by Brenda Joyce
“Am I a fool?”
“Will you still hold that auction Friday?”
He looked at her. “I meant what I said earlier. I’m going to make some calls later and find a buyer. The page will be history by dawn.”
She trembled. He intended to cut and run. “Can you please tell me where it is and reconsider this insanity?”
“So ye can tell Nick?” He laughed and poured them both refills.
Sam had had enough. She pushed the drink back. “I don’t get it. You’re not evil, so it’s not the power, and you don’t need the money. You have enough wealth to go around for a few lifetimes.”
“No one ever has enough power or wealth,” he said flatly.
What the hell did that mean? “You never cease to amaze me, Maclean. Those layers keep peeling away, and I never find what I expect. How much wealth and power do you want?”
“He thinks that with enough wealth he will be able to keep his freedom,” Rupert Hemmer said.
Sam turned and her heart stopped.
Rupert Hemmer stood there and he wasn’t alone. The monk of Carlisle was with him.
She glanced at Ian as she leapt to her feet. He was pale, but his eyes blazed with fury. She did not have her messenger bag with her. She had a minidisk strapped to one wrist, and a small dagger in her boot. There was a tiny razor in her bra. That was it.
She looked at Ian again. He was angry but there was fear in his eyes.
Ian, she thought. We can do this.
He didn’t look at her but he flinched as if he’d heard her.
Hemmer walked inside first. “Did you really think to get away with all that you have?” he asked both Ian and Sam. “I did warn you about my special friends. But I forgot to add that I am never crossed.”
Ian trembled visibly. His face was so hard and set now, it looked as if it might crack. Sam stepped closer to him. She looked back and forth between Hemmer, so suave and urbane in his suit, and the monk in his dark robes. “I don’t recall crossing you, Rupert. Last I recall, you were threatening me.”
Hemmer seemed delighted. “Actually, I was threatening him.” He nodded at Ian. “And to make good, I asked Carlisle to come play with us.”
Sam turned. Ian was staring at the monk, who was staring back, his eyes alight with malicious pleasure. Ian snarled softly, “Ye made a mistake, seeking me here in my home.”
“You were never a brave boy, Ian. Why try to be brave now? And before you use your power, let me remind you, I have many of your grandfather’s powers now.”
Ian wet his lips. “Where’s Gerard?”
“He’s in one piece.” The monk smiled. “That previous spat was my final warning to you. But you knew it was me, didn’t you? You recognized my handiwork—you had to.”
Sam looked back and forth between them, sick with fury. Ian flinched. Breathing hard, he said, “I’m going to kill ye fer what ye did to Gerard and fer what ye tried to do to Sam—and to all the others.”
“But not for what I did to you?” the monk asked softly.
Sam was afraid to even try to comprehend what Ian had meant. She registered how well-spoken the monk was—exactly like a modern man. This demon might live in medieval times, but she was certain he was as familiar with the modern world as she was. He’d been Ian’s guard for a decade. Being in the present wouldn’t necessarily give them the upper hand.
“Ye always enjoyed making threats,” Ian said harshly. “It was easy to threaten an imprisoned boy. Yer threats have no meaning now.”
The monk looked at Sam with interest. “Rupert tells me you have become allied with this woman. You know how good I am at reading minds. She wants to go back in time to find her sister, so I am going to give her what she wants. What do you think of that, Ian? I will whisk her away—as you were whisked away.”
Ian was so furious he couldn’t speak. Sparks shimmered on his face and arms, his hands. She touched his arm, warning him to stay in control. She wanted to avoid a supernatural battle—because she wasn’t sure they’d win.
“Maybe I’ll make a maze just for her.” The monk laughed.
Sam didn’t get that, either, but she knew Ian was about to explode. She prepared for battle.
Hemmer said softly, “Watch the woman, Carlisle. She’s far more dangerous than he is—she’s a Slayer and she’s clever.”
The monk slowly shook his head and stepped forward. “I can leave your lady love alone, Ian. Hand over the page.”
Sam instinctively moved in front of Ian but he seized her and pushed her behind him. “Stay back!” he snapped.
The monk halted, unsmiling. “Give it to me, Ian, and you’ll never see me again.”
Sam looked at him and wondered if his fear of this man and his memories of the past, might actually move him to hand over the page.
“You know me. You know what I’m capable of.”
Sam tensed. Fear actually swept through her. She glanced at Ian again, but his gaze was riveted to Carlisle. “I don’t have it,” he said.
The monk started. Hemmer was disbelieving. “He has it. He stole it and he admitted it.”
Sam didn’t move a single muscle.
Hemmer said, “He’s lying through his teeth.”
Ian slowly smiled. “I gave it to Forrester. CDA has it.”
Sam almost reacted. Somehow she kept her surprise tamped down as she realized the genius of the ploy. The moment she did, she hoped the monk hadn’t read her mind.
“Then you’ll just have to get it back for us,” he snarled.
Sam sensed his intention as his eyes changed, glowing red, diabolically. His black power blazed. The sizzling bolt came at them but Ian struck back. Black and white lightning clashed, rattling the walls, the ceiling. Plaster cracked, fell.
Sam flung her disk at Hemmer as Ian and the monk struck at one another again. To her shock, the disk went straight at Hemmer, and then veered away, as if pulled aside by an invisible force. What the hell was that?
Hemmer ran toward her, smiling in triumph. Sam waited, dagger in hand, as Ian sent a blast of power at the monk. Ian glanced at her. As he turned, the monk sent Ian’s powers back at him.
“No!” Sam screamed.
As Ian was hurled backward by his own power into a wall, Hemmer grabbed her. Distracted, she responded more slowly than she should have, and her dagger went into his shoulder, not his heart.
“Bitch,” he said, seizing her. “You’ll pay for that.” As he wrestled her more tightly into his embrace, Sam realized what he meant to do.
She glanced back at Ian.
He was standing and ready to use his power again. The monk was also poised for battle. Then the monk looked at her, eyes narrow, and he vanished.
Ian cried out in furious dismay.
Sam inhaled. She didn’t want to leave him, but…
As she was hurled upward with Hemmer toward the ceiling, she waited for the incredible blow that would surely come as her head hit the plaster. But her skull never made the contact. Instead, the ceiling vanished as they whirled past the city rooftops, into the clouds, the night sky. And they were flung at the speed of light past stars and moons, past the sun. The pain was blinding. It began to rip her apart and shred her into pieces. But Sam did not scream.
Not even once.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Scotland, The Past
HEAVY GRAY SHADOWS WERE pressing her down. She tried to push them out of the way, but she was so groggy, so weak. Where was she? What had happened? Her entire body was on fire, hurting like hell. The wracking torment made it hard to breathe. Maybe there wasn’t enough air. She couldn’t pull the cobwebs of heavy gray out of her way. Suddenly determined, she tried to swim up through them to the light.
She wondered if she was drowning.
As she had that surprising thought, she opened her eyes and saw near blackness. Beneath her hands and fingers, her bare legs, she felt hard, rough stone. She lay in a pool of moisture.
Her first thought was that she lay in a
pool of her own blood.
Sam sat up immediately, gritting against the pain. As she did, she felt the shackle on her right wrist. The fog in her brain lifted. She’d just leapt through time with Rupert Hemmer.
Now, she recalled everything.
It was becoming easier to breathe. Had he taken her back to 1527? He could have taken her anywhere, to any time. As she wondered about that, she had the sudden feeling that Hemmer was more than he appeared to be.
Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness. She strained to see. And she realized she was not alone.
She didn’t care about the rodents, whose scurrying was audible. But then she heard human breathing. Finally, she could make out the shapes of other people huddled together, not far from her.
It took her one more moment to realize that the other people were also prisoners, and that they were behind bars.
Sam inhaled, meeting several pale stares. Somewhere behind and above her, a torch or fire was lit. Sam realized that she was in a dungeon.
The prison was a large, rough stone chamber. It was windowless, and clearly underground. Facing her were the cells with iron bars. The men and women she was imprisoned with were gaunt skeletons in rags. They looked as if they’d been left in the dungeon for years.
Sam looked at the shackle on her wrist. She was chained to the wall. She tested it, using barely any strength. It seemed solid enough.
“You can’t break free,” Rupert Hemmer said.
Sam looked up at Hemmer as he paused before her. He was an incredibly incongruous sight. He stood above her in his custom-tailored, pinstriped suit, with two huge, barbaric thugs. Sam felt their evil and knew they were tainted. They wore short jackets, dark hose and knee-high boots with pointed toes. Each carried a long sword and a dagger strapped to their belts, and each held an axe.
The first order of business was learning exactly where she was, and in what time. “Thanks for the ride,” she said. “But I don’t appreciate the scraped knees.”
Hemmer laughed. “I have to hand it to you, courageous Sam. You didn’t make a sound during the leap and you didn’t shed a tear. I’m almost sorry we had to knock you out.”
“I’ll bet. And, Hemmer? I hate to say this, but you can’t use me against Maclean. He’d have to care and he doesn’t.”
“Then we’ll just use you,” he said, shrugging. His smile was chilling. “I make it a point to rid myself of those like you whenever I can.”
Other than a few scrapes and bruises, Sam wasn’t hurt. The moisture on the floor wasn’t blood, but she had become aware of the dank, stale odor in the dungeon. She decided not to think about what the moisture might contain. “I’m not afraid to die.” She smiled at him. “But I promise, I will take you down with me when I go.”
Softly, Hemmer said, “I don’t think you’ll be singing such a merry tune in another moment.”
He was going to try to hurt her. Not to get back at Maclean, not to get the page and its power, but just for the hell of it. She stared at him. This man hid his evil, and that begged the all-important question, just how evil was he?
He’d admitted to selling his soul. Everyone knew Hemmer was a deal maker. Who knew what he could have negotiated with Satan? “Where am I?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He shuddered with distaste. “You’re in the Middle Ages. How anyone could endure this primitive time is beyond my capacity to understand.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“Are you hoping for a knight in tarnished armor?” He laughed. “Maclean won’t bother to come back for you, not that he would know where to find you, anyway.”
“You partnered up with the infamous monk of Carlisle. I’m probably in one of his castles—unless you own real estate this side of the law, too. And because it’s not a good idea to meet oneself in another time, I’d bet my grandmother’s pearl necklace I’m in 1527—a safe time for him because that’s where he belongs.”
“Smart girl. But there’s three hundred and sixty-five days in the year. He can’t possibly find you without coming to us and that’s what we’re counting on,” he said.
As the thugs reached down for her, Sam tensed, thinking about Ian. If he came after her, they’d be expecting him. And she was fairly certain he’d come after her. He wouldn’t leave her lost in time, a captive of evil.
She did not want him to walk into a trap. She didn’t want him to face off again with the monk, especially not alone. She could not worry about how protective she was feeling about him. Instead, she had to escape. Escaping would effectively destroy any trap and ruin their leverage.
Hemmer shook his head. “You humans…you’re in love with him. I’d have never thought you such a foolish woman.”
Sam jerked. Hemmer could read minds. “So what, exactly, did you get from Satan when you sealed the deal and sold your soul? Other than the power to leap and to read minds?”
Hemmer grinned. “No denial of your feelings?”
She slowly shook her head. “Romance is not in my nature, so no, I am not in love. But I have decided that Ian’s case is mine. He was evil’s victim, and I intend to make things right. It’s called justice.”
“What I like best about you is that you truly have no fear,” Hemmer said softly. “I have immense plans for you.”
She knew what he intended. The one thing he did not bother to hide was his lust. She just didn’t know which move he’d make first—torture or rape.
He’d probably try both, together.
She wasn’t exactly afraid. She knew she could get through whatever was coming. But she’d have to be an idiot not to know there’d be lots and lots of pain.
Sam thought about her sister. They’d always had amazing telepathy, before either one could talk or walk. But that telepathy had been dependent on a few factors—like geographic location and time. For Tabby to hear her now, she’d have to be somewhere in the vicinity and in the same year.
But just in case she might be nearby, Sam sent her a distress signal. A magic spell would be really useful about now.
“Release her,” Hemmer said to the huge savages with him.
The thug snapped the shackle with his bare hands, then jerked her cruelly to her feet. Sam decided not to resist…yet. She was well aware that she’d been divested of all her weapons, and she only had her bare hands. “So, do you like being the monk’s lackey? Where is he, by the way? Surely he won’t miss the party.”
“I am no one’s lackey.”
“Oh, so you guys plan to share the power from the page?” she mocked.
“I never share power.”
Sam smiled. A war loomed. Divide and conquer worked for her. “I’ll bet that’s exactly what Carlisle’s thinking.”
“Does anything frighten you?” Hemmer asked softly.
“You sure don’t.”
He smiled. “I’d be disappointed if I did.”
Sam was shoved by the guards toward a very small trapdoor. As she stumbled forward, she heard a woman’s cry. Sam looked back at the other prisoners. As she was shoved forward, she said, “What are they down here for?”
“I have no idea. Nor do I care.”
The trapdoor was opened. Sam saw a ladder leading up to the floor above the dungeons and glimpsed familiar black pointy-toe shoes.
Hemmer pushed her hard at the ladder.
Sam grabbed it reflexively.
The monk of Carlisle got down on his knees to grin at her. “Hello, Sam. I am going to make good all of my threats.”
“Lucky me,” Sam said.
He added, “As for the other prisoners, they’re there to feed my dogs.”
“NICK, MACLEAN IS on his way up.”
Nick was on the telephone, speaking with his contact at the CIA, who ran the agency’s counter-evil unit. The unit was as clandestine as CDA. It fought all government-directed evil from abroad. Like HCU, it was under-funded and understaffed, in spite of the fact that it had hundreds of ongoing investigations into hundreds of foreign governments. His CEU
counterpart had needed his take on a matter involving a new rash of witch burnings in Madrid. As he hung up, he was suddenly uneasy, and it wasn’t because they’d both agreed that one demonic cult was responsible for all the incendiary violence across the globe.
His gut churned, a damned familiar sensation. It signaled impending doom.
“Where’s Rose?” he asked. Damn it, he was worried about her. But Sam could take care of herself.
“I don’t know,” Jan said. “Nick? Maclean sounded strange, tense…intense.”
“Send him in,” Nick said, standing. He had great instincts. They’d been finely honed in the nine or ten decades he’d been fighting evil in all its forms and incarnations. Something was wrong. It wasn’t Maclean, because he didn’t give a damn about him. Once they had the page of illusion, Maclean could go his merry way. Interpol and Scotland Yard could have him. He might even make the intros himself.
No, his gut was telling him that someone he cared about or was responsible for was in danger.
He called after Jan, “Find Sam. I want an update.” He glanced at his wristwatch. It was one thirty in the morning. Why wasn’t Sam with Maclean? She was supposed to work him. By now, she might even know where he’d hidden the page.
Deciding not to wait for Jan, he speed-dialed Sam’s loft. There was no answer, and his sense of doom intensified. It was Rose, he thought. She was in trouble.
Maclean strode into his office without knocking, his eyes ablaze.
“Where is Sam?” Nick shot.
“Hemmer took her back in time, probably to the monk.”
Nick was furious and incredulous at once. He cursed. She could not be lost in time. “And you just stood there and let him grab her?”
“I was occupied with the monk,” Maclean spat. “Will ye do something to find her? Or will ye sit there on yer ass and let her die?”
“I don’t sit on my ass, Maclean. And before you start pointing that finger at me, why didn’t you follow them? Oh, I forgot. You’re afraid of the leap.”
Maclean shook with fury. “They left so swiftly, I couldn’t tell where they went!”
