Captive Moon (5 page)

Sargon raised his voice and called out to the poachers. “Oh! And gentlemen? One more minor detail.”

They stopped and turned around. The beams of the powerful flashlights hurt Nasil’s eyes, but he wanted to see the looks on their faces, so he squinted and kept watching.

Nasil could see the growing concern on Alan’s face at Sargon’s smile. How little these foolish humans understood their kind.

“Yeah? What else?”

Nasil felt a burst of power tingle his skin as Rachel readied herself to transform into her animal form.

The low chuckle from his master tightened Nasil’s throat again as Rachel stepped forward. Sargon ran a slow hand down her leg. His voice was soft, but Nasil knew it would carry to the men’s ears because he had their full attention. “The poison that is now seeping into your palms will begin to affect you soon. In about thirty minutes, you’ll be completely blind.”

The two men stared at their palms in abject horror and began to rub them frantically against the fabric of their pants. Mickey dropped his flashlight and scrambled to recover it, all while keeping his total attention on Sargon.

“If you make it to the entrance of the cave, the gold is yours to keep. Of course, you’ll be sightless, but what is that small detail to a millionaire?” Sargon stood and stepped toward the torch. He pulled it from the holder in the wall and ran his hand through the fire until the flame glowed green from both his magic and the venom still on his palm. He carried the torch back to the cushion.

The poachers were slowly backing away, trying to keep from stumbling but wanting to make sure they heard every word. “You’re insane, Sargon! We’ll go to the cops! You’ll wind up in prison for the rest of your life.”

Nasil chuckled and Sargon let out a laugh of fierce joy. “Prisons have crumbled to dust around my feet while I still remain, gentlemen. You should probably leave now. I believe that Nasil timed the journey from here to there at twenty-two minutes—if you run.”

Sargon looked at them with the cold, unfeeling eyes of a snake. But the pair truly understood the nature of their deal when Rachel completed her transformation. The sudden horror on their faces was worth the pain in Nasil’s head from the flashlight and green fire.

“But I don’t believe it will be a problem for you to beat Nasil’s time, since the lovely Dr. Portes will be chasing you. I wouldn’t suggest you let her catch you. I’ve heard she’s quite a… handful. I’ll be magnanimous and give you to the count of ten. One—”

With a rush of air that sounded quite a bit like a scream, Alan and Mickey turned and ran at full speed into the darkness of the cave. “Two… three… oh, to the devil with it—ten?” Sargon stroked his hand again down one of her legs, one of the many that surrounded his cushions. “Bring back the gold if you would, my love.” He put his lips close to her mandibles and licked a drop of poison from her fang, while the spider leaned into him. He shuddered briefly as the venom burned his lips and tongue. He ran his teeth over the small hole it cut into them.

“Ssshall I allow them to reach the light, my lord?”

Sargon smiled, but there was no emotion in his eyes. “Consider them a reward for your efforts with the ritual. You must be quite drained. Do with them what you will.”

The nearly silent scuttling of her feet against the stone as she started the chase unnerved Nasil.

“My lord Sargon?” Zuberi’s voice was small and quiet from the wall where he still remained.

“Yes, Zuberi?”

“I do not wish to seem too bold, my lord, but the poachers failed.”

Sargon sighed and turned to the big Swahili. “They did indeed, Zuberi. And I suppose you are hoping that I will allow your plan to proceed?”

Zuberi dropped to his knees in front of Sargon’s pillow and remained prostrate. His words were slightly muffled by the stone touching his lips. “I believe it’s a good plan, my lord. I will not fail you as they did.”

Nasil watched sweat form on the broad, dark back as Sargon pondered the situation. “I will give you a chance—but only one chance. Bring her to me before the next full moon rises and you will have repaid your debt to me. Now, if you’re quick you may join Rachel in the feast.”

Zuberi raised his head with a smile. He kissed Sargon’s slippered foot before melting into the darkness of the cave in a blur.

Nasil waited until Zuberi was out of earshot before he stepped to Sargon’s side. “I believe it unwise to trust them.”

“I know you do, Nasil. But Rachel Portes excites me as no woman ever has, and Zuberi has undeniable skill for this particular venture. He has reason to bear a grudge against the Monier clan, so all eyes will point to him and the fools will not even look further. Besides, they’re both expendable.”

Nasil acknowledged the fact with a dip of his head. “But their kind are untrustworthy—”

A man’s scream from the darkness was swallowed by the sacred cave, and another followed in seconds.

Sargon chuckled. “Yes, Nasil. Aren’t we all?”

CHAPTER Three

“Do you plan to sleep away the day, little cub?”

Antoine turned his head to the familiar voice and struggled to open his eyes. It wasn’t as easy as it should be, and that worried him. His senses returned first, and he felt a slight breeze overhead, heard the stuttering whir of a mechanical fan and the clinking of tableware. He took a deep breath and held it for a moment. Coffee with chicory, fried bacon, eggs, and bread. But underlying the food scents were other ones. Clean linen with a hint of dried blood, his older sister’s musk perfume, and the soft fur scent of Grand-mère.

He realized he was lying in a bed because of the cool thickness of the sheets under his hand, the fluffy pillow that threatened to smother his head, and the weight of blankets over him. But he shouldn’t be in a bed. Should he?

A tapestry that covered one entire wall was the first thing Antoine saw when he could finally focus without pain. The rich blues with gold, greens, and vibrant reds that portrayed scenes from Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales demanded recognition. So, he knew where he was, but couldn’t figure out for the life of him how he’d come to be here. He snaked one arm from under the quilt and put it to his eyes to discover a cloth bandage encircling his head.

Merde! What in blazes happened to me? But then the memories slowly started to filter into his brain—

the police station, the dead tigers, the girl and—

He sat bolt upright in a panic. “Where is the girl, Grand-mère? Where is Tahira? Is she safe? What happened?”

A tiny, white-haired woman, a lynx in her animal form, stepped to where he could see her. She uttered an exasperated breath. Although Giselle Bertrand was not a blood relative, she had raised Antoine after his mother died, and he would always think of her as his grandmother.

“Pfft! Would I not have told you immediately if the young woman was not safe, petite fils? She was in the van with you, somehow still in tiger form after moonset. You lost control on the icy road and crashed into a tree near where we were breaking camp.”

“How did we get to Charles’s mansion? Where are my cats and the troupe?”

She clucked her tongue and jumped up lightly to sit next to him on the thick down mattress. She patted his leg and he moved it to give her room. “We are competent to run the show without your continual presence, Antoine. The cats, save for Babette and the cubs who are housed in the basement lair, and most of the performers have returned to America. Charles and your sister stopped by for a visit on the way to their winter home in Siberia. He foresaw your accident and sent us to you. Amber made certain that the girl was changed back to human form and you were both put into a sleep until you could recover.”

Antoine touched the bandage again and Giselle noticed his concern and the quickened beating of his heart. She laughed brightly. “Ah! No need to worry, little cub. Margo instructed Matty to bandage your head so the linens wouldn’t be ruined while you slept. The cut on your head was quite deep, but I’ve no doubt it’s healed by now.”

“I need to see the girl, and then Charles.” He started to slide out the opposite side of the bed when Giselle grabbed his arm.

“Non, Antoine. The girl is still asleep and Charles has gone. You must rest, regain your strength. Amber said you were badly drained.”

Antoine’s brow furrowed. “He left? Why would he—?” He shook his head with annoyance. “Then I’ll have to call him. It’s imperative that I speak with him.”

It would do no good to explain to Grand-mère about the vision. She couldn’t grasp the concept when he was a boy, and little had changed other than a grudging acknowledgment that he actually was a seer. No, he needed to get an interpretation of some of the images from his mentor because he was certain it involved the girl.

He was surprised when Giselle didn’t remove her hand from his arm. Instead, she tightened it and pulled him back. “Once again—non, little one. You forget your place. Charles is fully aware of everything, as he always is. He left specific instructions for you regarding the Hayalet girl with Margo. If you will not rest, then you will eat. It’s snowing heavily, and the telephones are not working. We’re fortunate that Charles maintains a generator for electricity.”

She removed her hand from his arm and patted his cheek. “Eat the meal that Matty prepared. It’s simple but filling. Then you may dress and join us by the fireplace in the great room downstairs. We will be here for a day—perhaps longer. The radio reports the storm is large.”

Antoine nodded his head but didn’t respond. Grand-mère could scent a lie, so it would do no good to agree to follow her instructions if he didn’t intend to. But he would contact Charles, and quickly. The chief justice might be a seer like himself, but he couldn’t know what Antoine had seen, nor realize how critical it was that they move quickly. Antoine couldn’t say why, but he knew it was so.

Giselle’s chin dropped, her arms crossed over her thin chest, and she stared at him with suspicious eyes. Antoine only just managed not to flinch under the intensity of her gaze. “I know that look, Antoine. While I may no longer be able to physically prevent you from making a fool of yourself, I hope that you will at least display the common sense the heavens gave a prey animal. Speak with Margo before you do what I know you plan to do.”

She was right, but he hated it. He shook his head in annoyance and clenched his fists. “Grand-mère, I’ll talk with Margo. But I must first see for myself that the girl is healing.”

Giselle threw up her hands in frustration and lightly leapt down to the floor. “Always the stubborn cub!

Well, it will do no harm, I suppose. The magical sleep that Amber placed her in will only end when she is healed. If she is awake, she is healed. As you choose, my esteemed Rex.” She bowed her head in subservience and backed away from the bed.

Antoine shook his head again. She was not lying, nor being condescending. Grand-mère was just stating the truth. But he wished he could believe it. He was the leader—at least in name—but could seldom do as he chose. He slipped from under the covers and started to stand, but then jerked his bare feet back from the cold stone floor and put on the slippers conveniently by his bedside. No doubt Margo’s doing.

Rex. Councilman. I’m supposed to be the leader of my people, but I am still a cub in their eyes. Worse, in my own.

By the time he’d taken a long, hot shower, had a shave, and completed his other bathroom chores, Antoine had banished some of the demons that seemed to lurk in his mind whenever someone referred to him by title. The cuts on his head were healed. Only a long, faint scar remained near his temple from what he supposed would have required a number of stitches on a human.

He dressed for the dreary day and his dark mood. Black slacks, charcoal turtleneck, and a simple rubber band for his hair. His clothing had been transferred from his trailer to an exquisite Louis XV armoire. The rest of the furniture matched the wardrobe. While gaudily ornate, Antoine loved everything about the furniture: the carved cabrioles, embellished shell and acanthus leaves on the cartouche, and thick beveled glass on the armoire. Someday he would convince Charles to sell him the set for the estate in Strasbourg.

But for now, it was time to face the day. He slipped quietly from his room and immediately heard a loud thump and voices from downstairs.

“I swear, Matty, if I catch you with your feet on that one more time, I’m going to—” Antoine could hear the frustration in Margo’s voice. “Do you have any idea how much that table’s worth?”

Antoine could smell the faint scent of sandalwood and musk through the door next to him. He opened it a crack and slipped inside the room. The pale light that edged the heavy curtains was enough for his sensitive eyes to see in after a blink or two.

He heard his Australian friend laugh downstairs as he moved silently to the bed. “Probably big bikkies. I’m not a drongo, Margo. I already promised Charles that I wouldn’t muck around while we’re here, so relax.”

Tahira’s thick hair was splayed over the pillow, her breathing slow and eyes closed. She seemed fragile and very … human, despite the sleek, powerful cat who had shaken the van to the frame with a single blow. He studied her face for a moment. Her slightly rounded face, broad nose, and luxurious brows were common in were-tigers. But her lips were thinner than other cats he knew, including the Sazi Bengal agent in Wolven. There was some cross-breeding there that made her face unique and … lovely.

He wished he could see her eyes. A person’s eyes told him so much—sometimes even more than their scent.

Are they green or hazel in her human form, or perhaps nearly amber like mine?

Tahira’s nostrils flared for a moment as though she could scent him. He started to step away, but she turned on her side and dropped back into her magical sleep. Her hair fell back from her neck and he could see that more than half of her left earlobe was missing. The edge of the damaged area didn’t appear ripped. It had been cut. Perhaps it was a Hayalet tradition? He wanted to ask, wanted to know what brought her to this place.

But Grand-mère was right. There was no reason to wake her for the moment.