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“Why would he do that?”
“Because…” She clears her throat nervously. “Because some aspects of our charity work might be perceived as being… not entirely legitimate.” The last bit comes out as a whisper.
Storm is standing so close to her. He is probably holding her damn hand to comfort her. “You can tell me anything, Beatrice,” he says. “Because I know you want to help catch Raif’s killer.”
I wonder if he is putting on that honey-sweet voice to irk me. If so, he is doing a damn good job of it. Beatrice must be melting into a puddle, and she had been pretty mushy to begin with. It sounds like she is nodding by the little affirmative murmur that escapes her lips.
“We helped liberate water sprites and their kin, you see,” she says softly. “We’d bring them to this world, to areas where they could help address issues with draught or water shortages and other environmental issues. They help entire communities to thrive!”
She hesitates.
“Go on,” Storm encourages.
“It’s just that some of the sprites were beholden to their Otherworld masters, bound into service for perpetuity. See this picture? See the collars on their throats? It’s a terrible thing for them. They’re practically enslaved!”
“So you freed them? And you used magic to do it?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “Bound water sprites are too valuable, you see. Their masters would never free them for money. Raif sought mages to create false keys to unlock their collars. He… he paid for it out of the charity’s funds. I wasn’t aware until it was too late!”
Keys, hisses the little voice, as if I hadn’t noticed.
“And a police investigation into a break-in would have uncovered the truth about what Raif was doing, implicating your business, so you didn’t report it,” Storm says.
“We couldn’t,” she says pleadingly. “Some of the biggest donations for our charitable work come from high profile people. Including the ambassador. If the press found out, it would have damaged their reputations and their business relationships with Otherworld partners. They didn’t deserve that! Please, if you could just keep it quiet?”
“We can be discreet,” Storm reassures her.
His readiness to help her annoys me. She may be a do-gooder, and no one could fault her for wanting to help those water sprites, but she’s just admitted to lying about her business to her donors.
While I stew, she is thanking Storm profusely. She tells him she has been so worried about having to close down the business now that Raif is gone.
She is probably batting her long eyelashes at him. Her tears are probably clinging to them like dewdrops. Meanwhile I am stuffed under this desk in danger of cramping. I dare not shift. Just one little noise and she would know I am here. And then Storm will be double-mad at me and have to be double-nice to her.
My one leg is beginning to get horrible pins and needles. I bite my lip to stop making any sound as I flex my foot. To distract myself I mull over the complex symbol drawn on the slip of paper I found.
This symbol was important to Raif. Zarina wore a collar in the photo. She must be one of those bound water sprites. Looking at the photo closely I can just about make out the lines of this symbol carved into her collar. It must be part of the magic that is binding Zarina to her master.
I wish I could read the symbol, but it takes those who study magic years to learn the sigils and decades to get anywhere close to mastering their language. Naturally I can’t read it.
Beatrice is still gabbling to Storm about Raif’s illegal activities that she’d covered up. The damn woman can’t even break a law if it isn’t related to do-gooding. The amount she is going on, you would thing she was in a confessional.
My fingers trace the lines of the symbol on the paper, hoping to somehow derive meaning. Suddenly the shape of the symbol burns into my mind like it is made of fire. My body seizes up, my muscles going rigid with pain. I cannot move. I am pinned in place by some other force. And then a feeling of suffocating darkness claws into my mind. An endless raging darkness. I am vaguely aware of a noise.
It is me. I am screaming.
Chapter 13
STORM
Storm arrives outside the restaurant that Remi has picked for the team dinner, a place called Luca’s in Notting Hill, and isn’t sure whether he has the right place or not.
Tonight was Remi’s turn to choose, and her tastes are usually a little more upscale, and lately she’s been going through a pan-Asian food and sushi obsession. Storm checks his messages, but it is definitely the right address.
Inside he finds the team sitting around a large round table, their starters having just arrived. Remi has ordered calamari for him.
Storm frowns at her, and gives a meaningful look around the interior of the restaurant, with its dim lighting and its walls crammed with photographs of patrons over the years.
“Not your usual kind of haunt,” he comments mildly.
