by Carol Roi
As if suddenly released from a spell, Diandra gazed around the meeting room. The battle was over. The cultists had been slain by the temple guards, one of whom stood at attention near her. The Dorian realized belatedly he had probably been protecting her the entire time, and by extension the cultists' victim as well. "Guard, please take her to my quarters."
Relieved of her burden, Diandra got to her feet. One of the senior priests approached her. "Dorian& "
She shook her head. "Just clean it up." She pointed at the body of the man who had slain the small woman. "Take them out of here, and burn them. Burn them all. Send the soldiers after any that might have escaped. I want them all dead. All of them!" With those words, she swept from the room on the heels of the guard carrying the unconscious stranger.
Part 3
The room I've rented in the Excelsior is ridiculously hedonistic. 'The Presidential Suite,' the manager told me. Fine, I need the room. The bellhop places my luggage on the table and offers to unpack for me, but I wave him off. The last thing I need is some teenage mortal pawing through the electronics gear tht I have stowed, hidden in pockets shielded from probing airport x-ray machines. I tip him with a twenty-dollar bill and he leaves. By the smile on his face, I know I can ask anything of him in the future and he'd be more than willing to agree. Perhaps& No. I don't have time for such things. Finally, shrugging out of my long coat, flinging it to the foot of the huge bed in the bedroom part of the suite, I start to unpack. First things first, though. I find my makeup kit and cross over to the bathroom, where I brush out my long, unruly mass of mahogany hair and carefully braid it into a long ponytail. That done, I unpack my clothing first, utilizing less than half of the available storage places. The rest of the gear I squirrel away in various places around the entire suite, taking special care with where I place the blasting caps.
I turn to face the last piece of luggage, the huge, old-style steamer trunk. It's seen better years, like when I found it in Cairo, but it serves a special purpose now. Dragging the trunk into the bedroom, I sit on the edge of the bed and open the lid. Inside are my most precious mementos. The stark white robe, flashed through with silver thread, had once graced the body of my husband. His scent still lingers within the weave and I inhale deeply, the cloth pressed to my face, knowing in time, even that will fade. Setting aside the robe, I find the gilt-framed photo of us. We were in Brazil, Rio de Janeiro, for Carnival three years ago. His dark eyes flash in laughter, matching the mirth in my own brown eyes, the wind from the ocean blowing our long hair together in a riot of jet and mahogany. I can't even remember who took the photo for us. Carefully, I set that aside as well. For it is the very last item, lying in the bottom of the trunk beneath more memories, I want to hold.
The hilt is wrapped in fine, twisted wire, the scabbard a buttery soft black leather with an ever so slight a curve to its design. With ease born of centuries of practice, I pull the deadly blade and once again marvel at the intricate pattern of the Damascus steel. This had been his blade, my husband's, given to him by the commander/king of the army he served in, Saladin. I never told him just how close we'd been once, that if the Fates had decreed it, we would've met on the sands outside of Acre. Now he'll never know.
My husband was Azir el Sadih, a Bedouin and a follower of the Faithful. He'd experienced his first death, his first taste of Immortality, in the year King Richard The Lionheart had been taken prisoner in the Crusades. We, however, didn't meet until much, much later&
I creep along the southernmost exposure of the castle walls, sticking to the shadows, not wanting, or needing to be spotted, not yet. Being a girl of many talents, I had taken up service to the Royal family of Austria. Only a few knew of my true purpose, Archduke Ferdinand, his wife Sophie, and his Uncle Francis Joseph. All Hapsburgs-Lorraines and probably, arguably, one of the most powerful 'royal' families left in Europe. My purpose? I am a spy. Not the normal cloak and dagger, hidden documents, and silly code words kind of spy, but rather the other kind. The kind that can get men of power to loosen their tongues and talk freely to their 'mistress.' In other words? A whore.
I was just returning to Hapsburg Castle after too long an evening spent in the arms of a very inept lover, but a man who knew important things. The full length, black cloak I wear hides me well, and the other figure I spy creeping along the base wall of the Castle doesn't see or hear me as I start to stalk him.
My stealthy feet freeze as the jangling, tingling, electrifying shiver runs up my spine to echo in my head, and the object of my hunt unerringly turns towards me. Great! Just what I don't need. Still cautious of the guards patrolling the walls above, the other Immortal and I quietly steal off into the night, my thoughts turning towards the upcoming challenge.
Maybe that was what surprised me about him. For I'd allowed him to choose the meeting spot, following his 'buzz' from a safe distance, only to find he'd led me to the Hapsburg Family Church. Since we're on Holy Ground, neither of us draws our sword; we can't, the rules of The Game forbid it. He takes the initiative and doesn't even bother with formalities.
"I'm not here for your head, sweet lady. I'm looking for the one known as The Cat."
He mangles the language of Austria-Hungary badly; I can barely make out what he is saying, and hearing my code name fall from his lips shocks me. "The Cat? What business do you have with The Cat?"
"The Cat is reportedly a gatherer of information, information that can be useful to the Archduke." He leans his long, lanky body against the royal enclosure to the right of the pulpit. A brilliant white flash of near perfect teeth graces his dark face, softening its hawk-like features.
Reckless, I toss back the hood of my cloak, my hair spilling from its confines as I approach him, drawn like a moth to flame. "I know not of this 'Cat' you speak of, sir. But I do have the joy of being, shall we say, close, to the Duke and can make sure what ever information you have gets to his ears, and his alone."
"Houri." He spits on the floor, close to my feet, and moves away from me. "The information I have cannot be trusted to a mere whore."
I shrug, the cloak falling from my shoulders to reveal a dress of the deepest greens, cut to fit closely to my form. A bodkin blade is clearly visible on my hip, its brown and gold jewels winking in the soft light of the candles that light the room. "And what if I told you, good sir, The Cat you seek is, in fact, the whore in front of you?"
He laughs! "That is clever, Houri. Since I know not who, or what, The Cat is, I could take the chance you speak the truth, but I'd rather not." His dark eyes deepen in thought as they flick over my body. I oblige him by stretching sensuously, and those wonderful, deep, dark eyes darken even more. "You seek to tempt me? You use your body to weaken a man's will, binding him to you, sapping him of strength to loosen his tongue?"
I move in closer to him, he doesn't flinch away as I run my hands across his chest, shoulder and the nap of his neck, seeking out the spots I know can drive a man to recklessness. My touch is feather soft. "It's worked before, dark one. If you like what you see, and wish to make a pact between us, I'm willing to show you just how The Cat gathers the cream of information that goes only to Archduke Ferdinand."
His hand reaches out and roughly pulls me into his arms, his soft lips meeting mine as our bodies make contact. For a fleeting second, I think what we're about to do should not be done on Holy Ground, but then all coherent thought leaves me as his skillful lips and tongue find that certain spot on my neck&
An hour later, I have the information from my Hawk, who graced me with his name; Azir el Sadih tells me to warn the Archduke against traveling to Sarajevo, that there is a foul plot afoot. I pass the word to Francis, Ferdinand and his wife, Sophia, but they insist on ignoring my warnings, since I have no hard evidence nor names of conspirators to give them, and five days later, they are dead.
Gently laying Azir's sword on the pillow his head would've rested upon were he here with me, I realize hours have passed and I need to hurry and gather my network of people t
ogether. I reach for my coat and pull the tiny, digital phone from a pocket and start my calls.
By six PM I've had dinner brought up and my guests have arrived. The news is what I was expecting. Our client's request must be met within the next week, so if I'm to do this assignment, it has to be soon, or my team will not be able to get me through security and into the complex. The strategy meeting lasts until two AM, but when the last of my team leaves my room, we're ready to move tomorrow, after sundown. The actual timing will be left up to me.
Part 4
God, he needed this. Blair leaned over his Immortal lover, lips nibbling gently at her throat, his hand tracing her stomach muscles through the silken fabric of her robe. He felt her fingers combing through his hair, gripping the back of his neck, holding him in place. He was content to stay there, to touch her, to pleasure her, because every moment she spent with him meant she was safe from whatever Lee Eolia wanted from her.
Blair and Diandra had left the university and come straight back to the loft he shared with Jim Ellison. The detective was spending the night on a stakeout, so the lovers had the place to themselves. He'd talked her into a workout before dinner, throwing everything he had at her. He hadn't pulled any punches and neither had she; he had the bruises to prove it. He suspected she knew what he was doing, that he wanted her to be sharp, to be ready for any eventuality. It hadn't taken much effort on her part he knew, but never had he been quite so happy to be pummeled.
They'd taken a shower, eaten dinner, and now were lying on a couple of blankets in front of the fire, engaged in some serious foreplay. She rose up without warning and rolled him onto his back; the kisses she rained down on his face were cool and gentle. The thought he'd been avoiding since the moment he'd bumped into Eolia sprang to the forefront of his mind. This might be the last time she ever touched him like this, the last time she loved him. Her kisses stopped, and he opened his eyes to meet her worried gaze.
"What is it, Lobo? Your heart rate just went through the roof."
He swallowed past the painful lump in his throat. "I'm sorry. I just started thinking about Eolia. What if she's here for you? What if she challenges you? What if& "
Diandra pressed two fingers to his lips gently, silencing him. "You know that was the deal, Blair. I've never kept anything from you. You knew the consequences when you got involved with me. And we've been through this before, and everything turned out all right."
He couldn't shake fear's hold on him. "But what if this time's different? What if you& " He could barely get the words out, "what if you don't come back? I couldn't take that. I couldn't& ."
Placing her hand back over his mouth, she said, "That's not going to happen, Lobo. You have to have confidence in me. I'm at the top of my form; I've been back in the Game for nearly three years now. I haven't lost a challenge yet."
"But& "
She shook her head and sat up, running a hand through her hair. "Damn it, Lobo. I've been doing this for over 2,500 years. I will not leave you, you understand me?"
Blair sat up as well, leaning his back against the couch. Slowly he brought his eyes up to meet hers, reading concern, confidence and love in those electric blue depths. He nodded, moving closer for a tight hug.
Kissing his temple lightly, she said, "Besides, last time we met, I kicked her ass."
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June 30, 1934 Bonn, Germany
Diandra stepped out of the building into the deserted street, turning the collar of her trenchcoat up against the cold drizzle. It was time to leave Germany, she knew that now. It was only a matter of time before her name turned up on the SS list of threats to the government. And if she stayed& well, she would be forced to choose sides, and that would bring a conflict she didn't want.
Damn Stasha and the stupid, foolish, blind idealism of youth. Dee had talked until she was blue in the face, but her words had fallen on deaf ears. All Stasha could see was the grand sweep of Hitler's plan for Germany, and her own place in that plan. Dee shuddered. She knew her student had always had a cruel streak, and a fascination for the military ever since the Czar's army had over run her small village and killed her parents. Being in the military meant being in power, and power was what Stasha craved most, despite all Diandra's attempts to teach her otherwise.
Sighing, she shook herself. It was late, and her decision had been made. She had done her best to convince her pupil what she was doing was wrong and failed. Stasha was now someone else's problem. She headed back to her hotel, on the lookout for the military police, as she was out long past curfew. A few blocks from her destination, she felt the internal trill that sent her blood to singing. Just what she needed, to run into another Immortal. Very well, if they wanted a challenge, then she would choose the ground.
Diandra walked quickly through a maze of darkened alleyways into a small courtyard, where, drawing her katana, she turned to face her stalker. There was no one there. She stood there for a moment, puzzled, knowing the other Immortal had followed her. She was about to demand they show themselves when the faint scrape of leather on cobblestones warned her.
Whirling, she brought her sword up just in time to block the mortal blow. She lashed out with a kick, knocking her opponent back, giving her time to set herself. Again the small, hooded figure attacked, never letting up, keeping Diandra on the defensive. She settled into a rhythm of parrying, waiting for an opening, wondering if this was a random attack, or if Stasha had sent someone to take care of her. The other's buzz had seemed familiar, and yet& well, there was one way to find out. Dee parried a thrust away and down, then moving past the other's lowered sword, yanked the hood off before spinning out of reach.
The woman swore in a language few people besides Diandra even remembered, but she made no move to conceal herself again. Dee was surprised and disappointed all in one. She knew this was the rule of the Game, but still, she had never expected to face the Celtoi slave she had saved so long ago. "Eolia," she breathed, taking in the short red hair and the absolutely black look in her dark eyes.
"Bitch! How can you align yourself with those murdering bastards?" The smaller woman didn't wait for an answer, raising her blade high and bringing it down hard on Diandra's sword. Dee again pushed the attack away, but this time followed it up with a kick to her opponent's stomach.
Eolia doubled over, but backed out of range, just as the essence of a third immortal washed over them. "Damn it, Azir, this is my battle, you stay out of it!"
Out of the corner of her eye, Diandra saw a tall, dark-complected man detach himself from the shadows of the alleyway, concern for Eolia evident on his face. Enough of this! Dee used the Celtoi's distraction at the other's appearance to her advantage. A quick thrust and twist, and Eolia's blade flew from her grasp to clatter to the pavement. A spinning back kick laid the smaller woman out on the ground. Dee moved to stand over her, the tip of her katana tight against Eolia's throat.
The big man reached for his blade. "Uh uh, I don't think so, buddy. Not unless you want your friend back in pieces." She glared down at the furious Immortal. "Now would you mind telling me what this is all about?"
Eolia spat in Dee's direction. "You should know, Shutzstaffel dog!"
"Shutzstaffel? You think I am with the SS? Oh, goddess, Eolia, where did you get such an idea? I know it has been centuries since our last meeting, but can you really think I've changed that much?"
For the first time, the dark man spoke. "We saw you meet with the Inquisitor."
Dee frowned, her eyebrows lowering in puzzlement. The Inquisitor? Who in the hell was that? Unless they meant Stasha& "Do you mean Stasha?" At their blank looks, she realized they wouldn't know her by that name. "Heidi Brummel, do you mean her?"
The man nodded tersely. "What business do you have with her, if you are not with the SS?"
Sensing he, at least, was willing to listen to her answer, Dee stepped back, letting Eolia get to her feet. "Stasha is a former studen
t. I was trying to convince her to give up her allegiance to Hitler and his cause and leave Germany with me. She would have none of it, and I've washed my hands of her."
Eolia brushed the dirt from her clothes. "Do you know what she's done? What Hitler's done?"
Diandra shook her head. "I've spent most of today waiting to see her. Why?"
The man spoke up. "She has helped orchestrate the murder of hundreds of Sturmabteilung members, as well as innocent people."
Dee felt sick. That was why Stasha had been so busy, had kept her cooling her heels. She knew now, without a doubt, there was no hope for Stasha, no saving her. She kept her composure, not letting her inner turmoil show. "I had no knowledge or part in any SS plans. And as of tonight, Stasha is no longer under my protection. I will not raise my sword against my student, but you are more than welcome to deal with her in any manner you deem necessary." With those words, Diandra sheathed her blade, and left the courtyard. She would be on her way out of Germany by the time the sun rose.
