From Fear to Eternity

by Michelle Rowen

  Of course. I wasn’t sure why this hadn’t occurred to me. There had to be a reason our paths hadn’t crossed with the djinn’s yet. “Who?”

  He drew me closer and lowered his voice as if someone might be eavesdropping. “Marcellus.”

  My eyes widened. “What?”

  “A man Veronique knew who’s been dead for centuries suddenly lives again because she wrote him back into existence? It’s too much of a miracle for me to believe.”

  Marcellus was the djinn. Could it be possible?

  “Wow.” I raked my hands through my hair and paced back and forth to the bookcase. “So, if it’s true, what do we do?”

  He flipped forward a few pages in the book. “I don’t think we can slay him, not while being trapped here. The translation from the original Andalusian is difficult, but from what I understand here, there is a sword that holds an ancient magic that must be acquired. When the djinn is summoned from the amulet . . .” He scanned the page. “. . . for a short time, his magic is apart from him. As he takes form from smoke to flesh, he is momentarily vulnerable. There is a window of opportunity during which he can be slain. When a djinn is slain, his magic will transfer to the slayer.”

  I cringed at the thought. “Slain? Like, stabbed through the heart?”

  Thierry flipped back a page before he replied. “No, it specifically says that the djinn must be decapitated. The magic is then freed from him and this wild djinn magic will be fully claimed . . .” He frowned deeply. “. . . the following morning as the sun breaches the horizon.”

  I couldn’t find words. “Decapitated.”

  “Yes.”

  “Uh, Thierry . . . I have a question.”

  “Yes, Sarah?”

  “When you said ‘sword,’ could that word be translated to . . . scimitar instead?”

  He closed the book. “Yes, I suppose it could be.”

  “Oh boy.”

  “What is it? What are you thinking?”

  What was I thinking? Could it be?

  “Marcellus isn’t the djinn. I think I’ve already met the djinn.” I took hold of Thierry’s arm and looked up into his eyes. “It’s the head!”

  Chapter 17

  Thierry took me by my shoulders. “Sarah, you’re jumping to conclusions . . . I thought you believed the head was a ghost.”

  “That was only a guess. But what you’re saying about the book—”

  “A book written in an ancient language a very long time ago.”

  It couldn’t be the only book about djinn. I was sure there would be a whole shelf of books on the subject at the library. Or an ocean of info on the Internet. “Somebody knew about the amulet, they acquired the magical sword, they summoned the djinn, and they whacked off his head!”

  “Who would do this?”

  He might believe in his fledgling’s innocence, but I wasn’t convinced. “Sebastien had the amulet in the first place.”

  “If Sebastien’s plan was to steal a djinn’s magic, why would he have bothered with an auction tonight with witnesses? He already possessed the amulet and has for centuries.”

  “You keep coming up with very good arguments that are not helping my theory at all.” And my confidence in it was swiftly fading. “So you still think Marcellus is the djinn.”

  He rubbed his forehead. “I think, given the solid evidence presented, that is more likely to be the case.”

  “And the head is just some dude who got killed once upon a time and his body is hidden somewhere in this house.”

  “Yes. That is what I believe.”

  I tried to piece it all together and found my clues were less convincing than Thierry’s. “But it’s still a ginormous coincidence, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know that I’d use the word ‘ginormous,’ but yes. It certainly is a coincidence.”

  “Okay, fine. I’ll go with your theory.” Still, I couldn’t give up that easily. “But you might be wrong. Can you at least admit that much?”

  After a moment he nodded. “Yes. I might be wrong. All I know for certain is that we must find the amulet and keep a close eye on Marcellus during the next three hours.”

  “Sebastien is responsible for all of this, including hiding the amulet. You agree with that, too, right?”

  “He’s in pain. There’s a distinct possibility he’s responsible, but I can’t bring myself to completely blame him for this.” His jaw tightened. “I regret that I was not a better sire.”

  “The past is over. We need to focus on the present—and so does he. He’ll come around.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  “What happens at dawn if we can’t find the amulet?”

  He took my hand in his and pulled me closer, brushing his lips against mine. “We’ll worry about that at dawn.”

  • • •

  I didn’t want to leave Thierry’s side, but after a few minutes of debate on how best to handle everything, we came up with a plan. Unfortunately, that plan meant we had to separate.

  We could both feel the magic from the amulet and we had no guarantees that anyone else could, so searching separately meant we could cover twice as much ground.

  Thierry set off to find Marcellus and Veronique so he could assess whether or not the fictional Marcellus was actually the djinn.

  I went in the opposite direction and headed up to the second floor, where I’d left off earlier before my unexpected detour with Veronique to Vampireland.

  Down the hall, I found a huge music room, one with pianos and harps and a whole orchestra’s worth of instruments. An open archway led to what looked like a ballet studio, with bars set along the mirrored walls. There was a fine layer of dust on most surfaces. This wasn’t a place used very often, so I was surprised the doors weren’t locked like the unused rooms on the third floor.

  I didn’t touch anything and get dusty—I just tried to sense the magic.

  “Where is it?” I whispered.

  Thierry believed Marcellus was the djinn, but my gut told me he was wrong. Maybe he hadn’t totally seen how Veronique looked at her lost love, but I had. Veronique, despite her superficial mannerisms, went a lot deeper than most people believed. She loved hard, even though she would deny it to anyone who asked. Her book might not be the greatest piece of literature ever written, but I’d bet my last dollar that it had tons of heart in its five billion pages.

  She said it was a romance—a romance between her and Marcellus, one that spanned the ages. He was the true love of her life.

  A djinn could certainly prey on that kind of weakness, but I honestly didn’t think she was that gullible.

  Marcellus was the real deal—or as real as any fictional version could ever be.

  Combine that with a pinch of magic, and you had a recipe for . . . well, a whole lot of trouble.

  I left the music and ballet studio and moved slowly down the hall, trying to sense something. Anything. I stopped and studied the portraits hanging on the walls. The oil landscapes. The carpeting, the vases, and anything else.

  No magic.

  And I did try my very best to avoid any dark passageways that might take me away from the mansion again.

  Luckily, I didn’t see a single one.

  “Sarah.” Atticus greeted me as I turned the corner. He was exiting a room. “You’re not with Thierry.”

  At the sight of him, my self-defense instincts popped up like a cluster of Whac-A-Moles. “Not at the moment.”

  “Tell me the truth—how is he really holding up against that unfortunate spell?”

  Are you asking out of concern or morbid curiosity? “He’s . . . managing as best as he can.”

  Atticus pursed his lips and nodded. “I know his troubles. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. It was particularly cruel for Sebastien to prey upon this weakness.”

  �
��It hasn’t been an easy evening for him for many reasons. Any luck?” I asked, trying to change the subject. Atticus was the last person I’d confide in. I wasn’t about to tell him that Thierry had broken his spell.

  He glared at the walls going down the long hallway as if they’d personally offended him. “I’m afraid not. Whoever hid it did a fine job. I’d be very nearly impressed if I weren’t deeply annoyed by this inconvenience.”

  I was still trying to figure out what Thomas could have meant by seven oh five attack. Was it an important clue or something a nearly unconscious person might randomly ramble?

  And why was he unconscious, anyway? Was he trying to tell me who’d attacked him?

  Seven oh five.

  It was another piece of information I hesitated to share with Atticus. However, since he’d cornered me, I couldn’t just scurry off. Not yet, anyway.

  “I was just thinking about the otherworldly message we got earlier via Melanie,” I said. “How do we even know to take it seriously? It could be as dangerous as a car alarm.”

  He shook his head. “I’m not sure we want to take the chance of ignoring it.”

  “No, of course not.” I didn’t trust Atticus, but there had to be something he was good for. He was old, therefore a natural wealth of information. “What do you know about djinn and their amulets?”

  “Enough.”

  Something in that single word made me eye him with additional suspicion. He’d wanted that amulet really badly—but why?

  When Atticus had first approached me in the hallway, I’d wanted to try to lose him immediately. But why would I want that? I bet he’d know about all things djinn, given his acute interest in the amulet. And I couldn’t forget for a moment that he was suspected of offing a couple of high-level master vamps on his journey to the top. And if he was responsible for those murders, Thierry could be next on his list.

  But if I could somehow get him to admit to those crimes . . .

  “I know what you’re thinking, Sarah,” Atticus said.

  My stomach lurched. “Oh, yeah?”

  He drew closer, peering at me through the shadows of the hallway. “You’re angry with me.”

  That would be one of the lesser emotions I felt toward Thierry’s shady boss. “Why would I be angry with you?”

  He glanced up and down the hallway, as if checking whether we might be disturbed. Then he took my arm. “Let’s go sit somewhere more private and talk.”

  More private than an empty hallway? My high heels dug into the carpet. “We can’t waste time talking.”

  “The others are searching. This mansion is large, but a group of motivated people scouring it from attic to basement will turn up something. I have faith.”

  “Do you? I wish I could say the same.”

  “Sarah, please, I mean you no harm. Trust me.”

  Spoken by someone I didn’t trust. One I believed could definitely mean me harm.

  I’d admit that my insistence on trusting people based solely on my gut instinct had gotten me in trouble before. But it had been a help many more times than not. Trust was a gamble, and sometimes it paid off.

  Like with Thierry, for example. Most assumed him to be cold and emotionless and dangerous. Well, he certainly could be all three, depending on the situation. But I’d seen something more in him and gone against the advice of others to prove it.

  My gut had been totally right about him.

  So what was it trying to tell me about Atticus Kincade?

  It seemed seriously conflicted when it came to the big boss of the Ring.

  Why not get it out on the table so we could stop wasting time?

  “Do you want to kill me?” I asked bluntly.

  His brows shot up. “Kill you? What in the world are you talking about? You’re very paranoid tonight.”

  I remembered that he’d stormed out of the parlor before he’d had a chance to hear about the murders. “I think I have a right to be. Jacob and Frederic are both dead, Atticus.”

  He paled. “My God. Do we know who’s responsible?”

  Okay, he was either being completely genuine right now, or he was one a hell of an amazing actor.

  “We think it was Anna. And she’s nowhere to be found.”

  His eyes narrowed with disapproval. “And you’re wandering the halls alone without protection?”

  “I can look after myself.”

  Anger flashed across his face. “De Bennicoeur is an idiot if he’s left you alone to face potential danger. Sarah, you must trust me. I have devoted my existence to protecting vampires from the world at large, from each other, and sometimes even from themselves. I want to help you and I swear on all that is holy that I mean you no harm.”

  Yeah, my gut was all kinds of conflicted when it came to this guy.

  Fine, he wanted to talk in private? We’d talk in private. I might even get some important information out of him.

  With renewed determination, I followed him to a nearby room with a large couch in it. There were also floor-to-ceiling shelves of books, but not nearly as many as the library downstairs held.

  Atticus shut the door to give us some privacy, but he didn’t get too close. He sat down in the chair opposite the sofa where I’d taken a seat.

  “I know you must hate me,” he said.

  My brows shot up. “Excuse me?”

  “Thierry works for the Ring because of decisions I made. Because of . . . threats I made.”

  Okay. So we were going to talk about this, were we?

  Now?

  I glanced at a clock on the wall, which told me it was three thirty.

  We didn’t have time for this.

  I crossed my arms. “He hasn’t shared much about that, but I have a general idea of what happened.”

  “I believed he had feelings for you based on what I’d heard through the grapevine. Deep feelings that surprised the entire council of elders. You see, we had all known Thierry in the past, before he took his lengthy sabbatical from the Ring and from us. He was an admirable man, but he had his faults, as do we all.”

  Let’s get to the point, shall we? “Go on.”

  “I was in charge and I had some difficulties with previous consultants. I kept thinking about Thierry and how capable he’d been as lead elder in the beginning, how focused he was on creating the council. When Thierry does something, he does it wholeheartedly. I needed him back. He refused several offers. He refused until I grew angry and impatient.” He shrugged. “I am used to getting what I want and when I don’t, I get very . . .”

  Murderous? “Cranky?”

  Atticus nodded. “I had also received information that he might have had contact with the Jacquerra Amulet, which had become a bit of an obsession of mine in the last few years. To make a long story short, Sarah, I refused to take no for an answer from him.”

  “So you threatened to have me killed.” Saying it out loud left a nasty taste in my mouth.

  He didn’t speak for a moment. “I preyed on what I believed was Thierry’s new weakness . . . you. I pressed buttons I never would have guessed he’d even possess. And it appeared to work like a charm. He agreed to sign on as a consultant for us.”

  That was as close to an admission as I was likely to ever get. “And here we are.”

  “Here we are.” His forehead furrowed. “I now recognize my methods may have been more extreme than necessary.”

  “Thierry took you seriously.”

  “He did.” He shook his head. “But I don’t understand. Seeing you here together tonight, I’m questioning what others have told me about the strength of your relationship. I did wonder how it was possible that a fledgling could capture the full attention and devotion of a master vampire, not to mention the heart of one always assumed to be heartless. It seems . . . impossible. No offense intended.”

 
Thierry wanted him to believe we had our problems, so I didn’t argue this. I bit my tongue for a moment so I could stay silent long enough to gather my thoughts.

  “Thierry’s an enigma,” I said.

  “Yes, he is that.”

  “Was it just a threat?” I had to ask. “Or would you have followed through if he’d continued to say no to the job?”

  Atticus pursed his lips, his expression strained. He didn’t reply.

  “I see.” I stood up. “I think we’re done here.”

  “You have nothing to fear from me, Sarah.”

  “Says someone who planned to have me killed. Or would you have done it yourself?” I swept my gaze over the length of him, my stomach souring. “No, you don’t seem the type to want to dirty your own hands. You must have plenty of minions you can order around.”

  “I’ve never been much of a minion enthusiast.” He sighed. “Am I a coldhearted, ruthless bastard, Sarah? One who would do whatever it takes to get what he wants and maintain his level of power? I am. No question about it.”

  “And I’ll take that as a ‘yes, I would have killed you.’ Thank you for the clarification.”

  “I have no interest in death of any kind tonight. All I need is the amulet.”

  “Then we should be looking for it, not wasting time talking.” I moved toward the door, but he stepped in front of me.

  Any guilt left his expression as he gave me a focused and intimidating look. “Where did Thierry get the money that enabled him to bid so high tonight?”

  The last thing I wanted to do was let on that the Ring suspected Atticus of nastiness, enough to bankroll Thierry’s investigation of him. “Thierry’s got lots of money squirreled away all over the place. He’s pushing seven hundred years old. That and compound interest will do wonders for your savings account.”

  I tried to get past him, but he shuffled to the side.

  “He’s dangerous. More so than I even thought he was.”

  “He’s under a blood spell, thanks to Sebastien.”