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“Why does Daniel want me dead?”
“For your art. He’s a gift hunter. Once it has been stolen, he can sell it to the highest bidder.”
Ivan narrowed his eyes. “How can my art be given to someone if I’m dead?”
“It has to transfer to a suitable donor at the moment of your death, to someone like yourself, or a genetically manipulated arts practitioner. Daniel has been modified to act as donor. He can both receive and transmit forbidden arts.”
“You know all this, how?” he asked with suspicion.
“I’ve been the unfortunate guinea pig of experiments. The man who held me prisoner tried to find a way of transferring an art like yours to a normal human like me. It didn’t work. Well, not all of it.”
Ivan suddenly understood. “That’s why you had the ability to raise yourself?”
“Precisely.”
“You said to save myself and Alice I had to find her.”
“Finding her led you to her father.”
Anger made him bristle. “That was your plan all along?”
“I knew you wouldn’t contact Mr. Jones of your own accord.”
“That was foul play. Jones and I have bad history.”
“He’s the only one who can help.”
“I don’t need Jones to fight off a gila shifter.”
“It’s a lot bigger than one gila shifter.”
“Boris?”
“Among others. There are many voices now, aren’t there?”
“You know there are,” Ivan bit out. “Tell me how to stop them. Who channeled them?”
“I said I’d tell you my wish when the time comes.” Nicolas lifted an eyebrow, waiting.
“If I agree to do what you want, will you give me the medium’s name?”
Nicolas inclined his head. “Yes.”
“I’m listening.”
“I want to be buried next to my mother.”
Ivan nodded somberly. “Where’s your body?”
“Here.” Nicolas took a piece of paper from his pocket and pushed it over the coffee table.
Ivan glanced at the writing. It gave the GPS coordinates for a location that, judging by the latitude, was in the southern hemisphere. He memorized it, knowing the writing would disappear the minute Nicolas did.
“My mother’s name was Angelique Reid,” Nicolas continued. “She’s buried in Camps Bay, Cape Town.”
Ivan tipped his fingers together. “Is that all?”
“Yes, thank you. Your medium’s name is Melissa May. You don’t even have to go far. She’s right here in London. Number twenty-one, Gainsford Street. Tell Mr. Jones everything I said.”
“I don’t need Jones for this. I can handle it.”
“You’re fighting one battle. Mr. Jones is fighting a war. Trust me. Alice’s future depends on it. If her father loses that war, there’s no hope for anyone. Not for you, Alice, or your children.”
Ivan looked up quickly. “I’m not having children. Ever. The world is much too inhumane to bring another poor soul into it.”
“No?” Nicolas smiled. “Be sure to give Katherine my regards.”
“Who?” Ivan said, but Nicolas’s shape had already dispersed.
There was no time to waste. Ivan grabbed his jacket and headed for the door.
Outside in the hallway, Ben sat on a chair, keeping guard. He looked up from a sports magazine. “Donald’s catching a few hours of sleep. What’s up?”
“I’m going out.”
Ben jumped to his feet. “No way, man. Someone tried to kill you, tonight.”
“Doesn’t stop me from living,” Ivan said, moving past him.
Ben blocked the elevator door. “Don’t make me call Kate. You know how she gets when you wake her up in the middle of the night.”
Ivan chuckled. “You can’t threaten me with a sweet old granny.” He pushed Ben out of the way. “Step aside.”
“Fuck!” Ben took his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. “Donald? Iv is on the move.”
They both stepped into the elevator. Before Ben could say another word, Ivan grabbed the phone. “Go back to sleep. I’m just going for a drive.”
“Christ.” Donald sounded ready to explode. “You’re a walking risk. Kate is going to have my nuts.”
Ivan cut the call and threw the phone back at Ben.
“I’m not letting you go alone, wherever the hell you’re going,” Ben said.
“I didn’t know you were so protective,” Ivan teased.
“Just doing my job. If you get yourself killed, no one else will hire me. May as well stamp failure on my forehead.”
At his words, Ivan’s heart skipped a beat. Just doing my job. His thoughts went to Alice. He wanted to demand that her house be guarded, that she be kept safe, but he knew there was nothing the whole police department could do against an enemy like Boris or a shifter. At least, they were after him, for his art, and not her. The more he thought about it, the more he believed Boris was telling the truth. The ghost was looking for a weakness to use against him and despite what he’d said, Alice was, had always been, his only soft spot. There was still time. If he could sort out the issue with the medium and get her to send the spirits and Boris back to where they belonged, the voices would stop, and Boris wouldn’t be a threat, any longer. After that, he’d be able to deal with the shifter and this gift hunting bullshit.
