Raine woke the next morning in his Vegas stronghold. Jack’s fortress of solitude was a high-end hacienda, filled to the brim with antiques, modern convenience, and a tomb-like silence common to pocket realm. She recalled being carried through the cavernous halls and placed on an overstuffed, comfortable bed. Beside that same bed, breakfast waited on a warming tray.
Eat up, I’ll be by at eight to pick you up, read the note from Jack.
Raine wasn’t surprised by the amount of food, or by the equal hunger tearing at her insides. She was learning that magic, and battle, left one with powerful urges, the least of which was a desire for food. She wondered if her uncle felt any of this after battle. It was hard to picture Hugh having urges of any kind. He was so well-disciplined, so totally in control of himself and all around him, to picture him writhing with need was something Raine couldn’t get her head around.
She finished all the food, coffee and juice, just as Jack appeared at the door.
“I could have given you a guest room, but I prefer you stay with me.” He held a bag and a thick terry cloth robe. “There’s a hot shower, or bath, and plenty of clothes. And a computer. I know you were pissed about losing your laptop.”
“I have my PDA, but it’s not the same. I need to be connected. Helps me stay grounded,” she added for explanation.
“The desktop unit in the alcove should meet your needs. I have some calls to make.”
“I can keep myself busy.” She took the robe. “The rest of the artifacts. If they’re that powerful—”
“It’s no wonder the Wardens were willing to do business with me to get them back.” He shook his head slightly, like one confused. “Strange, though. I checked that scarab last night, and it has a very faint, low-level magical energy signature. Real basic. Nothing that could power up major magic of any kind. I couldn’t trace back where that incredible spell we set off was anchored. The Carmot that concealed it in the jar is the real power, but I get the feeling that’s not what everyone’s so hot and bothered to get their hands on. Nothing makes sense right now.”
“Does the scarab look familiar? Remind you of anything? Maybe it’s part of a larger work?” She fell easily into the line of inquiry with him.
“Egypt is famous for scarabs. The ugly little beetles are reputed to bring everything from good fortune to fertility. Can’t figure it myself, considering they feed on dung.” He shrugged. “I’m stumped. If you can get into the Wardens’ data banks, do some searching. There has to be something out there on a citrine-carved scarab. It’s an unusual material to use for the Egyptians, and I can’t say what the Atlanteans use.”
“Is there anything connected to the priestess rumored to have created them, or Tristmagistus?”
“Other than the Carmot, no.”
Carmot. It always came down to that. “If the scarab doesn’t have real magical power, then what do they do?”
He pulled a frown. “My best guess, it’s part of something larger. Maybe a trigger. Maybe a key. Or, maybe everyone who’s chasing this ghost is wrong.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice?” She held the robe tightly against her, using it as a buffer between them. Between the sex and sorcery, she wasn’t sure what she wanted from Jack, how far she wanted to venture to explore what had grown between them.
“You’ve got that look again.”
“What look?”
“The one that says your brain is racing ten thousand miles an hour trying to drill down an answer to some crazy question or another.”
Was she that transparent? Or was he getting good at reading her?
“Jack, about last night. Did you always have that power?” The words sounded bad, but she couldn’t stop herself from speaking her thoughts. She had to know. How much was he playing her? “Was there always some of the sorcery left to you?”
He stiffened. “You mean, was I lying about being burned-out and bound?”
“I need to know.”
“Hard to keep secrets, isn’t it? When we run on this strange connected wavelength?” He crossed his arms and turned his back to her as he stared across the room at the streaks of light filtering through the windows. “Here’s how the binding works. The sorcery is there. The paths I used to know have been filled in with the psychic equivalent of bedrock. So I can’t reach it the way I did. I can remember the routes but they’re impassible. That’s why a surrogate works. I can forge new paths in you, use old knowledge and unrestricted energy.”
“What changed? How come you were able to tap the sorcery without me?” She had to know. It was critical. She didn’t want him her enemy, didn’t want him to become a viable target. She didn’t want to take him out of play, and worse, didn’t think she could. Not now. Not after what they’d shared. The magic. The sex. The laughs. Jack’s come-as-you-are approach and easy acceptance touched her heart as effectively as his hands had touched her body and brought her to the very brink of pleasurable destruction.
He faced her again, wearing one of his masks. “It was a stress reaction, kind of like heat lightning. You were injured. We were outnumbered. I don’t know if you’re under the Warden’s spell of immortality or not, and I wasn’t about to risk finding out. What happened just happened. That’s all I have, Raine. I can’t explain it anymore, so that will have to do.”
Without waiting for her answer, he left her, shutting the door with finality behind him.
His words rang true. The connection had been there when he talked. He let her in, so she’d know the truth, without even having to hear the words.
Frustrated and guilty, she cursed. He shouldn’t expect her to trust him. He really shouldn’t, not given his past, or his plans of revenge. And she shouldn’t be guilty for challenging him. But, as she stripped to shower, she suspected he wanted her trust. As a lover, she trusted him to take her to places of dark abandon and total sensual satisfaction. As a partner in the mission, though, it was hard to pin him down. There were times she saw that hero in him, hoped beyond hope that hero would stay. But then he’d do something, say something, reveal something, and she’d be back on the fence.
Water sluiced over her, washing away the dirt and blood and sweat. She buried her head in the fall, willing it to wash away all her doubts. Visions passed slowly through her mind. Jack in the garden, straining under the powerful orgasm. The Carmot staining his palms. The strange little scarab. The scarab stuck, appearing over and over. Raine pulled out of the shower, rinsing off the soap and shampoo, but the visions stayed with her, even as she toweled off and dressed. The bedroom was still, and so very quiet. Shadows lurked, even though sunlight drifted through the wall of windows. So like the man himself, a mix of opposites, a puzzle without solution. Raine ran her hand lightly along the fruitwood dresser. It was so normal, done in the craftsman style. But right next to it was a broom that looked suitable for the wicked witch from Dorothy’s nightmares.
She drifted through the room, trying to get a feel for the man who’d become her lover. The man who remained a mystery to her still. At last she found her way to the bed, again craftsman, but blanketed in overstuffed silk. It was easy to picture him sprawled indecently across that mattress, totally naked and aroused. Way too easy to picture herself joining him.
Suddenly spooked, she retreated to the alcove. She fired up the desktop unit, and prepared to arm herself with information. Her favorite weapon. She couldn’t help thinking they were all missing some very key piece, something that went beyond the artifacts, beyond the conspiracy.
She succeeded in a remote connection with the Wardens’ mainframe, launched her favorite deep-info queries, and set them to work. When, or rather, if they found anything, they’d notify her via an email trigger. She signed into the ethernet, and cruised the news channels. Manhattan Island was a mess. The normal authorities attributed the catastrophe to a failed terrorist attack. The demons and Vampires continued to war with one another. Malinov hadn’t been seen in twenty-four hours. And gargoyle sightings were rife. She imagined this was the norm
for life with Jack. He’d warned her he ran on the edge. He wasn’t screwing around. The one bonus was his access to unsanctioned information sources. The Wardens had nothing on Mad Jack’s information network. That made her think of Vargr.
Her uncle’s unsanctioned contact, something she still had trouble believing he had, was correct. Walking into her own fire gave her a good internal gauge of what she was dealing with, and from there, she could start to work the odds of how successful she’d be at blending that power with the power of the knights. She wondered about him, or her. How her uncle had come to know them. And trust them. Hugh wasn’t big on trust. And he’d schooled her the same way. She’d always thought his lessons hard, but given what she’d faced in two days time, she was heartily glad she’d come up tough. Any other way, and she’d have folded early on.
Raine logged back into the normal internet, and confirmed Vargr was active. She sent off a message.
RSpencer: Are you out there?
Minutes passed with no activity. Raine ran some online searches on scarabs, finding nothing she didn’t already know. She was about to sign off when her IM popped up.
Vargr: Was that you in Manhattan?
RSpencer: I don’t kiss and tell.
Vargr: I thought as much. Was I right about testing the fire?
RSpencer: Yes. Both channels of esoteric energy are powerful, especially when open wide. That narrows my odds of success, doesn’t it?
Vargr: For someone else, maybe. Do you think you can handle it?
Raine paused. Did she think she could deal? With the magic, with teaching, yes. Definitely. But that freaky mystical crap? That scared her out of her mind.
RSpencer: The magic yes. Not the mystical. Not if I want to stay sane.
Vargr: You’re right to be cautious with mysticism. Few go deep with that branch of esoteric energy and come out normal again. Tap it lightly, like Jack.
Vargr had mentioned Jack a few times, but this time, it struck her as odd.
RSpencer: Do you know Jack well?
Vargr: By reputation.
Raine relaxed, but just as quick, another question surfaced.
RSpencer: How do you know my uncle?
There was a pause. Then Vargr started typing.
Vargr: We fought together during the Crusades. Good man. For a Templar. Kind of a tight ass. None better in battle.
Raine smiled despite the strange circumstances. Vargr definitely knew her uncle. Well.
RSpencer: You must be old. What are you Vargr? The truth. I’ve shared. Now its your turn.
Vargr’s clipped response came after several long moments.
Vargr: Werewolf. Guide. Itinerant bush magician.
Holy shit. Raine leaned back from the screen and let out a deep breath. Double holy shit. Uncle Hugh? Trusting a Were? Worse, one that claimed to practice magic. Her whole world hit the skids suddenly, and the impact knocked the breath from her lungs.
Vargr: Raine? Are you still there?
Raine steeled her courage, and hit the keyboard.
RSpencer: I don’t understand. My uncle. You.
Vargr: With old soldiers, honor is all and loyalty outlasts time. Not many around like us anymore.
No. She didn’t reckon there was. The relationship went a ways in explaining why her uncle would deal with one like Vargr, why he might trust him over others. It also explained why Vargr at times seemed familiar.
She heard Jack’s footfalls in the hall beyond the door. In the tomb atmosphere of the hacienda, her hearing was near perfect, like it would have been had her ears never been clipped.
RSpencer: I’ve got to go.
Jack peeked into the room. “I’ll be in the study when you’re ready. Third door on the left.”
“I’ll be there in five.”
Jack shut the door and Raine stared for uncounted minutes at the computer screen. Thoughts tumbled through her brain. Last night’s craziness. Her uncle and his Werewolf mage informant. Conspiracy in the ranks. What did it all add up to, because it had to add up to something.
Raine rubbed her temples. Jack was right, none of this made sense. And she hated, more than anything, things that didn’t make sense. Everything could be placed together, and figured out, with the right amount of time and logic and educated guesses.
Her eyes refocused. She didn’t have time. She had magic. The visions. Jack.
Resourceful Jack. The man with an information network bar none. Plugged into every dark outlet the dimension had to offer.
What did Jack have?
She shouldn’t be doing this. But she wondered what Jack, and his little assistant Havers, had hiding beyond the password protections. She searched all of the drives, finding security profiling in place. The icon that looked like the planet Saturn led to an access point to the ethernet. Another icon lead to the regular internet. Hacking Jack was far from honorable, Raine thought, trying her way through all the remaining icons. If he had nothing to hide, it wouldn’t matter. But if he did, if he was playing her the way he said he played everyone, then she’d have proof and could make a decision.
Hitting walls all around, Raine sat back and considered her next option. She could try for encryption programs, pull them off the network at the Wardens’, but that would throw up red flags all over the place and Jack would be onto her in a moment. No. There had to be another way.
In the silence and still air, it came to her. They had a connection. All she had to do was try and tap that. See what popped up. Raine shut her eyes and slowed her breathing. She knew how to meditate, but she had no bleeding notion of how to access her own power, or make it work for her. A grave error on her part, one she planned to correct if she survived this mission.
For a few seconds, there was nothing of value. A lot of replay of last night, that crazy position, the fantastic results. She drifted through that, trying to hold an image of Jack and failing. He kept changing, smiling Jack, mischievous Jack, devilish Jack, dangerous Jack, all the masks he wore passed before her eyes like a bizarre theatrical parade. Who was this man who she’d tied herself up with? Did anyone know? Her pulse picked up, despite her best efforts to force herself to stay calm. That made her irritated. At herself. At her reaction to him. And then things went off-plan. The visions altered as she slipped into a hyperaware mystical state.
There was Ramon. Seth. Another God. Norse, maybe, she couldn’t tell, not being intimate with many of them. Then the artifact. The scarab. Hundreds of scarabs. Over and over the visions came. She reached out blindly for something, grasped the desk, and used it as an anchor to hold her to the safety of the real world.
The racing in her head slowed, and she saw, movie-like, buildings in the distance. Information filtered into her memory, embedding itself as if it had always been a part of her.
Jack wasn’t here to help her. She was alone, and she couldn’t stop the movie in her skull. She blinked and saw not his room, but a villa now. France. Two jars. Two for one. Ramon. Call Ramon. They’re safe with him.
Voices echoing. Pictures flashing. She began to drift, caught up in the psychic undertow.
Voices shouted now, a thousand different languages, all crying out to her for help, all of them dying. The end-times vision spiraled out of control, taking her along for the death ride.
“Stop,” she screamed. “Please stop!” She squeezed her hands over her ears and the voices died down to static and white noise. The visions slowed momentarily.
Numbers. A sequence. An obelisk surrounded by fallen leaves.
It made no sense. It started the mad race again. Things blurred and she could no longer make out anything with clarity or certainty.
“Stop it!” She screamed aloud, and she screamed in her head, loosing the battle lust that had sustained her in two combats.
Dead space. Silence.
Then a laugh. Cold. Menacing. And a name.
Osirus.
Raine’s head cleared and she opened her eyes, feeling strangely herself.
A glance at th
e desk clock showed no passage of minutes. All of that had transpired in seconds. She stood as the door opened.
“I heard you cry out.” Jack hesitated in the entry. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you so soon after the trauma.”
“No biggie. I need to get the hang of this, right?”
“It takes centuries to really ‘get the hang’, but yes, you should get comfortable with energy work. I don’t think it’s going away.”
She didn’t either. And that didn’t seem to bother her as much anymore. She stepped out of the alcove, hoping he wouldn’t pick up her little foray into computer hacking.
“I know where the artifacts are.”
“All of them?”
His look was carefully neutral. She thought he was trying to read her, so she matched her body language to his, mirroring his own inscrutable look.
“I think so. I saw some weird stuff. Ramon. Seth. Lots of those scarabs.”
“That makes sense, given how deep they’re involved.”
She wasn’t entirely convinced that’s why they populated her vision, but she let it pass. If he was partnered in conspiracy with them, he’d try to lead her off the trail. “I have addresses. But I also have a name. Osirus.”
Was that a flash of awareness in his eyes? He was so guarded at times it was near impossible to tell.
“The war is fought because Seth killed Osirus. Maybe you’re picking up the vision of end times that the mystics have been seeing.”
“No.” She cast around for the right words to describe what she thought she knew. “It’s like he’s alive and on his way over to my house, or something. I don’t know how else to explain it. I know he’s a shade ruling in the underworld, but it seems like he’s alive and ruling in this realm. Is that possible?”
ImmortalIllusions: The Eternity Covenant Book2 Page 24