“I want to show you something,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I think you’ll like it.”
With that enigmatic statement, he went over to a wall of built-in bookshelves, slid his hand to the back of one shelf, above the books sitting there, and pushed. Antonia didn’t understand what he was doing until the wall popped open enough to reveal a complicated lock that looked like something she’d seen in a movie. When he pressed his thumb to what was apparently a scanner, a second bookcase swung open to reveal a door. “A hidden room?” she whispered, delighted by it.
Nico pushed the just revealed door open all the way and stepped into a room that, when she followed, Antonia knew had its own ventilation, completely apart from the rest of the house. The air was drier and, she inhaled, cleaner. No, it was more than clean. It was too dry, and somehow thin. This air had been purified to extract anything that might damage . . . . What? She spun and took in the room around her.
“Oh,” she breathed in awe, and wondered when the surprises would stop. How many more secrets was Nico concealing from the world? “Where did you find all of this?”
The room was filled with glass shelves and cases of magic devices of every sort and age, some of them so deadly that they’d been kept secret even in their world, remaining hidden in closely guarded stone vaults in the basement of every sorcerer’s tower, including Sotiris’s . . . and Nico’s.
Not everything in this vault was deadly, though. Some were merely dangerous, and others even less than that. But regardless of lethality, in every class of device there was plain and there was beautiful. Jewels sparkled next to ordinary tin. Diamond encrusted knives were sheathed in tooled leather, with no casual observer realizing that the danger was in the sheath, not the blade.
Nico walked by all of these without pausing, going instead to a softly lit shelf set into an alcove all by itself. And on that shelf were four . . . piles of sand. Intrigued, and knowing he wouldn’t have created this shrine—for that’s what it was—for no reason, Antonia walked over, studying every detail through the filter of her magic.
The shelf was simply a shelf, the lighting just a light, but the sand . . . now that was definitely not ordinary. Studying it some more she finally said slowly, “The sand . . . all of it’s been ensorcelled, but . . .” She studied it some more. “Each pile is . . . almost the same, but not quite.” She gasped. “Oh! Four different curses by the same sorcerer, using the same elements.” She turned to Nico. “What are these?”
“Four piles of sand, four curses, similar but different.”
She made an impatient noise, and then it hit her. “Four statues, four piles of sand, but how . . .? Where did they come from? Did you somehow—?”
“Not me. Sotiris. He left them, the statues—the copies of the real statues—as a gift when I arrived in Paris. He, of course, was long gone. I’d defeated him in our last battle at home. He wasn’t going to test me so soon afterwards. Not in this world where there’s so little magic.”
She stared at him. “And as your warriors were freed, the statues crumbled.”
“Yes.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling as if their shared blood somehow made her responsible for Sotiris’s evil. When she opened them, she said, “I doubt he ever expected this—” she gestured at the sand, “—to happen. So they were only created to torture you.”
“I’m sure you’re right. I take great pleasure in knowing how pissed off he must be.”
She sighed. “I’m—”
“Don’t say it,” he demanded, closing in to put a careful two fingers over her lips. “You’re no more responsible for him than your mother is because she married the bastard.”
“She’d agree with you on that. But she doesn’t share the magic in his blood. I do.”
“And if you’d come first and passed that magic to him, I’d blame you. But it’s the other way around, so I don’t. And neither will anyone else. You created the hexagon, and intended it to be used against him. Neither of us could have anticipated what he’d do, how far he’d go to win. Well, he hasn’t won yet, and when we’re finished with him, he never will.”
“Where do you get your confidence?”
He grinned. “It’s in the blood, love, mixed in with the magic, which has been shown multiple times to be superior to . . . well, let’s face it, superior to everyone else.”
“No, darling,” she said pleasantly. “That’s ego, not confidence. Although, since you have the hexagon, both might be justified. How did you get it? I can’t believe Sotiris didn’t take it with him when he fled.”
“I don’t get any credit for that one. Dragan and Maeve brought it with them from New York. Did you know Sotiris had a house there? In the Finger Lakes, not the penthouse in Manhattan.”
“I knew about the penthouse, but not the one upstate. That’s interesting, because I know of several others, including some he considers his last resort hideouts. Whatever was in that house must have been either very important or very secret for him to have kept it from me. Either that or he acquired it after our relationship soured, and he lost any illusions that I would become an obedient daughter and devoted co-conspirator.”
“It was older than that, and I’d say it was both important and secret, since it wasn’t only the hexagon he kept there.” Nico’s voice hardened in a way that had her studying him in alarm.
“What was there? What could be more important to him than the hexagon?”
“Dragan.”
She frowned in confusion. “He was holding Dragan prisoner?”
“He’d been searching as long as I had for the statues. But where I wanted them so I could free my warriors, he wanted to ensure that they were never set free. They’d already suffered a thousand or more years, buried in caves, left in abandoned dwellings, with no hope of discovery, much less freedom. Sotiris failed in locating the others, but Dragan, he found in Europe, in the basement of a derelict and abandoned house. It was around 1920, as near as I can figure. He went so far as to transport the statue by ship to this country. I don’t know if he’d already bought the house, or if his finding Dragan had been the impetus for the acquisition, but Dragan sat in that bastard’s gallery of statues for decades.
“Mind you, any house would have been better than the one Dragan was in, but his prospects for being found were worse. He was aware, as were all the others, of what was happening around him. He knew that Sotiris had captured him, and had all but given up hope of ever finding freedom. Until Sotiris made the mistake of hiring Maeve.”
“Dragan’s pregnant wife.”
“Yes. They should be here very soon.”
“How did she know he wasn’t an ordinary statue?”
“To hear her tell it, her suspicions were aroused because Dragan didn’t fit with any of the other statues in the gallery. She’s an antiquities specialist, and his presence jarred her sensibilities. But more than that, something drew her to him. So much so that she started sitting with him and talking, as if he could hear, even though Sotiris had forbidden her from being in the gallery. Anyway, events happened and by chance, she said and did the right things, and he was freed.”
“And she ran away with him? Why? I’d have been more terrified than in love.”
“No, you wouldn’t. You’d have been curious as hell, and insisted on hearing his life’s story.”
She shrugged. “True. But I have enough power to protect myself. What does Maeve have?”
“A heart as big as her brain. They knew that they had to get as far away from the house as possible, as fast as possible, because Sotiris would know the curse had been broken. So they grabbed what they could and ran. But one of the things Maeve grabbed was the hexagon, just because it intrigued her.”
“Thank the goddess for smart, curious women, I guess, huh?”
He pulled her close and gave
her a smacking kiss. “Hell, yes. So . . . you want to see it?”
“It’s here?” She looked around. “In this room? I should be able to—”
“Not exactly in this room, but close. Come on.”
Taking her hand, he drew her over to what appeared to be a blank wall, and touched his finger to it while murmuring under his breath. Antonia knew it was a spell of some kind, but couldn’t catch the words. Besides, she thought when a small door suddenly appeared on the previously empty wall, the magical veil that had been concealing the door would require more than just the right words to reveal what it was hiding. It would probably respond only to Nico’s voice and/or magic. He was more than powerful enough to sustain such a spell, and the hexagon was worth whatever was necessary to keep it hidden and secure.
He murmured another spell and pressed his entire hand against the door, which popped open to reveal a safe-like interior containing a single wooden box. Antonia knew this was the hexagon the minute the door opened. It was her blood that had activated the damn thing, and it sang to her like a long-lost relative. For her part, it was a relative she wasn’t eager to see, but she still recognized its usefulness.
“Shall I open it?” Nico asked, leaving the box where it was.
“No,” she said softly. “It’s the hexagon.”
“You used your own blood to activate it,” he said, his tone telling her that she’d just confirmed what he’d long suspected.
“Yes.”
“What if it had backfired, and you’d lost your power instead?”
His voice was hard again, she noticed. “I was almost positive it would work against him. Or at least against both of us, which would have served just as well.”
“And if it hadn’t? If we’d been in the middle of a battle, and suddenly your power was gone?”
“I’ve never been in the middle of a battle in my entire life,” she snapped. “And you would hardly be depending on me if I were. My strength is not for fighting, on or off the battlefield. I can design a battle weapon, but I don’t have enough or the right kind of power to make it work in a war. You know that.”
He gave her a narrow stare, then conceded, “I do know that. But I still don’t like that you put yourself at risk.”
“It’s that penis of yours. It keeps getting in the way of rational thought.”
His look turned disbelieving. “You didn’t say that on the plane here, when you were screaming loud enough that the pilot buzzed me, worried something had happened.”
“He did not!”
“He did.”
“You are terrible sometimes,” she gasped, when he started laughing.
“If it’s only sometimes, I’m ahead of the game. Some people would say ‘always.’”
“Who are they? We’d probably get along very well.”
He pulled her into his arms. “Don’t be like that. You know you love me just the way I am.”
“I love you,” she admitted grudgingly. “But I’m not sure about the ‘just the way’ part.”
He laughed some more, clearly devastated by her pronouncement, she thought.
“You sure you don’t want to take a look?” he asked, when he’d finally stopped laughing, and yeah, kissed her bad mood away. The sneak.
“I’m sure. Lock it back up, sorcerer.”
Nico did so quickly, then asked, “Anything else you want to see in here?”
“Not right now.” She lifted her arms into a stretch over her head. “What I’d really like is a hot shower. Is there time before we have to meet the others for the video conference?”
“Hey, I’m the boss here. If I say there’s time, there’s time.”
“Fortunately for your friends, I’m more considerate. But I still want that shower. Let’s go.”
Chapter Six
NICK LED ANTONIA down the long hallway, noting in passing that Lili was still hard at work. But since she didn’t call out to him, he knew he wasn’t needed. There was no sneaking past Lili’s office. She always knew. He figured it probably had something to do with her being a vampire, but had never asked. That was still a sensitive topic for her.
The big house was mostly empty, although he could hear his private chef in the kitchen, directing her assistants, along with the clatter of cupboards and utensils. She came in at least once a week to prepare easily prepped meals for whoever happened to be around. And when there was a special occasion, like tonight, she was always available to him, no matter who else was on her calendar. He was her main client, and any others who contracted with her for an event knew that while she would oversee the menu and discuss every detail with them, one of her sous chefs would be supervising the actual dinner, or whatever the occasion called for, if Nick needed her.
Other than the distant kitchen noise, however, they encountered no sign of anyone as he pulled her up the stairs to his second-floor suite. The double doors were shut, and as usual, secured by a spell which triggered any time they were closed. Lili had a key that could counter the spell for when the housekeeper came, or in an emergency, but other than that, his suite was always secured.
He waved a casual hand and the doors opened to reveal what, he had to admit, was a pretty damn fantastic room. It was a corner suite, and the two outside walls were mostly window. With the twelve-foot ceilings, that was a lot of light coming in. The windows were triple-paned to keep out the heat, naturally. They were also shielded from the outside to prevent anyone seeing in, though there were also black-out shades that he dropped whenever he wanted to sleep, regardless of the time.
“Goddess, Nico. This is as big as my whole house.”
“Maybe,” he admitted. “If you include the bathroom and the closets.”
“Oh well, let’s not forget those,” she said absently.
He looked around, trying to see it through her eyes. It was big. He wanted it that way. The main room was mostly devoted to a huge bed, which had a mahogany footboard and rails, and a headboard of the same wood, but with ebony inlays in a one-of-a-kind design. The four posts were likewise mahogany, but there was no canopy or drapes, since he had that penis she’d made note of, and besides, they were nothing but dust catchers. It always made him sneeze just looking at those things. There were two matching side tables with ebony inlays in the drawers, and on the wall above the tables were sconces, which had three independent settings and were wirelessly connected to switches on either side of the bed. The bedding itself varied by season, but since this was Florida, it was never much. He liked to sleep in a cold room.
“It’s freezing in here,” Antonia said at that moment.
So much for sleeping in a cold room, he thought.
“That bed is beautiful. It has to be custom.”
“It is,” he admitted. “I saw something else, not a bed, but with ebony inlays, and knew that’s what I wanted.”
She turned to see the rest of the room and, eyeing the adjacent seating area, said doubtfully, “A fireplace? Do you ever use it?”
He nodded. “I read up here sometimes. That couch is long enough to stretch out, and super comfortable. The fireplace is mostly for mood. It’s gas, so no smoke or wood mess to deal with.”
While she brushed her hand over the fabric, smiling at the soft feel of it, he crossed to the opposite wall and opened the door to the “his and hers” dressing rooms. He’d argued against the “her” version during the renovation, since he’d had no intent of ever acquiring a permanent “her,” and he never invited anyone to stay with him in this house. But the architect and designer had both talked about extra space that could be used for anything, and the good old resale value, so he’d caved.
Going back to the pile of suitcases near the door—courtesy of Abe, and Lili’s key—he started moving them to the second dressing room, which was still empty, since he had plenty of other places t
o store things. Antonia turned to see what he was doing and hurried over to help, stopping in her tracks when she saw the large, empty dressing room, with built-in shelves, shoe racks, closets and drawers. And a wide mirror at the far end.
“There’s also a private safe for valuables,” he added.
She slanted a look at him. “I don’t have anything that valuable.”
“You will,” he said, and left to bring in the remaining cases.
She was still standing in the same place when he returned.
“Nico, this is all too much. I don’t need this much room, and—”
“And what? You’re planning to stay, aren’t you?”
Something in his voice . . . . Oh hell, he knew what the “something” was. It was ninety percent worry, and ten percent challenge, and it had her coming over to put a hand on his cheek and her lips on his mouth. She kissed him firmly, thoroughly, as if to say, “Stop worrying, you idiot. Of course, I love you.”
She finished the kiss with swipe of her tongue over his lips and said, “I’m staying.”
And though she’d left off the “idiot,” he still heard it.
“Well then, this is your closet. Do with it what you will. Bring a chair in. Hell, bring in a widescreen and you can sit in here and watch whatever awful show you want. We’ll remodel it to your preference.”
“Why can’t I watch my awful shows out there, by the fireplace?” she demanded.
He rolled his eyes. “I was teasing. You can watch any damn show you want, in any room you want. Just don’t expect me to watch it with you.”
“Never?”
“Sometimes. Maybe.”
She laughed and hugged him. “This is all so wonderful. I keep waiting to wake up and find it was all a dream, like some magical fairy tale.”
“It’s real, but unfortunately, I’m no prince.” He thought about that for a moment. “Actually, I am a prince. Huh. Your dream has come true.”
The Stone Warriors: Nicodemus Page 36
