“Holy mother goddess,” he hissed under his breath. “What in the nine hells was that?”
“He often has that effect on those meeting him for the first time,” Blake said, sounding inordinately pleased at his loss of composure.
Morgan rejoined them. “Arcadian will see you momentarily. Follow me.”
He took one last look into the room before following Morgan. Susan was still dancing and enjoying herself. She seemed to have a string of admirers waiting to dance with her. She didn’t know that she was hostage to his good behaviour. With luck she never would.
Morgan led them into a comfortable sitting room that had been turned into an office or private study. Blake pointed to a leather sofa to one side of the room, and Elliot meekly seated himself upon it. Morgan ignored the massive desk that sat before the only window and busied himself at the liquor cabinet. He turned back with two tumblers of cognac. Elliot scowled at this evidence of more prying into his life, but he didn’t refuse the offered drink. He needed one, truth be told.
Blake wasn’t offered a drink or a place to sit.
Morgan joined Elliot on the sofa while Blake stationed himself quietly to one side of the door. Stationed, he mused as he sipped his drink, was a good word for Blake’s attitude. He was on duty, or that was the impression he received from the dour man.
“Can you tell me anything of why I’m here?”
“You know why,” Morgan said. “The Arcadian invited you and a guest to dinner.”
“Invited suggests I had a choice.”
“Had you paid him the courtesy of attending dinner and listening to his proposal, Arcadian would have given you a choice. By insulting him, you forced him to take another path where you’re concerned.”
He finished the last of his cognac and placed the glass on the low table before them. “Research he said. Mister Arcadian mentioned private research when he tried to buy me. What kind of research?”
Morgan began to say something, but then he shook his head and climbed to his feet. Elliot stood to join him, and turned in time to see Arcadian enter the room followed by another man and a woman. The room suddenly felt crowded and not because of Arcadian’s two new companions. He alone was enough to fill the room. Although he was of a height with Morgan and of similar build, Arcadian had a presence that seemed to dominate all he surveyed. Be that an empty room or one full of people, no one could doubt that he ruled it.
Arcadian held out his hand and said, “Welcome Professor Massey, you are welcome indeed.”
He saw no reason not to shake the offered hand. Doing so meant nothing. Not doing so might antagonise the man even further. He shook noticing how cool and dry Arcadian’s hand felt in his. The shake was firm but not a knuckle crusher. He obviously didn’t feel the need to physically dominate those he met. Of course he didn’t, Elliot thought, he had money and lackeys like Blake to do that for him.
“You’ve met Morgan and Cadmon of course,” Arcadian said. “Let me introduce Chani and Peter. Chani especially has been looking forward to meeting you.”
He shook Peter’s hand then turned to stare at Chani. He had to force himself to look away long enough to take the woman’s hand. She was flawless. Her skin seemed to glow with health; her green eyes sparkled like emeralds. He suddenly felt flushed and embarrassed, and knew she had detected his discomposure. The evening gown she had chosen to wear displayed a body that would fulfil every teenage boy’s fantasy. She was long legged, big breasted without being too buxom, and exactly the right height for him to stare into her eyes… which he was doing he realised!
He blushed; he was holding her hand and simply staring at her unable to speak! He shook her hand gently and released it reluctantly. By the goddess, what was wrong with him? He felt intoxicated, and wondered uneasily if Morgan had put something in his drink.
“Pleased…” he almost croaked, and paused to clear his throat. He tried again. “I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Chani. That’s a beautiful name by the way.”
She smiled. “Thank you. That’s why I chose it.”
“You did?”
“I was born Chanah Mindel. Chanah means graceful in Hebrew, but I like Chani better.”
Arcadian gently guided Elliot back to his seat with a touch on his arm. “Chani is the one person in my household that might possibly be able to understand your work, Professor.”
“Oh?”
Chani smiled. “The basics only I’m afraid. The Arcadian is being kind. I have some medical training, but nothing in genetics.”
The Arcadian kind? Elliot did not think so. The thought that Chani did think so snapped him out of his strange mood. He took his seat and the others settled themselves. Arcadian chose a wing backed armchair that faced the sofa. Blake remained where he was while Morgan took his place next to Elliot and Chani on the sofa. Peter remained standing and fixed himself a drink—tomato juice it looked like.
“First,” Arcadian began. “Let me apologise for the manner in which you were brought here. Your refusal to even meet with me, forced upon us a course of action I would really rather not have taken.”
Elliot scowled. “You kidnapped my daughter and myself. I might forgive you for my abduction. Might. But there’s no forgiveness for dragging my daughter into this. I find it absurd that you would think there might be.”
Arcadian shrugged, the movement slow and cavalier.
“What will it take to get my daughter safely out of here?”
“You insult me,” Arcadian said coldly. “Here under my very own roof you insult me? To think that I would harm a guest…” his eyes blazed with anger but then he calmed as if a switch had been thrown. “No. I will not be angry.”
Elliot twitched in surprise as everyone relaxed or sighed quietly. He glanced at Morgan and then Chani. They were both tense as if they feared the outcome of this meeting. That more than anything he had yet seen scared him. If Arcadian’s own people feared him, perhaps he should be more careful.
“Tell me what you want, and I’ll discuss it with you.”
“Oh you will?” Arcadian said in an overly pleased and sarcastic sounding way. “You’ll discuss it with me? You’ll listen with an open mind and not one closed with a decision already foolishly made on scant information?”
“I will.”
“A most excellent decision! If you remember our earlier discussion on the link, you’ll remember that I alluded to your work in genetics, and a private research project I am funding.”
“Immortality belongs in the realm of fantasy not science. The human condition precludes it no matter our superficial resemblance to the Sidhe. Genetics does not lie. The Seelie and Unseelie elves are a separate people and not to be confused with any of the races of man. My work has real applications, serious applications relevant to the human condition as it is, not how some would wish it to be.”
“I remember your position. I also remember telling you how seriously I take this matter. Suspend your disbelief a moment if you will, and answer me this. If I were to introduce you to someone that cannot die—a man or woman let’s say—who is in fact immortal. Would you be able to use your knowledge of genetics to discover why?”
“You’re serious?”
“As death itself, Professor.”
He considered lying, but decided against it. “I’m not sure, but I think not.”
Arcadian didn’t look surprised. “Why not?”
“Because my knowledge of genetics is entirely tied to the human genome. This hypothetical man would be, for all intents and purposes, not human.”
“Almost exactly word for word what the others said before they joined us.”
Morgan shrugged. “A disappointment I’ll admit, but not unexpected. They’re all products of their modern world.”
“You have asked others this question?” Elliot said.
Morgan nodded. “Geneticists, scientists, medical doctors, and researchers… your colleagues, should you decide to join them in their quest.”
“The project is a reality then?”
“It is,” Arcadian said. “What would it take for you to join your colleagues in their work?”
“There’s nothing you could offer that would make me give up my own research, especially not when I don’t believe in the goal.”
“Money?”
“Insulting,” Elliot said mildly. “And no.”
“Fame?”
He snorted.
Arcadian smiled. “Immortality?”
“My daughter and my work are all I have in this world. My wife passed away years ago, and I’m an old man. The thought of immortality at my age, were it obtainable, does not attract me.”
“I think, were certain things made plain to you, you might change your mind about that, but no matter. Let us speak of your daughter.”
“What about her?”
“She is dying is she not?”
“How did you…” he blurted in surprise. “No, it doesn’t matter. Susan is not well, but she isn’t dying.”
“Not yet perhaps, but her condition is incurable is it not?”
He nodded reluctantly. “Research will find a cure eventually.”
“In time to save her?”
“I believe so. I’m close, very close.”
Arcadian pursed his lips and frowned. “Close. Is it possible that you overstate?”
“Anything is possible, but I don’t believe so. Drug therapy will keep her condition under control until my research yields the answer.”
“Any cure will be years in testing.”
Elliot moistened his lips. “I have a way around that.”
“I’m sorry to distress you this way. I’m sure you have many friends willing to bend the rules for you. What if I were to show you another way, a better way?”
“A better way to cure her? But what has this to do with your immortality project? You know I don’t believe in that goal.”
“I know and it doesn’t matter. If you join us, you will come to believe in it, but more to the point right now, you will see a way forward for your daughter.”
“What way?”
“I have a way certain to cure your daughter. One hundred percent certain, and not in years but in days at most. ”
“Impossible!” he gasped but his hopes leapt. A man such as Arcadian, one who was wealthy beyond dreams, might well have contacts that he lacked. If a cure existed and he not aware of it, a man like Arcadian might know.
“Not impossible, just unlikely.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will in a moment. Understand this, my cure for your daughter’s illness is not free. It is not free. You understand?”
“You want me to work on your project.”
“That’s part of it, but only a part. There is a price to be paid by both of you. My project is secret and requires you to keep that secret. Also, you and your daughter will be required to join the others and live with them until the research is complete.”
“How long?”
“That’s uncertain. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you the nature of research, but as things stand I would guess at no less than a year.”
Morgan agreed with a nod. “Professor Langdon’s last report was encouraging, but it might be longer than that… perhaps two years.”
“Langdon? Would that be Jennifer Langdon?” Elliot said.
“That’s right.”
“I heard that—”
Arcadian smiled. “That she disappeared under suspicious circumstances? Yes she did. If you agree to my terms, so will you as far as your friends are concerned.”
His thoughts raced. Jennifer Langdon would never be a party to something so outlandish unless there truly was a chance of success. Two years away from his work could be disastrous, and yet… he nodded to himself. The others would ensure his work would go on, and what if Arcadian really had a cure? Two years away would be nothing then.
“I need something concrete to base my decision on. I need more information about your cure. Something... anything!”
“I understand,” Arcadian said. “Firstly, the cure is not without side effects.”
“Side effects?” Elliot’s stomach plummeted. “What kind of side effects, and how severe are they?”
“I’ll come back to that.” Arcadian stood. He crossed the room to his desk and returned holding a letter opener. He held it up for Elliot’s inspection. It was more a dagger than letter opener. It had a silver hilt set with red stones that might be rubies for all he knew. “Exquisite is it not? It was a gift from an old friend of mine.”
Elliot nodded.
Arcadian brandished the weapon making light reflect off the blade, and then plunged it into Morgan’s chest in the blink of an eye. The man grunted with the impact, and Elliot cried out in shock. Morgan looked down at the dagger in wide-eyed surprise, and then back up at Arcadian.
“You crazy bastard!” Elliot shouted leaping to his feet and backing away. Blake took a single step sideways and blocked the door. “Let me out of here.”
“Oh hush. He’s in no danger.”
“You stabbed him in the chest!”
“Only as a demonstration,” Arcadian said, sounding defensive. “Morgan is one of my closest friends; I would no more hurt him than I would hurt myself. See for yourself.”
He turned expecting to find that Morgan had breathed his last, but he was still sitting as before. He was no longer interested in the knife. He was just sitting there with it in his chest.
“Goddess bless me and hold me safe from evil,” Elliot breathed. “What have you done?”
“Come come,” Arcadian said, his mood shifting toward exasperation. “Don’t waste the opportunity. Examine the wound. Perhaps I used a trick knife. Best you check, don’t you think?”
Elliot looked to Peter and Chani for their reactions. Peter raised his drink in salute, and Chani smiled encouragement. He approached Morgan uncertainly, and bent to examine the injury. He touched the knife feeling it vibrate with each breath the man took.
“Does it hurt?”
Peter snorted and Chani tittered.
“Of course it bloody hurts,” Morgan said in disgust, and glared at Arcadian. “I’d pull it out, but I think he wants you to do it.”
Arcadian nodded. “I want him to be sure there is no trickery.”
He shook his head. There wasn’t much blood for such an obviously deep and fatal wound, but the knife was plugging it. “We should call an ambulance.”
“Oh for Danu’s sake,” Peter said, moving to take charge.
“No,” Arcadian said softly, and Peter froze. “Let him do it. Please proceed with your investigation, Professor. Don’t take all night. Poor Morgan looks uncomfortable.”
Morgan grimaced and rolled his eyes at Elliot. “He likes his little jests.”
Elliot was shaking, but he gripped the hilt of the knife and pulled. Morgan grunted as the knife grated on his sternum, and a trickle of blood escaped his lips.
Morgan took a deep breath as the blade came free. “Thank you, that feels much better.” He used a handkerchief to clean the blood from his chin and dabbed futilely at his sodden shirt. “Disgusting stuff, blood. I’ll never get the stain out.”
Elliot held the bloody dagger and stared. “May I see?”
“Might as well see the entire show,” Morgan said opening his shirt. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Peter did this last time. I didn’t know it would hurt as much as it did.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. The gaping wound in Morgan’s chest was bleeding heavily, but it wasn’t pumping the blood out of him. He reached to touch it, but glanced up at the last moment for permission. Morgan nodded to go ahead, and Elliot fingered the edges of the wound. It was no trick. The knife was an inch wide and had penetrated Morgan’s chest for its entire length—about four inches. It had done massive damage. By rights the man should be dead. Not only wasn’t he dead, there wasn’t really that much blood. It was messy, and Morgan’s shirt was sodden with
it now, but for this kind of wound it should be gushing.
He swallowed as the wound slowly closed before his eyes. It was already half as wide as it had been. He knew what Arcadian’s so-called cure had to be, and it was evil.
“You’re a vampire. I should have known it was all a trick. Vampirism as a cure for my daughter... you have a sick sense of humour.”
“I’m a man, not a vampire,” Morgan said but then cocked his head. “Well, a man with a little something extra, courtesy of the Arcadian.”
“How are you responsible for his healing?” Elliot said.
Arcadian reached to relieve him of the knife, and he didn’t resist. He held up the knife then slowly pushed it through the palm of his own hand. He held the hand out for inspection then pulled the knife out. A small puddle of blood welled up in his cupped palm, but then it seemed to evaporate. It hadn’t of course. It had simply been absorbed via the wound back into his body. The wound closed and faded. It was gone in seconds.
“Please take your seat, Professor, and I will explain what this means to you and your daughter.”
Elliot collapsed onto the sofa.
Arcadian put aside the bloody knife. “I am what you would call a vampire and my birth people would call a revenant. It doesn’t matter what term is used, they mean the same thing. Basically, I am immortal.”
Elliot couldn’t let that stand. “Vampires are already dead and can therefore not be called truly immortal. Stasis is not immortality.”
Arcadian scowled. “Semantics. I had hoped for better from you. Some would have you believe vampires are not alive. I ask you, do I look dead?”
Elliot turned to Chani and Peter. “Both of you as well?”
“Afraid so old chum,” Peter said and Chani nodded.
“And you?”
Morgan shook his head. “I’m something else.”
“He is my human servant,” Arcadian explained. “He’s my friend, my confidant, my aide if you will. He’s a man who will not age. Neither will he die unless I do. Even by your narrow definition of such things, Morgan is immortal.”
Shifter Legacies Special Edition: Books 1-2 Page 2
