Divine Night

by Melanie Jackson

  Harmony looked over at Alex as he sipped a brandy, but found his expression unreadable. She had taken down the wall in her mind only to find that he had closed off their mental connection. Harmony wasn’t sure if this was a good thing. She didn’t want to feel the kinds of grief Alex must be living through, and he was doubtless doing it for her protection, but she felt very alone and naked without him.

  “You’re staring,” he said.

  “I am,” she admitted.

  Harmony had felt Alex flex his metaphysical muscle before and been impressed with his ability to read her mind, but it wasn’t until the moment of Saint Germain’s death, when Alex’s control had slipped and the full weight of the creature’s evil had rolled over her, that she understood how strong Alex was. The backwash had been enough to shake her. The only reason she hadn’t collapsed on the floor was because Saint Germain’s animus hadn’t been directed at her.

  And she had felt the moment Alex drove his hand into Saint Germain’s heart. It hadn’t been just his fist that killed the monster, but his will. And this will was strong enough to kill the most evil creature on the planet, even after the two preternatural creatures had traded enough psychic punches to scorch and then flood the upper floors of the cottage with deadly lightning and rain.

  “What’s troubling you? Beyond the obvious?” she asked.

  Alex exhaled and set his snifter aside. His distracted answer surprised her. “I hate to say this, but I don’t think that was the real Saint Germain.”

  “What?” Harmony turned to stare at him. She was horrified at the suggestion and argued: “But it had to be. He felt so bad—so evil. What else could he have been?”

  “I know it was bad. He was strong, but he didn’t feel bad enough—no worse than the last time we met. I won too easily. I think he was a clone, not the original.” Alex shifted. His wound was healing but still hurt. “ ‘Worlds without number have I made.’ That’s what he said the last time I killed him. And he offered to clone my son.”

  “A clone? Alex, I…” Harmony swallowed. Her throat hurt from the nasty rain she had swallowed, and also from throttling screams. “I’m…truly frightened by that thought.”

  “Me, too.”

  “I wasn’t scared before. Not really. Those things in the crypt were bad, but I knew we could handle them. And even the ghoul—I was pretty sure I could get away. But this creature you just killed…I really felt like prey when he reached into my head. Edible. He wanted me body and soul. If you hadn’t been here…”

  “I know. Don’t think about it.”

  “Don’t think about it? When you’re saying there could be more of him? How many more?”

  “An heir and a spare?” Alex reached for her undamaged hand. His touch immediately took her horror down a notch. “I don’t know how many there may be. That’s why tomorrow I am sending you away with Miguel—Ninon’s husband. He’s actually Smoking Mirror’s son. A real tough son of a bitch. You’ll be safe while Ninon, Byron, and I go after Saint Germain.”

  Harmony took a few slow, calming breaths.

  “It’s sweet that you want to do that,” she told him. She took a deep breath and prepared herself for one more battle—Alex wasn’t going to like what she had to say. “And under other circumstances, I’d let you. But you’re going to need me to break into one of the Dippel clinics and hack the computer systems.”

  “No. I—”

  Harmony interrupted. “Anyway, as scared as I am, I am a whole lot more pissed off. How dare this son of a bitch come in here and attack us? And how dare he dump his contaminated monsters on the world? Like we don’t have enough problems with global warning!”

  “Harmony—”

  “Alex, we have to prove what he’s doing.”

  “We have to stop what he’s doing,” Alex corrected. He was beginning to frown, and his fog of abstraction was lifting. “I don’t think it would be wise to try to prove this to the world. Think it through. If the government—any government—heard about it…they’d take over the project immediately. Undying soldiers—who could resist? ‘Join our army, we promise that you’ll never die!’ ” Alex shook his head. “Perhaps some governments would be more responsible than Saint Germain, but I’m not willing to bet on it. We have to find this wizard’s heart and destroy it. Then wipe out every last ghoul and zombie and clone he’s made. This has to end.”

  Harmony nodded. “I agree. But we need help shutting him down, and my way is probably the best bet for doing it.” Harmony took a breath. “And the optimum way to wreck hi-tech is for The Spider to go inside one of his clinics and break into the computer system. I can find out what he’s up to. And after, I can plant a virus and bring the whole system down.”

  “No. Absolutely not. Not unless you can do it remotely.”

  “That won’t work. They’ll have firewalls—assuming they are even connected to the Net. I need physical access.”

  “No. It isn’t worth the risk. I won’t have anyone else dying because of this. Especially not—”

  “I’m not asking you. This is what I do, and I don’t need your permission.” Their eyes met. It was a struggle for Alex, but he didn’t try to browbeat her psychically. “You said he’s got clinics in South America? Alex, my Spanish is good. I’ve never been caught on a job—I’m really that good. And I have contacts who can probably get me legitimate work in any facility we want—documents, recommendations. I can go in openly, with the company’s blessing even. And they won’t be expecting me, because no one knows who I am. No one knows I’m The Spider.”

  Harmony straightened. It took effort, but she put force into her words and posture. “Look, this is my area of expertise. We have an advantage now with one of the Saint Germains being dead. We can’t waste it. Random physical assaults on his monsters and clinics isn’t enough. You won’t get them all that way.” She repeated herself. “If he’s cloning, he’s gone hi-tech. That means there’ll be computers and records of experiments, backups, stored information, teams of scientists to continue the work. That’s what techies and researchers do. Redundancy is the name of the game. But I can get all the information we need, and then we can bring them down from the inside.” She added: “This isn’t a war we can wage effectively without information.”

  “Without a doubt, you can do this. But along with those techies and researchers there will also be zombies and ghouls and Saint Germain clones and who knows what else.” Alex spoke through clenched teeth. “And not all of these creatures are as stupid as the ones in Cuatros Cienegas or the thing that chased you tonight. Many are faster, stronger, and meaner than you are.”

  “But not faster, stronger, and meaner than you. I’m counting on you and your friends to make sure I have time to work. You’re my escape plan if something goes wrong.” She looked into his black gaze, seeking to see him with more than her eyes. He had a fairly firm grip on his emotions, but his mind still gave him away. She could read him now, and his overriding thought surprised her. He wasn’t angry with her. He wanted her—wildly—and it had nothing to with the storm. And the more they argued, the more aroused he became.

  She exhaled, surprised.

  “Alexandre Dumas!”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s one other thing we need to do,” she said, sliding from her chair and kneeling before him. She put her uninjured hand on the bulge in his pants. “I’m not going anywhere or burning one more thing until I’ve made love to you. Screw being sensible and cautious. Alex, we almost died tonight. We may die tomorrow. I’m not going to be denied this. Not when I know you want me too.”

  Alex smiled. His face transformed, and the night’s pain seemed to evaporate.

  “I won’t argue that call. I wanted to be a gentleman, the white knight, but since you feel this way, I’ll have you tonight even if it kills me,” he told her.

  “I’ll stay off your ribs if you stay off my hand.”

  “Done!” Ignoring her tender fingers, Harmony reached for Alex with both hands.


  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Business? That’s easily defined; it’s other people’s money.

  —Alexandre Dumas

  It’s very hard to be a gentleman and a writer.

  —W. Somerset Maugham

  I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.

  —Michelangelo

  Alex tore off Harmony’s still damp nightgown in one long flourish. It was an unnecessary gesture, but fun, especially since the gown was ruined anyway.

  She knew his face well, but couldn’t help but stare as he lowered her to the floor. His own ruined shirt was tossed aside, and then he smiled at her. More than ever, he looked like a pirate. His cheekbones were high, his lips full, his gaze naked, and he had ravishment on his mind.

  Her heart was going crazy, beating erratically as it anticipated. She had felt this combination of panic and excitement before when working undercover, but never to this degree—and never for a man. She suspected that it was the same for Alex, that they were both forging a path through new emotional seas.

  “I should tell you I’ve never much liked hit-and-run sex.” Her voice sounded strange, breathless. “I mean, if it’s worth doing—”

  “It’s worth doing for hours,” he finished. “I agree completely, ma belle.” Then he laughed softly and the sound made her light-headed. It promised that this was not going to be casual itch-scratching.

  Alex lowered his mouth to hers. As with his cooking, Alex held nothing back, but he was an artist and used subtlety rather than brute force to achieve his desired goal. He could easily have overwhelmed her, but he chose not to. His kiss teased and coaxed but never intruded. It was a nonthreatening act from a very threatening man. She could feel the wildness in his mind and body, could see the golden scars rising on his flesh, but his touch—mental and physical—remained light, and he did not allow his lust or other thoughts to become intrusive.

  She’d never experienced anything so carnal as his absolute desire and absolute control over it. Harmony heard herself moan and then pressed against him. The wounds on her hand and feet were forgotten. She was weak and hot—burning. And it was this fire that drove out the last of the cold and fear. The night’s terrors were burned away, and she gratefully gave herself to the cleansing fires of desire. Time had no meaning.

  Alex smelled delicious, spicy—cinnamon and frankincense and chocolate. She hungered on many levels.

  “I think none of our clothes are salvageable,” he said, rolling aside long enough to kick off his pants. Then he was back, hard, narrow hips between her thighs. He leaned into her as though he too wanted them to fuse their bodies together, to become a single being.

  Heat built quickly. She clung to him, nails digging in, heart’s blood battering her pulse points, dizzy, blindly wanting. He entered her. He was unfamiliar—at least in this way—but felt so right. She had no reservations. Her legs went wider, hips lifted higher, urging him to do his worst.

  But all he would do was rock slowly, rhythmically, leisurely.

  The world grew bright and hot. Alex actually began to glow. Harmony closed her eyes, and in her mind she saw them making love in the full light of the sun atop an altar in the desert. Brighter it grew, warmer, bringing life to both of them. They melted into one and she absorbed him.

  “Open to me,” she whispered, wanting to share her vision.

  Alex hesitated for a moment and then did as she asked. The barriers came down all at once and she was able to see inside him—all memories, all thoughts. Though she had wanted this, Alex’s desperate desire was more than she could face all at once. Flooded by sensation, body and mind, Harmony fled for the nearest escape: ecstasy.

  Her mind shattered momentarily as the vortex of climax took her body. She felt Alex follow, letting physical release take them both away in a long, rolling wave of heat and light. For a moment they were one with the sun just as she had imagined, and then they fell back to earth.

  Slowly the bits and pieces of thought and sensation sorted themselves and they were again two people.

  “Wow.” Harmony swallowed. “Can we do that again?”

  “Yes, but not until I stitch your hand.” Alex kissed her gently. He glistened with sweat and his breathing was labored. “I cannot leave my woman bleeding on the floor.”

  “Damn,” she said, holding up her injured hand. “I didn’t even notice.” After a moment she asked curiously: “Alex, what color is my aura?”

  “Right now, you are a soft green. But a minute ago you were the northern lights, a storm of all colors. Beautiful.”

  Harmony couldn’t help but smile.

  “How do you like your eggs?” Harmony asked as the first apologetic rays of sunrise crept through the window. Her hand didn’t hurt. Nothing hurt. Millie had, of course, arranged for there to be pain pills in the first-aid kit. Harmony was floating without care, certain that she could practically levitate down the soggy hall.

  “Flogged mercilessly. I prefer soufflé to scrambled.” Alex smiled as he looked up from his manuscript. He had worked while she slept. “But I can do them. Your hand must still be sore.”

  “No. I want to. Your breakfast shall be properly subdued,” Harmony promised. “Assuming we have eggs.”

  “We do.”

  Harmony sat up and looked around for something to wear. Seeing nothing else, she gathered up a torn drape puddled on the floor near the library window and wrapped herself in the gold damask toga.

  “I’ll be back shortly.”

  “With toast, one hopes. I have never cared for naked eggs.” Alex had returned to his writing, scribbling feverishly.

  “With toast,” she promised, kissing him quickly on the top of the head and then heading for the door.

  Alex was intimidating as a chef, but she knew she had nothing to apologize for in her breakfasts. She’d even throw in some chervil, just to prove she could. And it might help her regain her appetite. All her appetites had been fed the night before, but Harmony knew she still needed to eat. One could not live by love alone—not if one was a ghoul hunter.

  She had successfully coaxed the stove to life when she heard a knock on the front door of the cottage. The sound froze her in place. It had never occurred to her that they might have sunrise visitors on the island.

  She listened carefully as Alex answered the door, mentally reviewing their hasty cleanup. There was nothing left of the bodies they had burned, the last of the ashes having been dumped in the sea at sunrise, and the downstairs had no sign of fire, though it probably smelled smoky. She couldn’t hear exactly what was being said, but the tone was cordial. A moment later she heard multiple sets of footsteps coming toward the kitchen. Putting down her bowl of battered eggs, she tightened her makeshift gown and turned toward the door.

  Alex came into the room first. He wore only a pair of pants. He was followed by a well-dressed man whose familiar profile could only belong to Lord Byron. Next came a woman of diminutive size but astonishing beauty. Her hair was long and the color of new gold. There was a second woman, also lovely but not as ethereal as the first. Harmony had the feeling that this woman had not been—changed—for very long. Her movements were not as quick and precise as the others, though she shared their telltale dark eyes. Last to file into the kitchen was an exotic male of Aztec heritage whom she guessed was Miguel: Something about him felt unusually dangerous.

  “Chérie, I would like you to meet Byron; his wife, Brice.” Harmony nodded, smiling politely since she didn’t know what else to do. Alex went on: “This is the immortal Ninon de Lenclos and her husband, Miguel. Everyone, this is…The Spider you’ve been hearing so much about. Your timing couldn’t be better. She has a plan for destroying Saint Germain’s clinics.”

  “And not a moment too soon,” Miguel said. “We found out yesterday that Saint Germain broke into the FBI research lab and stole his father’s hand. We think he’s going to clone the Dark Man.”

  Ninon shook her head at her husband.

  “Miguel—not
so fast. It is barely dawn. And our hostess is clearly making breakfast. Bonjour, petite. I am so sorry to come upon you unaware.” The ethereal beauty smiled as she spoke, and Harmony was enchanted. Ninon turned to the others. “Shall we use English? I believe it is a language we all have in common? Good, then let us be comfortable while we discuss affairs.”

  Harmony stared into the five sets of obsidian eyes that studied her openly and began to laugh a bit hysterically. She pushed her wild hair back from her face and took a firm grip on her slipping wrapper. She said as politely as she could: “Please come in. Would you like some breakfast?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  If the artist does not fling himself, without reflecting, into his work, as Curtis flung himself into the yawning gulf, as the soldier flings himself into the enemy’s trenches, and if, once in this crater, he does not work like a miner on whom the walls of his gallery have fallen in; if he contemplates difficulties instead of overcoming them one by one…he is simply looking on at the suicide of his own talent.

  —Honoré de Balzac

  If I don’t write to empty my mind, I go mad.

  —Lord Byron

  Daylight revealed a scene of botanical carnage outside the cottage. The fearsome storm had ripped nearly every leaf and petal from their canes, limbs, and stems, and beaten them to a colorful pulp that slimed the walkway. One large chestnut had been completely uprooted and many saplings flattened. It made Harmony shiver to look over at the gardens on the mainland and see that they were untouched by the storm; it was another reminder that they were facing something personal, supernatural, and destructive. She wondered how they could explain what had happened. If they were lucky, the locals would blame it on giants.

  To please Alex, Harmony actually did consider attempting to contravene Saint Germain’s network security using a denial-of-service or breach attack over the Net. However, there was no way that she could remove the terabytes of information they needed as well as cripple the computer system without prolonged direct contact. She had some unexpected support from Miguel on this. He knew computer systems from his days at NASA, and knew the kind of security that could be guarding them.