Reaching up, she clicked her ear bud and waited for a response. When none came, she clicked again. She didn’t use these things often. Maybe they sometimes malfunctioned. She tried a third time, and when there was still no response, her perception of danger soared. There was no way Damian wouldn’t have responded if he could have, even if it was nothing but a return click.
Stepping back into the sitting room, she leaned against the wall and closed her eyes, letting her magical senses tell her where to go. It was a big house, but mostly empty. If they’d really wanted to confuse her, they should have filled it with people. Human life force was so loud and distracting, it took effort to weed it out. But this house was a tomb. Big and echoing and deserted, except for that cold touch of very bad magic. It was everywhere, but spread thin. She’d never encountered an arcane security field that covered an entire house the way an electronic system would, but knew instinctively that this was what she was feeling. There was no other explanation, because the magic was too thin to be doing anything active.
Still, that wasn’t what she was looking for. Pulling in her senses, she filtered out the weaker signatures and looked for hot spots. She and Damian had decided to meet at the library, only because it was central to the house. For all they knew, the room wasn’t even used for books anymore; it was just a name on a floor plan. But in this eerily empty house, she was abruptly struck with the urge to find him as soon as possible. Picturing the floor plan in her head, she looked around, trying to figure out where the library was located relative to her current position. Damian might not be there yet, but like her, he’d be headed in that direction.
She started walking, moving quickly and quietly from room to room, all vacant, until suddenly, with no warning, magic flared so cold and bright in her mind’s eye that she was temporarily blinded and had to cling to the heavy armoire that she’d practically run into. Fingers pressed against the hard wood, she kept her eyes closed, trying to minimize the sensory input while she reasoned out what must have happened. The library, or a room very close to it, had some heavy-duty shielding. Enough to block her senses, which was saying something, because she was strong. The existence of shielding wasn’t the alarming part, though. No, it was the sheer, overwhelming force of magic that had suddenly blared from within the room, as if a door had opened. It wasn’t the Talisman. She knew that for a fact. But it was something big.
She blinked in sudden awareness, as her human brain caught up with her arcane abilities. The Talisman wasn’t in there . . . but Damian was. Alarm brought a spike of fear, and she forced herself to keep going, despite all of the warnings flashing in her mind and her instincts screaming at her to run the other direction. She moved at a deliberate pace, continuously scanning for traps while keeping her mind’s eye on that bright spot of magic growing closer with every step. The possibility hadn’t escaped her notice that this could very well be a trap itself. Someone had opened that door on purpose. The shields on the room were such that if they’d left the door closed, she’d have continued to detect the general malevolence of the house, but never would have known about the hidden trove of magic. So why open the door unless they wanted to draw her in?
She drew her weapon as she got closer. Magic was her game, but very few magic users were powerful enough to defend themselves against projectile weapons, and even the few who could might be caught off guard. . . . But she knew that wasn’t the case here. Whoever had opened that door was expecting her. The question was why.
Casey peered around a corner and stared down a long hallway. It was dark except for an open door near the middle, where a warm light spilled out and broke the darkness. It was so faint that it made her think of those nightlights parents bought to soothe young children. She’d never had one. The need for such comfort was considered a weakness and wasn’t tolerated among her father’s offspring. She thrust aside that useless memory and focused on the problem at hand.
That slight incandescent glow was meaningless. It told her the room beyond was mostly dark, but that was equally meaningless. Because what her physical eye was seeing was belied by her mind’s eye. That dark room was seething with magic. And “seething” was the right word, because it wasn’t only plentiful, it was the source of the malevolence she’d been feeling since entering the house. She didn’t think it was just one artifact, but a collection of many in one place. This was most definitely an important stronghold for Sotiris and his agents.
Too bad for them that it would be hers by the end of the night, or at least Nick’s.
She continued her cautious progress down the hall, keeping to the wall, weapon trained in front of her. As she drew closer, she was increasingly able to separate out individual signatures from the giant blob of magic that had been her sense of the room up until that point. None of the signatures meant anything to her except. . . . She frowned, then stared at the open door in alarm. Son of a bitch.
Two men sidestepped into the hallway, barely visible in the dim light of the doorway. One of them she didn’t know at all, probably the lone agent left behind to guard the house. The other . . . Damian gazed at her calmly, appearing perfectly relaxed despite the 9mm automatic currently digging into his carotid.
“Damian,” she said, meeting his eyes, letting none of her fear show. “What the hell, dude?”
A slight smile curved his lips. “I was distracted by all the pretty baubles.”
She arched a brow. “Bad form for a god.”
His captor scoffed loudly. “He’s no god. Just a hyped-up playboy who’s pretty useless without his boyfriend.”
She studied the other man. He was big. Not as tall as Damian, but broad and tall enough that he could comfortably hold the gun against his prisoner’s neck, while still remaining mostly hidden behind his bulk. Despite the man’s size, though, it was the gun that gave him the advantage. Even if she succeeded in killing him with a single shot, if he somehow managed to pull the trigger first, or if his finger contracted at all and the gun fired, Damian’s carotid would be shredded. He’d bleed out in minutes with no way of stopping it. Not even a god could survive that, and he wasn’t really even one of those.
“You’d have killed him already if that’s what you wanted,” she said to the man. “So what do you want?”
“To live, of course,” the man said mockingly. “Well, and for you to die.”
Casey just stared at him, waiting.
“Fine. I was supposed to be gone by now, but I got delayed and then you showed up. So now, you’re going to drop your weapon, and let me lock you inside that room. And then I’m going to walk out of the building. I don’t care what you do after that. You’ll try to escape. You might even succeed. I doubt it, but, hey, stranger things have happened, right? I will warn you that Lord Sotiris set the defenses himself, and somehow, I don’t think you have anywhere near enough power to break them. Face it, bitch, you’re nothing but a glorified Geiger counter.”
That was essentially true, so the comparison didn’t bother her. Especially not coming from this guy. Besides, while he was no doubt right about Sotiris setting the wards, he didn’t seem to know that Nick was around. And while she couldn’t break the wards, Nick almost certainly could. And when he couldn’t reach them, he’d know where to look.
Of course, she had no intention of letting that happen. First, because she’d stab herself in the eye before she agreed to be locked in that room. She didn’t know what was in there, but she wanted no part of it. But more importantly, what wasn’t in there was the Talisman. It was gone, and this asshole was her best, and maybe her only, source of information about where it had been taken and what they planned to do with it.
She considered her options. Appearances aside, she was a fully trained FBI agent, and one of the first lessons she’d learned was never to surrender her weapon. There was nothing about this situation that made her think she or Damian would be well-served if she broke th
at rule. On the other hand, she couldn’t just kill the guy. For all the reasons she’d already considered, she wanted him alive to question.
But on the third hand, nothing and no one mattered when counted against Damian’s life. Not even the Talisman. If the asshole and his information had to die to save Damian, then so be it. She’d figure out some other way to track the Talisman. She’d done it before.
“Cassandra,” Damian said, drawing her attention, her eyes locking with his. “Shoot him. It doesn’t matter where.”
“Shut the fuck up,” his captor hissed, digging the barrel of the weapon so hard into his neck that it drew blood.
Casey’s hands tightened on her weapon, which was still held low in front of her in a two-handed ready stance.
The man seemed to sense the shift in her posture. “I’ll kill him,” he warned her. “Don’t think I won’t.”
But her attention was all on Damian. “Are you any good with that thing?” he asked.
She scowled at the unexpected question, but jerked her head in a nod. “The best.”
“How’s your shoulder?”
“Good. Not a problem.” Why the fuck was he asking about that now?
“Just making conversation,” he said as if reading her thoughts. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes. But, Damian, I’d rather keep him alive.”
“Hey!” Sotiris’s lackey shouted. “I said—”
But Casey was already firing. She shot out his left knee, which was the clearest shot she had from his concealment behind Damian. His howl of pain became a tortured gurgle when Damian moved like lightning, spinning away and turning on his captor, drawing his sword in a single graceful movement that ended with his blade against the man’s throat, slicing through just the first layer of skin with incredible precision. A thin line of blood appeared as the scent of urine filled the air.
Casey stared. Her heart was fluttering in her chest, her fingers still locked around the Glock as she lowered it. Some of what she was feeling was adrenaline overload, but some of it, she admitted to herself, was stark terror. And a whole different part of her brain was marveling at the sheer skill Damian’s maneuver had taken, not to mention the extraordinary edge on the blade itself.
She jumped when Damian flipped the sword again, this time to bring the pommel down hard on top of the man’s head. He fell bonelessly to the floor, and she looked down, inching back quickly from the flow of urine.
Damian stepped between her and the unconscious man, his big hand reaching for her shoulder, but not quite touching her. “Are you okay?”
She managed to nod her head.
“Come on, then. He was right about one thing. We can close the door to this room, and no one will get inside, not until Nico arrives anyway. But before we do that, I’d like to take a look around. There are more than just artifacts in there, there are files and—”
“What if I’d missed?” she asked faintly.
He frowned. “What?”
“What if I’d missed? If I’d shot you instead, or worse, if I missed him and—”
“I had confidence in you.”
“Why?” she asked almost plaintively.
He gave her a crooked smile. “You don’t brag, Cassandra. If anything, you’re too modest. So, if you said you were the best with that gun, then I knew it was true.”
She waited until her heart rhythm had slowed, and then, striving for the same casual tone that he was using, she said, “I didn’t know you had your sword with you.”
“It’s always with me. It’s who I am. A warrior in the service of Nicodemus.”
“I’ll remember that next time.”
He chuckled lightly. “Let’s try not to do this again.”
“Deal.” She glanced down at their prisoner in distaste. “We need to put him somewhere. We’ll check out the room first, so it can be closed up, but then, I think it’s worth questioning him. He seemed like a talker to me.”
“A talker maybe,” Damian agreed with a shrug. “But I’d wager he’s low-level. Why else would they leave him behind to clean up?”
“I think you’re right. But sometimes guys like him know more than anyone gives them credit for. They’re so low-level that they’re invisible, and they hear stuff.”
“It’s worth a try.” He walked a few feet down the hall to a closed door, and turned the knob to open it. “We can stash him in—Whoa! You smell that?”
Did she smell it? She was gagging with it. “Jesus,” she said, swallowing hard. “What is that? Damian, don’t—” But he was already gone, letting the door close behind him. It made the smell tolerable, although nothing was going to get rid of it now that it had been admitted into the hallway. And she couldn’t see Damian anymore. There was no way in hell she was going to leave him alone to deal with whatever was making that smell. Or whatever had caused it. Because she knew what it was. There was a body in there, which meant someone had been killed, and the killer could still be in the house.
Cassandra was already moving as all those thoughts filtered through her head, so she was only a few steps behind Damian. She caught the door before it could close, and pushed through into the next room. It took some effort. The door was heavy and insulated, which explained why they hadn’t smelled the body before this. When she looked around, she realized they were in a kitchen, which accounted for the tightly sealed door. People who could afford a home like this could also afford to be sure cooking smells didn’t permeate the entire house. Damian looked over his shoulder when she walked in.
“You don’t have to see this.”
She wanted to protest his chauvinism, but she didn’t, because she understood where it came from. And because she’d insulted him more than enough for one day. He was trying to protect her, which was generous, but unnecessary.
“I’ve seen a dead body before. I’ve actually caused a few.”
He snorted softly. She didn’t know what that meant. “Who do you think this is?” he asked, toeing the body lightly.
She stared down at the dead man. He’d been gutted, and left to die, which explained the horrific odor. That and the blood pooling all around him. It was a horrible death to contemplate, but she forced herself to think logically, scientifically. “I’m not pathologist, but I’d say this guy hasn’t been dead more than an hour or two. Which means monkey boy out there probably knows who he is.”
“Monkey boy?” Damian repeated.
“A primitive human being. It’s an insult. From a favorite movie of mine.”
“When this is over, maybe we can watch it.”
She glanced up at him in surprise. “Maybe,” she agreed softly.
“Do we need to get rid of the body?”
Casey pursed her lips, thinking. “Eventually, I suppose. What a pain in the ass. But leave him for now, and let’s get the prisoner in here. Maybe spending some time with this lovely aroma will loosen his tongue.”
“You’re a cruel woman, Cassandra,” Damian said.
She was surprised when he said that, because it mirrored what she’d been thinking about herself earlier. But he made it sound like a compliment.
“It’s practical,” she responded quietly. “Not all of us have a magic sword.” The heat suddenly came on overhead, and a fresh whiff of decay struck her full in the face. Fighting down a new wave of nausea, she said, “Fuck, that stinks. Let’s do what we have to do, and get out of here.”
While Damian dragged their bound and unconscious prisoner from the hallway into the kitchen, Casey crossed to the wide-open door of the treasure room and stared, hating the idea of going inside. “Can you sense it, Damian?” she asked, when she heard him return.
He came up behind her, close enough that she could feel the comforting weight of his presence along her back. “I can’t,” he admitted. “That’s not
where my talents lie.”
“I can,” she whispered. “It’s so damn cold. You said there’s information in there. Files. How many?”
“There’s a small desk with a few folders piled on top, but there’s also a computer. Not a laptop like mine, but a bigger one with a separate screen. It was still on when I first entered the room, as if someone had recently left. Maybe our prisoner.”
She nodded. “We should grab everything in there first, including the computer. We can take it all with us eventually, but for now, let’s at least get it out of that room, just in case. There’s always a chance the door is on a timer of some sort, and we don’t want to risk it closing before we’re finished. Besides,” she said shuddering, “I don’t want to spend any more time in there than I have to.”
“I can do it. The room doesn’t bother me.”
“No, that’s okay. We’ll do it together; it’ll go faster. I’m also going to do a quick inventory and snap a few pictures. Nick will want to know what we see. After that, we can close it up and question our new friend.”
His hand rested briefly on her hip before he gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Her voice deserted her. His touch comforted her and made her sad at the same time. Their intimate familiarity was gone, and it was her fault.
“Let’s go,” she managed to say, finally. “We need to finish up and get on the road. Weather dot com said there’s a freeze coming tonight.”
TWO HOURS LATER, Damian was ready to call it quits in what he thought of as the treasure room. It was perhaps a misnomer to call it that—“treasure”—as if the things stored there were something to be cherished. To the average person, most of the artifacts would have minimal value. A few were embellished with jewels, and gold was commonly used. But the real treasure was the magic that had gone into the making of the devices, and what was still stored within them, ready to be used.
The Stone Warriors: Damian Page 21
