Mind of the Phoenix (5 page)

“I suppose not,” he says after a moment, and a part of me relaxes at the sound of those words. “But I am curious to know how you managed to evade the officials for as long as you did. I suspect you must have used some sort of persuasion.”

“Would you like me to show you?” I offer in an innocent voice.

Even though I know he would have declined, I’m disappointed when a knock sounds on his office door and interrupts us. He opens the door, looks back at me with an expression that warns me not to snoop in his desk in his absence, and then closes the door behind him. I immediately rise from my seat and examine his office. Against the back wall is a map of Fortland, with the city of Braxton off in the far bottom right, marked with a star to denote its status as the capitol. The bottom of the map is then devoted to an enlargement of the city, dividing it into thirty wards—the first starting in the south, near Braxton Harbour in the industrial zone. Each Elite member owns different wards in each of the four districts, so that the poor, middle class, and rich are evenly distributed between the members. The north district is highlighted in green—perhaps to intentionally symbolize the wealth of the district’s residents. Meanwhile, the west district is coloured blue, the east is marked off in red, and the south is highlighted in yellow. Beside the map is a mahogany shelf filled with some items I can’t identify, for I’ve never seen them in my life. Among the items I
can
identify are books. I skim through the titles and see that most of them are law books.

“If you are quite finished educating yourself on the law, there are two constables ready to escort you back to the hotel,” says a voice behind me, and I nearly drop the book I had plucked off the shelf.

I return it and turn to face the detective. “Back to the hotel?” I echo, slightly confused.

“Yes, that
is
where you are staying for the duration of the investigation.”

“Are you coming to get me later?” The idea of spending the rest of the day in the hotel is causing my heart to constrict.

“No, Del Mar. I have no use for you this evening.”

“No
use
for me?” I echo, my anger rising. “So, I’m supposed to stay at the hotel until you decide you have use for me?”

“Precisely,” he answers, handing me my coat.

“I’ll die of boredom.”

He looks at me with a hint of amusement. “That’s not my problem, Del Mar.”

By the time I shrug into my coat, he is already sitting at his desk, his attention diverted to the papers piled on the surface. I give him one last icy stare before I slam the door behind me. It’s not that I hate being alone; I rather enjoy solitude. It’s the idea of spending
hours
in the hotel with absolutely nothing to do that bothers me. Most of my life was spent servicing others, either in household chores for the Madame or sexual activities for the clients, until I was purchased at nineteen. The next eight months was a compilation of darkness, learning, punishments, pleasures, and an unhealthy dose of mental abuse. Then, I was on the run for the next six months, which, despite being a form of freedom, wasn’t any better than my previous years.

So it’s when I have absolutely nothing to do that my mind begins to betray me, like the time I spent in the prison. Memories I’d rather forget creep up and haunt me, and it is in those moments that I wonder if I unconsciously receive pleasure from opening up past scars, or if my mind is working against me and is just another thing that strives to taunt me. Sometimes it’s as if I don’t even know myself, like my mind is keeping things from me; as if I’m more capable of understanding someone else’s mind with a single touch than my own.

I
have
one word to describe my evening last night: boring. I silently ate my bland evening meal at the hotel with Rick and some other constable who refused to speak to me. The constable’s silence hadn’t bothered me though, because Rick had spoken enough for the two of them. I discovered that Rick is twenty-four and is planning to propose to a young woman he has been courting for a year now, and by the end of the meal I realized that I was beginning to enjoy the man’s company. His bashfulness and polite demeanour are characteristics I am not used to encountering, especially not in men, and I find his unimposing personality a relief. He also treats me like any other person, which I suppose is a dangerous thing because it threatens to break down my barriers. All I’ve ever known is being the seductive concubine or the disobedient slave, and I’m lost when I find myself in a situation that doesn’t demand either type.

I ended up going to bed early, which means that I woke up early this morning. I decide it’s the best time to bathe, so I dress and grab the necessities needed for grooming. The detective hadn’t mentioned if he would be stopping by this morning, so I have no idea if another boring day awaits me. I open the door and blink confusedly at the constable standing outside in the hallway.

“Where’s Rick?”

“Rick?” The constable’s eyes rake over my body, and when his eyes rise back to my face he grins. “You mean Constable Jamieson? He’s back at the station. I’m on duty to watch you today.”

I don’t like him, not one bit. I have no doubt that he’s a frequent visitor of the pleasure house, and in fact his face seems vaguely familiar, with its broad forehead and dimpled chin. He’s not a previous client of mine, but he’s paid for the services of a concubine. I look down at his large hands and know that they have bruised several women in the past. This man enjoys exercising his authority—not justice—and is one of the reasons why I have such low regard for the police. There’s not a moral bone in that burly body of his, and his mind tastes dark and weak, like that of a person who spends more time exercising his bodily wishes than expanding his mind. When I look up into his eyes, I see that he has quickly summed up his assumptions of my character with a similar negative slant. I’m a woman, a concubine, and an object to satiate his desires.

“What’s your name?” I ask, trying to subdue my hostility.

“Constable Bradford.” He tilts his head in mock greeting.

“Well, Constable Bradford, I’m going to bathe,” I tell him, and he gestures for me to lead the way.

As I’m forced to walk in front of him, I can feel his eyes watching my ass as he follows behind me, and I grit my teeth. All I can smell is the cloying scent of his desire, and my stomach rolls with revulsion. When I enter the bathroom and try to close the door behind me, Constable Bradford puts out his hand and stops me. He grins as if he is privy to something that I’m not.

“The detective has instructed me to follow you
everywhere
.”

“Is that so?”

He nods and enters the room, closing the door behind him. He’s lying, but there’s not much I can do. I could refuse to bathe, but my defiant nature scoffs at the idea of showing this man that he has control over me. So, instead, I undress even though his eyes are on me as he sits in the corner of the room. As he watches me bathe, he shifts in his seat and adjusts the front of his pants. The perverted bastard is aroused. I can either seethe in rage as his eyes linger over my breasts, allowing him to feel as if he’s in control, or I can assert my dominance over him. Isn’t that what the detective said? There are the weak and the strong, and with every human encounter there is the role of the dominant and the submissive. I want to dominate this man with the use of persuasion, not indulge in his sexual fantasies. I plan to command him.

In the boudoir, a concubine uses persuasion to cast an illusion so that the person sees blonde hair instead of brown, or a different face entirely. The empath doesn’t need to be extraordinarily gifted with persuasion because the client agrees to be put under an illusion. And even though it can be difficult to trick someone into seeing something that isn’t in front of them when they haven’t agreed, it’s one of the easier feats of persuasion. A more difficult persuasion that not many empaths can do doesn’t alter a person’s perception of their senses, but rather alters their thoughts. It is the sort of game that the Phoenix is playing by compelling his victims to either commit suicide or murder. I don’t plan to go to that extent with Constable Bradford, but it doesn’t mean I can’t play with him in the manner in which he has played me. He has the advantage of brute force, but I have the power to unravel his mind with one touch.

I give him my best seductive smile and languidly rise from the water so that my breasts rest on the edge of the tub. “Do you mind passing me my towel?”

He’s looking at me with confidence and desire as he rises from his seat. I don’t need to read his mind to know that he’s aroused, and I continue to smile at him as if to say, “I’m weak and you’re in control.” He has the towel in his hand, but he’s not going to give it to me. He wants something else, and that’s fine because I, too, want something other than the towel. He thinks that I’m powerless; that the worst I could do is make him think he sees a different woman or read his thoughts. But, before either one of us has a chance to act, the door swings open. Keenan’s sharp gaze swiftly rakes over me before settling on Constable Bradford, who has the decency to cover his arousal with the towel and look embarrassed at being caught.

“Out,
now
.”

Though the detective’s voice isn’t as deep as the Chief’s, it still manages to sound impressively authoritative. Constable Bradford seems to think so as well, for he quickly leaves the room. I shiver, both because I’m cold and from the look in the detective’s eyes. He’s angry, and I instinctively lower myself further into the water. Now probably wouldn’t be a good time to play seductive concubine or disobedient slave.

“I assume that your presence means I’m to be made useful today,” I say.

He doesn’t answer, and begins to remove his sack coat. I grow uneasy when he pulls off his gloves and starts to carefully roll up his left sleeve. He approaches the tub, and I know that look. It’s the look of a man who has lost patience, and the fact that he has rolled up his sleeve is indicative that he plans to hit me. I had assumed that he wasn’t the aggressive type, but I suppose I was wrong. Like the other men, he has had enough with my behaviour and wishes to resume his authority over me. I had seen that look in my previous master’s eyes, and my body aches with the memory of his abuse.

“If you hand me a towel, I’ll get ready and we can leave,” I suggest, but I know he has no intention of letting me escape unscathed.

But, instead of hitting me across the face, he grabs my neck and pushes my head into the depths of the water behind me. At first, I struggle against him, but once the realization that he doesn’t intend to kill me settles in I relax and wait for him to pull me back up. It’s not long before I break the surface and gasp for air, but it’s long enough for me to realize that he has grabbed my neck with his
bare
hand. I could thrust through his barriers and sift through his thoughts and memories if I wanted to, but I don’t. He realizes this, and there’s a moment where we stare at one another.

“Whatever you’re planning, I suggest you stop, Del Mar.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes,” he hisses. “I’d rather not have you trying to seduce my constables.”

“Would you rather have me seduce
you
?” I ask sweetly.

“Go ahead and try, Del Mar, but you’ll soon find that it is pointless.”

I laugh acrimoniously. “I’ll keep that in mind, detective. And as for Constable Bradford, he said that your instructions were to follow me
everywhere.
Are you really interested in the manner in which I bathe or alleviate my bladder, detective?” He frowns, so I continue. “I didn’t think so. Constable Bradford intended to take his pleasure, and all
I
was planning to do was at least get payment.”

I lie because I can’t tell him that I had been about to use illegal persuasion on Constable Bradford. He’s angry again, but this time his rage is not directed at me. He had thought that my intention was to escape by seducing the constable, but now he’s starting to wonder if the constable had been about to take advantage of me. Rape is a crime he will not tolerate, just as much as murder. He releases his hold on my neck and throws me the towel that the constable had dropped on the floor in his haste to leave. The moment he turns his back, I stand up and wrap the towel around my shivering body.

He picks up his sack coat and gloves. “Meet me downstairs when you’re ready.”

I quickly dress in my chemise, and then brush my hair. A maid knocks on the door, and I assume that Keenan had ordered her to help me with my corset. Once I’m finished dressing, I’m surprised to open the door and find Constable Bradford nowhere in sight. I’m even more confused when I find only Keenan waiting for me in the hotel’s lobby. He glances at me, and I see that his anger has yet to dissipate.

“Where’s Constable Bradford?”

“Back at the station.”

He doesn’t elaborate, but I suspect that the detective ordered the constable to return to the station after the bathroom incident. Was it for my sake or for Constable Bradford’s? As I settle into the motor vehicle, I realize that I have once again missed the opportunity to have breakfast. I sigh despairingly, knowing that my pleas would be lost on the detective. He glances sideways at me as if he knows my thoughts.

“We have an appointment with Mr. Darwitt’s wife in an hour and a half from now,” he says. “There’s a café not far from where she lives that I thought we could stop at first to have breakfast.”

I glance at him, surprised. “That’s very kind of you, detective. Why the sudden nicety?”

“Don’t think it’s a favour to you, Del Mar, because it’s not.”

I smile, because I know it is. He had purposely come to the hotel early so that he could sit with me during breakfast. What I don’t know is if he did so because I had shown my displeasure of being left alone at the hotel for hours yesterday in his office, or because he himself wanted the company. Whose loneliness did he intend to pacify, mine or his own?

We drive further into the north district along Glover’s Drive and reach the café shortly. The detective takes a seat at the far end near a window, away from the other customers who are crowding at the front. The other patrons unabashedly examine us, for we look quite the peculiar pair. They have either assumed that I am one of the Elite’s blockers, or that Mr. Edwards is my master. My short hair still produces shocked stares everywhere I go, but today I’m not the sole recipient of curious gazes. The detective’s pants have a splatter of wet spots from when he dunked my head into the tub, but he cares neither about the state of his suit nor the looks he receives. He has removed his coat and hat, his cane resting against the window, and has acquired a newspaper from the empty table behind us.

“Will Constable Bradford be meeting us at Mrs. Darwitt’s house?”

There’s a moment of silence before he says, “No.”

His face is hidden behind the newspaper, so I can’t examine his reaction. “Oh, the Chief trusts me with just you then?”

“No, I have arranged for another constable to meet us at Mrs. Darwitt’s estate,” he tells me, but that’s a lie. He lowers the newspaper to look at me, and the light streaming through the window makes his eyes a luminescent green. “I didn’t realize you were so interested in Constable Bradford. Should I have him meet us instead? Perhaps I should even allow you two some privacy afterwards?”

“That’s quite all right. In fact, I’d rather not see him at all from now on.”

“Good, then we’re in agreement,” he says, snapping the newspaper back in front of his face.

A server comes at that moment to take our order, and we both order coffee with eggs, bacon, and toast. When the server leaves, Keenan resumes reading the newspaper, which annoys me. He’s still irritated by the scene he walked into earlier, but I don’t know which person he’s more annoyed with. He had assumed that I was trying to seduce the constable in some scheme to escape, and that the constable’s life was in possible danger. But the moment I informed him that Constable Bradford had insisted on joining me in the bathroom, he was no longer convinced that the constable was entirely the victim. He’s clearly bothered by the possibility that the constable had intended to take advantage of me.

“So, does Mrs. Darwitt know that her husband was under persuasion?” I ask. “Or does she still believe he committed suicide?”

He folds the newspaper and puts it back on the table behind us. The server has come back to pour us coffee, and the detective remains silent until the server leaves. He then sips his coffee black, while I pour sugar and cream into my cup and wait for his response.

“She hasn’t been informed, and the Chief and I would like to keep it that way,” he says, watching me stir my coffee. “So, I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention the details of the case in front of her.”

“Why haven’t you told her?”

“Because it would cause an uproar if people found out that there was some empath out there persuading people to commit suicide and murder,” he says as if it were obvious, and I suppose I should have guessed.

The citizens of Braxton would cry out in fear, and the Elite’s authority would be questioned. There would be chaos, and every empath would be carefully monitored. Even the three different houses that contain the enslaved empaths would probably shut down as a precaution, which would only further enrage the clients. And even though the Phoenix is undoubtedly an empath, I wonder if even my kind is safe, since the Phoenix had persuaded an empath to kill a constable. I suddenly realize that if everyone believes Mr. Darwitt and Madame Del Mar committed suicide, then everyone must believe that the empath intentionally killed Constable Evans.

“What about the empath who killed Constable Evans?”

He looks at me as if I should know the answer to that as well. “Rachel has been charged with the murder of a constable and is awaiting her execution date.” Those green eyes continue to stare at me as he adds, “Much as you had been.”