Troy had seen the Templar move much larger rocks with only a touch, and once again wondered how Michael had been gifted with an ability so powerful it could almost be called elemental. Aside from the fact that Templars collectively avoided practicing magic, none of them had any powers beyond their superhuman speed, strength and stamina, and their ability to recover quickly from almost any injury.
Michael knelt down to place the massive stone on the floor before beckoning to them. “Come. Troy, you go first.”
Troy put his boot in Michael’s laced hands and when the Templar boosted him through the opening he caught the edge and pulled himself up into a dark chamber. He turned to help Summer through, and then watched as Michael jumped up and hoisted himself through the gap in the floor.
“How did you do that?” Summer asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Michael told her, and went to lock the door before he switched on the lights. “Nathaniel keeps his files in the desk in the corner there, Troy. Summer, search the armoire. I’ll check the rest of the room.”
The Temple Master’s room contained a variety of priceless European art and antiques, including the high-topped scriptorium illuminator’s desk. Troy easily picked the lock on the lower drawer, which revealed a tightly-packed row of unmarked folders. He took out one and skimmed through it, astonished to find it profiled the identities of the members of Sea Cliff, a coven on the coast of Maine. He found similar reports compiled on half a dozen northeastern covens, and while none of their locations were named, it was enough information to take down every major coven from Portland to Newark.
What made Troy’s blood run cold was finding a copy of the original invitation Abel Atwater had sent out for the Winter Solstice.
“You were right. He’s coming after us.” He showed Michael the document before he replaced it in the file. “My father contacts other coven leaders only by courier spell, so there are no paper copies. The only way Harper could have gotten this was from someone at Silver Wood who watched him cast the spell to send the message.”
Summer brought over a wooden box inlaid with ivory and set it atop the desk. “Who has that kind of access to Abel?”
“Lachlan and Erica.” He thought for a moment. “Maybe my brother.” He nodded toward the box. “What’s this?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I can’t get it open. It doesn’t seem to have a lid.”
“It’s a safekeeper. We use them for mementos.” Michael picked it up and turned it over, running his thumb along the seams until he felt something and pressed it in. The top of the box slowly slid to one side, and he reached in to remove an old bundle of stained, rough-woven cloth.
Summer peered at the rusty blotches. “That looks like blood.”
Troy unfolded it to reveal a small cuff of intricately-worked bronze. “This is very old. Something made for a child. Do you know what it is, Paladin?”
Michael stared at it for a long moment before he shook his head.
“Wait.” Summer reached out to stop him from folding it back in the cloth. “Give it to me.”
When Troy handed it to her she tucked it in her hip pocket without explanation. “All right, what’s next?”
While Troy inspected the remaining files Summer and Michael searched the rest of the room, but found nothing. Troy located the file Nathaniel had compiled on Summer, but aside from the shocking photo and the account of the lone survivor from the exchange massacre there were no new revelations.
“According to the guy who hid in the bushes, Nathaniel’s men shot and killed one traitor, and tried to execute another, but their bullets bounced back on them.” He closed the file. “As if by magic.”
“I could have done that,” Summer said, her voice trembling.
“If Baldwin is Wiccan, so could he.” Troy tucked the file back into the drawer. “I think we’re done here, Michael.”
They took a moment to set the room to rights before descending back into the mechanical room, where Troy helped Michael heft the stone back in place. As he stepped back the Templar ran his hand around the edges to reseal the mortar.
“I thought they didn’t use magic,” Summer said to Troy.
“They don’t, but Michael has picked up a few tricks since we were in prison.” He grinned sourly at her reaction. “He didn’t tell you we were cell mates?”
“We were not criminals,” Michael insisted. “We were prisoners of war.”
“We were invaders,” Troy corrected. “Captured in battle and thrown in a Saracen dungeon and left there to rot.”
Summer looked bemused now. “When was this?”
“The middle of the thirteenth century.” He caught Michael scowling at him. “Hey, it wasn’t my idea to go on the Seventh Crusade. I had no problem with the Turks conquering the Middle East. It was never my Holy Land.”
“Save the history lesson for later,” Michael advised him. “We have to get out of here before Nathaniel returns.”
He led them through the passages to the elevator, which took them back up to the old church. On the way Troy mentally catalogued everything he had seen in Nathaniel’s files to report to the Magus Corps. He’d also have to contact his father and have him warn the other covens about the profiles that had been compiled on them, as well as the Templar’s plans to attack the winter gathering.
Abel would be furious, and the covens would demand someone be held accountable. Whoever the traitor was, Troy thought, his days informing on the Wiccans were now numbered.
CHAPTER NINE
LACHLAN DARROW FINISHED tidying the High Priest’s study and went to the window to look out at the barn. Wilson had been working since dawn on the cradle he was building for the baby, although from the sound of the hammering coming from that direction Lachlan wondered if he was nailing it together or smashing it apart.
Awkward movement drew his eyes across the yard to Aileen’s distorted, slender, corpulent figure. Her belly had yet to drop, so it would probably be several more weeks before she gave birth. He had tried to force himself to feel happy for Wilson, but every time he looked at his wife he wanted to puke. Especially now that her milk had come in prematurely, and every time she took a breath her breasts leaked. She smelled perpetually of the milk, which constantly left damp patches on her top.
Breeder, he thought, scowling. Disgusting, fecund, lactating cow.
If only Aileen hadn’t gotten pregnant the moment she’d mated with Wilson it might have been so different. Forcing Wilson into fatherhood now when he was still grappling with immortality and his place in the coven had been utterly thoughtless. Lachlan couldn’t understand why everyone in the coven didn’t see that, but then he had never fathomed why everyone loved the herbalist so much. She always used that sweet, helpless facade of hers to manipulate everyone into doing her bidding.
Lachlan turned to find three of the coven’s dogs sitting outside the door watching him. It was nothing new; his ability naturally attracted every warm-blooded animal within a hundred yards to follow him around like adoring groupies. He could also read their primitive thoughts, which were inevitably centered on food, sex or romping with the other members of their pack, and which he often envied.
“Eating, fucking and playing,” he muttered as he dispersed the dogs with a wave and stalked out of the chamber. “Wouldn’t that be the life?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Erica said as she walked up beside him. “I think I’d have to have gardening in there somewhere.” She gave him a gentle smile. “Rough morning?”
Lachlan was surprised by her sympathy; he knew Erica disliked him. But he could play along.
“After Abel lit into me again for not stopping Troy, and Aileen’s latest false labor episode at breakfast, and Ewan still dithering on whether or not to put on the Clash of the Kings at solstice, which is going to require horses and viewing stands and body armor, all of which we don’t have, and rehearsals, which we’re running out of time for?” He shrugged. “Typical day at Silver Wood, really.”
Erica grimaced. “Then perhaps I’ll wait to tell you that one of the warlocks from Lily Garden coven is bringing his deaf human girlfriend to the gathering, and would like an interpreter to help him with signing everything for her.” As he sighed she nudged him with her elbow. “Come and have a cup of tea with me.”
Lachlan accompanied the High Priestess to the kitchen, where she prepared one of her flavorful herbal brews and then carried mugs for the two of them out into the garden.
“I know with the gathering only a few weeks away you have been very busy attending to all the details,” Erica said. “Abel may not say so, but I know he does appreciate your efforts, Lachlan.”
“He barely notices me.” He cupped his mug between his palms. “I’m only useful to Abel when something goes wrong, and then it’s to hold me responsible.” He eyed her. “So he doesn’t take it out on you, and mess up his next chance to share your bed.”
A light blush pinkened her scarred face. “And I thought we were being so crafty and discreet.”
Now Lachlan laughed. “The only person who doesn’t know you’re sleeping with Abel is Ewan, but he’s always been oblivious. If you weren’t immortal he’d probably assume you were still a virgin.” He drained his tea. “I do have about ten thousand things to do today, so why don’t you drop the friendly act and tell me what you really want?”
Erica’s expression turned shrewd. “You’re unhappy here, Lachlan. You have been for some time, but I think Troy’s return has made things even more difficult. You might want to consider applying to another coven to join their circle.” She paused before she added, “Once Aileen has the baby, you know that will be settled.”
His stomach knotted. “I never thought otherwise.”
“I think you once hoped he would tire of her, and now that you know he will not, you are waiting on some calamity to happen.” She set aside her tea. “It serves no purpose, my dear. Even if he were to abandon Aileen and the child, Wilson would never turn to you.”
Suddenly he couldn’t bear another moment of her well-intentioned, patronizing kindness. “Thank you for your counsel, High Priestess.” He got up and walked back into the kitchen, dropping his mug in the sink and heading out to his truck.
Lachlan drove down the mountain at a furious speed, and stopped at the crossroads that led in one direction to town and the other to Portland, where he pulled off the road and rested his brow against the steering wheel.
They’d been boys when they’d met at a summer gathering, drawn together by their mutual sullenness. Lachlan’s parents had sent him to Silver Wood to be fostered by Abel after Lachlan had been involved in several vicious fights at school. Wilson had still had his mother in those days to buffer some of Abel’s indifference toward him, but that summer she had also been preoccupied with teaching Troy how to control his elemental power, leaving Wilson to fend for himself.
Lachlan’s fledgling power over animals had paired well with Wilson’s ability to track anything that moved, and they had spent long hours hunting together. Then they’d gotten lost in the woods one night, and had been forced to sleep together to stay warm.
Now Lachlan’s penis grew long and hard as he massaged it and thought of those heavenly hours he had spent in Wilson’s arms. Nothing sexual had happened between them, but it had been a revelation for him. Finally he understood why he had felt nothing for the pretty girls who had chased after him at school. He had been meant for Wilson.
Waiting for Wilson to notice him, recognize his love, and come to him had occupied every moment of Lachlan’s existence. He’d been so faithful, too, those first years after he’d lost his heart.
He took the road to the city, taking out his mobile to hit the second number on his speed dial menu. Making the call always repelled him, and made him feel like a traitor, but he had to have something for himself. No matter how much he hoped, he’d always known it would never be Wilson.
Maybe Erica is right. Maybe it’s time for me to get out, while I still can.
“It’s me,” he told the man who answered. “I need to meet. I’ve got something for you.”
CHAPTER TEN
“ICE, ICE, BABY,” Gideon chanted under his breath as he limped into the florist’s shop. The dead body in the van was beginning to stink it up, so he carried the corpse into the back storage room and dropped it on top of the others he’d hidden there.
Now that he had also rid himself of Augustin he felt quite the unencumbered gentleman. He washed the congealing blood from his hands in the work sink. What amazed him was how clever Michael Charbon had been, to force a pagan warlock to do his bidding. Gideon knew from personal experience how difficult it was to compel the heretics to wield their magic for Templar purposes.
“Clever, clever boy.” He picked up the blood-stained purse belonging to the shop owner and took from it a set of keys. “You’ll have to teach me your tricks. I like ice. Ice is nice. Twice as nice.”
He collected his things and walked out of the shop, and pressed the unlock button on the key fob until he saw the lights of a gold Mercedes flash at him. “Ah, very nice, nice, ice nice, twice nice.” He strode over to the vehicle to peer inside. The white leather interior pleased him, so he popped the trunk and stowed his bags inside before getting in.
A uniformed police officer tapped the end of his baton against the driver’s side window, and when Gideon rolled it down he jerked his chin at his shirt. “Cut yourself shaving this morning, pal?”
“I haven’t shaved in a few days. Shave and a haircut, two bits.” Gideon glanced down and saw all the blood spattering the front of his shirt. “Oh, this. I had to kill some people yesterday, and beat a man today. It’s truly disgusting, how much you mortals bleed. Only women bleed. I like it when women bleed, don’t you?”
The officer drew his weapon and backed up a step. “Step out of the car. Hands where I can see them.”
Gideon sighed. “I can’t open the door if I put my hands where you can see them. Or do this.” He fired the Magnum in his hand through the door and watched the patrolman totter backward into the brick wall behind him. “You made me put a hole in my new car, too. That’s not very nice.”
He waited until the cop died before he rolled up the window and started the engine. By then more humans were running toward his car, or toward the dead patrolman––it was difficult to tell. He drove through them, knocking their bodies this way and that, and gritting his teeth as the Mercedes jolted over one who had the bad luck to fall under the wheels.
Once he was clear of the humans, Gideon sped across town toward Michael’s building. Confronting the lad head-on had not turned out well, so he needed to formulate a new plan. Perhaps he would stake out Michael, the way police officers on television did, and follow him until he led him to the witch. Or that warlock who made water into ice. A nice bucket of ice would feel very good on his itchy head right about now.
“That’s the ticket,” Gideon shouted to his reflection in the rearview mirror. “Ice, ice, baby.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ALVIS MADE COFFEE for the old woman, sharing a cup with her although the stuff tasted to him like ass. Her fierce little dog lay on her lap, and whenever Alvis came too near, he bared his tiny pointed teeth. Even as he knew he could snap the pup’s neck with a twitch of his fingers, he respected the diminutive animal for his courage.
“Your pet comes from very respectable blood lines,” he told the old woman. “In my youth such dogs were used to pull sleds and carts, and to guard the halls of kings.” He frowned. “I remember them being much bigger, however.”
The old woman nodded, and sipped her brew from a cup that shook as much as her hand. “Are you going to kill me, sir?”
“I have not decided,” Alvis said, but only to keep her from weeping. She had been doing that ever since he had set up his post in her apartment to monitor Michael Charbon. “I do not care for your sex, but you have not crossed me. I think you have behaved well for a female.”
“Thank you,�
� she said faintly before she nodded at the window facing the street. “What about this man you’ve been watching?”
“That is another dilemma. My master bid me bring him proof of his sins, and then we should decide what is to be done with him, but I think I must settle this now.” Alvis frowned. “I had thought Michael Charbon a God-fearing, honorable knight. It is a great disappointment to me to discover he is a liar and a fornicator and a magic-wielding traitor.”
The old woman cleared her throat. “Must he die for those things?”
“As I saw it with my own eyes, yes.” He nodded at his laptop, which showed four views of the interior of Michael’s front room. “Do you know, I questioned myself for placing those tiny cameras in Michael’s lair? I told myself I was wrong in my suspicions. It shames me now, to think I confided in him about the witch and my desire to kill her before she could lead my master astray. He has been hiding her from all of us.”
“I don’t understand,” the old lady said, slurring her words now.
He hefted his axe. “It means I will take great pleasure cleaving him in two, and chopping to pieces that fornicating witch who despoiled him, and the pagan who controls those water demons.”
Her rheumy eyes closed as she murmured a prayer under her breath.
“Now, now, old mother, there is no need for that,” he said kindly. “If you have lived a decent life and avoided sin, you will surely end in the arms of the Almighty.”
Her head nodded as if to agree with him, and then she sighed and slumped over, her last breath leaving her with a whisper, and the air becoming slightly tainted as her bowels and bladder evacuated.
Alvis went to open the window to let out the stink of death. The powder from his poison ring worked so quickly but gently, and now the old woman could never speak of his presence to anyone but their Father in Heaven. He watched from there until Michael Charbon returned with the two men who had helped him move Augustin Colbert, and watched as they changed into the witch and the warlock.
Stolen (Book Two of the Silver Wood Coven Series): A Witch and Warlock Romance Novel Page 6