by Jenn Stark
Muttering an apology as the rain pounded down from above, I pulled myself up the Maitreya Buddha until I stood balanced, one foot on his shoulder and the other on his head. An outburst far below me on the grounds of Angkor Wat galvanized me to action, and at the next clap of thunder, I leapt, grabbing the edge of the sword—
And I hung there in midair, my feet pumping.
“C’mon,” I gritted out, inching my way up the sword. I had a grip born of strength and desperation, but I couldn’t miraculously put on weight. The sword refused to budge no matter how much I jiggled it.
“Dollface, where—sweet Jesus what’re you doing?” Nikki’s voice boomed across the small space and I glared down at her. “They’ve got the whole cavalry coming up these stairs in another five minutes. There’s some sort of electrical fire on the roof. Get down from there!”
“The sword!” I gasped. “Grab my feet.”
Muttering a curse, Nikki holstered her gun and ran forward, but her long arms were still too short to reach me.
“The Buddha,” I managed. By then I could hear the rush of men on the steep stairs behind me, guards or priests moving up for reasons I didn’t want to consider—whether for a fire on the roof or because they’d seen trespassers inside the dome.
Within the next fifteen seconds, Nikki had hauled herself up to the broad head of the Buddha. “Sorry, big guy,” she muttered as she stepped on the crown of his head, one foot wedged onto his shoulder. Then she scowled at me. “Girl, you better have a tight hold and padded elbows, because this is going to hurt like a bitch.”
“Just go already—”
Nikki hurtled herself off the Buddha and crashed into me, the sword giving way with a crack that sounded far too loud. Then both of us were dropping through the air. I hit the floor of the sanctuary so hard, my head bounced. I groaned, seeing nothing but stars.
“Buck up, Buttercup. We gotta skinny.”
It was too late, though. A trio of cloaked monks cleared the entrance of the dome, chattering in outraged Cambodian. As Nikki stood, they waved long rods that looked like they would hurt a lot, but the men hauling themselves up behind them had guns. Those would hurt more.
“Out! Out! No trespassing!” the monks shouted, first in English, then French. I scanned the floor wildly for anything broken other than my body, but my vision was still processing double. The Buddhas appeared fine, still benevolently holding court, but another crack of lightning sent more sparks flying.
“Sorry! Sorry, heard it was a hell of a view,” Nikki said, her hands up, her gun mercifully hidden beneath her knotted jacket. “That storm is something, isn’t it?”
Another roll of thunder made everyone wince, and I cradled the sword close to my body. No way would I be able to run out of the temple without anyone noticing me or it, but I couldn’t swallow the thing. The Honjo Masamune blade shivered in my hands as if possessed of a holy fire, but it was every inch a real sword.
My mind flashed to the Ten of Swords just as another bolt of lightning struck halfway down the temple, setting off new fires. “I’m stuck!” I cried, and when I staggered to my feet, the scabbarded sword was wedged between my arm and my side as if I’d been poked through. “Get it out, get it out—”
Not giving anyone a chance to do what I was begging for, I ran straight through the monks and into the startled guards, pulling one of them with me as I hurtled over the edge of the stairs. We both tumbled down, the sword immediately flying free of my grip. I righted myself and lurched after the weapon, half falling down the next several steps until I reached the blade.
By now, more men were rushing both up the stairs and down, and with Nikki clattering down behind me hollering that I’d been killed, I grabbed for the sword. It slid away from me, bounced sideways off the monument, then tumbled downward toward the stone floor of the courtyard. Without any other choice—I jumped after it.
The imagery of the Tower streaked through my mind as I smacked hard against the rocky surface of the monument. I hated it when my cards were that accurate.
There was no way I’d reach the blade before it clattered to the stone-studded base of the temple grounds but, arms windmilling, I tried anyway, bouncing down the side of the wall, sliding along the rocky incline and shredding my jeans. The hoodie protected my elbows and shoulders from the worst of the assault, but by the time I hit the ground, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. My gloves were ripped, and I peeled them off completely, tossing them aside. I staggered forward and reached the sword as another round of orange-robed men barreled toward me, then grabbed the thing bare-handed and slid it free of its scabbard.
The Honjo Masamune practically exploded in my hand, the same hot-cold energy of Soo’s pendants arcing from it and through my body in a surge of crackling electricity. Without having to fake my scream of half fear, half exultation, I lurched upright and swung around, waving the blade like a madwoman.
The sword gleamed in the pelting rain. Another crack of lightning illuminated the sky, setting all of Angkor Wat ablaze for a heartbeat. When it passed, I stood back, startled, my hands still aloft.
The monks had all sunk to the ground, their heads to the cobblestones.
“Go with it!” Nikki yelled, sprinting toward me from the bottom of the stairs. The monks there had also dropped, while the guards stared at them, confused, but Nikki didn’t give me time to think as we dashed for the arches that led away from the inner sanctuary. We’d made it across the wide space before the monks came to their senses, apparently realizing that the sword was leaving their domain. Veneration was one thing—vandalism was another.
A strafe of gunfire broke out. Nikki yelped, hustling me to the side as a jeep with piercing-bright halogen lights swept up the wide stairs and into the inner courtyard. The jeep swerved toward us, and I squinted through the rain, recognizing the square-cut jaw even if my brain was currently sloshing through my ears.
“Get in!” Nigel Friedman roared as he came up beside us. “You’ve got another thirty guards out there, not all of whom work for the temple. You’ll be cut down the minute you step outside.”
“Not till you tell me who—”
“Go!” Nikki, apparently not having my same trust issues, picked me up and hauled me into the open door of the jeep, locking me down when I would have lurched back out.
Nigel cut the wheel hard as another round of gunshots flooded through the open entryway of the inner courtyard. He drove around the back of the building and down a service alley, bouncing down another half-broken road into the wide stand of trees. I nearly fell out of the jeep twice before Nikki pulled me bodily into a harness, snapping it tight.
“We kill him after he gets us out of here,” she bellowed, and I didn’t miss Nigel’s hard smile as he turned to us briefly, then bent back to the issue at hand.
Namely, getting the hell off Angkor Wat’s man-made island.
The back access road was as choked with debris as I expected, but Nigel angled the jeep over the side of the embankment, half into the water, until he was able to race up the other side and into the forest beyond. Sirens screamed from all directions as he turned onto a road that ran along a straggling river.
He slammed on the brakes and jumped from the vehicle. “Come on. We have to ditch this.”
I unclipped from the harness and rolled out, sword in hand. Nikki was right behind me.
“We’ll take this car.” Nigel pointed, and there was another one there, similar to the one Kreios had given us. The British operative looked apologetically at Nikki. “Sorry for the tight fit.”
“Clown cars are my specialty.” Without slowing down, she dove into the driver’s side. “Get in. Sara, down in back.”
Nigel claimed shotgun. I clambered into the back of the vehicle, too winded to argue, and curled into the fetal position around the sword. It was larger than I expected it to be, almost as long as my torso, and Nigel threw a towel back at me with a barked command.
“Wrap it up as best you can,” he said, tu
rning back toward me. “We can’t afford to—”
His words were cut off as Nikki sliced the wheel, running us down a side street, then braking sharply. By the time both of us had whipped our heads her way, Nigel’s face was in profile—pressed up against the barrel of Nikki’s gun.
“Thought we’d maybe work out that question of who you were working for right about now,” she said.
To his credit, Nigel didn’t lose his cool. Then again, he was British. The look he sent Nikki was exasperated, though, and he jerked his head back, lifting his hands to show his goodwill.
“Watch him. He’s as slippery as a snake,” I said, huddling around the sword like it was my newborn.
“Spill it, sexy,” Nikki growled. “It’s been a really long night, and we can’t sit around chatting. Who’s paying your freight?”
He rolled his eyes, his gaze shifting back to me. “You never were all that fast on the uptake,” he said. “I’m working for you.”
I straightened in the back of the car, staring at him. “Jiao contacted you again.”
“She did. Now, if you would be so good as to keep driving, Miss Dawes, I’ll explain on the way. You have accommodations at the Angkor Sayana Hotel and Spa, as well as six other hotels in the area, and two in Phnom Penh. I suggest we avail ourselves of none of those locations. In the last twelve hours, all known operatives of Soo’s rival organizations located within a five-hundred-mile radius of Cambodia have taken up position, and there are more on the way. You have a private jet hangared nearby, I assume?”
At my nod, Nikki put the car in gear and started forward again. “Where am I headed?” she asked, managing to drive with one hand and keep the gun pointed on Nigel with the other.
He didn’t take it from her, though I’d seen the man move and knew what he was capable of. If Nikki took on the British operative in earnest, she’d have her hands full, and not in the way she usually preferred.
“Out of the city—toward Damdek,” he said, then turned back to me. “It’s true, you know. You’d already begun asking questions. You simply weren’t asking the right person. I’ve been in Soo’s employ for the past several months.”
“Yeah, well, I seem to recall you being in Viktor Dal’s employ too,” I said stiffly. “You get around.”
His smile was decidedly self-assured. “As do you. The money has been good of late, but Soo was a primary client. And now that allegiance transfers to you, as long as you’re willing to pay for it.”
My brains jelled enough in my head for me to finally get it. “You’re not simply a mercenary on this job, you’re one of those Aces. You’re an Ace for the House of Swords.”
“Guilty as charged.” Nigel grinned. “And Cups on occasion, though I’ve not been called on by Pents or Wands.”
“But you’re not Connected.”
He shrugged. “I don’t need to cast a spell. I need to shoot a gun. As long as the Houses aren’t allied against each other—which they’re not—there’s no conflict of interest. It makes for good money.”
I sat back in my seat. “I needed good money,” I said, unreasonably put out. “How come you never told me about it?”
“Because you have a disarming habit of stealing things out from under me. And I simply didn’t have the time to deal with all the explanations.” He glanced back. “Plus, you’re beholden to the Council. Or you were.”
Past tense? “What do you know about them?”
“About as much as you did when you first started working with them—it was Rio, right? You got squirrelly after that job.” He smirked. “Then again, with that much cash flow, I would too. I’ve met some of them—the Devil, Aleksander Kreios. The High Priestess, Eshe.”
“The Emperor, Viktor Dal,” I said pointedly.
“A good operative never shares his sources. But the work was always fringe. I didn’t land the recovery work they assigned you to. Arguably, I didn’t have the skills either.” He regarded me. “You should know, you were seen twice last night, a floating vision surrounded by swords. Once in California, once in mainland China. That’s a new trick.”
“Yeah, well, I had a lot on my mind.”
“It caused quite a stir. You’re wearing Soo’s markers, but she never appeared like that. The House is mobilizing. They want to act.”
“Yeah, well, good for them.” I drew my hand along the covered Honjo Masamune, drawing comfort in the solidity of it, when nothing else in my world was solid. I sighed. “I still have a long way to go. Floating in the air isn’t going to cut it when they expect me to duke it out in some kind of cage match against the generals.”
“Not only the generals,” Nigel said cheerfully. “Other claimants too. There’s a rumor of one of Gamon’s lieutenants who is preparing to declare war on whoever Soo’s true successor is.”
Usurper… the word slid through my mind, unwanted, but Nigel kept going.
“If you don’t hand off your role before he strikes, it’ll be taken from you,” he said. “Probably along with your head.”
“Watch it, pretty boy,” Nikki said mildly from the front seat, and Nigel transferred his gaze to her for a moment. Nikki didn’t turn toward him, but I could see her jaw was locked.
“My apologies. But it doesn’t change the fact of what is out there.”
“We’ll deal with that when we get there.” Nikki pulled onto a main highway, no one behind us for miles. “What’s in Damdek?”
“I have another vehicle, and we go overland to Phnom Penh. Two private planes are hangared there.”
She snorted. “Thanks, but we kind of have a lock on transportation these days.”
He smiled. “Not for where I’m going to take you.”
Chapter Seventeen
In less than ten hours, we’d transferred ourselves from rain-soaked Cambodia back to…rain-soaked France. But there was no faulting the accommodations.
“Mercault know you’re here?” I asked as Nigel ushered us up the long staircase to the imposing front entry of the fifteenth-century château. I’d been to several households of the French kingpin, but not this one. Still, Mercault’s stamp was all over the place, his coat of arms decorating everything from flags to finials.
“Not specifically,” Nigel said. “I tried contacting him, but he’s too busy trying to undermine Soo’s operation in Namibia. Her people have struck diamonds, and the conflict-free tag she can hang on those gems has attracted a host of new investors. Mercault, understandably, is interested in taking a large piece of that pie. Fortunately, he and I have an arrangement in place about the use of his homes.”
I grimaced, feeling another headache coming on. “Soo has diamond mines in Namibia,” I said. “That’s something I should know, probably.”
“What you should know now is that you have done everything precisely right since she handed over her House to you,” Nigel said. “You took steps to determine your eligibility as the head of the House. You ascertained your weaknesses, then you recovered a centuries-old sword that had been lost for decades—all for the glory of the House of Swords. And you appeared in a vision to your acolytes. Check, check, and check again.”
I blinked, and my cheeks flushed at the unexpected praise. Nigel and I weren’t friends—we weren’t even usually on speaking terms. But his quiet validation pooled inside me, shoring up my flagging spirits.
“Well, thank you,” I said. “But you should know, that last one wasn’t intended.”
We walked through the richly carpeted foyer, heading deeper into the château. The entire place was silent as a tomb—reassuringly so. With all the noise and movement of the past few days, the sense of being ensconced inside rock walls that had withstood the French Revolution was deeply comforting.
Nigel shook his head as he glanced back to me. “Intentional or not, it was done, and your House has taken note. You are arguably the strongest Connected currently heading one of the Houses, though the leaders of all the Houses typically work at the height of secrecy, so it’s possible others have
unproven talents.”
“And it pays well, this work you do?” Nikki paused at an ornate inlaid table, upon which sat a gold and silver carafe that clearly didn’t come from Walmart. She drifted her fingers above it, careful not to touch. “This guy’s got more money sitting around in a house he doesn’t live in than I’ve seen in my whole life.”
Nigel turned a speculative glance on her. “It pays very well, but there’s a reason for that.”
“Stop—just stop,” I said, holding up my hands. “No recruiting my best friend into a life of crime in front of me, it’s bad form.” Nikki’s gaze snapped to mine. She blinked rapidly, then a sound from the far end of the corridor caught our attention. Nikki had her gun out and had stepped in front of me before I could blink, and Nigel’s smile deepened.
“We should continue our conversation later,” he said to her, and I watched Nikki blush.
Would she truly want to become an Ace? And if she did, who was I to stop her?
Nigel motioned us forward, distracting me. “In the meantime, as you’ve surmised, I’ve arranged for a small gathering,” he said. “It’s time that you understood exactly what you’re getting into with your leadership of the House of Swords…and what you’re up against.”
He led us down the hallway, not bothering to ask Nikki to put her gun up. I left mine holstered for the moment. It was hard enough learning to walk with the Honjo Masamune sticking out in front of me at an angle, my left hand resting on its hilt so the sword didn’t slide out of the scabbard and clatter to the floor. Not that that had happened to me already or anything. Because that would have been disrespectful.
During the few bits of downtime on our trip from Cambodia to France, Nigel had shown me a few cuts with the sword, though he was the first to admit that he was by no means a master of the weapon. Apparently, Aces could choose their own methods of killing people, and antique swords rarely fit the bill.
Now he stepped ahead of Nikki and held up a hand, cautioning us to stop as we approached what looked to be the entry to a library. Despite the fact it was high summer, I could hear a fire burning in the hearth, smell wood crackling.
