Dancing on the Wind

by Mary Jo Putney

  He bound her wrists behind her with a wide scarlet ribbon the exact shade of fresh blood. Then he gestured with his pistol for her to precede him.

  The place was a rabbit warren of passages. After several confusing turns, they emerged into a guardroom containing a massive door. Slumbering peacefully on the floor was a bound man.

  Mace's face darkened. "Stupid fool!"

  Keeping Kit beside him, he threw open the door and gestured for her to enter first. She knew instantly that it had been Kira's prison; the very air was saturated with her twin's essence. But she was gone now; Lucien must have found her. Kit would have crowed with relief if she hadn't feared that doing so would trigger Mace's violence.

  He swore viciously. "I shall take you to the sanctuary. My associates can play with you while I recover your sister. Now move." He jabbed the pistol barrel into her ribs.

  He gave her no opportunity to escape during the nightmare journey. As they neared the large chamber, she heard the buzz of excited voices. The talk ceased as soon as she stepped inside the sanctuary. Every man's gaze went to Kit. She wanted to cringe and cover herself with her hands. Since that was impossible, she thought of a play she had seen about Anne Boleyn, who went to the scaffold with unshakeable dignity.

  She withdrew into herself as far as possible, as if she were on stage. This wasn't real, it was only a play. Head high, she walked toward the altar. The two roaring fires made the air very warm, which was welcome given her skimpy attire. She couldn't think of a single other advantage to her situation.

  Her path took her through the rings of warrior statues. Close up, they seemed even larger than they had appeared from above. She passed between a Red Indian with a spear and a mailed Crusader without looking up. But she could not ignore the crowd of scarlet-robed men with their hungry eyes and obscene comments. Worse, some of them fondled her with outrageous intimacy as she walked through the group. She kept moving, her eyes straight ahead, until she reached the altar.

  All of her chief suspects were at the forefront of the group. The men behind were other Hellions, but none had seemed important when she was investigating, and that was still true now; they were simply followers. The evil here came from the leaders—it was written on their faces.

  Lord Nunfield and Roderick Harford studied her with frank lust. More detached, Chiswick drawled, "So you managed to engage Cassie James. Excellent, Mace. She's enough to titillate even the most jaded palate."

  Sir James Westley said cheerily, "I prefer 'em a little meatier myself, but then, we've never sacrificed a female of such distinguished achievements. She'll do splendidly."

  Voice portentous, Mace said, "It's even better than you think, gentlemen. This is not Cassie James, but her identical twin sister. Surely you have all dreamed of having twins, equally lovely, equally helpless." His lightless eyes flared with menace. "The real Cassie has become lost in the corridors, so I must go find her."

  That aroused another babble of comments. Detachedly, Kit observed that all of the men wore the ceremonial scabbards and holsters. She wondered if the knives would be used on her.

  Mace beckoned for his brother to come forward. "Take charge of this one while I find the other," he said in a low voice.

  Harford frowned. "I've seen her before." He snapped his fingers. "This is the slut who tried to rob me at the ball!"

  "Really?" Mace looked at Kit with respect. "So you braved Blackwell Abbey in your search for your sister. You're a bold wench." Turning back to his brother, he said, "Strathmore came with her, and he seems to have freed the sister. Did you manage to eliminate the other two men?"

  Harford scowled. "Afraid not—the guards turned coward under fire, and while they were getting their nerve back, Strathmore's cronies slipped away. They're being hunted, but it could take a while to corner them."

  Mace frowned. "I'll keep an eye out while I look for Strathmore and the twin. Since they don't know the passages, it shouldn't take long to find them. When I do, I'll take care of him and bring her here so we can start our ceremony."

  Kit gave silent thanks that Mace seemed to be another one who underestimated Lucien. But it was unluckily true that Mace's knowledge of the terrain gave him an enormous advantage.

  She opened her mind enough to search for her sister. As soon as she did, her heart spasmed with fear.

  Lucien and Kira were close, dangerously close.

  * * *

  The twists and turns of the passages were hopelessly confusing. As they searched for a way through, Lucien's anxiety kept building. Then Kira stopped dead, her face ashen. "Dear God, he's got Kit!"

  Her words confirmed Lucien's worst fears. "You're sure?"

  "Positive." Kira pointed ahead and to the right. "She's that way." Her face crumpled and tears showed in her eyes. "She's frightened half to death."

  The same hazy expression that he had seen so often on Kit's face was now clouding Kira's. Knowing he must catch her before she slid away, he asked, "Has she been physically harmed?"

  "I don't think so." Kira exhaled, her face clearing a little. "It's my fault Kit is in danger. If I hadn't gone on the stage, this wouldn't have happened. Kit was right to object—she's always right."

  He took her elbow, saying firmly, "You can feel guilty later. Now we have to find Kit and get her away from Mace."

  Making a supreme effort, Kira focused herself and started forward. But knowing Kit's general direction was a far cry from finding the route. The corridors twisted infuriatingly, leading to dead ends, shrines to gargoylelike deities, and more bones. Neither of them spoke, for Kira needed all of her concentration to track her sister.

  Finally they turned a corner and saw a pair of tapestry curtains ahead. On the other side was brighter light and rumbling voices. Lucien halted. "I think we've found Mace's sanctuary and his beastly associates. Wait here while I take a closer look."

  Kira bit her lip. "Kit is that way."

  "Yes, but not necessarily in the sanctuary itself," he said as he led her back around the corner. "If she isn't there, it will be safer to try to go around. Wait here and don't move." He hated leaving her, but if he was seen and captured, at least she would have some chance of escaping into the tunnels.

  Remembering that Kit had said her sister was a good shot, he pulled out the pistol he had taken from the guard. "You should be safe for the few moments it will take me to investigate, but would you like this, just in case?"

  She nodded and tucked her whip under her arm, accepting the gun with visible relief. As she expertly broke open the pistol to check that it was in firing condition, she said, "It's good to have a weapon after being helpless for so long."

  Feeling reasonably sure she would be safe, he rounded the corner and silently went down the passage to the tapestry curtains. He parted them a crack and looked through. As he had guessed, it was the sanctuary, complete with warrior statues, bonfires, and scarlet-clad Disciples. His gaze went immediately to Mace, who was striding arrogantly away from the center of the circle.

  If Mace was present, Kit must be as well. He scanned the circle, and found her standing in front of the altar with Roderick Harford's knife at her breast. Even though she was dressed exactly like Kira, she managed to look as dignified as Marie Antoinette surrounded by peasants.

  The sight sent berserker rage flaring through him. He wanted to hurl himself into the room and dismember every man there. Reminding himself that mindless impulse wouldn't save her, he clamped down his fury and weighed the possible courses of action.

  There were at least a dozen men there, all carrying knives and pistols. Though they might not all be party to the full spectrum of Mace's evil, none could be counted on as allies. It took only a few seconds to reach the grim conclusion that there was nothing he could do that might not endanger Kit.

  Intuition said that the longer she was in the hands of Mace and Harford, the greater the risk to her. Therefore, he must act immediately. A pity that Michael and Jason weren't here, but he dared not wait to find them.
>
  There was a chance, slim but better than none, that he could free Kit by pure effrontery. Pistol in hand, he pushed aside the tapestry and stepped into the light. Pitching his voice so that it would dominate the chamber, he barked, "Let her go, Harford."

  Everyone turned and stared at him with surprise. Kit's gaze met his, stark with relief. He hoped to God that her faith in him wasn't misplaced.

  Recovering quickly from his shock, Mace said jovially, "Ah, Lucifer. You've come to join us. I was afraid that because of the weather, you might not get here in time to play your role." As he spoke, he edged back toward the altar.

  "Stop pretending," Lucien said flatly. "This is no game, but criminal folly. If you don't release her, you or your brother will die." He started to move forward through the ring of statues.

  Eyes sparkling with malice, Mace cried, "The time has come to seal the circle!" He leaned down and wrenched on a long lever that rose from the floor next to the altar.

  The statues came alive.

  Chapter 38

  As Mace threw the lever, the chamber filled with the rumble of grinding gears and hissing steam. Instantly, the mechanical warriors were transformed into a race of ancient giants, swinging their weapons with vicious power.

  The gladiator chopped down with his sword, the Viking cleaved the air with a battle-ax—and the knight, a yard away, slashed his sword straight at Lucien.

  If it hadn't taken the mechanism a few moments to creak into motion, he would have died on the spot. As it was, he realized the danger and ducked barely in time.

  Mace roared with laughter, as if the near-fatality was a great joke. "You of all men should appreciate my steam-powered warriors, Lucifer," he called. "There has never been anything like them in the history of the world!"

  Lucien swore to himself as he retreated. The thrumming machinery and unusual warmth now made sense, for there had to be giant steam boilers nearby, with pipes running under the floor to power the movements of the statues. Each of the weapons swung rapidly back and forth through a single arc. Any single blade could be avoided, but the rings of figures had been placed so that the danger areas overlapped, some high, some low.

  The arrangement completely blocked passage into the circle. Going around the path of the sword would put him in the range of the battle-ax on one side or a scimitar on the other. It was brilliant, and Lucien damned his enemy to hell for creating it.

  "Very clever, Mace," he snapped. "But I can still shoot between the statues. Release her!"

  "Do you want blood, Lucifer? If you don't cooperate, the girl's will flow." Mace waved a grandiose hand at his brother.

  His expression full of vicious excitement, Harford delicately drew the point of his blade in a line below Kit's collarbone. Scarlet drops of blood formed along the cut. She made a small, desperate sound, instantly suppressed.

  Lucien felt his face go white. The glitter in Mace's eyes confirmed Kira's story; he was primed for the explosive release of sexual violence that he had planned for tonight. His brother must share his madness, for the air had the chancy, volatile aura of danger sometimes felt before a thunderstorm. Any provocation would serve as an excuse to slit Kit's throat.

  "We have a stalemate, don't you think?" Mace's voice was eerily pleasant. "If you want your fancy piece to survive, drop your pistol."

  Sickly, Lucien realized that he had no choice. He could shoot either Mace or Harford, but not both. Leaving one alive might be Kit's death sentence, for both brothers were capable of killing her without a moment's compunction.

  Though he had little faith in Mace's trustworthiness, perhaps the presence of so many witnesses might keep his worst excesses in check. From what Kira had said, not all of them were murderers. Stony faced, he dropped his gun to the floor.

  As he did, he saw a flicker of motion on the opposite gallery. He glanced up without shifting his head and saw Michael and Jason entering from a side passage. Summing up the situation in one keen glance, Michael raised his carbine and aimed it at Harford. Then he looked down at Lucien, waiting for a signal.

  When Michael fired, Harford would be a dead man. However, Lucien would have to retrieve his gun and take care of Mace himself because Jason was too far away to be accurate with a pistol. It would be risky—but less so than leaving Kit in the hands of two madmen.

  Once the shooting started, anything could happen. Thank God Kit had the intelligence and courage to react swiftly. Focusing his mind with furious intensity, Lucien tried to send a mental warning for her to be alert. She stared at him, ashen, but he thought he saw comprehension in her stark eyes.

  Praying that Michael's aim would be true, Lucien looked up and gave a faint nod.

  The carbine roared, the blast reverberating through the cavern with numbing force. Simultaneously Lucien dived for his pistol. Roderick Harford screamed and spun around from the impact of Michael's bullet, then collapsed. As he fell, Kit twisted away before his knife could slice into her throat.

  Without rising, Lucien snapped a shot at Mace, but the instant it had taken to reach the gun gave the other man time to take shelter. Mace leaped behind the stone altar, which would protect him from the shots of both of his attackers.

  Before Lucien could reload, he heard Kira scream, "Kit!"

  In his concern for Kit, he had forgotten about her sister. Now, drawn by the sounds of gunshots, Kira burst into the chamber. He glanced up and saw that she was only a few feet away, her face frantic as she gazed at her twin.

  Kit whipped around and stared at her sister, her soul in her eyes. "Kira!"

  From his own understanding of the twin bond, he realized that having been separated by force, they now had a need to be together that was so fierce it was almost palpable. The rest of the world had vanished for the two of them.

  Even so, he was unprepared when they began running toward each other. Kira dropped her whip and sable cape, then hurled herself into the midst of the slashing mechanical warriors. She safely ducked under the swinging sword, but Lucien gasped when he saw that she was moving into the downward arc of the battle-ax. She dropped to the floor and slithered under it. For an instant he thought her spine would be severed, but she was just slim enough to pass below unscathed.

  So far, so good, but she would never be able to avoid the scimitar. He scooped up the whip she had dropped, then lashed it at the mechanical Turk with all his strength. The thong curled around the figure's arm. The steam-driven mechanism almost yanked Lucien from his feet, but he hung on grimly. With a shriek of metal, the arm twisted in its iron socket, slowing long enough to permit Kira to dart by.

  As Kira ran her horrendous gauntlet, Kit dodged around Nunfield, who had made a grab at her. At the same time she was struggling with her bonds. She freed her wrists in time to run into her sister's embrace. They locked their arms around each other, clinging together in the midst of chaos.

  Nunfield raised his pistol and swung it toward the two women, his face distorted with furious malice. Frantically, Lucien started to reload, praying that Nunfield's first shot would miss.

  His eyes were caught by a movement above. He glanced up and saw Jason Travers grab the rope that ran from the gallery to the chandelier by way of a pulley. The rope was intended to lower the chandelier for cleaning and new candles, but Jason found a lethal new use for it. He leaped onto the railing, then swept to the floor of the chamber like an avenging eagle.

  His weight caused the chandelier to fly upward and smash into the ceiling. Flaming candles rained onto the screaming Disciples below. The chandelier itself plunged downward after Jason released the rope, almost hitting Mace, who retreated farther behind the altar. Most of the candles went out when it hit the floor, leaving the cavern lit only by the bonfires.

  As Jason landed, he whipped up his pistol and shot Nunfield at point-blank range. Even before the other man hit the floor, Jason grabbed the lever that controlled the statues. He yanked it and the effigies clanked to a stop, harmless again.

  In the eerie silence that fo
llowed, Jason called hoarsely, "Kira?"

  She looked up and gasped with shock, her face chalk-white. Slowly, incredulously, she broke away from Kit and walked toward Jason, whispering his name. She raised a hesitant hand to touch him, as if unable to believe he was real. He caught it and pulled her into his arms, desperate longing engraved on his face. She buried her face against him, her shoulders shaking.

  Lucien noted the reunion as he dashed toward the center of the circle, but his main concern was for Mace, who was still free, still armed, and deadlier than ever. Pistol ready in his hand, Lucien started to circle the altar. A quarter way around, he came face-to-face with his quarry.

  "I liked you, Strathmore," Mace said with fatalistic calm as he aimed his gun at Lucien's heart. "You're almost as clever as I am. A pity you're such a bloody middle-class puritan."

  More experienced than his opponent, Lucien didn't waste time on talk. He pulled his trigger, diving sideways at the same time. The pistol sputtered and misfired. Mace's gun didn't, but Lucien's evasive maneuver saved him. The other man's ball blasted past his right ear, deafening but harmless.

  Swearing viciously, Mace reached for his knife. Lucien scrambled to regain his balance, only to find that he had twisted his damned ankle again when he had dodged Mace's shot. As he fell to one knee, the other man moved in, blade glittering wickedly in the lurid light of the bonfires.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Kira break away from Jason. She raised the pistol that Lucien had given her—where the devil had she carried it in that revealing costume?—and pointed it at Mace, her eyes wild. Yet her hands were steady when she cocked the hammer, and her aim was true.

  Her bullet caught Mace square in the chest. He gasped in astonishment, then slowly folded to the floor, his gaze on Kira. In a last, harsh whisper, he said, "You were the best, mistress. A pity..." Then he closed his eyes and died. The whole bloody altercation that left three men dead had taken place in well under two minutes.

  Kira stared down at Mace for an endless moment. There was fury in her face, and the triumph of a woman who had taken power into her hands after a long hell of helplessness.