by Jenn Stark
He nodded, and I didn’t miss the fierce satisfaction in his face. The man was at his best when he had the possibility of some heads to knock around. He certainly was making me glad he was on my side. “I’ll be waiting,” he said.
Ma-Singh was waiting too, for all that it took us another nearly thirty-six hours to reach him. Nikki, Nigel, and I had spent most of the voyage strategizing theories behind the attack on the Revenants, as additional information trickled in via the House of Swords intelligence net. Once we’d landed in Barcelona, we all piled into a limo that wound its way toward the club. It was situated in the heart of the trendy neighborhood of El Born, and was abandoned now in a drenching rain. The cause of the conflagration had already been identified, though the crime scene was barely forty-eight hours old.
“Kitchen fire,” Ma-Singh said succinctly. “Quickly spread to the main floor of the club, trapping the guests. Many escaped, twelve didn’t. Those twelve have been identified with official paperwork, all of which is false. No one outside the local Revenant community seems to realize the significance of the deaths, at least not yet.”
“Rumblings in the arcane black market?” I asked.
“Minimal,” Ma-Singh said. “The club was very public, and its quieter clientele remained in the VIP portion, which, of course, contributed to their deaths. They were exposed to the smoke the longest.” He paused. “Contributed, but does not fully explain it. The smoke shouldn’t have been that thick with the ventilation the club possessed. Nine Revenants died in the inner sanctum of the club, three more on the dance floor. By the time the police arrived, all twelve were positioned in the dance floor area to alleviate questions. The building itself is surprisingly undamaged, other than the kitchen area. The new statement in the media is that it was an unfortunate fire, but not arson, and not a terrorist attack.”
“And you think otherwise.”
Ma-Singh nodded. “The only individuals affected were the Revenants, and they were all affected. Even those who escaped the worst of the fire and smoke succumbed within minutes, while their trapped non-Connected counterparts barely had any damage to their lungs or throats.”
I winced. “That was the cause of death, then? Asphyxiation?”
“That was the official cause of death, yes. The medical examiner is a friend of the community. He’s already signed off on all certificates. The bodies will be cremated.”
I blew out a short breath, my own lungs starting to itch. “And we have no idea who started the fire, or what the purpose was in killing these Revenants.”
“Not yet, but unfortunate new developments this morning confirm our primary fears.” He sighed. “The community is missing two members.”
“Two?” I peered at him, keeping my hands on my lap. I’d graduated from a full mummification to a light, stretchy bandage, my palms covered in fingerless gloves. My wrists still throbbed, but not badly. “How’d they go this long without being detected?”
Ma-Singh hesitated a moment too long. “They were children. No one expected them to be in the club.”
“…Children.” I swallowed, shifting my glance away. The most vulnerable members of any community. But among the Connected, children paid for their leaders’ greed with their lives. They were hunted and exploited for the purity of their abilities, and so many of them had already been lost. But this…this seemed so senseless. “How were they allowed in the club at all?”
“Children by Revenant standards,” Ma-Singh clarified, lifting a hand. “Their appearance was that of adults in their mid-twenties, but by the standards of their community, they had not yet hit puberty. They may have been nowhere near the building. But they’re missing.”
“And no one knows where they might be?” Nikki asked, her voice also strained. I wasn’t the only one dedicated to protecting the weakest members of our people.
He shook his head. “There is some indication of attempts to breach the building in the immediate aftermath of the fire, which the police ascribed to looters. The community began a count of their own at that point. The two’s disappearance was discovered after that. They are male and female, friends by all accounts. It’s hoped they weren’t in the building, are simply afraid to return—or lost—but…”
“But no one knows,” Nigel said, his clipped words underscoring an obvious truth. There was too much we didn’t know about this community, and we were already starting from behind.
We pulled up to the building, and I peered out. The front-seat passenger exited the limo and opened the door, enormous umbrella at the ready. Two more men emerged from the shadows of the building to stand in the downpour. They all wore heavy raincoats, opened to reveal holstered weapons.
Inside the car, no one moved.
“Madam Wilde,” Ma-Singh prompted, and I jumped. I’d forgotten the routine already, as new and borderline ridiculous as it was.
“Got it, sorry. I’m ready.” I gave the signal and Nigel exited first. Then I emerged from the car, allowing the two men to flank and shield me all the way up to the doorway, where they handed me off to the second set.
“Thank you,” I said, grateful that they at least nodded back. The men at the docks hadn’t even granted me that.
One of the guards stepped forward and opened the door to the club. “Stay between us, Madam Wilde,” he said, entering the building as the first waft of charred kitchen flooring reached my nostrils.
My sight went black.
Fear. Hate. Pain. Nausea swept my body, every nerve screeching with affront. My stomach knotted, my breath stopped in my throat, my heart pounded. Loss and endless sorrow.
“Madam Wilde!” The shout was alarmed and far too close, and awareness rushed back over me just as quickly.
“Tripped! I just tripped,” I said hastily. “I’m good.”
The man behind me had caught me as I’d half collapsed, but now both guards were looking at me with stark concern.
“I’m good,” I said again, blowing out a long breath, trying to regain my equilibrium despite the emotional and psychic assault. Heat seared my cheeks. It was hard to comport myself as a super cool CEO when I couldn’t manage to stay upright. “Let’s move along. I don’t want to linger here any longer than we have to.”
I didn’t either. There was a stain in the very air of the place, one of darkness and spoiled meat, but the guards in front of me didn’t seem to notice. The one who’d caught me hadn’t been Connected, I could tell from his touch. Did the guards’ lack of psychic ability make them immune to…whatever was infecting this place?
Nikki, Nigel, and Ma-Singh joined us, and to my intense relief, the guards didn’t rat me out for my momentary lapse. Nikki stiffened but seemed to tolerate the atmosphere better than I did. I scowled. Time for me to cowboy up.
We moved forward silently, respectful of the tragedy that had occurred here. Another man was waiting for us inside the next doorway, this one tall and slender…and definitely Connected. He had the mournful look of a cemetery angel, and was every bit as beautiful—pale skin as smooth and white as marble, timeless blue eyes, pale flaxen hair, young, fine features. Were all Revenants so, well, ghostly? It certainly would explain a lot of the rumors swirling around them.
“My name is Jonathan Francisco,” he said, his voice a clear, light baritone. “You could consider me the head of security for our collective.”
Collective? I frowned at him. “Sara Wilde.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Madam Wilde. I understand you know very little about our families, and for that, I suspect we should be grateful.” Another odd turn of phrase, but Jonathan moved smoothly on. “I can answer any questions you may have. I’ve served as the security director here since I reached my majority in 1783.”
I tried and failed not to goggle at him, while Nikki uttered a low, barely audible “Damn, boy.”
Jonathan inclined his head, then gestured more deeply into the building. “We appreciate your assistance.” The words were polite but his face betrayed no emotion, his watchful eyes
landing on me, then skittering quickly away. “You’ll want to see the inner sanctum?”
“Hang on.” I turned around, letting my eyes become accustomed to the dim light of the place as Nikki and Nigel entered behind me, followed by Ma-Singh and yet more guards. Nikki seemed completely unfazed, so it wasn’t my Connected sensitivity that was being tweaked, exactly. It was a different ingrained memory.
Either way, I no longer doubted Ma-Singh’s assertion that this fire had been a deliberate act.
“Not the inner sanctum. The kitchen,” I said.
Jonathan nodded, leading us back to the rear of the building. As we went, I could see more of the place, remarkably preserved despite the recent fire, and not nearly as damaged as I’d expected it to be.
“Fire engines were on-site within fifteen minutes, and it was raining that night too,” Jonathan said beside me, as if reading my thoughts. “They focused their efforts on the kitchen. That’s in the worst condition.”
He wasn’t kidding. The cooktop and vents had been reduced to hunks of metal; the enormous wood-burning pizza hearth exploded. Radial tracks of soot seemed to indicate a blast site at the base of the hearth, but there were no similar markings near the stove. Those must simply have…melted.
“Was there anyone back here?” I asked, humbled by the brutal scene.
“We don’t believe so,” Jonathan said. “The kitchen had closed for the evening and had just been cleaned. All staff were in the locker room or in the main lounge.
I nodded, scanning the room, fighting the sway of nausea. “There’s nothing here I can use,” I said with a certainty that brooked no opposition. No one had been stolen from here. There’d been no violence of that sort. I pointed to the hearth. “The device that was in here, where is it now?”
“Disintegrated,” Jonathan said. “It’s been of no use to us so far. We’ve taken the ash for analysis, but hold little hope.”
“So, what do you think happened here?”
“I believe an explosive device was dropped into the kitchens, where its detonation would wreak the most havoc through this wall”—he gestured to the gutted wall and a sumptuously decorated room beyond—“which was the VIP section of the club. The bomb had to have enough range to reach its tendrils out to those of the community in the main area of the bar. It contained a compound uniquely lethal to our kind. Beyond that, I do not have any idea.”
“And the children?”
His lips turned down. “I can only pray they were not here.”
I nodded. I longed to tell him they weren’t, but I held off. I needed more information.
Jonathan’s pocket chirped, and he reached in and extracted a slender cell phone. He put it to his ear, then stiffened.
“We should go,” he said, a note of relief in his voice. “Additional assistance has arrived.”
Chapter Seven
We left the pulsing center of El Born and the ruined nightclub, then continued toward the water, winding our way through streets that seemed to decrease in size the farther we traveled.
“The community lives in Gotico,” Ma-Singh said as the limo navigated a particularly tight passageway. “We will walk part of the way, but first we must get people in place.”
He gestured to me, and I rolled my eyes. More people in place was clearly code for the number of security personnel the overprotective Mongolian was unleashing into the streets to ensure I stayed safe. It was already beginning to chafe. Self-consciously, I closed my fingers into my palm, tracing the rough edge of the bandage through my leather glove. The Gods’ Nails had proven to be powerful weapons. I didn’t want them permanently affixed to me, but I could see how keeping them on my person could be useful. And keep other people safe, more importantly.
“What’s this about additional assistance?” Nigel was staring at Ma-Singh, but the general merely shrugged.
“Unknown. It could be the local police, though that’s unlikely. Alternatively, it could be a representative from a second Revenant community.”
“Or another mercenary from the black market?” I piped up.
“Not likely,” Ma-Singh said. “The Revenants have made their way in this world by hiding in plain sight among the non-Connecteds. They are no friend of the dark practitioners.”
“Probably someone they’ve known for a long time,” Nikki put in. “To a group this cloistered, any intrusion, even a benign one, has to be upsetting.”
Ma-Singh nodded. “Exactly so.”
The limo stopped a few minutes later. We exited onto a narrow cobblestoned street. It was lined with soaring stone buildings that were gilded with gothic touches—intricate reliefs, elaborate trelliswork, and stone carvings of every manner of gargoyle and imp staring at us from nook and corner and archway.
And no matter where I looked, there were people, despite the late hour and inclement weather. Strolling down the alleys, whispering arm in arm, milling through the central courtyard. Down one street, a band struck up, and the straggling crowd moved in that direction, for all that it was nearing three in the morning.
“Kind of crowded for a reclusive community to make their home, don’t you think?” Nikki observed dryly.
Jonathan materialized out of one of the doorways, beckoning us on. He nodded to Nikki with a faint smile, clearly having heard her. “We were here first, you might say. In truth, there are advantages to living in such an old area of town—one with which we are very familiar.”
He turned the corner, and a street that looked exactly like the one we just left materialized before us, lit with a succession of quaint street lamps.
“We know the byways of the neighborhood intimately, and the turning of the owners of the houses. Should we have need of outside contact, we do not have far to travel, and returning on foot is always a simple matter. There is also, as you can see, ample place to secret oneself away, should the need arise.” He gestured to doorway and window alike. “The virtue of very old buildings is that there are often multiple ways to get inside them, and perforce multiple ways to exit.”
“Hide in plain sight,” I mused, but Jonathan didn’t turn to me. He seemed ill at ease with my presence, which didn’t bode well for our working relationship. But perhaps we could dispense with our offer to help that much more quickly, if this “additional assistance” provider could handle the work on his or her own. I wasn’t about to stay where I wasn’t wanted.
“Here we are.” Jonathan stood to the side as we peered up the short stone stairway to a medieval-era villa, so old it sloped over the street. He gestured for us to enter, but Ma-Singh stayed my arm, indicating that Nikki and Nigel should go first. I looked down the street, almost certain I’d seen a man step into a shadowy doorway. One of the guards? Had to be. The night was desolate, despite the grimly resilient tourists getting every moment of enjoyment out of the old city. Anyone following us would be picked up by one of our—dozen? Two dozen?—tails.
Either way, they wouldn’t be following us in here. I climbed the short staircase with a strange sense of relief snaking through me.
That should have tipped me off right there, but it didn’t. It wasn’t until I topped the stairs and saw who was waiting for us that I realized I should have locked down my mental barriers the moment we entered Spanish airspace.
On the other side of the narrow courtyard, leaning against a rough-hewn stone arch, stood Armaeus Bertrand, Magician of the Arcana Council.
I couldn’t help my initial reaction, the warmth that started at the very core of my being and flooded outward, erasing all the darkness and fear I’d experienced in the scorched club. Following on its heels, however, was a wariness born of hard experience. Over the course of the past several months, Armaeus had taken me to heights I’d never imagined possible—only to drop me into depths I didn’t know if I’d survive.
What was he doing here?
My gaze jerked from him to Nikki and Nigel. Both of them kept their mouths firmly shut. Ma-Singh, who strode in behind me, checked his stride in astonishmen
t, but Jonathan glided up to Armaeus, pivoting to regard us. He couldn’t have said he’s with me more clearly if they were wearing matching fraternity house sweaters.
“I’m confused,” I said before anyone else could speak. “If you’re good friends with the Council, why’d you call on the House of Swords?”
Jonathan turned his serene gaze on me. “This time, our interest was not to draw the attention of the full House of Swords. It was to draw yours.”
“Same thing,” I said without thinking. Even as the words passed my lips, they gave me pause. Had I really started identifying so closely with the House I now led? When I’d first been given the job by Annika Soo, I hadn’t expected to last longer than it took to put one of the generals in place. But now…
Silence hung in the air, and Jonathan seemed disinclined to break it. Then again, he’d been kicking around for over two hundred years. Taking a moment probably meant something totally different to him.
When a response finally came, however, it wasn’t Jonathan who spoke it. Instead, the Magician’s cool, amused voice rolled out like a red carpet through the austere stone courtyard, unraveling all the way to my feet.
“I suggested that Jonathan contact you, Miss Wilde,” Armaeus said. “He had a need to find two children, and you are the best finder of lost things on this earth.”
The Magician’s unexpected compliment made me blink, but my British Ace blustered forward, clearly peeved.
“She doesn’t belong to you anymore,” Nigel said tightly, and that made me snap my head toward him. To my recollection, I’d never belonged to the Magician…or to anyone, for that matter. Irritation flared through me at the idea that anyone thought of me that way.
Fortunately, Nikki had been around all of us long enough to intervene smoothly.
“Back it up, Buttercup,” she said, putting a hand on Nigel’s arm. The Ace seemed to recall himself and turned an apologetic glance on me. I ignored him, instead fixing Armaeus with my gaze.
