The almost overwhelming flow of thoughts and emotions allowed him to keep specific information about the Queen sequestered into a mental box created over a hundred years ago by another, long-dead telepath. Eleanor of Aquitaine valued her privacy, and besides, Richard didn’t trust these people with the secret of her illness yet.
“You are your own person, Richard. You’ll be stronger than your brother and do what’s right.”
His head snapped back. Power surged through him, responding to the telepath’s touch on his mind.
“What are you after?”
“I’m not a threat to you. I told you the truth.”
Silence from the other end of their link.
“Are we friends or foes, Beth Nakamora?”
“Neither yet.” She let go of his arm. She didn’t want to answer the question. The last vestige of her from his mind vanished.
Richard took several deep breaths and stood. He staggered, his balance all awry. Arms closed around him, holding him steady. Physical weakness was not his normal reaction to telepaths, even given it’d taken effort to hide that one secret from her. Something else was wrong.
“Richard,” his angel whispered into his ear, “what did she do to you?”
“Gave me the truth, as I asked for.” His imbalance must be due to seeing Edward die. He was so used to not caring, it hit hard when he realized that he had cared.
Edward should’ve been checked by Marshal sooner. Edward should never have been allowed to go this far, even to save the Queen. Now Richard saw why Marshal blamed himself for Edward’s death.
But Richard had been the one who walked away from the Court and his brother all those years ago. He bore some of the blame too. Weak, Edward had called him. Weak and unwilling to do what it took to serve the Queen properly. But not so weak as to stay and endure the insults and the focus on any means to an end.
Or perhaps it had been weak to run away.
The world around Richard blurred. He couldn’t focus. He closed his eyes, content to let Marian keep him stable for a few seconds. He supposed he could deny the truth of memories shown to him. Telepaths were endlessly unpredictable.
She could have fed him false thoughts. No, not likely.
The Edward in the memories fit. That was his brother, believing he was above reproach and, yes, above anyone save the Queen. Edward had considered Marshal his beloved teacher but his underling nonetheless.
Marshal loved you as his son, Edward. You should have understood that.
Regular people were always pawns to Edward. After all, he was a God-chosen king, was he not? But this time, a pawn had taken a king. And as much as he wanted his brother alive, Richard couldn’t say Drake had been wrong.
Richard opened his eyes. His angel kept her arms around his waist. He stared at Beth Nakamora. Had she been reading him just now? It hardly mattered. He’d given her as much of the truth as she’d given to him.
Richard focused on Drake. “I loved my brother.”
Drake nodded.
“I also protect what’s mine, as you did,” Richard said.
“Do you want that blood and fire and war?” Drake asked. “I’ve been convinced lately it’s not the way.”
“I’ve never felt it was the way. I’d rather battle the waves and Poseidon.” He settled on the couch, Marian at his side.
“So where do we go from here?” Farley finally stopped glaring and sat down in a chair.
“I hadn’t planned to confront you. I was involved elsewhere when your man began following me and brought an assault with him.” He sighed. “I don’t suppose you know how to help me find Rasputin’s corpse?”
Alec snorted. Richard guessed Beth had communicated his memories telepathically to her lover.
“I wouldn’t be so flip about Rasputin. And I wouldn’t bring a civilian into the quest,” Drake said.
“Why not? What do you know?” Marian asked.
Drake stared off into space for a moment as if deciding how much to say. Or perhaps speaking silently to his foster daughter.
“Rasputin’s said to be responsible for a deadly curse,” Drake said.
Alec cut the air with his hand. “Could you please back this up for me? Beth says you want Rasputin’s body. Drake says he’s cursed. But I’m not even sure what a Rasputin is or why he’s so important.” He set his elbows on his knees. “I’ve got some serious gaps in my education.”
Unusual for someone of that power level to openly admit his ignorance. Maybe Farley was exactly what he said he was.
“Rasputin’s a little obscure, unless you’re an expert in Russian history,” Marian said. “He was born in 1869 and died 1916 and was known as ‘the Mad Monk’, which isn’t really appropriate because while he was from the lower classes, he wasn’t crazy. The name comes from his supposed miraculous power of healing. The last czar’s only son was a hemophiliac, a disease in which the blood refuses to clot. The czar’s wife, the empress Alexandra, grew convinced Rasputin could heal her son. He became her most trusted advisor.”
“And so members of the czar’s court killed him because he had an unnatural influence on their leader,” Drake finished for Marian.
She nodded. “But the legend goes that Rasputin also had the power of prophecy. He was said to see the future and even predicted that if he was murdered by members of the court, it would all end badly for the royal family. Which it did, as they were all killed in the Russian Revolution.”
“Rasputin was poisoned, shot, stabbed and drowned, I believe, before he was pronounced dead,” Drake said. “I’m guessing he was one of us, a psychic healer?”
Richard nodded. “We can only heal ourselves. Rasputin could truly heal others. So we’d like his genetic code for my court, as there are injuries that even we can’t recover from. As is evidenced by my brother’s death.” He frowned. “Why do you speak of a curse, Drake?”
“Lansing spent some time undercover in the Soviet Union studying their program to develop psychics as weapons. The Soviets thought Rasputin’s story might provide some answers. They put a team of researchers and scientists together. Within a year, all those team members died violently. Add that to the massacre of the royal family that Rasputin predicted, and the story of a curse was born.”
“Lansing obviously survived,” Marian said.
“His CIA handlers grabbed him and pulled him back to the States.”
Drake came closer, close enough to lock gazes with Richard.
“I don’t believe in curses. But psychic abilities that look like curses are real. Whatever or whoever wanted the truth about Rasputin buried, it’s likely still out there. You’re taking this girl into a wildstorm.”
“I’m not a girl,” Marian snapped.
Richard stood to be face-to-face with Drake. “You’re concerned about her?”
Drake shrugged. “Maybe.”
“I’ve been studying European history and gathering artifacts for a long time,” Marian said. “It’s the first time I’ve heard of Rasputin’s curse.”
Again, Drake shrugged. “Keep poking around, and you probably will hear it from multiple sources, especially as the Soviet system is all gone now and the secrets are out.”
“Do you plan to stop me? Any of you?” Richard asked.
He waited, intensely curious about what they would all do next. The firestarter was little more than a boy, only halfway into his twenties. Yet he controlled his immense power well. He also had a dream, if Montoya’s claim about setting this place up as a safe haven for psychics was true. Marshal’s report said the same, but the report also expressed skepticism at the openly stated goal.
Perhaps Marshal forgot that the Court had been created originally to help gifted psychics.
“It would take a battle to stop you from doing this,” Alec said. “That’s not what we’re about.”
“In th
at case, you should let us walk out of here. We’ve done nothing to you,” Richard said.
“I wouldn’t want to walk all the way back to my office,” Marian said.
That made Farley smile. “You were always free to go, Miss Doyle. And Drake’s advice is usually good, even if he’s snarling when he gives it. If he says this is a wildstorm, then it is.”
Farley stood “You’re still dangerous to my people,” he said to Richard.
“We could each try to destroy the other. Whoever wins would be safe. But that’s never been my way.” Richard shrugged “I’d rather hit the beach.”
“To make use of Rasputin’s genetic code, you need a living womb. Attached to a living person,” Beth said. “Edward helped impregnate a woman against her will. Will you do the same?”
“If it comes to that, the Court will find volunteers.” Why Edward hadn’t used one of them, Richard couldn’t guess. The families that served the Court no doubt had enough daughters who would volunteer to serve as surrogates.
“What about if I volunteer?”
All attention turned to Montoya, who’d been observing silently for some time.
“You’re not the right gender for a womb.” Farley grinned.
“I meant as a bodyguard for prince guy, here. I owe him for taking the bullet. If what Drake says is true, it’d be safer for Marian if I went with them to find Rasputin’s body. And we’d know if we could trust each other after it’s all over.”
“Daz, you have got to be kidding,” Farley said.
“Now, that’s an interesting offer, Mr. Montoya. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a man-at-arms,” Richard said. “However, our mysterious sniper was shooting at you, not me. Bringing you along may bring him along, and I don’t want to be shot again on your behalf. No offense.”
“None taken, but look at it this way: after today, our sniper probably thinks we’re working together. You may be in the line of fire now, which makes it a good idea to bring a bodyguard. Plus, if I go with you, I can keep you informed on the investigation of the sniper from Alec’s end.”
He wanted to accept the offer. Montoya was good, despite not having spotted the sniper. Richard hadn’t spotted him either, so he could hardly find fault on that regard. He turned to Marian.
“He’s right. We could use a bodyguard. His motives are somewhat pure given how he tried to ‘rescue’ you from me and he also came back while we were under fire, so he doesn’t abandon comrades. He should be fine.”
“Gee, prince, I’m all warm and fuzzy from your praise,” Montoya said.
“The downside is that he’s a muttonhead,” Richard added.
“You’re asking me to make the final call?” Marian asked.
“I hired you for your expertise. Would he be a help?”
“Do you speak any European languages?” she asked Daz.
“Spanish and enough French to get by. A little German. I spent some time stationed there.”
Farley grabbed his friend’s arm. “Daz, wait a minute, what are you doing?”
“He saved my life, Alec. I owe him. It’s a debt I’d rather repay ASAP.” Daz crossed his arms over his chest. “And it’s obvious I can’t tail him in secret. If you’re serious about some kind of truce, this is a good start. I keep an eye on him, he keeps an eye on me, and we’ll see how it goes.”
“I could tail him in secret,” Drake said.
“You could, but I think the area between my shoulder blades would get far too itchy with you out there in the darkness.”
Drake tilted his head as if in agreement.
“We might have to deal with people on the black market,” Marian said. “That’s always a little difficult and somewhat dangerous. Extra protection could be a big help, even if there’s nothing to this curse.”
“All settled then,” Daz said, looking at Alec.
“Bitchin’,” Richard said.
“You talk strange for an immortal prince,” Daz said.
“And how many immortal princes have you met?” Richard offered his hand. Montoya shook it. No hesitation, strong, firm grip. This would be a good man to know. Daz Montoya had no fear of what Alec Farley could do. Such a man was worth being around.
If he kept his word.
“There’s a bond of honor between us now, Daz Montoya. If you break it, then there will be that fire and blood.”
Montoya grinned. “Likewise, prince guy.”
Chapter Eight
Daz drove them back into the city. Marian went back to her office, changed into clothing she kept in her closet, and set up their itinerary for the trip to Europe.
It was a normal thing to do for a client. She looked over at the borrowed clothes in a neat pile on the side of her desk. She desperately needed normal right now.
A firestarter, a telepath and a self-healer. To say nothing of Richard, the immortal prince. And the legend of the long-dead, mad monk who cursed those who searched for him. Psychics, all of them. Just like her. She almost wished she could have stayed and really talked to Alec and Beth.
But who knew if she could trust them? And she’d rather they not know about her phantom power.
Plus, she had work to do.
There was one contact who might provide information about Rasputin’s remains. He was her main authority on Russian antiquities and had been for over a decade. The man styled himself “Lord Romanoff”, though she doubted he was related to the former czars of Russia. More likely, he was a former high-ranking soldier with access to certain classified materials from the old Soviet Union.
But he liked to think himself important, hence the title.
Romanoff’s contacts in the world of Russian artifacts, particularly pre-Bolshevik, were superb. Romanoff was difficult to approach and suspicious of anyone he didn’t know. He would only talk in person and only to select people.
But he’d always liked her. If he was going to tell anyone about any information he had about Rasputin’s body being moved, it would be her. Or he’d pass her on to someone who could help. She wondered if he’d known about Rasputin’s curse.
She called and arranged a face-to-face meeting with Romanoff through his private secretary.
Richard walked into her office, and that ended the normal part of her job.
This was someone who changed lives. It was good to see him again. It was almost terrifying to see him again. Argh.
She picked up her phone. “I assume you like to travel first class, Richard?”
“Absolutely, which is why I’ve arranged for a company plane to fly us to France.” He sat down on the edge of her desk and glanced down at his watch. A watch. Who wore a watch in this day and age? She supposed an immortal prince could be forgiven for not moving into the smartphone age.
“We’re scheduled to leave in two hours. I’ve already informed Mr. Montoya to meet us at the airport.”
Oh. That left her zero time to pack. Good thing she always kept a suitcase here with necessities and a few days’ worth of clothing, along with important documents like her passport.
“Is the time frame going to be a problem?” Richard asked, probably wondering why she’d been silent for so long.
“No, it’s fine, I’m always ready to travel at a moment’s notice.” She unlocked her closet door and pulled out her suitcase.
“Efficient,” he said. “And we’re off, then.” He put his hand on the handle of her suitcase.
“No, I…damn. Just wait a minute.” She settled back in her desk chair and looked out the window. Once on that long plane ride with nothing to do, she was afraid she’d cry or fall apart or just lapse into a catatonic state. It’d be nice to have a plan.
“You don’t trust me, Angel?”
She shook her head. What was wrong with her? “It’s not that. I…just… I’ve never met anyone else with psychic abilities before. I…I’ve
never…I don’t…”
“You never knew others had abilities like yours?”
“Yes, no, I mean, I heard the stories of your immortal court but I didn’t really connect it with any abilities. I knew my family could do this and that we had to keep it a big secret. We closed ranks. I was told never to speak of it to anyone. And I followed orders.”
She stared at the sky through the glass. It was a nice view of Manhattan, despite only being on the third floor.
“You were sheltered much of your life, tucked tightly inside the family circle where you could be controlled,” he said, his voice quiet.
“No, it was my own fault. My mom walked out after this big fight about my dad about using my abilities for the family. I was about ten. I thought she didn’t like me. I had the choice to stay with Dad or go with Mom. I thought Mom was mean for standing in my way of learning how to do what I do. I thought it was cool. So I picked Dad.”
“And now you feel you must keep to the decision of your ten-year-old self?”
“I did, for a long time.” She looked up at him, taking it all in. A person could get lost just staring at his bleached-blond hair, his blue eyes, his strong shoulders and trim waist, neither of which were completely hidden by the nondescript gray hoodie.
“I told Dad and my grandfather two days ago that I wanted to quit and that I was tired of illegal smuggling on the firm’s behalf. Everything in me screams that it’s wrong. Maybe that’s why I’m so afraid of getting caught. If I believed in it, I’d have the courage of my convictions, at least. I have an invitation for a dig that should get me entry into a terrific doctoral program for Native American studies. But then I agreed to stay for one more client.”
“Me.” Richard sat on the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. “So your life would be far simpler if you sent me on my way?”
But not nearly as pretty. And that wasn’t quite right. Richard wasn’t so much pretty as he was like staring at a gorgeous sunrise. Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious by this son of York. Shakespeare had been making a pun, because King Edward IV had been a son of the Duke of York but Edward IV also brought back the sun—peace—to England after long years of fighting.
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