Dark Siren (9 page)

The exhibit, a grand white and gold hall dotted with tall marble columns, had been recently built to accommodate the museum’s steadily growing Greek collection. The institution had collected many items from medieval England and China, and some of those artifacts sat in Isaac’s office right now. But Isaac felt the museum should be true to its name and collect items from all Empires—Roman, Chinese, Greek, Japanese. Yes, these were more expensive and harder to find, but Isaac had a knack for acquisition.

“I think you’ll find we’ve built a beautiful little home for your mirror,” Isaac said as they sailed past display cases filled with pottery, trinkets, weapons, and models of old Greek buildings.

“Yes,” Helena said, “This is a most impressive exhibit, considering it was built so quickly.” Her English was heavily accented, but her practiced vocabulary made up for it. This was a woman used to dealing with foreigners to her land, specifically foreigners who spoke only English. Isaac, incidentally, spoke English, Spanish, Greek, Italian, French, Latin, Portuguese, and Romanian with varying degrees of fluency, but English was the language of business here.

“I must admit I wasn’t expecting to acquire a piece such as Hermes’ Mirror for the exhibit. I was quite surprised to receive your phone call.”

“The owner had heard of your tireless efforts to bring Greek culture to this wonderful city and felt it would be disrespectful not to approach you.”

“And the owner, he’s Greek?”

“Yes, and speaks only Greek. This is why he hired me.”

“I must admit I’m a little surprised he hasn’t come to see me personally—I do speak Greek.”

“My employer is somewhat reclusive, but he is a kind man with a love for the arts.”

“I hope he can make the unveiling tomorrow.”

“Perhaps. I have yet to confirm it with him. If he is, he will be flying in from Boston in the morning.”

“And you? I trust you’ll be staying for the unveiling?”

“Of course. I do not fly back to Boston until Sunday.”

She turned to look at Isaac when she said this last part, her eyes, flashing a suggestion for him to catch and return, or ignore.

“That’s plenty of time,” he said. “Perhaps I can show you some of my favorite parts of the city before you leave. Ashwood really is quite beautiful once you get to know her; it would be a shame for you to not have a taste before your return.”

Her eyebrow cocked and she smiled while Isaac examined her form. She looked sharp—intellectually sharp—was curvy in all the right places, and had a set of eyes which said “I like to get smacked on the ass.”
Message received loud and clear.

At the far end of the exhibit, illuminated perfectly by a ray of moonlight streaking in from a high window, like the star at the center of the stage, was the mirror. Isaac approached. The display was warded off by a square of velvet ropes spread far enough to give the display a wide berth from anyone who had an inclination to get too close, since Isaac didn’t want the mirror to be placed behind a pane of glass. The mirror was gorgeous. Standing taller than a human, the frame was forged of strangely tough silver encrusted with black gems, and the glass was as reflective as the day it was made.

Isaac didn’t want even a single percentage point of its beauty to be hidden from onlookers.

“Here we are,” he said, smiling. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

Helena approached and stood close to him. “It is,” she said, and he felt a pair of fingers caress his outer thigh. “I look forward to seeing it on display tomorrow. But it’s late. For now, I think we should be going.”

“Going?” Isaac asked. He checked his watch—it wasn’t late—but agreed “Yes, I suppose it is rather late. I hope you have enjoyed this tour.”

“Oh yes, it’s been very entertaining. I was wondering, however, if maybe you knew of a place to go and get a drink? I have had a very long day and would love to sit and talk for a while… if you have time?”

“Me?” Isaac asked, “I’m afraid I don’t drink. Appalling, I know. I am English, after all.”

Helena laughed, and her voice filled the quiet exhibit. “Another time then, perhaps.”

Isaac nodded, shook her hand, and showed her to the lobby. When he saw her head for the bathroom instead of leaving, Isaac knew exactly what she had on her mind—and this was when his heart began to pound. She had no intention of leaving the museum, not without a piece of him, of this there could be no doubt. From the moment they had met he had the impression she was a woman who knew what she wanted and went for it with zeal. The brief moment of intentional contact in the Greek exhibit was proof of this, if her flirty hands and eyes weren’t.

He waited, hands in his pockets, staring out of the main doors into the night sky. Rain was falling, and somewhere—somewhere close—a spiritual event was taking place. He couldn’t see the source, couldn’t identify it, but it was there, like a song floating on the waters of an open ocean. Isaac’s lips pressed together and he took a deep breath. When Helena appeared in the glass reflection, he released the breath from his lungs and turned with a smile on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “Did you forget something?”

“Just this,” she said, and she—
smells like fresh perfume
—lunged at him, her lips locking with his. One of her hands pressed against the bulge in his trousers.
Christ,
he thought, her energy catching him completely unaware.

“I think I can help you find that,” Isaac said, his smile now transforming into a hungry grin.

“Is there somewhere private we can go?” she asked, “Your house, maybe?”

“No,” Isaac said, a little too quickly, a little too forcibly, causing the visage of the confident, charming Englishman to crack for the briefest of instants. “Not my house.”

Helena removed her face from his and narrowed her eyes. “You have a wife?”

“No. No wife.”

“I wouldn’t care if you did.” She leaned toward him, unbuttoned his shirt, and began to kiss his neck.

“I bet you wouldn’t.”

“Then why not your house?”

Because I don’t bring women there
, he thought, but he couldn’t say it. Instead he said, “Because I can’t wait that long,” and he took her hand and led her through a door, down a corridor, and into a room with his name on the door. He closed it, locked it, and turned around to face her. By the time his eyes were upon her again, she had removed her suit jacket and had begun to unbutton her blouse, revealing her white lace bra.

Isaac approached. Helena slipped her hands into his jacket and pulled it off his shoulders. One by one, she undid the buttons on his shirt and slipped it off him too, letting it fall at his feet. She ran her fingers across his hairy chest, his abdomen, and sailed them over the trail of hair which ended abruptly at his belt buckle. He kissed her, then, cupping her cheek and plunging headlong into the act. Her lips were soft, her tongue wet and warm against his, and the fruity perfume she had just put on was all around him.

He was out of his pants and in her hand in only a matter of seconds. His heart was pumping hard within his chest, his body warm and alive, his mind consumed by lust. Isaac grabbed her by the hips, spun her around, and laid her stomach flat against the desk. When her skirt jerked up, revealing a set of lingerie to match her bra, he knew she had planned this.

She gave a cry of elation when he spread her legs and entered her, and Isaac did what he had wanted to do ever since she flashed those green eyes at him.
I like getting smacked on the ass,
her eyes said, and he obliged.
Helena yelped, and her head went up. “Again,” she said, and Isaac helped himself another slap, and another, and another until his hand and her ass were red, warm, and tingling.

But a sudden knock at the door snapped Isaac away from the moment. He slowed the gentle rhythm of his hips, and Helena’s sighs softened. Then he heard the knocking again and he rolled his eyes.

“Go away,” Isaac said, not caring who was on the other side of the door.

Another knock. Harder, more forceful. He sighed, pulled away from Helena—who quickly tugged her skirt back into place—and walked toward the door as he zipped up his pants, though he hadn’t much cared to put on his shirt.

“Someone better be dead,” Isaac said under his breath, and he opened the door.

Dustin’s frame filled the open arch, his face bathed in the dim glow of soft, yellow light emanating from Isaac’s office. “I’m sorry for bothering you,” Dustin said.

“I assume this is important?” Isaac asked, holding the door open with intent to close it the instant Dustin had told him why he had been interrupted.

“It is, I think,” Dustin said. “Your, uh, wife’s here.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

Partners

Isaac’s smile deflated like a pinched balloon. He wasn’t sure who he had expected to see when Dustin stepped aside—a colleague, maybe, or another Mage. If something was important, he wouldn’t have put it past another Mage, maybe someone from the council, to bluff her way into his office. Instead, when Dustin stepped aside, what he got was an eyeful of Alice Werner, the last person he was expecting to see at his office door at this hour.

“Wife?” Helena asked. Clearly she
did
care about his marital status.

“Hello, Isaac,” Alice said.

He swallowed his own breath and frowned. His cheeks were flushed, there was another girl in the room, and by the look on his face and the sweat on his chest it was clear what he had just been doing.
Busted
, Alice thought, and she smiled like a hungry lion who had just spotted an easy meal in the savannah.

“A-Alice… what are you doing here?” His charming British accent came flowing out of his mouth in a perfect, honeyed tone, but a hint of nervousness tinged his words. Once upon a time his accent may have made her knees turn to jelly, but not anymore.

“Bad time?”

“No… no, of course not.”

Alice cocked an eyebrow, folded her arms across her chest, and let the remainder of her grin wash across her face, though her heart was racing. “Really? Because it looks like you’re… up to your
balls
in work.”

“Give me a second,” Isaac said, and he closed the door.

Dustin said, “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“It’s okay,” Alice said, “I’m not really his wife.”

From the other side of the door Alice could hear scuffling sounds, as well as some muffled talking. Isaac’s door was well sound-proofed, though. If
she
could only barely hear what was going on, no human could. A moment later he appeared again, with his belt buckled, his hair neatly slicked back, and his shirt buttoned.

He opened the door further, allowing a woman to step out holding her high heels in her hands. She had a serious business face, wore a business suit, had her blonde hair up in a business bun, and had clearly just been handling
Isaac’s
business, but she left without so much as a second glance. Alice reached for her aura like a snake licking the air and tasted the bitterness, the disappointment, and the embarrassment. She had no real reason to feel smug about this, but enjoyed the sensation anyway.

“Call her a cab, Dustin, if you would be so good,” Isaac said.

Dustin nodded and headed down the corridor. Isaac gestured for Alice to step through. She did, and then it occurred to her he hadn’t asked Alice what her unsolicited visit was about before kicking his date to the curb. She didn’t particularly enjoy this thought, nor did she dislike it. At least, she didn’t dislike it any more than the state of the papers and files on Isaac’s desk. She could almost picture the woman shoving everything aside before bending over it.

Alice turned away from the desk and let her eyes flit from the bookshelves, to the window, and to the large display cabinet filled with strange items. A collection of weapons sat on the shelves—some dated and rusty, some shiny. She spotted a spiked ball, a pair of rusty old tongs, and a glimmering, pristine sword with a black hilt and a ruby red jewel on its oddly small cross guard. For the briefest of instants, Alice thought she saw not just her reflection on the blade, but also Isaacs… and a third, veiled figure.

“Xiphos,” Isaac said.

“What?” she asked.

“It’s the name of the sword—or at least, the type. It’s a Greek sword called a Xiphos. Double edged, the kind they used during the Iron Age. It’s meant for the exhibit.”

“Oh. It’s kinda beautiful.”

Isaac nodded, and then asked, “Why are you here?”

She turned to face him. “Believe me, I don’t want to be here anymore than you want me here, but I had no choice. I had to come.”

“Business, I suppose. I didn’t think you were here on a social visit.”

“Oh no,” she said, plucking the picture she took in the theater out of her jean pocket, “This is definitely not a social call. I’m here about
this
.”

Isaac took the picture and examined it. “I want to say that’s a theater.”

“I took this in the Cinema Royale tonight. It’s empty now, but there was a person sitting there earlier.”