by Viehl, Lynn
Jamys finally recognized the man as he shifted into the casual garb of the sailboat owner, and reached deeper.
The immortal had lived hundreds of different lives, changing himself to suit the demands of each new era, but he had never been happy. He carried a terrible burden, one he shared with his human kin, who had slowly dwindled away over the centuries. Something else had happened to the immortal, was yet happening, something wondrous and terrible that had sent him back out into the world. He had to bring together the last of his mortal bloodline with the sons he had sired so long ago, the three medieval knights made immortal like him—
Jamys staggered as he was forced out of the professor’s mind by a surge of power unlike any Kyn ability he had ever encountered.
Gifford’s eyes grew unfocused. “You are clever, boy,” he said, his voice dropping to a resonant baritone. “But I have wiped clean from the mortal’s mind everything he knew of Hollander and the Horde. You will learn nothing from him.”
Christian stepped back. “I know you.” Her voice shook as she added, “You were in the tomb with me.”
Gifford’s eyes glowed as he turned his head toward her, but the voice Jamys heard speak next came from inside his own mind. “Live, and you kill a hundred, a thousand, a million.” He looked at Jamys, and the voice inside his head grew icy. “Kill her, and you shall save them.”
Jamys stepped closer, and gazed into the historian’s eyes. “Touch her,” he said clearly, “and you will never again live another life on this earth.”
Gifford began to laugh and shake as his eyes rolled back into his head. A moment later he sank to the floor.
Christian grabbed him in time to keep him from hitting his head. “Okay, I think the professor’s had enough.”
Jamys crouched down beside her and checked the mortal. Gifford appeared unconscious, but his breathing was regular and his heart beat steadily. “He is asleep.”
Christian picked up the journal Gifford had dropped along with a page that had fallen out of it, handing the journal to Jamys before she unfolded the page. “This is a map. Looks pretty old, too. No X marking the spot, but there’s a ship’s course marked on it from what looks like Jamaica to Florida.” She showed it to him.
He eyed the date and some words scribbled at the bottom of the map. “This had to be the final course of the Golden Horde. The pirate must have drawn it for the priest before he died.”
“If we follow the ship’s course, maybe we won’t need an X. Let me see that journal again.” When Jamys handed it to her, she turned to the front leaf before she went still.
Jamys inspected the rectangle of red-bordered black paper in the front of the journal. In the center were two inverted, overlapping scarlet triangles with the letters LHS stamped in gold across them. “What is that?”
“It’s a bookplate. Collectors use them to tag their personal libraries.” She closed the journal and stood, her shoulders rigid. “I know the guy who sold this to Gifford.”
“How could you know this man?”
“Easy.” She gave him a bleak look. “I used to work for him.”
*
Once the nightclub had been cleared and closed, armed guards emerged from the tunnels to take their assigned positions throughout the stronghold. In the largest of the conference rooms Burke met with the mortal household staff to brief them, while Aldan assembled the garrison in the lists to do the same.
Lucan remained in his office to review the last week of video recordings from the security cameras, in hopes of finding some clue as to the identity of the Kyn who had tampered with his mind and taken control of his body. He saw no one and nothing unusual, save for the most recently arrived group of refugees, who were now being kept under guard at a nearby resort hotel.
He looked up as his captain and his tresora entered. “What have you learned from your people?”
Aldan nodded to Burke, who said, “The household staff have not noted anything out of the ordinary, my lord. The visitors have kept to their rooms for the most part, and what minor disruptions they have caused have not been intentional. No one has been observed on the penthouse level, near the stores, or anywhere inappropriate. Earlier I sent a sample of the stock that was poisoned over to the blood bank to be tested, but that will take some time.”
“Copper-tainted blood could not do this to me,” Lucan said. “Captain, what of the men?”
“They’ve no love for the visitors, Master, but they’ve seen naught to alarm them. The strangers have shown no untoward behavior.” He hesitated before he added, “Vander, the one you fought the other night, has remained behind under guard. As appointed leader, he requests a moment to speak with you about his men.”
Lucan had no interest in listening to any complaints about ill-treatment, but Vander had served with the other men in his group, and had likely witnessed some or all of them using their talents. “Bring him to me.”
Glenveagh and Sutton flanked the visitors’ leader as he strode into the office. “Suzerain.” Vander performed a shallow bow. “My brothers have asked me to speak on their behalf and ask as to why we have been removed from the household.”
“Some cowardly bastard has used his ability in an attempt to challenge my rule,” Lucan told him. “My first thought was to kill all of you; that would instantly eliminate the threat and give me an enormous amount of personal pleasure.”
Vander looked confused. “My lord, my men and I would never use ability against you. You have provided us with—”
“Shut up,” Lucan said as he rose from his desk. “One of you is going to die tonight; answer my questions truthfully and it may not be you. Now, what ability have you, Mr. Vander?”
“I am a treasure finder,” he muttered. “Nothing of great value can be hidden from me.”
“How exceedingly profitable.” Lucan came around the desk. “Demonstrate it for us. Now.”
Vander jabbed a thumb at Glenveagh. “This one carries in his left pocket a watch and chain.”
“Which I consult often enough for it to be noticed by anyone,” Glenveagh said. “Hardly hidden treasure.”
Vander gave him an unpleasant look. “What of the woman’s locket in the pouch on your belt? Is it meant as a love token for your Scot?”
Before the guard could lunge, Aldan clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not so easily won, little man. You must romance me first.”
Lucan resisted the impulse to smash their skulls together. “Glenveagh, open the pouch.”
The guard unsnapped the flap and took out a delicate chain. “I purchased it as a gift for Christian,” he said as he held it up to show Lucan the heart-shaped pendant. “Next month is her birthday.”
“The Pearl Girl.” Vander smiled. “I fancy a piece of that myself. Think earbobs would persuade her to spread her—”
Aldan plowed his massive fist into Vander’s face, and watched him sag. “Forgive me, Master. I fear my knuckles are overly fond of Miss Christian.”
“Aye, and my sword,” Glenveagh muttered.
“Enough.” Lucan picked up the glass of bloodwine Burke had brought him earlier and dashed it in Vander’s face, rousing him. “You will keep a civil tongue in your head, or my men will cut it out.”
“As you command, Suzerain.” Vander spit out a shard of tooth. “You have seen my talent. What more do you want?”
“Who among your men can control the mind and body of another?” Lucan demanded.
“None.” Vander looked bewildered. “I have never seen such a …” He stopped and licked his lips. “No man I serve with has that ability.”
Lucan leaned in. “Do you think me a fool? You have seen this done. Who was it?”
“It was when I sought out the girl, Christian,” Vander muttered. “He used it to compel her to deny me. Your particular friend, the one who looks like a lad.”
“Jamys.” Lucan straightened. “His ability only affects mortals. Try again.”
“But I heard him say …” Vander averted his gaze
. “It must be another unknown to me, my lord.”
Every lightbulb in the office exploded as Lucan grabbed him by the throat and rammed him into a wall. “Tell me, or die.”
“I heard him talking to the girl,” Vander wheezed out. “He wishes territory of his own. And when I tried to take her to my rooms, something happened.”
Lucan released him. “What?”
“I cannot say. One moment I was with the girl, the next I was in my rooms.” Vander rubbed his throat. “I could not say how I got there. I had no memory of it.”
“Captain, take the guards and search the stronghold for Jamys Durand.” He helped Vander to his feet. “Burke, find Christian and bring her to me.”
“A moment, Captain,” the tresora said, and then informed Lucan of the phone call he had received from the girl. “I know from the manner in which she spoke that she was not under Lord Durand’s or any Kyn’s sway,” he added, giving Vander a disgusted look. “Nor would he have left with her if he meant to challenge your rule.”
“Perhaps he feared being found out,” Vander suggested. “Your lady saw him with you at the pier, did she not? And no other Kyn there but him.”
“My knuckles begin to itch, Master,” Aldan said. “Might I scratch them another time?”
“Leave him with me,” Lucan said. “All of you. Get out.”
The men left with reluctance, and as soon as Lucan closed the door, Vander shuffled to his feet. “I regret exposing your friend’s betrayal, my lord, but ’tis better to know there is a knife at your back before it is used.”
“I have known Jamys Durand his entire life.” Weary now, Lucan returned to his desk and dropped in the chair. “And his father, all of his kin. They are obsessed with honor.” He shook his head. “He could not have done this.”
“That may be. I have heard talk of the boy’s mother,” Vander said carefully. “Is it true that she handed her family over to the Brethren?”
Lucan thought of how he had found the Durands in Ireland. “Yes, and the evil bitch died for it.”
“My own mother was a common street whore.” Vander came to the desk and began idly straightening the objects nearest the edge. “She led my father on a merry chase, right to the gallows. She held me in her arms so that I might watch his neck being stretched.” He picked up a framed photo of Samantha standing on the beach and looking out at the sea. “Your lady is as clever as she is lovely. She understands this time, and the strangeness of the world. Any man would count himself fortunate to own her.”
“I don’t own Samantha.” Lucan took the photo from him, and then went still as he saw the web of cracks in the glass covering Samantha’s image. “I love her.”
“Doubtless she knows it,” Vander assured him. “What I most admire is your patience with her, and her determination to live a separate life from yours.”
Lucan turned the frame facedown on the desk. “We share the same life.”
“Yet she is gone from here at the worst possible time, to do this … police work, is it?” Vander shook his head. “Were she mine, I would never let her wander from my sight. Not when an enemy is poised to attack. But perhaps there is another reason for her absence now.”
Lucan looked up. “Samantha would never betray me.”
“Of her own accord, no, perhaps she would not. But this boy, Jamys, can seize minds, and control bodies, you said.” Vander looked sympathetic. “I pray she has not fallen under his influence. Given your feelings for her, he would be a fool not to use her against you.”
Lucan picked up the phone and dialed Samantha’s mobile, but the line went immediately to her voice mail. Panic welled up inside him, but when he tried to rise, his legs refused to obey him. “Help me to my feet. I have to find her. I have to get her away from him. If he has used her—if he has so much as touched her—”
“That is not all you must do, my lord,” Vander said, and smiled as he reached out to touch his shoulder. “But please, do let me help you.”
*
Jamys didn’t ask any questions as they left the museum and drove back to the boat, which gave Chris time to consider how much to tell him. She tuned the car radio to a Cuban-American station she liked and let the lively beat of salsa fill the silence.
If she had believed in God, by now she’d be convinced he was punishing her. After all she’d done to forget the past and make herself a better person, he probably wouldn’t be able to resist dragging all that old shit back into her life, or dropping it right in front of Jamys. Maybe this proved there was a God, because nothing else could have hurt her more than this. It was the perfect celestial fuck-you.
She parked the car and stared at the boat for a while.
“Come and rest with me,” Jamys said. “We need not begin following the map tonight. You are tired.”
That she was. “I don’t think we should wait. I can’t come with you on the boat, either.” She ran her hand over the top curve of the steering wheel. “I’m going to see the guy who sold the journal to Gifford, and find out where he got it.”
“I will go with you,” Jamys said.
She shook her head. “We can cover more bases if you follow the map and I check out the journal.”
“Is that the only reason?” he asked gently.
“No.” She unfastened her seat belt and faced him. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I was a really messed-up kid, and after my mom died, I didn’t really care what happened to me. I just … shut down, you know?”
“I did the same when I learned how my mother had betrayed us to the Brethren.” He took her hand in his and stared out at the bay. “Alexandra Keller said I was catatonic, but she was wrong. I was aware of everything. My shame kept me locked inside myself.”
Chris had known street kids who had done that, withdrawing into themselves so far they became like ghosts. “When I was in school, I used to wish I could take an eraser to myself, rub out all the mistakes, and do things over the right way. Life would be so much easier if you could do that.”
“Only if you live in the past.”
“Which we don’t.” She forced a smile. “Come on, I’ll program the navigational computer with the map’s course.”
“Christian.” He waited until she looked at him before he said, “There is nothing you could do that would make me think less of you.”
Jamys said such beautiful things, as if he knew exactly at the right moment what she needed to hear. He probably even believed some of them. “Thanks.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek before she climbed out.
It appeared as if all the dockside fisherman had called it a night, and most of the boats moored near theirs looked likewise unoccupied. Chris almost started to relax when she spotted a figure sitting in the shadows at the edge of the dock. He had a line in the water, but no tackle box or bait bucket, and had pulled the hood of his jacket up over his head. As they drew closer, she spotted the black gloves on his hands and stumbled.
Jamys caught her arm, his gaze also on the hooded man. I see him. Get on the boat and go below.
Chris took out the gun in her purse and concealed it and her hand in the side pocket of her jumper. No, I’m not going to do that.
The man’s back straightened, and he reeled in his line before standing and turning toward them. “Evening.”
The voice wasn’t Lucan’s, but Chris didn’t relax. “Howdy.”
The fisherman walked toward them, still holding his pole, and then stopped beside the sailboat. He inspected them and the boat with casual interest. “This yours?”
Jamys shifted in front of Chris. “Yes.”
“Beautiful craft.” He pulled back his hood to scratch at his close-trimmed beard, which looked like snow against his dark complexion. “You run charters?”
What Chris assumed was a glove was just the natural color of the islander’s dark skin. “No, sorry.”
“Truly a shame. I imagine she flies over the waves.” He nodded to Jamys and walked on.
Chris thumbed on the
safety before returning her gun to her purse. “I don’t know about you, but I feel like an ass.” She glanced at Jamys, who was still watching the fisherman depart. “It’s all right. He’s not a threat to anything but the fish around here.”
“As you say.” He still waited until the man disappeared from sight before he followed her onto the boat.
Chris charted a course on the nav system and chose a small marina where they could meet when Jamys reached the Keys. “I’ll probably get there first, so I’ll take care of renting a slip for the day.” She saved the data and checked the maritime weather forecast feed. “You’ve got clear skies and calm seas, but if you run into any problems, just give me a call on the mobile.”
He switched off the equipment. “You have not told me about the man you are going to meet.”
Chris didn’t like to think about Stryker, much less talk about him, but she could give him the edited version. “His name is Leonin something long and Russian, but he goes by Stryker. He operated some specialty nightclubs and private party houses in Fort Lauderdale, until the city got tired of his activities and invited him to relocate anywhere else. He moved his entire operation down to Key West, where the locals aren’t nearly as judgmental.”
“Why would they judge him?”
“Stryker collects old books only as a hobby. His real business is the personal fantasy trade. He dabbles in fetish and same-sex clubs, but the big money comes from his private parties. He rents houses and sets them up as theme scenes for swingers.”
Jamys looked perplexed. “Swingers?”
“They’re people who like to have sex with multiple partners,” she explained. “He throws orgies for the ones who like to dress up in costumes and role-play.”
“What do they pretend to be?”
“Ancient Romans. Movie stars. Anime characters.” She sighed. “And vampires.”
Chapter 14
Chris made sure she would reach Key West before Jamys did by driving there as fast as she could without stopping or getting caught in any of the tourist speed traps. Crossing the Seven Mile Bridge that connected Marathon with the Lower Keys was considered passing the halfway mark, but she wouldn’t relax until she hit mile-marker zero.
