Ann Aguirre - Mortal Danger

“A bit singed here and there, no life-threatening injuries. There’s no proof Dwyer & Fell are involved, but it’s no coincidence that my place burned last night.”

Muttering a curse, I shifted in the seat to take a more careful inventory of him. Now that he’d mentioned it, I could see a smear of ash he’d missed on his temple and when I breathed in, I pulled hints of soot and smoke.

“Why are they targeting you?”

“To weaken you,” he said quietly. “They’re not permitted to go after you directly, but they can attack people close to you. Pawns like me are always the first to go.”

“Whereas I’m the queen in play?” I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

I couldn’t believe how serious he seemed as he glanced over with grave green eyes. “At the moment, yes.”

“I don’t understand. WM&G pays you well and trusts you with special assignments. How does that make you a pawn?”

He wore an inscrutable look. “If I’m eliminated, it doesn’t hurt Wedderburn. True, the company is out the cost of my favors, but when you consider the scale they operate on—”

“It’s a drop in the bucket,” I guessed.

“So, to them, my chief value resides in my connection to you. The game can change at any time, you understand, but right now, you have a vital, viable future to protect.”

“I’d give a lot to know what future-me achieves and why it’s so critical.” I sighed. “Seems like it’s past time to visit you at work.”

“Agreed. That’s where we’re headed, in fact. Wedderburn asked to meet you.”

My heart stuttered in my chest. I’d asked to tour the place, but this was different. His boss wanted me there, and it made me nervous. “Any idea why?”

“He has a proposition for you.” Though his tone was matter-of-fact, he shook his head ever so slightly.

Right. Whatever Wedderburn wants, I say no. Provided that I believed Kian had my best interests at heart. I wished I could be sure he did. I can’t let myself be taken in by good looks and a pair of sad eyes. That would make me quite an idiot.

“I hope I can remember not what I’m not supposed to know,” I muttered.

“Just listen and act appreciative. Wedderburn has a thing for humility. And when he makes his offer, tell him you need time to think about it.”

That didn’t sound ominous or like bad advice. I might’ve done the latter without Kian’s guidance. I sat quiet for the remainder of the drive, though I stole periodic looks at him, unable to stop reassuring myself that he was really here. Absently I touched the infinity symbol on my wrist. Though it looked like a tattoo, the raises felt more like a brand.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“No. It just…” I couldn’t explain it, but it felt as if the thing were alive on my wrist and operating independently of me, like it might, someday, force my right hand to do things I didn’t want.

More crazy. But if I can’t share it with Kian …

So I took a deep breath and blurted all of that out. I expected him to stare in shock or even laugh. Instead he swore. “It’s happening too fast. They’ve accelerated the timetable, hoping to push you into burning your favors.”

“It’s not bothering me enough to make me ask you to take it off my arm.” But I stared at the symbol, quietly horrified, like it was an alien using me as its host.

“That’s not something I could do anyway. That mark is part of you now.”

Before I could ask what he was talking about, he pulled into an underground parking lot. The place was dark and creepy as the car went down, down, down, and it wasn’t better when Kian pulled into a spot that had his name painted on the wall. It made me think he was more important than he was telling, and I couldn’t escape the possibility that he might’ve been lying about everything, from his age to his name. While I was sure there had been a Kian Riley, it didn’t mean he was that person. None of the stories I’d found online had included a picture.

“Try not to be afraid,” he whispered as he opened the door for me. “Some of them find it … exciting.”

Wedderburn, Mawer & Graf had offices downtown, a glittering glass and steel monstrosity some twenty stories tall. The only hint as to who owned the building came in the form of a bronze plaque beside the front door with the names graven in copperplate lettering; the sign looked much older than the skyscraper, burnished with a patina created by time and the elements. Doubtless Kian wondered why I went out front to look around when we’d come up from the garage elevator, but I wanted to get a better sense of where I was.

Call it recon.

The reception area was banal to the point of seeming ironic—with beige upholstered chairs in the waiting area and abstract art in shades of brown. Even the receptionist seemed to have been hired to go along with the room, as she had ash-blond hair and brown eyes, skin that almost matched the walls. And she was wearing, you guessed it, an ensemble in various hues of brown and beige. She followed us with her gaze as we went past her to the elevator, but she didn’t speak.

“She’s unnerving,” I whispered to Kian.

“Iris has that effect on people. She … discourages walk-in problems.”

“I imagine. It’s weird the way she blends in with the décor.”

“She’d do that no matter what color scheme they chose.” The worst part was, I had no idea if he was kidding, and I didn’t want to ask.

The elevator seemed really, really cold, so I exhaled as a test, and my breath showed in a puff of white smoke. “It’s warmer outside.”

“Technically, we’re not in Massachusetts anymore.”

While I chewed on that, the car zoomed us to the tenth floor, then the doors dinged and opened. “This is my department.”

“Do you have a cubicle with a desk?” I made the joke because I was growing shakier with every step, and I had no idea why. It wasn’t just the cold, but something about this building just … was not right.

From the elevator, I glanced down an interminable white hallway. In fact, the length of that corridor seemed to exceed the diameter of the building, though I wasn’t sure how that was possible. Occasionally, I’d dream about an infinite hallway, interspersed with identical doors. Dream dictionaries said halls meant untapped portions of your psyche and closed doors symbolized missed opportunities. In symbolic combination, this place burgeoned with loss and untapped potential. We passed eight doors, all spaced equidistant, and from behind a couple of them, came the sound of muffled screaming.

“You said you were afraid this place would freak me out,” I said softly. “Good call.”

It felt like we walked for a good five minutes, but when I checked my phone to find out, it had frozen on the time when we entered the building, and no matter what buttons I pushed, it wouldn’t respond. I glanced up at Kian and he mouthed, Later. Okay, now I was genuinely losing my shit. Only a lifetime of training in the school of If You Cry, We Win kept my poker face intact. I clenched one hand into a fist at my sides, nails biting into my palm.

At last we came to a door at the end of the hallway. When I turned, I could no longer see the elevator from here. This one was distinguishable from the others only in that it had a nameplate on it, K. Wedderburn. I had no idea what madness or horror lay beyond, but Kian entered without knocking. If possible, it was even colder in the office, a big room wrapped with windows on two sides, and those were frosted over so I couldn’t see what lay beyond. Some tiny voice inside me whispered that was best.