Sins of the Soul

“Right, then.” Alastor shot a look at Naphré. “I’ll just take her back to the Temple now.” The man who’d so solicitously tended to Marie moments past was gone. In his place was an emotionless creature without expression, jaw set, eyes cold and flat.

“No!” Marie struggled upright on the couch and pressed her fingertips to her temples. “It was High Reverend Kusnetzov. He put something in my wine. When I first started to feel woozy, I knew what he’d done, and I thought at first that it was because…well, because he wanted to…” She shook her head. “But that didn’t make sense.” Her expression shifted to one of pain. “I mean, I was attracted to him.”

Naphré didn’t doubt that, despite the fact that Pyotr Kusnetzov was probably two decades older. He worked out. Stayed in shape. His face was unlined, with pleasant, even features. He was an attractive man. Which was why she’d had lunch with him. But there was also something off about him. Which was why she hadn’t had lunch with him a second time.

“He didn’t need to drug me,” Marie said. “I would have…slept with him. And I know he knew it.”

“So why the drug?”

“I don’t know.” At Alastor’s disbelieving look, she amended, “I’m not certain. I think it might be because of something I saw. A few weeks ago, I left my purse at the Temple. When I went back for it, the doors were locked. I rang the bell. No one came. Not even the security guard. I was about to leave, and then I thought I’d just check the side door.

“I stumbled on Pyotr and a group of men I didn’t recognize. They weren’t from our congregation. One of them was different. There was something about him…” She looked at Alastor. “You remind me of him. He had blond hair and he had the same sort of…electric energy about him.”

Electric energy. Not something most humans ever picked up on, because humans weren’t attuned to the supernatural as a rule. Which meant Marie wasn’t purely human.

Naphré got a bad feeling in her gut. She narrowed her eyes as she studied Marie, searching for a sign, a clue. Searching for the dark mark of the Daughters of Aset. A long shot, but she had a feeling about this one.

“Go on,” Alastor encouraged, his voice low and even. But Naphré thought there was leashed tension in his body, as though Marie’s story was important to him.

“There was a little girl there, and she ran to him and hugged his legs. The expression on his face…I know it’s crazy—” she gave a soft laugh “—but I remember thinking that he would die for her.”

The tension left Alastor’s body. It was as though he thrust it away, summoned a level of calm detachment and put it in place with deliberate care.

In Naphré’s mind, that solidified the importance of the information Marie was sharing. Alastor was so invested in what she was saying that he was forced to ice his emotions against it. She recognized the tactic. It was one she tended to employ herself.

“Pyotr was there,” Marie continued. “He spoke to some of the men. And then he looked up and saw me, and it was terrible. The way he looked at me. The way it made me feel.” She shuddered. “I was so afraid. And then he smiled and I thought I imagined it. He went inside the Temple with me and helped me find my purse and sent me off. And after that night, he was so nice to me.” She looked at each of them in turn, her eyes wide. “I really did think I’d imagined it. All of it.

“But then I met this guy at a bar.” She looked at Alastor and frowned. “And you remind me of him, too, but he had dark hair and earrings. His name was Mal. Anyway, he asked me to go for coffee. He was unbelievably hot—” she looked at Naphré and raised her eyebrows “—so I went. We talked for hours. He was…nice. Funny. Entertaining. I remember telling him about that night and my purse and everything. He really listened.

“And then he put me in a taxi. You know, I thought he might call me after that. I gave him my number. But he never did.” She sounded wistful. “Funny thing, though. Just before I got in the taxi, I looked up and I thought I saw one of the security guards from the Temple across the street. Then a bus went past and when I looked again, he was gone.”

Alastor was quiet, his body relaxed, and Naphré had the odd impression that what Marie was telling them was not news to him.

Then an image clicked. Dark hair. Earrings. The guy Marie described was a ringer for the one Naphré had seen with Alastor that night outside the Playhouse Lounge.

“Did Pyotr ever talk to you about the night you forgot your purse?” Naphré asked. Whatever Pyotr had planned for Marie tonight, Naphré suspected it had something to do with what she’d seen.

“No. Not a word. But after that night, he paid special attention to me. Always there. Always chatting me up. And then tonight, he was so kind, so attentive…” Her voice trailed away, and she sounded young and lost.

“Indeed,” Alastor murmured.