by Brenda Joyce
He got it together and faced Sam. “Here’s the deal. The Highlander got Brad with his sword in front of a bunch of cops and civvies,” Nick said.
Sam faced him, her eyes wide.
“The press got wind of it and they’re going with it. I can’t close it down. They’re calling him ‘the Sword Murderer’—original, don’t you think?”
“Shit,” Sam said. She was a bit pale, when Sam was usually the coolest cucumber he knew.
“He also took at least one hit from our city’s finest,” Nick added. “Of course, a teensy-weensy bullet probably won’t bother him very much.” He picked up the white phone and made a single call. It would stop the cops from hunting their Highlander down. He could do that much.
He smiled cheerfully at her after hanging up. “The cops will be put to bed shortly. But the story is breaking on the evening news right now.”
“It will cause hysteria,” Sam said, heading for the door. “We have to find him before one of the vigilante gangs does.”
Normally, Nick didn’t mind the dozens of violent vigilante gangs in the city. They were no match for the demons, but they sure as hell helped the war effort—even though their activities were against the law. CDA, the cops and the Feds all looked the other way.
He wasn’t looking the other way now.
The Highlander was wounded—and from all accounts, on the run. He needed their protection. “Let’s go find the holy warrior,” he said. “And see if we can help our medieval friend.”
HER NEWSPAPER TUCKED under her arm—she usually glanced at the front page in the teachers’ lounge when her class was in fifth-period music—Tabby walked into the school where she taught first grade. She greeted a half-dozen other teachers as she strolled toward her classroom, still trying to get focused on the day to come. She loved children and she loved being an elementary-school teacher, especially in public school, where many of the kids so needed direction and guidance. But she’d slept badly last night. Her dreams had been anxious and stressful—they’d all been about the dark Highlander.
She’d awoken with the certainty that he was in trouble, more so than ever, and that he needed her.
One strange visit to the Met and her life had changed so quickly, she thought.
And something was up. Sam hadn’t come home that morning. She worked at night—evil played after dark and hid in the daylight. But she was usually home at sunrise. Tabby knew she should assume whatever Sam was doing was routine, but her senses were telling her otherwise. Something was happening, and she wished she knew what.
Tabby entered her classroom and some of her anxiety vanished. The room’s walls were covered with the kids’ cheerful and colorful paintings and pictures, their latest spelling assignments, and maps of the city, the state and the country, with important landmarks flagged. Some articles they’d discussed from newspapers and magazines were also taped to the walls.
She always had a really good vibe when coming to class, and that hadn’t changed. First period was current events, so Tabby laid her copy of USA Today down on her desk, and with it, the article she’d clipped for the kids from the New York Times.
She glimpsed the paper’s headline and cried out.
Sword Murderer Threatens City. Tabby sank into her chair, scanning the article, somehow already knowing what she was going to find. A man dressed in a medieval Highland costume had murdered a man in Tribeca last night. He had escaped the authorities, but he was wounded, armed and dangerous.
Tabby began to shake. He was in the city, and he was hurt.
She closed her eyes and whispered, “I can help you.”
Come to me, she thought, straining for him. Come to me.
“Hello,” a cheerful voice called to her.
For one moment, Tabby was so focused that she heard the woman but couldn’t move or open her eyes. Then the woman spoke again and Tabby came back to the present.
She got up, drenched with perspiration, and faced a woman she had never seen before. The woman had very fair skin and hair, and she was wearing a beige suit that gave her an oddly bland appearance. “Are you okay?” the woman asked.
“I’m fine—I was lost in thought,” Tabby said, aware that she’d spoken the truth.
“I’m filling in for Marlene, and I just wanted to pop in and introduce myself,” the woman said, smiling. “I’m Kristin Lafarge.”
Marlene was vice principal, and she was on maternity leave. Tabby smiled in return, walking forward so they could shake hands. “Hi. I’m Tabby Rose, although you probably already know that.”
“I do,” she said pleasantly. “And I’ve heard great things about this school. I’m looking forward to my time here.”
“It’s a great faculty and a great group of kids, for the most part,” Tabby said.
Kristin glanced at her desk. “Just what we need, a nutcase on the loose in the city, running people through with a sword.”
Tabby smiled grimly. “I’m sure he’ll be apprehended.” Please keep him safe, she added silently, a prayer.
“I hope so. Although it’s not in the news, it’s all over the school that the victim was murdered eight blocks from here.”
He had been so close. Tabby lived five blocks from the school. She breathed hard as Kristin left, promising they’d catch up in the teachers’ lounge later. The vice principal was hardly out of the door when Tabby ran to her desk. She seized the newspaper. The murder had happened at eleven o’clock last night—when she’d been asleep, dreaming about him.
Had he come to her neighborhood because of her spell?
She inhaled, shaken. Was it possible that she had cast such a powerful spell? She had to call Sam. HCU would help him. Or was Sam already on the case? Was that what she’d been working on last night? But her first students began arriving, and Tabby couldn’t linger on the phone. Instead, she sent Sam a text message.
Have you found the Highlander?
Then she began greeting her class. If she did not get a grip and focus on her students, it would be an endless day for her, and unfair to them. Besides, a medieval warrior with the power to travel through time could probably handle a few cops and a wound or two. But she was not relieved. As she greeted her kids, she almost expected him to walk into her classroom, but every time she looked up, a parent or a student stood there.
A tiny, pretty blond girl named Willa, who happened to be one of Tabby’s brightest pupils, came into the classroom. “How are you, Willa?” she asked. Willa could already read and write at the second-grade level, and she was always asking questions that were amazingly insightful for a six-year-old.
Willa asked, “Can we have a spelling bee?”
Tabby laughed, and laughing felt good. “A spelling bee! You must have seen that show on TV over the weekend. I’ll think about it.” It was a foregone conclusion that if they had a spelling bee, Willa would win it.
More children filed in, greeting her with happy smiles, calling out to one another eagerly. It was a really good group of kids. But she couldn’t relax and she couldn’t stop worrying—or glancing at the door. When a few of the parents and caretakers expressed concern over the Sword Murderer being on the loose, Tabby reassured them all that the school was completely safe. Was he nearby?
If only she had a moment to focus, she would meditate and try to feel his presence.
Finally her last student arrived. Tabby shut the door, asking everyone to settle down so they could talk about the lame-duck presidency. “Does anyone remember what that means?” she asked. As she showed the class a picture of a duck, the kids shrieked and made outlandish comments. She let them carry on, her gaze drifting to the newspaper article.
“Ms. Rose? Ms. Rose!”
Tabby jerked, realizing the kids had settled down and were waiting for her expectantly. She heard her classroom door open, but did not turn. Assuming it was a staff member, she said, “Who wants to try to tell me what a lame-duck president is?”
Only Willa raised her hand. Tabby noticed that the kids
were distracted by whoever had come into the room, but she said, “Willa?”
“Why are they locking the door?”
Tabby turned as she heard the lock click. Two teenage boys stood by the door, clad from head to toe in black, their complexions eerily pale and made more so by the application of pancake makeup.
Her heart began to thunder uncontrollably. The boys had the appearance of the subs that ran in the gangs burning civilians. She prayed the boys were Goths, not possessed humans. The sub gangs had always preyed on the Innocent in large groups—until last week’s Rampage. As for her “new” sixth sense, the only feeling she was getting was that these boys were definitely looking for trouble.
She managed to feign a calm she did not feel as she slowly put the paper aside and stood up. “Hello.” The children must not be alarmed. “Can I help you?”
The boy who had pitch-black hair with flame-colored streaks dyed in it grinned. “You sure can, Teach.”
She didn’t know if she finally had the power to sense evil or not, but she knew these boys were evil. While she didn’t know what they wanted, she did know their intent was purely malicious. How was she going to protect the children?
She turned from them and smiled at the children. “I have a great idea. Everyone sit down on the floor in a small circle, with the paper. Find as many items relating to the President as you can.”
One of the teen boys snickered.
“Come on,” Tabby said, wanting to gather the children into one tight group. As they all sat down on the floor, as far from the two boys and the door as she could get them, she handed Willa the article. “Willa, I want you to be the group leader and make a list.”
Willa stared at her with her big, intelligent blue eyes. Tabby smiled more fully; Willa knew something was wrong. “Are they going to watch the class?” Willa asked.
“Maybe.” Tabby smiled, when she heard the whirring of a drill.
She whirled and saw the blond boy drilling holes into the door. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” the dark-haired boy said. He pulled out a long metal object from his backpack.
The blonde was now drilling a set of holes into the wall, and Tabby realized they were adding a bolt to the door to lock her and the children inside the classroom. She lowered her voice, aware of her fear rising. But she somehow breathed and tamped it down. “Whatever you intend, do it to me. But let the children go.”
“Oh, don’t you worry, pretty lady. We are definitely doing it to you.” He laughed at her.
Tabby wet her lips, knowing she must hold her fear at bay for the children’s sake. She sent a silent message to Sam—telepathy was huge for them. “What’s your name?”
He bared his teeth and said, “Angel. You like that…Tabitha?”
They knew her name. Then comprehension flashed in her mind—her name was on the door. “You want me, not the children. Please, whatever you want, I won’t resist. But we have to let the children go, now.”
“We’ve got plans for the kiddies,” Angel said.
“Ms. Rose?” Willa asked.
Tabby jerked, wishing Willa hadn’t left the security of the circle of children, as false as it was. She took her hand. “Willa, go back to the other children.”
Willa looked carefully from her to Angel and then to the blonde, who was drilling screws into the new lock on the door. “Is he locking us in?”
Before Tabby could come up with an excuse for what was happening, Angel said, “We sure are, pretty girl.” He walked away and dumped the contents of a huge duffel onto the floor.
Tabby cringed as she saw the kindling.
He poured gasoline on it and grinned. “What’s wrong, Teach? Afraid of fire?”
Tabby breathed. “Go back to the other children, Willa.” But now she saw that every child had his or her eyes trained upon the drama that was unfolding.
Angel’s hand snaked out and he seized Willa, who screamed. “Maybe we’ll start with her, witch,” he said to Tabby.
Tabby sent Willa a reassuring glance, and Willa fought her tears and stopped struggling. “Let my student go,” she said, and it was not a request.
Angel nodded at his blond friend, ignoring her. The blonde produced matches and began to light one.
Tabby’s heart thundered as he lit the match. Her mind raced with lightning speed. Willa was going to be burned at the stake, and perhaps the other children would, too. And then they’d burn her. She needed a spell.
Dear God, it had to work.
The pile of kindling burst into flames. The children screamed, except for Willa, who was deathly pale now. But she could not calm the other children. Tabby closed her eyes and murmured, “Fire fears water, fire needs rain. Fear fears water, give us rain. Rain douse fire, give us rain.”
“She’s casting a spell,” the blonde said, sounding a bit alarmed.
Tabby opened her eyes. Nothing had happened; nothing had changed. Her students were crowded together by her desk, some of them crying, and all of them were staring at the fire roaring in the front of the classroom. The blond boy seemed nervous, but Angel looked pissed. Tabby was expecting the fire alarm to go off, but it did not. Surely they hadn’t been smart enough to dismantle the fire alarms last night or that morning before school?
Tabby glanced at the ceiling and saw a wire hanging off the closest alarm, and her heart sank. The fire alarms had been tampered with. Then she saw a yellow mark spreading across the ceiling.
“Come on, pretty girl—girls get to go first,” Angel said, grinning.
Willa screamed as Angel started to drag her toward the fire.
Tabby realized there was a water mark growing on the ceiling. As she rushed forward to fight for Willa, water dropped on her head—once, and then again and again. But a few drops of water weren’t going to put out the fire. She reached Angel and Willa; the blonde seized her, restraining her. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your turn.”
“Let her go,” Tabby said furiously, struggling to jerk free of the blonde. She was wearing her usual two-inch heels and she ground down as hard as she could onto the instep of his foot.
He was wearing sneakers and he howled, releasing her.
Tabby seized the can of kerosene and flung it at Angel. He cursed, releasing Willa, wiping the few drops of kerosene from his face. The fire suddenly roared, turning into an inferno. Tabby seized Willa and shoved her closer to the children. “Run!”
“Like hell,” Angel sneered. His eyes were black fire.
The next thing she knew she was in his arms and he had the blade of a knife pressed hard against her throat. She froze.
“There are many ways to kill a witch,” he said softly.
Tabby didn’t move, afraid he was going to sever her carotid artery.
“Do it and let’s get out of here,” the blonde said, “before she casts another spell.”
“Sounds good to me.” Angel grinned wickedly.
Dinna move.
Tabby heard the command, spoken in a heavy Scot brogue, as clear as day. Her fear vanished. Stunned, she looked across the classroom, past the fire.
The dark Highlander stood outside. He was staring at her through one of the windows. Their gazes locked. His was hard and ruthless, like his set face.
Tabby began to tremble.
And glass shattered. Energy blazed and the fire exploded, the heat intensifying. The children screamed, as did the blond boy, who was hurled backward into the bolted classroom door. Angel cried out as the Highlander bore down upon them both, sword raised. Panicking, Tabby pushed at Angel’s arms, but he didn’t release her.
The Highlander towered over them and smiled dangerously. “Release her or die.”
Tabby stared into his ice-cold eyes and knew he meant his every word. She wanted to protest but could not form words. His power was so strong, she inhaled it. It wrapped itself around her, male and thick and potent.
Angel knew he meant it, too. He dropped the knife but did not release her, wrapping
both arms around her now. “I’ll let her go—outside.”
Tabby failed to breathe. Angel meant to use her as a human shield, in order to escape.
“A foolish choice,” the Highlander said softly.
She heard him again, although he did not speak. Dinna move….
Tabby met his dark blue gaze and knew he was going to free her somehow. He would triumph—this man never lost. Her life was in his hands, but she trusted him with it. She didn’t move, obeying him.
The silver blade flashed.
Tabby wanted to scream as it arced down toward her. Watching that blade descend was the most horrifying moment of her life. She had made a mistake; she was going to die. But it was Angel who screamed, as the sword came between them.
For one more moment, he held her. Then, as Angel’s head toppled away from his shoulders, she was in a headless man’s arms. He collapsed and she was released. The children screamed. Tabby jumped away, shocked.
The Highlander had beheaded Angel while he held her. He could have taken her head, too!
Aghast, she met his gaze. Then she saw the blond sub pointing a big black gun at him from behind.
She gasped as it went off.
He turned, and silver blazed from his hands. The blonde was hurled back again, and this time, as he hit the wall and crumbled to the floor, Tabby knew he was dead.
And then Tabby ran to the children, urging them to crowd around her. “Don’t look over there!” She had never seen a man decapitated before. Of course she hadn’t. This was New York City, 2008, not Scotland in 1550. She choked back bile and fear.
Most of the kids were crying. Bobby Wilson wanted to go home. As they huddled tightly together, several in her arms, she tried to get past her horror and shock. He had saved her life. He had done what he had been taught to do. He was the product of his violent, barbaric times.
But he had beheaded Angel while she was in his arms.