Ice Blue. Anne Stuart
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help. It would have been easier if he had blue eyes—going from dull brown to a colorless pink shade was more stressful on the eyes—but it was a price he paid willingly.
It didn’t matter; he didn’t have to be able to see that well. As long as he was in control he had others to do the seeing for him. His vision was clear where it counted: his divine mission to cleanse the world.
The innermost circle was already in attendance, kneeling around the edges of the room, heads bowed so low they touched the floor as he made his stately entrance, his bare feet light on the straw mat. His followers were particularly penitent today, a good thing, since they’d failed him most dismally. Two of their brethren were dead, and if he had his way the other four would follow them.
He took his seat, folding gracefully into a kneeling position despite his weight, and lowered his head in corresponding respect, keeping his expression blank.
“Who wishes to tell me of the disasters that have passed this night?” he intoned.
The one known as Brother Heinrich spoke up. He was one of the Shirosama’s favorites—a former East German gang member who’d found salvation in the True Realization Fellowship. He could be counted on to carry out the most ruthless of disciplinary actions, all without question, but this time even he had failed.
“We have no idea where she is, Master,” Brother Heinrich said in a low voice. “The car was forced off the road and the two brothers were dead inside, and she was nowhere to be seen.”
“How did Brother Samuel and Brother Kaga die?”
“They both had broken necks. Presumably from the force of the crash. They must have hit the windshield—there was blood everywhere.”
“How convenient.” He allowed some of his acidity to seep into his voice. “And the girl managed to get herself out of the trunk on her own? Do limousines come with an interior latch?”
Brother Heinrich looked confused. “I don’t know …”
“They don’t,” the Shirosama informed his follower. “And the two brothers most certainly didn’t die from the accident. Someone must have been following them, following the girl, when I told them to be extremely careful there were no witnesses.”
Brother Heinrich lowered his head further in an attitude of abject shame. He was only twenty-two, and he’d managed to kill at least seven people in his short life, three of them in the service of the Shirosama. It would be a pity to dispense with his services; very few followers had the blind dedication combined with experience to meet such special needs.
“So we can only assume someone helped Miss Hawthorne to leave our protection,” the Shirosama confirmed. “You went back to her house to see if she was there?”
“We did, your holiness,” Brother Jaipur said, sounding equally miserable. He was more dispensable than Brother Heinrich, and this wasn’t the first time he’d failed him. Maybe the Shirosama could make an example of him. “The house was empty, but clearly she’d just been there. There was water surrounding her bath and her bedroom was in shambles.”
“If a woman is running from what she mistakenly perceives as danger, she doesn’t stop to take a bath. Someone else must have been involved. I am afraid Dr. Hawthorne is in very grave peril. It is our solemn duty to find her and bring her under our protection,” he intoned. “If any harm comes to her then we should bear the blame.” He allowed his milky gaze to rest on the four miscreants, one by one, making it clear that the “we” was only a figure of speech.
Brother Jaipur was foolish enough to speak up. “Shouldn’t we just retrieve the Hayashi Urn and let the girl fend for herself? Do we really need her?”
The Shirosama turned to look at him, his long, silent gaze a reproach that turned Brother Jaipur’s dark complexion pale. “We must care for all those unfortunates who have not yet seen the light. We need to lead her to paradise any way we can. There are no accidents. She was placed as the caretaker of the Hayashi Urn for a reason, and we must honor that.” He wasn’t about to share why he needed to get her under his control—that knowledge was his alone. As far as his followers knew, the Shirosama’s wisdom was infallible. The plan had indeed come to him in a vision, but that vision had left out a crucial element. Where the final ascendance was to take place.
But he knew who held the answer. And he would bleed and burn it out of her if he must, once he got his hands on her.
“Then her escape would have been preordained,” Brother Jaipur said.
The Shirosama’s pale, bleached hands were hidden beneath the folds of his white robe and no one could see his clenched fists. His expression remained serene. “Brother Jaipur, it was hardly an escape when we only meant to protect her,” he chided him gently. Brother Heinrich could strangle him—he’d taught the young German that squeezing the traitorous breath from doubters was an act of generosity, helping them escape their karma and move on to the next level. And Brother Heinrich enjoyed using his hands. “We make no mistakes, but unworthy and incompetent followers can be deluded by the snares of evil and allow the forces of the unrighteous to triumph. And if that happens, we must redeem the unworthy.”
All four of the fallen monks hung their heads in shame. They wouldn’t resist their punishment; the quickest path to paradise was to be cleansed by the Shirosama’s judgment. But while Brother Jaipur was dispensable, both Brother Sammo and Brother Telef were brilliant chemists with unquestioning devotion. The death of Jaipur would merely sharpen their focus.
“We must find the poor girl,” the Shirosama murmured, using his most hypnotic voice. “Look for guidance—our way will be made clear. I will visit her mother and see if the girl has been in touch, and I will meet with the younger sister as well. She could prove helpful in persuading Dr. Hawthorne of our sincerity. In the meantime, the rest of you must find out who helped her and where she is hiding. We can’t allow anything to come in the way of the True Ascension.”
The men rose to their feet, and he could feel the palpable relief in the room as they began to back away from his presence in abject humility. He savored the moment, until his quarry had almost reached the door.
“Brother Jaipur,” he said in the most gentle of voices. “You stay.”
No one looked at the hapless Brother Jaipur as they shuffled out—he had already left them on his trip to paradise. Brother Heinrich, without a word or a sign, moved to one side, knowing he would be needed. No, the Shirosama couldn’t dispense with Heinrich. Not yet. In his own way he was just as valuable as the chemists. Who would have thought the same calling would attract German street thugs and brilliant scientists? Once the Shirosama reached ascendancy all would be made clear. Until then he would simply have to make do.
The last acolyte closed the door, leaving the room silent, with only the Shirosama and his two followers inside.
“Brother Heinrich,” he said gently.
Brother Jaipur didn’t scream, accepting his fate, going to his heavenly reward with the blissful assurance that all was well, and the excruciating pain would cleanse him.
Brother Heinrich met his master’s eyes over his brother’s corpse, looking for approval like a stray dog. The Shirosama nodded benevolently.
“Find the girl, Brother Heinrich,” he said. “Bring her to the loving safety of our community. And kill anyone with her.”
“Yes, your holiness.”
The Shirosama nudged Brother Jaipur’s body with his bare foot. “And get some of the brothers to dispose of this mess, would you? His soul is already in paradise—get rid of the garbage left behind.”
He was really quite cross, when he shouldn’t allow himself to be. Now that they’d located the urn he was getting impatient. There were only a few short days until the onset of the Lunar New Year. He needed the girl as well, to complete the ritual and perform the ascendancy.
He was getting tired of waiting.
Summer