“My problem,” he sniped back at her, “is you. If you hadn’t made this whole goddamn Darvon thing possible for him, he wouldn’t have found Jane, wouldn’t have fallen in love with her, wouldn’t have lost her and wouldn’t have spiraled into a depression that made him leave his entire family behind without a word. That’s what my problem is!”
“Well, you know what? I can’t help how he reacted. I was only trying to help, to do right by Jane.”
“Jane tries to do right by us. Maybe you ought to think about that the next time you think you’re helping,” he seethed.
“Knock it off, you two,” Vincent said. “Steve, I didn’t spiral into any depression, for God’s sake. I just thought if I told you where I was going you’d want to come along, and I needed to do this alone.”
Xyza snorted, “So much for alone,” she quipped, glaring daggers at Steve.
He glared right back. “Stay out of this, it’s none of your business!”
“She’s my friend!”
“Steve, Lori, shit, would you knock it off?” He yanked his brother’s sleeve to get him to look at him. “Now you’d better tell me what you just meant by saying all that to her.”
“All what?” Steve asked, chest heaving in anger.
“Blaming Lori for me finding Jane. Are you telling me you wish I hadn’t? That you wish she’d stayed lost?”
“You’re goddamn right I am! Vincent, that girl tore our family apart when she first appeared on the scene and she’s torn it apart for years being lost in that other dimension, and now she’s tearing you apart!”
“I love her,” he ground out, his voice dangerously low.
“That doesn’t mean you should have her! Look around you! You’re hanging out in a freaking ghost town with some crackpot shape shifting Dial-A-Psychic when you should be home with your family! Hell, she’s not worth this, bro!”
A resounding pop deafened him as Vincent’s fist connected with his jaw. He stumbled back in disbelief and no small amount of pain, bumping into Lori. She shoved him off her and said, “Damn, I wanted to do that.”
He whirled on her. “You stay out of this. I’m taking my brother home and I’m taking him home now.”
“You’re not taking me anywhere,” Vincent replied, calmly moving to take Lori’s hand. “If you and Dad won’t help me find her, I know the crackpot psychic will.” He looked down to meet her eyes. “Won’t you?”
“Damn right I will. I’m not a heartless sonofabitch like some people.”
“He’s not heartless. He’s just overprotective.”
“Well, Christ, with a big brother like this it’s a wonder you learned to wipe your own ass.”
“Listen here, you presumptuous little—”
“Steve!” Vincent reprimanded, stepping between his menacing brother and, surprisingly, an equally menacing Lori.
“Presumptuous little what?” Lori challenged, stepping around the wall of Vincent.
Steve opened his mouth, but Vincent stepped close enough that their noses were touching. “Don’t,” he said, locking their eyes together. “She might be the only way we can find Jane and bring her back, and I am going to find her, whether you like it or not.”
Setting his mouth in a straight line, Steve let out an exasperated groan and threw his hands in the air, pacing back to the front sidewalk. “I give up. I’ll go let Dad know I found you,” he growled.
“He is the most infuriating, superior-acting sonofabitch I think I have ever met,” Lori stated as they watched him walk away.
Vincent chuckled. “He’ll grow on you,” he said, grabbing her hand and heading for Jane’s childhood home just down the street.
“I’ll bet he will,” she fumed, stalking along after him. “Like a goddamn fungus.”
Vincent felt fear fill his chest and resisted the urge to run screaming from Xyza like a schoolgirl. He risked a look over his shoulder and saw Steve in front of the parsonage, headed up the front walk. If that’s where his family had based themselves, he needed to figure out how to get Xyza in there. But he also knew she might be, as he’d said to Steve, the only way to actually find Jane.
Unlike playing Trevor Billings, Vincent was now in Darvon completely unscripted. And as Xyza practically dragged him back toward the school, he was at a complete loss as to what he should do next.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It should not have happened.
He scowled. It should never have happened. Yet somehow, it had.
Where no other had been able to see beyond the steel-walled exterior that was his persona, she had.
Nothing about it was extraordinary, and that was the thing that confounded him the most.
He had loved once; but she had not been strong enough to withstand his world, nor those with whom he kept company in the privacy of his palace. One so beautiful he had once claimed as his own. But she had succumbed to the possessions which she was far too weak to handle and he had learned that hardening his heart, that relying upon Jal’gonnoth, was all he had and all he would ever have.
So very many years ago he had made the pact with Jal’gonnoth, under the guidance and blessing of the Shadow Xyza; the pact which would give him everything he hungered for: power, wealth and eternal life. But as the years had begun to pass, as his body became older and his surroundings became mundane; as he began to tire of the endless lines of slaves, of being able to take anyone and anything he wanted. After reconnecting with Jane in her childhood home, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her, of what she’d think when she found out his secrets, when he shouldn’t have cared at all. The fact that he did made him begin to question things he had never dared question before.
It was during one such period of time not six months prior that he had taken his doubts and wanderlust and set upon a journey. Aimlessly he traveled by boat, by car and by plane. He had more money probably than the Tanner family did, but he found it did not ease the strange ache in his belly. He even tried a simple murder with his own two hands, without any magick involved. The gas station attendant in the middle of nowhere lost his life simply for being in the path of Tao Vasan Naran.
Yet even that act, one which used to give him an almost sexual satisfaction, left him empty. It was at that moment as he knelt next to the lifeless body of the grizzled old man that he knew he would never take another life again.
It wasn’t as though he made a conscious decision to stop killing; it was simply something he innately became aware of no longer desiring. Turning, he looked at the ostentatious black Hummer he’d been driving and shook his head. He didn’t want it anymore. He just didn’t. The chattel he owned, every priceless painting and statue, every craft and slave and even his palace; they had become meaningless to him now.
Abandoning the vehicle where it sat next to the gas pumps, he headed north. The Man of a Thousand Faces had been flying to remote locations, taking boats out into the middle of oceans and seas and had finally wound up on the coast of British Columbia. It had taken him this long to make his way south into Mexico and then back up across the border into the United States. He’d driven wherever he’d felt like, whenever he’d felt like and in all honesty hadn’t had this much freedom in longer than he could remember. Since early this morning he’d been following 180/64 in Arizona toward the Grand Canyon. It had been with some surprise earlier when he realized where he was headed, but he felt drawn to that location. Maybe it was because he intended to throw himself from the tips of the rock cliffs into the depths of the gorge. Perhaps somewhere deep inside he wanted to end it all.
Though he hadn’t seen, heard or felt her since embarking upon this strange journey of his, she still was on his mind. But Jal’gonnoth bored him. Where once he had craved her seeping into his very blood, now he would lay emotionless and unmoving while she had her way with him. It was no longer interesting, no longer exciting. For the man who’d vowed to have everything, and very nearly did, life had become pedestrian.
But he knew that while he would suffe
r the same pain as any man who might jump off the walls of the Grand Canyon, while it would be nothing less than an agonizing result, he would not…could not…die. That was one of the things he had once considered a benefit. Now, however, at the age of fifty-three, he found himself staring into an endless future. Like the fabled vampire, he would be forced to witness life after life after life; the never-ending cycle of seasons, years, war, peace, technology, and humankind.
He didn’t want to. It was that simple, really.
Vasan wanted to grow old. He wanted to experience the aging of his flesh rather than always being healthy, always being strong, always being able to come out of any battle unscathed. What would it feel like to be completely human once again? He had been so young when this commitment had been made. As a teen he had made a pact that he hadn’t the foresight to completely understand the meaning of.
A wry smile etched his face. Wasn’t that the way of every human being? It seemed all made mistakes in their early years that they regretted when they reached middle age. He was no different; it was the nature of his mistake that separated him from all others.
Many vehicles passed him on their way to the magnificence that was Grand Canyon National Park. Truth was he had never visited the landmark, nor any of the others that normal people took their families to. Because he had never been normal by any stretch of the imagination.
At ten, he watched his father kill his mother and beat Ibrahim to within an inch of his life.
At fourteen he had made use of his self-taught knowledge of the dark arts and killed his father to avenge his mother’s murder.
Young Vasan, eighteen years of age, blazed his way around the world using the mysterious powers he’d gained through his alliance with the demon world to take whatever and whoever he wanted.
By twenty he was the tenth wealthiest man on the planet. By thirty he was obsessed with getting every secret John Tanner owned; if for no other reason than his alliance with Ibrahim. By forty he’d amassed more wealth than most countries combined were worth.
It was as he approached the half-century mark that his own personal midlife crisis, if it could be called that, had hit. After yet another failed attempt to steal one of Lightning Industries’ inventions from a rescue site where it was being demonstrated, and after having a hole the size of a volleyball blasted through his torso by local military, he had retreated to his palace to wait for his wounds to heal and curse Ibrahim and the Tanners even more than he had the previous twenty years combined.
But it was during this time of healing that he’d realized just how much he didn’t care anymore. A dozen new slaves had been brought to him proudly by his slaver, and indeed they were creatures of beauty. One of them even reminded him of the woman he had once loved the way her dark hair curled over her forehead, and the thought of pretending it was the woman who’d used him for his wealth, and doing whatever he wanted to cause her pain and torture, did pique his interest.
For all of about five minutes.
He remembered sitting there and sighing at all the downcast eyes. Not one of them would ever look directly at him. And of course, why would they? He had trained them all to never look at him. His scientists, his military personnel, the head of his guards, the trainers, his bathers, his sorcerers and witches. Not a single one would ever look him in the eye. How tiresome that had grown.
His many hours alone on the road with nothing to do but think had been both good and bad. Good, because without the constant attention that this or that thing always needed in Malaysia, he could actually string enough thoughts together to begin questioning his life. Bad, because the questioning of his life had led him to a single conclusion: he was unhappy.
Vasan snorted aloud as his feet moved of their own volition up the first incline toward the canyon. Great, so he’d figured out he was unhappy. It’s not like this was the most supreme revelation. But the fact that he admitted it, if only to himself, was.
So now what?
Sighing deeply, he looked ahead and saw a booth where he supposed you had to pay to enter the national park. He didn’t feel like paying to experience something that had been made by nature. He had enough cash in his pocket to pay for each and every car that was lined up and down the highway, but that didn’t matter.
He left the road and disappeared into the woods. Higher and higher he climbed. He had begun to sweat, and removed his soft black leather jacket, discarding it to the dry ground. His black boots were perfect for this terrain; black jeans protected his legs from any scorpions who might wish to sting him. Dampness became apparent around his armpits and in the V of his perfectly chiseled chest as the terrain became more difficult; the climb more steep.
He felt…exhilarated. And with each step, he began to realize this feeling was new to him. The last time anything had come close to this was longer ago than he could remember. As if trying to order more of this newfound companion into his being, he pushed himself harder and faster. Before he knew it, his next step nearly took him over the edge.
For there he was; standing at the precipice to one of the most incredible natural sights man had known. As far left and right as the eye could see, its magnificently cut depths and the rushing waters of the Colorado River made him feel almost giddy with delight. He’d become so used to the jungles of his home, so used to humidity and rain and the sounds of the animals that dwelt there; this heat, the thinner air, the incongruity of desert meeting river was downright fascinating.
Perhaps he had shut himself away from the world for too long.
He began searching for a way to get down the steep edges but nowhere did he find a suitable place for descent. And so he began walking to his right, placing his feet with an assuredness that surprised even him. It was like he’d been here before; as though he knew every inch of this rock upon which he now walked. The further he went, the more harmony he felt.
Yet another foreign sensation. Harmony. His mother had taught it, his brother had lived it. Vasan’s life had never been truly harmonious, and it was due to his own inability to see that such a thing was even possible. But here he was, not another living soul in sight, and for the first time he began to think of peace.
Warfare had made him a fortune over the years. Supplying weaponry to both sides of any fight was always profitable, and managed to cause millions of deaths. What did he care for those idiots who insisted upon engaging in hostilities over small strips of land, or what type of god they worshiped, or who was right and who was wrong in their interpretation of ancient documents? If they were brainless enough to let things like that become their death shrouds, then they were too stupid to live, was his opinion.
There was no breeze here. There were no sounds save those very faint ones from the river far below. The sun shone off his bronze skin and he felt its warmth seep into his bones. Yes, this was peace. For all his inexperience with it, he knew it to be so.
And so he made his way along the gorge, rarely thinking of anything but the new man he was beginning to feel like. The sun had nearly disappeared into the horizon by the time he realized how late it was. And he hadn’t exactly thought this far ahead.
It would get cold at this elevation once the sun was gone. He’d left his jacket miles and miles behind him and was well beyond any of the standard tourist stops.
At last he found a place where the canyon sloped downward gently enough that he could make it to the Colorado. As he approached, he heard something that seemed out-of-place in this environment, yet oddly as though it were meant to be here. Walking slowly along the sandy banks of the river, he continued east, drawn to the sound.
It was a flute-like instrument of some sort. Closer and closer he drew, and the melody became louder. Then he saw, as the sun dropped and night was upon him, the soft glow of a campfire. He stopped for a moment. Was he prepared to encounter anyone else? The serenity he’d begun to feel suddenly tightened in his chest. He was about to show his face to people he did not know.
Then again, he reasoned, they
probably wouldn’t have a clue who he really was, either. That could be good. His stomach rumbled and he wondered if those at the campfire had any food. As if in response, a scent wafted to his nose that made his stomach gurgle in protest.
He decided that he would risk it. At the very worst, knowing he couldn’t actually be killed, he’d come away with something that would need to heal if they shot him. And in spite of this his body was still human and therefore required sustenance as did that of any man.
Taking the last few steps through the green scrub that lined the banks of the river, he moved onto the sand and made his presence known. For a fraction of a second, he would have sworn his heart stopped.
Seated on the ground with legs crossed, and a wooden flute held gently in her hands, there she was. Her lips, pursed to continue the music she had been making, stopped blowing as their eyes met. His mouth opened, rapid breathing making his chest heave out and in. He took a step closer as she lowered the flute to her lap and her mouth resumed its normal shape.
Perhaps it was the glow of the fire, or perhaps it was that he was hungry after hiking alone for more than eight hours. Or perhaps it was simply real. Whatever the reason, he thought he had never set his eyes on a sight more beautiful than this woman. Somehow, in the darkest recesses of his mind, he thought he should know her. But he couldn’t for the life of him figure out how.
CHAPTER THIRTY
She looked at him a moment more, as though measuring how much of a threat she thought this stranger who had wandered into her camp might be. Then, as if coming to a decision, she rose to her feet in one fluid movement. Her blue jeans were dusty, as were her hiking shoes. Her soft brown leather jacket hung open, and she stuffed the flute into one of its pockets as she smiled. He was unable to move. Her hair was like spun gold; he had never seen the like. It fell in waves well beyond her shoulders. Her lips seemed to taunt and beckon him as she spoke.
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