“Did Nicodemus have any special skills?” she asked, absently, her gaze skimming over the search returns.
“He’s a sorcerer,” came the dry answer.
She didn’t look up, too absorbed in her task. “Oh, right. I doubt I’ll find that one on Google, though.” She kept clicking on the results, finding nothing that seemed promising, until on the third page, something caught her eye. It wasn’t flashy. Just an archived story from a local online news site about a big-money fundraiser in the aftermath of a particularly destructive hurricane. And on their list of the “most generous” donors was one Nicholas Katsaros. Hurricane. She glanced down at the masthead. Florida.
“My God,” she whispered, glancing up at Dragan’s back as he paced past the bed. He turned with a questioning look. “Remember I told you Sotiris hated Florida, because some asshole lived there and stank up the whole place? His words, not mine,” she clarified.
In three long strides, he was back by the bed, crouching in front of her. “Yes. Why?”
“Well, there’s a Nicholas Katsaros living in Florida, and based on this article, doing quite well. Was your Nicodemus rich?”
“By our standards, of course. But it’s doubtful . . . I mean, he wouldn’t have been able to bring his wealth with him. It was mostly lands and people.”
“He owned people?” she asked, aghast at the possibility she’d been trying to find a slave-owner.
“Of course not,” he dismissed. “People worked for him, worked his land and farms. Nico was a generous liege, a good man.”
“Oh. Well, good. Still, the whole Florida thing . . . that can’t be a coincidence. Let me see if I can find a picture,” she said slowly. “Although it doesn’t look as though he seeks out publicity. That article was from a tiny online site, very local. Mostly gossip about the rich and beautiful, of which there are many. On the other hand, if your friend wanted to avoid the limelight, that fits. And he could do it easily enough.”
“Limelight?”
“Attention. Pictures and stories about him—parties, charities, politicians. It’d be mostly online these days. Let me see what I can do.” She was silent for a very long time after that. Having zeroed in on a name, she switched her search to more informational databases, the kind she wasn’t supposed to have access to. But it wasn’t her fault they had crappy security, was it? They should be glad it was just her and not some crazed bomber. Although, if she’d been a truly good and concerned citizen, she’d have advised the relevant agencies of the flaws in their systems. But then, she wouldn’t have access when she needed it. Like now. When she was definitely being a good citizen. Trying to save the world from an evil sorcerer and all. She paused in her typing for a moment, eyes squinting into the near distance as she imagined herself explaining that one to the authorities. And then she shrugged and kept working.
She tried a few different tracks, including a virtual trip overseas where certain privacy laws were . . . somewhat more lax. Meaning governments kept databases of everything about their citizens’ lives, simply because they could. Every country seemed to be heading in that direction lately, but some were still easier to snoop than others. Finding nothing there, she got off the bed with a lot of swallowed groans from sitting in one position for too long, made a trip to the bathroom that seemed to go on forever, came back, and opened a can of Diet Coke left over from their dinner. Then she went back to the bed, and with a knuckle-cracking flex of her fingers, she plunged into the Florida DMV.
DRAGAN LAY BACK on the other bed, booted feet hanging off the edge, arms crossed behind his head on a pillow. He needed to get out of this room. It was another prison. Larger and more comfortable, and thanks to Maeve, back within his own skin, but he needed to be outside, breathing in the scent of the forest surrounding this place, feeling the sun’s warmth on his face, or even the moon’s cool light.
But he couldn’t leave Maeve here alone and unprotected. He didn’t understand most of what she was doing, but it was clear she was so completely absorbed that Sotiris himself could have walked in the door and she’d have barely noticed. Besides, she was working on his behalf, trying to find Nico. He was afraid to believe such a thing was possible, that Nico might be in this time and place, and so close they only had to drive the SUV to get to him. He wouldn’t let himself believe, wouldn’t set himself up for dire disappointment.
Pretending to rest, although every sense he possessed was on alert, he gauged the level of his own magic. The goddess would find him eventually. He had no way of knowing how far he was, in either time or distance, from his home world, or how long it would take her to reach him across that distance. Not physically, of course. She had no need to be in this world to work her will on him. And though he’d never have expected it, he found himself eager for the touch of her magic. He had no memories of living without it, had in the end relished the strength it had given him on the battlefield in Nico’s service, the power of his wings as he’d soared over his enemies and taken them down.
But this world . . . he didn’t know how people survived here. Were there no magical creatures other than vampires? No witches or demons? No others like him or his brothers, every one of whom had been gifted with a unique magical gift that had made them the greatest warriors of their time. The first thing he’d done after being freed from his prison, while still within the confines of Sotiris’s house, had been an instinctive reach for magic to recharge his power and rebuild his physical strength. There’d been so little available that he’d been convinced Sotiris had placed a spell on the house, blocking magic from entering. But now, he knew that wasn’t the case. Magic was thin everywhere in this world, it seemed. He’d hoped for better when they’d traveled into this place of nature and growth. But though the air smelled better, and he could hear a river running nearby, there was no more magic here than there’d been inside Sotiris’s house.
He was stronger than he’d been at first. And no doubt he’d continue to recharge as the days passed. But he wouldn’t feel good, wouldn’t feel capable, until he was back to normal. Normal for him, that was. He glanced at Maeve, muttering to herself and tapping at her computer, and wondered what she’d think when she finally discovered his true self, wings and all. Although she had seemed disappointed at their absence.
“Ah ha!”
Her triumphant cry had him sitting on the side of the bed facing her, eager to be doing something other than lying in this room and contemplating his magical future.
“Yes!” She gave a little sitting dance, bouncing on the bed in a way that brought a smile to his lips, despite his dreary thoughts.
“You found something?” he ventured to ask.
She looked over at him with a huge grin. “Not just something. I found this.” She swiveled the computer around to face him.
He stared at the screen, then glanced up and said, “What is it?”
Her eyes widened in disbelief. “What is—? Shit.” She climbed over to sit next to him and held the computer on her lap. “Sorry. Their graphics are for crap. Try this.”
He looked again and found himself staring at a column of images. Photographs of some sort, he intuited. He’d seen something like it during the time Sotiris had tried to torment him with television. These weren’t good photographs, however. Simply individuals staring out with dead eyes and unhappy expressions.
“This one,” she said eagerly, pointing at a man very close to the top of the page. “Is that him? Is that your Nico?”
Dragan twisted his head around to stare at her, so close he could see a few faint freckles on the creamy skin of her cheek. “Nico?”
“Yeah.” She pointed again. “Is that him?”
He forced himself to look, afraid to hope. He studied the small picture, staring hard, then blinked several times and leaned closer. So much of Nico’s self had been the constant, raw force of his power. This flat, lifeless image. . . .
His heart seemed to stutter in his chest, and he gritted his teeth, forcing his hands to steady as he reached for the computer and pulled it even closer to his eyes.
“His hair is shorter, much darker. And he’s thinner, but . . . Nico,” he whispered, eyes closing as his head drooped toward his chest, unable to breathe for the overwhelming sense of relief that swamped his senses. Nico was alive. He was here. Was it possible the others were too? He shoved that thought away, not willing to hope for too much, or even worse, to contemplate the many possibilities that could have taken his brothers from him forever.
He took what fate had given him for now, knowing his leader was near. Nico would know what to do with Sotiris. They just had to get to him.
“That’s him?” Maeve asked again, her voice layered with emotion as she read the truth on his face.
He nodded without looking away from the lifeless image. “Can we go to him?” he asked softly.
She nodded enthusiastically. “Sure. I’ve even got his address, if he’s still there. Or if it was ever real. Might be a business address, too. But it’s a place to start. Let me download this page. . . .” She spoke absently, fingers flying once more.
“When can we leave?”
She chuckled. “In the morning, dude. I’m tired.”
“Of course,” he said, instantly contrite and feeling useless. It was a rare experience for him. “How long do you think. . . . I ask only because I’m unfamiliar with your country.”
“Um.” She tapped a final key, then set the computer on the bed and turned to face him, one knee angled flat in front of her. “Let’s see, he’s in Pompano Beach,” she said slowly, as if sounding out the words. “That’s pretty far south. Let me just check. . . .” More tapping, maps this time. He recognized those, despite their differences from his own time. “Whoa. That’s a lot,” she exclaimed. “Twelve hundred miles, give or take. Eeesh. We might be able to do it in two days, if we don’t hit any traffic or—”
“You should teach me to drive the SUV, so you can rest. It will be faster.”
“It would, yes. Assuming you went faster than thirty miles an hour, since you’re not used to our speeds. Even worse would be you driving eighty miles an hour on a few hours’ instruction. And then there’s the fact that you don’t have a license, so if we did get stopped with you driving, you might go to jail for at least a few hours, until I paid your fine and got you out. Assuming I could, since you have no ID at all. So basically, having you drive would probably slow us down, not speed us up.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up a hand, stopping him.
“I’ll teach you to drive. But the long haul . . . that has to be me, okay?”
He gave her a long-suffering look. “I’ve fought more battles than you can imagine. I’m quite adept with new weapons and techniques. This SUV of yours is simply one more weapon.”
“Oh, my God! That’s exactly my point. It is not a weapon, okay? Geez.” She shut the computer as she stood, then walked over to place it on the table. “Let’s go to sleep now. We’ll get up bright and early and hit the road. Start driving, I mean. Okay?”
He fought the urge to laugh at her reaction, even though what she said made sense. At least for now. She didn’t trust him yet. He understood that. But she would, and then they’d see about driving, and everything else.
MAEVE CHANGED into her night clothes with quick, furtive movements, while Dragan was in the bathroom doing . . . whatever. She didn’t want to think too hard about that. She pulled on the sweats and t-shirt that were her usual cold weather sleepwear, even though the room was a lot warmer than she preferred. Her other option was a t-shirt and underwear, and she wasn’t going to do that. Glancing down, she saw that her breasts were completely obvious, her nipples poking through the t-shirt’s thin cotton like hard, pointed pebbles. Stifling a groan, she contemplated putting her bra back on, but she’d never sleep with that thing digging into her. She had her mother’s slight build, paired with her paternal grandmother’s generous bosoms, as that same grandmother would say. Which meant she definitely needed a bra for daywear, but refused to wear one at night. It always felt so damn good to take it off.
Of course, she’d never shared a bedroom with a boy before. Or rather, a man, because Dragan hadn’t been a boy for a long time. And that was not even counting the time he’d been trapped.
Accepting the inevitable, she snagged her hoodie and pulled it on, resigning herself to a warm night. She did, however, walk over to the thermostat and lower the temperature, for all the good it would do. She was convinced those things were only put on the wall to make hotel guests feel as if they were making a difference, when in reality, they did nothing at all. The bathroom door opened when she was on her way back to the bed, so she detoured in that direction, to wash her face and brush her teeth. Some routines had to be followed even when a gorgeous warrior was dropped into your lap. Or maybe, especially then.
A few minutes later, she’d finished with her face and was brushing her teeth, when Dragan came to lean against the doorframe and watch her. It had become a habit not to shut the door completely, since she’d lived alone, but now she found herself with a mouth full of foam, unable to speak and giving him a questioning look in the mirror.
He met her gaze, but just smiled, as if it were perfectly normal for him to stand there watching her. She scowled, which had no effect, and so she finished brushing and rinsing, then wiped her face on a towel and turned around.
“Here,” she said, handing him one of the brushes she’d picked up in the lobby store. “You can use my toothpaste.” Taking off the cap, she handed that to him, as well.
He studied the brush first, and gave the tube of toothpaste a curious look. Then finally, he ripped open the plastic wrapping around the brush, then squeezed the tube way too hard, but managed to capture enough of the paste to be useful. Maeve helpfully turned on the water, but having seen her in action, he took it from there.
Figuring her job was done, she patted his arm and went back into the bedroom to lie down on the bed near the window. And that’s where she was when Dragan emerged from the bathroom. “That’s very refreshing,” he commented, moving his lips and cheeks as if tasting his own mouth. “Much better than what we had.”
Maeve shot him an inquisitive look. She’d always wondered about that, figuring since people hadn’t lived as long, their teeth simply rotted and fell out as they aged.
Catching her look, he explained. “We used spirits and a piece of leather.”
“Spirits, as in alcohol?”
He seemed puzzled, but then his expression cleared. “Right, you call it alcohol. Yes.” He shrugged. “It’s not something I thought much about back then, or during my imprisonment.”
Maeve looked down, feeling shy and incredibly unsophisticated. Who the hell talked about dental hygiene in a situation like this? He’d been born into some kind of parallel universe, a completely different world, and she was asking about fucking toothpaste.
Dragan dragged all the covers from his bed, leaving them to hang over the end, then dropped heavily onto the mattress, making Maeve jerk in surprise. He swung his head around to regard her, then said quietly, “I would never hurt you, Mae. I need you to understand that.”
She tried not to squirm under his serious gaze, feeling guilty that she might ever have considered otherwise, and even worse that she’d made him feel the need to say it. “I know that,” she said, making her words as solemn and quiet as his own. “It’s just . . . I lived alone in Sotiris’s house for a long time. It was too big for one person, so I was always a little twitchy, listening for things that went bump in the night. Sorry.”
“Those things you waited to go bump, as you say, probably did. He had all manner of magical artifacts in that house, most of which you probably never saw. Nor did I, other than the one room, but I could sense them, e
ven through the stone of my prison.”
She shuddered slightly. “In that case, I’m retroactively creeped out even worse.”
He chuckled. “I don’t understand half of your words.”
“Sorry. Contemporary idioms and slang are the most difficult aspect of any new language. And I just sounded like a textbook. Sorry. Again.”
His smile widened. “Don’t be sorry. When you’d come visit me in the basement, you always knew exactly what to say. Sometimes, you’d simply sit and keep me company. Sometimes you’d tell a funny story, or read from one of your books. You connected with me in a way no one had for thousands of years. Never apologize for who you are, Mae.”
She studied him for a long time, trying not to show her surprise. No one had ever said that to her before. Her parents loved her, but they’d always been so busy with their medical practices, even at home. When they weren’t being called out on some emergency or other, they were in their respective home offices, calling patients or catching up on their reading. When she’d finally started school, she was so accustomed to keeping her own company that the other students had assumed she was shy and left her alone. And by the time she hit college, the assumption had become reality. It was one of the reasons she loved spending so much of her time online. She was never shy there.
“Thank you,” she said softly. “And I’m not afraid of you. I’m—” She struggled for the right words. “I’m so glad you’re free, and that I was able to help you, though I’m still not sure what I did. But that doesn’t matter, because now that I know the situation, I can help you find your people, and that’s wonderful.”
“We’ll do this together, then. There’s no one I’d rather have by my side.”
Maeve’s heart jumped with happiness, but she didn’t show it, not wanting to ruin her serious image as a partner in this quest. And she reminded herself not ever to say that out loud.
The Stone Warriors: Dragan Page 9