Free The Collectors' Society 01 by Heather Lyons Page A

day?” Mary pats his face. “Or that, just this morning, she was blissfully unaware of the Society or Timelines or nosy doctors who want to grill her when I’m sure she wants nothing more than to sit down and catch her breath?”
    He has grace enough to appear sheepishly admonished. A hand rakes through his dark hair, leaving it askew. “Of course. Sorry, Alice. Maybe we can chat about this later.”
    “Perhaps,” I allow.
    “Did you hear about the security malfunction?” Mary asks.
    Victor’s startled. “What security malfunction? As soon as we finished eating, I popped up here for a nap and then got straight to work.”
    Mary crosses the hallway to stand next to me. “Wendy insists her system registered an unauthorized passkey attempt at the back elevator, but a review of the footage shows nobody there.”
    “What about the alarms?” Victor asks. “I heard nothing.”
    “Neither did I. Apparently, only the first floor suffered.”
    He scratches his forehead, his dark eyebrows veeing. “Did Brom shit a brick?”
    “Brom,” Mary says wryly, “wasn’t informed of the incident until well after Finn investigated.”
    “That was probably wise.” Victor shoves his door open wider. “After what happened last time, I’m surprised Finn told him at all. I sure as hell wouldn’t.”
    “Finn didn’t. The A.D. did, the little punk.”
    Victor glowers. “Fan-fucking-tastic. Tonight, they’ll be cleaning up all the bricks that both Brom and Finn have shit, won’t they?” He ends up shutting the door rather than going farther inside. “I ought to go downstairs and see what’s going on. I’ll let you know what I hear.”
    And then he comes over and presses a quick kiss against Mary’s cheek. A hand briefly skirts across my shoulder. “See you around, Alice.”
    Once he’s gone, I slide the blue key into the keyhole and turn the ordinary knob.
    The flat I’ve been assigned is, well, extremely girlish. I’m talking little girlish—to the point its femininity is sickening. The walls are pastel pink, the floors hardwood and peppered with floral rugs. All of the art hanging on the walls is also floral and romantic, and porcelain dolls are found on nearly every surface.
    Mary shuts the door behind us. “Don’t mind Victor. Despite his lack of tact, he’s got a good heart. And he’s quite good at what he does.”
    My fingers trail across the shining, polished arm of a chair. Even the print on the furniture fabrics is floral. “You mean stealing catalysts?”
    I can’t tell if she’s insulted or amused. “Well, that too, but he’s a damn fine doctor. God forbid something goes wrong on an assignment, he’s quite handy to have around.”
    I pick up one of the heavily embroidered pillows on a velvet couch. It’s hideous. “Have things gone horribly awry on theses assignments before?”
    The pillow says in cursive lettering centered above a tiara: All Girls Are Princesses .
    “Not everybody appreciates having their belongings stolen,” Mary is saying, “even if it’s done under the noblest of circumstances.”
    How true that is. “Some thieves in Wonderland often found themselves without heads.” I toss the pillow back onto the cushions. “At least, those who were caught.”
    She drops her purse down onto a small table. “The Queen of Hearts, right?” She pretends to shudder. “How macabre.” And then, more cheerfully, “The housekeepers came in earlier today, so everything is clean.” An arm sweeps in an arc before her, toward a hallway. “There are two bedrooms, one-and-a-half bathrooms, a good-sized kitchen—not that you’ll need it much. Most of us tend to eat in the restaurant on the second floor during dinnertime. Which is six-thirty p.m. sharp, in case you’re wondering.” She smiles. “The chef here at the Society is divine. Communal dining, as weird as it sounds, seems to give us all a chance to catch up, especially if we’ve been gone on assignments or liaisons are in