The full impact hit him just as she mouthed, “I’m sorry,” and then she stepped over the edge.
No!
He jumped forward, clawing at the air, but she was already beyond his grip. For a split-second, her fragile body was a four-pointed star in the wind. She connected with the water, bouncing once before a dark mouth with white foam swallowed her whole in front of his eyes.
The weight of the entire ocean bore down on him. Dropping to his knees, he uttered a cry that would rip the wings clean off an angel.
Maya rushed down the steps. “What the hell?”
A baffled looking Lann peered over the bridge. Bono came running.
Joss jumped back to his feet. “Stop the boat,” he yelled. “Cut the engine.”
Lann disappeared to execute the command.
Catching the look that passed between Maya and Cain, Joss shook his head. “No. I won’t accept it. Bono, get the fucking lifebuoy.”
Bono glanced at Maya, who nodded. The boat came to a slow halt. Joss ran up the steps to the bridge for a better view. The water was quiet except for the swell caused by the boat. Fuck. He couldn’t breathe.
He went back down, pulling off his shoes in the run. “Maya, I need you. Clear a fucking path like Moses if you have to.”
Maya looked at Cain, who shook his head. She walked to Joss and laid a hand on his arm. “It won’t help.”
“Don’t fucking tell me no.”
She gave him a pitiful look. “I’m sorry.”
I’m sorry, the most dreadful words in the universe.
He turned his back on his team members.
Sorry wasn’t going to cut it.
Not now. Not ever.
He didn’t fucking think so.
Chapter 21
Near Île aux Moines, the reef parted around a narrow sand bed that ran to the beach. Clelia had dived for oysters off the coast of the island enough times with Erwan to know where the rocks gave way to sand. She knew the momentum would carry her to the back of the boat past the engines. Normally, she’d be pulled down and under the blades, chopped to pulp, but she also knew where the currents crossed.
This part of the Gulf was the most dangerous. Slipstreams of ten knots crisscrossed the bay. She jumped where the current was the strongest so that it carried her away from the yacht. There, the rocky bottom dropped to an underwater cave. Free diving had developed her lung capacity. She could easily hold her breath until the yacht was well past. She held onto the rock by the cave entrance until the slipstream caused by the boat weakened enough for her to swim back up.
When she broke the surface, she dragged much needed air into her lungs. The noise of the engine was quiet. They would’ve cut the engine to look for her. She searched the water until she spotted the yacht in the distance. The engine started up again and then the yacht turned back, but she was already through the reef and making her way with strong breaststrokes to the beach. For some, the water was much too cold, but she was accustomed to swimming in the icy sea, even in winter, and she was swim fit. She reached the island before they had a visual on her.
The beach wasn’t populated. The coast was rocky and the currents too dangerous for bathing. The private stretch of land where she came ashore belonged to a foreigner. The ruins of a once glorious chateau stood next to a giant pine tree.
Panting, she rested her hands on her knees to catch her breath. Her mouth tasted of salt and her limbs ached from exertion, but she only paused for a few seconds before running for the shelter of the dilapidated building.
Joss wasn’t a fool. He’d search the islands, starting with this one since it was closest to where she’d gone overboard. Bono was probably on his way to the helicopter as she was digging around the protruding roots for the box Erwan had mentioned.
A patch of disturbed earth between two roots caught her attention. She found a flat rock and started digging until she hit something hard. The box wasn’t deep. Erwan had left it in a hurry. She pulled it out, brushed off the soil, and lifted the metal lid. Inside was a plastic zip lock bag. Its contents included a passport, money, and a letter from Erwan.
With the worst of her fatigue wearing off, she started feeling the cold, shivering in her wet clothes. She removed the passport with trembling fingers. The name, Cléane de Villiers, was printed next to her photo.
How did Erwan manage to get a false passport? When did he plan all of this? His letter didn’t provide the answers she wanted. It contained a schedule of the trawlers that would pass during the next few weeks, and a message of love, saying he was praying for their safe reunion.
Huddling behind a collapsed wall, Clelia studied the ship roster. The next one passing through the Gulf was on its way to South Africa.
Chapter 22
Despite what Maya and Lann said, Clelia was alive. Joss felt it. Their lives were tied together by an invisible string. Her heartbeat pulsed in his chest as he lay in foreign hotel beds, recalling her face, her voice, and the way her body had felt underneath his as he clutched the quartz pendant with the broken chain in his fist.
After Clelia’s escape, he’d taken leave for the first time since he’d taken command of Cain’s task force. Cain had encouraged the break, no doubt understanding Joss’s feelings for Clelia. After the way he’d behaved, going wilder than a bull with a red flag shoved in his face, his attachment to the witch was undeniable. Joss had asked for three months, saying he wanted to travel for a while, and Cain had granted him five. Four of those precious months had already been wasted. He had little time left.
He understood the irony of not knowing what one had until it was gone only too well. He should’ve just claimed her, the consequences be damned. She belonged to him. She’d always belonged to him, and she’d sealed that deal the night she’d let him inside her body. It was a mistake to let her get away, the worst he’d ever made. He’d set it right if it was the last thing he did. He’d find her, and when he did, he’d never let her go.
Night after night, he lay awake, replaying their reunion over in his mind. The knowledge that she’d witnessed his weakest moment when he’d lost himself at the bottom of a bottle shamed him. Not once had she used it against him. How easy it would’ve been to betray him by confessing to Cain he was nothing but a weakling who seduced innocent girls. She could’ve claimed harassment. If she was anything less than an angel, she would’ve used it to bargain for her freedom, but she kept it to herself while he betrayed her in every imaginable way. He betrayed a love that had started young and spanned many years by taking her hostage, by submitting her to his ghosts, by trading his hauntings for her peace, and by rejecting the redemption she’d offered, but she’d betrayed him too.
Just before Clelia had jumped overboard, they’d witnessed her art. Either it had regressed so far it didn’t come through in her blood or she was a cunning little magician and liar. A coldness had invaded his soul when he’d realized how much danger she was in. That chill had never left. It lived in his heart. She was the prey Lupien was after. Finding Erwan was no longer important. Finding Clelia before Lupien did was the only thing that mattered. He didn’t share his belief that Clelia was alive with anyone. He had a damn good reason for keeping it to himself.
Lupien wouldn’t stop until he had Clelia in his claws. This much Joss had learned from the little information he could dig up on Lupien. Lupien and Cain were similar in one aspect. They were both determined and unstoppable. If Cain discovered Clelia was alive, she’d be hunted by two of the most powerful men in the universe, one wanting to kill her for the good of mankind and the other for evil.
Whoever would get to her first, she was doomed. There was only one way to save her. He had to kill Lupien and claim her to protect her from Cain. In order to steal her art, Lupien would have to turn her heart dark by spoiling her goodness and extinguishing her light. She was inexperienced, a virgin firestarter, and fertile ground for evil predators like Lupien. If Lupien succeeded, not only would he be the most powerful force on the face of the ea
rth, but Clelia would be lost forever.
He tossed and turned, considering his self-assigned mission. Find her. Save her. Make her his. For the first time in his life, his destiny was clear. Clelia was as much a part of him as his quest. The one couldn’t be separated from the other. Clelia was his quest. His quest was Clelia. She was the answer to everything, to both his happiness and Cain’s life mission. Find her, and they could save the world from Lupien. Lose her, and all was lost. That was how strong he felt the bond that connected him to his witch.
The bond allowed him to feel what Maya couldn’t see. Clelia had gotten away. They’d combed the bottom of the ocean and hadn’t left a rock on land unturned. For weeks, Joss had roamed the woods, watched her house and even his at the slight chance she’d hide out there. Finally, he’d set her dogs loose in the hope they’d pick up on a scent. When that had failed, he had to admit she wasn’t in town.
For a month, they’d hunted Lupien. They’d tracked him all the way to Spain where they’d lost his trail. Joss would’ve felt a hell of a lot better if he could’ve killed the bastard before continuing his search for Clelia. At least his girl would’ve had one devil less chasing her. He’d had nothing else to go on. Then, one day, as he’d sat at the harbor watching the fishing trawlers come in, his heart had started beating faster. One trawler had passed in the week Clelia had jumped overboard. Its destination was Cape Town. He’d applied for leave. None of the team had been suspicious when he’d set off for South Africa. They’d expected him to run someplace where he could lick his wounds. Any fool could see how losing their hostage affected him.
From Cape Town, Joss had managed to pick up a trail to Johannesburg. The trawler had docked in Hout Bay. A cooler truck had taken the boat’s fish cargo from there to Johannesburg. Clelia could’ve gone anywhere after going ashore. Luckily for him, the truck driver was back in Hout Bay to transport another batch of fish when Joss arrived in the harbor town. He had to cut the idiot’s finger and suck his blood to learn the truth, because the man refused to cooperate, and denied he’d ever laid eyes on a tiny, Japanese woman.
The driver had gotten such a fright when Joss had used his knife that he’d spilled the beans. He’d not only confessed to taking Clelia to Johannesburg, but also to robbing her of her money. The man had sworn he’d never laid a finger on her. If his blood hadn’t confirmed his confession, Joss would’ve sliced his throat. He did leave him with one finger less though, a souvenir to serve as a reminder of the wrongs he’d done.
Lying in the bed of his Westcliff suite, so near, and so far, Joss willed her to reveal herself. Unable to sleep, he stepped out onto the balcony. The November summer breeze ruffled his hair. From the hillside, he had a view over the zoo that, except for a few path lights, was obscured in darkness. A lion roared. A jackal replied with a cry. He thought back to Celia’s zoo, the animals she’d rescued. He made a mental note to call the vet in the morning to make sure they were fine.
The wolf hybrids had posed a challenge as they wouldn’t heel to anyone. They roamed the woods and came home only to eat the food set out for them. Left to their own devices for too long, they’d start hunting. The easiest targets would be chickens and other small animals. When that happened, the farmers wouldn’t hesitate to shoot them.
A hyena’s yelping evoked the barking of a domestic dog in one of the streets. Soon, a choir followed. He gripped the balcony rail. The metal was cold, not warm like a woman’s skin. Her skin. Then it hit him. His heartbeat quickened. Of course. Why hadn’t he seen it before? If he wanted to find Clelia, he had to follow the animals.
When morning came, Joss dressed quickly. He’d spent the remainder of the night on his tablet, searching for animal rescue groups, and although the search brought up plenty, the only national, registered dog shelter was in the suburb of Randburg.
After a quick breakfast, he had the valet bring the rented car around. It was just before eight. Due to the peak-hour traffic, he didn’t arrive at the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals before nine. A young woman looked him up and down when he walked into the office.
“Can I help you?” she asked, leaning with her elbows on the desk.
“I would like more information about your volunteer programs.”
She lifted an eyebrow. “You want to volunteer?”
He perched on the edge of the desk and picked up a paperweight. “I haven’t decided yet.”
“Maybe you’d like to adopt.” She smiled. “No offense, but you don’t look like the volunteer type.”
“What does the volunteer type look like?” he asked, throwing the paperweight into the air and catching it.
She looked him over again. “Definitely not like you.”
“What’s the usual type?” Beautiful, fragile Japanese girls with kind, frightened eyes and a mouth made for kissing.
“Mostly vets and students or pet food company volunteers, but we have a few fanatics.”
The girl was clever. She called his bluff.
“Who are you looking for?” she asked, crossing her arms.
“A girl.” He put the paperweight back on her desk. “My girl.”
“If she’s your girl, why would you be looking for her?”
“For one more chance.” He didn’t elaborate about the unethicalness that chance would entail. He needed the employee to cooperate, not run in fear.
The girl’s expression softened. “You’re one of those, huh?”
He frowned. “What would that be?”
“I know your type.” She chewed on the end of her pencil as she considered him.
Ah. He could play along with what she thought she knew. “You’re right. She deserves better.”
The girl narrowed her eyes. “You won’t screw up again?”
“Never.” Not even half a chance. Once he’d gotten his hands on his little witch, he’d make sure she wouldn’t slip through his fingers again.
“Will you apologize to her?”
He supposed he did owe Clelia an apology for what he was going to do. “On my knees.”
She nodded. “I can work with a man on his knees. Who are you looking for?”
“A Japanese girl. She speaks English with a French accent. Black hair and dark eyes. Beautiful. Her name is Clelia.”
“We have a girl that fits your description, but her name isn’t Clelia.”
Even as his pulse accelerated, he kept a calm exterior. “What’s her name?”
“Cléane de Villiers.”
“Cléane is her second name,” he said without blinking an eye. It was her. He couldn’t explain how he knew. He just knew.
“She only comes in on weekends. She’s here every Saturday and Sunday.”
It was only Tuesday. He couldn’t wait that long. “Do you know where I could get hold of her?”
The girl looked uncertain again. “Look, I don’t mind telling you that she helps out here, but asking me for an address is another thing altogether, not that I have it anyway.”
He wanted to shake the information out of her, but he had to play it cool. “I’ve waited long enough. What are another few days?”
“You’ve got it bad, don’t you?”
He grimaced. “You have no idea.”
She scrutinized him. “You seem sincere.”
“More than you could ever know.” About the wrong things.
She sighed. “I only know she works in a bar in Rosebank. It’s called Blue or something like that.”
“Thanks.” Getting to his feet, he fished a roll of bills from his back pocket and left it on her desk. “That’s a donation for your organization.”
Her eyes widened. “Really?”
“I’m sure you’ll put it to good use,” he said as he made for the door.
“Aren’t you going to wait for your receipt?”
“I’m in a hurry.”
“I’ll give your receipt to Cléane on Saturday,” she called after him.
He paused in the frame. “She won’t be back.”<
br />
“Oh my God, you’re taking her home.” The girl sighed. “That’s so romantic.”
In a screwed-up kind of way. “If she calls, don’t tell her about my visit.” He winked. “I don’t want to spoil the surprise.”
“You’ve got it,” she said with undeserved stars in her eyes.
There were two bars with the word blue in the name—Dark Blue and Monday Blues. Monday Blues turned out to be a fancy cigar bar on the top floor of a business building. The doorman assured Joss there were no female waiters. It was strictly a business club with male servers to avoid problems. That left Dark Blue.
There was no name sign for the bar at the address he’d looked up on the internet. He had to ask in several nearby shops before someone pointed him in the right direction. It was on the ground floor of a poorly maintained block of flats. The windows were painted black. He didn’t like the look of the place.
When he pushed on the door, it swung inward. A smell of stale smoke assaulted his nostrils. The inside was dimly lit. A man mopping the floor glanced up. Another one drying glasses behind the bar said, “We’re closed.”
He let the door swing shut and took stock of the room as he approached the bar. The tables were pushed against the wall and the chairs were stacked, presumably for the cleaning. He flicked a gaze over the cheap bottles of hard liquor lining the bar shelves.
“I said we’re not open for business,” the bartender said, putting the glass aside and dumping the cloth in a drip rack.
Joss walked up to the counter. How could Clelia work in a place like this? How could she serve drinks to drunken men who’d ogle her? Did their hands wander?
He balled his fists and flexed his fingers. “I’m looking for someone.”
“I can’t help you,” the bartender said.
“I didn’t ask if you could help.” Joss leaned forward. “I’m telling you to.”
“If you knew who owned this place, you’d go look somewhere else.”
“Does it look like I care about the owner of this dump?” Joss asked, taking his revolver from the back of his waistband.
Pyromancist SECOND EDITION: Art of Fire (7 Forbidden Arts Book 1) Page 19