Books by Maggie Shayne (102 page)

"Yes, but--"

"No buts.
 
You need only concentrate on the boy.
 
Seek him out with your mind."

Tamara shook her head.
 
"I can't.
 
I only feel him when he's trying to reach me, or--or when he's in trouble."

"You can.
 
It takes only the power of the mind.
 
I will show you the way, Tamara."
 
Rhiannon turned to Roland.
 
"We'll need a quiet room.
 
One with no outside auras cluttering it up."

Roland frowned.
 
"No one has used the chambers on the third level in centuries."

She nodded and turned to Frederick, who was sorely in need of something to do.
 
"Freddy, in Roland's chambers, in the small dresser beside the bed, you'll find two special candles and a packet of incense in a silver chalice.
 
Will you get them for me?"

Frederick limped off to do her bidding.
 
Eric scoffed.
 
"Incense and candles?
 
What kind of nonsense is this?
 
We ought to be out searching for the boy."

"Be my guest, Eric.
 
Go and search to your heart's content.
 
You'll only be wasting your time.
 
We have to know where he is."

Eric shook his head.
 
"Don't take it personally, Rhiannon.
 
I'm a man who believes in science, not hocus-pocus."

No doubt were you human right now, you wouldn't believe in the existence of a race of undead blood-drinkers," she retorted.

He looked at the floor.

"Eric, listen to her," Tamara said softly.
 
She turned from him.
 
"I trust you, Rhiannon.
 
Just tell me what to do."

Eric threw his hands in the air and turned to Roland.
 
"Are you going to stand still for this?"

Roland shrugged.
 
"Unless you have a better idea, or a clue where to begin searching…"

Frederick returned with the incense and candles.
 
Rhiannon took them and led Tamara up the stone staircase, Roland and Eric following.
 
On the third level, she passed several rotting doors before pausing at one.
 
She stood still a moment, then nodded.
 
"This one."

"Why?"
 
Roland stared at her intently.

"You object?"

She watched him for a moment as he struggled with the decision.
 
She didn't know why, and she told herself she didn't care.
 
He'd made his feelings for her clear enough.
 
She wouldn't trouble herself about them any further.
 
Her only goal now was to locate the boy.
 
Then she would leave and never return.

Finally, Roland sighed and nodded once.
 
"Go on."

She pushed the door open and stepped inside, Tamara behind her.
 
For just a moment, she paused in the darkness to examine the chamber with her preternatural vision.
 
The outermost wall curved with the shape of the tower, but the other three were flat.
 
Two windows had been cut through the stone on that curving wall.
 
Narrow openings, narrower without than within, that had no glass in them to block the night wind coming through.
 
Two benches, facing each other, and carved of castle stone, sat near the windows.
 
Ancient rushes, dry as husks, lined the cold floor, crackling beneath her steps.
 
The tapestries that had once been brilliant works of art, hung in straggles from the walls.

Rhiannon turned to Roland and Eric.
 
"It would be better if you waited below."

"And leave Tamara to play sorceress games alone will you?
 
Not quite, Rhiannon.
 
I'm staying."
 
Eric stepped farther into the room, leaned back against the stone wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Eric--"

"It's all right, Tamara," Rhiannon said.
 
"I'm fairly used to being mistrusted by males."

"It isn't that--"

She quelled Eric's protests with a single glance.
 
"I'll need your cooperation if you insist on staying.
 
You must be utterly silent and still, and you must make an effort to keep your mind closed to us.
 
Agreed?"

"Fine."

She glanced once at Roland, though even looking at him brought a stab of pain so intense she had trouble, keeping it hidden.
 
"You won't know I'm here," he told her.

Oh, but she would.

She moved into the room's center, knelt down and waited for Tamara to join her.
 
"I want you to lie down," she told her as she placed the candles and poured some of the incense into the chalice.

"I might have some matches," Roland offered.

"Silence."
 
Rhiannon's whispered word carried a tone of authority, and Roland said no more.

Rhiannon stretched herself out on the crisp rushes, lying on her back.
 
At her right, near her shoulder, but far enough away to be safe, was one blood-red candle.
 
Near her waist, the silver dish, and a small mound of dried incense.
 
Near her hip, the second candle.
 
Beyond those three items, Tamara lay still.

Rhiannon closed her eyes.
 
"Relax, Tamara.
 
Close your eyes.
 
Put all fear and worry from your mind.
 
Feel the stone floor beneath your back begin to soften.
 
Inhale slowly, deeply.
 
That's it.
 
Hold the breath in your lungs for a moment.
 
Drain the nourishment from the air before you release it once more.
 
Slowly... slowly.
 
Yes, all of it.
 
Every bit, until your lungs are utterly emptied.
 
Now, wait... wait... and inhale once more.
 
Fill yourself to bursting, but slowly.
 
Yes."

She kept her voice low, even, hypnotic.
 
"With each breath you take the floor is becoming softer.
 
Feel it?
 
It's like down, now.
 
You can feel yourself sinking into it, can't you?"

"Yes."

"Good.
 
Now, continue just as you're doing.
 
And I will do the same.
 
When your mind is floating free, you will know, Tamara.
 
Reach out to Jamey then.
 
Think of him.
 
Put his image in front of your eyes.
 
Surround yourself with the memory of his scent.
 
Concentrate on the precise curl of each lock of his hair, the sound of his laughter, the warmth of his touch.
 
In this way, you will find him."

Rhiannon began her own ritual breathing, then.
 
She allowed herself to relax, and began sinking into the abyss of her own psyche.
 
She would focus on Pandora, and hope for some clue through the cat.

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
   
*

Roland stood beside Eric, leaning back against the wall, watching the bizarre ritual.
 
True, he'd been willing to give Rhiannon a chance, especially since he was afraid to open his mouth to object.
 
He seemed to wound her every time he spoke to her.
 
Why, he wondered?
 
Why did he hurt her the way he did?
 
He certainly hadn't intended to.
 
God knew, she didn't deserve it.
 
He'd shared with Rhiannon his most terrible secret, the one he'd been sure would cause her to hate and fear him.
 
Instead, she'd offered comfort.
 
Dammit to hell, she'd shed tears for him!
 
And he'd wounded her in return.

She hadn't looked him squarely in the eye for more than a second at a time since she'd left him in the
cimetière
.
 
He regretted that he'd caused her such pain.
 
But at least now, her feelings toward him seemed to have cooled.
 
One of them needed to remain at a distance, or he'd end up hurting her beyond repair.
 
And looking at her slender body, relaxed in a trancelike state on the rush-strewn floor, he knew damned well it couldn't be him.

As the minutes ticked away, though, even Roland began to doubt her.
 
What sort of witchcraft was she working here?
 
How could lying about in age-old rushes help Jamey?

He was eager to be out and searching for the boy, and worried in case DPI should beat him to it.
 
Then, with a small popping sound, the candles standing between the two women burst into flame.
 
A second later, the incense in the dish began smoldering, sending a soft gray spiral of fragrant smoke upward.

Nothing came.
 
Nothing she wanted, at least.
 
Rhiannon sat up abruptly and pinched the candles out with her fingers.
 
She massaged her temples and sighed.

This had been
her
room.
 
Rebecca's room.
 
The girl who'd thrown herself from the tower to escape marriage to Roland.
 
Images of the young, lovely creature had flooded into Rhiannon's psyche, making it impossible to concentrate on Pandora.
 
There was something troubled in Rebecca's spirit, something uneasy.
 
She was not at peace.

"Rhiannon?"

She glanced up at Roland, saw the question in his eyes.
 
"I'm sorry."

"He's in a car."

Tamara's small voice startled them all.
 
She still lay on her back, but her eyes were open.
 
She remained motionless, as if she feared that moving would shake the images from her mind.

"He's in a small, black car.
 
There's a blue duffel bag in his lap, with some clothes inside, and a little money.
 
And his cleats.
 
His cleats are in there, too."
 
With that sentence, her voice warbled and her eyes filled.

Eric started forward, but Rhiannon held up a hand.

"Tamara, who is driving the car?"

She frowned.
 
"I don't know him.
 
He's very big.
 
Like a wrestler.
 
His hair is cut close to his head so it sticks up in bristles.
 
It's dark.
 
His nose is like a bulldog's." She frowned harder.
 
"There is a tattoo on his right forearm, a cobra."

"Lucien," Roland whispered.

"Can you tell which direction they drive, Tamara?"

 
She shook her head.
 
"There are mountains, with snow at the peaks."
 
Tamara sat up slowly, and Eric bent to help her to her feet.
 
She met his intense gaze.
 
"It's the same man who attacked Rhiannon, isn't it?
 
He has Jamey now."

Eric nodded.

Never before had Rhiannon seen such an expression on the fledgling's face.
 
Always, she'd seemed so timid, so mild.
 
Now, her eyes glowed with the fierceness of an approaching storm.
 
She tossed her head like a lioness, her jaw tight with what looked like rage.
 
"If he hurts Jamey, I will kill him."
 
She spoke in a calm, level voice, leaving no doubt she meant what she said.
 
Stiffly, she moved past Eric and out the door.
 
Eric hurried behind her.

"Well.
 
I've never seen her like that."

"I have," Roland said softly.
 
"But only when the boy was threatened."

She turned in the doorway, where she'd been standing to watch them go.
 
She was alone with Roland, she realized all at once.
 
She swallowed the lump that leapt into her throat.
 
"This was
her
room, wasn't it?"

He glanced around him, and nodded.
 
"How did you know?"

"I feel her here.
 
She did not detest you so thoroughly as you think, you know."

He shook his head.
 
"That, I cannot believe."

She shrugged.
 
"It's not my concern what you believe.
 
I only thought you might like to know."
 
She turned to go, but he caught her shoulder from behind.

"My words, in the
cimetière
were not meant to cause you pain, Rhiannon.
 
If they did, then I'm sorry."

She stiffened.
 
"It takes more than words to cause me any pain.
 
Don't worry yourself on that account."

He pulled her around to face him, and she saw the regret in his eyes.
 
"Rhiannon, I hurt you.
 
I know I did, and believe me, I wish I could take back the words that caused that hurt."

"Why take back the truth?"
 
She removed his hand from her shoulder with a brush of her own.
 
"We have the boy to find, Roland.
 
This conversation only delays his rescue."

*
   
*
   
*
   
*
   
*

Roland sat in the front of the rental car, map unfolded on his lap.
 
Of them all, he was the most familiar with the area and the terrain, having traveled much of it by horseback in times long past.
 
True, the towns and cities and roads differed.
 
But the lay of the land was the same.
 
And the only snow capped mountains near enough for Lucien to have reached within such a brief span of time, were in the direction they now traveled.

Eric drove as Roland navigated.
 
Rhiannon remained in the back seat beside Tamara.
 
The small vehicle seemed to reverberate with the tension it held.
 
It was Eric who finally broke the silence.

"I believe I owe you an apology, Rhiannon."

"Whatever for?"

"I didn't take your meditation seriously.
 
I should have."

She waved a dismissive hand.
 
"Don't give up your skepticism so easily.
 
We haven't found Jamey yet."

"But we're on his trail.
 
Tamara feels it too strongly for it to be a mistake.
 
I don't doubt that."

Roland shook his head.
 
"Admit it, Eric.
 
She had you hooked from the moment those candles burst to life on their own."

Eric smiled and glanced over his shoulder at Rhiannon.
 
Roland wished he could do the same, but looking at her had traumatic effects on his mind.

"He's right," Eric said.
 
"That was a convincing display."

By the tone of Rhiannon's voice, Roland knew the exact expression on her face.
 
That almost smile.
 
The look in her eyes that said she knew something you didn't.
 
Many, many things you didn't.

"A simple parlor trick for an immortal, Eric.
 
I could teach you to do it.
 
To be honest, I usually light the candles in a more mundane manner, but I was angry and wanted to be sure you were suitably chastened."

Roland glanced sideways at his friend in time to see the surprise on his face.

"Well, it worked."
 
Eric frowned and adjusted his mirror for a better view of her face.
 
"You say you could teach me to do it?"

She must have nodded, but Roland wasn't certain.
 
You have all become familiar with the physical strength that comes with immortality.
 
But the dark gift brings with it a psychic strengthening, as well.
 
It grows with age, as the physical powers do.
 
Lighting the candles is simply a matter of focusing your mind's power on their wicks.
 
Like a beam of light, it hits, and they ignite.

"As both the strengths reach full potential, we can learn to combine the psychic with the physical to achieve the two feats even I've not yet mastered.
 
But I've heard of some who have."

Roland tilted his head.
 
"Rhiannon, there are some things better left alone."

"Of course there are," she told him.

"Cobras and active volcanoes are among them.
 
This is not."

Eric grinned wider.
 
"She's got you there.
 
Tell me, Rhiannon.
 
What two feats are you speaking of?"

"One is flight.
 
And I'm actually very close to mastering that one.
 
I can remain aloft for just under a minute.
 
The trick is in maintaining the speed, and keeping the mind utterly focused."

Roland did turn now.
 
"For God's sake, Rhiannon!
 
I had no idea you were experimenting with such nonsense.
 
You'll get yourself killed."

Her eyes narrowed.
 
"If I do, that will be no one's problem but my own."
 
She shifted her gaze back to Eric.
 
"Actually, practicing is horrible.
 
I can only go up once a night.
 
Then I fall and am usually too broken and bruised to do more than crawl back to my lair and wait for the healing sleep."

Eric frowned, and Roland felt the glance he shot his way.
 
"That
is
pushing your luck, Rhiannon.
 
Suppose one night you're too badly injured to make it back before dawn?"

She shrugged.
 
"Then I supposed I would roast, wouldn't I?"

She was trying to hurt him, Roland thought.
 
Her words were filled with bitterness and pain; pain caused by his own careless words.
 
She was only speaking this way to strike back.
 
What in God's name had he said to hurt hell this much?

"And the other feat?"
 
Eric prompted.

"Ah, this will amaze you.
 
There are some, I am told who are able to alter their form."

"You mean, change shape?
 
In what way?"

"Any way they wish, I imagine.
 
The tales I've heart name only one immortal capable of such feats, and the forms he's said to have taken include the raven, the wolf and the infamous vampire bat."

Now, Roland noted with a twinge of gratitude, even Tamara's attention was caught.
 
She'd done nothing throughout the entire ride but stare out the window into the passing night.

"You've got to be kidding," she said, eyes wide.
 
"A vampire bat?"

"Well, I like to think he has a sense of humor, and did it on a lark.
 
Honestly, if given the ability to be anything one wished, why would one choose to be a nasty little bat?"

"Who is this talented immortal?"
 
Eric asked, and Roland could tell by the tone of his voice that he was fascinated by the possibilities.

"He is called Damien.
 
He is said to be the oldest and most powerful of any of us.
 
I never sought him out.
 
I have no desire to meet the man."

"Why not?
 
I'd be thrilled to talk to him," Eric said.

Rhiannon lowered her voice deliberately, Roland was sure.
 
"You know the trick I did, igniting the candles with my mind?"
 
Eric nodded.
 
"Well, it is said Damien can perform the same feat on people, mortal and immortal alike.
 
He just looks at them, and...
poof!
Living torches."

Tamara nudged her with an elbow.
 
"You're trying to scare us."
 
She looked at Roland.
 
"None of this is true, is it, Roland?"

He sighed.
 
"As far as I know, it's all true.
 
Though I've never witnessed any of it firsthand."

Eric shot Roland an accusing stare.
 
"Why have you never told me any of this?"

"As I said, there are some things best left alone.
 
You think I want you out leaping from rooftops and breaking your neck?
 
Changing yourself into a baboon and then getting stuck that way?
 
Seeking out this man who can burn you to a cinder?"

"Honestly, Roland, you are such a--" Rhiannon stopped in the middle of the sentence, her entire body going rigid.
 
Her hand flew to her lips.
 
"Stop the car!
 
Stop, Eric, at once!"

Eric slammed his foot onto the brake pedal.
 
Tires skidded in gravel as he tried to pull to the side.
 
Rhiannon was out the door before the vehicle had come to a full stop.
 
Like a gazelle, she leaped the ditch and bounded into the forest.

Roland raced after her, having no idea what to expect.
 
He knew Eric and Tamara were right behind him, but his entire being was focused on Rhiannon.
 
He'd felt the slap of her sudden shock as if it had been his own.
 
But she'd been so closed off to him since they'd spoken in the
cimetière
that he hadn't been able to tell what was wrong.

Then he saw her.
 
A quivering, sobbing heap on the ground, her arms around the sleek, black body.
 
Pandora wasn't moving.
 
The cat's eyes were closed, and there was a sickening twist to one foreleg.
 
Blood caked to a cut near her silken ear.

Roland knelt and pulled Rhiannon away.
 
Eric and Tamara were there, and as Eric began to examine the cat, Roland held Rhiannon in his arms.
 
She sobbed helplessly, her entire body quaking with each spasm.
 
Gone was the haughty, arrogant princess.
 
In his arms, he held a devastated child, and it tore his heart out to see her so tortured.

"She's alive," Eric said softly.
 
"But I'm not sure we can save her.
 
She needs a veterinarian."

"Then we'll find her one," Roland declared, his arms tightening of their own will around her shuddering body.
 
Her tears soaked his cloak at the shoulder.
 
"There's town five miles east of here.
 
It will only be a small detour."
 
Roland lowered his head, pressed his lips to hers "She'll be all right, Rhiannon," he whispered into her hair.
 
"I promise you."