Cake? Was this guy serious? Shepherd kept staring, and before too long, Patrick rose to his feet and approached him from the left.
He set down his glass in front of Shepherd and walked off. “Just in case you need some reassurance.”
Although most Sensors used their gifts to store experiences and sell them, Shepherd always wanted to be more than just someone who made a few bucks working sensory exchange for addicts. He got a high from playing detective with emotional imprints and deciphering complex emotions. It took years of practice, but he got real good with picking up trace amounts on objects that most Sensors would miss or not feel at all. He wasn’t hypersensitive, only hypertrained.
Shepherd’s cigarette stayed wedged between his lips as he cupped his hands around Patrick’s glass. A tiny flutter of emotions tickled his fingertips, and he allowed it to move through him.
Truth. Conviction. He didn’t pick up a hint of insincerity.
“I haven’t always been a man of class,” Patrick began, rounding the table and leaning against it as he studied the foxhunt painting. “I was born to a pauper and clawed my way out of poverty by the time I was a man of forty. And it wasn’t easy,” he said with a laugh. “It was years later before I was turned. Obviously I get a lot of stares from people, wondering why a man of my age was chosen, but my Creator was a visionary. In those days, Creators surrounded themselves with young men who were soldiers, but my Creator knew we were heading toward a more civilized world and leaders would be defined by the intelligent men who surrounded them, not the brave. A sharp intellect is deadlier than a sharp knife.” Patrick briskly turned and sat in his chair with a look of disgust. “What a shame that humans got ahold of him and cut off his head for treason against their mortal king. That kind of injustice would never happen now. Not just because of human laws, but because Breed finally organized a system to protect and punish our own kind. Just think of how many were lost in the witch hunts alone.”
Shepherd regarded him with a smile. “You’re running out of jail space.”
“Humans are in love with self-condemnation. They’re guilt stricken. We have better sense than that,” Patrick said, tapping his head. “The more laws you create, the more jail cells you need. We can’t afford to build more facilities for people who want to steal cars or do drugs. It’s hard enough to keep the prisons we do have off human radar, so you have to choose your battles. What you do is admirable, but you’re a smart fella. Do you really think we want them all returned alive?” He winked and set down his cigar.
“Maybe if you had smarter men, you could dismantle the black market network.”
Patrick rocked with laughter. “Our hackers have shut them down numerous times, and they’re always back in business within the hour. Ah, the stories I could tell…”
The conversation interested Shepherd, but not enough to distract him from Patrick’s offer. And furthermore, his mind was returning to a dark place he’d spent years trying to rise out of the ashes from, just as the phoenix tattoo on his right arm and shoulder depicted. The elaborate tattoo spread from his upper chest all the way across to his back, covering his skin like a cloak.
Shepherd studied the tip of his cigarette, which had burned more than halfway down to the filter. This could be his one opportunity to avenge a death, but at what cost? How much information was he willing to hand over to Patrick?
“All I need is a name,” Patrick continued. “I don’t require an explanation, not unless you don’t know the name.”
Patrick was good at reading people, so Shepherd mashed the tip of his cigarette against the plate and ironed out his emotions. “How do I know you won’t change your mind and use this against me?”
“You don’t. All I can give you is my word. If you walk out, the offer is null and void. That’s the condition.”
Shepherd took off his jacket and rested his forearms on the table. This was a personal offer and had nothing to do with Viktor. Even though Viktor had given Shepherd another shot at making his life worth a damn, he knew he’d never be able to move on until he permanently shut the door to his past. Maybe everyone else in the group had tucked their past into a tidy little box, but he still had nightmares that held him with a viselike grip.
Patrick kept his eyes locked on Shepherd. “Come now, every man has demons.”
“I don’t have a name. If I did, it would be written on a tombstone by now.”
Patrick relit his cigar. “What can you tell me?”
“He’s a Mage.” Just saying the word aloud filled Shepherd with a cold sense of dread, as if a dark shadow were swirling within his chest. “Shoulder-length black hair, a full beard—looks like a damn pirate.”
Patrick puffed on his cigar. “Any distinguishing features? Men change their looks all the time.”
Shepherd thought about it. That man’s eyes were seared into his memory, and he’d searched the streets for years for those same eyes. But that wasn’t detailed enough. “He had a red burn on the base of his throat, coming up from his chest.”
Patrick furrowed his brow. “You mean a scar.”
Shepherd lifted his eyes to meet Patrick’s gaze. “It wasn’t a scar. It was bright red.”
Recognition flashed in Patrick’s eyes, and he nodded. “A firemark. I believe they call those… ah, yes. Port-wine stains. That should make him easy to find.”
“Not if he’s covering it up. He was wearing a high-collar shirt. I only saw it because…” Shepherd pressed his lips tight as the memories crept into his mind again. He’d noticed the birthmark while fighting for his life against another Mage who’d shocked him twice over. Once the stabbing began, the Mage with the birthmark removed his shirt, saying he didn’t want to ruin it with all the blood. “He also has green eyes.”
Patrick enjoyed his cigar and studied the tip for a long time before responding. “What was his crime?”
“That wasn’t the deal.”
“Just curious. Is he the one who put those scars on your arms?”
Shepherd leaned back. Fuck. Maybe this was a mistake.
Mr. Bane stood up and faced his ostentatious painting. “When was the last time you saw him? Was it here in Cognito? I need to know where to begin searching and whether enough time has elapsed that he might have changed his appearance.”
“About five years ago.” Shepherd stood up and walked behind his chair, resting his arms across the back. “He might be long gone by now. I spent years searching. I don’t search anymore, but let’s just say there isn’t a place I go where I’m not looking at everyone around me to see if they have his eyes.”
Patrick turned around and mirrored Shepherd’s stance, his arms over the back of a chair. “I can’t imagine a man crossing paths with someone like you. He’d be a fool to try. Some people are easy to run over and control, but others… You can see it in their eyes that if you do them a bad turn, they’ll never let it go. That fire is a dangerous thing.” He clicked his teeth together.
“I want him alive.”
“That’s a mighty high request. I can’t add conditions to the favor, or it becomes impossible to honor without risk. I have a reputation to uphold. I can’t be transporting people around.”
“Yeah, but—”
“There’s nothing you need to worry about, Mr. Moon. I think we’ve struck a fair bargain, and I’ll be sure to let you know when I’ve held up my end of the deal. It might not be enough, but it’s the best I can do.”
The door squeaked open, and Raven poked her head in. “I found your phone. I’ll be in the car.”
After the door closed, Shepherd collected his jacket and held it in one hand. “I’d appreciate if you kept this between us.”
Patrick approached him and clapped his shoulder. “Likewise. If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll walk away. I appreciate what you’ve done for me, but not at the expense of my reputation. You seem like a man I can trust. So am I, Mr. Moon. I’ve always been fair to those I’ve worked with, even my own idiot progeny who ruined every opportunity I’d given him.”
Shepherd nodded, feeling Patrick’s sincerity through his touch.
Patrick withdrew his hand. “I know we’re only acquaintances, but if you ever want to talk about what happened, I’m a good listener. I can’t profess to having any skills as a Relic to counsel you, but sometimes it’s cathartic to unload on a person who won’t judge you for it. Otherwise, that pain will eat away at your soul.”
Shepherd’s heavy breath bordered on a laugh. “You’re assuming I still have one.”
Chapter 9
Shortly after surviving the dinner from turtle hell, Shepherd and I accepted Claude’s invitation and headed over to Club Nine to join them. I needed a stiff drink. The sandwiches Patrick served me were fine, but I had a feeling I was going to be having nightmares about all that slurping Shepherd had done with his soup. During dessert, a beep had sounded from beneath the table, and Shepherd noticed his phone was missing. When they lifted the tablecloth to look beneath, the little boy scampered out the door with Shepherd’s phone in hand. I followed behind Patrick and decided chasing the kid would give me an excuse to stretch my legs. Mr. Bane seemed like a nice guy, but the whole dinner scene made me incredibly uncomfortable. Choosing this life meant I was going to have to be more of a social butterfly, like it or not.