INVISIBLE POWER BOOK TWO: ALEX NOZIAK (INVISIBLE RECRUITS) (18 page)

CHAPTER 42

Jeb sat beneath the Linden tree in Philippe’s garden, the scrap of paper directing him to the park earlier still gripped within his hands, his thumb idly rubbing back and forth, back and forth, as if touching the words would bring clarity.

Pádraig was off executing Council business and Jeb was alone. Waiting. Looking for connections where he could see none. Yet.

Why did Philippe have to die? Who benefitted? And who was behind Van’s initial disappearance and now his actions in the park? Actions that stirred the Council into a flurry of communication with one another, but to what end? If the warlock who had been with Alex was truly a threat, or implicated in what had happened to Philippe, or Van, the warlock should not have been allowed a stay from judgment. Unless he had contacts on the Council, which was becoming a stronger and stronger possibility.

What was the warlock’s role in events? And how had he involved Alex?

Jeb couldn’t ask such questions during the Council session earlier because they were not directly related to the reason this Bran was being examined and later, when Jeb sought the warlock out, he’d already disappeared.

And the most disturbing question: why had Van attacked Jeb earlier? Shifters and Weres could go loco for many reasons; age, grief, the challenges of balancing both human and animal selves. It was why Weres and shifters banded in packs or clans, as mutual self-protection. If a particular shifter or Were looked as if they could no longer walk the tightrope required of their existence the pack leader was responsible for eliminating them.

Jeb knew his Native American ancestors had resorted to a similar response during times of extreme stress for the tribe. If an individual threatened the tribe’s existence, if they could not contribute but had or might become a drain on limited resources, it had been deemed the best to expose the individual to the environment. Let them die so others could live. Sacrifice for the larger good.

The larger non-human population could not let dangerous Weres and shifters walk off and die on their own. No, the Pack or Clann leader would either execute the individual himself, or call upon a designated slayer. One death for the salvation of the many.

If turning loco is what had happened to Van, then Jeb was responsible for ending his son’s life.

It was their way and they both knew it.

But knowing and accepting were two sides of a honed sword’s blade, and this knowledge cut deep.

He heard the footsteps approaching only because as a shifter he possessed acute sensory abilities
. The sound was stealthy but not threatening. Not yet.

Jeb turned a fraction so the man could slide into his view. Still he waited.

“You are not surprised,” said the voice that held a hint of his Middle Eastern roots, but not the subservience of a butler anymore.

“No.”

The man Philippe called
Zeid stepped before Jeb, looking taller and thinner than he had when playing the role of Philippe’s servant. The last afternoon light reflected off the darkness of his hair, the swarthiness of his skin, making him more sinister than he might be. Jeb hadn’t decided yet if the man was friend or foe.

“You are not afraid of me?” Zeid asked, a frown creasing his face as if revaluating Jeb just as Jeb was doing to him.

“Should I be?”

“I am fae,” came the neutral response, that could be either threat or reprieve. Fae were among the most populous of the preternaturals and ranged from relatively harmless and beneficial types, the innocui; goat spirits, garden sprites, bee keepers; to the very powerful and dangerous, the pericui; dream masters, spirits of iron and metal, soul stealers.

Jeb waited. When dealing with the fae, any fae, it was best to not provoke them or make rash judgments or actions. They tended to be very nervous beings and easily spooked.

“I see that what I am does not surprise you either,” Zeid said, a smile now playing about his thin lips.

“I think you’re only half fae.” Jeb made sure his tone did not condemn or hold a slur.

“I have clearly underestimated you.” Zeid stepped back, crossing his arms and widening his stance as if he’d grown from the ground.

As intrigued as Jeb might be to discover more of Zeid’s faeness, there were more pressing needs. He raised the paper in his hand. “You were the one who slipped this beneath my door.”

Zeid nodded but said nothing. Jeb had often taken the same approach with his children, letting them come to their own conclusions to see how much they really knew or just thought they knew.

Jeb glanced at the paper. “You warned me but did not give me enough to prevent what happened in the park.” It was a statement though enough of Jeb’s frustration must have coated the words for the fae to shake his head.

“I am not a nymph to see into the future.” Zeid’s tone was sword sharp.

“Then you too are wavering in the dark.”  Jeb inclined his head, hearing what wasn’t being said. This fae did not know what was about to happen to Van ahead of time though he did know that Van was going to be at the park. Alex, too. At a different time and place Jeb knew how to approach the fae, with honeyed words and protocol. They were a proud race and once greatly admired and feared. But with worry clawing him, the words would not come. He hoped the fae understood his bluntness. “What is it you want of me?”

“To know if you are stalwart and true.”

Riddles. Jeb forced his shoulders to relax, his tone to a calmness he did not feel as he shadow danced with this one who held his own agenda.

“I have been tested by time and by trial,” Jeb repeated the old words, the words of legend when one supplicated a liege lord. “I have sacrificed my heart more than once for the benefit of others over myself and those of my heart.”

“Your wife?”

Like a knife piercing the skin, Jeb accepted the cold slice of a pain he still felt though twenty years had passed since her betrayal. A blink of an eye to beings that lived for hundreds of years, and some longer.

He nodded his head but kept his gaze on the fae as he added, “And my daughter.”

That wound being more recent, dug deeper. But now was not the time for bitterness or regret. Not if he could save his two children.

“And the Council?” Zeid asked, as if the question was of no consequence, which told Jeb it was just the opposite.

“What of the Council? If you know who I am and what I am then you should know what I can and can not reveal to anyone.”

There were some lines drawn in sand and some in stone. This was one of the latter.

Zeid seemed to contemplate something as he shook his head and unfolded his hands, sweeping into a half bow. “May I formally introduce myself. My name is Zeid Malatesta Asuar. Do you know the meaning of Asuar?”

“I know only that it is of Egyptian origin. No more.”

“Then you are more informed than most of your country men.” Zeid crossed over to brush a hand against the Linden tree as if seeing something far far away before he continued,“Asuar is a form of the sacred name of the god Osiris.”

Jeb waited but his patience was wearing thin. If Zeid knew something or wanted Jeb’s help, then Jeb was willing to bide his time; time that was precious.

Zeid continued, as if lecturing a new student. “Osiris brought civilization and spirituality to his people.” Zeid’s brow lifted as if to say and what do you think of that
? But he continued, not waiting for an answer. “Osiris decreed laws to regulate the conduct of early men, which was desperately needed.”

“And as a descendant of Osiris is this what you do now?”

“My kind walks in the footsteps left by Osiris. We are the Dominatui.”

“Dominators?”

“The masters of rules.”

“Not
innocui or pericui?”

“No. We came before the Council, to arbitrate and maintain the balance between fae with differing agendas.”

As a Council member of long standing Jeb should have known of this group. Did others on the Council? And did it matter right now?

It might have been the lengthening shadows across the lawn, the trauma of the last two days, but Jeb had not come to Paris for a lesson on Egyptian mythology. No matter how fascinating.

Zeid must have seen the frustration in Jeb’s expression as he smiled, a genuine one reaching his eyes. “True, you do not need a genealogy discussion. You need clarity.”

“Yes.” At last, Jeb might get some answers. He leaned forward, clasping his hands before him. “What are you doing here and what do you know of my children?”

“The latter are peripheral to my assignment here,” Zeid said though Jeb didn’t think the fae meant to be cruel or callous with his dismissal of Alex and Van. It was the way of the more long-lived and powerful fae. Human lives, so frail and short, were of no consequence. So Jeb bit his tongue and waited.

“I came into the household of
Philippe Cheverill seeking a traitor.”

Jeb snapped upright. Philippe was the last man Jeb would associate with the word traitor.

“You do justice to your friend,” Zeid said, even though Jeb had not uttered a sound. “My people have no such ties of loyalty and obligation.”

“Your people? You mean the
Dominatui.” Jeb wasn’t sure he wanted to hear what Zeid seemed compelled to share, but he pushed for at least one answer in particular. “Are they not under the Council’s jurisdiction?”

“No.” The single word shot like an arrow, true and deadly. “Osiris feared absolute power in the hands of so few.”

“Osiris has been gone for thousands of years. And the Council only arose as the balance between human-kind and our kind shifted.”

“You mean when the humans covered the earth and forgot their non-human kin.”

“Yes.” Jeb clenched his hands together. “The Council has been active only a few centuries. Humans are notorious for forgetting their history.”

“
Oui
.” Zeid smiled, but this time it was vindictive. “Which is why their greatest peril is from themselves. That is not my assignment, but left to others.”

Jeb wanted to press for more answers but also accepted that the fae would only share so much. Better that knowledge be useful to the most immediate problem, saving Alex and Van.

“So you came to seek a traitor. Philippe?” Jeb braced himself for the answer.

“The traitor is not yet clear to us, though we watch the trail of his actions and see him more and more every day.”

Jeb released a breath he didn’t realize he’d held. Philippe might still be the being these Dominatui sought, but his friend was beyond caring of the outcome of that search. “What does this traitor have to do with my children? With Alex and Van?”

Zeid’s brow popped up again. This time in surprise. “They are mere tools to achieve larger ends.”

“Being?”

“That is where I require your help.”

Ah, now they were getting down to brass tacks. “My help to do what?”

Zeid paused before looking Jeb directly in the eye, always a dangerous move from a fae. Many of them were masters at mind control and manipulation and used direct eye contact as windows to your mind
. When he spoke again his voice sounded deeper, more muffled, as though speaking through a dreamscape. “Your children may need to be sacrificed to expose the traitor.”

Like hell they would!

Jeb held his tongue though and stifled his thoughts. As a shifter he was as susceptible as the next being to fae persuasion, but as a shaman he could shield himself somewhat. Since he was a Native American shaman, this fae from the old countries, including what was now the Middle East, did not necessarily know the full extent of Jeb’s abilities. By the time Zeid learned, it would be too late. Jeb would have already acted.

“You hear my words,” Zeid continued, growing taller and broader, his shape becoming more fae and less human looking as he exerted his powers.

Jeb nodded, making sure the movement was slow and precise.

“Your son will be used to manipulate the Council into rash actions.”

Another nod. This one as stiff as before but not because Jeb was faking it. Fear welded the muscles of his neck until they felt rock hard.

“Your daughter may be able to save him. But she is the only one who can.”

Relief started flowing through Jeb. But the fae was not yet finished.

“But only one of them may live.”

CHAPTER 43

I was outside and in Bran’s car, which materialized from nowhere, not by magic but by valets, before I found my tongue. “Why are you staying with me?”

Not what I meant to ask, but I blurted the words out before common sense reared its head. Only an idiot gnawed at the hand helping it
. And right now Bran’s hand was the only one assisting me.

His lips quirked up in a half smile as he steered his vehicle through the crazy Parisian traffic as he did everything else, with assurance and smooth control.

No wonder the two of us could never find common ground. Our worlds were so different, and our personalities were at opposing ends of a spectrum. I was rash, he was rational. He acted with forethought, I ran off emotion. He used magic with deliberation and experience. I used magic as bombs to lob as a last ditch effort and hope I could clean up the mess afterwards.

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmured beside me, as if he could read my tumbled thoughts.

“I have a lot to think about.” I folded my hands in my lap to control the craziness racing through me. Ling Mai. The Council. My dad. Oh, so don’t go there. That betrayal cut the deepest in a day of betrayals.

Instead focus on the mundane, putting one foot in front of another. “Where are we going?” I asked, suddenly looking around, watching Paris flash past.

“To feed you.”

I glanced at him, surprised my jaw wasn’t unhinged it’d dropped so far. “My world is imploding and you want to eat?”

He kept his eyes forward. “When was the last time you had food?”

Who cared? I know I didn’t as I realized the last meal I remembered was the croissants and fruit this morning. Also supplied by Bran if I recalled
. What was he now, my caretaker? That would be the day.

As if summoned by my thoughts, or some spell Bran was casting, my stomach started rumbling.

“I thought so,” he said, all smugness.

Fine. I’d eat, but that didn’t mean I’d be happy about it. But leave it to Bran to find the perfect place to fit my mood. A small hole-in-the-wall with three tables outside. We snagged one of them, out of the day-to-day bustle of people going about their lives, unaware of the danger in their midst. Danger such as me.

“Stop frowning,” Bran admonished after he ran a spate of French past the older woman taking our orders. I had no idea what we were going to get but I’m sure Bran knew what he was doing. In this at least.

I leaned across the table, my arms wrapped around my waist, not because I was cool as day eased into evening, but because I didn’t trust my hands not to beat on his broad chest
. “What would you be doing if your world had just imploded?” I snarled, keeping my voice low.

He gave me one of those lord-to-peon looks he no doubt learned in the cradle and said, “I’d be focused on how to fix the problem.”

“Which one?” I threw one hand before me. “I’m no closer to helping Van. I don’t even know if he’s still alive. My . . .” I lowered my voice though it did nothing for the intensity of my tone. “My team has thrown me to the wolves.”

“Technically it’s to the Weres.”

Maybe I should beat him.

“Easy for you to joke.” I snapped back in my chair, too aware how fragile my hold on my emotions had become. “It’s not your world that’s come crashing down.”

Like a switch flicked off his shoulders tightened, the banked emotion in his eyes searing through me. “You don’t think I know
exactly
how you feel.”

By the Great Spirits, he was right. How stupid could I be? His cousin and nearest family, his only family for that matter, barely buried, his business in upheaval as he lost his CEO with her death, the publicity in the world’s press that splashed his pain like so much spilled wine across the media
. If anyone knew what I was going through he knew. But dwelling on that made him too approachable, too human, and I needed all the distance I could get from him emotionally. But fair was fair.

“You’re right. You do know.” I scrubbed my hands across my face. “I screwed this up, too.”

“Yes.”

Fortunately the waitress interrupted before I had to grovel more, though I deserved it
. Short-sighted and callous.

He didn’t throw my lack of awareness in my face, nor rub my nose in my apology, brief as it was. Instead he grabbed a slice of bread, cheese and some type of sliced thin meat and shoved it toward me. “Eat first. Then we talk.”

Twenty minutes later I had to admit he was right. About the needing to eat part. Not that I was going to blurt that out. I’d probably send him into shock with too many admissions in one day.

Besides I think this was the first meal we’d ever shared together that was peaceful. Last meal we sat down to ended up with his freezing the whole room in place and us going our separate ways. Not that good a memory.

“You’re looking pensive, now.” He crumbled his napkin and tossed it on the table. “But you’re no longer so pale.”

All I could think was that I can’t be pale. I’m Native American
.

“What are you thinking about?”

“How a person can never go back for a do-over.”

His face tightened, the color of his eyes intensified, as if he knew exactly what I meant
. The me and him bit. Not that I wanted to go down that road of what-might-have-been. Not today, and maybe not ever, given neither of us might have more than a day left if the Council had any say in the matter.

I swear he was a mind reader as he relaxed his shoulders, leaned his elbows on the table in a very un-Bran-like casual manner and said, “Ready for business?”

Of course. This was not seductive, sexy Bran, this was deal-maker Bran, ready to conquer the world.

I gave a short, jerky nod. “Now what?”

His lips tilted, distracting me, then his smile deepened as if he caught where I was focusing. Thank the Spirits his voice was all focused as he said, “Now we figure out what to do next.”

Like that was going to be easy. Not that a Noziak shied away from hard, but there was challenging, and then there was jumping head first into trouble. I had a whole lot more experience with the latter.

“Why are you helping me?” It was a variation on the question I’d asked him in the car, and I really wanted to know. Yes, I was obstinate but I’d had one too many rugs pulled out from under me today. I couldn’t get a handle on where Bran was coming from and why he was sticking his neck out for me. If the Council decided my leaving that hotel room was a sure sign of flight, they’d take me out, and anyone around me that was in the way. No questions, no negotiations, no second thoughts. It’s how they did business.

“You still don’t trust me.” His voice sounded resigned, and chiseled from granite.

I shook my head. “Nope.”

For a second I thought I saw something flash in his gaze. Regret? Nah. This was the man who’d threatened to kill me if I didn’t help him track down the man directly responsible for getting his cousin involved in testing designer drugs. I knew I was right when he tilted forward just a smidge. “I still need your help.”

“To find Vaverek?”

“Yes.”

We find him we find Van. But to find Vaverek I needed to find the doctor guy. “We’re right where we started this morning only I don’t think my scrying spell is going to work now.” “Because?”

“You know how magic can be fickle. The spell brought me to the park.”

“Where the man was located, or supposedly located.”

“He was there.” In my bones I knew he had been.

“And you can’t cast a new spell because…?”

“In a public park that’s had dozens of law enforcement and news teams crossing it to report the incident today? Too much cross-contamination to make scrying possible.”

He rubbed his chin, but didn’t seem as dismayed as I expected him to be. It was my turn to state the obvious. “You have something up your sleeve.”

“Not something but someone.”

No idea what he was talking about but I waited until he paid for the meal and pushed his chair back before I asked,” Who are you talking about and what are they supposed to do?”

“Willie.”

He was kidding, right?

I rose to my feet and double-timed it to keep up with his long-legged stride back to the car. “What’s Willie Were-in-Denial got to do with anything?”

Bran unlocked my door and leaned into the car after I slid into the passenger seat. His size very effectively acted as a barrier to anyone overhearing us. Smart, though a small corner of my mind said I should be more wary with a deadly warlock trapping me in the enclosed space.

But I wasn’t. Odd. No time to deal with that though, back to business.

“Willie may be a recovering Were but he’s still a Were.”

The light bulb went off. “You mean he’s been tracking the men from the park?”

He nodded, a real smile curving his lips. “He and
François
.”

A dog. Of course. “It’d have been better if
François
was a bloodhound.” I mumbled aloud as he closed my door and walked around the car to slide into the driver’s seat. He waited until after he’d started the car and was pulling into traffic to say, “Who says
François
isn’t?”

I didn’t know if I wanted to slug him for holding back this information until now or slug him for lying. He didn’t need my help if he had two experts at tracking hard on the trail.

So what did he need me for?