Gift of Fire

by Jayne Ann Krentz

  Jonas found the room without too much trouble. It was in the center of the north-wing corridor and had a series of arched windows framing the dark courtyard. When Jonas looked out across the overgrown garden he could see the light he had left on in the bedroom he was sharing with Verity.

  He turned back to the small room and swung the flashlight around from wall to wall. The place was bare. No frayed tapestries or rotting furniture, just plain stone walls and floor.

  Jonas flipped open the diary to the page detailing the discovery of the crystal. His Latin was rusty, but he had been able to decipher most of Hazelhurst’s scrawl.

  South wall. Third stone up from the floor, two over from the left-hand corner. Press firmly on the right portion of the stone. Watch out for the blade. I’m sure the poison tip has long since become ineffective, but the edge is still quite sharp. I was only saved when I first discovered the crystal because the mechanism that triggered the trap was rusted. The design of the trap is quite fascinating. I have since oiled it, of course. Pity not to restore it as far as possible.

  “Thanks, Digby, old pal. Why in hell did you have to oil the sucker?”

  Jonas hunkered down in front of the designated part of the wall and studied the stonework intently. Digby did not say which stone concealed the booby trap. The hidden blade could snap out from the wall or the floor—or from the ceiling. Jonas glanced up and dismissed that possibility. It was too unlikely.

  He tried to envision the kind of trap he might have set had he been hiding a crystal four hundred years ago.

  A man attempting to open a secret hiding place in the floor would be crouching as Jonas was. Jonas trailed his fingertips cautiously along the stone.

  Something shimmered in his mind and reality started to bend and stretch into an endless tunnel. Jonas jerked his fingers away from the stone that had caused the sudden reaction.

  He didn’t dare step into the psychic corridor without Verity nearby—she was his anchor. But just the intimation of ancient violence was enough to warn him that the trap had been sprung once before—by someone who had not been as lucky as Digby Hazelhurst. A long time ago some benighted soul had died in this room while searching for the crystal.

  Died clutching his balls in agony.

  Jonas sucked in his breath and stood up quickly. He moved back, away from the part of the floor that was sending out the dangerous vibrations. He’d learned enough. The thought of the deadly blade springing from the floor and stabbing him between the legs was enough to make him even more careful. He got to his feet and prowled the room, looking for something he could use to trigger the trap. He then went back out into the hall and opened a few other doors in the corridor.

  When Jonas stepped into the third room down he hit pay dirt. At some point during the past few years Maggie Frampton had obviously tried to keep this wing clean. A long-handled broom stood forlornly in one corner as evidence.

  Jonas picked it up and returned to the room that had contained the crystal. He stretched the handle of the broom out in front of him cautiously, applying pressure to the stone indicated in the diary.

  With an almost silent hiss a sinister blade shot from between two floor stones. If he had been crouching where he’d been earlier, he would now have been a candidate for a boys’ chorus. Jonas realized. He wiped sweat from his forehead.

  He waited a moment and then stepped cautiously around the quivering blade to examine the hollow stone behind it. The surface of the stone had slid back, revealing an empty interior. Jonas leaned down to probe the inside.

  He knew instantly that the move was a mistake—a bad one.

  A violent wave of emotion roared through him and the walls of the psychic corridor began to take shape. Jonas fought to keep himself from being sucked into the time tunnel. An overwhelming sense of foreboding nearly drowned him as he struggled to fight the inexorable pull of violence long past.

  Death awaited him. Death awaited anyone who dared to use the crystal.

  “Verity. Verity!”

  Jonas did not know if he screamed the words aloud or silently in his mind. Sweat was pouring from him as he gathered every ounce of his willpower and yanked his hand back out of the hollow stone.

  “Jonas?”

  He felt her there with him. It wasn’t possible, he told himself, dazed. She was downstairs in another part of the villa. She wasn’t close enough to help him.

  “Jonas? What’s wrong?”

  Verity was reaching for him. He couldn’t see her, but he could feel her presence, an anchor in the storm. Jonas squeezed his eyes shut and rolled clear of the section of floor that contained the trap and the hollow stone.

  Suddenly his vision cleared and everything returned to normal. The images of violent brutality and death disappeared as quickly as they’d appeared.

  The blade slid back into the floor and the opening in the stone vanished without a trace.

  Jonas lay on the floor breathing heavily. He stared at the corner of the room where death awaited the unwary. He knew then that the real danger surrounding the missing crystal was not the blade hidden between the stones. Whatever the crystal was, whatever function it performed, it was evil. The knowledge sent a savage shudder of excitement through him. He was on the trail of something very big.

  For Jonas, the treasure hunt had just superseded the consulting work he was here to do. There were secrets hidden in this old villa. Important secrets. He had to discover them.

  Jonas rose slowly to his feet. He picked up the flashlight and edged out of the room, keeping his eyes on the dangerous stone until he was safely out in the hall. Then he firmly closed the door.

  It seemed to Jonas that he could hear laughter in his mind as he made his way back to the south wing of the villa. He thought at first that it was his imagination producing echoes of Digby Hazelhurst’s amusement. Then he realized that the laughter was much older. About four hundred years old, to be exact.

  Jonas is all right. Verity felt reality slide gently back into place. Her pulse was still racing, and she felt lightheaded. She wished Slade Spencer weren’t holding her right hand so tightly. On the other side of her Doug Warwick had his fingers laced lightly between hers. She felt trapped.

  She opened her eyes and glanced around at the intent faces of the small circle of would-be psychics. Doug Warwick was staring over his sister’s shoulder into the fire. He looked bored. Oliver Crump had his eyes closed. He seemed to be concentrating intently, as did Elyssa and Preston Yarwood. Elyssa had a dreamy expression on her face, as if she was seeing an inner vision. Preston was frowning.

  Slade Spencer kept squeezing Verity’s fingers spasmodically. He had put aside his pipe and an afterdinner drink in order to join the circle. Sensing Verity’s glance, he opened one eye and winked solemnly, squeezing her fingers until she thought they might break.

  Verity pulled her hand free from Slade’s and released herself from Doug’s loose grip. Doug glanced at her with an inquiring smile.

  “Bored already?”

  “I…I have to go to my room,” Verity whispered uneasily.

  “I don’t blame you for wanting out of this,” Doug murmured. “Go on, you’re excused.”

  Slade nodded at her as she edged free of the circle. His eyes were hooded and heavy with alcohol. “Night, Verity. See you in the morning,” he muttered. Crump, Elyssa, and Yarwood appeared not to notice Verity’s departure. They obviously had their minds on higher matters.

  Verity slipped out of the salon. She paused outside in the chilly hall, letting her breathing return to normal. The sense of danger was gone, but she wouldn’t be able to relax until she saw Jonas and found out what had happened.

  Every time before, she had been drawn into the psychic corridor with him only when they were physically close. The link between them didn’t hold beyond a distance of a few feet. Yet, she could have sworn that for a moment she had ex
perienced the familiar feeling of stepping into the time corridor with Jonas.

  She hurried painfully up the stone staircase to the bedroom she and Jonas had been assigned. She flung open the door hoping to find him inside but the room was empty.

  “Dammit, Jonas,” she grumbled aloud, “where are you?”

  He could be anywhere in the huge villa. It was useless to start prowling the halls for him. She would just have to wait until he returned. Verity wandered into the bathroom to start getting ready for bed. She had a long list of questions she planned to fire at Jonas when he finally showed up.

  But it wasn’t Jonas who was waiting for her when she emerged from the bathroom wearing her flannel nightgown.

  “Slade!” Verity stopped abruptly. Spencer was sitting on the edge of the bed, and he looked drunker than ever.

  “Don’t worry, Verity,” he said in a slurred voice. “Got the message. I ditched that dumb psychic circle right after you did. Told everyone I was feeling a little sick. Which I was when I thought of Elyssa going into her channeling routine. Got up here as fast as I could. Any idea how long your friend Jonas will be gone? Maybe we oughta go to my room.”

  “What in the world do you think you’re doing here? Are you out of your mind?” Verity grabbed her robe and belted it around her waist. She was furious, but she realized that Spencer was too far gone to notice. “You’re drunk, Slade. Or maybe not just drunk—that pipe of yours smells a little funny. Get out of here now!”

  He looked bewildered and a bit hurt. He blinked his hooded, sleepy eyes in an attempt to focus on her face. “But you want me here. You invited me up here,” he whined.

  “I did not invite you up here, and if you were sober, you’d know that. Now leave. Immediately.”

  “Are you just upset ‘cause I’ve had a coupla drinks? Hey, no problem, honey. I’m ready, willing, and able. You’ll see. Can’t keep a good man down, you know.” He grinned stupidly and started to unbutton his shirt. “Might be safer if we went to my room, though. Don’t think I want Quarrel walkin’ in on us, know what I mean?”

  “Get out of here!” Verity demanded furiously.

  Slade leered at her. “Hey, maybe we got no problem. Maybe Quarrel’s hoppin’ into the sack with Elyssa even as we speak. Is that the way it is? You two have an understanding? Elyssa’s convinced the guy’s some kinda psychic, you know. She likes to sleep with psychics. She and Yarwood get it on all the time. She even made it with me a time or two. She’s one hot ticket waiting to get punched.” Slade frowned. “Think she tried it with Crump but he wasn’t interested. Crump’s not interested in anything except his damn herbs and crystals.”

  Verity was getting angrier by the minute. Slade looked too drunk to be physically dangerous, but she wasn’t having any luck in getting him to leave. He was right about one thing: the thought of Jonas walking in on this little scene was not a comforting one. The memory of him holding the knife at Doug Warwick’s throat was still fresh. Verity decided to take action.

  She walked firmly across the room and took hold of Slade’s sleeve. She used all her strength to pull him to his feet.

  “Out,” she said crisply. “Right now.”

  Slade staggered and looped an arm around her shoulders to brace himself. He smiled broadly and leaned against her, trying to plant a wet kiss on her mouth.

  Verity ducked and dragged him toward the door, her nose wrinkling at the overpowering odor of liquor on his breath.

  “Want to go to my room, huh? Okay by me. We’re on our way.” Slade then lost his balance and started to collapse.

  It was like having a huge, limp puppet fall on her. Verity’s weak ankle gave way painfully and she crumpled to her knees, and Slade’s loose-limbed body sprawled over her. He scrabbled uselessly to find his feet, and the two of them wound up in a heap on the floor just as the door swung open.

  Jonas launched himself through the doorway without a word. He grabbed Slade, yanked him off Verity, and hurled the younger man up against the tapestry-covered wall.

  Spencer hit the wall with an audible thud, and the breath rushed out of him. He groaned and slumped to the floor, almost unconscious.

  Verity looked up at Jonas as he headed toward his victim. She recognized the glitter in his eye.

  “Jonas, no! He’s just drunk and acting stupid.” She scrambled awkwardly to her feet, gasping at the pain in her ankle.

  “Stupid is right,” Jonas said in his softest, most dangerous voice. He hauled the groggy Spencer to his feet and drew back his fist.

  “Hey, wait a second, man.” Spencer came to his senses long enough to hold up a weak hand. “Didn’t mean anything. Just havin’ a little fun.”

  “Live and learn, Spencer. This is the kind of fun that can get you killed. You should have stuck to rutabagas. Verity is off limits.”

  “No, no, it’s all just a misunderstanding,” Slade protested desperately. “Thought she wanted it. Thought all the chicks into this psychic stuff liked it. Hell, Elyssa sleeps with everyone.”

  “You’re right about one thing,” Jonas said. “There’s been a misunderstanding. Verity sleeps with no one but me.” His fist cracked against Spencer’s jaw. The man’s head wobbled, and Jonas prepared to hit him again.

  “Oh no, Jonas!” Verity wailed. She leaped forward to grab his arm. “Stop it. There’s no need for violence. Stop it right now!”

  Jonas shook her off, his golden eyes gleaming with fire. Verity staggered back against the tapestry, unable to find her balance with her weak ankle. She started to fall and automatically grabbed at the tapestry.

  “Verity!” Jonas let go of Spencer and caught her. He planted a hand on the tapestry, bracing himself and Verity against the wall.

  As soon as Jonas touched the tapestry Verity felt strange vibrations ricochet from his mind to hers.

  “What the hell?” Jonas yanked Verity away from the wall. “Jesus, that’s all I need right now.”

  Verity relaxed slightly as the disturbing vibrations disappeared. Jonas glanced at the tapestry and back down at the man sprawled at his feet.

  “I ought to kill him.”

  Verity sighed and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “He’s drunk, Jonas. And Lord knows what he’s been smoking all evening. Just get him back to his room so he can sleep it off. There was no harm done.”

  “The guy tries to rape you, and you say there was no harm done?”

  “He didn’t try to rape me. I was escorting him out of the room when he lost his balance and fell on top of me.”

  Jonas’s eyes were savage. He stared at her for a long moment. Then he reached down to grab one of Spencer’s ankles. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He dragged Slade Spencer out of the room as if the man were a sack of garbage.

  Verity heaved a tortured sigh and sank down on the edge of the bed. Absently she touched her ankle and groaned when pain shot through it.

  What a mess. Jonas was furious, Spencer had turned into a damned nuisance, and there was something very dangerous on the other side of that tapestry. At the moment she didn’t know which problem was the worst.

  Probably Jonas.

  It was not going to be easy to pacify him; she had seen the fury in his eyes. Verity could only pray that he was not doing more bodily harm to Slade at that very moment. She didn’t relish the idea of a lawsuit.

  Jonas strode back into the room just as Verity was wondering how broad her insurance coverage was.

  “What did you do with him?” she demanded.

  “I dumped him in the courtyard fountain.” He started to unbutton his flannel shirt.

  “You did what?”

  “You heard me. Take a look.” He nodded toward the windows as he stalked into the bathroom.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jonas, you didn’t really leave him there, did you?” But she knew Jonas well enough by now to guess the truth. Ve
rity gingerly made her way to the window and looked down into the gloomy courtyard. There was just enough light seeping from the windows in the south wing to show a dark form sprawled in the empty fountain. “Jonas, I think it’s starting to rain.”

  “So what?” He turned on the water in the old-fashioned bathroom sink.

  “What do you mean, so what? You’ve left Slade out there and it’s near freezing. Now it’s raining. He’s liable to catch pneumonia.”

  “I don’t give a damn what happens to him. With any luck he’ll drown.” Jonas came out of the bathroom drying his hands on a towel. His shirt hung open, revealing the dark hair on his chest. His Florentine gold eyes still glittered with masculine outrage. “I’ve about had it, Verity. This is the second time in the past week I’ve walked in and found some man climbing all over you.”

  “Now, Jonas, you’re overstating the case and you know it.” Verity tried to adopt a soothing tone. There were times when it didn’t pay to go toe-to-toe with Jonas Quarrel. She clutched the lapels of her robe more tightly around her. “Be reasonable. The first time doesn’t count. Doug Warwick was just trying to be helpful, there was absolutely nothing else involved. And this time it was just a drunken fool making a pass. I’m sure Slade will be terribly embarrassed in the morning.”

  “Terribly embarrassed, huh? I’ll tell you something. He ought to be goddamned grateful he’s not going to wake up with a broken neck.” Jonas tossed the towel aside and came toward her. “How the hell did he get in here, anyway?”

  Verity stepped back and felt the window ledge cut into her back. She lifted her chin defiantly. “The door was unlocked.”

  “Why was the damn door unlocked?” He reached her and his hands closed around her shoulders. He hauled her against him.

  “I left it open for you. I thought you’d be along any minute.”

  “I’m getting sick and tired of telling you to lock doors, Verity.”

  “I hardly expected anyone but you to walk in,” Verity retorted indignantly. “Honestly, Jonas. We’re guests here. How was I to know there would be any trouble?”