“He’s down there,” Rafael said.
Once she had her skirt fastened, she leaned out past him and saw Duarte on the quay in front of the hotel. Gaspar stood directly in front of the hotel’s door, pistol trained on the man. Two other police officers—Forsythe and Medeiros—stood at a distance, weapons fixed on Duarte as well. The passersby had all huddled away from the hotel, taking cover at the café and by the steps that led up to the cathedral.
The man stretched one empty hand toward Gaspar, his jaw clenched in apparent fury.
Gaspar’s head tilted. “What are you trying to do to me?”
The man’s mouth twisted, and he yelled an unintelligible string of words, his voice anguished. He thrust his hand toward Gaspar with no result again . . . just as Genoveva recalled that magic didn’t work on Gaspar.
Duarte must have grasped that. He spun toward Medeiros instead, and this time when he held out of his hand, Medeiros yelped. The pistol spun out of his hand and flew through the air directly into Duarte’s.
“Mother of God!” Rafael shoved Genoveva back onto the bed, falling halfway over her to protect her.
Below, a gunshot sounded, followed by cries from the crowds.
There wasn’t a second shot, though. Rafael held his breath, apparently trying to listen as he decided what to do next. The noise of the crowds had faded to a normal level.
Genoveva pushed at him. He was heavy enough that she was having trouble breathing. He apologetically rolled off her and cautiously rose to sneak a look out of the open window. He turned back to her. “He’s gone again.”
Genoveva sighed, relief leaving her shaken.
She didn’t know if this ruse had served its purpose, but it was chilling to know Duarte could steal a gun from an officer without touching him. That made him even more dangerous than before. She pushed up onto her elbows and clambered over the rumpled bed to put on her shirtwaist and jacket. Rafael was already buttoning his waistcoat with steady hands.
“How does my hair look?” she asked as she fumbled with her buttons.
He gazed at her, and in a perfectly normal voice pronounced, “Amazingly unscathed.”
She wished she had his cool nerve. Her fingers were still shaking. “You have no idea how many pins it takes to hold up my hair.”
He put his hands under her elbow and held her still for a moment. His warm smile reassured her. “I intend to find out,” he said. “Although . . .”
Genoveva took a deep breath and finished for him. “. . . not until after the wedding.”
Gaspar was grinning when Rafael grabbed his arm. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”
Rafael blinked at the inspector, taken aback by the man’s enthusiasm for Duarte’s powers. “A gun went off. Who fired?”
Gaspar shook his head. “Just a warning shot.”
“You, not him?”
“I don’t think he intended to use that gun,” Gaspar said. “He seemed to be trying to warn Forsythe not to shoot instead. Duarte didn’t use a device or witchcraft, by the way. He did all that himself, with a combination of gifts. I’ve never seen that before. Never.”
Rafael stared at him, shocked. Gaspar was only thirty-five, but he could remember living before this current life. Very few people knew that about him. It explained how he could know so much about witches when he’d lived almost his entire life on an archipelago of small islands off the coast of Africa. Duarte was something Gaspar hadn’t seen in all his lifetimes, and that was truly amazing. Rafael glanced back at Genoveva. He would have to explain that to her later. “So he just disappeared?”
“Exactly,” Gaspar said. “It was beautiful, like he turned into a blaze of fire, and then he was gone.”
He didn’t understand precisely how it worked, but Gaspar saw others’ powers. “And how did he pull the gun away from Medeiros?”
Medeiros had approached while they were talking, his expression sheepish.
“I’ve seen that done with witchcraft,” Gaspar said, “but this was a natural version. I don’t have a name for it. His is a finder, but also had a hint of Truthsayer about him. Generally when one has more than one gift, the others are submerged under the most powerful one. He’s using several at once, which is extremely rare. He also seems to have some fairy blood. That may be the source of his ability to . . . go elsewhere.”
“So he is a finder, then.” Rafael squeezed Genoveva’s hand, realizing for the first time that he was still holding on to her. Fearing it would spark talk about her, he almost let go but decided it was too late. The other two officers had already noted his grip on her hand. “The rest sounds dangerous, though.”
“Could he have sold his soul to the devil?” Forsythe asked.
Gaspar shook his head. “I would recognize that. Very obvious if you know what you’re looking for. No, this is natural.”
Rafael didn’t care much what the source of the man’s talents was. “So how do we stop him?”
Gaspar rubbed his chin with one hand. “I’m going to have to do it. I’m the only one he can’t touch. It’s a shame. He’s very interesting.”
“It’s not your fiancée who’s being threatened,” Rafael reminded him.
“True,” Gaspar said. “Since Medeiros found your floorboards at the cemetery, we should proceed in that direction. Duarte might still be there. If he’s not, he’s likely looking for Miss Jardim again.”
So Genoveva was still to be bait?
Rafael didn’t like that idea, but he didn’t have another solution. They could shoot the man, but if Duarte hadn’t committed a crime, shooting him would be excessive. “Did he take anything with him this time?”
Forsythe pointed back toward the quay. “There’s a hole in the stones where he was standing.”
Rafael could see the spot now that he looked, a hole broken in the stone surface of the quay, about five feet wide—a larger circle of destruction than last time.
“Go fetch us a couple of cabs,” Gaspar told the officer. Forsythe trotted away, leaving Medeiros staring at them with raised brows.
“Your fiancée? You could have just told me,” Medeiros complained when Gaspar walked a short distance away to watch for the cabs.
Rafael sighed. Of all the times to have a discussion about Medeiros’ perceived grievance, this was not the best. “Nothing was official at that point.”
“You were worried she would say no?”
Rafael felt Genoveva’s hand tighten on his. He wasn’t looking at her, but was fairly certain she was annoyed now. “Not at all. I knew she would say yes.”
Damn, he’d chosen the wrong way to word that. He realized that after he’d said it.
“Is she with child?” Medeiros asked in a whisper that sounded spiteful to Rafael’s ears.
Beyond being an incredibly rude thing to assume about Genoveva, it also implied that the only way she would marry him was if she had no other choice. Rafael wanted to punch the younger man. But two uniformed police officers brawling on the Ribeira would only make this situation worse. “Miss Jardim,” he said in a low voice, “is not a woman who would find herself in that situation.”
Medeiros’ handsome face flushed. “When I saw you on the balcony, you weren’t wearing your jacket or waistcoat.”
That’s what triggered this? “It was stuffy up there,” Rafael said in a patient tone, “and Miss Jardim has been to football matches, so she’s seen me in my shirtsleeves before. I’ve never even seen her hair down.”
Those three truths strung together wouldn’t have fooled Anjos for a second, but Medeiros didn’t have Anjos’ skill. From those words, Medeiros would likely infer something untrue.
“You’re an idiot, Medeiros,” Gaspar inserted. He’d made his way back over to them, and watched with sardonic amusement. Even though Gaspar wasn’t a Truthsayer, Rafael knew the man was aware of the lie under the words. Gaspar could always tell when two people became lovers, one of the more embarrassing aspects of his gift, he claimed. �
�You’re insulting both the young lady and your superior officer. Quit talking before you say something worse and the captain fires you for slander.”
Medeiros flushed even darker, embarrassment this time rather than anger. “My apologies, Miss Jardim, Captain. I misunderstood the situation.”
One of Gaspar’s brows rose, but he didn’t press further. Rafael kept his mouth closed. He could fire Medeiros any time he wanted, but the man had potential . . . and he wasn’t actually committing slander. A cab had drawn up next to them, so Gaspar signaled that Rafael should take that cab while he and Medeiros waited for the second. It was a deft way to get Medeiros away from Genoveva, and in the meantime, Rafael suspected that Gaspar would stare Medeiros into greater circumspection.
Genoveva settled in the cab at Rafael’s side, wishing Medeiros would fall into the river. No, she didn’t wish that. The man was simply upset that she hadn’t chosen him. Nevertheless, it was long past time for Medeiros to bow out and leave her alone.
“He has bad timing,” she noted once the cab was moving.
Rafael laughed. “Yes, he certainly does. I am sorry.”
“I have lived with gossip all my life,” she said. “I simply wish he would leave you out of it.”
“I wish he would leave himself out of it,” Rafael countered.
That was the actual problem, wasn’t it? Genoveva peered at Rafael’s face, hoping he wasn’t upset by the potential gossip. “You lie to a Truthsayer very well.”
“I’ve worked with Anjos long enough,” Rafael said, “that I understand the way their gift works. That wouldn’t have fooled Anjos, but Medeiros lacks his grasp of subtlety.”
“Do you regret. . . ?” She didn’t have the right words to ask what she feared. Or words that wouldn’t sound crass.
“No, not in the least.” He touched her cheek. “I still worry though. Until we catch Duarte, I won’t feel you’re safe.”
No, she didn’t think she would, either. She just wanted this over with so they could move on with their lives. “Will we catch him now?”
He closed his eyes, concentrating. “It’s still indefinite.”
“That we’ll catch him? Or that we’ll marry?”
“I’m beginning to believe that one depends on the other.”
Genoveva touched his cheek. “Is that why you were concerned something might happen to you?”
“Something might happen to me any day of the week,” he said, his eyes lowered to their joined hands. “Duarte or not.”
The cab rolled to a stop at the Rotunda da Boavista, waiting to join the traffic.
“I love you, Rafael,” she told him. “I wanted you to know that now, in case something does happen.”
He smiled, took her hand in his own and pressed it to his lips. “And I love you, Gena.”
The cab’s door wrenched open, the hinges breaking with a scream of metal. A hand reached in, grabbed her arm, and dragged her out of the cab before she could even cry out.
She landed on her knees on the cobbles, Duarte’s grip tight on her arm. She turned her head and saw that Rafael was at the door of the cab, about to jump out. Duarte yanked her to her feet, wrapped an arm about her, and pointed the gun in his hand at Rafael.
Genoveva tried to get her hand on the gun, but then remembered that she had a better weapon. She laid her free hand on Duarte’s chest, but before she could draw his strength out of him, the gun went off and the whole world seemed to catch fire about her.
Chapter 7
* * *
RAFAEL HIT THE COBBLES hard, face first. He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder.
Genoveva was gone. Duarte was gone, a wide hole in the cobbles showing that he’d gone in the same manner he’d left before. Rafael stared at that hole, mind reeling.
The man had taken Genoveva, just as he’d taken the floorboards and the stone from the quay.
Where?
“Are you injured?” Gaspar had jumped from the second cab, several vehicles back in traffic.
Rafael blinked, trying to decide what to do. His cab had pulled out into traffic, stalling it, the horses likely skittish from the gunshot. The detached door still lay in the road. Rafael stepped around it to reach the cab. “We have to get to the cemetery.”
“Are you injured?” Gaspar repeated from right behind him.
Rafael shouted instructions at the terrified driver and climbed back into his cab despite the absent door. Gaspar jumped up behind him. The cab started moving again, faster this time.
“You do realize he shot you, don’t you?” Gaspar asked.
Rafael clenched his jaw. The burning in his shoulder helped him focus. What was Duarte doing to Genoveva? Had she even survived being yanked to wherever he’d gone? “It’s just my shoulder. I don’t have time for that.” He rubbed his good hand across his forehead. “How did he run us down?”
“He didn’t. He appeared directly outside your cab,” Gaspar said. “I saw it. Very interesting.”
Rafael shot the inspector a frustrated glance. “What does that mean?”
“That means he’s controlling it better, able to use his finding and his ability to move at the same time. He can come and go at will now. He can go directly to wherever he finds her.”
That meant Genoveva would never be safe anywhere. Rafael shifted, and pain burned through his shoulder with the action. “We have to kill him.”
The cab went around the rotunda and turned toward the cemetery, the hooves of the horses clattering on the cobbles. “We have to catch him,” Gaspar said instead. “How is he doing this? How is he developing abilities he’s never had before? Abilities no one has ever had before?”
Rafael closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. He didn’t care. He closed his eyes and asked his gift—pleaded with it—for any answer as to Genoveva’s health. And then he could breathe. She might be hurt or frightened, but she wasn’t dead. Anything else they could work through once he found her. “She’s alive,” he said aloud. “He didn’t kill her.”
“Good,” Gaspar responded. “Now we need to find them.” He added, “The Jesuits would love to study him.”
The pain in his shoulder was beginning to spread. Rafael clenched his jaw and pushed it away. Whatever else he’d done, Duarte had been a police officer. He’d lost a son in the service of the throne. He deserved better than to be experimented on. “We can’t allow that.”
“No,” Gaspar said. “We can’t. We have to pacify him. We have to control his behavior, but to do so, first we have to catch him.”
Rafael drew in a shuddering breath. He wasn’t going to commit himself to any plan until he knew what had happened to Genoveva.
Genoveva picked herself off the soft earth, her whole body damp with sweat. Her breath came short. She forced it to calm, adjusting the flow of energies in her body until the excess heat had drained away, seeping into the soil about her. Slowly the world came to rights. She smelled grass and earth, and heard birds chirping. What happened?
Duarte lay on the earth a few feet away, sprawled on a grave and gasping shallowly. Scattered bits of wood and stone lay about them, a messy clutter in an otherwise tidy cemetery. Duarte had snatched her, just as he had those floorboards.
She swallowed, trying to decide what to do. What happened to Rafael?
If he’d hurt Rafael she didn’t know what she’d do. That had to be what Rafael’s gift hadn’t been able to predict: the chance that Duarte would hurt Rafael. Or kill Rafael. Or her.
Genoveva rubbed her hands together and saw the gun Duarte had used lying on the other side of the grave. Only a few steps and she could have it in her hands. She could hold the man at bay with it. If he’d killed Rafael, she should shoot him. She took a step in that direction and then stopped. She gazed down at the man who’d brought her to this place, a man who looked to be in pain, old before his time.
I’m not going to shoot him.
That decision brought a
calm to her that she’d missed sorely over the last few days. Duarte was clearly in distress. She should try to help him instead.
She didn’t want to touch the man.
But she was a healer. God had given her that responsibility, and she wasn’t going to shirk her duty. So she knelt at his side and laid one hand on his throat, feeling it flex under her fingers as he swallowed. She felt for his energies, checked each of his centers of power, and discovered that they were all wrong. His drive was far too strong, provoking him to attack, making him fearful. It overrode his normal compassion—she could sense that. He wouldn’t have pursued her if not for that imbalance.
She closed her eyes, trying to sort out what was causing that problem. After a moment, it was clear. She sat back on her heels. The poor man. Even now his energies were gathering, prompting him to attack her although it would take him a while longer to gather his strength.
She didn’t have much time.
Genoveva considered drawing on that strand of energy, quieting his drive. She didn’t want to hold it inside her, though. She didn’t want to have an impression of this man inside her own heart as she did Rafael’s. So she tugged on that strand of energy and fed it into the soil next to the grave. The grass about them turned brown and withered, and Duarte relaxed.
He grabbed feebly at her hand, as if funneling away his drive had taken his physical strength as well. Or perhaps using his gift had done that to him. “I didn’t hurt anyone, did I?”
Had he hurt Rafael? “I don’t know.”
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he whispered.
“I’m fine,” she promised him. “Do you not remember what happened?”
“No. Nothing since . . .” He swallowed and his jaw clenched. “I don’t know why I’m angry.”
The name on the grave was Enrique Duarte—a young man her father had murdered. Perhaps that was all Duarte had wanted, to make her see what her father had done. She wasn’t certain she blamed him for that desire. She touched his forehead instead, directing his energies to calm.
“I’m sorry,” the man whispered. “I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
The Seer's Choice: A Novella of the Golden City Page 10