‘we’?”

“I can’t give you names. But think of the most powerful businessman in America today. Or the best-known actress. Or the most successful artist. The OS has never made its membership rolls public, so few people realize just how influential we really are.”

“You forgot to mention the drug dealers and prostitutes.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your accounting system seems to have a few flaws. I’ve heard that when members get into debt they have to sell their souls—or their bodies—to get out again.”

Adam Rosier smiled once more, this time unconvincingly. “May I ask how you know about these ‘flaws’ in our system?”

“Does it matter?” Haven asked.

“Oh, I would say it matters a great deal to me,” Adam replied, his cool never cracking. “Our members are bound by a strict confidentiality agreement. No one is allowed to speak of our system. The fact that you know about it represents a serious security breach. Who told you?”

“No one
told
me. I remembered the system from my last life,” Haven lied.

Rosier removed his glasses. For a moment his eyes seemed as flat and lusterless as pebbles. “I see where you’re going, Haven. There have always been members who choose to misuse the OS. But the Society wasn’t set up to act as anyone’s nanny. Until now we have always maintained that what members did with their accounts was their own business. That may have to change. Padma appears to be letting the corruption get out of control. We can’t allow the abuses to prevent people like you from joining.”

“Why do you care if I join?” Haven asked. “I’m nobody.”

Adam looked appalled by the suggestion. “That’s not true, Haven. You have remarkable gifts—talents you’ve never been able to use properly. I’ve seen what you can do. There’s no doubt in my mind that with our help, you could become one of the most famous designers in the world.”

“How do you know about my ‘gifts’?”

“To tell you the truth, I’ve known you for quite some time,” Adam confessed, looking pleased that the truth was finallly out. “In fact I was here in 1925 when you first joined the Society. We were friends.”

“We were?” Haven searched her few memories for anyone who might have fit the bill.

“I’m not surprised you don’t remember me. I’ve always been rather forgettable,” Adam explained with a touch of sadness in his voice. “But I’m afraid this all brings up a slightly unsavory subject that I must discuss with you.”

“Ethan Evans?”

“Yes,” Adam said. It was impossible to surprise him. “You see, I knew you both back then. Ethan was very charming and highly intelligent. But never once did I detect any evidence of a conscience within him. He used people for his own pleasure—without any regard for their feelings or their safety.

“No one could ever connect Dr. Strickland’s death to Ethan, but I am not the only person who believes Ethan was responsible. He was very dangerous back then, Haven. And he’s just as dangerous today. The essence of a person doesn’t change from one life to the next. If anything, some people get worse with time.”

Rosier paused before deciding to continue. “I’ll be honest with you, Haven. I know that Ethan has returned to earth. I know who he is in this life.”

“Who?” Haven challenged him.

“Iain Morrow.”

Haven gasped. She’d been sure he was bluffing. “How do you—”

“A picture of the two of you together was recently brought to my attention. I’m well aware of the connection you possess. I know you’re drawn to him. But I feel I must warn you, Haven. You’re being drawn to the wrong person. He’s just as dangerous for you as he is for everyone else.
He
set the fire that killed Constance. And he’ll kill you too if you give him the chance.”

“I don’t believe it,” Haven said.

Adam gazed down at her as though she were something he cherished and hated to hurt. “Will you believe me when he’s in jail?” he asked.

“Jail?” Haven almost choked on the word.

“A woman in Los Angeles stepped forward yesterday. She witnessed Iain Morrow and Jeremy Johns fighting on the night Jeremy disappeared. She claims she saw Iain knock Jeremy down, and she didn’t see Jeremy get up again.”

“The woman’s lying. Jeremy died of a drug overdose.”

“No, Haven. The autopsy results came in yesterday, too. He died of blunt-force trauma. Someone hit him in the head with a rock.”

“How do you know all of this?”

“I told you. The Society has very powerful connections. We’re always called first whenever there’s news about any of our members.”

Haven was too stunned to speak. She slumped down onto a park bench and stared off into the distance. A tempest was building inside of her. Disappointment and rage were combining to form a terrible force that Haven feared she couldn’t control.

“You’re upset,” Rosier observed as he sat down beside her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be the one to tell you.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I care. Much more than you realize. You deserve better, and I don’t want to see anything happen to you. It’s time you were allowed to live long enough to reach your potential. I can help make that happen if you’ll let me.”

“How? How can you help me?” Haven asked, though she already suspected there were few limits to what Adam could do. Had she somehow picked the wrong man to love?

“The Ouroboros Society was designed for people with gifts like yours,” Adam replied. Haven had been searching for solace. Instead she was getting a sales pitch. “You could be rich and famous, with the most interesting and successful people on the planet as your friends.”

“As long as my account balance stays above fifteen points,” Haven muttered. She wasn’t interested in fame or fortune.

Adam frowned. “We can fix the problems with the accounting system. You needn’t worry about that anyway. Only the lowest orders of the Society are forced to comply.”

“It’s a tempting offer, Adam, but no thanks.”

Rosier refused to give in. “Our members aren’t
all
bad, Haven. Why don’t you come to the little party we’re having tomorrow evening? You can meet some of the others. You might be surprised to learn what kind of company we keep at the OS.”

“Let me think about it,” Haven said without enthusiasm. She was eager to bring the conversation to a close. “I’m sorry, Adam, but I’m not in the mood to talk anymore. Do you mind if I just sit here alone for a while?”

Adam hesitated before he rose from the bench. “Of course not,” he said. “But promise me one thing. If you need help for any reason, you’ll come find me. I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Thanks,” Haven said, wishing he’d leave.

“And I hope you’ll come to the party tomorrow,” Adam added.

“We’ll see,” Haven told him.

She closed her eyes and felt the rage seething inside of her. She kept it pent up, waiting to hear the sound of Adam’s footsteps heading toward the park’s gates. He lingered too long, and Haven could feel his steady gaze on her face. When at last he was finally gone, she opened her eyes and discovered she was still being observed.

There was a man standing just outside the northern gate of Gramercy Park, his face half hidden behind sunglasses. His outfit—navy sweat-pants, polo shirt, New Balance sneakers—was that of a gray man. He was staring straight at Haven when his mouth began to move, as if he were talking to himself. Haven saw a flash of light bounce off a gadget in the man’s right ear, and she realized he was wearing a headset.

Remembering Leah’s warning, Haven moved quickly. She crossed the park and left through the southern gate. She walked briskly down Irving Place to Nineteenth Street and ducked around a corner. Standing with her back to the rough brick wall of an apartment building, she took a compact out of her purse and used its mirror to peer back toward Gramercy Park. She waited for two long minutes, but the man didn’t appear. When Haven snapped her compact closed, she saw the patrons of an outdoor café across the street watching her. A few began to snicker as she bolted for Park Avenue South.

It was lunchtime, and all the taxis that passed were already filled. Joining the stream of people heading north on the avenue, Haven studied the reflection in every shop window she passed, searching the crowd behind her for signs of the man with the headset. Near the corner of Twenty-fourth Street she slowed to take advantage of a row of windows that belonged to a bank branch. Inside, a few patrons leaned over a long table that stood against the glass. Most were endorsing checks or filling out deposit forms. But one of them was watching the street. His eyes met Haven’s for the briefest moment. Later, the only thing that Haven would recall about him was the headset he’d been wearing.

The traffic light turned green just as Haven began to weave around idling cars, through the traffic, frantically trying to reach the opposite side of the street. Stranded on the avenue’s landscaped median, ankle-deep in a juniper shrub, she kept her eyes trained on the bank, watching to see when the man made his exit. The white glare of the sun on its windows burned dark spots on her eyes, and the blur of cars whizzing by less than two feet away left her dizzy and nauseous. When the light turned red again, Haven hopped off the median and sprinted west.

A little more than a block away, she found herself inside flat, grassy Madison Square Park, which offered few places to hide. When Haven stopped to catch her breath, she realized just how exposed she was. At that time of the afternoon, even the benches were empty. Most of the park’s visitors were gathered at the dog run, where two German shepherds were engaged in a vicious brawl.

A man in shorts and a polo shirt jogged past her. He stopped at a fountain and propped a foot up on the edge. When he bent down to tighten the laces, Haven recognized his gray New Balance sneakers and saw the headset in his ear. It was the man from Gramercy Park, and he was waiting for her to make her next move. Haven spun around and raced in the direction from which she’d come, barely avoiding a stream of taxis speeding up Madison Avenue. She followed a woman in a business suit through the doors of an office building and found herself inside a magnificent lobby the size of a train station, its vaulted ceiling trimmed with glimmering gold. She ran all the way across the block-long lobby, exiting through a revolving door that deposited her on Park Avenue South. There she turned right and ducked into a drugstore on the corner of Twenty-third and Park. Peeking over one of the shelves, she saw the jogger race past, heading south. Finally safe, she slumped down on the floor of the shampoo aisle and tried not to vomit.