by Linda Howard
The Tilleys were on their knees, both of them holding on to Elijah for dear life. He hung on to them, too, first one and then the other and then a tight, three-way hug. Elijah hugged the way he ran, with complete enthusiasm, the way kids do. Everyone else stood back and allowed the little family their reunion. There would be a lot for them to do in the next few days: interviews, legal stuff, investigation. But for now, there was just this, loving grandparents and their grandson.
Derek experienced a rare rush of sympathy, maybe even empathy. His own childhood hadn’t been all that great. He’d seen kids who lived a lot worse lives than he had, but seeing other people miserable didn’t help your own misery; it just gave you company. He could have done with less company.
Elijah had been through a lot in the last few days, more than he should have. Yeah, better Markham than Elijah. The kid was going to be okay.
Derek looked for the blonde in the crowd, and swore under his breath when he didn’t see her. There wasn’t anything he could do with so many witnesses around, but he at least wanted to locate her, follow her. There were a lot of women standing around, and a few of them were blond, but that particular one—the kicker—wasn’t here. He’d have recognized her right away, even if she’d had a hood pulled over her head. She was the kind of woman who would stand out in a crowd, something about the way she moved, the way she held herself, as if she’d never got over being prom queen or something. He could still clearly remember her face, and he didn’t normally pay much attention to a woman’s face.
She could be anywhere: at the police station, giving a statement, or at a television station, giving an interview. Or she might be in jail, for keeping the kid for so long while everyone and his brother had been looking for him. He liked the idea of that.
But wherever she was, she’d be describing in great detail the man she’d seen in Elijah’s kitchen.
If Derek hadn’t been forced to kill the senator, he might go on about his business and take his chances. But between Sammy and Markham, the odds were there was some overlooked evidence floating around. Maybe someone had glanced out a window at the wrong time, maybe he’d left a footprint in the dust—something, anything. Sammy wasn’t much of a problem. Even if the cops realized that Sammy had been murdered, they probably wouldn’t look too hard for his killer.
Markham, though, was another story. He’d been a state senator, well respected even though he was a complete shit—a murdering shit, at that. His killer would be hunted from now until the end of time. Derek didn’t think there was anything to connect him to Markham, he had always been certain there was not, but what did he know? How could he be sure? He couldn’t, damn it. The senator might have all sorts of paperwork or electronic trails linking him to his own “anything you need, boss” private investigator. Maybe he even had a damning letter somewhere marked, “To be opened in the event of my death.” People who were involved in illegal shit sometimes threatened to have such a letter in anonymous hands. Derek suspected that people who really did that wouldn’t bother to warn anyone. It would be a surprise.
He hated surprises.
He put his car in Reverse, backed into the street, and headed slowly and cautiously out of the neighborhood. The excitement was behind him—literally and figuratively. Ahead there was an unplanned future, a world of possibilities. It was time to start over, to change his name and embrace the world of semiretirement. Maybe he’d open a small bar somewhere, maybe in Florida. On a beach. Some place where he could see people coming from a good distance. That sounded like a plan, one of the best he’d ever had.
But he knew that, in the back of his mind, he would always be on the lookout for that blonde …
“You know what I have to do,” Caine said. He wanted Lenna to be prepared. She wasn’t helpless, but she wasn’t a Hunter. He wouldn’t worry so much if she would show some of the legendary temper for which she was famous, but hell, he hadn’t seen any real temper in her at all. Maybe it was all a hoax. In general, she was as reasonable as he could have asked; stubborn, but reasonable, so long as he defined reasonable as not being nasty-tempered, because she didn’t step back from her chosen position much at all.
“You have to let Esma find me,” she said, no fear at all in her blue gaze as she looked up at him. “I know.”
“Yes. I’ll have to get far enough away from you that you’re unshielded. But we get to choose the place and the time. We get to choose your position, and mine. You have to be ready to fight as hard as you’ve ever fought.”
“I have faith in Esma. I do. She’s one of mine.”
“She might not want to hurt you, but never forget that she’s a Hunter first. And what if she isn’t the Hunter who first targets your energy? We have no way of knowing how many there are, or who they are. One of us has to retrieve the Moon card from Esma—whatever we have to do—then I’ll get to you. Somehow, if I have to destroy everything in my path, I will get to you, and we’ll teleport to Aeonia.”
She nodded, accepting. This could be a death trap, for both of them. It didn’t matter, because they had no choice. Lenna had to go back to Aeonia.
“Are you ready?” he asked, though the question was rhetorical. They had talked about this, they’d planned as best they could, and nothing was to be gained by putting off the inevitable. She nodded, made sure the bag that held the cards was securely fastened and draped crosswise across her body. Caine had reinforced the strap so it couldn’t be cut, even with a Hunter’s knife.
He put his arms around her, kissed her, and while they were still kissing teleported them to one of the abandoned factories they’d searched when they’d been looking for Markham. Not much had changed, though it was daylight now instead of dark. All the snow had melted, but the air was still cold and the empty buildings and lots looked even more decrepit in bright sunlight than they did at night.
So far as they knew, the senator’s body hadn’t been found yet. If it had been, the police were staying very quiet about it, and given all the hoopla over Elijah and the fact that the senator was a person of interest in Amber Tilley’s murder, secrecy wasn’t very likely. They were some distance away from where they’d found him, because Lenna hadn’t wanted to be anywhere near the ugly energy that had lingered around him.
The inside of the abandoned building was stale and icy cold; dust motes floated in the shafts of sunlight. Caine looked around, selecting their best positions. They each needed not to be taken from behind, and they needed to restrict the directions from which they would be attacked. Neither of them doubted there would be a fight; the biggest unknown was how many Hunters would come.
She stood in his arms, her eyes closed as she nestled against him. He was oddly reluctant to move away from her, and going by the way she clung to him she was just as reluctant. Then she opened her eyes and looked up at him with an expression he couldn’t quite read. It might be longing … or regret. Or … he didn’t dare examine all the ors that passed through his mind.
“Don’t drop the shield just yet,” she murmured. “I have something to say before …”
“Before all hell breaks loose?” he finished for her when she stumbled.
She sighed, then nodded. “I don’t know what will happen next. I know what I want to happen, but life is uncertain, more uncertain than I ever realized. You …”
She stopped speaking again, as if she had lost her words, as if that was even possible for someone like her.
“You …” she began again, only to hit the same stumbling block. Judging by the expression on her face, what she wanted to say, what she couldn’t bring herself to say, was better left unsaid, anyway.
She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and took a step away from him. Caine held out his hand. “Give me one of the cards.” It was a command, not a suggestion.
Her eyebrows lifted slightly.
“If Esma appears and touches you, you have the deck and she has the Moon. Together, you complete the deck. She can teleport you to Veton. Do you trust him with the d
eck?”
“No.”
“A safeguard,” he said, waving two fingers impatiently.
She unzipped the bag and reached inside. Without looking, without choosing, she grabbed a card and offered it to him.
He flicked it over and looked at it. The Emperor. Of course; what else would it be? He slipped the card into his front pants pocket, making sure it was firmly and deeply seated there.
She wasn’t going anywhere without him.
He put her in the position he wanted, and maintained the shield as he moved away. He’d been telling the truth when he told her he didn’t know exactly how far from himself the shield extended, but for the sake of surprise he had to keep himself hidden, though she was exposed. At the same time, he couldn’t be too far away from her. His strategy was coming down to a matter of crucial inches; too far, and he couldn’t get to her in time. Too close, and either the shield would still hide her or he’d have to let it fall completely and expose him, too, thereby losing the element of surprise.
He moved away from her. One step. Two. A couple more, and he was farther away than he had been since he’d first shielded her. There had been times when he’d hated the necessity of having her right there all the time, when he’d grumbled about the energy it took to shield her, when he’d wanted nothing more than to be rid of her. But now it felt odd and somehow wrong to be at such a distance. He wanted her closer.
She looked so out of place here, a gentle, warm glow against a harsh, gray backdrop, beautiful otherworldliness against the ugliness of neglected abandonment. She should be in Aeonia, living in comfort and luxury and well away from danger, well away from him.
He couldn’t stand the thought of it.
“I’ve never known anyone like you,” she said, blue gaze locked on him.
As he watched, a few snowflakes began to fall—not everywhere, but over and around her, flakes swirling and dancing in the beams of light. It was her, it had to be her. Somehow she—
Esma flashed into existence, practically on top of Lenna.
A few feet away, another form flashed. As he’d more than halfway expected, Esma hadn’t come alone. Stroud.
Caine had been right to take one of the cards. Lenna had that very clear thought as Esma grabbed her and—apparently assuming that the deck was in the bag Lenna wore and protected with one arm—attempted to teleport them both to Aeonia, to Veton. Surprise flashed across Esma’s face when it didn’t work, and she cursed.
“Fooled you,” Lenna said softly, but her attention was mostly on Caine.
There had been another Hunter, after all, a Hunter who was as big as Caine. To Lenna’s eyes, there was no distinguishing between the speed of the blows, whether or not Caine had an advantage. She flinched with every blow that was delivered, with every swing of the knife that was intended for him. Wrenching away from Esma, she started toward the fight.
Esma grabbed her arm and yanked her back. “Where’s the deck?”
Lenna swiftly searched her shared memories with Caine for the proper response, and found one that was very satisfying: “Kiss my ass.”
The vicious fight between Caine and the other Hunter moved them farther and farther away, one step at a time. Lenna kicked at Esma’s knee, trying to break free again. Esma twisted as the kick landed just above her knee, not doing any damage, and wrenched Lenna into a hip roll that dumped her on the floor. Immediately Esma was on her, bearing her weight down.
“Where’s the deck?” Esma asked, more harshly than she had before.
Lenna pulled one arm free, threw a punch to Esma’s left jaw, but the Hunter shook it off and grabbed her arm again. Lenna knew she was no match physically, not that she’d stop trying, but—
Lenna ground her teeth in frustration and fear. Teleporting her to Veton wasn’t possible, but what if Esma decided to teleport her somewhere else on Seven, separate her from Caine, hide her away, and perhaps negotiate with Caine to get the entire deck. Apart, they were much less effective than they were together.
But Esma had to be touching her to teleport her.
Fiercely Lenna bucked, throwing everything she had into the effort; Esma was taken by surprise and fell to the side, rolling so she could flip to her feet, but by then Lenna was also on her feet and darted away to put some distance between them. All Esma had to do was flash to her side, so Lenna didn’t stay still, jerking here and there, changing direction, but all the time working closer to the savage battle going on between the two men.
“I could use a hand here, Stroud!” Esma called, circling Lenna as she tried to anticipate her movements.
Stroud didn’t answer because he had all he could handle. Esma cursed, disappeared, then flashed directly behind Lenna and grabbed her shoulder.
Lenna growled. Physically she might not be able to match Esma in a fight, but she had other strengths she could call upon, strengths that made her who she was. She ducked and whirled, and when she faced Esma this time her blue eyes were glowing hot, her voice low and throbbing with power. “Don’t touch me again.”
Esma was a Hunter and no Hunter was a coward, but at the look in Lenna’s eyes she reeled back in shock, instinctively holding up her hands as if to ward off what might come her way.
Lenna jerked back and turned her attention to the vicious fight between Caine and the other Hunter. There was blood on both of them now, blood on the floor, blood on the flashing knives. They moved so fast it was impossible to determine who was winning, impossible to truly tell who was where. The metal from their blades flashed like lightning, the air around them shimmered from the speed of their movement.
Caine was wounded. She didn’t know how severely, but just knowing he was hurt made her heart swell with panic until she almost choked. Esma wasn’t holding her now, but she was helpless. She had no weapon, no power that could help Caine, no way to even swing a piece of metal that wasn’t as likely to hit Caine as it was Stroud.
“Let me take you back to Aeonia,” Esma said, her voice lower and calmer than it had been before. “You belong there. Tell me where the deck is.”
Lenna ignored her, moving closer to the whirling, flashing dance of death. Just as she was about to throw caution to the wind and launch herself into the middle of the battle, Caine heaved Stroud back and for a few seconds they were separated. Caine was bleeding, badly, but Stroud was worse. He would quickly lose strength now.
Stroud must’ve realized, as Lenna had, that he couldn’t win the fight. In a surprise move, likely using all his reserves of strength, he feinted to the side, then reversed and with a well-placed kick swept Caine’s feet out from under him. Caine dropped. Stroud turned. He took a solid stance and threw his knife—at Lenna.
A raw, rough sound burst out of Caine and he flashed in front of Lenna, their eyes meeting.
She saw the instant the knife went into his back. She saw the obsidian of his pupils flare, saw the minute flinch of pain. For a split second, the world stopped. It paused, and everything that had happened since Elijah had pulled her from the comforts of home made sense to her. Every joy, every pain, it had all been leading her to this moment.
Caine’s body arched. His lips parted, then he stumbled, dropped to the floor, desperation crossing his expression as he tried to force his body to ignore the pain, to react, to turn and face the enemy. She saw him go white, saw his eyes close.
“Nooooo!”
She heard the howl of anguish rising up from deep inside her, bursting from her throat. Fury rose behind the anguish, filling her, exploding through every cell and fiber of her being. She felt herself expanding, felt power gathering in and around her. Without conscious thought one hand snapped up, and she pointed at Stroud. She saw nothing but him, nothing but Stroud and the knife in Caine’s back. The world around her shook and went hazy. The icy interior of the abandoned building became impossibly colder, hoarfrost limning every surface. Sleet pelted them, ice pellets like tiny needles.
Stroud’s eyes widened, his mouth fell open. His hands up to ward off
whatever she sent his way, he stumbled back. He took two steps, then turned and ran. Hunters didn’t run away, but this one did—from her.
Lenna howled her fury, and loosed all her anger through her fingers. Pure energy and ice and fire that had been born in her essence took shape, mingled, shot out to catch Stroud in the back like a frozen thunderbolt. He screamed, the sound piercing and inhuman. Lenna blasted him again, and the very earth shook; the remaining windows in the building exploded to rain shards of glass both in and out, as if the power that destroyed them came from the very fabric of the building, of the universe itself.
Caine! She had just found him, and already she’d lost him. Her agony knew no bounds, and fed the urge to blast everything, destroy Seven, take down Aeonia itself. Only the knowledge that Elijah was on Seven stayed her hand.
Frustrated, screaming, she blasted a piece of rusted machinery to smithereens, slammed her hand toward the floor and cratered it, the shock wave almost taking Esma into the hole. Esma threw herself sideways, desperately seeking cover.
Lenna whirled on her, blood rage in her eyes. She lifted her arms, ready to destroy Esma, herself, the cards, everything that had taken Caine from her—
“Vae,” came a weak, slurred voice. “You nearly deafened me.”
She froze, barely holding back the destruction that surged against her skin, snarling to be released. Or perhaps she was snarling. She spun … and Caine was looking at her. He was rolled half on his side, because of the knife in his back, and he was utterly white, but part of that was the frost she had caused to cover everything in sight. His black eyes were open. His breathing was fast and shallow, but he was breathing. With an incoherent sound she dropped to her knees beside him, sobbing. “I thought you were dead! I thought—” She didn’t finish what she thought, running frantic hands over him. “Where else are you hurt? Your back—I know about your back. Where else?”