Page 7

Calisto

There was nowhere to go, the footsteps and sweeping beam of light growing ever closer. I had a couple of minutes at most before discovery.

“This is bad,” Baxter said next to me. “Really bad.”

I made a mental note that if, by some miracle, I got out of this unscathed to have a word with Baxter about how stating the obvious helped no one in times of peril. I knew it was bad. I didn’t need him or anyone else telling me that.

“Mr. Dominguez? Have you considered that I’ll look more kindly on you if you give yourself up?”

I had considered that. Considered it. Been tempted. Decided against it. If they wanted me to go with them, they’d have to drag me out of here. At least that way, I could fool myself into thinking I had a spine. Although, I recognized the irony of that as I cowered behind a statue.

Something made me look left. A sound or a movement. Whatever it was, I turned in time to see the wall open up. There was a split second where that seemed normal in the grand scheme of everything else crazy going on. And then my brain caught up.

The damn wall had opened up!

A tall, blond man stood in the opening. One dressed in an immaculate gray suit, his finger pressed to his lips to urge me to be quiet. Like I needed to be told that. When all I did was stare, he beckoned me with his free hand. My gaze swung back to the torch beam only a few meters away. Hang around and wait to be delivered into O’Reilly’s custody? Or accept an invitation into a wall from a complete stranger? It was a bizarre choice, but an obvious one, and I was already crawling in the stranger’s direction.

“He’s there!” someone shouted as I left the cover of the statue. “I see him,” someone else shouted. Three out of four torch beams swung my way, lighting me up like a Christmas tree. But I was already taking the stranger’s hand, his fingers closing around mine to tug me through the wall. No sooner had I passed through the gap than it clicked shut behind us, Baxter appearing through it a few seconds later.

Into Narnia, it was then.

The man kept hold of my hand and tugged me down a flight of stairs at pace, my cramping muscles protesting after so long spent crouching. “They won’t get through the wall,” he said. “Not unless they have something to break it down with. But it won’t take them long to work out that short of having a helicopter on the roof, there’s only one direction to go.”

“You mean you didn’t bring one?” I asked.

I expected him to laugh, my comment meant to lighten the mood. He didn’t, his brow furrowing instead. “I never thought of it. It would have meant having a helicopter pilot on stand by. Either that or learning to fly one myself. And I don’t know what the regulations are in London about private helicopters. I should have researched it.”

“Who is this guy?” Baxter asked.

In the heat of the moment, I almost forgot that as far as anyone else was concerned, he wasn’t there and answered. I bit the words back just as we ran out of stairs and arrived in a vast space. “Where are we?”

“The basement,” the stranger answered.

“I didn’t know this place had a basement.”

“You weren’t supposed to. Which makes it a perfect escape route.”

Apparently so, the man’s grip tightening like he thought I might choose to stay rather than continue. He pulled me through the space and over to a door, his pace not slowing one iota. More stairs after the door, these going up rather than down. And then we were outside, the night air cold enough to cool the sweat on my brow. He hustled me over to a car and ushered me into the passenger seat, a moment of clarity striking as I realized it was a Porsche. “You’re Asher. Griffin talked about this car.”

That was an understatement. Griffin hadn’t so much as talked about it as spent a ridiculous amount of time ranting about how someone who worked as a personal assistant could afford one. According to John’s recent conversation with this man, when he’d appointed himself the spokesperson of our little collective, Asher had a rich family. Which… didn’t explain why he was working as a personal assistant if he didn’t need to. Unless it was like charity work and he did it for something to do. Strange choice, though, when there were worthy causes out there he’d be better donating his time to.

“Guilty,” Asher said.

In two minds over what he was supposed to do, Baxter hovered outside the car. “Don’t leave me,” I urged.

Asher flicked a look my way. “I’m not leaving you.”

Despite the comment not being intended for him, I found it strangely comforting. Baxter materialized in the back seat with not a moment to spare as Asher accelerated away from the PPB building with a squeal of tires worthy of any TV show police chase. Speaking of being chased… I turned in my seat to scan the entrance of the PPB building. “There’s no one there,” I said.

Asher nodded. “Fasten your seatbelt.”

I did, my fingers steadier than I might have expected, with so much adrenaline pumping through my system. It had been quite the night, and it wasn’t over yet. I studied Asher as he drove, taking in his platinum blond hair, strong jaw, and upright posture. I’d assumed John was exaggerating when he’d described Asher as looking as if he’d strolled off a catwalk, the description at odds with the other far more derogatory things he’d had to say about him. But he really was a striking man. And then there was the other stuff I’d discovered about him recently. “You can see the future.”

A muscle ticking in Asher’s cheek said he didn’t much like my statement. Or perhaps it was the person saying it he didn’t like. After all, there was the other mystery about Asher to consider, Griffin constantly harping on about it like a dog with a juicy bone. “Why have we never met before?”

Either Asher had vowed to hide his reaction better, or the question didn’t bother him as much as discussing his precognitive abilities did. “We’ve spoken on the phone.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the same.”

“We’ll talk when we get to where we’re going. I appreciate you’re annoyed with me.”

I frowned at the strange wording. He’d just snatched me from O’Reilly’s clutches, presumably by using his ability to see the future. Just as he’d done when he’d saved Ben’s life by telling Griffin where to go. If it wasn’t for him, who knew where I’d be now? I’d lay odds it would be somewhere far less pleasant than the passenger seat of an expensive car. So, I felt anything but annoyed. Tired. Confused. Fearful about what the future might bring with O’Reilly keen to make my acquaintance. But not annoyed. “Where are you taking me?”

“My house.”

“Right.” I sat back in the seat, the leather molding itself to my body in a way that only a ridiculously expensive car could. “This is a nice car.”

“Thank you.”

There was no more conversation for the rest of the journey, even Baxter sitting quietly, his expression pensive. I took in my surroundings as Asher eased the powerful car through an electronic gate, which automatically closed in our wake.

High walls. Cameras mounted at various vantage points to give a view from every angle. Lights triggered by motion as I climbed out of the car. It was clear Asher took security precautions as seriously as Cade did. Although, I’d just experienced firsthand how easily someone determined enough could overcome them, and O’Reilly had seemed pretty damn determined.

“How did she do it?” I asked as I followed Asher over to the front door while Baxter checked out every nook and cranny of the outdoor space.

Asher pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door. Loud beeping started up as soon as the door swung open, and he hurried over to an alarm keypad to type in the code. “How did she do what?” Alarm now silenced, he flicked a switch, the hallway lighting up to reveal its neutral décor. Cream walls. Gray carpet with a deep pile. Ornate brass mirror that I quickly averted my gaze from when it showed my somewhat drawn complexion staring back at me.

“How did O’Reilly access the PPB building?”

Asher pointed to my feet. “Shoes please.”

“Right.” I toed them off as he removed his, following his lead in leaving them by the door. Hopefully, danger wouldn’t follow us here or we’d be fleeing barefoot into the night, O’Reilly unlikely to give us a head start while we put our shoes back on.

Asher led me into a kitchen, and I took a quick inventory. Huge breakfast bar with a thick marble top. Wall to ceiling black shelves housing every type of drinking glass you could conceivably think of. Large American style fridge with built in ice maker. Polished marble floor that somehow managed not to be slippery, even though I only wore socks. Coffee maker that looked far too complicated to use without detailed instructions, and even then I’d be wary.

There were other gadgets, as well. Some I could put a name to, and others I didn’t have the faintest clue what they were, like Asher had gone into a deluxe kitchen store and requested one of each of whatever they had. Which was probably exactly what had happened. He even had a pancake maker. Now I was no expert at cooking, but I couldn’t see how making them in a pan was such a complex process that anyone would decide they needed a machine for it instead.

Baxter, apparently done with checking the outside of the building, appeared at my shoulder to let out a low whistle. Yeah… I was right there with him. This house screamed money, and I’d only seen the hallway and the kitchen. I dreaded to think what might lie in wait behind closed doors. A pool? A jacuzzi? Four-poster beds? A genuine Van Gogh painting?

Asher padded across the room to pick up the kettle—large and shiny, of course—and carried it over to the sink to fill it. The suit, in combination with the socked feet, seemed all kinds of wrong. With his back still to me, he pulled two mugs out of a cupboard. “It’s possible to do anything if you plan enough it and have the right contacts.”

“What?” I realized too late Asher was answering my question about O’Reilly.

“O’Reilly. She’s a woman used to getting what she wants. And if people don’t fall in line, she’s happy to exert pressure to bring them round to her way of thinking. I’m sure John has spoken of her tactics.”

“Yeah.” He had. More than once. I could hardly blame him for harping on about it. I wasn’t sure I’d let it drop if I’d had a gun pointed at my head, either. If it hadn’t been for Asher’s timely intervention, I might have found out what that was like.

“Why didn’t they just come to my flat?”

Asher turned and propped himself against the counter with his arms crossed to contemplate my question. “Too many people around, possibly. Or maybe she likes a challenge. Perhaps she intended it as a message that nowhere is safe.

“Including this place?”

Asher’s pause before answering was a beat too long for my liking. “We’ll be fine for tonight.”

“Just for tonight?”

“It’s best to take things one day at a time.”

I laughed. “Says the person who can see the future. Surely that’s the opposite of taking things one day at a time.”

“Perhaps. But it’s not something I have control over.”

“No?”

He shook his head. “You’re luckier than most in the PPB. Have you ever considered that?”

“How so?”

“I can’t switch it off. The psychics, from what I understand of their abilities, can’t either. You, John, and Griffin, could easily have ignored what you were capable of and chosen not to bring people back from the dead. I’m sure there are necromancers out there leading a normal life.”

My gaze strayed to where Baxter was peering closely at a gadget with a frown on his face. I assumed he was trying to work out what it was. I would have had a hard time ignoring his presence in my life, but I took Asher’s point that, for most necromancers, that would be possible. Unfortunately, I wasn’t most necromancers. I was something different.

Asher turned his head, and I quickly tore my gaze away from the back of Baxter’s head and forced a smile. “Were you making a cup of tea? I wouldn’t say no.”

“Herbal tea,” Asher said. “I don’t have caffeine in the house.”

Baxter whipped round and stared at Asher with an expression that wouldn’t have been out of place if Asher had just announced he was an alien from the planet Zog. “Wow!” he said. “Gorgeous, but weird.” He tipped his head to one side and looked thoughtful. “Rich, though.” He smirked and did a see-sawing motion with his hands. “There are definitely more pros than cons. I guess you could smuggle caffeine tablets in with you when you visit for a night of carnal pleasure.”

He let his gaze drift slowly over Asher’s body. Given the amount of blonds—John included—that Baxter had eyed up over the years, I assumed Asher was his type. Was he mine? “What do you think he’s like in bed?” Baxter asked.

If I’d been able to answer, I would have said something along the lines of it not being any of my business and speculation being pointless when I’d only met Asher an hour ago. “Herbal tea would be lovely,” I said. “I’ve probably had enough stimulation tonight to last a lifetime.”

Asher gave a little laugh and returned to making the tea. After a minute, he passed over a steaming mug of something that smelled fruity. I placed it next to me on the breakfast bar to cool. When I looked up, Asher was staring at me with a strange expression on his face. His eyes were the palest blue I’d ever seen, and I had to force myself to look away. “What?” I said, twitching somewhat under his scrutiny.

He came forward a few steps to leave only a small gap between us. “It occurs to me we haven’t introduced ourselves properly.” He held his hand out, long, graceful fingers stretching toward mine. “Asher Baines.”

The introduction seemed strangely formal after what we’d already shared, but my mother had taught me better than to be rude enough not to accept the handshake, so I did, accompanying it with a smile. “Calisto Dominguez.”

Asher’s touch lingered while he stared deep into my eyes, something about the way he was looking at me, making me feel uncomfortable. I got the impression he was waiting for something. Only, as I had no idea what that might be, I had no way of giving it to him. I cleared my throat instead, the universal code for ‘well, that was nice, but it’s gone on long enough, so how about we end it now?’

A flicker of a frown crossed Asher’s face before he let go of my hand and stepped back. I reached for my tea, determined to take a sip even if it blistered my tongue. Luckily, it had cooled enough.

“I told you he was weird,” Baxter said from behind me.

I was beginning to agree with him.