“He promised again that he’d leave me alone. He said he had nothing to do with Beau’s disappearance.”
“Now that he knows you’re back, do you really expect him to keep any promises? I knew we shouldn’t have come here! You realize what this means? He probably had you tailed. There could be gray men waiting outside the building right now.”
“No, there aren’t,” Haven insisted. “I lost the one guy who was following me.”
Iain stopped pacing, but his eyes were everywhere at once, as if he were surrounded by unseen assailants. “So there was someone following you.”
“I think so, but—”
“We’ve got to get you out of town. You saw Phoebe. It didn’t work out. So it’s time to go. That was the deal.” Iain took her wrist and headed for the terrace door.
“Hey!” Haven twisted her arm free. “Let me finish. There may be another way to find Beau.”
Iain froze. His chest heaved as he inhaled the night.
“There was a woman on the train uptown. She spotted a gray man following me and helped me lose him.”
“Some ordinary woman on the train spotted a gray man?” Iain repeated in disbelief.
“I didn’t say she was ordinary. She’s a member of a group that’s been looking for me. They’re called the Horae. They must be the same people I’ve been dreaming about. The ones who sent the message to Constance.”
Iain looked stunned. “The woman in the subway told you that she was one of the Horae?”
“Well, a girl named Chandra did. You’ll meet her tonight.” Haven pulled the card out of her coat pocket. “The Horae want to see us. So you’ve heard of them?”
“Yes.” Iain examined the card. His confusion seemed to have calmed him. “But I thought they were just a legend. I had no idea they were real. Are you sure the woman you spoke with is dependable?”
“She saved me and Beau the last time we were in New York. She hid us when we were being chased by gray men. I suppose that makes her dependable, right? Why? What do you know about the Horae?”
Iain passed the card back to Haven. “Not much. They say there are twelve of them. They follow Adam wherever he goes. They were sisters once. Adam did something terrible to them, and now they spend each lifetime trying to punish him.”
“What did Adam do?” Haven asked.
“I have no clue,” Iain said. “But I have a hunch it was pretty awful.”
“So will you come with me to meet them?” Haven asked, recalling the promise she’d made to herself. Wherever her quest took her, she’d make sure Iain came with her. She just hoped she wasn’t pushing him too far too fast. “I need you there, and they want me to bring you.”
“They know I’m alive?”
Haven nodded and Iain sighed.
“Then I guess we have to go. Do you have any idea why they want to meet with us?”
“The Pythia is one of them,” Haven said. “She pretends to be a fraud, but her powers are real. Chandra said she can help me see the life that I shared with Beau.”
“And what are they expecting in return?”
It was the same question that had been nagging at Haven. “I don’t know. But if the Horae want to stop Adam, they can’t be all bad.”
“You’re being naive, Haven. Do you want to get caught up in a feud that’s lasted for millennia? Do you know what can happen to people who hate for that long?”
“Whatever the Horae want from me, they can have it,” Haven stated bluntly. “If they can help me save Beau, I’ll give them anything they need.”
Those words seemed to shock Iain more than any others she had uttered.
“Don’t make any promises until you hear their demands,” he warned. “Just because they’re Adam’s enemies doesn’t mean they’re our friends.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Across the dark street sat an empty storefront. The space had once been home to a church. A faded purple awning read TEMPLE OF POWER, and the location was still marked by a flashing neon sign that read SIN WILL in blazing red, followed by FIND YOU OUT in brilliant white. Plastered in the plateglass windows were yellowing newspapers. It had been quite some time since the Temple of Power had heard anyone’s prayers.
“That’s the place,” Haven said before she could read the numbers on the door. “I’d bet you anything.”
“You really want to do this?” Iain asked, making it perfectly clear that he didn’t.
“Absolutely.” Haven said. Determined to answer his uncertainty with confidence, she hopped off the curb and into the street.
The door wasn’t locked, and chimes rang when Iain stepped forward to open it. Inside, it took Haven’s eyes a few moments to adjust to the darkness, but she felt the bounce of plywood flooring under her shoes and knew at once that the building had been gutted. Soon she could see electrical cables snaking down from the ceiling. Multicolored wires poked out of the walls. The storefront had been stripped of anything of value. Everything left behind was coated with layers of spray paint and decorated with the tags of New York’s most prolific vandals.
“Lock the door behind you and come with me,” said a voice. “Quickly. You should never be late for a meeting with Phoebe.” Chandra appeared, wearing a blue denim jumpsuit and a baseball hat.
“Where are you taking us?” Iain asked.
“You’ll see.”
“Phoebe isn’t here?” Haven had risked enough already. She couldn’t ask Iain to take another leap into the unknown. “This was the address you gave me.”
“Do you really think we’d write our real address down for you?” Chandra’s girlie laugh sounded slightly brittle. “Or let you lead a team of gray men to see us?”
“No one followed us,” Iain snapped. He seemed to have taken an instant dislike to Chandra.
“We were very careful,” Haven added, trying to smooth things over.
“You’re sure about that?” Chandra inquired. Haven couldn’t help but look over her shoulder at the street outside the glass windows. She didn’t see anyone, but that was no guarantee that there wasn’t anyone out there.
“Yes,” Iain said. “Because if Adam’s men had followed us, I’d be dead by now.”
“Maybe,” Chandra replied. “Or maybe they’d wait to see where you led them first.”
The girl had a point, though Haven didn’t dare agree out loud. Iain’s mood was growing darker by the moment and getting him as far as they’d come had been quite a challenge. She almost had to push him when Chandra headed for the back door of the store. Outside in the alley, an electrician’s van sat idling. Emblazoned on its side was a cartoon god with a lightning bolt in one hand. Below the image was a company name: TITAN ELECTRIC.
“Get in the back,” Chandra ordered.
Haven and Iain settled in among a jumble of extension ladders and other equipment. Chandra drove for ten minutes before she pulled the van over. “Hop out,” she called to her passengers. “It’s the first house on your left. Go through the door on the ground floor. There will be someone inside to greet you.”
“Where the hell are we?” Iain asked as the van sped off. “Is this New York?” They were standing at the end of two rows of wooden houses that faced each other across a narrow lane. The buildings dated from the nineteenth century, and they were all painted a sunny yellow, with green shutters and brown trim. Light pooled around the gas lamps that lined the street. Haven spun around. Behind them, an old white mansion sat perched on a hill. It was so quiet outside, they could hear the streetlights humming.
“We didn’t go very far,” Haven noted. “We’ve got to be somewhere near Harlem.”
The door that led to the ground floor of one of the nearby buildings opened a crack. A strip of bright light cut across the road.
Haven took Iain’s hand, but he hesitated. “Let’s go,” she insisted, almost dragging him behind her.
A woman in her twenties met them at the door. She wore a chocolate-colored sheath dress, and her electric-blue hair was swept into a ch
ic chignon.
“Welcome to Sylvan Terrace. My name is Vera. Please, come inside. You must be freezing.”
“Do I know you?” It was hard for Haven to place Vera’s face when she couldn’t stop staring at her hair.
“This is the second time we’ve met in this lifetime.” The woman had the friendly, patient smile of a kindergarten teacher. “The first was at a café in Greenwich Village. But I feel as if I’ve known you forever. May I take your coats?”
“That’s right! I remember now,” Haven said as she loosened her scarf. “A gray man followed me to a café. You were my waitress. You told me to slip out the bathroom window. How did you . . .”
The thought was shoved to one side as a million new questions jostled their way to the front of the line. With her coat half off and still dangling from one shoulder, Haven stopped to take in her surroundings. She and Iain had entered a large round chamber. Four closed doors were set in the parchment-colored walls that encircled them. On one side of the room, an elliptical staircase rose like a twisting ribbon of sandstone. With no banister and no obvious means of support, it seemed to have been carved from a single piece of rock. Beyond the stairs was a sitting area. Chairs and sofas covered in honey-colored velvets were turned toward a blaze in a marble fireplace. A large clock on the mantel kept the time. Haven glanced up at the ceiling. The room was lit by two chandeliers that gave off a pale, golden light. High above, where the staircase reached its apex, an enormous skylight framed the moon. The whole house may have looked modern and empty, yet somehow it felt warm and alive.
“This can’t be the same building we saw from outside,” Haven said. “It’s much too large.”
“Oh, but it is the same,” Vera assured her. “My sisters learned long ago how to make the most of a space. Many homes are filled with useless nooks and crannies. We allow nothing to go to waste. I would love to give you a tour, but it wouldn’t be wise to keep Phoebe waiting. We prize punctuality here. Asteria!” she called, and a young girl appeared. “Would you mind taking our guests’ coats while I escort them to the fourth floor?”
“I’d be delighted.” The girl’s face was childlike, but her expression said she knew things no child could know. “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” she told Haven. “And you as well, Mr. Morrow,” she added with a grin.
“Thank you, Asteria. You may see to your chores now,” Vera dismissed the girl. “Haven? Iain? Will you follow me, please?”
She led them up the magnificent staircase that rose in an ever-tightening spiral. Women buzzed by them along the way. Each nodded politely, but none stopped. They appeared to be following a strict schedule. A willowy girl with the regal bearing of the Masai glided down the stairs with a stack of leather-bound books under one arm. Haven spun around for a second look, certain she’d seen the lovely young woman somewhere before. A prim lady hurried past with a basket filled with plant trimmings. She shared the face of a Japanese tourist who had once purchased four dresses from Haven’s boutique in Rome. Behind her, a tiny child who couldn’t have been more than six groomed a wig as she walked. Even she was familiar. They all were. Haven stopped on the stairs when she spotted a young woman who had sold her a pair of shoes on her first trip to New York. Iain paused as well, and Vera looked concerned by the unexpected delay.
“You’ve all been watching me,” Haven said, feeling suddenly trapped—like a wild creature that’s woken to find itself on display at a zoo.
“Yes. Phoebe will explain.” Vera pointed to one of the tall clocks that stood on each landing. The minute hand had almost reached the top of the hour. “We must hurry.”
Bells began to toll just as they arrived at the fourth floor. There, a girl with blonde hair was unlocking a room to their left. She wore a long brown coat and motorcycle boots. The same outfit she’d worn in Florence. Haven had just reached out to tug at Iain’s arm when the clocks stopped striking. In the house below, a dozen doors shut at once. Another opened in front of them.
“We’re here,” Vera called out.
In a brightly lit sunroom, the little group discovered the Pythia watering tidy rows of plants. At the spa she’d seemed ancient, but now Haven saw that Phoebe couldn’t be much more than sixty. All of her mystical trappings were gone, and her hair was styled in a sleek silver bob. To the average eye, her simple beige dress might have appeared unremarkable. Haven recognized the work of a master tailor. And Phoebe wore it exceptionally well. Even in New York, few women could manage such effortless elegance.
“Please, take a seat,” Vera told Haven and Iain. Three wicker chairs waited for them in one corner of the sunroom.
“Hello.” Phoebe greeted the couple warmly. When she saw Haven’s alarmed expression, she smiled. “You must be shocked to find me looking so normal.”
“A little,” Haven admitted, relaxing a bit.
Phoebe chuckled. “I have to put on a good show at the spa. My clients would be terribly disappointed if I arrived at work dressed in my usual garb. And this must be Mr. Morrow.” She didn’t just look at Iain—she examined him. Haven was amused but hardly surprised. Even older ladies couldn’t resist Iain’s charms.
“We’ve met,” Iain replied flatly. “At the Ouroboros Society.”
“Yes, of course. How could I forget?” Phoebe glanced at the blue-haired girl who still stood by the door. “Vera, dear, would you mind if I chatted with our guests in private?”
“Not at all,” Vera said, though Haven suspected she’d wanted to stay.
Once Vera had closed the door behind her, Phoebe finished watering the plants that lined the sunroom’s windowsills. They weren’t typical houseplants, Haven noticed. The tall, leafless stalks resembled the sort of reeds that might grow on the banks of faraway rivers. They exuded a faint fragrance that reminded Haven of something, though she couldn’t quite figure out what it was.
“What is that you’re growing?” Haven asked. “The plants’ scent—it’s familiar.”
“No living language possesses a name for this species. It’s been virtually extinct for centuries.” Phoebe closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “To me, it smells of cypress groves and olive blossoms. I would imagine that’s not the scent you’re experiencing. The fragrance is different for everyone. That’s one of the reasons these plants are so essential to my work. But I’ll explain more later. You must have many other questions to ask me. Shall we attempt to get a few of them out of the way?”
“Sure,” Haven agreed, searching for a good place to start. “I recognized half the women in this building. How long have you all been following me? Who are you? What do you want?”
Phoebe chuckled again. “I’ll answer one question at a time, if you don’t mind. We have been following you since your first trip to New York eighteen months ago. I knew you would find your way to the Ouroboros Society, and my sisters and I were waiting for you to arrive. We lost track of you for a year after you moved to Italy. Then we found you in Rome and followed you to Florence. We would have made contact there, but you disappeared once again. I must admit—you caught me by surprise when you arrived at the spa.”
“That’s just this lifetime,” Haven said. “I know you’ve been following me much longer than that. In the nineteen twenties my name was Constance Whitman. I have a note someone once wrote her—a note that instructed Constance to call a certain telephone number if he ever found her.”
“Yes, I wrote that note myself. Constance never called. I assume you know what happened to her? She might have lived longer if she had taken my advice.”
“The he was Adam Rosier, wasn’t it?” Iain asked curtly.
Phoebe turned to Iain. “Yes, but we don’t call him that. We call him the magos. He’s the reason I asked you both here this evening.” She took a key from her pocket and unlocked an old ebony cabinet on the far side of the room. A work of art built by craftspeople using skills that no longer existed, it had always been meant to hold precious things. Reaching inside, Phoebe withdrew a large handbound book, which she
passed to Haven with great care. “This is our story. We keep it with us at all times to remind us of the importance of our mission. It contains every scrap of information we have collected on our adversary.”
Haven gingerly flipped though the book. Only the last few pages were typed in a language she could understand. Other sections were handwritten in everything from hieroglyphics to Old English. Tucked into the book’s spine, however, were dozens of photographs. The first showed Adam strolling through a cemetery. The style of his suit dated the photo to the late nineteenth century. He wore a beard that ended in a neat little point at the tip of his chin. Otherwise he hadn’t changed at all. On the back of the photo, someone had written Cimetière du Père Lachaise, 29 Mai 1871.
The next photograph Haven found had been taken in New York. In the background she spotted the stock exchange building on Wall Street. Thousands of men in hats and 1920s-style suits jammed the area, blocking traffic. A gentleman peered out a window of one of the cars stalled in the street. Haven felt her pulse quicken. She knew the handsome face well.
“I recognize Adam, but I can’t read most of this,” Haven said, her hands shaking too badly to turn another page. “Can you tell me what it says?”
Phoebe settled into a seat, and Haven felt as if the old woman were bestowing an honor upon her, like a queen taking time to have tea with a subject.
“Perhaps I should start our story at the beginning. There are twelve of us,” Phoebe said. “Today we look nothing alike, but once we were all sisters. We lived in a small town on the eastern coast of Greece. Our father died, and because there were so many of us, we were forced to take in washing to make ends meet. It was a hard living but an honest one. Then a rumor started. A man passing through town had seen the twelve of us. He told the townspeople that we had offered him more than our laundry services. He claimed we were running a brothel. They stoned us to death in the streets. I was the oldest. I was twenty. The youngest of us was eleven. She was only a baby.”