Forgotten in Darkness (3 page)

Was she trying to enthrall him with her gaze? Like hell she wasn’t a witch. He scrutinized her in the silent dead space that yawned between them. Finally, he drawled out, “Then, what might you require of me?”

“I’m here to…Crap, I’ve never done this before. How would you like to become an immortal warrior for the gods? The Egyptian gods. Okay, that sounds crazy. But they’re real.” She paused, waiting for him to reply.

Shock that they’d send a woman to recruit him back into the Scimitars left him speechless.

She pressed on. “You’d have to fight some rather nasty creatures that stink, but not more than this place does. You’ll probably get hurt, but I can take care of that. The nightmares and emotional scarring, however…well, none of you guys are into psychotherapy, which trust me would help alleviate post-traumatic stress.” She stopped the verbal vomit and wrung her hands for a few seconds. “I can tell I’m not doing a very good job here. Sounds like a super-crappy deal. I’m not a salesman.
And the gods were not exactly clear on how I was supposed to do this.”

He almost smiled at her vulnerability, but alarm sang in his brain. With all the changes in this modern world, perhaps this was an elaborate black-magik sorcerer ruse. He’d never heard of the
akhrian
or Scimitar sacred healer being a woman. In a blur of motion, he pinned her to the wall by a hand to her sternum. Not crushing, but hostile. He touched no other part of her, careful to avoid contact. His body rejected feminine touch from anyone other than one who shared his curse.

A blue glow emanated from beneath her shirt. With his free hand, he pulled the Anukrati amulet from its cover. In the center the stylized triangle symbol of the magi glowed cerulean blue. It was the same symbol each magus had magically tattooed on his chest at the time of his indoctrination into service by the Egyptian gods.

“You are the
akhrian
?” he whooshed out, stunned. Suddenly, he didn’t want to be forced back into the same old duties. Into the pointless and continuous cycle of death. His death and that of the woman he was cursed to love for all time. And the deaths of friends who had given their lives on countless occasions to protect him. Then, there was the pain of not just physical injury, but also the emotional heartbreak from constantly losing those closest. For millennia, he’d accepted that as his life. Now, he felt the gods had cheated him…tricked him into the Middle Realm. And, therefore, violated his vows. He wanted a different life, one that allowed for more than two weeks of bliss mixed into hundreds of years of pain and death.

He leaned close to her ear, allowing his dark facial hair to brush against her face. “How about you tell that treacherous goddess to leave me alone. She released me from that hell for who knows what reason. I refuse to be her slave any longer.”

She reached up with her left hand to pull down his torn shirt, exposing the tattoo on his chest. “Thank the gods that you already know what’s going on. I haven’t been at this very long. I’m with Ashor. Wait, you don’t know him as Ashor. I’m Asten’s
senariai
.”

Asten? The Prime magus sent his wife on her own to recruit? Not a chance in hell. Especially not that particular magus. Overprotective was his middle name, not that any of them let their bonded woman go into unknown, potentially dangerous situations alone. Especially never alone with an unfamiliar male. In a small room.

She gasped as if he applied too much pressure on her chest.

Dakar lightened his restraint, but kept her pressed to the wall. “The gods mucked this one up. A woman as
akhrian
and
senariai
? You put yourself at unacceptable risk being here. If they lose you, they lose their leader and healer. I have no quarrel with Asten, er, Ashor. But I suspect he will not like hearing about you in here. With me.”

“Are you going to keep me pinned against this wall? Or are we going to talk?”

Dakar didn’t move, stuck in indecision.

She said, “Since you seem to know what I am and why I’m here, make your decision. Come with me and help us, or I swear I’ll gut you from your scrotum to your heart and send you back to whatever hell you just got out of.”

A sharp blade pierced his scrotum. His respect for her shot up several notches. “You think you could do it?” Leaning close again he said, “I dare you to try.”

She twisted the knife. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will.”

“I refuse to make a new vow to that deceitful goddess.”

“Seems to me if you remember the last time you vowed, then it’s still in effect. So, no need for you to go through the swearing-in ceremony again.”

“I am no longer a Scimitar.”

“Your tattoo argues differently. We need your help. There are only seven magi right now. And they’re a mess. Ethan can’t find his gifted power. Two of the others can’t figure out how to use their abilities. Javen got voted off active duty since he’s too close to the Turn, but now he’s become a chain-smoking drug addict that keeps picking fights with the other guys. Eric’s so worried about his family, now that he has a newborn, that he has trouble focusing on fights. So, that leaves Ashor and Christian as the only truly functional ones of the bunch. We need you.”

That did sound desperate. There should be ten of them, well, eleven, but that last magus the gods would never resurrect. “I assume Ashor is still in charge.”

She nodded.

He sighed and shook his head. “They’d fare better without me.”

“Is that your final decision?” She pressed the knife.

His scrotum burned. Did she really think he’d be swayed by pain?

“They would each give their life for you and you know it. If the goddess deceived you, then it was her fault or that of one of the other gods, not one of the guys. This is a difficult time. Please, come with me.”

The healer’s bravado was little more than farce. Fear came off her in waves. Despite his threat, hurting her was against his code. He had never hurt a woman in all his centuries of existence, although this time, this life, he would make an exception for Shaiani. Or die trying. He stepped away from the healer. “You need to work on that recruitment speech.”

Her face flushed. “It sucked, didn’t it?”

He genuinely liked this healer. “Not very inspiring. I have received a lot of those speeches, but yours was by far the most entertaining.”

“Sorry. I didn’t have time to prep it out in my mind, and then I rambled. So, you’ve been around a while?” She waved at his shirt. “That’s a style that went out over a hundred years ago.”

His cheeks burned. At first opportunity, he would discard the clothes. “Please accept my apology if I harmed you. I will accompany you, but I would like to reclaim my blade, if possible. They confiscated it when I was incarcerated.”

She knocked on the door. “We’re ready to leave.” She caught his wrist as he moved away and did a magical quick-heal on his scrotum.

He swallowed a gasp. She’d shot a soothing sensation into him prior to healing. None of the previous
akhrians
had cared about comfort. None would’ve been concerned about that small abrasion she’d caused. He mumbled, “Thank you.” And followed her into the bright hallway.

****

Accented voices gibbered around Shay. In Spanish. Her hazy mind couldn’t decide if it wanted to be awake or keep on dreaming. Fantasy was so much better, especially when the star turned her knees to jelly with his strong hard profile and glittering gold eyes. And that smile…

“Some guy just dumped her off? And left thousands to cover the cost of her care?” a man asked disdainfully.

A woman replied, “Sure did. Strangest thing. He ordered we give her the care she needed. Then disappeared. Never saw him again. No one has checked on her or ever come looking.”

“She was left here? Don’t get me wrong, this is an okay facility. But why not transfer her to Cali or Bogota?”

The woman snort-laughed. “Dr. Fernandez, you know this place would never let that kind of cash out of its sight.”

“You’re spending this much on a coma patient that might never wake up? For cosmetic surgery?”

“It’s but a drop in the hat cost-wise for what that guy paid.”

“Is she ready?” Dr. Fernandez asked, using a super-shit-in-charge tone.

Bright light pierced Shay’s retinas. Oh my God…she could see! Through a haze she identified people in doctor masks and blue head caps surrounded her.

Pricking pain blasted through her head. Someone had pushed a stick through her eyeball! “Stop,” she rasped out. She pushed upwards. And screamed. She thrashed, connecting with a metal tray. A clatter of metal objects hit the floor.

“Hold her down!” the doctor yelled. “Goddamned redheads and their resistance to anesthesia. I thought you said she was comatose.”

Arms restrained her. She bucked and pushed at them. Someone vice-clamped her forearm while a burning pain traveled from her wrist to shoulder. First came calm...and the realization she could speak! And then she returned to dreamland.

Chapter Three

The Sanctum, Hashishin Headquarters

Asheville, North Carolina

“Progress with the newest child?” Terek Nadir asked his exec assistant distractedly in a low gritty voice damaged by the multidecade smoker who had owned this body before he arrived. Before he possessed the real Terek Nadir, and took over. Although used to the name, there were moments when he wanted to correct the Hashishins he led. To yell that he was Djoser. As in Pharaoh Djoser. Not lame-ass Terek. But he lived with it. Camouflage in the Human Realm was necessary. For right now.

He stared out the window, excitement thrumming through him. Since he’d relocated the headquarters five months ago, they’d turned a corner in the war against the magi. He’d finally acquired his biggest trophy. A pre-magus. Or, at least, he was ninety-nine percent certain this time he’d found the right kid. Now he just had to jolt the boy into remembering his past. Then, he’d extract the info locked inside his skull.

His assistant, Brant Kiersted, didn’t answer his query. Instead, the guy dropped the daily agenda onto his desk with a satisfied nod. The prick acted like the ten or so typed lines of nonsense revealed the key to eternal life.

He rotated the sheet and scanned.
Shit.
Dais
training today. Terek’s patience for Hashishin beginners lay somewhere around nonexistent. Fear made them reluctant to attempt even basic spell casting. He would grant their anxiety was well founded. He consistently killed at least one out of frustration on his twice-a-month training day, a definite highlight. Their gutless and lazy attitudes, unlike those of centuries past, didn’t fail to disappoint. Long ago, even the
Dais
didn’t fear death.

The leather executive chair creaked as he shifted. His question remained answered only by silence. He trapped his personal assistant with a lethal glare. No one challenged him, not in his organization.

“Terek, sir…” Kiersted cleared his throat and click-clicked his ballpoint.

“Speak,” he ordered as he poured himself a cup of tea. Another click-click.

No answer. Three more click-click cycles.

Terek whispered an order and his pet shot from his
bisht
robe sleeve. Only it didn’t strike, not that Kiersted didn’t deserve a little hurt for annoying the shit out of him. The snake knocked the pen from Kiersted’s hand and wrapped its front quarter tight around his fist.

Kiersted screamed like a two-year-old.

“Anena, enough.” The viper released and slithered its way home. He had to grin as he absorbed the fear-energy coming off Kiersted. A ripple of strength infused his muscles. The power boost was divine. “You were saying…”

Kiersted cleared his throat and backed up several feet. “Rishi was pessimistic yesterday. He feels this kid, Cy, isn’t what you’d hoped. The incident in South Africa must have been a fluke. The kid hasn’t divulged anything enlightening. He’s close to breaking in more ways than one.”

Terek sucked air through his teeth. His daemonic nature peeked from behind the guise of the human body. Sulfur permeated the air. The ambient temperature dropped fifteen degrees.

He gulped down a cup of scalding tea that was laced with animal euthanasia-strength pentobarbital.
Wait for it. Wait for it.
Ten seconds later the drug hit his brain like a newly launched boat hitting water—the null-mind void of free floating. The dose would kill a human. He, however, would be lucky if he got an hour of homicidal daemon-rage suppression from this dose. He should’ve gone for the injection. At least then he’d have four to six hours.

Gods, he hated the handicap of the daemon condition. Sure he was ten times more powerful than the strongest human, and could absorb power from human pain and fear, but as a daemon he was driven with a single-minded motivation to kill all life. To get more power from inflicting pain. For most daemons summoned into the human world, the murder craze usually ended only when a magus showed up, and executed him with a neck three-sixty and a chest stab, jettisoning him back to the Middle Realm. Drugs suppressed the murder drive. But made him slow.

How he hated those sanctimonious magi.

Kiersted’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He wiped the beads of sweat from his forehead.

Based on the renewed terror on Kiersted’s face, Terek knew his eyes must’ve blacked over from pupil to sclera, evidence of his true inner being. Historically, it meant he was within seconds of killing. Little did Kiersted know that his brain was well on its way to pentobarbital la-la land.

Terek said softly, “I’ve allowed Rishi seven days with this child. That’s more than enough time. The brat was thrown from a derailed train through a glass window as the car rolled over him, and wasn’t even scratched. There was but one other survivor of the incident and she was a mangled mess. The child fits the prophecy.” He paused to pour a new cup of tea. “Perhaps it is time I met this one. I guarantee I can give him incentive to remember.” He smiled.

“
If
he is the one. I mean, how many kids have we been through that fit the prophecy in the past three years? Thirty or so? Cy is only thirteen or fourteen. We all know Rishi is an artist when it comes to extracting info, but there’s only so far he can push before breaking the boy. The kid doesn’t heal like a magus. He’s got bruises from head to toe. His pale skin is thin as tissue paper.”