Gaslight (Crossbreed #4)(47)

“How do you know my name? How did you even get me here?”

The last thing I remembered was sitting in his car while he bandaged my hand. I had no recollection of a struggle, which is what it would have taken to kidnap me. How did he know about Breed magic?

Chase rose from his seat, his whole demeanor different from the man I’d met at the club. “Now that you’re lucid, I suppose I’ll introduce myself again.”

“Again?”

He bowed. “Houdini, at your service.”

My jaw slackened when the name rang a bell. “You’re the one who’s been sending Viktor those letters?”

He pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and paced off to the right, the reflection of the overhead lights against the glass making it difficult to see him. “You’re free to move about as you please. Well, as much as you can in that room. There’s no point in screaming; we’re in the Bricks, so you’re better off keeping your composure. If you scream, you do so at your own peril.”

The glass wall went from floor to ceiling, and the table was cut in two—each side bolted to the glass and floor. It must have been Plexiglass or something unbreakable.

A smile touched his lips. Did I amuse him?

Houdini stood before the table and pressed his fingertips against the white tabletop. “I’ve got a fully stocked kitchen. When you’re hungry, I’ll deliver your meals through that opening.”

He swung his gaze to the wall to my right. On each side was an opening large enough to slide a tray over, but not big enough for me to crawl through. I glanced back at the door to my left, but there wasn’t a knob or lock on my side.

“There’s no wood in my house,” he informed me matter-of-factly.

My eyes widened at his indirect admission.

Houdini took a seat on his chair. “I do wish I could understand your loathing of Vampires.”

I shook my head in disbelief. “Your eyes are hazel. You’re not a Vampire. You don’t look like one. Bullshit!” I shot up out of my seat, flipping my chair over.

“It was much easier this time getting information. You were uncooperative last time we chatted.”

“Which was when?”

“Patrick Bane’s party. That’s a man who loves balls.”

Something Wyatt would have said, but not a hint of a smile touched my lips.

Houdini leaned back. “You’re wondering why you don’t remember me, but deep down, you always seem to know me, don’t you? I only wanted what was mine.”

“And what’s that?”

“I wasn’t sure at first. An old acquaintance had incriminating evidence on me, which he decided to use as leverage to get what he wanted. Shame. I really liked the guy. After he met his unfortunate demise—which I swear I had nothing to do with—I went to his house to gather my things. Collectors beat me to the punch, and by the time I tracked the items down to Pawn of the Dead, not all of his belongings were there. True, they could have tossed some of it, but the guard informed me that they hadn’t gone through it all yet, and your outfit had stopped by earlier that day and took some things that didn’t belong to you.”

The pieces were coming together. “You’re the one who broke into the shop and killed the guard, Big Dog, aren’t you? Look, we don’t have anything of yours.”

“Oh, but you do. A little box with a key inside.”

I turned away from him and stared at the blank wall. Once again, destiny screws me over. Of all the things I decided to take from Cosmo’s inventory that day, that box was the one item this psychopath has been obsessing over. A key. A fucking key to bad deeds I really didn’t give a shit about.

“What makes you think I’ll give it to you?”

“I’ve worked very hard to not exist. There’s no need for you to fret over insignificant details.”

I thought about Big Dog, the security guard at Pawn of the Dead, and how they’d found him strangled, with his skull smashed against the floor. Big Dog was a big guy. No way could someone Houdini’s size take on a man like that. Houdini was around six feet, but he was on the leaner side than most men, like some kid out of college who didn’t have time for working out.

I turned around, my lips pressed tight.

“You still don’t believe I’m a Vampire, do you? Just because of my eyes.” He touched the black plug in his earlobe, elbows still on the table. “I could assume the same about you with that peculiar condition of heterochromia.”

How could he know I was a Vampire? Unless he’d charmed it out of me, which meant he really was a Vamp.

“I have your box. What do you want for it?”

He essayed a smile and stared up at the ceiling, his hands in a prayer-like gesture. “That’s not really on my agenda. It’s funny how the fates intervene.”

“You want the key, you don’t want the key. Make up your mind. Why am I here?”

“You’re here because of the ad, of course.”

“The ad…”

Oh fuck. Not only did we piss off this guy during one of our pawnshop expeditions, but this was our notorious Vampire trafficker. In the flesh.

Thanks, universe.

He folded his arms, and I found it difficult to read his expression. “The real mystery is how you figured out I was using a human website.”