Bound In Fire: Phoenix Shifter Paranormal Page 7

His captain had been right. There was a lot to see, but what he had come for was the mythology exhibit. They had some kind of catchy phrase for it, but that was what it was. Being here made him feel closer to Isobel somehow. And, maybe, once step closer to letting her go. It had been ten years but sometimes it still felt like yesterday.

  Roark’s cat spat at him and turned his back. The animal never accepted that she was gone and to be honest, neither had he.

  The museum was fantastic. A large dinosaur exhibit welcomed kids of all ages to see both predators and prey. Mammoth skeletons reached for the monumentally high ceilings and holograms shimmered, luring guests to discover the past. Docents led tours, eager guests following their every word.

  He wanted to stop, but he had to be up early the next morning for his six o’clock shift and he wanted to be sure he got enough time where it mattered the most. The gem and natural stone display was next, but he passed by without even looking. It was the next exhibit that drew him like a fly to honey.

  The explosion still rang in his ears like yesterday, and the stark reality that he couldn’t save her would forever haunt him. Lying there on that stretcher, he vowed to never let it happen again. When he got out of the hospital, he left Bradford and made his way to Davenport. There was nothing left for him there, just the ghosts of the past haunting his every waking hour, but here he made a difference. But, there were never enough lives to make up for losing hers.

  The Mythsterious Exhibit opened up before him, but instead of a simple exhibit, he found himself encountering what appeared to be a small, catered event complete with waiters carrying flutes of champagne and plates of fruit and cheese.

  “Huh.” Snagging a glass, he made his way inside.

  ***

  “So far so good.” Isobel clutched her iPad, every step of the opening a gleaming success. She smiled and nodded at the incoming guests, keeping Director Shipman at a distance. He seemed pleased enough. As well he should be. The museum was packed from stem to stern, the new membership drive sparking numbers they hadn’t seen in years. It didn’t hurt that the author of a popular children’s series based on mythology had mentioned the show on one of his twitter feeds and the retweets had gone viral. Mythology, apparently, was hot.

  After some debate, she’d opted to host the opening night fete in front of the actual exhibit instead of where it was customarily held in the central lobby. Waiters ferried around flutes of champagne and plates of appetizers. All the guests seemed to be having a marvelous time. She’d even seen Marlene and Guidry floating around as the hour grew later. The soft opening of the morning had been uneventful but tonight the exhibit was the center of her universe.

  The only thing diminishing her joy was absence of her friend and mentor, Denver. She’d gone home with the damp tissue housed in the mint tin a few days before, but as she dipped the moistened paper into the scrying water and wove the spell that should have shown her where he was, she only got the black water of the reflective bowl looking back at her.

  Granted, her magic wasn’t stellar, as her mother constantly pointed out, but it was a simple scrying spell.

  In her experience, that meant only one thing. Denver was no longer on this plane. In other words, he was dead. Guidry was most likely right, but she didn’t want to believe it.

  The knowledge rocked her to the core. What had happened? The blood on the carpet in his office told her something had. And his phone on the floor like that? What other explanation could there be? Guidry thought so, too, but that left her little comfort.

  Unless he was being deliberately hidden.

  But who would do that?

  Last night when she left Marlene, she’d checked with local hospitals for something to keep her mind off of the conversation she’d just had. But, there were no records and even going round to his apartment once more left little to show for it. The only thing out of place, aside from him being gone, was the missing ceremonial bowl from the original manifest and she’d yet to find answers for that mystery. She’d fallen asleep that night and instead of the peaceful dreams she’d been experiencing, she’d woken terrified, feeling very alone.

  She was supposedly some kind of mythological bird in disguise and on Shipton’s hit list. But, really, she felt more like a target for his unwanted advances. Since that first afternoon when he’d revealed his intentions, she had avoided him at all costs.

  That was impossible. Wasn’t it? Her having a dual nature? Shouldn’t she know if she was sharing a body with something?

  She’d seen evidence with her own eyes, but why hadn’t she known? Didn’t most shifters have steady communication between their dual natured selves? Denver did. His owl was as much a part of him as his human side.

  Isobel thought of his phone. She’d brought it back to her office and secured it in her desk, planning to go through it for more clues if she got some time. But, today had left her running ragged and the more she thought about it, the less secure she felt leaving anything here at the museum.

  Denver was most likely dead and there was nothing she could do about it. So, she sat up until the wee hours of the morning and watched the dawn coming over the horizon, determined she would make the show a success. Thinking about it too long made her heart hurt. He would have been proud of what he saw tonight. That much she was sure of.

  Some of her favorite myths were represented with artifacts and artwork from the world over. A sculpture of Isis from Egypt reigned against a backdrop of the pyramids. Guests milled within the columns of the replica of the Parthenon and even more patrons gathered alongside the life size replica of Poseidon, sporting his mighty jeweled trident.

  Medusa reigned supreme over a garden of statues, followed by a replica of Olympus with a towering Zeus complete with lightning bolts. That had been a tricky one, but the boys had done a great job making Denver’s vision come to life.

  While guests could not take pictures in the main part of the exhibit, interaction with these photo ops was encouraged. The one she still had mixed feelings about was the small hallway leading into the main exhibit. It was designed to be Persephone’s journey into the Underworld, with flickering sconces of green fire and a fireplace where patrons could see the souls of the deceased in their damned afterlife.

  She’d been following the social media vortex and all of the reaction had been positive. Membership numbers continued to go up as both children and adults alike got to have fun and get back into spending time with each other instead of being locked in separate digital worlds.

  Keeping tabs on what was happening via her headset, everything appeared to be going to plan. No incidents. All of the guests seemed pleased. Her crew was standing by to fix anything that became an issue, but so far, cross her fingers, things were running smoothly.

  A familiar note of laughter floated over the din of the crowd. Her parents had arrived, as well as a good many of the coven’s most influential supporters. Isobel smoothed her hand down her glittering black dress and sucked in a breath.

  “Ah, darling. What a wonderful show.” Her mother, dressed in a smart red confection, held out her cheek for her daughter to grace with a kiss.

  Exhibit, she thought, biting back the correction. It didn’t matter what she said, her mother would say and do whatever she wanted anyway. And, she wasn’t about to let the woman ruin the evening.

  “Thank you, mother.” It was an effort not to grit her teeth. She spotted her father in his customary event tuxedo and gave him a light hug. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hello, dear.”

  “August, why don’t you go find us some champagne. I’m simply parched.” Her voice was like silken oak, unbending and insistent.

  Her father gave her a wan smile and made his escape, disappearing into the crowd. If she knew her dad, he’d find a way to be scarce the rest of the evening.

  “Now…where is that Director Shipton? I want to hear all about the work you two are doing here. The board will be so pleased to see how many patrons have come tonight.”

&n
bsp; Weariness settled in her bones.

  “I don’t know, mother. I haven’t seen him in hours.” And thank Goddess for that, she thought.

  Her mother craned her head, a cat that got the cream smile sliding over her face. As if on cue, the man in question made a beeline toward them. “Director Shipton. How wonderful to see you.”

  “Dayanara. The pleasure is all mine.” Shipton lifted her mother’s hand to his lips and bowed. He stood, his eyes hooded as they moved over Isobel, flickering quickly back toward her mother. “I hope you are finding the museum to your liking this evening.”

  “It’s lovely, as always.” Her mother’s eyes darted back toward Isobel.

  “I’m so glad you’re pleased.” He replied, then met Isobel’s gaze. “I was wondering if I might have a word with you after the show. I was going over some of the accounts and it seems as if we may have a blip in the radar.”

  Alarm skittered through her.

  “Oh?”

  Was that her imagination, or did the bastard just smile at her?

  She grit her teeth and tried to force her breathing to remain normal. The ceremonial bowl. He couldn’t be taking about anything else. She’d scoured the museum from stem to stern but nothing had turned up.

  “Yes,” he continued. “One of the Indian pieces on loan appears to be missing. Invoices show it arriving here at the museum, but as I walked the exhibit, it wasn’t accounted for anywhere in the show.”

  The sensation of being under a microscope was claustrophobic and she struggled to keep her head in the game.

  “I think I remember coming across something about a ceremonial bowl in Denver’s paperwork. Are you sure you didn’t see it? I’m sure he had everything set up accordingly before he left on vacation.”

  Take that, asshole. He knew good and well Denver didn’t go on vacation any more than she’d sprouted wings and a unicorn horn. It was fabricated bullshit and he knew she knew it, but she had to make light of it in front of her mother.

  “My goodness, dear. A missing artifact? Now, that isn’t very archival of you, is it?”

  She glared at her mother, not giving her the satisfaction of a response. But, then she noticed the look that passed between Shipton and her mother, and the conversation with Guidry and Marlene flashed through her head.

  There was something going on behind the scenes and damned if her mother wasn’t in on it. And where she went, the coven followed.

  “We’re having a good turnout.” Isobel inserted, her fingers tingling as the grip on her iPad tightened. Were her eyes changing color again? Goddess, but she hoped not. Now that it had been pointed out, she wondered how many times it had happened and she hadn’t even noticed.

  Isobel blinked, trying to feel for the being inside of her, nearly dropping her tablet as the breath of wings and fire slid beneath her skin. Shipton’s sharp gaze was back on her once more and the need to escape his scrutiny won out on her willingness to play the game. Ten hours on her feet were beginning to take their toll and she was just…well, done.

  She had to get a breath of fresh air, and now.

  “If you both will excuse me, there’s something I need to take care of.”

  “I’ll see you after the exhibit closes. We have matters to discuss.” Shipton replied.

  Without giving either of them a second glance, she strode into the crowd hoping the strength in her legs would hold until she either got to the bathroom or the safety of her office. So, he did know about the ceremonial bowl. Interesting. The question was, why had he waited until tonight to ask her anything about it?

  As for meeting him later? He could go scratch dirt.

  He hadn’t been wearing a headset, she noticed. Way to keep informed. Well, she would be sure to work that to her advantage.

  The history of the bowl in itself was disturbing. Human sacrifice was not an unknown quantity in ancient times and it appeared as if this bowl was used to garner what some felt was the life essence of the blood held within.

  Why would Denver have wanted that particular piece when it didn’t seem to fit any of the main themes of the show?

  The more she considered the possibilities, the more concerned she grew. Had Shipton brought it in and Denver questioned him about it? It was a viable possibility.

  To have it behind glass where it could be looked at was one thing. To think of it on the loose where some maniac could put it to modern practice was another. She shivered, stumbling toward the exit.

  “Guys,” she spoke into the intercom. “I’m heading out for some air.”

  “Why don’t you just head home?” Greg popped on. “Steve and I can handle it.”

  “Thanks. I owe you all snickerdoodles.”

  The tech laughed. “Deal. I’m going to put a sign in the break room. Will work for cookies. Take care, boss.”

  Isobel smiled despite herself. They were amazing. The museum was only open another hour but the thought of being in the near proximity to Shipton and her mother was just too much to bear. She shrugged off the thin wrap that had begun to suffocate her and continued walking toward the front of the exhibit.

  And if Shipton went out of his way to seek out her company, she didn’t know what she would do. The thought made her dizzy and she didn’t see the brick wall she plowed into before he reached up to steady her in his powerful arms.

  Chapter Seven

  “Hey there. I’ve got you…” Roark caught the redhead as she bowled right into him. He couldn’t tell if she was running away or running toward something.

  “I’m sorry.” She wobbled on her feet, still holding on to his arm to steady herself. “I just need some air.” Her head was down, and for a second he thought she was going to be sick on his shoes. The black shawl thing she was carrying dragged on the ground, but by the way she was swaying, it didn’t seem to matter.

  Still sore from Martin’s antics a few days before, he wasn’t going to be putting out any fires but he could at least help the young woman get where she needed to go. His captain would most likely laugh his ass off if he found out and set him to little old ladies crossing the street when it was slow at the station.

  “FML,” he grumbled under his breath, annoyed that he wasn’t able to spend this time with Isobel as he’d wanted. Any other day and he wouldn’t mind it, but at this moment his community service was severely lacking.

  “Come with me.” He set down his drink on one of the copious planters and guided her from the room. Passing the entrance to the exhibit, he led her toward the front of the main floor when she stopped, her hair still hiding the majority of her features.

  “No. This way. There’s a garden.” She pointed toward a hallway he hadn’t noticed when he came through the first time.

  “Sure. Come on. Do you need a medic? I can call some buddies at the station and get you some help.” He took her hand, and when his flesh connected with hers, the jolt of the connection stopped him in his tracks.

  “No. No, thank you.” She rocked on her feet but kept going, pulling her hand from his grip, her heels clattering on the marble floor. “I have to get outside. I’m sorry.” Her long black dress swirled around her ankles, glittering under the fluorescent light of the hallway. Her shawl fluttered to the floor, forgotten in her hurry.

  He stood there, staring after her, his heart beating wild in his chest.

  What the fuck had just happened?

  Roark’s cat roared to life, urging him forward. The only other time he’d ever felt a physical connection like that was with Izzy. And his mate was dead.

  Wasn’t she?

  Fuck. This was not happening. As far as he knew, the Bradford Coven was long gone, hanging out with their murderous cronies in Podunk, nowhere while he was here trying to get on with his life.

  So, it couldn’t be them fucking with him. At least, he didn’t think so. Even the possibility pissed him off. He’d learned the hard way about dealing with problems. You tackled them head on and on your own terms.

  He strode down the hallw
ay and snatched up the scarf, angry without knowing exactly why. He glimpsed the female through the glass and as he pushed the door open, she turned, her familiar pale face illuminated by the lights of the fountain.

  There was no air. And, for a moment, it seemed as if his heart ceased to beat.

  “Izzy?” He rasped, his voice sounding like it was drenched in sand paper.

  A pair of startled eyes met his and he realized that instead of Izzy’s green eyes, hers were amber and they appeared almost luminous in the half light of the garden.

  “Do I know you?” She stepped forward and the tattoo of the phoenix on her upper arm came into view. Fiery red hair framed her face, falling just below her shoulders.

  It was her.

  Without even thinking about what he was doing, he strode forward and took her in his arms. His lips met hers with a ferocity that seared him down to the soles of his feet.

  Cinnamon. Vanilla.

  Gods. No one else smelled quite like her. It was his mate, impossible as it seemed. She. Was. Here.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” He started to bury his face in her hair when he realized she was fighting him.

  “Let go of me,” the woman hissed, taking a step back and forcing him to relinquish his hold on her.

  “Izzy…” God. Had he lost his mind? Was he seeing her in every redhead he came across? It wouldn’t have been the first time.

  Roark closed his eyes and tried to get a grip on his rioting emotions and center himself in his reality. He knew it was her. It had to be. The tattoo…her scent.

  No. This time it was real and not just a trick of his imagination.

  “How do you know my name?” She edged away from him, her eyes wide with fear.

  “You died. I saw it.” He whispered, opening his eyes. She moved back toward the door but froze as his words sunk in.

  “How do you know that?” Her voice shook and she turned back to face him. Tears sparkled in her eyes. “Who are you?”

  “Roark. You don’t remember me?”

  How could she not remember him? Them? It didn’t make sense. His emotions were a maelstrom of hurt and disbelief, but more than anything he had to know where she had been and what had happened to her. If she needed help, why hadn’t she come to him? He was ready to give up his entire life to help her, but instead he got a dead girlfriend, a pack who hated him for colluding with witches, and too many other complications to stay in Bradford.