The Fire in Vengeance

by Sue Wilder

  “They were in my way.”

  “Should I unbutton you?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think I’m finished with the slow part,” she said after a moment.

  “Are you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m not.”

  ✽✽✽

  It was an hour later when they returned to the couch and looked at the photographs. Christan was once again in his worn jeans, but Lexi had changed into tan linen pants and a white peasant shirt with hand-embroidery.

  “You said you did the rock drawings,” Christan remarked as she scrolled through the various images.

  “Not all. I was there to practice what was already on the walls.”

  “Are these yours with the wobbly horns?” he teased, and she pinched him on the thigh for his insolence.

  “I couldn’t get them right. It’s harder than it looks when you’re drawing on rock. Besides, I was only seven.”

  “From the shape of the horns,” Christan said, “it looks like a scimitar oryx.”

  Lexi performed a quick search, finding relevant websites and scrolling through the first article she found. The scimitar oryx was extinct in the wild, but once they’d been abundant in Northern Africa, and since some animals had only one horn, they were associated with the legend of the unicorn. Ranchers bred them in captivity, she discovered, and used them for hunting.

  “There should be a law against hunting unicorns,” she said.

  Christan tugged on her hair, peering over her shoulder. Minutes passed with only the soft sound of her fingers on the computer keys.

  “This bothers me,” she said, pointing at the map and explaining facts Christan probably knew, how there were no confirmed records of the scimitar oryx existing in Libya unless they were stragglers from one small herd known to be in the western desert in Egypt. But that still wouldn’t put them anywhere near the coast or Cyrene, and with another click, Lexi enlarged the satellite view. Plains and mountains filled the computer screen, detailing the habitat that had ranged along the southern edge of the Sahara, through Chad, Mali and into Algeria.

  “Why would the Grandmother make me draw an animal that wasn’t native around Cyrene?”

  “She had a reason, cara. You said she asked you draw something else.”

  “I’ve always thought it represented a map. Kace made me draw it.”

  “Will you draw it for me?”

  Lexi glanced around for paper and a pen. “It looked like mountains and a river, nothing specific.” She was getting up to search the desk when Christan rose to his feet, every sense alert.

  “Stay inside,” he said, shrugging on a black shirt. He walked barefoot out into the sun, and Lexi hesitated only a moment before she closed down the laptop, then followed him onto the terrace filled with flowers. She recognized the energy signals, too.

  “Phillipe.” Christan’s tone was a warning that matched his wide stance. His head moved, and he stared at the blond woman who was, as always, dressed in opal and white. Lexi leaned against the door jamb and watched the silent standoff. Finally, Christan spoke.

  “I didn’t realize you made house calls.”

  “I don’t,” Three answered in the same aggressive tone. “And if you answered your phone or replied to a text or a mental demand I wouldn’t have had to travel just to get your attention.” Her cool gaze slid toward the shaded doorway. “Lexi. Perhaps you’d be civil enough to invite us inside.”

  At least the immortal hadn’t called her Gaia, but Lexi waited until Christan turned on his heel and nodded his approval before stepping aside. Phillip smiled in greeting, and Lexi sent out a small tendril of awareness as she followed the group inside. Christan was irritated but in control. Lexi closed the door and moved deeper into the room.

  “Can I offer you anything? Coffee, iced water?”

  “We’re fine.” Phillipe sat on the couch. Three glanced around, deciding to sit in the leather chair while Christan remained standing. Lexi drifted toward him and leaned into his side.

  “Oh, do stop.” Three flicked her hand when she saw Lexi’s stance. “I appreciate the united front but five weeks is long enough.”

  “Four weeks,” Christan corrected, “but who’s counting.”

  “I tried other means. You refused to respond.”

  “I do that sometimes.”

  “I could have compelled you, Enforcer.”

  “You would have regretted it, Calata.”

  He widened his stance further, his arms bunching against his chest while Three straightened in her chair, silver eyes hard. There was another brief standoff. Tension rose in the room, power ripped across the tiled floor, and Lexi thought the two charging opponents would lock horns before Phillipe stepped into the fray.

  “Lexi,” he said, “have you studied the cave drawings? We wanted your impressions before we give our own.”

  Lexi smiled. “Christan thinks they resemble the scimitar oryx and I agree. The Grandmother was very specific about the horns, and the little black patches that ran down the nose. We can’t figure out why she wanted me to draw an animal that wasn’t native to Cyrene, or most of Libya, for that matter. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “And she told you her name was Zal?” Three asked softly.

  “Yes. She said she’d been alone for a long time.”

  “Did she tell you anything else?”

  “She told me Gaia meant of the earth, and when I asked about her family, I made her sad.” Lexi looked down at her hands, clasping her fingers together. “I think she had her reasons.”

  “Yes, she did,” Three acknowledged. “I always suspected she confided in you, but I was never sure.”

  “I was a child. She told me stories while I drew animals in the sand.”

  Phillipe leaned forward. “Councilor Two, who also calls herself Zal, worked with Councilor Three to use alchemy to create warriors. This was in response to the murder of Councilor Four.”

  “We all know the story,” Christan said.

  “She was in love with Four,” the blond immortal explained. “When he was murdered she demanded retribution, convincing the Calata they needed protection against unknown threats. She wanted warriors for her own reasons, but I persuaded her to allow them to become protectors, too, and over the centuries, when vengeance was never achieved, Two grew more despondent. She added to the magic, creating the blood bond, telling me there would be a time when it was necessary. I’ve explained she had the gift of foresight. I didn’t question her actions.”

  Phillipe picked up the narrative. “We think Two left information for you, Lexi.” He gestured to the images. “The jar was the most important, just as you said in the cave. The scrolls were a decoy.”

  Phillipe’s attention turned to Christan. “We couldn’t trust this to electronic communication, even encrypted.” The academic placed several photographs on the table. “These are the shards as we’ve reconstructed them.”

  Lexi took one photo and handed it to Christan, then took another for herself. She leaned into the warmth of Christan’s hand as he pressed against her back. “This looks like what the Grandmother had me draw,” she said after a moment, “but it’s wrong.”

  “What do you mean it’s wrong, cara?”

  “This line. This is the way I’d draw it, and she would always reach out and make me correct it.”

  “Can you draw it the way she instructed you?” Phillipe held out a black pen and a transparent sheet of plastic.

  “Yes, you see here, where it jogs like a dog’s leg? I always drew it backwards.” Lexi moved closer to the low table where Phillipe laid out more images of the shards. She placed the plastic sheet on top of one photograph and made the correct mark. “This is what she wanted me to draw.”

  “Was that what you drew for Kace?” Christan asked evenly.

  “No. He was forcing his way into my mind and I drew it incorrectly, the way I always did as a child because that was where I was in the memories.”

&n
bsp; “Then he doesn’t know his drawing was incorrect?”

  Lexi shook her head. “I only realized it just now.”

  Phillipe took the drawing, glancing at Three. She nodded. He reached into the briefcase and drew out another printout. It was a satellite view, the landforms accurate except for the strange gray lines, artificially rendered. Phillipe pulled out a second transparent sheet of plastic and traced Lexi’s version of the map with black ink. He laid both the photograph and the new tracing out on the low coffee table.

  “A few years ago, the Japanese used their satellite system to explore this area of the Sahara,” he said. “What they found was evidence of an extinct river system just a few feet beneath the sand, draining into the Atlantic off the coast of Mauritania. These lines appear to be part of the ancient Tamanrasett River System, connecting from sources in the Hoggar Highlands in Algeria. It’s this area we find most interesting.”

  Phillipe tapped a small area on the map. “This is the Tassili n’Ajjer, which means ‘plateau of rivers.’ Wild rivers ran through these canyons, one small tributary, in fact, that matches your version of Zal’s map.”

  “Coincidence,” Christan said.

  Phillipe nodded. “In Tamrit, on the plateau, you’ll find the Valley of Cypresses. It used to be a natural wonder of the world but now it’s a forgotten place. The trees are thousands of years old, nearly destroyed by drought and scavengers looking for firewood. These trees are also within a day’s hike to Sefar, one of the major centers of prehistoric rock art in the Central Sahara.”

  Lexi leaned forward to study the map. “What connections are you trying to make, Phillipe?”

  “The Cypress has always been the mourning tree, or the cemetery tree. The name goes back into ancient memory, and this is one of the most isolated cypress groves in the world, right in the middle of the Sahara.”

  “Cypress trees were imported into Italy from Persia,” said Christan, as he looked at the map.

  “By the Etruscans,” Three agreed.

  “And Zal is ancient Etruscan for the number two.” Lexi felt a small shiver move through her.

  “Two had deep connections with the Etruscans,” Three said. “When she first disappeared, I searched those ancestral lands in Italy. I never found her.”

  “We now think Zal retreated to the area around Sefar.” Phillipe looked at Three, then back at Lexi and Christan. “She left that map incorrect because she knew only you would see the error. That you would put the pieces together. Whatever it is she wants you to find, Lexi, it’s in a cave in Algeria.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Algeria?

  “No.” Christan straightened beside Lexi, his anger rising, and she reached back to touch his hand.

  “She’ll be safe,” Phillipe replied as if he had anticipated Christan’s objections. “We’ll fly you to Djanet. From there you’ll join a tourist group going into the desert.”

  “What, on camels?”

  “They don’t use camels unless you pay extra. We’ll use off-road vehicles and camp beneath the stars.”

  “How romantic.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Phillipe said, ignoring Christan’s sarcasm and focusing on Lexi. “From this point,” he tapped another dot on the map, “we’ll hike on foot. This is an Algerian National Park on the World Heritage List and considered safe. There are many caves in these mountains, and your earth sense may help us narrow down the choices. But if it doesn’t we have Tuareg guides who know the area.”

  “Algeria is as unstable as Libya,” Christan countered.

  “We won’t be in the populated areas.”

  “Isolation makes it worse.”

  “The French love it there,” Phillipe pointed out.

  “They probably love Libya, too.”

  “She’s the one Zal trusted.”

  “That fact is pure supposition.”

  “Your mate would not agree,” said Phillipe.

  “And you have it all worked out.” Christan spoke evenly, although no one missed the warning in his voice.

  “If you’d answered your phone,” Three reminded him, and Lexi interrupted before the argument escalated.

  “How long before we decide?”

  “Five minutes.”

  “Five days.”

  Power rose again. Christan took a step forward and Three lifted a regal hand.

  Lexi twisted toward Phillipe.

  “Can you come back in an hour?”

  “Of course.” He inclined his head and waited as Three rose to her feet, nodded once, then walked into the sunshine. When Phillipe followed, Lexi turned and leaned against the closed door.

  “You know we have to go.”

  Christan crossed his arms, widening his stance, and she remembered that day so long ago when he had assumed the same posture after he put her on the ground. Her smile grew soft and wistful but she maintained her position against the door, organizing her argument.

  “There will be nights in the desert,” she said.

  “I don’t like nights in the desert.”

  “Yes you do—I remember something about campfires in the sand. Making love in a tent.”

  “No you don’t,” he said with suspicion in his voice. “You have no memories of that lifetime.”

  “You could shift if you wanted.”

  “You could be killed if you wanted.”

  “But you’ll be with me.”

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I know.” She brushed her fingers against his arm.

  He brushed his fingers against her face. “I need you to stay here,” he said. “Safe.”

  “I need you safe, too, but we both have to go.”

  “Why?”

  “Because of the magic, Christan. She might have regretted it, left something we can use to control what might be happening.”

  Lexi took one step toward him, and then another. Heat vibrated as his eyes slitted over obsidian shards.

  “You’re killing me here, cara. You do that a lot.”

  Her hand touched his chest. Her fingers burrowed beneath the material of his shirt and slid over a memory line. A violent tremor rocked through him.

  “I am the justice to your vengeance,” she said.

  “Which is what I’m worried about.”

  “I think Zal knew this moment would happen, that you’d be here with me, that we needed to accomplish this together.” Her hands slid up over his chest and rested against his shoulders. With a soft sound, he bent his head and took her lips. Her mouth opened and his tongue swept inside.

  “You’d better hurry, Enforcer,” she whispered against his heated skin. “We have less than an hour.”

  ✽✽✽

  The sun was high in the sky when Christan opened the front door and let the Calata member and her academic inside. He wasn’t comfortable with his decision. It went against every instinct, every promise to himself to keep Lexi safe. She had been used enough, but it wasn’t his choice. They were the Culsans, two faces of Janus; she had as much say in the decision as he did.

  The immortal and her assassin came prepared. Three gripped one of the soft, expandable net bags offered by the grocer at the foot of the hill. Phillip carried the black attaché with the encrypted electronic devices. The Calata member never traveled without a way to remain in secure touch with Ethan; it was a world where everyone listened to everyone else despite telepathy, and some issues could only be handled electronically. The immortals had adapted.

  Three deposited the food in the kitchen while Lexi helped. Christan didn’t think of Three in domestic terms, and he watched, curious, while she sorted groceries, realizing dinner preparations meant she expected to remain well into the night for the long planning session. They all understood the preliminary work would be scrutinized until Christan’s standards were met, since there was no way in hell he was taking Lexi into Algeria without knowing where their enemies were hiding; Kace needed to be preoccupied and not worried about where Christan was with his mate, or
why they might have disappeared.

  “Start at the beginning,” Christan said as he settled on the white couch across from Phillipe. The academic had drawn a chair closer to the low table. Three took the other chair and when Lexi walked past, Christan caught her wrist in a possessive grasp and tugged her down beside him. It wasn’t about the physical contact although her sensual presence had become necessary. He wanted her to sit at his side as an equal.

  “I have identities for both of you,” Phillipe said as he laid the documents out on the low table between them. “You’ll move through ports of entry like ordinary human tourists.”

  Christan took one passport and flipped it open. “Canadians?”

  “Canadian scholars are starting to visit Algeria and Lexi’s American accent won’t stand out.” Christan could see the logic as he glanced down at the names and photos. Entry stamps revealed extensive travel over prior years, the pages curled and battered from handling.

  “Did Ethan make these?”

  “Yes. They’ll pass inspection, even a background check, not that it’s likely. You’re a professor of Renaissance Literature Criticism at the University of Toronto in Ontario, and your wife teaches anthropology. You indulge her interest in rock art, and she has an established research history that includes repeated visits to Algeria. I’ll already be in Djanet when you arrive.”

  “Not without a diversion.”

  Christan handed Lexi her new identity. She took it, flipped it open. Her eyebrows arched, and immediately he heard the outrage in her telepathic voice.

  “My name is Millie Chapman? Really? That’s a name for a spinster in a gray sweater and… and a cat lady!”

  “Ethan did it as a favor.” Christan smirked, interrupting her mental rant. “Millie sounds like Lexi, easier for you to respond, and besides, cat ladies aren’t married.”

  Lexi scowled. “He gave you a sexy Italian name that doesn’t sound at all like Christan. Who’s going to believe Gio Chaccone is married to a cat lady?”

  “They’ll believe I’m a lucky man, cara.” Her elbow jabbed into his side and he squeezed her knee. “Mine, Millie Chapman,” he said out loud.