by DB Reynolds
“Now? But it’s the middle of the night, and you’ve barely recovered. You need—”
“Sotiris is the sorcerer who cursed me into that stone prison, Nico’s greatest enemy. And now you tell me he had a hand in freeing three demons through the power of the Dark Witch. That’s no coincidence, Grace.”
“But it’s probably not even the same man,” she protested. “He’d have to be ancient, but I’ve seen him. He’s like forty or something.”
“And how old am I?”
She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it with a frown, before finally saying, “But you were cursed, frozen in time. He wasn’t, right?”
Kato shook his head, and then released his grip on her shoulders, as if suddenly aware he was holding her too tightly. He rubbed his hands down her arms in a soothing motion. “Sorcerers aren’t like the rest of us. They age until they reach the peak of their power, and then simply stay there. Sotiris was over a hundred years old, but appeared just as you described, no more than forty.”
“Even so, he can’t be the only person whose last name is—”
“Grace,” he interrupted. “It’s Sotiris. If nothing else, the breaking of my curse would have brought him running, but . . .” His expression brightened suddenly, wiping away the previous concern. “If Sotiris is alive, then Nico may be, too.” His happiness faded, and he shook his head. “But how do I find him?”
“Google.” He looked at her, and she shrugged. “It’s a powerful search engine. And if that doesn’t work, we can go even deeper.” She started to get up, aiming for her laptop, but he stopped her.
“Later. First, we have to stop Sotiris. The three demons we fought can’t be the end of his scheme. As deadly as they were, they brought him no reward, and he does nothing without personal gain.”
“But what—”
“Exactly. What was he trying to do, and, more importantly, how do we stop him?”
DAMIAN STOOD BACK, keeping an eye on the deserted museum grounds, while Cassandra strolled up to the door of the main building. There was a definite note of unreality as he gazed around at the moonlit gardens and buildings, like standing in a Roman villa . . . while a helicopter zoomed by off the beach below.
He shook his head slightly, then shifted his attention back to Cassandra, who was just sliding their stolen key card through the reader. This midnight excursion was a risk, but they’d done what little recon they could, given the circumstances. They’d visited earlier in the day, arriving as two more tourists eager to see the museum’s world-renowned collection of ancient art and artifacts. It was a stroke of good luck and timing that it was late fall, when, even on short notice, the necessary advance tickets were easy to get.
They’d parked and wandered around the various buildings and exhibits, and sipped a glass of quite ordinary wine in the outdoor café, all while planning their later break-in. Taking particular note of the security procedures for employees, it had become obvious that they’d need one of those slick all-access cards carried by certain staff members.
Lifting the key card—also known as stealing, but Cassandra preferred the milder term—had been simplicity itself, since, for all her squeamishness when it came to calling it what it was, Cassandra was quite the practiced thief. It had taken her longer to identify the right employee, with the right kind of pass, than to commit the act itself. And then, because they hadn’t wanted the key card missed before they’d had a chance to use it, they’d followed their target to a grocery store off the museum grounds, where Cassandra had been so slick, the woman had never known she was being victimized.
Although . . . “victimized” was such an unpleasant word. It wasn’t as if they planned to steal anything from the collection. Not unless they discovered something particularly foul or dangerous, in which case, they’d be performing a service, protecting the unsuspecting public.
There was a subtle beep as the door unlocked. Damian did a final scan of their surroundings and then joined Cassandra at the door. He didn’t dawdle, but he didn’t hurry either. The human eye was more likely to catch furtive movements than a simple stroll.
“I’ve temporarily knocked out their cameras,” Cassandra murmured, tapping something into her tablet. “It won’t last forever, though. And if anyone’s paying attention, this entry will show up on their security feeds.” She didn’t wait, but slipped through the door ahead of him.
“Nothing we can do about that. We’ll just have to stay a step ahead and get out before they catch up to us.”
She made a face, unhappy about doing this at the last minute. Cassandra was a planner and liked to examine all the angles before undertaking a mission as critical as this one. But because it was critical, there was no time. And if all hell broke loose, and they were caught? Well, then, Damian had full confidence that Nico would get them out, one way or the other.
He hooked an arm around her neck. “Don’t worry.”
She made a dismissive noise. “What’s to worry? We don’t know what we’re looking for, and we could be caught at any moment. No problem.”
He grinned. “Well, when you put it that way.”
“Let’s start on the second floor, the far corridor. Several of the items I saw up there this afternoon were worth a closer look.” She started for the stairs, flexing her fingers in anticipation, but Damian shook his head.
“If anything up there was what we’re looking for, you’d know it already. This thing was strong enough to draw Nico’s attention from across the continent. Besides, it’s also dark magic, and nothing up there fit the bill. I’d have sensed that.”
She sucked her lower lip between her teeth, thinking. It made him want to kiss her, to suck her sweet, full lip into his own mouth and . . .
“Damian.”
He grinned at the stern tone of her voice, telling him he’d missed whatever she’d been saying.
Her eyes narrowed, but she couldn’t conceal the smile flirting around her mouth. “I was saying,” she continued, “that if our target isn’t in the exhibits, it’s probably downstairs, where the storage and work areas are located. That level might not be covered by their internal cameras, which is good. But if we get down there, and the artifact is locked away in someone’s personal safe, that could be a problem.”
He took her arm and changed their trajectory, pushing her toward the basement stairs. “I’ve got that handled. Given our new criminal bent, Nico crafted a useful spell.” He held up what looked like an old-fashioned brass skeleton key. “It’s keyed to either one of us, and will open just about any lock.”
Cassandra stopped without warning, forcing him to do the same or run into her. She stared at the key and then up at his face. “If you had that, why did I have to pick that woman’s pocket to get a key card?” she demanded.
He grinned. “Because I love watching you break the law.”
There was no laughter in her eyes when she glared at him this time. “Bastards. You and Nick both.”
Damian couldn’t help himself. He slipped an arm around her waist and tugged her against him, capturing her sweet mouth in a kiss.
“What was that for?” she asked when he released her, her words gratifyingly breathless.
“Because I love you.” He gave her another quick kiss. “Shall we do this?”
“Oh sure,” she muttered, starting down the stairs, making the turn to the next flight, which put the basement door in sight. “He wants to do this, now that I’ve . . .” Her voice trailed away, when she realized he hadn’t followed, but was standing two steps above her, frozen, listening with every ounce of awareness he possessed.
“Damian?” she whispered, rushing back to place a hand on his side.
Something was tugging at his awareness. It was like before, at the university, and yet different somehow. Definitely dark magic, but. . . . He expanded his awareness, leaving his senses wide open while being careful to shield his own presence, and extending that concealment to Cassandra. The magic he possessed was . . . different. It wasn’t like Kato’s,
and certainly nothing like Nico’s. He possessed a preternatural ability with regard to all things warlike. Show him a weapon, and he’d master it with a touch. His mastery was such that he’d been worshipped as a god of war back in the day.
But, according to Cassandra, he also contained within himself a touch of Nico’s very powerful magic, because Nico had quite literally created him out of light and shadow and a whole lot of sorcery. His unique creation had left him sensitive to magic use, like a human magic detector. And that detector was pinging like crazy right now, warning of a magic unlike any he’d ever sensed before.
“I don’t know,” he murmured, focusing everything he had on that magical source, trying to identify something familiar. “It’s . . .” He shook his head. “I want to say it’s dark magic, but it’s not Kato’s. This is darker, more malevolent than anything Kato would ever do.”
“You don’t know that, babe. You don’t know what might have been done to him after all this time, how he might have changed. Look at what happened earlier, at the university. The guy they took away was in bad shape, and we don’t even know—”
But Damian was shaking his head. “I know. I was trapped in my own hell, and I know Kato. He had no choice in what his mother made him, but he turned his back on her a long time ago.”
“So what’s next?”
“We check it out, but we do it with our eyes open. And you stay behind me.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he overrode her.
“No discussion, Cassandra. You’re tough, but I’m a god.” He grinned at her groaned reaction. “Let’s do this.”
KATO FOLLOWED Grace down the concrete stairs and into the warren of hallways in the basement below the museum. Upstairs it was all marble floors and graceful Roman columns, but down here, it was utilitarian and dull, with long rows of lights overhead that cast an odd purple tint over everything. Grace had called them fluorescent, which seemed a poor word to describe their unflattering brightness.
“I don’t think anyone’s here,” she whispered, drawing his attention to her slender form encased in skin-tight jeans. Not even those ugly lights could paint an unflattering picture of that. He smiled as she pushed back the hood of the black zip sweatshirt she’d pulled on, insisting that she needed it to hide the gun she carried in a shoulder holster, but also to cover her blond hair in order to better conceal their midnight intrusion. In his experience, the best way to sneak into a place was not to sneak at all, but to act as if you belonged there. Which, oddly enough, Grace did. This was her office, and she had one of those key card things. There really was no sneaking about it.
They made another turn, and the door to her office came into view at the very end of the hallway. He’d spent a lot of years behind that door, without ever knowing what lay on the outside. He caught up to Grace, slipping an arm around her waist from behind and easing past her. There was a reason for this late-night visit. With Sotiris in the picture, the threat was magnified a thousandfold. Did that bastard realize that Kato had been freed? Did he know Kato had been responsible for defeating the three demons summoned by the scrolls? Scrolls that Sotiris had ensured would be activated when he requested Grace’s translation, because he, of all people, would have sensed her latent magic ability.
Sotiris’s involvement introduced far too many unknowns, and Kato wasn’t about to let Grace be the first through that, or any other, door until they knew where Sotiris was hiding and what his plans were. Because Sotiris always had a plan.
Grace rolled her eyes, but didn’t object when he took the key card away from her and reached for the locking mechanism. There were many modernizations in this world—some good, some bad—but these key cards were definitely on the good side of the ledger. No need to carry around a ring full of weighty metal keys. One card did it all.
He was just about to slide the card through the reader when he heard the distant sound of a door opening and closing. It was muffled by distance, and by the twisting nature of the corridors down here, but also because someone was being quiet about it. They hadn’t let the door close on its own, but had held it to a nearly silent click. The only reason Kato had noticed was because he’d done the same thing just moments ago.
“Grace,” he said quietly. He pulled her aside and tucked her into the corner behind him. It might have been better to hide behind the locked door of her office, but he still didn’t know who or what might be waiting for them there. For all he knew, this was all part of Sotiris’s plan to herd them down here for some nefarious purpose.
“Stop tucking me away like some helpless goddamn damsel,” she snapped. She loosened the safety strap on her weapon and moved out from behind him, although she was sensible enough to remain a half step back where they wouldn’t get in each other’s way if it came to a confrontation.
“Wait for—” he started to say, but then stopped, stunned, as he turned to stare down the empty hallway. Impossible. But, no. There was no mistaking. . . . A joy like nothing he’d ever felt suffused every part of his body, bringing light to his dark soul, and laughter to his throat.
“Kato?” Grace grabbed his arm, staring from the empty hallway to him, and back. She pulled her weapon abruptly, holding it low in both hands, the way he’d seen her do before. “Who the hell is that?”
GRACE WAS EYEING a nearby doorway, wondering if any of the offices were unlocked, when Kato broke away with a shout and raced down the hall. She braced for a fight, but then realized it wasn’t anger propelling him forward, it was joy. A joy that was reflected on the face of the big man who’d appeared at the other end of the hallway. He was taller even than Kato, with broad shoulders and blond good looks, and the bearing of a warrior. She recognized that bearing from the past few days with Kato. The two men were cut from the same cloth, one fair and the other dark, but both alpha males who faced down every challenge.
They were greeting each other with unabashed delight, slamming into their embrace with a force that would have crushed lesser men, and pounding each other’s backs so hard that the concussion echoed down the bare hallway.
This had to be one of Kato’s “brothers,” the warriors he’d fought with, and who’d been cursed along with him. This one was free. Did that mean they all were? Her heart swelled with emotion, her eyes filling with tears at the possibility. It would mean so much to Kato.
A movement behind the big blond drew her eye, and she raised her weapon. It was another woman, tall and dark-haired, her gaze locked on the reunion between the two men, just as Grace’s had been. And, just like Grace, her expression was one of affection and shared delight.
Grace let the gun fall to her side as the other woman lifted her head and caught Grace’s eye. She grinned and shrugged. The two of them were completely irrelevant at this point. She knew they were wasting time, taking a risk by standing there in the hallway while their enemy could very well be on their trail. But she couldn’t begrudge these two their reunion. Not after what they’d gone through to get it.
KATO WAS GRINNING so hard that it hurt, but not as much as the thud of Damian’s fists on his back did as the two of them greeted each other. It had been so long, so fucking long, and with so much misery in between. And yet, in this moment, all of the suffering washed away, and there was only joy.
“Little brother,” Damian boomed, clearly not caring who overheard their reunion. Kato was the youngest of the four warriors, while Damian had been the first at Nico’s side. He’d always treated Kato like the baby of the group, no matter that they were equals on the battlefield. As with the others, they each brought their own unique skills and talents to the fight, and the few years that separated them didn’t matter. Except as fodder for Damian to tease Kato.
“How are you here?” he asked Damian, pounding his back just as hard and hugging him in turn. “Are the others—?”
“Not yet,” Damian interrupted. “But Nico’s here.”
“Nico,” Kato whispered. As sad as he was to discover that two of his brothers remained lost,
he was overjoyed to learn that Nicodemus was still alive. “Where is he? I must—”
“He’s on his way. He was convinced days ago that you’d been freed, and then your performance at the university yesterday left no doubt in my mind or his.”
Kato grimaced. “That was an ugly business. A possession. We need to talk. How soon before Nico gets here?”
“A few more hours, but I’m guessing we can’t wait that long.”
“You’d be right.” He turned and held out a hand to Grace. “Grace.”
She smiled, her eyes bright with tears. She understood who Damian was to him. Not specifically—they hadn’t discussed the individual identities of his brothers—but she knew enough to understand that this was an occasion of great joy, even if it was the wrong place for celebrating.
She took his hand and let him pull her closer. “Damian, this is Grace. She broke my curse.”
“Damian Stephanos,” his brother crooned, always looking to charm another woman. “Thank you for saving my brother.”
“Grace Van Allen. And I didn’t do it for you.” The laughter in her voice told Kato that his brother’s flirting was wasted on her.
Damian’s laugh was as infectious as ever, but he sobered quickly enough. “We’ll have to exchange stories, brother. It seems fortune has favored us both.” His dark-haired companion came to stand next to him, and he ran a hand down her back. “This is Cassandra Lewis, the warrior who broke my curse.”
Kato tilted his head curiously. “How long ago was that?”
“Less than half a year,” Damian supplied, nodding to indicate he understood the reason for Kato’s question. “Nico believed the breaking of the first curse—mine—would have a cascade effect on the others. And now here you are. Gabriel and Dragan won’t be far behind.”
“Careful, brother. Fate is a spiteful bitch. Don’t tempt her.”
“True enough. So, let’s get on with this before we’re discovered. I know why we’re here, and I suspect it’s the same for you.”
“We should go into the office,” Grace said suddenly. “Voices carry, and while Kato and I could probably find a reason for being here, I’m guessing the two of you might have a harder time.”