Ginny sat at the bar, sipping at her martini, reading the labels on the serried ranks of bottles behind the burly barman. She didn’t recognize most of them. She’d had two already, just to steady her nerves. She’d have to pace herself.
Ginny had always had a liking for booze—a little too much—and she’d promised herself in the aftermath of the recent events in New York that she wouldn’t allow herself to fall back into the comforting spiral. And yet… it was so enticing; to numb everything, to banish the little voice at the back of her mind that seemed intent on reminding her of the violation she had suffered, the uninvited presence that had taken possession of her body, the confusion she still felt now that she’d rid herself of its influence, yet understanding that, hidden away inside of her, a shard of it lived on. She could feel it from time to time, stirring, wanting to come out and reveal itself to the world. Since the battle with Amaury, however, she’d held it in check, burying it deep inside, afraid not that it might seize control of her again, but instead that she might grow to like it, just like the booze.
She heard footsteps behind her and turned around on her stool, to glimpse a rotund woman in a fur stole marching past, glowering at a meek-looking man who was propped against the wall across the other side of the room, partially obscured behind a veil of cigarette smoke. He blew more smoke from the corner of his mouth and looked away, as if hoping she hadn’t seen him.
Ginny turned back to her drink. She wondered if the Glogauer woman was going to show. Rutherford had supposedly put word out in the right circles, circulating their concocted story: that a well-heeled but put-upon wife from Long Island was staying at the Hotel Cecil, and was looking for someone to help free her from her neglectful husband. More to the point, he’d been clear that she had plenty of money to spare.
She supposed it sounded plausible enough, as these things go—she’d met plenty of men and women back in the States thrown together after the war for fortune and security, and now feeling trapped and discontented with their lot. Many of them attended Gabriel’s parties on a regular basis, searching for some sort of escape through booze and oblivion and meaningless sex.
She’d half been expecting a line of ne’er-do-wells to form behind her at the bar, but in truth she’d sat there undisturbed for over an hour, and was beginning to think that she was wasting her time. Perhaps Donovan had been right, and the logical place to start their investigation was the house in Belgravia, after all. Rutherford had seemed confident, however, insisting that his contacts would ensure that word reached the right ears, and that knowing Sabine’s reputation, she’d find it impossible to resist.
Ginny drained the last of her martini and pushed the glass across the bar. “I’ll take another,” she said, catching the barman’s attention. He cocked a crooked smile and set about mixing the drink. One more, and if there was still no sign of the woman, she’d call it a night and go and find Gabriel.
Ginny turned to see a slim, dark-haired woman sliding onto the stool beside her. The newcomer was wearing a loose, short-sleeved blue blouse, flowing black culottes and boots, but even still, Ginny could see she had a wiry, toned physique. The muscles of her upper arms were well defined, but not unladylike. She was smiling, but there was no warmth reflected in her sharp green eyes, which flitted back and forth, regarding Ginny with a cool, calculated look. When she spoke, she had a clipped, slightly Germanic accent.
“Long Island,” said Ginny, with a smile. She accepted her drink from the barman, who peered inquisitively at the newcomer, anticipating an order. The woman waved him away.
“Now there’s a thing. Someone else mentioned Long Island to me earlier this very day.” She tapped out a nervous rhythm on the bar with her fingertips, drumming her nails against the polished lacquer.
“They did? Well I hope they were encouraging you to visit. It’s a lovely place, particularly in the summer.”
The woman cocked her head. “Ah, well, I suppose it depends on your perspective. I’ve heard it can be a lonely place, so far away from the bustle of the city.”
“Oh, that’s a bleak way of looking at it,” said Ginny. “But then we all have our crosses to bear.”
The woman laughed, and held out her hand. “Sabine,” she said.
Ginny felt her heart skip a beat. “Ginny,” she said, taking the woman’s hand in her own. Sabine shook it firmly.
“What brings you to London?”
“A vacation. Look—can I get you a drink?”
Sabine shook her head. “No, thanks. I don’t touch the stuff.” She smiled, but again, Ginny noticed that the woman’s eyes told a different story. She was sizing Ginny up, watching her every move.
Ginny swallowed, and then took another sip of her drink. Her mouth was dry.
“So, a vacation. Have you taken in the sights?”
Ginny shrugged, trying to keep things casual. “Not yet. We only arrived a couple of days ago, so we’re just getting our bearings, really.”
“We?”
“My husband.” Ginny was careful to inject an inflection of venom into the word.
“Ah,” said Sabine. “Is he here? I hope I haven’t taken his seat?”
Ginny laughed. “Oh, no. To be honest, I have no idea where he is. He’d find all this a bit prosaic. He’s probably off somewhere in town, making a fool of himself at some jazz club or other.” She shrugged. “He gets about. I prefer the quiet life.” She raised her glass and took a sip.
Sabine offered her a wry smile. “I understand. Men are all the same. They don’t know how to appreciate what’s under their noses.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” said Ginny. “Are you married? You sound as if you speak from experience.”
Sabine laughed. “Me? No. But let’s just say that I know what men are like. It always begins with romance and devotion, but it ends with loneliness and despair.”
Ginny swilled the liquid around in her glass. “You make it sound so fatalistic.”
“It’s in their nature. Men are like animals—cage them at your peril.”
“In my case, it’s not the man who’s been caged,” said Ginny. She allowed her shoulders to slump, as if she were suddenly letting her guard down. “You’re right about Long Island. In many ways it’s nothing but a beautiful prison. I mean, in many ways, I’m lucky. I want for nothing. Nothing at all. Except, perhaps, for the man I thought I married. But I don’t suppose things will ever change.”
Sabine leaned forward on her stool, until her face was only a few inches from Ginny’s. Ginny could smell fresh mint on the woman’s breath. “You know, I may be able to help you find your freedom, if that is what you’re looking for?”
Ginny swallowed. She took another swig of her drink. This was it, the moment she’d been waiting for. It had taken only minutes to reel Sabine in, and she had to be careful not to blow it now. She had to seem interested, but not too enthusiastic. “Freedom? I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she said, with a half smile.
Sabine grinned. “Perhaps we should take this conversation somewhere a little more private? Do you have a room here, at the hotel?”
Ginny nodded. “A suite.”
“And your husband isn’t expected back?”
“Not for some hours,” said Ginny.
“Very well. Perhaps I can tell you a little more about the options available to you. I happen to be something of a specialist in this area.”
Ginny nodded, and drained the last of her drink. She placed the glass on the bar. “Well, I don’t suppose I’ve anything to lose by hearing you out,” she said. She hopped down from the bar stool, beckoning for Sabine to follow her toward the elevators.
* * *
Sabine issued an impressed whistle as Ginny opened the door to her suite—which Gabriel had rented for the day—and beckoned her in. The plush surroundings were clearly having the desired effect, continuing to reel Sabine further into their little charade. Ginny could see from the look on Sabine’s face that the woman thought she’d struck gold—that making a large amount of money out of the impending transaction was going to be a relatively easy matter.
“Are you sure I can’t get you a drink?” said Ginny, closing the door behind them and strolling over to the drinks cabinet. She poured a large measure of neat vodka into a glass. The lights were off in the adjoining bedroom, and the door was closed.
Sabine crossed to the bedroom door, opened it, and peered in. “No, thanks,” she said, apparently satisfied they were alone. “In my line of work it pays to keep a clear head.”
“And what exactly is that line of work?” said Ginny.
Sabine beckoned to one of the divans in the center of room, and then sat when Ginny nodded her approval. “Come, now. Let’s not be coy. I think you know.”
“I want to hear you say it,” said Ginny. She sipped at her drink, still standing by the drinks cabinet, watching Sabine with apparent interest. Her heart was thrumming. “This is all new to me.”
“I’m a ‘fixer’,” said Sabine. “I fix things. People come to me with a problem, and I help to put it right.”
“No matter the consequences?”
“I’m a professional,” said Sabine. “There are no consequences. I do whatever is necessary and I leave no trail. But such a service costs…” She waved her hand at their surroundings. “Not that I expect that’ll be a problem for a woman in your position.”
“As I explained, I don’t want for anything,” said Ginny.
“Then I believe I’m in a position to help,” said Sabine. “It would be a simple matter to engineer an ‘accident’. Something quick and painless… unless, that is, you want him to suffer?”
Ginny had to fight down a rising tide of disgust. She couldn’t believe how casually this woman was discussing the act of murder—the sly expression she was wearing, the playful confidence with which she presented herself. She wondered what had happened to this woman to lead her to this point in her life, to harden her so much that the thought of arranging the death—and potential torture—of an innocent man seemed so amusing. She realized she was frowning. “No… I…”
Sabine seemed to stiffen, as if spooked by Ginny’s sudden hesitation. “Look, we can stop the conversation right here, and forget we ever met.” She started to rise from the divan.
“No, no. It’s just a lot to take in, that’s all. For so long, I’ve thought about this day, and now that it comes to it… it’s hard, that’s all. I did love him, once. Perhaps I still do.”
Sabine was standing, now. “Listen, perhaps I’ve made a mistake.” Her eyes flicked toward the door.
“No, please, sit down,” said Ginny.
Sabine paused. She looked uncertain, as if her instincts were telling her to go, but her greed was clinging on to the notion that she might be about to pass up a particularly lucrative job. Her instincts seemed to take over. She could tell something was wrong. She took a step toward the door.
“Sit down,” said Ginny. “Now.”
Frowning, Sabine turned toward her, pivoting on the spot, raising her arms defensively, recognizing the sudden shift in Ginny’s tone for the threat it represented.
A sudden gust stirred Sabine’s hair, causing her to brace herself, gasping in shock, as Ginny raised her arms by her sides and began to rise slowly into the air.
The lights flickered, as the swirling winds caused the curtains to flutter uncontrollably, sending vases and teacups skittering to the floor, where they were dashed against the floorboards, shattering into a thousand tiny shards.
Ginny could feel the entity inside her stirring with pleasure. She embraced it, allowing it to flex, to flow out into her body and mind. She gasped, as its cold fingers spread into her limbs; felt its cool anger, its desire to obliterate the little human standing before her. She raised her hands, felt the ebb and flow of the energy swirling around her as she began to shape it, to give it form. She was floating now, her head only inches from the ceiling. She felt vital, alive, in control.
Below, Sabine was staring up at her in abject terror. Here was a woman who had seen horrors beyond belief—who had perpetrated horrendous crimes against her fellow humans—and yet, faced with this echo of Sekhmet, she seemed to shrink, to become nothing but an insect that deserved to be crushed. Ginny raised her hand, felt the power coursing through her body. All it would take was a single gesture, and she could rid the world of this foul stain. Surely that was righteous? Surely that was what was intended for her?
She heard a crash from the doorway, and looked down to see three men burst into the suite, all brandishing handguns.
“Thank God,” said Sabine, shouting over the roaring of the ethereal wind. “Help me!”
One of the men approached her, raising his weapon. “I think you’re the one who’s going to be helping us,” he said.
Ginny saw Sabine’s shoulders sag, as she took in her situation. She seemed to recognize the man who had approached her.
“You.”
Ginny raised her hand. There was still time to end it. The woman didn’t deserve to live. She could almost hear the snarl of Sekhmet’s lions, ready to burst forth from the ether and consume her prey. If the men were killed too, then so be it—they were only humans, and could easily be replaced by other worshippers.
“Ginny?” the voice was coming from somewhere below. “Ginny.” She looked down to see a man by her feet, peering up at her, concern etched onto his face. “Ginny, it’s over.”
She tried to focus on his face, on the meaning behind the sounds he was making. In her head, the goddess was whispering to her, urging her on, bidding her to smite her enemies. But there was something about the man below… something she had to remember.
With a sharp intake of breath, Ginny closed her eyes and reasserted her control. She felt warmth flooding back into her limbs, felt the fog clearing from her mind. The voice was gone, and all she could hear now was Gabriel, calling her name from below. She lowered her arms, felt the wind around her drop to a gentle breeze. For a moment she was falling, and blackness threatened to consume her. Then all was still, and she was standing once again, her feet firmly upon the floorboards.
She opened her eyes, overcome with a sudden wooziness, and then Gabriel was there beside her, sliding his arm around her shoulders, supporting her as she faltered. He led her over to a divan and lowered her onto it.
Rutherford was standing over Sabine, his gun leveled at his head. Donovan, also holding a pistol, stood by the door, blocking the exit in case she made a sudden bolt past Rutherford.
Sabine was openly staring at Ginny, slack-jawed with fear and incredulity. “What are you?” Her voice had lost it cocky, confident edge.
“You wouldn’t understand,” said Ginny. Her mouth was dry. She glanced toward the drinks cabinet, where her glass still sat upon the glossy wooden surface. Gabriel went to fetch it for her.
“And you’re in league with that,” said Sabine, glancing up at Rutherford.
“Whatever is necessary,” said Rutherford. “Although she happens to be a friend.”
“To be honest, I’m surprised you’re still alive,” said Sabine. “Those Russians were pretty pissed.”
“Those Russians are why I’m here. You’re going to tell us everything about them. Why they hired you. What they wanted.”
Sabine smiled. “You know I can’t do that.”
Ginny leaned forward in her chair, fixing Sabine with a glower. “Oh, I think you will.”
She watched Sabine swallow. “They’ll kill me…”
“And yet I’m the one pointing a gun at your head,” said Rutherford.
The fight seemed to go out of the woman. She pinched the bridge of her nose between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand. “Alright. What do you want to know?”
“That’s better,” said Rutherford. “Start with the job. What did they hire you to do?”
Sabine smiled, despite the gravity of her situation. “It couldn’t have been easier. They wanted me to obtain some blueprints for them. That was it.”
“Blueprints of what?”
“Of the Underground system. Maps of the stations and tunnels. They were particularly interested in City Road, the disused station out by Islington.”
“That’s been closed for years,” said Rutherford. “What use could they possibly have for an old Underground station?”
Sabine shrugged. “I don’t ask questions. I do what I need to do, and then I get paid.”
“What else did you see or hear, over in that house in Belgravia?”
“Bearded men in hoods, coming and going. That was it. Until you arrived, of course, and things went a bit ‘hocus pocus’.” She shot an accusing glance at Ginny.
“So you’ve no idea what they wanted with the Underground plans?” pressed Rutherford.
“I’ve already told you, I don’t ask questions.”
“Do you think they’re looking to establish a base down there?” said Gabriel. The question was directed at Rutherford, rather than Sabine.
“I don’t see why. They’d already got a stronghold in London, and it was only compromised because they failed to kill me.” Rutherford turned to Sabine. “Alright, I think we’ve got what we need out of you. For now.”
“You’re not going to let her go?” said Donovan, from across the room. “She’ll go straight to them. She can’t be trusted.”
“You really think I’d be that stupid,” said Sabine. “If they find out I told you about the blueprints, they’ll kill me on the spot.”
“Bind her,” said Rutherford, motioning with his gun for Gabriel to come forward. He did so, withdrawing a small coil of twine from his coat pocket.
“What are you doing?” snarled Sabine, twisting in her seat to stare up at Rutherford, who was keeping the muzzle of his gun pointed calmly at her forehead. “I told you what you wanted to know.”
“It’s for your own safety,” said Rutherford. There was the faint hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. “You said it yourself—they’ll kill you if they get the chance. Consider this protective custody.” He watched while Gabriel tightened the cord around her wrists, and then set about doing the same to her ankles.
“They’ll kill you, you know, Rutherford. They’ll kill all of you. They’re not going to be scared off by a few conjuring tricks.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Ginny. “It worked well enough on you.”
Sabine looked panicked. “Rutherford, please. You know how it works. I won’t be safe in custody. They’ll have people on the inside. You haven’t seen what they’re capable of.”
“Quite the contrary,” he said. “And besides, I know some of my colleagues will be very anxious for a little word.”
“Bastard,” she spat. She struggled futilely against her bonds as Gabriel stepped away, and Rutherford finally lowered his gun.
“No need to get comfortable,” said Rutherford. “Someone will be along shortly to pick you up.”
He motioned to the others to follow him as he crossed to the door. Pausing only to down the last of her vodka, Ginny stood, smiled sweetly at Sabine, and then turned and left the room.