The handsome young black man at the head of the table stood. His casual jeans and sweater were as reassuring to Rose as the broad grin that spread across his face as he held out his hand. “Miss Rose, so lovely to meet in person. Please, come on in.”
Rose recognized his voice, the smooth Southern drawl. “You’re Alec Rutledge. From the phone. We talked.” Rose snapped her mouth shut before she could babble any further inanity.
As she reflexively shook Alec’s offered hand, Rose felt…nothing. Her eyes saw him; her ears heard him. His skin against hers was warm. But to Rose’s othersense, the sense by which she navigated the world, he was an empty shell.
If Alec was concerned by Rose’s lack of eloquence, it didn’t show on his face. “I’m so glad you could join us. Let me introduce you to your colleagues. Father Mike Sullivan…”
Alec gestured to the old man at his left. As if Rose needed help identifying the priest in the room. And Father Mike Sullivan was serious about it, too. No simple collar on top of normal street clothes—this guy was in the full black suit with the fancy button-down shirt and a Pope-approved look of disapproval on his face. Like Alec, Mike was a void in Rose’s awareness. Like he wasn’t there. Or like he wasn’t human.
When it became obvious Mike was neither going to stand nor offer a greeting, Alec turned smoothly to the third man in the room. “And Ian Fior.”
Ian, Rose could feel. And then some. He rose gracefully to his feet and took Rose’s hand with a captivating smile. “Rose, is it? Delightful to meet you.” His clear tenor was musical. Vibrant.
Yes, vibrant was the word for Mr. Ian Fior. Alec might be good looking, but Ian was something else entirely. Now Rose was paying attention, she found it hard to look away. Gorgeous was too tame a description. He had the inhuman perfection of a Photoshopped model. His hair was a shade too red; his eyes too intensely blue to be real; his skin too perfectly porcelain. And beneath his broad shoulders and angelic face was a resonance like nothing Rose had ever experienced.
Most people, Rose sensed their insides as sounds through a heavy door or the view through a window obscured by a sheer curtain. Most people, Rose could tune out once she got a sense of their overall emotional pitch. Ian’s emotions were invasive, disorienting. He pulsed with a mad energy that jangled against the malaise of St. Petersburg, brilliant and whirling and intense.
Rose pulled her hand away, breaking the physical contact, and Ian’s presence faded to a more manageable level. Still, Rose made for the chair next to the priest, wanting as much physical distance between her and Ian as possible. She focused on getting there without tripping, then tried to sound casual as she said, “Sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything?” Like she had mysterious meetings with weird supernatural people all the time.
“We’re one person short yet.” Alec waved at the wine array and leaned over for her glass. “Would you care for a drink?”
Half-empty glasses on the table told Rose the party had started without her. A rainbow of open bottles poked up from ice-filled high-hats clustered at the head of the table. “Sure.” She pointed at a pink wine in the middle that no one had touched yet. “That one.”
The food, too, looked untouched so far, but the aromas over the table set Rose’s mouth watering. From the silver chafing dishes she smelled butter and garlic and the unmistakable scent of well-roasted beef. Loaves of heavy dark bread sat on cutting boards next to baskets of crusty golden rolls. Rose’s stomach rumbled, her body seemingly unaware of her mental crisis.
There was something predatory about Ian, a danger that awoke her reptile-brain, and his burning intensity was hard to ignore, but it was Mike and Alec that Rose’s attention kept returning to. Wild stories that Rose had discounted as imagination were suddenly making more sense—stories about people who had sold their souls for power. Rose didn’t pretend to be an expert on souls, but she had to admit, these two had given up…something. Ian’s whirling insides might be invasive and disorienting, but the absolute lack of any emotional energy from Alec and Mike was creepy.
All sorts of words were used with varying levels of hysteria to describe these people—sorcerer, witch, wizard. But voider was the label used by people who seemed in the know. The story Rose had heard most often was that people like Mike and Alec had reached into the void and traded their self—their soul—for the magic they could now wield. It was the story Rose had believed the least. Until now.
Alec filled Rose’s glass, then settled back into his chair. “I hope everyone took advantage of the afternoon to do some sightseeing. St. Petersburg’s a lovely city.”
“We’re not here for sightseeing.” Mike sounded every bit as grumbly as Rose had imagined he would.
Rose, herself, had been more interested in a nap on arrival—even in first class, the travel had been exhausting—but the last thing she wanted to do now was agree with the crotchety old priest. “I wouldn’t know where to go first.”
“You’re in a good spot.” Alec refilled his own glass from a bottle of pale white wine that was near empty. “We’re right in the heart of downtown St. Petersburg. Walking distance to the Winter Palace, to an incredible shopping district. And, of course, St. Isaac’s next door is one of the most famous cathedrals in the city.”
Rose shivered at the mention of the cathedral. Her quick look on the way into the hotel hadn’t been encouraging. “Is it safe? Everything here feels—” She broke off, looked around. Was she supposed to talk about this stuff? Even if everyone here was as unusual as she was, was she supposed to keep secrets?
“It’s all right, Rose.” Alec correctly interpreted her expression. “We’re all friends here. You can share.”
How to even describe it? Rose had never tried to talk about the impressions her othersense gave her. This was the first time she’d been around people who wouldn’t call her crazy. “I just got here, so I don’t have a good feel for the city yet, but if I’d come here to play tourist, I’d probably be booking my flight home as soon as I could manage it.”
“You’re a sensitive, then,” Mike said, dismissive. Not a question.
Rose stared at him and shrugged. Not an answer. She might not be able to read Mike’s inner soul, but she’d known enough men and women of the church to be wary.
Alec didn’t seem concerned. “It’s true, St. Petersburg isn’t the sort of place you want to be wandering by yourself at night. No different than New York or Chicago in that respect.” He flashed a smile at Ian and Mike in turn. “But the tourist spots—”
Alec stopped as the concierge reappeared in the doorway. “Mr. Rutledge, the final member of your party has arrived.”
Alec rose again. “Thank you, Vasily. Could you make sure we’re left alone for a bit, then?”
The concierge nodded and stepped back, revealing an attractive Middle Eastern gentleman in a black satin shirt with a mandarin collar and smart black slacks. Rose had to grit her teeth against the sudden dissonance in her mind. Something was…wrong with this man. Very wrong.
Alec’s default smile was back, plastered across his face. Rose wondered that his cheeks didn’t go numb. “Everyone, allow me to introduce Nazeem. He’s the final member of our diplomatic party.”
Nazeem stepped into the room and the concierge closed the door behind him, shutting them in together. Ian sparked friendly curiosity, and held out his hand. “Just Nazeem? Like a rock star?”
“No.” Mike’s voice grated over Ian’s welcoming tone. “Like a vampire.”
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