Jillian Stone - [Phaeton Black 03]

by The Miss Education of Dr. Exeter

  The Nightshade nodded into the blackness. “It’s still out there.” He’d learned to trust Jersey’s instincts—the half-breed demon had invisible feelers. How else had he known about the wraith attack on the train to Paris?

  Jersey lowered his voice to a craggy whisper. “Every time we lose sight of this spook, we get some kind of clue—a sound, a footprint in the dust . . .”

  Exeter nodded. They were being led. “If we have to run, I’d rather it not be into a trap.”

  “As I was saying—I’ll scout ahead. Make your way forward, slowly. I’ll find you.” Jersey slipped around the corner and was quickly enveloped by darkness.

  Mia stood with her back to the wall of the passage. Exeter pressed close. “How are the two of you?”

  “She is present—no headaches—as yet.”

  “Any urges?”

  She didn’t have to answer. The hot, smoldering desire in her eyes said everything. She slanted her gaze away.

  “Hold her close, but don’t let her shift—make her wait. Do you remember what I told you earlier?” He took a few steps forward, and stopped abruptly. Mia nearly ran into him. Instinctively, she flattened her hand against his back. Her touch so stimulated him, he moved her against the wall, and covered her with his body. “Answer, Mia. What did I tell you, earlier?”

  “If we run into trouble, I’m to shift—get away and find help.”

  “First make sure you are safe—then you may seek help.” He pulled her to him—so close he located her lips by a gasp of sweet breath. Bracing her face between the palms of his hands, his mouth sought hers with soft, hungry kisses. And she invited his tongue to delve deep and tangle with hers.

  His cock rose with each soft, sultry caress. “I want to kiss your navel and move lower . . . to your lips.” Exeter broke off the affection before he lost all control. “Know this, Mia. I am coming apart inside.” His breath was harsh, labored. “I desire you much more than I can safely . . . control.” He exhaled, chastising himself silently. He had seen it coming—this forced intimacy had changed everything. Never in his life had he been this captivated by a woman. Mia’s courage and fortitude, the startling combination of physical beauty, brilliance of mind, and purity of heart. It was enough to drive him near mad with want for her.

  Something hissed in the dark. Exeter jerked upright.

  “What was that?” she whispered.

  He rummaged around in an inside coat pocket for the battery-powered torch. “Let there be light,” he whispered and flipped the toggle switch. “And there was light.” He winked at her.

  He shined the beam down one side of the corridor. No creatures. He turned in the opposite direction and shined the beam directly into the face of a hideous fiend he’d never seen before—one that grinned . . . and drooled.

  Mia screamed, and they both backed away.

  The strange being was human-like. Beady grey eyes, bulbous head, the limbs were skeleton thin. Was this a Skeezick? He remembered a description America had once shared. Gaping mouth filled with needle-like teeth and a good deal of drool.

  “Hold on, Mia.” He picked up a large rock and tossed it. The figure broke up into shimmering particles and then reformed farther down the passageway. An image, one of those projections called holograms—likely used to frighten people away.

  So . . . they were close.

  Exeter pressed his communicator button and kept his voice low. “This is Exeter, I believe we may have stumbled upon Prospero’s den.” Footsteps echoed from behind—running footsteps. Exeter released the button and squinted down the corridor. A pale blue sword bobbed in the dark—it was Jersey and he was coming up fast. “Run!”

  “Pick up your skirts, Mia.” They ran, half stumbling, toward a fork in the passage. Exeter caught Jersey’s eye. “How did you end up behind us?”

  “The passage to the right doubles back—go left.” The Nightshade pointed with his sword into the dark. No time to ask who was behind them. He urged Mia forward. Rounding a blind corner they both sprinted down the corridor and nearly fell over.

  Trip wire.

  A bolt of energy shot up his spine. Using potent lift, he tossed Mia far forward as the bomb went off. The shock wave blew them all farther down the passage buffeted by an eerie squall of dust and a blast of orange-red flame. Skidding along the floor, an avalanche of rock and dirt descended on him, forcing air from his lungs. His hearing cut out as debris of all sizes and types rained down in silence. For a moment, everything sparkled—dazzling stars, then a quick fade to a gray haze populated by ghostly figures. He collapsed under the weight of the rubble.

  Mia stretched her neck and moved forward, cautiously. She uncurled a pink tongue and licked the dust off his face. He groaned, and she sprang back—her survival instincts raw and edgy. A quiver ran down the length of her body, lifting a cloud of dust off her coat. She sneezed.

  Exeter—I know you can hear me. He groaned again. His head, shoulders, and one arm were free; otherwise he was covered in stone. So why hadn’t he been crushed to death? The cat raised a paw and rubbed her face.

  I have wrapped myself in a field of potent energy.

  Mia sat up straight, on her haunches. Wake, Exeter.

  Mia—can you—see Jersey?

  She remembered now—there was another. Perhaps he was caught in the rubble farther back, or he was behind the collapse of the tunnel. I do not see him.

  Any of Prospero’s men about?

  No one but you and I.

  His eyelids fluttered. Exhaling another groan, he turned his head enough to see her. “Mia—” With his free hand, he reached out. She lowered her head, and nuzzled his open palm. “Can you see the communicator anywhere?”

  Cats don’t fetch, Exeter.

  Still, she rose up on all fours and sniffed through the surrounding rubble. Exeter appeared to be making a great effort. Grunting and straining, he managed to pull his other arm free. A silver leash attached to an emerald collar was looped around his hand. Come to me, Mia.

  She dipped her head and after a few attempts, he managed to buckle the collar. Try to pull me out—use potent force.

  Mia tugged and pulled over and over, but couldn’t muster enough lift to move the ton of rock above Exeter. The cat’s breath became harsh and labored. Save your energy to hold off the rocks, and I will go for help.

  “It’s too dangerous, there could be more cave-ins.”

  You must trust me enough to let me go.

  He offered a weak smile. I thought cats didn’t fetch. His fingers opened and he released the chain.

  There was a small tunnel opening—an air vent that traveled high above the passageway. Before Exeter could change his mind or talk her into staying, she sprang to the top of a pile of rubble, dragging the silver leash behind her. Eventually, the small shaft would lead aboveground. Mia hunkered down, jumped, and slipped neatly into the opening. Once she reached the surface, she would find her way back to the hotel, and bring back the others.

  A chattering, or more like the sound of angry people yelling, drifted down the air duct. Yes, she was almost certain they were human voices. Curious, the cat moved closer.

  Be careful, Mia. The cat sent him a purr. The fact that she and Exeter could communicate so well emboldened her exploration. She crawled into a connecting passage that angled down, not up.

  “Tell him anything he wants to know—he won’t get what he wants, regardless.”

  She recognized Phaeton’s voice. The cat crouched, inching down the shaft until she came to a slatted louver covering. Mia narrowed her eyes.

  America sat on a crude wooden bench, her hands bound by leather cuffs. Chains ran through her bindings, attached to rings mounted to the wall. “You must trust me when I say it won’t be long now.” On the other side of the small space, Phaeton was slumped in the corner of a cell. Heavy iron bars obscured some of her view, but he appeared to be brooding.

  “What is—or was this place?” America tugged at her bindings. Mia wholeheartedly agreed,
imagining the Bastille a more hospitable situation.

  Mia—be very careful. Is there anyone else in the dungeon?

  No use hiding her thoughts, Exeter apparently heard them all. The cat froze. A door creaked open. A man of striking appearance entered the room. His head was shaved, or nearly so—she supposed it was more of a close-cropped stubble. He closed the door quietly behind him.

  Tall and broad shouldered like you, Exeter.

  He wore a long silk robe that was frayed along the hemline and cuffs. The hair along the cat’s spine stiffened. He also held a whip—a flogger with a number of knotted leather strands at one end—a cat-o’-nine-tails. As the wizard approached America, the cat pawed restlessly, ready to spring. No one would lay a hand on America—not if she could help it.

  Mia, what is happening?

  Prospero.

  Phaeton rose from his cot and spoke up. “America is prepared to tell you whatever you’d like to know, aren’t you, dear?”

  The wizard scanned the room for a prolonged period. “No doubt you are both wondering about the explosion—the boom and rumble.” He spoke quietly, as he had in the hologram. Rather unnerving, the voice—soft and husky, like Exeter when he was aroused. The imposing man turned from America to Phaeton. “Sorry to rattle your cage.”

  Phaeton returned his captor’s stare. In fact, she had never seen him glare at anyone like this—as if he would tear Prospero limb from limb, rip his eyes from their sockets, then grind him into small bits for the crows to pick over. Phaeton often played his enemies for fools, but she wondered if seeing America so close to her time—her belly large with their love child . . .

  “If you touch her, I’ll have to kill you.”

  Good God, Phaeton has lost his wits.

  He’s in love. Exeter’s whispered answer caused her heart to race. It was obvious Phaeton loved America—truly and dearly. A shiver ran through the cat as she shook off his words. The very sentiment Exeter would never feel for her. She instantly quashed the thought.

  “It would seem your friends have arrived.” Prospero swung the whip handle around. The leather straps whined, stirring the stale air of the chamber. “No body count . . . as yet.” Pivoting toward America, Prospero lifted the whip above his shoulder, and let it fly.

  The tails wavered above her shoulders. America cried out and Mia burst through the air vent. She landed on Prospero’s back, teeth gnashing, and her claws digging into his shoulders. Prospero roared in pain and flung her off. The wizard clutched at his robe and gasped in agony. Mia retreated to a dark corner and blinked. He must not see me yet—he continues to pivot—looking. She had never seen Prospero’s powers at work—but she suspected he was not so injured that he couldn’t gain mastery over her.

  Careful, Mia.

  The back of his garment was torn to shreds, blood dripped over a back covered in hash marks, most of them old lesions—layers deep. And they weren’t battle scars—they were marks made over a prolonged period.

  Prospero suddenly whirled around and came directly for her. His fingertips burned with light, the same kind of energy Exeter used to arouse her. But this light was different, it crackled and sparked with hurtful, blinding light. Was Exeter a wizard? The thought flashed and she soon received her answer.

  If I was a wizard, would I be stuck under this pile of rock?

  The cat leapt past Prospero and sprang off the opposite wall. She added a bit of potent lift and pushed off—only the lift wasn’t there. Someone had grabbed hold of the silver chain as she jumped. Despite the violent yank to her neck, she struggled against the leash. Her throat constricted as she stretched, claws splayed, to reach the safety of the air shaft.

  “Don’t make me hurt you.” Another hard jerk forced her into the arms of Prospero.

  Chapter Nineteen

  MIA OPENED HER EYES. She had shifted. The wizard cradled her like a babe in arms, though his gaze lingered with an interest that was far from innocent. I am caught, Exeter.

  A very long time passed before Prospero looked into her eyes. “You must be Mia.”

  Charm him, until I can get to you.

  She did not quite comprehend Exeter’s meaning. Or perhaps she didn’t wish to. “My name is Anatolia Chadwick—or Mia—if you’d like.” She lowered her eyelids slightly—offering the sleepy look Exeter had once called sultry. “And you are Prospero.”

  “To begin my life . . . at the beginning of my life, I was born Alastair Wentworth the third, on a Friday, at the stroke of midnight, I’m told. The midwife declared that I was destined to be unlucky in life; and secondly, that I would see ghosts and spirits. Phaeton and I have this much in common.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “But you may call me Prospero—if you’d like.”

  “Wooing her with David Copperfield? It’s no surprise you have to create drooling, beady-eyed monsters to keep you company.”

  The wizard’s grin was wicked, or sly. Maybe both. “Phaeton appreciates my literary references. It might even be the reason he’s still alive.”

  Mia looked the intimidating man directly in the eye. “Nonsense. He’s alive because you need him to help you wheedle favors from the Moonstone.” Mia quickly took in the medieval cavern and cell. “Hello, Phaeton.” Her gaze traveled to America, who appeared to be more than uncomfortable, chained to the wall, with only a bench to rest on. “Are you all right?” Something about America’s nod bothered her.

  “Put your arms around my neck.” The wizard ordered in his quiet, contained way. She had expected him to be wretched and cruel—so much easier to detest—but this Prospero was neither of those things.

  As yet.

  A tug on the leash reminded her who was master. Mia placed her arms around his neck and clasped her fingers. Once again, the wizard ogled her. “You are Doctor Exeter’s ward, or concubine. I’m a bit . . . confused of late.” The chamber door creaked open on its own. Mia blinked. Had someone opened the door or had the wizard used his wily ways?

  Prospero passed through the opening, into another dark passage, like all the others in the catacombs.

  “You’re dead if you touch her. Exeter will kill you,” Phaeton warned, as the door slammed shut. She glimpsed a stare so dark it sent a chill through her. Prospero eyed the henchman walking beside them. “What is it?”

  “Three little piggies headed this way.” The hideous creature wore a battered top hat stretched over a wispy-haired, bulbous head. The effect might best be described as ill-fitting. And she was quite sure this minion was one of the strange devils spotted in Café de l’Enfer—part of a duo that had abducted America.

  “What of Exeter?” Prospero queried.

  “Cobbler’s awls, Guven’r—he’s as good as buried.”

  Mia’s heart hammered inside her chest. Prospero checked her reaction. Could this man be a sensitive intuitive, capable of feeling a racing pulse? Mia found herself tempering a sigh. Somewhere, deep inside, she had let loose a cry. But it was more than that—something beyond her worry for Exeter and his plight. She was almost certain America was in pain.

  Doors had a way of opening on their own in the wizard’s enclave. Prospero halted at the entrance to a dimly lit chamber. “Would you ’ave Skeezicks finish the job?” The milky-eyed creature blinked.

  Prospero lowered his steely gaze from her body to his minion. “Just take care of it.”

  The hireling bowed and backed out of the small chamber. “What was that? Homunculus? Goblin?” Mia nodded after the retreating servant.

  Prospero cocked his chin a bit. “He and his clone are all that remain of a failed experiment.”

  Her brows crashed together in confusion. “Whatever do you mean?” she whispered.

  He continued to hold her in his arms—oddly, as if he never wished to let go. “That would be a question for Oakley.”

  The man spoke in riddles, which was predictably evasive of him. Mia raised her chin. “I wish to check on America. I will need something to cover myself.”

  “I might have you walk a
round as naked as a wood nymph.” He appeared amused, but also wary.

  She dared to reach up and touch his face. “Please.” She stroked a bit of stubble along his jawline, and felt something warm her insides—not desire—more like someone watching over her.

  So, you are a voyeur, Exeter, the feline in her teased. Mia pictured the doctor buried under a mountain of rubble. Use your strength to stay alive, she scolded. He must use his powers for the cocoon. Whatever was coming between Prospero and herself—a tremor ran through her body, part fear and part . . . Good God. Mia shut down her thoughts. She must try to make it difficult for Exeter to pry.

  Prospero lowered her to the ground. He opened the wardrobe and handed her a clean robe.

  Mia noted the large flourish of monogram. “Capital C?”

  “From Claridge’s—my London, not yours—same hotel. In the twenty-first century, they provide guest bathrobes.” He helped her into the wrapper.

  Mia pulled on the plush, Turkish towel ties. “You stole it.”

  Those ominous silver eyes sparkled, warmly. “I’m the bad guy, remember?”

  Her gaze swept through a room that could hardly be called extravagant. In fact, the furnishings were almost Spartan. The bed was plain, and not particularly large. An old sea chest sat at its foot—with a secretary and wardrobe to each side of the quarried stone walls.

  Mia scanned a number of sketches pinned to a sheet of cork above the desk. She squinted at a panoply of frightening designs, which appeared to be more like engineering plans. Good God, more sorry creatures. Some with huge heads, bulging with eyes and tentacles. Others with the stingers and claws of a scorpion—all of them appeared to be armored like soldiers. “More of your creations.”

  “There is an epic war coming. There will be a need for kick-ass warriors.”

  “So this is the army of the future . . . monsters.” Mia tore her eyes off the hideous living weapons. “You speak like Tim—in that odd Outremer vernacular.”

  He paced up and down his chambers, slowly. “By my count, there are six of you. Exeter, Tim Noggy, the two Nightshade ninjas—Jersey Blood and Valentine. Phaeton’s paramour, Miss Jones . . . and you . . .”