by Sue Wilder
“I know.”
“Whatever happens, don’t worry.”
Lexi looked at him, suddenly serious.
“Whatever happens, don’t lose.”
Instead of asking what she meant, Christan stood silently, and Lexi disappeared in the glittering crowd, looking for Phillipe.
✽✽✽
The ballroom looked like a cathedral, with an arched, ribbed ceiling soaring above the floor. Mysterious windows hid behind elaborate screens. The elevated dais was empty; another ornamental screen stood as a backdrop, with twisting vines and animals carved deeply into the woodwork. Potted palms lined the perimeter, softening the space but preventing hidden confidences. Everything was out in the open and elegantly controlled. Calata left nothing to chance.
If there was music, Lexi didn’t hear it. Chants carried from outside, the beating drums and the unfathomable energies of immortals. Power and lust, violence and threat filled the air, mixed with ambition, and what felt like greedy anticipation. It floated in an oily mist against her skin.
“There you are.” Phillipe walked toward her, wearing a regional costume from somewhere in Asia. It amazed her, the way immortals identified with aspects of civilization even when they despised humans. How long had they been here, picking bits and pieces from history and putting them together in a giant jigsaw puzzle that bore their own imprint? She’d never thought about what it must be like, to have no cultural identity except that which you invented. It added another level of complexity to their inter-Calata wars.
“Have you seen Christan?” she asked when Phillipe reached her.
“I believe he’s responsible for holding up that wall.”
Lexi followed Phillipe's gaze. Christan was standing at military attention, legs spread, arms behind his back. Several feet away and on the other side of the dais, Arsen held the same pose. Darius stood at the opposite end of the room.
“They look so unhappy.”
“It’s an honor to stand guard at these events. If they’re irritated, it’s because all three of them hate being put on display.”
“You don’t think One wants to humiliate them before this inquiry?”
“They belong to Three, so she won’t do anything obvious. One is not above making a point though. She wants them to understand their place in her court.” Phillipe paused. “Did Christan tell you about tonight?”
“He warned me.”
“Immortals are obsessively curious,” Phillipe said. “When they invade your thoughts, let them in. Smile, pretend you’re still mortal and drive them crazy.”
Lexi looked at Phillipe, using the focus he nagged her about during their training sessions. “How much danger is Christan in? One minute he dismisses it and the next I see the anger in his eyes.”
“He has every right to be angry. And you must listen to what he says.”
“I am listening, Phillipe. More than I ever have. Will you tell me what’s going on?”
Lexi watched Phillipe’s impassive face and wondered if he would answer. His attention shifted, though, as One and her entourage approached. This evening the Calata member wore a gown of midnight blue with silver crystals glittering from waist to hem. Her hair was arranged in a crown of auburn curls accented with jewels.
“Gaia,” she said, taking Lexi’s hand. “Accept my apologies for the unpleasantness this morning.”
“Councilor One.” Lexi forced a brief smile. “I don’t go by Gaia in this lifetime.”
“No, but that’s how I think of you since I disliked Gemma so much.” The immortal twisted Lexi’s wrist. “These must be the mysterious lines we’ve heard so much about—is it true they match your enforcer’s tattoos?”
“That’s the rumor.”
“But you haven’t tested it?” One pressed deliberately against the henna-colored lines as if trying to force a reaction. “I certainly would if the memories were sexual.”
“My lines don’t work that way.”
“Really?” The immortal smiled brightly and released Lexi’s hand. “Then how do they work?”
“As if I’m recalling a memory or some old emotional residue. Since I have an affinity for reading the environment, the impressions can be similar.”
“I’d heard rumors about such things.” One looked as if she found the idea amusing. “What does the earth say when it talks of its life?”
Lexi grew cautious. “Nothing spectacular.”
“But we all love a good story. What can you tell us about your ability?”
Lexi glanced around and realized a small crowd had gathered, a flock of avid birds rushing toward an unexpected source of food; she could almost feel the pecking of immortal beaks as they began probing into her mind. Phillipe's words of caution came to mind, and she let the immortals in, thought about how beautiful the women all looked and hoped that would be enough.
It wasn't, and to distract the invaders, Lexi said, “The landscape absorbs emotion, and I pick up on the residue from past events.”
“Like ghosts?”
Someone laughed, and Lexi smiled.
“Tragedies, battles.” She shrugged, and the dress drifted away from her waist enough to make her stop moving. “Anything that might have been emotional for the people involved. It’s the psychic energy that lingers and I watch the events unfold.”
Energy probed again, more intense curiosity while Lexi smiled patiently. The human women remained polite. The immortals looked disappointed. Lexi glanced at Phillipe but he seemed amused.
“Why don’t you entertain us?” One flicked her hand. “This villa has been here for centuries. What can you tell us about the history?”
Lexi picked up on Phillipe’s body language. Although he remained quiet, she recognized the need to tread carefully since the powerful Calata member would not want embarrassing secrets revealed, such as the murder that had occurred a decade ago and not far from where the woman stood. Lexi could still see the psychic impression of crimson blood on the floor.
“What I sense is typical in Italy,” she said after a moment. “Grand ambition and illicit passion. People have been chasing both emotions for centuries and with little success.”
“But your memory lines?” someone asked. “Are those images the same?”
Lexi glanced in the woman’s direction. “They're more like dreams, sometimes nightmares. I often need to ask Christan if what I remember is accurate.”
“Then it’s true,” One said, “and Three has grown more liberal where the past lives are concerned.”
Lexi hesitated until Phillipe entered the conversation.
“Three wants to repair relationships between warriors and their mates. The world is changing and she believes we should change with it.”
“But is it wise, Phillipe? Allowing the girls to remember their past indiscretions—lovers shouldn’t know everything.”
The surrounding women laughed although the sound was awkward rather than enthusiastic.
Phillipe shrugged. “Three believes we’ve reached a turning point. She’s building strategic relationships, not just between our society and the world, but between her warriors and their lovers.”
“We depend upon certain alliances never changing, Phillipe.”
“But change is inevitable and those without foresight lose the advantage.”
“Perhaps.” The woman smiled tightly and asked, “Isn’t it time for your demonstration?”
Phillipe bowed, then straightened. With a quick movement of his hand he caught Luca’s attention. “You will excuse me,” Phillipe murmured to Lexi as the warrior came to his side. “Luca will be with you.”
“Where are you going?”
“He has offered to entertain us.” One spoke over her shoulder as the entourage moved away. “We couldn’t refuse, given who he is. You’ll watch, of course.”
Lexi thought the woman looked like a goose with her goslings in tow, and then Luca was standing in Phillipe’s place. His gaze narrowed when he noticed Six in lively conversation
across the room, and he cupped her elbow in a gentle but unyielding grip.
“He won’t confront you.” The Italian sounded unconcerned, which his stiff posture seemed to deny. He focused on the academic as Phillipe reappeared, walking to the center of the ballroom. “I think you’ll find this entertaining.”
Conversations died as the immortals backed against the walls, opening a wide area where Phillipe stood. A warrior was facing him, large and muscled, a formidable opponent. Phillipe’s cold confidence was otherworldly. Lexi had never seen Phillipe like that and she wondered, now, about the avid expectation vibrating through the room.
“Why did One say she couldn’t refuse, given who he was? Who is Phillipe, really?”
“Another legend.” Luca shrugged. “Like Christan.”
Each combatant wore a krama folded around the waist. Phillipe’s was gold—a designation of the highest level of mastery, Luca explained—while his opponent’s krama was black. Blue and red silk cords were tied around their heads and biceps. Luca leaned closer and explained how in the past, the cords were thought to provide powerful energy. They were called sangvar day, and this was the ancient uniform for the Khmer armies. No weapons were visible.
Lexi recognized the traditional bow before a fighting match, the nod to civilized combat before the larger man charged forward, hands and arms moving so swiftly it was hard to follow the flow. His knee lifted in an attack that was deflected when Phillipe exploded into the air; Phillipe’s elbow descended with enough force to send the warrior to his knees.
The strikes were brutal. Lexi identified the punching technique Phillipe used as thpouk kang soam, two-step maneuver where Phillipe closed the distance and slammed the warrior to the ground. Then she identified another move where the academic leveraged his foot against his opponent’s thigh and leapt high enough to pound his knee into the man’s head. Lexi looked at Luca and smiled.
“Horse style.”
“You know this fighting?”
“He’s been training me.”
The Italian rocked back on his heels. “Three has gotten liberal in her thinking.”
“I’m not any good.” Lexi laughed. “I’ve only been learning for a month, but Phillipe says I’ll be able to beat up little boys with enough practice. I’m learning Krav Maga, too.”
“Next you’ll be telling me you know how to shoot.”
“Not yet, but it’s on the agenda.”
They watched in silence. The first fighting demonstration ended after several brutal rounds where neither opponent had been willing to pull their punches. Phillipe delivered a kick to the man’s neck with enough force to fracture the cervical vertebrae of a mortal man. The audience was entertained. Cheers went up periodically and there was blood on the floor. Lexi noticed it wasn’t Phillipe’s.
“Do you know that warrior?” she asked as the two men prepared for a second round of fighting.
“He’s aligned with Six. I’m not sure of his name.”
Both combatants had bowed again, then picked up a set of short wooden batons. The attack began with deadly aggression, a cracking of wood against wood that held the intensity of a racing freight train. It was a frenzied dance, frighteningly physical, and as the momentum increased it became obvious Phillipe had indulged the warrior during the first round, allowing the man some dignity in the fight. As the second round began, Phillipe coolly and efficiently dominated his opponent.
Conversations paused, the tinkling of crystal glasses stopped. Phillipe moved with balletic precision, every action both graceful and precise. The large warrior retreated more than he advanced, weakening beneath Phillipe’s attack until the academic who was also a legend ceremoniously vanquished his opponent, beating him to his knees. Phillipe crossed both batons against the man’s neck. Six’s bloodied champion dropped his weapons and tipped his head back, exposing his throat in a gesture of submission. Silence curled outward until people were afraid to breathe. Then with a bow, Phillipe extended a hand and assisted the warrior to his feet. A smattering of applause grew as voices once again filled the hall.
“Bene, Phillipe,” Luca said softly.
CHAPTER 11
Conversations shifted. Hostility simmered, and speculation grew rampant over Phillipe’s dominance and what it might mean to the disagreeing parties. Everyone knew of the inquiry. It was the reason they were here in their glittering finery, to see the accused warriors standing against the wall. There was also the blond woman heavily guarded against threats. Some seemed surprised she was in the room while others viewed her presence as scandalous. The woman was beautiful, though, and rumored to be more than human—the real reason behind the inquiry—and if she was immortal, she was certainly worth the blood on the floor.
When Phillipe reappeared, dressed in familiar clothes, Lexi turned to offer congratulations. Other immortals joined in before voices fell silent. A tall man was walking in Lexi’s direction. He looked aristocratic, dressed elegantly in black and playing the role of a gracious host while his posture radiated subtle intimidation. The crowd parted, then reformed in his wake.
Six stopped within three feet of Lexi as if to make a point. His eyes narrowed, and it was another version of his expression in Zurich before he’d thrown her against the wall.
“Gaia,” he said, “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to see you’re still alive.”
“I’m sorry I can’t tell you the same thing,” Lexi answered.
For a few minutes it seemed quite normal; influential immortals gossiped, humans whispered behind their crystal glasses and pretended to admire the fine wine. The chanting resumed from somewhere outside, and then the immortal’s energy scraped like nails across Lexi’s mental shields. She knew Luca and Phillipe were moving closer, ready to intervene. This was not her battle to fight. But then Lexi remembered the pool of crimson blood, drying on a polished concrete floor. Remembered being tossed against the wall like a discarded doll. There was Elene Santori, lying dead in the dark, and Renata with her haunted eyes. Katerina and the screaming girl with her broken friend while men working for this immortal laughed.
There was the cat who was still a kitten and trusted too much, nailed to the headboard above her bed. And there were some crimes that could not be forgiven.
She could not forgive them.
“I was sorry to hear about your misfortune,” Lexi said, driven by energy she could not identify.
“And what misfortune was that?”
“The explosion in Zurich. Odd how old buildings are so prone to gas leaks.”
Someone close to Six was curious. “You’ve been to Zurich?”
Lexi shrugged. “If I had I’m sure I’d remember every detail.”
The air shimmered. Voices dimmed. Six swiveled his head a few degrees and leaned toward her. Lexi could only wonder at the whispers in the earth, swirling upward in warning. She never questioned provoking Six, felt only an odd sense of detachment and a burning satisfaction with the fury on his face.
Phillipe’s expression was intense. Lexi was unaware of his fingers, gripping her arm. If he was using telepathy only white noise hummed in her mind. Curious, she watched as Six sliced his left hand in an aggressive arc, then saw the immortal energy slide around her in a silvered stream. She was certain, too, that he couldn’t harm her, although mental images cascaded uncontrolled before the Calata member ramped them back. Still, one image slipped through with terrifying force before the air exploded.
Christan was beside her, his energy a cocoon that was sharply focused. She wanted to explain that Six wasn’t hurting her. Instead, she looked at Christan’s fingers hard around her wrist. He was pressing against the memory lines, and it was impossible to shut out the violent energy flooding into them from his pagan tattoos.
The crowd opened to create a path through the stifling room and then someone knocked over a potted palm; the crash was starting and Lexi realized that sounds were returning. Puzzled, she looked at Christan but it was no use. His face was turned away. The swor
d gleamed wickedly in the overhead light and he dragged her until they reached the double doors to the hall beyond. There, he paused long enough to snap instructions to Phillipe, who stood with both hands fisted on his hips. Luca, Darius, and then Arsen were standing at Phillipe’s side as if ready to fight—against Christan or Six, Lexi wasn’t sure as she staggered in Christan’s wake. He was moving again, and only one conversation was clear in her mind.
“Will you hunt with me, cara?”
“Who do we hunt?”
“Enemies.”
✽✽✽
A crowd followed them through the door. Christan ignored the avid stares, pulling Lexi down the wide hall with red and gold carpeting, past half columns and urns filled with palms. Filigreed lanterns spread lacy patterns across the walls but nothing registered. When the skirt of Lexi’s dress caught on her heel, Christan yanked her forward, his grip crushing her right wrist. The curved daggers on his hip served as a warning while the sword at his back sang of blood and centuries past. There was a darkness in him, remote. Christan realized he was on the verge of shifting, and more dangerous than he’d ever been throughout all the unrecorded centuries.
They came to a carved mahogany archway, guarded by two immortals, both male and dressed in the dark suits of the security detail. A man with hard features and short hair nodded, held open the heavy paneled door as they approached.
“If you need anything, please let us know,” the guard said in Italian.
Christan pulled Lexi across the threshold without offering a reply. When the door closed, he buried his fingers in her hair and gripped her head.
“I am so angry right now. Do not talk. Just fucking don’t talk until I can calm down.”
Lexi remained passive in his grip. She was trembling, with her eyes closed. Tears leaking from the corner of her lashes revealed a high level of stress, and bruised shadows darkened her skin. Christan looked down at his fisted hands and wanted to kill something. He shouldn’t have brought her back to Florence, to the city he once loved, but he had, and despite this terrible anger he was crushed with the need to hold on and not let go.
