quick, irrepressible smirk said he knew as much. “Master,” he reminded.
He loved that she had to call him master. Their first year as allocates, he’d taken every opportunity to make her use the official title for all Regulators. Their gazes held, and heat rose to her cheeks. Thank God she hadn’t the complexion to blush, or he’d be all over her. “Master Talent,” she ground out.
That annoying smirk deepened, and her nails dug deeper into the flesh of her palms. One day…
“Now that we have our names clear,” cut in Wilde, “might we proceed with the actual investigation?” His slanting brows lowered. “Or shall we continue with this little pissing contest?”
“It was no contest.” Talent adjusted his broad shoulders in the chair and crossed one leg over the other.
Never react. She turned her gaze upon the director. “I was ready to hear the facts of the case twenty minutes ago, Director.”
Talent bristled, and she let a small smile escape. He bristled further, but Director Wilde ploughed past it.
“Good.” Setting his hands upon the polished mahogany table, Director Wilde proceeded to give them the facts. Mary had memorized them, and so she let the director’s words drift over her as she studied Talent. The man was good, his strong features not revealing any hint that he too knew every fact or that he had intimate knowledge of the Bishop of Charing Cross’s kills.
One powerful arm rested upon the table, and though the fabric of his plain black suit coat bunched along the large swell of his bicep, Talent did not so much as twitch when the director set down a photograph of the victim.
“Mr. Keating of Park Place,” said Director Wilde. “As with the other murders, he has been branded with the Bishop’s cross. After which, his spine was severed and his heart shredded. The sole difference in this victim,” he continued, “is that, while the others were demons, this man was a shifter, and by all accounts, a law-abiding citizen of London.”
Mary glanced at the photo, featuring an older man, stripped naked. The cross branding his chest was a raw, ugly wound, but it was his eyes, wide and staring, that made her clockwork heart hurt. It was the expression of an innocent man pleading for mercy.
Talent looked as well. And when he did, she watched him. The ends of his brows lifted a fraction, and if she weren’t certain of his guilt, she’d be inclined to believe that he was surprised.
“Do you know him, Master Talent?”
Wilde’s query had Mary focusing once more.
Talent’s heavily-lidded eyes lifted from the photograph. “Shifters by nature are a solitary lot. No, I did not know Mr. Keating.” His long, scarred fingers curled into a fist upon the table. “I was under the impression that the SOS kept the identity of shifters secret.”
The director’s mouth tightened. “We do. There is no indication that the files have been breached.”
Talent made a noise that might have been construed as a snort, but it was just soft enough to get by Wilde without earning any reproach. For once, however, Mary agreed with Talent’s sentiment.
After researching long into the night, Mary had learned that, in the last hundred years, the SOS had made a concerted effort to locate and document the existence of all shifters living in Europe. A daunting task. However, when the Nex began hunting shifters for their blood—whose properties gave demons the ability to shift into anything—the SOS, realizing their mistake in outing shifters, provided as much protection as they could by offering the shifters new identities and keeping their whereabouts hidden.
Talent leaned forward a fraction. “Who was Keating? Before?”
“Johannes Maxum.” Wilde pulled a paper from his file and handed it to Talent. “He’s an older shifter. Date of birth unknown, but he once worked as an alchemist for Augustus the Strong in the quest to discover the Chinese’s secret to making porcelain.”
Talent scanned the page, then set it down. Protocol dictated that he hand the paper to Mary, and she might have been insulted at his obvious slight, had she not been expecting it. No matter, she’d read about Maxum as well. Besides, she would not be cowed by Talent’s juvenile tactics.
In any event, Director Wilde was now looking at both of them. “You two will lead the investigation. Research has been instructed to provide any and all assistance you might require.” He ordered the file as he spoke. “We need to be quick about this one. I needn’t tell you how important it is