“It’s gone now. After the pictures started popping up on my phone I tried to find him online again, but it was as if he never existed.”
“What pictures?”
“They are all variations on the same theme as thatSuccubuswe just saw. A scary woman holding a set of chimes.” She paused. “The body of the man beneath her feet was new, however.”
“When did the pictures start arriving on your phone?” he asked.
“Three days after our last date.”
“Did you go to a restaurant or the theater? There might be some way to trace him.”
“No. We went to an alley where a murder had occurred a few years earlier.”
“An alley.”
“At midnight.”
“A murder scene in an alley at midnight. Your idea?”
“Well, yes.”
“You’re a real romantic, aren’t you?”
She raised her chin. “I decided it was time to run the test. It’s easier to read a scene in darkness, and for the record, I’m not interested in your views on my social life or lack thereof.”
“Can I just say that a date in a dark alley where a murder occurred sounds a little unusual?”
“You get used to it,” she said.
“I’ll take your word for it. Looks like we have a new problem.”
She frowned. “What?”
“We still don’t know how Deke and Bea got caught up in this thing, but now it looks like you might be a target.”
“Me?”She gave that a second to settle. “Okay, theSuccubussculpture turning up in the gallery tonight can’t be a total coincidence. But what about you? Maybe you’re a target. You and Deke both.”
“Or maybe we just happened to get in the way because of the old pact between the Wellses and the Harpers.”
“Another coincidence?”
“No,” he said. “A major miscalculation by whoever is running this op.”
Twenty-Three
“The exhibition was a success.”Trent Hatch poured two glasses of scotch and handed one to his half brother. “The mood tiles were quite effective. The Alchemist will be pleased. By the way, congratulations on yourSuccubus. It caused quite a stir.”
The thing you had to remember about artists was that they craved positive feedback.
Vincent stopped pacing the room long enough to snatch the glass out of Trent’s fingers. He took a long swallow and resumed pacing. He was energized. On fire.
He was also, Trent thought, increasingly unstable. The streak of borderline insanity came from Vincent’s father’s side, along with his head-turning good looks and ability to charm women. Their mother’s second marriage had not ended well. Her husband, Conrad Grant, had spent his final days in a psychiatric hospital.
“The bitch sawSuccubus, Trent.” Vincent gulped some more whiskey. “She recognized herself. She was terrified. She finally understands that not only do I know the truth about her, I can and will control her.”
There was a feverish excitement about Vincent that was growing stronger and more worrisome by the day. Trent watched him stalk back and forth across the study. He was not the only one keeping an uneasy eye on his half brother. He knew the security team was, too. That was not good news. Monica and Moira—he had never figured out which was which—were well aware that his brother was becoming increasingly erratic. The only thing protecting Vincent for now was the fact that the Alchemist needed him. That state of affairs would not last much longer.
Trent had tried to explain that Vincent’s mood swings were a natural aspect of the artistic temperament, but he knew Monica and Moira were not buying that story. Vincent was clearly deteriorating, and the psychedelics he was using toopen the inner path to the wellspring of his creative powerswere not helping.
