by Julie Leto
Lauren used the pause at a red light to look around and ensure that she was headed in the right direction. “I have no idea, but if Farrow Pryce was using Ross’s house as his drop-off point, we’re about to find out.”
Lauren hit the gas the second the light turned green. The car lurched forward, but a second shift had them riding smoothly onto the freeway. Traffic was piling up, but Lauren knew a shortcut to the house once they reached the right exit. With any luck, they’d arrive before David turned the sword over to Farrow Pryce.
“Damn it, Lauren, it’s just a sword,” Helen said, squeaking when Lauren swerved around a slow-moving truck. “Is it worth your life? Or, more important, is it worth mine?”
“It’s not just a sword. My life…his life—they’re tied together in a way I can’t explain. I have to get him back.”
“His? Him? Sweetie, what are you talking about?”
Lauren spared Helen a glance before darting into the emergency lane, advancing to the next gear and stomping her foot on the accelerator. “Put on your seat belt, Helen. I’ve got a story to tell you about my sword. One you aren’t going to believe.”
***
Farrow grinned, satisfied, as the pair who, up to an hour ago, had been his rivals in his quest for the Dresden sword were marched across the pool deck. The plan could have failed in so many ways, but for once it looked like he was finally going to get exactly what he wanted: not only the sword, but the knowledge of how to use it.
“Dr. Rousseau. Ms. Reyes. Please have a seat. The butler of this palatial home is no longer available to pour drinks, but feel free to help yourselves while we wait for the sword to arrive.”
Farrow had placed K’vr followers at the Crown Chandler hotel, expecting someone associated with Alexa Chandler to come in search of the sword. After they’d flown in to extricate Paschal Rousseau from Farrow’s compound last spring, he’d done his research. He now knew all about Ben Rousseau and Catalina Reyes. But now the time had come for formal introductions.
On his terms.
Close up, he realized that Ben Rousseau was much older than he’d assumed—probably close to forty—whereas Catalina Reyes stole his breath with her youthful obsidian eyes, straight black hair and lusciously curved figure. Stumbling onto Alexa Chandler’s closest friend and the son of the man he’d kidnapped last spring had been a sign to Farrow that he was on the right track. Arranging the limousine to divert them here had been child’s play.
“So,” he said to Ben, though he had trouble tearing his eyes off his voluptuous companion. “I hear your father ran off with my former fiancée.”
“I’d be reassessing my manhood if my fiancée chose to be with a guy old enough to be her grandfather over me,” Ben shot back.
Farrow tapped down the slight rise in his temper by taking another sip of Marchand’s delicious scotch. “Unlike you, reassessing my manhood under any circumstance would never occur to me, though I can see why you might be thinking in that direction, since you, a thief of some reputation in the archeological world, were unable to secure your freedom from my associates.”
“That’s not easy to do when your associates put a gun to my head,” Cat pointed out. Her eyes burned with barely contained fury, sparking Farrow’s interest even more.
He gestured to the seats across the table from him. “I’d hoped my driver wouldn’t have to resort to violence, but it was either that or allow you and Mr. Rousseau to jump out of a moving car, or perhaps call the authorities. Either action would have delayed this very important meeting, which I’ve so looked forward to. We have but one more guest to arrive and then our afternoon will begin. And end.”
His associates pushed Rousseau and Reyes into the seats, but neither captive partook of the scotch, which he considered their loss. Momentarily he wondered how Ross Marchand might react when he returned home to discover that Farrow had not only commandeered his home, but also his butler and his gofer. Ah, well. The man relied much too heavily on others. Too much delegation and not enough oversight. Farrow had learned his lesson with Gemma.
“So,” Ben ventured, eyeing him with a confidence clearly born of his breeding rather than the current state of affairs, “why are we here?”
“I’ve come to understand that the two of you are quite versed in the history of Lord Rogan.”
“You’re bidding for the leadership of his cult,” Catalina said, her words more like spitting than speaking. “Don’t you know his history?”
“I know the legends as well as any other, but there’s always more to learn,” Farrow replied.
Though it was not a democratic organization, a council of elders had emerged over the decades within the K’vr. The twelve bestowed the title of Grand Apprentice to the person they deemed worthiest, nearly always a blood successor of Rogan, which Farrow was not. But with the death of Gemma’s father and the incarceration of her brother, the mantle could fall only to Farrow. His father had served the last Grand Apprentice as his right hand. And Gemma, being a woman, had no right to lead, according to the Council.
If, however, Farrow found a relic he could tie directly to Lord Rogan—one that possessed undisputed magic powers—his path to the leadership would be clear. Then money, which he already had in abundance, would be inconsequential. He’d have power. Real, terrible power.
“In a decision I now understand was foolish, I relied too heavily on Gemma Von Roan to fill in the blanks of the legends and lore. She always took the historical context of her ancestor’s life so seriously, why would I bother?”
Catalina and Ben exchanged looks. If he’d sounded bored with the minutiae of Rogan’s life, it was because he was.
“You look surprised,” he ventured.
Ben eyed him with a blend of skepticism and curiosity. “I’d think if your big goal in life is to inherit Lord Rogan’s reputed magic, you’d learn whatever you could about the man and his powers.”
“That’s why you’re here,” Farrow said, taking another smooth, fiery sip of scotch. “And once I have the sword and know how to use it, I’ll no longer need anyone.”
“How do you know that?” Catalina challenged.
Farrow glanced up at the bright sun, which had lowered, but was still a good hour away from sunset. He’d hoped to have this entire matter wrapped up and be back on his plane by the time darkness fell. He wanted the leadership of the K’vr established by tomorrow. He’d waited long enough. And with the promised magic at his disposal, he planned to make his rise to power swift and decisive.
“I may not be versed in Lord Rogan’s history, but I do know that in each generation, the leader of the K’vr, a man with Rogan’s lineage, has possessed powers that could not be explained through traditional logic. Sometimes a psychic ability. Other times telekinesis or telepathy. Just enough of a magical connection to keep our followers believing. The K’vr has wisely remained small—exclusive even—exploiting the powers of the Grand Apprentice to our fullest financial potential or else”—he glanced at his guards—”offering physical strength in return for a comfortable living.”
“That explains the lack of brains in your musclemen,” Catalina cracked.
Farrow laughed. After years living with Gemma, he’d come to appreciate a woman with no sense of safe speech. Perhaps he could find some use for Catalina Reyes—after he had the sword.
Because in all honesty, Farrow was taking a great gamble in stealing the sword before he knew how to use it. He’d had no choice, however. Though Ross Marchand had been reluctant to give him any information Farrow could use against Lauren Cole to persuade her to part with the sword willingly, he had discovered how she’d manipulated the production team on her film so they would use the sword as a prop. Tying the weapon up in the multimillion-dollar production, where security would likely be intense once shooting began, had been a clever move. As it was, she kept the damned thing within ten feet of her at almost all times.
Marchand’s butler had been easily convinced that his adored master would live a lo
nger life if Nigel procured the sword on Farrow’s behalf, but when he’d failed, Farrow had turned to Marchand’s other lapdog, the actor, who’d been entirely more efficient.
Now, once this Drake fellow arrived, Farrow would discover how to wrangle the magic that had made a man with reported superhuman strength appear out of nowhere.
“You shouldn’t insult my associates, Ms. Reyes,” Farrow warned. “They were responsible for bringing you here, just as they’ll be responsible for taking you away. Your fate might lie entirely in their hands.”
“You’re running this show,” Catalina contradicted. “Whatever happens to us will be on your head.”
Farrow smiled, the thrill of power filling his veins so intensely, he couldn’t imagine how magic would increase the sensation.
But it would. Yes, it would.
“All right, Ms. Reyes. So perhaps you should attempt to be just a bit nicer to me.”
Thirty Two
Lauren let loose a string of curses that had even Helen goggling with wide blue eyes.
“He beat us here,” she said, gesturing toward the gate to Ross’s house, where David Drake was chatting through his car window with the man at the entrance.
But Helen didn’t respond. She hadn’t said a word since Lauren had told her about Aiden and the sword. Everything about Aiden and the sword, including the part about him being a phantom cursed by a Gypsy and freed by her while in the workout room.
Helen shook her head, snapping out of her disbelieving reverie and adding a few choice words of her own. “I thought you knew a shortcut.”
“L.A. traffic and shortcuts do not always mix,” Lauren griped, sliding into a spot on a slanted curb across from her former home and throwing Ross’s car into neutral.
As David eased his car beyond the gate, Lauren tried to figure out what to do. She’d never get past security. No amount of sweet talk or bribery could undo the fact that the last time she’d finagled her way inside, she’d stolen Ross’s sword.
She unbuckled her seat belt. “Drive up to the gate.”
“What?”
“Get in the driver’s seat and drive up. If the guard won’t let you in, make a big deal. Cause a stir.”
“You mean a diversion.”
Lauren smiled. “Yeah, that.”
Helen stopped to think, then unbuttoned her blouse and gave a little shimmy. “How’s this?”
“Irresistible.”
Lauren and Helen got out of the car. Helen slid into the driver’s seat and Lauren ducked down outside the passenger side of the car. Helen rolled down the window.
“What do I do if they let me in?”
“Use Ross’s opener and drive into the garage. Tell them he asked you to deliver his car. Then lock the doors and use the OnStar to call the cops. Tell them you’re inside Ross Marchand’s Malibu mansion and there’s been a break-in.”
“Why don’t we just call the cops now?”
“Um, hello? Not our house? The cops might consider it a crank. They know Ross has excellent security. And besides, I want to see what’s going on. But once you’re inside, use the phone in the garage. They’ll have to come in and check things out. In the meantime, I’ll try to get the sword back.”
“What do I do if that guard still doesn’t let me in?”
Lauren considered that possibility. The guard did not look like anyone who’d worked for Ross before. More than likely he was under the employ of Farrow Pryce.
“Give me five minutes tops and then drive away and call the cops from a safe distance. By then, I’ll be inside. Tell them I’m in danger. Anything. Then find Ross. He’s probably at the hospital, but he needs to know what is going on.”
Helen pursed her lips. “Maybe he gave this guy permission to use his house.”
Lauren shook her head. “He didn’t. Trust your instincts. If you think the guard is going to hurt you, leave. I have to protect the sword for Aiden, at least until the sun goes down. After that, Aiden will be able to take care of himself.”
Blowing out a pent-up breath, Helen shook her head despondently. “I can’t believe I’m buying this story.”
“You heard him,” Lauren reminded her. “Twice.”
“Three times, actually,” Helen corrected.
At Lauren’s disbelieving stare, her friend rolled her eyes. “On the day you were hurt in your trailer, I thought I heard a man scream. A straight-to-the-gut kind of scream. Coupled with the video where he appeared out of thin air, which I thought was a trick of bad lighting, and the fact that I know you’ve never once lied to me, what choice do I have but to believe you?”
Lauren reached into the car and patted Helen’s hand. “Thanks. Now, go do your thing. I’ll sneak in around the back and see if I can’t put some of my Athena training to good use.”
They wished each other good luck; then Lauren backed into a nearby oleander bush to remain out of sight while Helen pulled away. She’d considered waiting until night fell before attempting to retrieve the sword, but she had no idea how long this Farrow Pryce joker would stay at Ross’s house once he had the weapon.
She simply had to act and try to buy enough time for Aiden to emerge. Once she had the sword, she didn’t care if the police showed up and took it into evidence. At least Aiden would be safe from some cult-leader madman who might know more about the magic than anyone—including how to kill Aiden and steal the sword’s magic for himself.
Not three minutes later Helen was out of Ross’s car and throwing a world-class temper tantrum at the guard. Lauren used the diversion to sneak close to the gate, using the car as cover. The man keeping Helen from passing through was clutching something in his pocket. Lauren’s heart skipped a beat, but she had to trust that Helen had the smarts to know when to walk away.
Lauren slipped on the gravel, but before the guard could turn, Helen leaned into the car and honked on the horn. “Ross! Ross Marchand! Call this Neanderthal guard of yours and tell him to let me in! You have no idea who I am, buddy, do you? You’re going to be so fired once your boss finds out you wouldn’t let me through. Ross! Ross!”
She continued honking, giving Lauren the sound cover she needed to dash behind the guard and disappear into the thick bushes that surrounded the estate. From there she could creep up to the house and then swing around the back, which was almost entirely windows. Then she would be able to figure out exactly what was going on.
Or at least she hoped she could. She had no other choice but to try.
***
Aiden became instantly aware of hands on the blade of the sword—hands that were not Lauren’s. He expanded from the sword, both surprised and blinded by the vivid blue sky glistening above and around him. He was outside. But where?
Seeing in the light wasn’t easy. Rogan’s magic was more powerful in the dark. But he heard voices, though he recognized none.
The first voice oozed with an unctuous quality he found immediately distasteful. “You have succeeded where others failed. Congratulations.”
“You’ll leave Lauren alone now?”
That voice he placed. David Drake.
“I see no reason to bother Ms. Cole now that I have what I want,” the oily voice responded.
“But, see, you’ve already bothered me by stealing my sword.”
Aiden’s entire being stiffened, if that was possible in this diaphanous state. Lauren, far away but drawing nearer, had added her presence to the mix. Unexpectedly, judging by David’s curse. Where were they? Damn, but he could hardly see, though the sun was definitely moving downward toward the horizon. The blue of the sky was deepening, and streaks of red seemed to radiate from the sun. He could hear the familiar sound of waves crashing on rocks below them. He concentrated, pulling himself in from the wide-open space he seemed to inhabit now that he was awake and aware.
Chairs scraped as several people stood. Aiden felt the sword drop onto a hard surface. Outside, in the open, he had trouble drawing on the power of the sword. He needed walls. Boundaries.
She laughed lightly. Her voice dropped, and the cadence changed just enough for him to know that she was channeling her strength through the woman she played on film. Only this wasn’t a movie or a play or a game. This was real. Danger swirled around Aiden like a fog: present, but too insubstantial to fight.
“T have no intention of leaving here without my sword, Mr. Pryce.”
“Mr. Marchand told you about me, then.”
“No, actually, Mr. Drake did.”
A bluff? To what end?
Someone slid a hand over the blade, jolting Aiden with awareness. It wasn’t Lauren. Nor was it this Pryce. The touch was decidedly female, and along with the tentative caress came an injection of understanding.
Farrow Pryce carried on the legacy of Lord Rogan. He sought the magic contained in the sword. Lauren and everyone around her was in danger, including Drake. And the man beside him—the man who, at the woman’s urging, touched the sword as well—came from the Forsyth line.
Aiden felt the connection almost instantaneously, then knew who the man must be—his so-called nephew, Ben, whom Helen had told Lauren about earlier. He had no idea how they could be related, but at this point, he did not care. The woman who’d transferred the information to him was clearly Catalina Reyes, the paranormal researcher. She possessed a magic he’d seen before only with the Gypsies—the gift of speaking with her mind. Aiden concentrated, traced a line up her arm, then across her shoulder to her neck.
“I am here,” he whispered.
She started, and he could feel her flesh ripple beneath his touch. “He wants Rogan’s magic,” she whispered.
“He can have it,” he replied.
“Not while you’re still using it, he can’t.”
Shifting, Aiden experienced a thrill of fear. Someone had noticed she was talking.
“Don’t speak,” he said, his voice so soft it might have been the wind. “How do I free myself?”
You need to be solid, she replied in his mind. Sunset is almost here.
