“There is something else,
my lady,” the inspector said. “The flight was bought out by one individual,
who paid for all two hundred and seventy-six passengers.”
That sounded like
something a Kyn would do. “What’s his name?”
“
Her
name is listed as Erzsébet Cséjthe of Magyarország,” he said.
Sam didn’t even try to
repeat it, but had him spell the name and the place for her. “Is that last
bit some place in Belgium?”
“No, my lady. It is the
proper name of a country. Let me think . . .” He fell silent for a time.
“Ah, yes. Now I remember the English. You call it Hungary.”
“I didn’t know we had
Hungarian Kyn,” she said.
“Neither did I, my lady.
I will make some calls and see what I can learn.”
Sam thanked him and ended
the call. Knowing that Carcher had traveled to the
U.S. on a plane with his
seat and all the others paid for by a Hungarian woman didn’t make things
less complicated, but at least she had a name now. She pulled up a search
engine and put in the name the inspector had given her.
The first link that
popped up took her to some sort of online travel journal written by a
filmmaker traveling around eastern Europe. She began to read about the
English woman’s difficulties in getting across borders and finding decent
accommodations, and wondered why people who didn’t like the discomforts of
travel were always the first ones to jump on a plane and go to a third-world
country where they didn’t even speak the language.
After a few paragraphs of
whining about the food, the hotels and the inconvenience and expense of
obtaining the travel papers she needed, the filmmaker posted some blurry
graphics of herself, a distant pile of ruins, and two books. One had a
lurid-looking jacket and the screaming title of
Dracula was a Woman
while the other bore an enigmatic sunburst and had been titled and
subtitled, but she could only make out the header:
The
Bloody Countess.
The phone rang, dragging
her attention away from the screen. “Brown.”
“Detective, this is
Carmen Figueroa,” a frantic voice said. “My husband just call me. He say he
see Luce down on the strip, but when he go to her she no talk to him. She
walk away. When he try to stop her, she push him and he fall.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,”
Sam said. “But at least you know she’s alive and okay now.”
“She is
not
okay,” Carmen insisted. “She is dressed like a
puta
.
She say nothing, not one word. She hurt my Eduardo.”
Sam tried to think of
what to say. “I think maybe Luce is trying to tell you that she needs some
time to herself.”
“Don’t you no hear me?”
Carmen shrieked. “She hurt my husband bad. He had to go to the emergency
room. Luce broke his arm.”
“Sometimes a bad fall can
cause a fracture, Mrs. Figueroa.” When the other woman began arguing with
her, she gave up. “If you want to press charges against your daughter for
assaulting your husband, I can send an officer over to the hospital. We’ll
issue a bench warrant for her arrest.”
“You no understand,” the
woman said before she gave up on English and continued in Spanish. “I spoke
to my husband and the emergency room doctor. The fall did not do this to
Eduardo, Luce did. She did all of it.”
“Like I said—“ “It was
not one bone,” Carmen said. “It was thirty. Detective Brown, she broke every
bone in his arm, his wrist and his hand.” #
Chris’s blood rejuvenated
him, but Jamys’s strength slipped away just the same as soon as the sun rose
in the sky. Resigned to seeking the rest he needed, he pulled in and parked
under a shade tree in the back lot of an all-night fast food restaurant. The
cramped backseat of Chris’s car wouldn’t accommodate half of his long frame,
so he reclined the driver’s seat down until his head couldn’t be seen
through the windows, pulled his jacket over his face, and closed his eyes.
He resisted dreams
whenever he felt them hovering around his thoughts, for he never dreamt of
anything but the terrors and sorrows of the past, but this time he forgot to
keep up his guard, and found himself walking through the quiet forests of
his homeland.
Relief surged through
him. No bad memories dwelled here for him; when he had hunted with his uncle
he had always known keen pleasure and a sense of belonging, as if he had
been born to hunt. As Kyn he could no longer feed on animals, but that
didn’t seem to matter now. He followed one primitive scent after another,
surprising a hare, then a boar, then a doe nursing a beautiful white-spotted
fawn.
He watched the deer for a
long time, taking solace in the sight of such innocence, until someone came
up behind him and frightened off the pair.
Jamys turned to see
Thierry dressed in his white Templar tunic, copper-edged swords in both of
his huge hands. He wanted to greet him, but his mouth would not move, and
neither would his body.
“I know you are in
trouble.” Thierry thrust his swords into the ground. “Show me where you are,
and I will come to you.” He waited, but when Jamys didn’t answer he scowled.
“I shall kill anything that harms you. You know this. Tis why you summoned
me.”
Jamys looked down at the
swords, and words spilled from his lips. “Those times are over, Father.”
“You are in danger, boy,
and I will not—“ Thierry stopped and stared at him. “Do you speak to me,
Jamys?”
Speaking was all Jamys
could do. “I did. I am.” At least here, he could.
Thierry grinned and tried
to embrace him, but something came between them and pushed him back. “Jamie.
What is happening to you? Tell me now.”
“One of the old ones has
come here,” he said. “A hunter who can use mortals as weapons. Lucan has
become prey, as have his people. They see only the bait, not the trap.” He
felt frustration snarling inside him. “I know, but I cannot tell them.”
“Alexandra should never
have done this to you.” Thierry turned away. “I will wake, and I will come
to you. Together we will find the hunter and defeat him.”
“You cannot help the boy,
Thierry.” Gabriel stepped out from behind the trunk of an old oak. He wore
only an old pair of buckskin trousers. “This is Jamys’s battle.”
“Uncle.” Jamys saw the
terrible burn scars on Gabriel’s torso. “I do not think I can do this
alone.”
“The hunter is always
alone,” Gabriel chided. “So is this one. No matter how many mortals are used
for the traps, in the end, it will be you and the other.”
“I do not have your
power,” Jamys protested. “I cannot defeat him.”
“You have all you need,”
his uncle promised. “You have but to remember what I taught you here.
Remember that you are also your mother’s son.”
“Do not speak of
Angelica.” Thierry seized Gabriel’s arm. “My son has nothing of her inside
him. And he cannot use a bow and arrow to defeat a Kyn lord.”
“He has but to use his
gifts.” Gabriel took Thierry’s arm, and pulled him away. “Leave your son to
his work now, brother.”
Jamys wanted to call
after them, but they vanished as quickly as they had appeared. Then he was
left alone again – alone and with no thought of what next to do.
“You could come and get
me out of here.”
He turned around, but
only when he tipped his head back did he see Chris, standing on a high
branch of the oak. She jumped down, floating to the earth, where she landed
lightly on her feet.
“Sam told me about this
place,” she said, smiling. “I didn’t think I could come here.”
“Where are you, Chris?”
She shrugged. “Someplace
small and dark. Not much fun here.”
She must still be in pain
from bleeding herself for him. “I never meant for you to hurt yourself for
my sake,” Jamys told her, reaching out for her. “Forgive me.”
“I didn’t mind. I really
like you. And this place is fabulous.” She threw out her arms and whirled
around. “How long can I stay here?” Before he could answer, her arms fell
and her shoulders slumped. “They’re waking me.”
“They?”
She gave him a sad smile.
“Yeah, I have to go.”
A fierce dread settled
over him. “Chris, where are you?”
“I don’t know. Not a good
place.” She climbed up the side of the tree, pausing to glance down. “Your
uncle is right. This is your battle, Jamys, and you are your mother’s son.
Don’t forget what they both taught you.”
Jamys jerked awake and
pulled the jacket from his head. The south Florida sky had turned pink and
gold, with dark blue clouds stretching out over the setting sun. As soon as
he opened the window, the unlovely smell of hot grease and cheap meat wafted
in. Parking behind the fast food restaurant had given him a chance to rest
without attracting notice, but he couldn’t imagine why humans patronized
such places. The food smelled so vile he wouldn’t have fed it to a goat.
And if he kept thinking
about that, he wouldn’t have to remember the dream.
The last rays of the sun
made his eyes burn, so he searched in his pockets until he found his shades
and slid them on. Whatever his dream meant, he knew Chris was safe, although
he would have to go back to her apartment and use her again. This time he
would have her call Lucan’s stronghold and relate what he had discovered.
This time he would write it all down rather than use his talent, so that he
would not further exhaust her.
When Jamys arrived at the
girl’s apartment, however, he found the door ajar and the place empty. Her
scent was all over everything, but it was faint, as if she had not been in
the flat for some hours. He turned and saw her purse still sat where she had
left it on the small table in the kitchen, and went back to the bedroom.
There, by the bed, he picked up another, unwelcome scent.
Luce had stood here, and
put her hands on the coverlet. She had come for Chris.
Jamys cursed himself as
he followed the scent of both females, which lead out of the apartment and
down to the parking lot, where it abruptly disappeared. She must have taken
Chris away in a vehicle.
Chris, who as a
tresora
in
training would know everything about Lucan’s stronghold, his defenses and
the number of warriors guarding him.
Jamys jumped back into
the car and began driving toward the beach before he realized he couldn’t go
into the Kyn’s lair alone. He would have to return to Lucan’s stronghold and
somehow explain what had happened. He was tempted to pick up a human from
the street and compel them to speak for him, but with as much as he had to
say, they would only end up falling unconscious.
He stopped at a petrol
station and parked next to a telephone booth in the lot. For the first time
since Alexandra had operated on him, he tried to use his voice. His tongue,
which the Brethren had mutilated and Alex had rebuilt, moved sluggishly, but
no sound came from his throat to form words. He tried again, but the muscles
in his neck knotted, and all that came out were bursts of air.
You
didn’t tell your father about your mother’s evil. You hid away inside
yourself and let him suffer. Why would you think you could tell Lucan about
the danger to Chris, and how she is now being used against him?
Jamys choked on the
bitter taste of his own helplessness, and without thinking rammed his fist
into the windshield. The glass exploded outward, bouncing all over the hood
of the car. He pulled back his hand and watched the glass shards fall from
his unmarked flesh. Chris’s blood had restored his strength – and he
couldn’t say a word to warn her friends and save her life.
A car pulled up beside
him, and he got out and went around it to the driver’s side. The woman
behind the wheel was short, plump and middle-aged, with a tired but kind
face. She stopped hunting through her purse when she saw him, and then
stared at his chest. “My lord, but you’re a mess. Were you in an accident,
honey?”
Jamys glanced down; he’d
forgotten the dried blood on his garments, now covered with bits of the
shattered windshield as well. He held out his hand, and when she took it he
released his scent and spoke in her mind.
I
need you to make a phone call for me.
She nodded, smiling as
she got out of her car, and walked slowly to the booth. He touched her once
more to give her the number, and then took out his pad and pen and began to
write.
Chapter Six
Samantha was waiting for
the Dutch inspector to fax over the credit card receipt used to purchase all
the seats on the flight Carcher had taken from Belgium to Florida when her
phone rang. She saw the number displayed by caller ID, hesitated, and then
picked up the receiver. “I’m almost finished here, Lucan.”
“Glad I am to hear it,”
he said. “I am enjoying a myriad of spanking fantasies now. If that is all
you wished to tell me, you needn’t rendezvous with me. Just go up to the
penthouse and wait. I shall be along shortly.”
“What are you talking
about, rendezvous?”