Hell's Bell (Lizzie Grace 2)

No probs.

I climbed into the car. The driver closed the door behind the two of us, reclaimed his seat, and drove out of the parking spot. He seemed to know where we were going without being told, which made me wonder if he was another thrall, or simply in telepathic contact with either Roger or Maelle.

It turned out that Marlinda lived on Forest Street, in a building that had obviously started out life as a pub. While there were still retail premises at the ground level, the first floor had been converted into a number of apartments. Hers was at the front of the building, overlooking the roundabout and the park opposite.

Roger opened the door and then waved me inside. The apartment was far more spacious than the one above our café, with a full-size kitchen and a large open living room. There were two doors leading off this—one was a bathroom and the other a bedroom.

I headed across the white carpet—which was a rather odd color choice for someone who was a vampire’s meal ticket—and went into her bedroom. If I wanted to find Marlinda, then I needed to find something she wore often enough to hold some hint of her presence.

The bedroom was again white, but the floral cushions adorning the bed provided much-needed splashes of vibrant color, as did the deep blue curtains. The room itself was extraordinarily neat; even the jewelry on the dressing table was arranged in precise lines rather than being thrown into a somewhat jumbled pile—my usual habit when undressing.

I raised a hand and skimmed it over the various chains, watches, and earrings on the dresser, but there was nothing that even remotely stirred my psychic senses. I frowned and swung around, pensively studying the rest of the room. There was no jewelry on either bedside table, and she certainly didn’t look the type to place anything inside her pillowcases, which had been the teenager’s hiding place of choice. My gaze stalled on the wardrobe, and instinct stirred. I walked across and slid one of the doors aside. There, on the floor, was a small safe.

I glanced at Roger. “I don’t suppose you or your mistress know the code?”

His gaze went inwards for a moment, and then he said, “Five-three-nine-one.”

I bent, tapped in the code, and the door opened. Inside was an assortment of shiny boxes and silken pouches, the contents of which were no doubt worth more than our entire damn building.

I reached into the safe and skimmed them. At the very back, I got a response. I pulled the blue silk wrap free, and then walked over to the bed to unroll it. Inside were four diamond necklaces; I touched each one, but it wasn’t until I got to the last—and smallest—that I had a response.

But it was a cold, somewhat murky sensation that had trepidation stirring anew.

“You found something?” Roger asked.

“I found something that’s responding to my psychic senses,” I replied. “Whether it will lead to anything is another matter entirely.”

I plucked the necklace free, then rolled up the rest and placed them back into the safe. Once it was locked, I took a deep breath, and then closed my fingers around the pendant and reached.

The response remained muted—vague—but there was at least enough of a connection to follow.

“This way.” I headed out of the apartment.

Roger locked the door and then followed me down the stairs, his steps so light they were barely audible.

“Do you wish to take the car?” he said, once we were again outside.

I hesitated. Given the sensations coming from the pendant, Marlinda was either some distance away, or this necklace simply hadn’t been worn enough to maintain a strong connection. If it was the latter, then Maelle was out of luck. But if it was simply a faint connection, then I risked trudging about all night in an effort to pin down her location—and that wasn’t something I wanted. Not when I had better things to do.

“Car,” I said. “But we may have to go slow.”

He nodded and motioned me toward the vehicle. Once we were inside, I said, “Continue up Forest Street until I say otherwise.”

The driver nodded, slipped the car into gear, and carefully pulled away from the curb. We passed a couple of streets and a small reserve before the pendant again pulsed against my hand. “Right at the next street.”

“Gingell,” Roger said, more for his mistress’s sake than mine, I suspected.

We swept around the park, and the road straightened, following the rail line up toward Walker Street and the botanical gardens.

The foreboding that had stirred earlier found new life, although it wasn’t really a surprise that I was being drawn back to the park.

“Stop,” I said, and climbed out the minute we had.

It was late afternoon and the sun shone brightly. Nothing tainted the air other than the scent of eucalyptus, and the merry sound of children playing intermingled with the constant flow of traffic—sounds that spoke of life and happiness.

But that’s not what we were about to find.

I took a deep breath, released it slowly, and then walked on. Into the park, past the grove of trees, around the edge of the lake, and then beyond the rotunda.