by Lisa Shearin
One, I would have known if Megan had been killed. Two, I knew I hadn’t lost the trail. That left option number three. Rami had always taken that particular option personally. Like teacher, like student. If that meant I had to find Megan and Banan Ryce the old-fashioned way, so be it.
“I’m just an old-fashioned girl,” I muttered through clenched teeth.
“What?”
It was Mychael’s voice.
I took my hands off the brush and completely broke contact. I slowly opened my eyes. Everything was a little swirly there for a moment, but I was still on the couch and still upright. I was safe, but those girls weren’t. And worse yet, someone packing mage-level power didn’t want them found.
“Where is she?” Mychael asked.
“Cut right to the chase, don’t you? I’m fine, by the way.”
“Good. Where is she?”
“Relatively small room, completely dark, stone walls and floor. She’s not tied up, but she’s too scared to do anything about it. She’s alive and unhurt—for now.” I paused and glowered. “And as best I can tell, she’s being held in the central city.”
Mychael glowered back. “Best you can tell?”
I resisted the urge to snap. “Yes, as best I can tell.” I told them both about the trail vanishing, and Rami’s three reasons why it could have happened.
“Do you know if Banan Ryce has that kind of power?” Mychael asked me.
“He’s been known to pack a punch, but he can’t do anything like that.”
Mychael was silent for a moment. “That’s a lot of trouble to go to for a getaway hostage.”
“Yeah, it is. But Megan Jacobs isn’t alone. There’s another girl being held with her.” I looked at Sedge Rinker. “Did you know that you have two kidnapped girls?”
Mychael looked sharply at the chief watcher.
The watcher clenched his jaw. “Megan Jacobs was the second victim,” he told Mychael. “The first was taken last night.”
“Why wasn’t I notified?” Mychael wanted to know.
“Her parents are here and want to keep it quiet.” It sounded like Rinker liked saying that as little as Mychael liked hearing it. “If it was a random kidnapping, they don’t want the abductors to know who she is. They also don’t think we’re working quickly enough, and have hired their own investigators.”
Mychael scowled. “Who’s the girl?”
“Ailia Aurillac.”
Mychael’s scowl deepened. “Her father is Gerald Aurillac,” he told me.
“The shipping magnate?” I certainly recognized that name. Phaelan had helped himself to several of Gerald Aurillac’s ships over the years. Rich takings, quality merchandise. No doubt Aurillac would be put out at the Conclave college losing his little girl. I thought I’d keep my family’s connection to the Aurillacs to myself. If Sedge Rinker didn’t know, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him. He had a good opinion of me; I thought I’d let him keep it a while longer.
“She’s petite and blond, right?” I asked.
“Yes,” Rinker said.
“That’s probably her then.” Even worse for local law enforcement—a missing heiress.
“When two of my men went to the Aurillacs’ yacht to inform her parents, Magus Silvanus was already there and had broken the news.”
Mychael didn’t swear, but his eyes sure did.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
“Carnades Silvanus,” Mychael told me. “The senior mage on the Seat of Twelve.”
“How does he know the girl?”
“He’s her faculty advisor,” Rinker told me. “As soon as her dorm housemother discovered she was missing, she notified the magus and then the watch. The magus went directly to the girl’s parents.”
And stepped hard on some city watch toes when he did. Bet that hadn’t earned him any popularity points with Rinker’s people.
“What’s in it for him?” I asked. “Besides a brown nose?”
“A black eye for local law enforcement,” Mychael said. “Guardians included.”
I carefully wrapped the hairbrush. “Banan Ryce took Megan Jacobs. Since Ailia Aurillac is with her, I think it’s safe to say that Banan or his Nightshades are responsible for her as well. Where was Ailia taken from?”
“Her dorm room.”
So much for campus security.
“By any chance does she have a large mirror?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine a wealthy heiress who wouldn’t.
“She does,” Rinker said.
The girl I saw with Megan wasn’t dead, but she wasn’t moving, either. “Were there signs of violence found in the room?”
“None. But we did find a rag soaked with wiccbane.”
“Good,” I said.
That earned me an odd look from both men.
“I’d rather get wiccbane than clubbed over the head,” I told them. “Linking with her might make me woozy, but that’ll be it.”
“But you’ve already seen Miss Aurillac,” Mychael said.
“I saw her, but I didn’t see how she got there. Megan Jacobs is conscious and scared to death. The only thing I’m getting from her is light-headed. Ailia Aurillac is asleep or unconscious. That means a link with her just might let me see the last people she saw before the wiccbane got to her.”
Rinker’s dark eyes shone. “You can do that?”
I met his gaze. “I can do that.” Then I leaned forward with a conspirator’s smile. “And I’m betting you have something of hers in that bag.”
“I do. I was one of the first watchers on the scene. I found a gold locket on the floor of her room. The chain was broken.”
“Any blood on it?”
“A little.”
Bad for Ailia, good for me. That should make my link all the more powerful. I held out my hand. Rinker dropped the pouch into it.
I opened the bag and dumped its contents onto the couch beside me. I picked it up by the chain, careful to avoid for now the specks of blood on one section. I’d found through unpleasant experience that a chain conducted images a lot less than a pendant. I didn’t know why; it just did. I looked at Ailia’s pendant—gold, high quality, beautiful workmanship. The pendant was large enough to contain engraving inside or even a tiny painting. My money was on the latter. The Aurillacs could certainly afford a miniature portrait, or perhaps it was a gift from the girl’s fiancé.
“Is she engaged?” I asked Sedge.
“Not that I am aware of.”
Probably a gift from her parents then.
I hesitated a moment longer, then dropped the locket and chain into my hand and closed my fist around both.
I had been grabbed from behind before. I knew what to do. I had a couple of responses that had served me very well. Ailia had never been attacked. Panic was the only response she knew. I didn’t enjoy feeling it along with her. Panic, terror, frantic struggling against at least three attackers in the near darkness. She didn’t stand a chance and they knew it. They were laughing. She managed one muffled scream before they’d made sure she couldn’t. Two wore masks; one didn’t. I knew the one not wearing a mask. Ailia didn’t, but she saw him. That wasn’t good. Generally kidnappers who let you see them might be planning on collecting a ransom, but they weren’t planning on letting you go once they did.
The unmasked kidnapper was Banan Ryce. That made it even worse.
The last thing both Ailia and I saw was Ryce’s green eyes.
The next thing that blurred into focus was Mychael’s concerned blue eyes, which was a vast improvement.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
I nodded, then shook my head to clear it. “Do you know if Banan still has those two mirror mages working for him?” I asked Mychael.
"He does. ”
“Looks like they’re earning their keep.”
Banan’s two mirror mages were identical twins, bound to each other by more than appearance. To take something or someone through a mirror took a pair of mages working in perfect unison—one
at a receiving mirror, one at the origin mirror. Anything less and a mirror was just a mirror. Banan’s twins were good, the best I’d ever seen. One of the twins had probably been hiding in that courtyard this morning, keeping the getaway mirror warm and running for his boss. A lot of stolen goods—or two kidnapped girls—could be passed through two magically connected mirrors.
“Are Megan Jacobs’s parents wealthy?” I asked.
“They’re well off,” Rinker told me. “But not anywhere near the Aurillacs.”
“Banan Ryce could still be after a ransom,” I said. “But I doubt it. Even the Aurillacs would be small change for him. And Banan Ryce doesn’t take a job unless he’s paid a lot of gold up front with more on the way.” I paused uneasily. “He’s got some—shall we say—expensive tastes.”
Neither man asked me to elaborate and I was grateful. I still felt queasy enough from the link.
“I don’t care how good they are—Nightshades can’t completely go to ground,” Rinker said. “They have to eat, and eating means supplies. I know of a few houses where they’ve holed up in the past. I’ll have my men stake those out. Miss Benares, is there anything else you can tell me?”
“Hurry.”
“That’s a given.”
I indicated the brush and locket. “May I keep these for now? I’d like to use them again. Maybe next time I can catch Banan’s mage employer off guard and get some specifics for you.”
“Of course.” Rinker retrieved his cloak and headed for the door. “I’ll be in touch. Let me know if you find out anything else.”
I nodded and rubbed my temples. I had a hell of a headache coming on. No surprise there. I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose.
“Headache?” Mychael asked.
I didn’t open my eyes. “Not yet, but I’ve got a doozy on the way.”
Mychael had walked Sedge to the door, but didn’t close it after him. “Vegard?” he called.
I opened my eyes.
“Sir?”
“Could you have the kitchen send up something for Raine?”
“Yes, sir.” Vegard glanced in and gave me an encouraging smile. I returned the favor as best I could. “You okay, ma’am?”
“I’ll get there. I’m not hungry,” I told both of them.
“You need to eat,” Mychael said.
“Is that your healer’s voice I hear?”
“It’s one of them.” He turned to Vegard. “It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, just food and make it fast.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mychael closed the door.
I leaned back on the couch, and let the quiet grow for a few moments. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d taken a pair of Nightshades?”
“We have yet to gain any useful information from them.”
“Useful information? Or any information you’re willing to share with me?”
Mychael didn’t answer. Sometimes silence said more than a whole mouthful of words.
I took a breath and let it out slowly. “That’s what I thought.”
Mychael’s eyes softened a little. “Raine, I’m telling you the truth. We haven’t learned anything from them. But if we do—”
“You still couldn’t tell me.”
He hesitated. “I’m under direct orders not to.” From his tone, he liked saying it as much as I liked hearing it.
I just looked at him. “Justinius. The old man doesn’t trust me as far as his bony arms could throw me.”
“He didn’t get to where he is, and stay there for as long as he has, by taking unnecessary risks,” Mychael told me.
“So telling me what’s going on would be both unnecessary and a risk.”
“In Justinius’s opinion, yes.”
“What about yours?”
“If I learn anything that tells me you’re in more danger than you already are, then I will share that information with you. I feel responsible for getting you into all of this, and I will protect you.”
“I know, because it’s your job.”
His eyes were on mine, steadfast and resolute. “It’s more than my job,” he said softly. “I think you know that.”
I did.
Mychael sat down next to me, and raised his palms toward me.
“I can help with that headache. May I?”
I hesitated only a second before nodding. I didn’t know what he was going to do, but I had a feeling I’d like it and my budding headache wouldn’t.
He placed his thumbs against my temples, his strong hands wrapping around my head, his fingertips a warm pressure against the base of my skull. His thumbs started doing wonderful, circular things to my temples and his fingertips were doing likewise to the back of my neck. Oh my. I dimly heard myself make a little sound of contentment. No headache could survive that tactile onslaught.
“How’s that?” Mychael’s voice was a bare whisper, a deep, rich, wonderful whisper. It was his spellsinger’s voice. I closed my eyes and let it work its magic.
“Good,” I murmured. “Perfect even.” I might end up in a puddle on the floor, but I was fine with that. Puddles couldn’t have headaches, or not be trusted, or worry about kidnapped girls, or connections to soul-sucking stones.
I took a breath and let it out on a sigh. “So what do you think Banan wants with—”
“Shhhhh. Relax.”
I smiled a little. “That’s easy for you to say.”
“Apparently it’s not easy for you to do.” I heard the humor in his voice.
I opened my eyes. Mychael’s eyes were close to me— and so was the rest of him. I remembered what had happened last week at the goblin king’s masquerade ball when we were this close and my face was cradled in Mychael’s hands. My heart did a double thump at what we had done next.
“This isn’t relaxing,” I breathed.
Mychael’s blue eyes had darkened. “No, it’s not.” His voice was deeper, huskier.
I swallowed. “Relaxation’s way overrated.”
Mychael was close enough to kiss for the second time today. This morning we had Ronan Cayle and four Guardians watching us. No kiss then. No one was watching us now.
Mychael bent his head until his lips barely brushed mine. I felt the warmth of his breath and the rapid pulse of his wrists against my face. We stayed that way, breathing, barely touching. Then Mychael slowly moved his lips to my forehead, resting them there in a lingering kiss, a kiss that banished my headache, erased my tension, exiled my fatigue, and made my toes tingle. Spellsinger and healer. Nice combination.
“You’re a really good kisser,” I whispered, kind of dazed.
I felt Mychael’s lips curl into a smile. He gently tilted my face up to his.
“You should go to bed.” His voice was low and vibrant.
“Bed?” I was dazed, but I was liking it. Actually what I felt was a little tipsy. If this was what a master spellsinger could do to a girl, he could keep right on doing it.
“Bed,” he repeated, like he thought he wasn’t getting through to me. “You need to rest.”
I felt a giggle bubbling up. “Whose bed?”
Mychael blushed and lowered his hands from my face to my shoulders. Much to my disappointment, the tipsiness immediately started to go away.
“That would be your bed,” he told me.
I grinned crookedly at him. It might have been leftover tipsies, but I do believe I detected regret in that yummy voice.
Mychael took his hands off of my shoulders. “I’ll have Vegard bring your dinner to you there.”
Chapter 7
Thanks to Mychael’s attentions, and my own exhaustion, I slept all night, and way later than I’d planned the next day. It was early afternoon before I left the citadel for the Conclave Scriptorium armed with a full Guardian escort and a letter from Mychael to get me past the front doors.
I could have easily found my way there by myself, but I played by Mychael’s rules and took Vegard, Riston, and a ridiculous number of additional Guardians with me. Vegard
and Riston were uniformed, armed, and virtually plastered to my sides. If I had to draw a blade in a hurry, I’d have to knock one of them out of the way first.
The rest of my Guardian escort was there to keep anyone who might be after me from getting through their outer perimeter and into my immediate vicinity. They were keeping watchful eyes on the faculty, parents, students, and various visitors crowding Mid’s winding streets this time of year. Not surprisingly, everyone gave us a wide berth.
The Conclave Scriptorium never failed to make me stop and gawk like a tourist. Light reading was not something you came to do in the Scriptorium. Inside those granite walls was the largest and most complete collection of books, scrolls, tablets, and anything else you could write, scratch, or engrave words on in the seven kingdoms. Impressive would be an understatement. Overwhelming sounded about right. Not to mention the place stank to high heaven, magic-wise. I’d spent time in some mages’ private libraries, and while their bedtime reading material could pack quite a magical punch, it had nothing on the Scriptorium. Too long in this place could send a sensitive into magic overload that’d make your worst hangover pale in comparison.
I must have winced or something because Vegard nodded in understanding.
“Yeah, it gives me a headache, too,” he said. “Nontalents do most of the book retrieval in the stacks. The reading rooms are separate. Only certain mages are allowed to spend time in the stacks themselves. Though I don’t see why they’d want to.”
We passed through massive, iron-banded doors into a cavernous, cool interior lit by lightglobes recessed into the walls. The counter at the far end was a wall-to-wall monolith of black marble manned by librarians who looked less like academics and more like a black-robed line of defense for the precious books that lay beyond. There was a single opening in the center to allow mere mortals to pass into what the librarians no doubt considered their inner sanctum. I didn’t think trying to stroll through without permission would be a good idea.
Something moved above us, and I looked up.
There was a kid stuck to the ceiling.
I blinked. “What the…?”
Riston and Vegard looked up. Riston winced; Vegard chuckled.