Immortal Muse (54 page)

Camille took a sip of the coffee. “Yes,” she said, tersely. “He is. And after my friends, also.”

“Hopefully, we'll get him before that happens. He can't hide forever.”

Camille almost laughed at that, the mug shivering in her hands. “If you
do
happen to find him,” she said, “you should call me before you try to arrest him.”

Palento looked again toward her partner. “Why?” she asked. “So you can use the gun in your purse?—which, by the way, I assume you have a permit for.”

“I do,” Camille told her. “And no, that's not why. You don't know what Pierce is capable of.”

“Why don't you tell us?” That was Compton, coming into the kitchen from the living room. “Or are you figuring on taking care of him yourself? Maybe with the Ladysmith?” He still had Camille's purse in his hand. He dropped it on the table on top of the Tarot cards; it landed hard. Camille winced.

“I have the gun for protection,” she told them. “That's all. And it's legal. My carry license is in there with it.”

“Uh-huh,” Compton said. He went to the shelf of chemicals, staring at the labels. He plucked a jar of comfrey from the shelf, unscrewed the lid, and sniffed at the contents before replacing the lid and putting the jar back on the shelf. His thick fingers prowled the rest of the jars. His eyebrows lifted as he stared at the nearly human form of a mandrake root. “So when we find Pierce, what is it we have to know that's so vitally important?”

Camille only stared at him. She heard Palento sigh. “Roger,” Palento said, “why don't you give me a few minutes with Ms. Kenny? Maybe you could call the station and check to see if they have any leads on that 187 we caught last night?”

Compton grunted. “Yeah. Sure. I guess I can do that.” He was still glaring at Camille, then finally broke his gaze and trundled out of the kitchen. They heard him on his cell phone in the front room.

“Okay,” Palento said. “Camille—can I call you Camille?—look, I just want to help you here. We're on the same side: do I think Pierce killed your boyfriend's wife? Yeah, I suspect he was behind that, even if he didn't do it himself. Do I think he killed Bob Walters? Yeah, I think he's good for that one, too, given the time line of things—and as it turns out, the people at Beth Israel have lots of questions for this guy, too: it seems that too many patients that he had contact with ended up dying when they shouldn't have—and I can see from your face that doesn't surprise you, either. I really
want
this guy, maybe as much or more than you do. Bob was my friend and first partner, after all. But . . .”

Palento smiled at her, and her voice was sympathetic and warm as her soul-heart pulsed. “Camille, I've looked you up in the system, too—and I have the suspicion you wouldn't want me to look any further than I already have. I'm sure Bob checked out your story, too, as he should have to do the best job for you, and I also know from reading his notes that he liked you and trusted you. He redacted most of the stuff he found on you—shredded it, probably. Bob would only do that for someone he thought was a good person at heart, and the man always had great instincts. So I'm not going to go poking around for more,
if
you tell me what the hell's really going on.”

Camille wanted to believe the woman, wanted to let the story pour out for the third time in two days, but she could only shake her head. “I can't. It's not . . . believable.”

“Why don't you try me.” She said it flatly, without the interrogative lift at the end.

Camille ignored that. “Pierce is more dangerous than you think, Detective. If you do come across him, don't even give him a chance to speak—if you do, it'll be too late.”

“Because . . . ?” Palento prompted.

“You don't want to hear it. Just remember how Mr. Walters died—do you know of any weapon that could have done that? Don't give Pierce the chance to do the same to you. All he needs are a few words and gestures, and he can burn you the same way he did Mr. Walters.”

“Are you suggesting
magic
?” Camille could hear the disbelief in the woman's voice, and she remained silent. Palento glanced at the cards underneath Camille's purse, then at the shelves of chemicals. Camille thought Palento was going to press her further, but the woman didn't. Palento's hand stroked her chin; she adjusted the collar of her blouse. Behind Camille, Verdette hopped up on the counter, nudging Camille's arm.

They all heard the scrape of a key in the apartment door's lock then, and the slide of the deadbolt. Camille grabbed for her purse; Palento slid her service pistol from underneath her blouse, and Compton was already in stance, his gun pointed at the opening door.

The door swung wide, and David was gaping at them, a camera draped on a strap over one shoulder

“David!” Camille dropped the purse on the table again and ran past the two detectives to David, who was raising his hands tentatively. She hugged him hard, relishing the feel of his body and his soul-heart. She wrapped his energy around her, gratefully. “I was so worried about you . . .” She stopped then, and pounded gently on his chest with her fist. “Damn it, where the hell have you been?”

David's arms came around her slowly, then more tightly. She felt his lips touch the crown of her head, kissing her softly, and the aura of his soul-heart brightened, opening to her. She nearly gasped with the feel of it. “I'm sorry, Camille,” he said to her. “I was just out walking, and thinking. I'm sorry.”

“David?” She lifted her face to his; he bent his head down and kissed her lips.

“I shouldn't have walked away from you like that,” he said softly. “I never wanted to hurt you, especially after . . .” She saw him glance at Palento and Compton, both of whom had holstered their weapons. “. . . After you were so honest with me,” he finished. He hugged her again, then closed the door, still holding her hand. “Detectives,” he said. “Sorry to startle you. Is there something I can do for you?”

“Not right at the moment,” Palento said. “Ms. Kenny, thanks for the talk.” She pulled her card from her suit jacket and handed it to Camille. “In case you lost the last one,” she said. “Call me if you hear from Pierce, or if you have something more to share with us. We want the same thing; we really do. Remember that.”

With that, Palento touched her forefinger to her forehead, almost as if she were saluting, then inclined her head to her partner. “Hey, Roger,” she said. “Let's get out of this couple's hair. It looks like they have things to discuss.”

 * * * 

“
What was all that about?” David asked her when the door had closed behind Palento and Compton. Camille had gone to the window, looking down at the street from behind the sheer curtains as the detectives went to their car. Otherwise, no one seemed to be watching: the few pedestrians on the sidewalk walked past without a second glance at the building.

No Nicolas. She turned back to David. “They were letting me know that they haven't found Pierce yet.”

David nodded. “You look exhausted,” he said. “That's my fault. I'm really sorry. I know you said you were coming here this morning, and I should have waited for you before I took off. But really, I . . . I've just been doing a lot of thinking.”

She nodded. “You didn't see Pierce?”

“You mean Nicolas?” He sniffed, as if mocking his own words. “No. I didn't. You?”

She shivered and let the curtains fall back over the window, turning back into the room. “No, but he's been around. David, he's given Morris and some of the others at the
Bent Calliope
the flawed elixir. He contacted Mercedes and tried to do the same with her, but she didn't accept, thankfully. Still, he's been telling them things—about me. Lies. He's turning them all against me.”

“You tell the cops this?”

Camille shook her head. “Not all of it. Just that Pierce is still out there and that he's after my friends and me, but the cops can't help. Not with him.”

David sniffed. “Yeah. 'Cause he has magic and stuff.” A trace of skepticism still colored his voice. She ignored it. “What do we do now, Camille?” he asked.

I have to find him, and I have to kill him before he hurts anyone else I love.
She didn't say that. Instead, she smiled wanly. “So, in all that walking and thinking, did you give any more thought to what I told you?”

He gave a short, ironic laugh. “I couldn't exactly think about much else, frankly. And I'm still not sure how to feel about the story you gave me, or how I'm supposed to know what's true and what's not in it. I went to the library and looked up books, got on the computers there and went all over the Internet, looking up those people you said you were and those you said you were with, trying to imagine that it was
you
and not someone else. It's all so . . .” He shook his head. “It's still all so
impossible
. Frankly, it'd be easier to think you're some kind of psycho than to believe you're telling the truth. But then I look at the photos of you on my camera, and I remember what you did with that knife, and how you knew everything about Paris and those people you said you were and were with . . .” Another head shake. “I still don't know.”

She went to him and took his hands. She pressed her fingers into his. “I love you,” she said. “You can believe whatever you want, David, but that's the final truth.”

“You love me, or you
need
me?”

“Both,” she answered honestly. “I need you, too—and yes, you know why. I can't say this any more simply or truthfully, David. I need you, because . . . because everything else . . .” She could barely get the words out. She took in a long breath that shuddered audibly. His expression softened, and he leaned toward her until her forehead was against his chest. “
He's
still out there,” she continued. “I've placed you in terrible danger, and I'm afraid that I won't be able to protect you. Maybe the best thing I could have done for you would have been to leave you and New York altogether as soon as I knew Nicolas had realized who I was. That might have saved poor Helen. But I couldn't. Maybe that's just me being selfish, but I couldn't.” She was crying, uncaring that he could feel her weeping. His arms came around her once more; the radiance of his soul-heart was a cloak over them both. “I love you,” she said again.

He didn't answer, not directly. Instead, he asked her, “Were you in love with the others the same way?”

She nodded, sniffing. She pulled back a little from him, wiping at her eyes with her fingertips. “Some of them, yes. Not all.”

“If you could had given them the elixir, would you have stayed with them?”

Her shoulders lifted and fell. “I can't answer that for you, David. With some of them, the ones I thought I truly loved, yes, I would have tried. But people—mortal people, normal people—fall in love all the time and promise to stay together ‘till death do we part' and often enough that doesn't work out, does it? Sometimes people grow apart, or they find that one or the other's love fails. I've told you this before: forever's a damned long time.” She looked at David, at his posture, at the way he gazed at her, at how his hands fisted and unfisted on his thighs. “Is
that
what you want? The elixir—
my
elixir? The real one?”

“No.” He said it too quickly, and he looked away from her as he spoke.

“David, I'll give it to you if you ask. I will. Tonight. That's how much I love you. But you have to know it will change you.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I've met Verdette, remember?” He smiled as if he were saying it as a joke, but it came out too harsh.

“You can make light of it all you want, but it's a serious decision—and one that you can't back out of once you make it. I
will
give it to you, David, both because I do love you and because it would give you some protection from Nicolas. But you'll change as a result and I don't know how. And that . . . that might not be a good thing for you.”

She took in a breath as a sudden thought came to her:
You've never tried to feed from someone who's taken the elixir. What if that's not possible? What if you'd then still need to seek out someone else for your own needs? How would that change your relationship?
She shook her head, trying to banish questions for which she had no answer. “All you have to do is ask,” she told David again.

“No,” he told her again, but this time the refusal came after a silence and was softer, and this time he was looking at her as he said it. “At least, not right now, anyway. And to answer the question you haven't asked me—there is one thing I realized in all that thinking and walking: I love you, too.”

She nearly sobbed again at that, her eyes burning with threatening tears. “Then we're good? I can stay here? I need to be with you.”

“Yes,” he said. “Of course you can stay here.”

He came to her, and she saw the tears overflowing his own eyes. She allowed herself, finally, to let her emotions take control. She cried in deep, racking sobs, though she didn't know if it was relief or fear or both that brought the tears. She clung to him, and she let his radiance cover, comfort, and begin to restore her.

 * * * 

“
I love you so much,” she told him after they made love that night, and he whispered back in her ear the same words as he held her.

“I love you, too.”

She smiled, touching his cheek with her hand. The stubble of his beard dragged at her skin. “Stay with me,” she told him.

He laughed. “Forever,” he said, then seemed to realize what he'd said and just held her more tightly in the velvet darkness. She didn't correct him, only whispered back to him: