Forgotten in Darkness (13 page)

“Find any more vipers out there?”

“Just one. Sliced it to bits. I hate those fuckers.” He half smiled. “You ready to tell me why you’ve been giving me the hairy eyeball since we picked you up? Decide yet if you’re going to hug me or fuck me?”

“I am damn sure not planning the latter. The only one I know with a man-interest is our precog, who I don’t see reincarnated right now. But I would never discount Charm-boy.”

Ethan laughed. “Yeah, Christian’s a slut. Even so, he seems to like his bed warmers to be female. So, what’s up?”

Dakar touched the goatee that matched Ethan’s. “Ethan…Damn.” Dakar closed his eyes, trying to figure out how to say this.

“Lay it out there, man. If I screwed you over in a previous life and you’d like to beat the shit out of me, or something worse, we’ll figure it out. But to give you fair warning, I’m not going down without a fight.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” Dakar stared hard at Ethan, trying to decide if this was the right thing to do. After a few seconds he said, “You’re supposed to remember the past. We’re brothers or were, back in the beginning. Twins.”

“What?” Ethan stumbled backwards to sit on the bed. “Brother? I’ve never had any immediate family in this life—orphan. Guess that explains why I have this sense of...something around you. Couldn’t define what it was.”

“Clearly we don’t look alike anymore, but we do have the capability to remember.”

“What do you mean? I don’t remember any previous lives. I thought all magi had no memory when reborn and that was one of the gifts of death.”

“Who would want to forget? Three magi have the gift of memory. Well, four, but there’s no way the gods will give Draggon a second chance at this life. They couldn’t control him like they can us, and hated it.”

“There’s an eleventh magus?”

“Yeah, what a story. The gods made a bit of a mistake with that one. Hell, what am I saying? In a few minutes you will remember.”

“What if my
senariai
was killed? I’m not sure I’d want to remember that.”

“Memory comes with good and bad.”

Ethan’s look was all hope. “I’ve got one? You knew her?”

“Of course.”

“Then, where the hell is she? I’ve been here over half a century.”

Dakar shrugged. “No one but the gods know their plans when it comes to
senariai
. You don’t have your
bochnori.
That’s why you can’t remember anything.”

“My what?”

“I suspect you sent it to protect your lady after I soul-locked on Djoser to ensure him a permanent sojourn in the Middle Realm. You fought Djoser’s brother at that time, who must have killed you. With your
bochnori,
you can usually execute a daemon with both hands tied behind your back and your legs hobbled, although I do wish you would avoid that particular method.”

“What exactly is this thing I’m supposed to have?”

“Have you wondered why all the others have these unique abilities that help them fight and you have nothing?”

“Yep. I can understand the daemons’ language, but that’s not very helpful. It’d be nice not to get pulverized every time I face a daemon.”

“I don’t even want to imagine how many times you’ve died or had the crap kicked out of you because of your
bochnori’s
absence.” Dakar unbuttoned his shirt to bare his chest. He commanded the living tattoo move to the forefront and enlarged beneath the Scimitar mark. It morphed into a sphinx and then a bird. It bowed at Ethan and then blinked its single eye at him.

Ethan stared in fascination. “That thing seems familiar, but not.”

“You’re the
bochnori-nyot
. That means you command the king of the moving marks. Yours commands them all.”

“You’re serious?”

“Hold out your hand palm up.”

Ethan did as directed.

“Now repeat after me. As the
bochnori-nyot,
I command Bahri to return to me.”

Ethan opened his mouth to speak the words, but stopped. “Wait a minute. If it’s protecting my
senariai,
won’t this take that protection away from her?”

Dakar shrugged, anxious to get this over with.

Ethan closed his palm. “I’m not sure I want it back, then.”

“You can send it back to her. Maybe your
bochnori
will even tell you where to find her, if she’s alive in this time.”

Ethan immediately held out his hand palm up and uttered the command. Nothing happened for a full minute as he sat on the bed. He frowned. “You yanking my chain?”

“Don’t move your hand. Give it time. It’s been dormant or stuck to her for who knows how long.”

A wind whistled inside the room. Foreign energy thrummed through both of them. Dakar grinned at the wild-eyed anxiety that Ethan tried to mask by running a hand through his hair. He relished the novelty of his brother’s unease.

Ethan jumped when a blue tattoo in the shape of a hawk slithered up his naked forearm. “What now?”

“Ask Bahri to inform you, but remember, when you do you’re in for one hell of a headache.”

“Do I have to say it out loud or think it?”

“Doesn’t matter. You two are one and yet not. Just ask it to inform you.”

Ethan closed his eyes and fell back on the bed. He lay there occasionally twitching while his facial expression beneath closed lids changed rapidly in response to memories. Dakar empathized with the information piling into Ethan’s mind. The memories were exhilarating, yet overwhelming. Dakar sat heavily on a wooden chest that rested at the foot of the bed, waiting for the moment when his brother would remember him.

He reflected on the few bonds he’d developed over the years. His brother was the only positive constant in his millennia of existence. The only one he could depend on. The others died and came back memory deficient. The only woman with the power to give him peace was always at war with him. His deity-father repeatedly screwed the two of them. But never his brother.

Ethan sat up about fifteen minutes later. His eyes glittered with memory when they met Dakar’s.

Dakar asked, “Khyan?”

He shot upright, grabbed Dakar’s hand to drag him to a standing position, and clasped him tight. “Dakarai.” He pulled away and scanned Dakar. “It has been a long time. You look like shit.”

“Same to you.”

“They all know me as Ethan, but I prefer the old name.” He ran a hand over his goatee. “Two centuries on the other side…How did you escape?”

“No idea. One minute I was there and the next I was here.”

“That means the gods are up to their bullshit again, doesn’t it?”

“Probably.”

“I tried to follow you there. To get you out. Ma’at wouldn’t let me. Like you, she deceived me. Djoser’s half-brother, Hunefer, killed me after…” Khyan paled, falling back to sit on the bed. He whispered, “Hashishins attacked the Belgian estate while we chased down Hunefer. They stabbed Dalila, but the
akhrian
was with you guys. Remember, we split to get the two daemons? And you know back then fast transport was a fairytale. The goddess told me to send my
bochnori
to Dalila, to hold her to this world until the
akhrian
could return. While I fought Hunefer, I felt her die. I tried to soul-lock with the daemon and get to you, but the goddess prevented it. I died. Without Bahri, I couldn’t remember jack shit when I came back. Couldn’t recall that I had to get you out of there.”

Khyan paused, staring into the horizon. “The goddess made it easier for herself. By locking you over there, once I died and came back memory deficient, she wouldn’t have to explain to the others or me why you were gone. And why we couldn’t get you back. For years, I have been a shell. I had nothing but
seichim
and the ability to understand daemons. It’s a bloody miracle I have not been killed more often. I guess this is proof that I’m a superior fighter.”

“Or lucky,” Dakar mumbled.

Khyan’s tone turned solemn. “I would never have given up on you. Eventually I would’ve found a way to get you out. I swear it on my soul.”

Dakar couldn’t breathe. The pieces fell into place within his mind. He’d assumed his brother hadn’t tried or gave up. He forced a shrug.

“Shit. You thought I’d given up.” Khyan removed a knife from his side table and dragged it across his palm. He grabbed Dakar’s hand and slashed lightly across the palm. Dakar jerked, shocked.

Khyan clasped their hands together and chanted a spell of binding. Power flowed through both of them to their clasped hands. Their
bochnori
moved down to their hands, each transforming into a symbol of rope. Then Khyan intoned, “Brothers, bound. Let the
bochnori
keep us informed. Should one of us die without our
bochnori
or we lose our
bochnori
, then let the other’s be able to provide memory.” He let go of Dakar’s hand and marched into the adjoining bathroom. He returned with a washcloth and threw it at Dakar.

Khyan cursed low to himself. “The goddess has screwed with us more than she should’ve. I’ll do whatever you need to make this right.”

Dakar smiled, feeling grounded for the first time since he’d re-entered the world. “It is good to have you back. However, I am finally the better looking of the two of us.”

“Bullshit. You might be a bit taller, but I’ve got this fantastic hair. No more weird streaks.” He laughed as he ran a hand through his thick, brown hair.

“Give it a couple of years. You won’t avoid them that easily. They’ll make an appearance. It’s the price we pay for the
bochnori.
So, did you find out if Dalila is here?”

“Bahri won’t tell me. Against the rules, he says. Fucker.”

Softly Dakar said, “I will help you find her.”

“As I’ll help you get through another cycle with
her.
” Venom laced his tone.

“It’s not her fault.”

“She is the reason I lose you every single time.”

****

Dakar entered the foyer with Khyan hot on his tail. Kira muttered hurriedly to Ashor. The couple glanced up. Both stared at Dakar.

Dakar’s heart rate picked up, anticipating fate was about to dish out a new dollop of shit.

Kira gazed in silent evaluation at the two men before saying, “Ethan, what’d you do different? You’re…I can’t put my finger on it. Your aura is glowing.”

Khyan smiled elusively. He clapped a hand on Dakar’s back before he swung on his leather coat. “Where are we off to, Ashor?”

“Lafayette, Louisiana,” Ashor replied without breaking eye contact with Dakar.

Khyan turned to stare at Dakar too. Since no one spoke, Khyan finally asked, “Is Dakar’s fly open or something?”

“I have a fly somewhere?”

“Zipper. Pants fastening,” Khyan said.

Dakar checked. Looked good. He shrugged.

Ashor cleared his throat and then glanced to Kira
.

Kira said, “Are you still interested in that woman from the hospital in South America?”

Dakar’s blood pounded in his ears.
Yep, another gut-punch from fate.
He masked the tumult racing within. “Possibly.”

Kira smiled triumphantly. “My cousin, Markus, just got hired by her advisor to go find her. She’s headed to Asheville. That’s the Hashishin’s new home base. I don’t know what she’s doing there, but if her trip has anything to do with Hashishins, then she’s about to get into some major trouble.”

Khyan sucked at his lips while subjecting Dakar to a head-to-toe. “You need some fight clothes. Come.”

Chapter Eleven

Brant chose a coffeehouse in downtown Asheville located in the lower floor of a historic building. Parking had been a bitch. Approaching, she spied him sitting on a wrought-iron chair on the sidewalk. Anxiety settled like lead in her stomach.

Get past it
, she told herself. She needed answers.

The coat of Brant’s business suit lay neatly folded in his lap where his legs were loosely crossed. The foot of the crossed leg tapped impatiently in the air while he scrutinized a newspaper. He’d styled his thinning blond hair into a professional cut. None of this hid the overall lack of muscle development. Rangy thin and tall, his sunken cheeks added to the skull-like facial structure and prominent forehead. To his credit, he blended well with every other executive seeking a midmorning caffeine fix.

Shay slid into the chair opposite him, drawing his cruel hazel gaze.

Brant slowly folded the paper and placed it on the table. His eyes dwelled on her face for a few seconds. He pursed his lips with restrained dislike. “Shay. Wouldn’t have recognized you.”

She absently touched the bandage near her left eye. “Ran into a bit of trouble recently.”

“Can’t imagine you expect me to make amends.”

“No. I think you’d have enjoyed participating.”

A smile touched his lips. Jerk. He never changed.

He flipped his wrist and pulled back his cuffed sleeve, exposing a flashy silver piece. “I don’t have much time. What do you want?”

“What do you know about magik?”

Brant’s demeanor changed instantly from casual to alert. He uncrossed his legs and sat up. He looked around, carefully scanning his surroundings. “Why do you ask?”

Aaha! He definitely knew something. Now she had to give him a reason to talk. She was prepared. Slowly she peeled the bandage away from her face to reveal the slash marks.

“Seen anything that could do something like this?”

He didn’t respond as he stared at the scars.

The odd living tattoo crept toward her sleeve and peeked out, as if trying to glimpse Brant for itself. It then moved away from visibility and squeezed her arm, as if in warning. Its squeeze changed to a biting pain. It wanted her to leave. She bit her lip to suppress a groan and grabbed her arm. Somehow knowing it would hear her, she thought
, I know he’s an evil shit. I just need the info. So, chill.

It eased its grip.

“What’s wrong with your arm?”

“Nothing. Just a cramp.”

“Why don’t you tell me what did that to your face? Then, maybe I can confirm if I’ve seen anything similar.”

Shay raised her eyebrows, questioning his game. “Someone told me it could’ve been a daemon.”

He paled and sucked in a breath. “And you lived?”

“Yeah, everyone seems so surprised about that. Are you going to tell me about them or continue the lemon-sucking impersonation?”