Sins & Shadows

16

Riddled Through

SYLVIE GRIMACED AS SHE PAID THE CABBIE, FORKING OVER HER LAST twenty and a ten. She should have had Du

If she couldn’t trust Demalion to help her gain information, it was down to the wild card. A

Away from the historic downtown area, the buildings were more modern, less prone to sneaking in bits of gothic frippery, or art deco details. A

Did she really need A

The ISI would have secured the church by now, and Lily would get another e-mail, warning her to stay away from home. Sylvie had nothing left to learn from that site.

If Sylvie were unlucky, the building was glass because A

Besides, Sylvie could ruin A

Her phone buzzed from her jacket pocket, and she fielded it absently. “Yeah.”

“Stop dithering in my parking lot. Go away. Or, if you must, come see me.” A sharp click marked disco

Fine, Sylvie thought. Make it easy for me. I already don’t like you; guess I won’t cry if I put you in harm’s way. She stalked into the lobby, a ragtag figure in the middle of bland eggshell and marble luxury. The lobby receptionist didn’t bother to look up, obviously forewarned, and Sylvie headed for the elevator. It dinged open as she approached it.

When Sylvie got in, she saw a floor had already been selected. What, too much trouble to just tell me the apartment number? Sylvie groused. A

The elevator slid silently upward, releasing Sylvie onto the penthouse floor and a long hallway where the carpet was as gold as the beach at sunset. Sylvie stepped off, heard movement, and saw a woman walking away from her. Sylvie would have to jog to catch up. Games.

She growled and followed at her own speed, studying the stiff elegance of the woman’s walk, the formal suit, the low-heeled shoes. An older woman, with a crisp style to match the voice she’d heard on the phone. Guess A

Kill it, the dark voice snarled. No, Sylvie thought, taking her hand from the gun. But A

Sylvie expressed her feelings by ignoring the brass doorbell and pounding on the door.

It opened immediately. Games, Sylvie thought again, bit back the growl, and blamed Erinya’s jacket for bringing out the Fury in her.

The woman blocked the doorway and studied Sylvie, an eyebrow arched, the lips just slightly curled enough to express dismay and contempt. Sylvie stared back just as rudely. Society woman. An aging movie starlet in the gracious style: Hepburn and Garbo rather than Cher. A

She dared another glance at those sunset-colored eyes and felt suspicion prickle. Kill it, her dark voice had said. A

I bring joy and pain in equal measure,

yet men dream on me with naught but pleasure.

I make strong men weak, and weak men strong.

I am the heart of every song.

I can ne’er be touched, but only felt.

Once forced to flight by candle melt.

If I am caught, I die if neglected,

but, like hope, may be resurrected.

Who am I?

Sylvie banged her head on the doorjamb, unutterably sick of this. “I knew you were the type to play games. Let me guess. You’re not going to let me in, or answer any of my questions until I answer yours.”

“Worse,” A

“You do know people are dying.”

“It’s the human condition.”

“Repeat it,” Sylvie said.

“You don’t listen very well,” A

Sylvie blinked. The sorcerer? The Maudit she’d shot? How could A

“I grow bored.”

“It was French,” Sylvie said. “I don’t speak French. Enfant. Le Enfant Meurtrier, something like that.”

“Yes,” A

“Maybe you’ve got the wrong idea,” Sylvie said. “I know who I am. I need to know who Lily—”

“L’enfant du meurtrier,” A

After a moment, Sylvie said, “I’ve heard worse,” refusing to show that the name-calling rocked something deep inside her. Not Murderer, but Murderer’s Child. The murderer, like she should know what or who that meant. She realized A

A

She gri

A

“At least you recognize it,” A

Sylvie wandered around the sunken living room, with the focus not a television or entertainment system, but the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Looked like she was right; A

“It’s like multiple-choice tests, really. When in doubt, choose B. Riddles always end in love or death.” She detoured over to a knickknack table covered in crystal globes of varying size; she picked one up and warmed it in her hand. “So many things do.”