The Soul Trapper Page 11

  “Once they separate us they might take you away from me.” He pulls me to his chest and locks me in his arms. “I don’t want to lose you before I’ve even had a chance to make things right between us.”

  His insecurity is sexy, and it makes me feel powerful in a way I’m not entirely proud of, but I’ll deal with that later. I nod.

  “All right.”

  His men step aside to allow us to face the policeman again, who now pushes his chest forward, hands in his pockets, forbidding frown on his brow.

  “We’d like to request approval from Lord Barkley to see Mrs Grant,” I say, drawing closer to Kieran with my arm around his, my chin up. “Together.”

  “Wonderful,” the man responds without hesitation and leads us inside the asylum.

  I’ve never been in here before, and the place gives me the creeps. When the doors fall shut behind us with a thud, I wish Zed had come with us.

  The two policemen lead us down a tiled corridor lined by security men to Ronald Lord Barkley’s office. By the moment the door opens to his secretary’s narrow antechamber I’ve got goose skin for all the bad reasons. Screams from the upper levels, the occasional door ajar allowing glimpses into greenish rooms with iron beds and chipped bathtubs. This is a place of shudder and gloom, despite all the money that flows into it. I thank God with all I have that Kieran didn’t let me enter alone. His presence and the warmth of his body help me act halfway decent, but when Lord Barkley’s full-moon-faced and red-lipped secretary opens the door to his office I’m about to lose composure.

  The man sits at his desk, his livid cheeks slack and his mouth a hatched curve with downward corners. He has drooping eyes and thinning hair, and his frame is long and skinny. He holds a cigarette between his knotty fingers that scream out his arthritis, and when the Marquis enters the room behind me, his face seems to draw even longer. But what strikes me most is something else.

  Two people sit on either side of his desk. The one to his right is my mother, also long and skinny, her face gaunt and haunted, her greying hair up in her usual bun. She, too, has a cigarette between her fingers, and tears well in her eyes as she sees me. She puts out the cigarette and stands up. My eyes fly to the other side of the desk.

  Inspector Jeremy Simmons fixes me with his small, dark eyes, but nothing in his expression betrays surprise. I realize immediately he’s here because he expected me. Or us. His bulky muscles fill the armchair he’s sprawled in, and his square jaw is covered by a three-day-beard that adds to his bad-boy demeanour. Tension is heavy in the room, the silence oppressive. Jeremy is the first to break it and speak.

  “Isn’t this a pleasant surprise.” He makes himself even broader by putting a big hand on the desk and resting an ankle over his knee. “Miss Saphira Lothar, and Monsieur le Marquis de Vandenesse.”

  Jealousy lurks behind his words. The Marquis is close behind me, but I can’t bring myself to look at him, as if taking my eyes off the three characters before me would somehow trigger their doing something terrible to us.

  “This is exactly why I didn’t want to leave you alone,” the Marquis tells me loud enough for everybody else to hear it, his hand slithering around my waist.

  Jeremy stands up as if electroshocked and stomps to us. “Take your hands off of her, you bastard!”

  “Back off,” Kieran snarls and steps forward. He resembles a marble statue, but the life in his black eyes is searing. I place a hand on his arm.

  “Kieran, we’re here for approval to see Mrs Grant, that’s the only reason for our visit.” I bend to the side to look at Lord Barkley past Jeremy. “Lord Barkley, please. Allow us just a few minutes with Mrs Grant, it’s urgent.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible, Saphira,” the man croaks.

  “But, Lord Barkley.”

  “Save it, Saphira,” the Marquis stops me. My head snaps to him, and I find his eyes still fixed on Jeremy. They watch each other like hawks. “Any information Mrs Grant had to give, these three people here already have it. And they surely don’t want us to know it, otherwise they wouldn’t take all this trouble to ambush us.”

  Mum steps forward, crying. “That’s not true! Lynn Grant refused to talk to anybody, even the police. We’re here because we expected Saphira would want to see Lynn, and you wouldn’t let her come alone. You’ve been keeping her locked up for weeks, and you didn’t allow her to see even us, her family. You sequestered her, you’re sick!”

  “That’s not the reason I didn’t come to see you,” I step in. “I didn’t return home because I don’t want to have anything to do with that monster you call my father anymore.”

  Mum blinks as if slapped. She babbles until she finds back to herself. “Where did that come from, Saphira?”

  I walk towards my mother, pointing a finger at her. “Enough you’ve pretended, a whole lifetime. You always knew something was wrong with him, which is why you abandoned yourself to booze and cigarettes. You thought substances would numb you, but all they did was throw you deeper into depression. And that man I used to call ‘Father’ is not the only villain. This town crawls with sick bastards like him, so don’t take out your frustration and fury on the Marquis, because he’s not the one you truly want to choke.”

  CHAPTER XXI

  BAD BLOOD

  “That’s enough, Saphira,” Jeremy cuts in. He walks to me and extends a hand, but the Marquis grabs and twists it behind his back. As big and muscular as Inspector Jeremy Simmons is, he groans and bares his teeth as he leans backwards into the Marquis’s clasp.

  “If you ever try to touch her again, I’ll break every bone in your body,” the Marquis growls. He’s taller and leaner than Jeremy, therefore more agile, even without his engineered powers, but he’s also so much stronger. His ivory features are locked, and his black eyes angry coals.

  “Please, Kieran, don’t hurt him,” I plead. “He’s innocent.”

  The Marquis keeps his glare on Jeremy, his sweet lips drawing in a hiss. “I’m not so sure.”

  “Better tell him the truth. That he should be on our side.”

  “What the hell is this?” Jeremy struggles to free himself from the Marquis’s grip, but without success.

  “Please, just listen to him, Jeremy.”

  “Saphira, what is happening?” Mum is puzzled, her hand gently touching mine.

  I look straight into her eyes and tell her the story in a few short sentences—that my father and other mighty men from Northville busied themselves slitting open and experimenting on orphans, and that the Marquis was one of them. I also mention the Catherine Lancaster love story. Mum gasps and takes a few steps back, gripping the rest of the chair where she sat as we walked in.

  “Your father was one of them too, Inspector Boy,” the Marquis hisses in Jeremy’s ear. “The lucky bastard died before I got my hands on him, so don’t give me reason to take it out on you, his son.”

  Jeremy struggles like a wounded animal, kicking the air in front of him, but unable to release himself from the Marquis’s hold. “You fucking bastard!”

  The Marquis is inhumanly strong, and Jeremy’s struggles don’t move him an inch. He turns his vicious black glare to Lord Barkley.

  “What about you, filth bag? Could it be, that you were one of them as well?”

  Lord Barkley is still sitting in his chair, the cigarette burning his fingers but he doesn’t seem aware of that. He looks stunned at Kieran, unable to utter one word.

  Mum presses her fingers on her temples, shaking her head. “This can’t be. This can’t be happening.”

  I approach her carefully, searching her gaze but she looks down, then sideways, then upwards, avoiding my gaze.

  “It is, Mum,” I say gently. “If you’re honest to yourself, you’ve always known. But you’ve tried to silence your sixth sense.” As I did through compulsive painting, but this is not about me, so I keep the remark to myself.

  “And you,” the Marquis tells Jeremy, “you find out all sorts of stuff but not what’s real
ly important. You spoiled, superficial, incompetent brat. Didn’t you ever sniff what the bastards in this cursed place were doing? Or were you part of it? Are you covering their arses?”

  Mum slumps into the chair behind her, and I support her by the shoulders as she does. Her eyes are fixed in awe on the Marquis. “But if this is all true, and you were Lord Lancaster’s stable boy . . . How old are you?”

  The Marquis looks at her, but doesn’t answer.

  “My God,” she whispers. “And Saphira? What role did she play in your plot?”

  Pain cuts through my chest, and I sink my head.

  “At first I wanted to use her in my revenge,” the Marquis explains. “I wanted to have her lure my tormentors to places where I could kill them right before her eyes, torment her mind and soul in the process, and in the end have her father discover her mad from everything she’s witnessed. I considered it an act of kindness—to her, not Gunnar—not having her sleep with all those men, too. I made the decision of going easier on her than initially planned after I got to know her. She made a painting of me, and she . . .” He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. “I fell in love with your daughter, Mrs Lothar. It sounds impossible, coming from a monster like me, whose soul has been frozen for decades, but it’s the pure truth. I don’t expect you to give us your blessing, but I’d like you to know that for her sake I decided to drop all thoughts of revenge. But unfortunately, this town’s troubles won’t end with that.”

  Jeremy has another fit of struggling, and this time he makes it out of the Marquis’s arms. Or the Marquis let him go, since he doesn’t look surprised. He and Jeremy now face each other. The Marquis arranges the collar of his suit jacket, while Jeremy flexes and glares.

  “This town’s biggest problem is you, devil,” Jeremy growls. The Marquis smiles at him.

  “I’m not the one who set the Grants’ house on fire and tried to kill Vivienne. That was Ivan Basarab, the Slayer, whose true name you should be busy finding out. He’s one of this town’s honourable citizens, killers, filth bags that you now have no more excuse to ignore.”

  “You need proof for all these allegations, de Vandenesse and, right now, all I truly got is proof that you’re a killer. Guards!” Jeremy calls.

  Quick steps march closer and louder from the corridor, and seconds later policemen burst in. They take out their guns and focus on Kieran as if they’ve been waiting for this command all along. I scream and want to run to Kieran, but one of the policemen stops me and keeps me away from the scene as more men pour in. Damn, this is indeed a trap they set up for Kieran!

  Kieran looks left, right and relaxes. A smile pulls one corner of his sweet mouth, and that is the last sight I get of his human self before his skin starts losing its opaque consistence, turning into something jelly-like and transparent, then into increasingly metallic scales. His eyes spring into slits, and his serpent tongue shoots out of his mouth as he gives out a piping hiss that sends an unbearable buzz through all our ears.

  I squeeze my eyes shut and press my hands to my ears, but the buzz still pierces through. Only when it stops I dare look up again to see all policemen scrambling up from the floor, the terrified looks in their eyes and the confusion as they grope around testimony that the Marquis had been right, the security here has nothing on him.

  The door is open, with no trace of the Marquis, while Jeremy is the only person standing, however stunned with a gun in his hand in the middle of his sprawled men.

  Someone breathes hoarsely behind me. I turn to see Ronald Lord Barkley, and realize his knotty hands are clamped around my shoulders. He shakes and can’t take his eyes off the door.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with it,” he whispers.

  I try to shake myself free, but his fingers sink into my shoulders, keeping me in place like a human shield.

  “I didn’t have anything to do with their dark practices. I was part of their group of friends all those years ago, but I never participated in the terrible things they did.”

  I shake myself from his grip and hurry to help Mum up from the floor.

  “What in all Saints’ names was that?” she exclaims, looking desperate and brushing invisible cockroaches off her body. She’s horrified, hysterical, making it hard to help her up. “He’s a monster! A monster!”

  I struggle with her to help her calm down, and it’s a real fight until she manages to get a grip.

  Jeremy wraps the place up, giving his men curt orders and telling Lord Barkley to shut up each time the man opens his mouth.

  His men scurry around, taking “prints” of the Marquis. They’re still in shock, but Jeremy managed to get them working despite that.

  He moves his bulky frame around, doing what he must as head of the team, but he’s obviously distressed from what he’s found out. There’s something wild in his eyes, and the expression of his steroid- and testosterone-transformed features, square and shadowed by his three-day beard, make him look as deranged as the lunatics that inhabit this asylum. I’d like to remind him about the sewers, but I don’t dare, he looks so angry.

  Not even outside do I dare address him. We’re riding in a police van. I’m in the back holding my crying mother’s hand, her sobbing and sniffling accompanying the humming of the engine. Jeremy sits across from us in silence. He doesn’t even look at me. When we stop in front of my parental home I realize what’s happening, and I shake my head violently.

  “No, I’m not going in there.”

  “Yes you are. Your father has been worried sick about you,” Jeremy says. He sounds cold and also a shade spiteful. As if it were my fault that his father had been as much of a monster as mine.

  “He pushed me into the Marquis’s arms himself, you know this,” I retort in a biting tone. “He was happy to see us depart together on the night he announced our engagement. But maybe it’s you who should have a word with Gunnar. In the end, he and his group perpetrated terrible crimes, and they should have to answer for them.”

  “We have no proof of those crimes, Saphira,” Jeremy says, keeping his glare out the side window. “I can’t corner people based on allegations alone, I’m sure you understand.”

  My mouth curls in a sour expression. “You only pretended to believe me when I told you the story? Is that it?”

  “No, it’s not. But I still need proof in order to take action.”

  “If you only investigated the Marquis’s allegations, and worked with him to discover proof, I’m sure you’d get plenty,” I say through my teeth.

  “If you only let me do my job without acting all smart-ass, things would be different.”

  “Different how, Jeremy? Based on how you’re doing your job, these people’s crimes will remain unheard of.”

  I’m aware of the poison in my tone, but I can’t help it. Jeremy springs forward and grabs my jaw in his huge rough hand.

  “The Marquis de Vandenesse is London’s priority, and with good reason. London sent me back here for him. He’s the most dangerous of all killers I’ve ever investigated, Saphira, and you know his vile nature better than anyone. What changed? Why do you try to redirect me to your father and his group of bastards? Why aren’t you vehement against the Marquis anymore?”

  “Jeremy, please listen to me.” My jaw hurts from his grip, and I speak with difficulty. He notices and lets go. I rub my cheek to sooth the pain as I talk. “The Marquis isn’t the evil creature you and I believed him to be. He talked to me, he told me things . . . Listen, Jeremy,” I take a deep breath and say the next sentence with a heavy heart. “I have reason to believe that my father is Ivan Basarab, the faceless Slayer. This is your chance to find out so much.”

  “No, Gunnar is not the Slayer,” Mum reacts as if from a dream. She’s still pale from shock, and I’m surprised she even registered the conversation. “But I’ve heard that name many times from him. Last time I heard him talk to Ivan Basarab was a few nights ago.”

  I’m completely surprised, and Jeremy too. His small dark eyes
narrow. “Okay, all right. I’ll have a word with your father, even though I don’t believe this is the right time.”

  “Wonderful. And then please let me return to the Marquis’s manor.”

  He grins. “No, can’t do, Saphira. You’ll be interested to hear we found witnesses of the Marquis’s murder on Vladimir Pukov. His manor is surrounded, and we’ll arrest him on sight. You and the Marquis will never come together again.”

  Another flash of despair goes through my heart. “But . . . There were no witnesses to what happened with Pukov. You must have produced them.”

  Jeremy’s eyes narrow into slits. “Just a short while ago you were ready to testify against the Marquis yourself. Come on, tell me, Saphira, what swayed you? Was it his hypnotic powers? Or did you actually fall for him?”

  My lips freeze, but the truth must be clear in my eyes, which Jeremy stares into closely.

  “If you switched sides, things will end up badly for you,” are his last words before he looks me up and down in disgust. He opens the door, inviting both Mum and me out of the van. I’d like to resent him for his attitude, but I can’t. It’s not every day you discover your father was a rapist and maybe even a killer, so he has mitigating circumstances.

  My heart drums in anxiety as we head toward the house, and I’m sure so does Mum’s. The hand that squeezes mine is sweaty, and a look at her reveals wide scared eyes and stiff features. She’s still in shock, which is probably why she didn’t react to Jeremy’s treatment of me in the van. I feel lonely, naked and lost, and I long for the Marquis’s protective arms around me, for the reassuring sound of his rich voice in my ear. It’s incredible how my tormentor of yore has become my only haven.

  The house looms bigger before us as we approach it. With its grey walls damp from bad weather, it resembles a huge beast rising from the ocean, spreading out its jaws to swallow me. My throat clogs with panic. I don’t want to go in there, and I don’t want to face the monster who fathered me.