Sacrifice (The Venus Chronicles #1)

Chapter 16

Sixteen

The sound of laughter echoed off the walls, and conversations melded together in a low, contented hum. Coffee cups clinked, and chairs screeched against the linoleum. All was as it should be. In fact, to Eve, the staff canteen had never looked so good.

She spotted Sienna sitting at a table by the window. Sienna would never believe what had happened yesterday, if Eve told her, that was. She mulled it over. Who needed a crummy promotion in the gift shop when you had Lucien Knight? She smiled inwardly.

“Cappuccino please, Brenda,” she said, and let her mind drift back out of focus. Last night had been incredible. A thrill of heat rippled through her just thinking about it. Lucien had changed everything. A job with real responsibility, fancy parties, designer outfits and the most exciting sex of her life. The remembered pleasure ran through her. She could hardly believe what they’d done in his car. It was like when she’d been with Lucien, she’d become someone else.

Sound from the TV behind the counter layered over the gentle chorus of break-room chatter. It was tuned to the news channel, just like always. The volume was low, but just high enough for Eve to catch a name: Konstantin Petrovsky.

She flicked her eyes to the ticker tape of words scrolling along the bottom of the picture.

brEAKING - RUSSIAN OLIGARCH MISSING FROM LONDON HOTEL ROOM UNDER SUSPICIOUS CIRCUMSTANCES. POLICE CONFIRM SUSPICION OF ROBBERY AND POSSIBLE CONNECTIONS TO ORGANISED CRIME. DORCHESTER HOTEL MANAGEMENT DECLINE TO COMMENT.

Konstantin Petrovsky? Eve scooped up her coffee. Wasn't that the name of the man she'd met last night?

“Turn that up, would you?” she said to the woman behind the counter.

Brenda obliged, and Eve leaned in to listen.

“Reports have confirmed that Mr Petrovsky's suite at the Dorchester had been ransacked,” said the presenter, “but questions remain about why the oligarch has, seemingly, been abducted. The oil baron has previously been linked with organized crime syndicates in the UK and Police are considering if his disappearance is related to a gangland dispute.”

Eve gave Brenda a nod and backed away, all thought of sharing last night’s activities with Sienna now completely forgotten. That was a bit too close for comfort. This was the second time in as many weeks she’d been scarily close to a crime.

She hustled down the corridor and made for the stairs to the fourth floor.

What if it isn’t a coincidence?

The idea sent a shiver through her, which was amplified by the chill inside the exhibition space. Completely empty, save for a single desk installed in one corner, the room was currently unheated, and the bare stone floor radiated cold into the soles of her feet. Only the occasional echo from the hallway disturbed the silence within.

What you need is a distraction, Eve. Work, come one. Let’s shine at this great new job.

She bit at her lip and scooped up the envelope that Lucien had left for her. Inside were his plans for the layout of the exhibits. She squinted at his loopy script. His handwriting was weirdly old-fashioned for a modern billionaire.

OK. Where to begin?

The walls were white and bare, a perfect blank canvas. She walked around the outskirts of the space, holding up Lucien’s plan and trying to imagine it full of exhibits: the effigies of Akkadian sky gods sat in one corner, Sumerian death masks on plinths along the opposite wall–and in the center the most important exhibit of all– the Stone of Tizok -a sacrificial altar.

Eve imagined that this kind of exhibition would usually take months of planning, but they were working on a schedule of just three weeks now and he’d been very specific about the date.

Lucien had the kind of money that could make things happen fast, but there was a hell of a lot to do if they were going to make it.

She had agreed to his timings, of course. He could be very persuasive, but who was she kidding? Worry broke through the fortifications of activity she was trying to build to distract herself, and doubt crept in. She didn’t know what half the items on the list even were, and this was the first real exhibition she’d ever had to manage. How was she supposed to do this? She rubbed at her face and tried to suck in a steadying breath.

Research, Eve. Do the research. Go down to the library. Go speak to Henry. See what he’s got.

She had the basics, thanks to her degree. No-one could possibly know everything, she told herself, and she wasn’t about to admit to Lucien she needed help. Henry Claymore was the Head Librarian. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of, well, pretty much everything. If anyone would know the history of these artefacts, it would be Henry. She’d pay him a visit the first chance she got.

Come on Eve, you can do this.

She took a deep breath and scanned Lucien’s plan. The adjoining smaller room had been set out quite specifically to be dedicated to the rituals surrounding Babylonian sacrifice and, as she stepped through the wide doorway, it was immediately clear why he had such a clear vision for it.

This room had tall windows that took in a huge amount of the London skyline. The quality of light was fantastic, and there was a raised area in front of the windows, almost like a small stage, which would be great for positioning the ancient altarpieces. Eve felt a thrill of excitement - she could already picture it: the serene faces of Adad, Anu and Ishtar all looking down as she worked her magic, bringing the exhibition to life.

She stepped further into the room and allowed herself to be immersed in its potential. She'd need to work out the methods of display and make sure that the lighting highlighted each piece perfectly. Suddenly, ideas flowed.

She jotted them down and even started mentally planning her filing system. There was so much needed doing that she didn’t really know how much time had passed when, looking up from her clipboard, she noticed that someone else was in the room with her.

She’d not even heard footsteps, but a man now stood on the dais, his features lost to shadow against the bright backdrop of the window. It took her a moment to work out who it was.

“DI Michaels, you startled me.” The shock of his appearance had made her heart stutter. She squinted into his face.

Michaels regarded her silently, looking down from his place by the window with a kind of benign serenity that made Eve forget what she was doing. Light reflected from his hair and refracted into feathery rainbows in mid-air. She blinked it away.

“I was lost in my thoughts,” she managed at last. “Can I help you with something?” Her cheeks flushed.

Michaels didn't smile.

Detective Michaels was lost in his own thoughts.

Mortals were generally weak, simple creatures, driven by primitive emotions. In all his time walking among them, he had developed an instinct for the types: the ones who were generally good but couldn’t resist their desires, the ones who indulged their vices without remorse, and then those who took pleasure from others' pain.

Which type was she? He found her harder to read than most. She emitted almost nothing. It was peculiar. Why had the reaver saved her? She didn’t seem his usual type. Not a Barbie-doll sex toy or dim-witted adorer. Difficult prey. After the thousands of years, they had spent on Earth together, very little surprised him anymore.

She looked up at him, blissfully unaware of who she was dealing with.

“I called by the gift shop,” Michaels said, looking around, “They told me you’d be up here. Sacrifice to the Gods . I saw the sign.” He flicked one hand in the general direction of the entrance. “An area of special interest to you?”

He really hoped that it wasn't.

“I have a degree in Egyptology and ancient history.” She tipped her head to one side, looking very pleased about it. “My thesis was on the Early Dynastic Period.”

Not one of my favorite eras. Michaels thought, keeping his expression neutral, but his nostrils flared with disappointment. “Is that right?”

Eve grinned broadly. “We have a well-connected benefactor keen to exhibit his own collection. We're bringing in pieces from all over the world to supplement it.” She tapped at her clipboard. Michaels stepped down from the platform and stretched out a hand. “May I?”

She passed him the list, and Michaels ran his eyes over it. The Aztec Stone of Tizoc, Akkadian daggers and demon bowls. Items from cultures across the globe that were linked to sacrifice. He turned the page. The Crown of Ishtar. That was a name he hadn’t heard for a long time. He flicked his eyes to Eve. Did she even know what it was?

Eve looked back at him, suddenly much more interested. He felt her gaze, her mind pressing in on his. There was something latent in her, something she herself was not yet aware of. He reinforced his mental defenses, and she squinted at him in frustration.

“Do you usually take so much interest in drunk girls that fall into rivers?” she asked.

Michaels swallowed hard and refocused. “It’s standard procedure to follow up with a witness, just in case they’ve remembered any more details.”

“I’m not sure that I witnessed anything,” Eve said, and Michaels felt the push of her mind against his once again.

He gritted his teeth. Interesting. There was definitely something more to her . “Memories can take a while to surface after trauma,” he added casually. “Do you remember anything new?”

“No.” Eve continued to study him. “Are you sure we don't know each other from somewhere?”

“Unlikely.” Michaels broke eye contact and turned away.

He walked slowly to pass behind her as if examining the room. “How much do you know about this rich benefactor?”

“Well, he’s certainly generous,” said Eve, turning to watch him, “and in Mr Knight’s case, I’m sure that the subject matter itself is motivation enough. He's very passionate.” There was a touch of snippiness in her voice now and Michaels could sense the raise in her heart rate. He sighed inwardly.

“I attended a function at the Dorchester with him only last night. He's very committed to sourcing the right artefacts.” She blushed deeply and looked down, trying to hide it.

So, she’d been at the Dorchester too . Michaels felt his heart sink. Lucien was using her, and judging by the fluttering in her chest, winning her over. He’d have to intervene, but how? Revealing the truth about himself was forbidden. The celestial laws that bound them to this realm where clear on that. Her life would be forfeited, and no game Lucien was playing would be worth that.

He needed to find a way to protect her without revealing their secrets; a way to make sure that she kept away from Lucien without knowing why.

“Meet anyone interesting?” he asked, as if he already knew the answer.

Her features rose and fell, initial excitement giving way to a frown.

“Ah, everyone has a dark side,” Michaels said. “Especially the rich and famous. People aren’t always what they seem, Miss Areli.” It was taking all his resolve to stop himself from telling her to stay away. “And after the party?”

For a moment, Eve stared back at him, searching his face for meaning, and Michaels sensed the pheromones pouring out of her. He sighed again. Gods, it’s worse than I thought.

“There was no after . He took me home.”

“What time was that?”

“I really couldn't say. Why don't you ask him yourself?” Eve flicked her eyes over Michaels’ shoulder, and he turned to see that Lucien had just arrived. Annoyingly suave as ever in a dark, well-tailored suit and tie, he sauntered across the empty space toward them.

Michaels glared at him, his hands curling reflexively into agitated fists. Lucien leaned against the interconnecting doorway and oozed defiance. Michaels’ breathing deepened.

“Do you two know each other?” said Eve.

Michaels felt the anger build within him. With one word he could put the reaver on his knees and demand to know what he was doing, but he fought to keep his voice steady. “Lucien Knight, I assume?” he said, and stepped forward to cut off his line of sight of Eve.

Lucien smirked, barely concealing laughter, and Micheals’ blood boiled in his veins. His body ached with the impulse to take its natural form. “Do you have a moment? I have some questions for you.”

“Certainly, Officer,” Lucien said with a drawl.

Michaels gestured out into the hallway and stalked ahead to a place they would be out of earshot of Eve.

Michaels rounded on him. “What are you doing?” he growled.

Lucien pulled an expression of faux innocence and waved a hand at the exhibition sign. “I’m putting on a show. Sharing my passions with the mortals.”

Michael’s nostrils flared with a deep intake of breath that stiffened his jaw. “Interactions with mortals are not permitted, Reaver.”

Lucien sighed and waved him dismissively away. Michaels caught him by the wrist.

“Petrovsky wasn't yours to kill.”

Lucien's expression hardened. He replied in a low hiss, “It's another scumbag off the planet. All to the good, wouldn’t you say?”

Michaels stepped in a little closer. “You're deviating from the divine decree, Reaver. It isn’t permitted. You know that. You don’t get to choose.”

Lucien lifted his jaw and looked at Michaels with hooded eyes. “You don't need to worry your pretty little head. I'll do my job, you do yours. Now, go save a puppy somewhere and get out of my face.”

The prickle of feather-tips raced over Michaels’ back and he fought to keep them in. “You don't get to pick and choose. You'll follow instructions or suffer the penalty.”

Lucien sighed with maddening nonchalance.

“Don’t test me,” Michaels growled, and a ripple of light ran over him to swell in a pulse that flew forward and consumed Lucien. His eyes darkened as Michaels raised his fingers. “ Adolebit tibi peccata, ” he whispered, and Lucien froze as bright white runes appeared on his neck, searing harshly for a moment before dimming to a dull burning red.

Lucien cursed loudly and struggled to escape from Michaels’ charm that held him rigid. He turned puce and hissed with a forked tongue. “Is this God's love again, Angel?” he spat through gritted teeth.

“A reminder of the order of things,” said Michaels cooly, “Do your job.”