Broken Dolls: An Urban Fantasy (The Telepathic Clans Saga Book 3) Read online

  “My, I haven’t seen you ladies in here before, and I would have noticed.”

  “I’m sure you would have, sugar,” Morrighan purred, boosting her Glam a little more and loosing a small dribble of pheromones. She was good, very subtle. I sat back and admired her work.

  *Read him if you can, emotions and, if his shields slip even a little, move inside,* I sent her.

  *Got it.*

  “You look like the kind of man who appreciates the finer things,” she said in a sultry voice.

  “I do,” he said, his eyes starting to glaze. “I’m Julian McCarthy.”

  She gave him a come-hither smile, “I do, too. I’ll bet you could give a girl a ride to remember.”

  “Try me and find out,” he smirked.

  “Oh, I’d love to, but you know the best things in life aren’t free,” she said, increasing her Glam and Influence a little while continuing to dribble pheromones.

  He laughed. “I believe in the barter system. I make you feel good, you make me feel good.”

  He was confusing me a bit. He didn’t seem to realize she was a succubus. Surely, especially if he knew Myrna, he could tell.

  “I think I have a little more to offer,” she said, increasing the Influence. “But perhaps we could go somewhere a little more private and discuss it.”

  “I have a place near here,” he said.

  *I’ll follow you,* I sent to Morrighan and saw an almost imperceptible nod from the corner of my eye.

  “Well, sugar, this place is a bit noisy and crowded,” she said, letting him see a shift of her eyes toward me. “Let’s explore what you have to barter.” She gave him a smile that enhanced the effect of her pheromones.

  They went outside and I followed. He lived in a nice building three blocks from the pub. Morrighan crowded close to him so she could see the security code he punched to open the door. She sent me the code.

  I gave them about fifteen minutes, then keyed in the code and followed them inside.

  *Let me know when you’re ready for me,* I sent to Morrighan.

  *Rhiannon? Are you here?*

  *In the hall, right outside the door.*

  Morrighan opened the door dressed only in her panties. She had the Glow a succubus gains from absorbing a man’s energy.

  “He’s in the bedroom, passed out,” she told me. “Why don’t you start on his shields and I’ll see if I can find us a drink.”

  “That was damned quick,” I said.

  She laughed and wandered into the kitchen. When she came back, she handed me something in a tall glass.

  “Vodka and tonic,” she said, picking up her dress from the floor and going into the bathroom.

  I sat down on the bed and started breaking down his shields. I really didn’t want to hurt him, so it took longer than if I just smashed through. After fifteen minutes, I controlled his mind and looked upon his soul. It was far from crystal clean.

  *Link with me and come take a look,* I told Morrighan.

  She entered my mind and I pulled her into his. I felt her revulsion when she saw his soul.

  *What’s wrong with him?*

  *He’s not a very nice man,* I replied.

  When a person is born, their soul has a gleaming, shining purity. Telepaths’ souls are white, often with brightly colored streaks or sparkling sprinkles of color, indicating their basic personalities. Norms have yellow souls, also bright and shining. Actions that hurt others cause changes. This guy’s soul was no longer white but a light gray with a couple of tan smudges and over a hundred rust-red spots of various sizes.

  *What are the rust-colored spots?* Morrighan asked.

  *Rapes. He enjoys coercing women, clouding their minds so they’re pliable. He also uses compulsion. He doesn’t have any black, which would indicate murders. The brown smudges indicate willing cruelties.*

  Any concerns I might have had about violating his privacy had evaporated. I was so angry I wanted to hurt him. With an effort, I got a grip on my emotions. I didn’t want any stains on my own soul. That’s the problem in my profession. It would be easy to fall into the trap of righteous indignation and start punishing people. I’d run into so many people who deserved justice, but the Goddess hadn’t charged me with dispensing it.

  I started systematically ransacking his memories.

  *Look for his memories of Myrna. And if you pick up any memories of other succubi, let me know,* I told Morrighan.

  He had met Myrna at the nightclub where we picked him up. Realizing immediately she was a telepath, he hadn’t tried any of his usual seduction techniques. He hadn’t found it difficult to seduce her, though. I chuckled at that. His foggy memories of that night indicated to me that he wasn’t the seducer. He’d never met a succubus before, and even after sleeping for two days, hadn’t figured out what she was. They got together twice more afterward, and he still hadn’t made the connection. That explained the ease with which Morrighan had taken him. He wasn’t very bright.

  He had introduced Myrna to friends of his, and without her knowledge, was taking money for setting her up on dates. She didn’t ask for money, but she had shown him the pillow gifts some of the men gave her. As oblivious as he was, her naiveté astounded even him, not to mention Morrighan and me.

  We lifted the contact information and images of the men to whom he’d introduced her. The list of potential suspects was growing. O’Driscoll was introducing her to bankers and brokers, and McCarthy was introducing her to small businessmen. I wondered who was introducing her to the clergy. Surely, they would fit in her schedule somewhere.

  It was still early, so we hit a couple of more clubs without finding out anything of use. Just before midnight, we walked into the lounge of the hotel Meara had told us about. I didn’t think we’d find men Myrna had interacted with—hotels by nature being transient—but the staff might have useful information.

  Sitting at the bar, we flirted with the barman while shamelessly reading his mind. He definitely remembered the two young succubi, and that Myrna often showed up alone but Meara never came without Myrna. Myrna sometimes met men who were expecting her, and two of her rendezvous matched men who had met her through McCarthy. I wondered how many other hotels we were going to have to check. The girl had been burning the candle from both ends. Even at my wildest, my first year at Oxford or the year hitchhiking around Europe, I’d never come close to being as active as she was.

  Leaving the bar, I scanned the bell captain’s mind and found some of the same information that we’d read from the barman.

  “Were you ever that aggressive?” I asked Morrighan.

  She laughed nervously, “No, not like that. I studied sometimes and tended to confine my activities to boys my own age.” She grinned, “And professors, of course. Did you ever use the makeup exam ploy when you hadn’t studied?”

  Puzzled, I shook my head.

  “When I didn’t have time to study,” she explained, “I’d call the professor and tell him I was sick and ask for a makeup date. Then I’d go to his office, read his mind, get the answers, and take the exam.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  ~~~

  Chapter 6

  I was awakened by a tiny bell. “Ding, ding, ding,” and then silence. Morning light filtered through the curtains. I pulled on the robe Morrighan had given me and shuffled barefoot into the living room. The smell of fresh coffee caressed my nostrils and pulled me like a fish into the kitchen. Sitting on the counter was an automatic coffee brewer with a pot of brown liquid. Proud that my skills as a PI had solved the mystery of the bell, I found a mug and poured it full of morning happiness.

  Sitting in the living room, savoring the smell and taking an occasional sip, I smiled at Morrighan when she emerged from her room and made her way into the kitchen.

  “So, what do you have going on today?” I asked as she sat across from me holding a steaming mug under her nose with both hands.

  “Catering to your every whim, My Lady,” she answered. “I’ve cleared my cale
ndar and assigned the meetings I had to some of my staff.”

  I laughed. I don’t have many close friends, and I was beginning to like Morrighan very much. She was easy to be with, very smart and very confident. She didn’t seem threatened by me at all. Of course, thinking back to the previous evening, I doubted I could compete if she really wanted a man.

  “Thanks for the coffee,” I said. “It was a very pleasant surprise to wake up to.”

  She smiled. “I’ll fix breakfast as soon as I wake up,” she said. “Bangers and eggs okay? Or I can fix pancakes. I don’t have any fruit, but I can pick up some at the market today. Strawberries are in season.”

  “Anything sounds fine,” I told her. “My morning culinary skills tend to granola with yogurt. Occasionally, I’ll burn a sausage or some bacon, if I’ve remembered to go to the market. And if it hasn’t spoiled since I was last home.”

  For someone who grew up with maids and cooks in the O’Byrne manor house, she cooked up a breakfast that would make anyone proud. I was impressed. After we’d finished eating, we sat sipping a fresh cup of that wonderful coffee.

  “I wasn’t sure what to make of you when I first saw you at the airport,” she started. “Sometimes Lord O’Byrne is rather eccentric, and calling in a female private investigator sounded like one of his stranger ideas. But I’m very impressed. You’re professional and creative.”

  I just nodded.

  “I don’t have many women friends. Druids tend to be territorial,” she continued, “and most normal women are threatened by us. But you’re far and away the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, so I guess you aren’t worried about competition. I haven’t had so much fun, or enjoyed someone’s company so much, in a long, long time. You’re absolutely delightful, and I’m very glad we met.”

  It took me a full minute to engage my brain and find my voice.

  “I was just thinking earlier how much I’m beginning to like you,” I finally managed, feeling my ears grow warm. “I don’t have many friends either. But you’ve been comfortable from the beginning.” I paused, looking into my cup and then taking a sip. I looked up and met her eyes. Softly, I said, “You don’t have any idea how nice it is to be around a woman who isn’t jealous. I’m not sure I’ve ever met anyone like you.”

  I saw her eyes mist over, and she managed a tenuous smile. “Thank you,” she said.

  She leaned across the table and laid her hand on mine. “You’ve never met Myrna, but I can tell that you care about her. She isn’t just a job to you. I have the feeling you care about your other clients the same way.”

  Taken aback, I thought about it for a moment. “Most of them,” I said. “Some aren’t very admirable. Women who are cheating on their husbands hire me for a seduction so they can get a good divorce settlement. I often feel like strangling both sides in domestic cases. But for the most part, yes, I care about them.”

  Collecting our dishes, I headed for the kitchen. “Have you contacted the police and reported her missing?” I asked.

  “No, we don’t involve the authorities in Clan business,” she said.

  I took a deep breath. “This isn’t Clan business. You have a missing girl. It doesn’t have anything to do with the Clan.”

  She gave me a puzzled look, then appeared to think about it. “We have some Clan members inside the Garda. They’ll tell us if she turns up.”

  Trying to maintain my composure, I patiently explained, “That’s fine if she turns up, but why would she? Two hundred policemen might have seen her yesterday, but if they don’t know anyone is looking for her, why would they tell your people?”

  “Oh. I guess we’re so used to taking care of our own affairs that I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

  “Call Adele and tell her to file a police report. And call Lord O’Byrne and tell him I insist.” The insularity of the Clans can be irritating sometimes. The only thing that exceeds their disdain of norms is their fear. Two thousand years of genocide against them has taken its toll on their trust.

  She made the calls and then asked me what I wanted to do that morning.

  We started working on appointments with the banker and broker Myrna met through O’Driscoll. Morrighan made a couple of phone calls and confirmed they were probably norms. Her brother was President of O’Byrne Enterprises, and while he knew of both men, he said he’d never heard them mentioned in telepathic circles.

  He did offer to make calls to get us in to see them, in the guise of representing O’Byrne and wanting to discuss possible business. I jumped at the offer, then a minute later almost reconsidered.

  Morrighan eyed me. “Other than the dress you wore that first day to meet with Lord O’Byrne, do you have any other clothes? Anything suitable to meet with a banker?”

  “Sure,” I answered carefully. “I have that travel dress.”

  “Uh huh. You Welsh have a strange language. I didn’t know that ‘sure’ was another way of saying ‘no’. We need to go shopping.”

  I hate shopping. Part of the reason is that I’m almost impossible to fit. I could tell that most of Morrighan’s clothes were custom made, but she still might be able to find things off the rack.

  She dragged me to an upscale department store and started pulling things from the shelves and handing them to me. When my arms were full, she pushed me into a dressing room and told me what to put on and in what combinations. I’d been afraid we would spend the day traipsing from one store to another, but in little more than an hour, we were finished. I was carrying bags filled with more clothing than I’d ever bought in one day in my life. The woman was frighteningly efficient at spending money.

  “Stop whining,” she told me on the way to the car. “Put it all on your expense report and you’ll still have the clothing.”

  She hadn’t even tried to find a dress to fit me. She only picked separates. I had slacks, skirts, a navy blazer, blouses and two pairs of three-inch pumps. A conservative purse and a new suitcase completed my purchases. Hell, I needed something to hold it all.

  ~~~

  While I changed clothes back at her place, her brother called and told us he’d set up appointments for us with the banker and broker later that day. It turned out that the broker had some time between meetings and, in a stroke of luck, he was willing to meet us at a pub for a drink or two.

  O’Driscoll’s schedule showed he planned to attend a reception at the French embassy that evening. I asked Morrighan if she could get us an invitation. She rolled her eyes, told me I’d need a dress, then made a couple of phone calls. She got the invitations and said they would be delivered to her office. Then she hauled me to a different store to buy an appropriate dress.

  Morrighan sent me into a changing room with three dresses. None of them fit.

  “This is ridiculous,” I said. “Maybe I can just send you into the reception and hitch hike in your mind.”

  She went away and came back with another dress. When I pulled it on, it caressed my skin in a way I wasn’t used to, causing me to shiver with pleasure. “Is this silk?” I asked.

  Morrighan gave me a startled look. “Of course,” she said, sounding a bit offended. “Why? What’s wrong with it?” She took the fabric in her fingers, brow furrowed. “I think it’s fine.”

  “I’m not used to silk,” I said in a small voice.

  “You should get used to it,” she answered, looking down her nose at me. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t dress nicely.”

  Except cost, but I didn’t tell her that. I hadn’t had such a dress in a long time. My mother used to buy me things, but gave up when I never wore them. The salesperson told me the alterations would take some time and I’d be able to pick it up later.

  We went to the downtown offices of the banker. At exactly two o’clock, we were shown into John Murphy’s office. He greeted us warmly, projecting the image of an affable banker who was only too glad to loan us money at extortionate rates. I checked to make sure my wallet was where it was supposed to be. A smile like that
usually means someone has already picked your pocket.

  As soon as the door closed and we were alone with him, I pulled the pig-tailed picture of Myrna out of my purse and slid it across his desk.

  The blood drained out of his face. He stared at it as though I’d put a snake in front of him.

  “Mr. Murphy,” I said while entering his mind, “this young lady is missing. Brendan O’Driscoll told us you might have information that might help us find her. If you’re cooperative, we won’t have to include your involvement with her in our discussions with the Garda.”

  It’s much easier to find what you want in someone’s mind when it’s right on the surface. Everything he knew about her, and did with her, floated up and displayed for me.

  “Who are you people?” he asked.

  “I’m a private investigator,” I told him. “I’ve been engaged by Myrna’s family. Now, when was the last time you saw her?”

  “I’m not talking to you.”

  “All right. I’m sure you’ll be able to explain the email stream when the press and the Garda come around. And they will come around. It’s not every day that an MP is implicated in pimping young girls to corporate executives.”

  I stood and gave him my brightest smile. “I’m actually glad you’re being an arse. I’m going to enjoy watching you go down, you sick son of a bitch.”

  Morrighan stood too, and we headed for the door. Before we opened it, he surged to his feet.

  “Wait. Don’t go to the Garda. I’ll tell you what I know if you promise to keep my name out of this.”

  I turned. “I won’t promise anything, Mr. Murphy. But if you’re not involved in her disappearance, and I don’t need to bring you into it, then I won’t. I really don’t care about your perversions. I just want to find one girl.”

  All the bluster was gone. His hands shook as he told us about how O’Driscoll and several other men, including the broker we planned to see, traded young girls between them. He insisted they were all of age. Except for the age part, what he told us was true. But he only told us half of what he’d done.