The Soul Trapper Read online

  The Marquis turned the place into a grand venue with mirrors and crystals in no time. I’m impressed, I must admit. It’s better even than the Royale by the sea, where he and I first crossed paths. All men wear dark suits like a uniform, whereas women make for a ripple of colour and glitter. A knot swells in my throat, my nose creasing at the flood of cologne. It’s soon hot and too loud. I follow my parents into air-kiss greeting here and there, and fail to spot the figure flying my way until it bumps into me, its arms around my neck with a film of sweat and scent of chocolate.

  “Saph, oh my Saphy,” she squeals.

  I grab her shoulders and look into her face. She’s smaller than me and rounder, her eyes cacao-brown, sweet cheeks and a contagious smile. My mood changes in an instant, and I lift her in my arms.

  “Jeanie Simmons, you little loony,” I yelp like a schoolgirl. “You’re here?”

  “Came for the Christmas break,” she says, pulling me away from my parents and their cluster. “Just for two weeks, but guess what?” She whispers in my ear as if not a day had passed since our last pyjama party. “I met someone, and I don’t want to leave again.”

  Like a squirrel, she makes way through the crowd to a table where we find the banquet-polished versions of our childhood friends. I’m the only one who still lives in Northville and not some fancy metropolis, so I must watch my manners.

  First I recognize Pretty Lauren, the most label-aware, perfectly groomed of the group. Indeed, what Mum would resent as serious competition for a wealthy husband, especially in a pool such as the Marquis’s banquet. Lauren wears a short red cocktail dress, Swarovski jewellery and smoky make-up. Her hair is naturally dark red, but now dyed the colour of fire, and her smile forced to say the least. She raises her hand, and for a moment I wonder if she’s going to wave from so short a distance, but what she does is flutter her skinny white fingers – in order to prevent that I come any closer, I’m sure.

  “Hey there, Saph. Long time no see.” Her voice is nasal and annoying.

  “Nice to see you too, Lauren,” I lie, then turn to the elegant woman sitting on the chair next to her.

  Virgin Vivienne is a distinguished presence. Her face is smooth as porcelain without a trace of make-up, her big brown eyes mirroring her extraordinary intelligence. Wearing a dark bun and a little black dress, she’s not only a natural beauty, but she’s the most interesting woman I know. Men have always avoided her, though, because she’s intimidating.

  “Good evening, Viva.” I take the empty seat by her side. Virgin Vivienne and I have always been close, in a quiet way. She comes to Northville often because the sea is nearby, plus that she hates the frivolities of city life.

  She smiles. “How long do I still have to wait for that lonely-cliff landscape I commissioned?”

  “Just give me another decade or so.”

  “What’s it going to cost to get your brush moving?”

  “Take your clothes off for a nude,” I crack, and she bursts into laughter. It feels good to know I alone have that effect on her. A second later something hits my back, and I realize it’s Jeanie’s arm resting on me, her breath warm in my ear.

  “That’s him, up there with our host, that’s him.” She sounds enthusiastic. I look up in the direction of her gaze, and my throat laces up.

  The Marquis stands on the grand stairs, an elegant young man of stunning beauty. The contours of his face, pale and flawless, contrast with his eerie dark eyes, making something stir in my chest. I punch the feeling away, but it keeps returning. He is our host, so at least I’m relieved he’s not the new master of Jeanie’s heart. It must be one of the two men flanking him.

  They’re holding crystal glasses in their hands, one of them keeping a jovial smile on, the other’s face an impenetrable mask. The music stops, and there’s the clinking of spoon on glass. It’s not the Marquis who signals the toast, but the smiling friend on his left. He’s very tall and lean, his face bony and pronounced, and the smile is apparently a permanent feature. He has ruffled locks and a creepy stare that makes me think of some kind of natural Joker.

  It takes a few moments of en masse fidgeting until the crowd settles in a murmur low enough to allow the Marquis to give a speech, which is restricted to gratitude for accepting him and his entourage in the community. Turns out the smiling Joker is his cousin, and Stone Mask on the right his head of security. My stomach clenches with every word the young killer speaks, and I realize with a cuss that I have a sick crush on him.

  “Your mouth isn’t any cleaner than last time I heard it,” Lauren spews wickedly. Taken with the Marquis I fail to bite back, but Jeanie does it for me.

  “The last time you heard it you were in bed with my brother.”

  And my fiancé at the time. I’m grateful he’s not here now. I wish Jeanie would add the part where I wiped the floor with Lauren for everyone to hear, and Lauren’s eyes widen at the possibility, too.

  “Who’s your Mr Special of the two?” she changes the subject.

  “Why d’you wanna know, plan to bed him?” Jeanie sneers.

  “How does she even know about Mr. Special?” I cut in. Jeanie’s still looking daggers at Lauren.

  “She was a bit loud when she told me,” Vivienne says. She gives Jeanie a warm smile. “Always exuberant in her jolly moods.”

  Jeanie drops in the seat next to me. “The one who talked. Joyous.”

  “Are you serious? His name is actually Joyous?” I attempt a giggle.

  “He looks more like the young version of Hannibal Lecter,” Vivienne says.

  Jeanie frowns, and I’m reminded of the little sweetheart she was only a few years ago. “Stop that. He’s the sweetest guy ever.”

  “Where did you two meet?” I’m dead curious now.

  “He came over like some Mr. Bingley,” Jeanie sparkles. “Representing the Marquis, who’s interested in my dad’s old pub and the land that goes with it. It’s been rotting closed for years, so Dad said why not.”

  My jugular pulses in alarm. “The Marquis wants to buy yet more land?”

  This strikes a chord for Lauren, who flaps her fan shut and bends into the discussion over the table. “The guy’s so rich, it’s almost insolent. My dad talked of it often these past weeks. He was intrigued so he did a bit of digging, and it turns out all the Marquis’s business partners ended up ceding him everything they had. He’s been doing business with some very powerful people, and he’s had something compromising on all of them. You can imagine the kind of power he wields if he could get them all to yield to him.”

  “One of his business partners was from Northville, and he died a few weeks ago,” young Billy the Notary slips into the discussion, glasses down on the tip of his mousy nose. “The Marquis took over all the man’s assets. He died the night of the Royale banquet. Was supposed to attend but never made it. You might remember him from other events—in his forties, plucked eyebrows, good body, in love with himself. Found dead in his car.”

  A buzz starts in my head, and I no longer listen to the cause of death. I know it’s a fake. The man died at the hand of the Marquis, I saw it. I saw his dead eyes fixed on his murderer.

  Soon the discussion heats up, and I stand with a dizzy head, seeking my way to cooler air. Jeanie asks if I’m okay and wants to join, but I refuse. Wrong choice. What happens next catches me alone and off guard.

  CHAPTER IV

  BEWITCHED

  The piranha, Simon Pukov, blocks my way with a filthy grin, but before he can make a move on me the young Marquis stops him with a hand on his shoulder.

  “You’re heading too confidently towards my date,” he says.

  At that word both the piranha and I look puzzled at each other, then back at the Marquis.

  “My apologies,” the piranha says, his shoulders slumping, his bald head glistening with sweat under the chandelier. He has no idea that he’s facing a murderer, but he’s intimidated nonetheless. It’s the first time I see the bastard humbled, and it feels good. “I didn
’t realize you and Ms Lothar—”

  “Apologies accepted,” the Marquis replies before the piranha finishes, then offers me his arm. I’m afraid of the consequences of a refusal to take it, so I do.

  He sweeps me with elegance away from the staring piranha. Surprised faces and Venetian masks shift from our path as we glide among them, and I’m even more ashamed of my appearance. Most women look glittery and flamboyant but decent, while I’m more of an escort than a lady in my short golden cocktail dress, my hair unrestrained down my back. It’s too much, maybe even ostentatious. Inside I’m shooting reproof at Mum, who I now notice on the side, a happy smile on her face. Dad must be ecstatic at the sight of the Marquis and me together, too.

  In order to sheathe our heading for the exit, the Marquis stops here and there and introduces me to people I know already. They’ve been spending their holidays in this town for years, but one fact is indeed new and shocking to them as it is to me—I’m the Marquis’s girlfriend. Some of them would’ve considered their own daughters, sisters or themselves a far better pick, especially since they’re leading rich sharks in London and Paris. They have difficulty swallowing the fact that a bankrupt realtor’s daughter from the province has won the freaking lottery with the Marquis’s interest.

  I have even more difficulty. I stare up at the Marquis’s face as he speaks, and find myself compelled by those dark, murky eyes. The way his hair frames his head, rich and glossy, it enhances the youthfulness of his features and the menacing feel of his gaze. The scene of him removing his gloves after taking that man’s life at the Royale lunges like a claw at me, and fear causes my muscles to clench.

  He manages to lead me out of the banquet hall, despite all eyes being on us the entire time. A group of people who look like guests, but must actually be the Marquis’s staff, keep behind us like a human shield until we leave through a narrow—and secret—exit. My heart pounds in my throat as the Marquis takes me up dark spiralling stairs to the tower, an architectural ghost that I’ve known from afar and feared for a lifetime.

  “Why are we going there?” I manage, breathless with anxiety.

  “It’s a surprise.” His voice makes me feel drunk, and I know he’s got a grip on my senses again. The fear subsides, and my hand relaxes in his, the touch of his skin electrifying me.

  I’m little more than a zombie with a crush by the time we reach the tower, the door creaking open like an old cell grate. It’s the first time ever that I enter this ruin. The place looks a dungeon, the walls black and the atmosphere is uncanny. The Marquis leads me slowly to an alcove to the side, lights a candle, and holds it up to illuminate what I expect to be a wall. But when candlelight reveals the painting I made of him like a possessed woman after his visit to my attic, my senses shudder out of the trance.

  “How did you even know about it?” I whisper, trying to hide my fear. I’ve painted it in repeated fits of nightly obsessions, no one was supposed to be aware of its existence.

  “Your father. I suppose he wanted to make it clear to me that chances stood high for the two of us.”

  I’m embarrassed and enraged. Father must’ve entered the attic when I wasn’t there. It’s not so much about violating my privacy, but my trust. “He had no right.”

  “He had a reason.”

  “He just wants to marry me off to someone wealthy,” I spit. “I understand you’re as filthy rich as they come, so he’s doing his best to bring us together. That’s as noble as his reasons get.”

  I can feel the Marquis’s warmth close behind me, and my knees threaten to melt. I struggle to keep control. My jaw tightens as my thoughts run in errant circles. The Marquis bends his head so that his lips and his breath touch my ear, sending a thrill through me as he speaks.

  “You think it’s a good idea to put your father in that light? I understand tonight you learned what I do with greedy bastards.”

  My head snaps to the side, and I stare at him, baffled. A smile draws his young lips, and I feel an urge to kiss him. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.

  “Yes,” he says, “I know what was discussed at your table.”

  “How?”

  “In my business, I need to have ears everywhere.”

  “You mentioned your business before. What is it exactly?”

  He looks up at the painting and raises the candle. “Let’s talk some art first.”

  “You want to know why I painted you?”

  “Oh, I know why you painted me. It’s the result that I find intriguing.”

  I look up at the portrait, too. It shows the Marquis in his full beauty. I’ve been waking up at night with the urge of plunging into the oily colours, forgetting the brush and working on it with my bare fingers, wishing to feel him, to become one with him so I can understand him. I felt possessed, pushed into it by some evil force, moving like a nut case until I fell, exhausted and smeared with pasty colour all over, my eyes puffy and heavy.

  “How did it get here?” I whisper.

  “Your father helped. After you left for the banquet tonight, your maid opened the door to my people, who packed it and brought it over.”

  “They were fast.”

  “They always are.”

  “What’s your name, Marquis?”

  That smile again. “I can’t tell you that.”

  “Why not?”

  He looks me in the face, and I’m lost in the depths of his eyes, glittering dangerous in the candlelight. “Because it would give you power over me.”

  “Are you a demon, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re mocking.”

  “You’re shaking.”

  I haven’t realized that he walked closer while I retreated, and now I bump into the wall opposite from his portrait. I’m hot and sweating, and he’s way too close, his handsome face looming over mine.

  “Why do you tell people I’m your girlfriend?” I whisper, hating myself for how much I wish he’d say he really fell for me.

  “I told you. I’m serious about you.”

  “I don’t want you to be serious about me,” I lie.

  “What do you want?”

  “I want you to leave me alone.” I desperately need you to kiss me.

  “I can’t do that, Saphira. Not considering what you know, not considering your resilience to my powers. Not considering what you see in me. What you put in that portrait.”

  “That is the portrait of a young man, nothing more.”

  “That portrait is a confession. It talks. You won’t be able to hold back, you’ll reveal more in time.”

  I want to reply, but the Marquis’s next move sucks the air out of me. His arm winds around my back and presses me to him, his other hand stroking its way up the garter under my dress. My heart hammers in my ribcage, and my breath catches as his lips, smooth and hard like porcelain, take over mine. My head spins, and I can’t help myself. My hands sink and knot in his hair. He retreats before my passion breaks out of control, a satisfied smile on his face. I know immediately that he’s aware of his effect on me, that I’m so weak I’d go all the way.

  “Not yet, Saphira. Not yet.”

  He retreats in the dark like a shadow, leaving me shaking with desire. I’m under his spell, and my head spins until the door creaks sharply. My head snaps in its direction, and the last person I expect to see bursts in.

  CHAPTER V

  THE SERPENT

  Jeremy Simmons, my ex, stares at me, a worried frown on his face. He’s gained weight since the last time I saw him—in bed with Pretty Lauren—or so his fancy suit makes him appear. As he approaches, I realize the extra flesh is huge muscle mass. His features are squarer and harder than I remember. A result of the testosterone he’s been taking, I guess. Jeanie once mentioned he fell into a workout fever after we broke up. He looks good, but my mind is soaked with the Marquis, his bittersweet scent, those hypnotic dark eyes and the feel of his lips on mine.

  “Why on Earth did he bring you up here?” Jeremy app
roaches like a man on a rescue mission.

  “Don’t,” I mutter. Jeremy misunderstands, throwing his thick arms in the air, looking exasperated.

  “Saphira, let’s at least be civil. It’s been a long time.”

  I can’t repress a smile. His ego must be as pumped up as his muscles if he believes I’m still hurt because of what happened with Lauren. I shake my head and hold up my palm to stop him talking.

  “All forgiven, Jeremy, no need to go there. It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “I’m just surprised to see you all of a sudden, after all this time. Especially in the tower of the manor.”

  “I saw the Marquis sneak you out of the ballroom. I couldn’t use the same exit you two did, his people blocked it, so it took a while to find another way. I was afraid I might be too late.”

  “Too late for what?”

  Jeremy’s features lock. He squares his shoulders, his lips glue shut. I put two and two together in an instant: Jeremy hasn’t been in Northville since we broke up; he had no particular reason to return now; he’s an inspector in London, and the Marquis is a murderer. In the blink of an eye, Jeremy Simmons becomes interesting to me all over again, but in a way that’s light years away from romantic. He’s a source of information.

  I wind an arm around his and ask him to take me away from the tower. Just a few moments later I’m descending the spiralling stairs with him, my arm hooked around his, my brain spinning around ways to get him talking. I fail all the way as he leads me into the crowd. Even though he sticks around, he is scarce of words. Nevertheless, I can see the gravity in his face whenever he looks at the Marquis.

  On the rare occasions the Marquis looks at Jeremy, he seems to scan the man inside out. His youthful features are relaxed as he glides through the crowd, talking to people, as if Jeremy’s presence doesn’t worry him in the least. Stone Mask and Joyous flank him the entire time, and a group’s constantly shifting to back them up, which makes it clear they’re security. I can’t help stealing glances at him, compelled by his unusual beauty and the memory of his kiss.