The Magic's in the Music (Magic Series Book 5) (34 page)

Hardwick started the process again. Lan arched. His scream rippled off the metal walls.

That was it. She couldn’t stand it. “Stop.” She didn’t even yell it. But Jason held up a hand. Hardwick stepped back a pace and Lan slumped to the floor.

“Untie my hands,” she said. Her voice came out dull, the way she felt inside.

Jason pulled out a really big knife and slit the narrow plastic tie that had been cutting into her wrists so painfully. Her hands were numb, but they’d soon be hurting as the blood flowed back into them. Didn’t matter. She crawled over to where Lan lay, near the pool of his vomit. The stench was overwhelming to her newly sensitive olfactory nerves. It didn’t matter. She ran the back of her numb hand over Lan’s cheek. His eyelids fluttered. She slowly caressed him again. His eyes got some focus.

“Hey, you,” she said.

“Greta,” he murmured. The man was so ridiculously handsome, even drenched in sweat and lying next to his own vomit. His lips were full and sensual. It didn’t matter that he had circles under his very blue eyes the color of bruises. She placed a hand on his chest, over his heart. She couldn’t feel much, but she knew he would.

“It’s time to tell them,” she said, softly.

*

Lan struggled to
corral his few remaining brain cells.
Shit.
He hadn’t thought it’d be this bad. But he had to hold out to make it look like they were ripping the truth out of him. He hoped Greta’s stress at seeing his pain helped sell the story. It was only buying time. Probably useless. But maybe they’d find a way out of this hellhole before his family came and got killed trying to save him from his own stupidity. It was Lan’s fault they might put themselves in danger. It was his fault Greta was in this mess. He deserved whatever these clowns did to him.

But he needed time to try to get her out of here.

“Okay.” He tried to struggle up to sitting again, but he was too weak. Jason obligingly hauled him up by wrenching one of his shoulders and dragged him into a corner. Greta scooted over and crouched beside him. Jason stood over them, arms crossed. The other asshole, Hardwick, stood, looking disappointed, near the door.

“Talisman,” Jason barked.

“If I tell you, you let Greta go.”

Jason actually laughed. “If you don’t tell me, I let Hardwick loose on you both. How’s that for a deal?”

Lan dropped his head. “It’s the medallion in the center of a labyrinth,” he said. He didn’t have to fake the broken rasp of his voice.

“What?” Jason frowned.

“The Pentacle. It’s a five-sided star on the metal circle in the center of a maze.” He hadn’t had time to think out the details. He was winging this, pretty much. But he thought he sounded a little more coherent. That was good.

“Where is this maze?” Jason prodded.

“Grace Cathedral. San Francisco.”

“A church. Right. Just where you’d find a pagan artifact like the Talisman.”

Lan tried to muster a few more brain cells. “Christians took over lots of pagan traditions. Ever hear of Easter? Sacrificed vegetable god as Christmas tree?”

Greta chimed in. “A labyrinth is a pagan tradition. They’re in cathedrals all over the world. There’s a really famous one at Chartres.”

“Okay, okay.”

Lan thought he was home free.

Then Jason squinted. “How did you find out about this?”

Uh-oh. He had no idea. He started talking. “A priest. Defrocked, of course. In a bar. He was droning on about mazes. Path to Jerusalem. Pilgrimages. He mentioned the one in San Fran. Said the Medallion in the middle had a star, and was supposed to have magic powers.”

“So you don’t know for sure it’s the fourth Talisman.”

“I know it’s our best shot.”

“Was your best shot. Your family’s done.” Jason turned to Hardwick. “Where’s Rhiannon? Isn’t she up north working on some earthquake stuff on the San Andreas fault?”

Hardwick nodded. His small smile looked like he didn’t practice it very much.

“Okay. I’ll get on it.” Jason was all business. “String them up.” He gestured to the meat hooks. “Oh, and I have no idea what he’d want with a flute, but you’d better strip it off him.

Great. They were going to be hung like sides of meat.

But they’d won. Too bad it was only the first round.

*

“Come, boy,” Morgan
said, as they got out of the limo at the executive terminal of the Athens airport. At least they’d avoided all that stupid security. Waste of time. And she wanted to be back in Vegas pronto. Jason had said he was on the trail of the Pentacle in San Francisco.

Thomas was looking around at the planes, the cars, the people scurrying this way and that with big eyes and a wary expression. Being locked in a monastery since you were nine would do that to you. She took his arm and led him forward. The feel of hard muscle in his biceps made her wet. But this candy was definitely off limits.

He looked down at her. Tall as she was, he was taller. “Sir,” he said. “Where is this place? What do we do here?”

“It’s an airport. We’re flying home,” she said brusquely.

“Flying?”

This was going to be a trial. “Didn’t you have toy airplanes when you lived with your parents?” Where had she gotten him? That was the problem with living so long.

“No, sir.”

Oh, of course. His parents had been Scottish missionaries in the Sudan or something. He’d been born there, though he was Scottish, through and through. Probably against their religion to give the kid toys. “Didn’t you fly to Athens from the Sudan when they died?”

“I came overland, in a car. And by boat.”

“So a plane is just a car in the air.” He stopped at the foot of the stairway that led up to her private plane. The engine of the plane roared into action. He looked like he was about to have a panic attack. And he wasn’t budging. “What’s the matter?” she shouted.

“So…so much noise.”

“I won’t tolerate disobedience,” she yelled at him. “If you don’t get up those stairs I’ll leave you here to fend for yourself.” Actually, she’d have the flight attendants come down here and drag him aboard. But she’d rather not create a scene.

He swallowed and managed a nod.

“Okay, get up there.”

He gripped the handrails with white knuckles and trudged up the stairs like he was heading to his funeral. She snorted. If he only knew.

She followed him up the stairs, enjoying the view of his tight ass in the jeans.

“Welcome, sir,” the flight attendant said to him. “Sit wherever you like.”

The boy scanned the cabin nervously and looked back to her. That was a good sign.

“There.” She pointed to one of the six seats on the left. He sat gingerly in the soft leather. She pulled off her cape and her jacket and gave them to the flight attendant, then took the seat on the other side. Finally, she took off her hat. Her hair spilled out.

Thomas gasped.

She turned, drilling him with her eyes. “What?” Though she knew what.

“You’re…a woman.”

“Of course. But I couldn’t look like a woman if I was going to come and visit you, now could I? Mt. Athos doesn’t allow women.”

“Oh.” She could see him trying to reevaluate what he knew about her, what she might want of him. He might be naïve, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Will you tell me of my purpose?” he asked. She motioned to the flight attendant for a drink.

“All in good time, boy. You still have much to learn.” Of course, what she’d most like to teach him was not allowed. But she’d better damn well keep him in the dark about his true purpose or he might bolt, and she’d have to hunt him down.

The flight attendant brought her a perfect martini. “And for the gentleman?”

“He’ll have some water and whatever food you have on board that isn’t too rich.” She was determined that, until he could fulfill his purpose, he would be kept from the temptations of the modern world. Plus, he’d probably throw it all up when the plane took off.

“Thank you, sir.” He looked down at his hands, carefully folded in his lap. “I mean… what should I call you now, sir?”

“Ma’am will be fine.” God, that was a good martini. She smiled slowly. By the time she got to Las Vegas, they’d have the fourth Talisman, whatever it was. And this young hunk of perfect virgin flesh would make all her dreams come true.

‡

“Sorry to drag
you into this,” Lan mumbled. He felt like his insides had been torn out and stuffed back in without a lot of concern about how they should fit together. The musical commentary that always ran through his brain these days blared in cacophonous spurts. Two big guys, whether they were Clan members or just hired muscle Lan didn’t know, had slapped manacles on him and Greta, hauled them to their feet and hung the chain of their shackles from the meat hooks in the ceiling. Guess he should be glad their feet touched the floor. A woman had mopped up the vomit, though he could still smell it behind the scent of disinfectant she’d used. They’d thrown his flute and its holster on the floor in the corner. He missed the feel of it along his thigh. The thunking closure of the freezer door had seemed pretty final. At least they’d left the light on.

“Not sure you could have kept me away,” Greta replied. “Destiny and all.”

“You shouldn’t talk about that,” he muttered. His head hurt. His body hurt. There wasn’t, in fact, any place he didn’t hurt. The last thing he wanted was for the Clan to know Greta was his Destiny. He was just glad they loved torture so much, they’d hung in there with tormenting him rather than going after Greta. He had time to convince them they’d broken him and didn’t need to threaten her. If they thought he was a chicken shit who’d betray his family at the first sign of a little pain, he didn’t care, as long as it kept Greta from experiencing what they’d done to him.

“I’m not stupid. Look around. This is an old commercial freezer. Metal walls and ceiling. Cement floor. No cameras, no furniture, no place to hide a bug. They weren’t expecting prisoners.”

Lan squinted, trying to clear his vision enough to see if what Greta was saying was true.

“You okay?” she asked in a small voice. “You don’t look so hot.”

“Yeah. I just need a little time to reboot.”

“Well, anyway, I think it’s okay to talk.”

Lan looked over at her. God she was beautiful, even looking wan and worried. “I can’t believe I actually took you out of The Breakers. Stupid bastard. You’d have been safe there.”

She didn’t try to absolve him. How could she? He saw her swallow and her jaw stiffened. “So the Pentacle’s in San Francisco?”

“Yeah,” he said.

She examined him. He was feeling pretty hopeless and he kind of hoped she didn’t know that, or that there was no damn Pentacle in San Francisco. She gave a rueful grimace. “Guess it wouldn’t matter anyway. They find it or they don’t, we’re toast.”

His regret was located somewhere so deep inside him, it was stupid to try to express it. Still, he muttered, “Sorry.”

She looked over at him and her eyes got a look he’d never seen before, almost hard. “Sorry, my ass. We’re getting out of here. I’m not watching them torture you anymore.”