While Sasha and Castillo searched the room, Valmont explored Dorst’s body. Whiskey found the small valve on the tubing, and stopped the flow of liquid. A drop sat on the pad of her finger, and she raised it to her nose to get a whiff. Even the scent of it made her feel slightly foggy around the edges of her mind. She quickly wiped it from her skin.
Castillo’s extensive thirst for knowledge was beneficial. It didn’t take long for him to identify the drug—a psychedelic anesthetic brewed specifically to stunt a Sanguire’s mental facilities combined with a morphine drip—and a likely antidote among Dorst’s belongings. It was the same drug Margaurethe had been given to facilitate her healing after Whiskey’s inadvertent attack a few days ago.
Eventually, Dorst sat groggily on his bed, the chains removed by Valmont’s ability to open the locks. “Dear gods, I’m hungry,” he muttered. With shaky hands he found his mohawks in disarray, making a small noise of disgust in his throat as he attempted to straighten them.
“I’ll find a kizarus for you.” Castillo cocked his head. “The poison you were given has used a lot of your physical resources. You’ll feel better after a meal and some real sleep.”
“Make the call downstairs. And let Phineas know what’s going on.”
Castillo bowed to Whiskey and left.
“What happened, Reynhard?” Valmont’s voice and eyes mocked the victim. “Someone duped you, the master spy? Not something you’d want people to know about, eh?”
“I’m honestly not certain.”
Whiskey glared Valmont down. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
Dorst was slow to respond, his thin lips pursed and his hairless eyebrows furrowed together. “I remember speaking with you about the Agrun Nam. I spent the evening here.”
“You were here, eh?” Valmont snorted. “You didn’t decide to hang out at the estate, did you? Perhaps sneak around in another’s guise and murder people?”
The frown deepened. “No. I’m positive.” Dorst’s normally musical voice was as pale as his visage. “I had begun plans to return to the Agrun Nam to see what else I could find about the assassin.”
“What happened?”
Dorst released a breath, his black eyes staring at Whiskey. “I don’t know.”
“How convenient.”
Whiskey shot Valmont another fierce glance. Margaurethe’s life was on the line. She had no time for his jealousy and sarcasm.
He seemed to understand her expression, and tilted his head in a request for forgiveness. Returning her attention to Dorst, she said, “Let me in.”
He understood her meaning. “Of course, my Ninsumgal.”
His easy surrender gave Whiskey harsh satisfaction. She was correct, he meant her no harm and was willing to subject himself to her will, no questions asked. The knowledge both pleased and scared her. Such a level of submission easily led to abuse. As with Andri and Valmont before, she put up her guard before entering Dorst’s mind rather than invite an attack. Despite her pleasure at his apparent obedience, he still had several hundred years of experience and strength behind him. Of the same opinion, she felt Valmont’s essence bolstering hers, staying close and ready should she need his assistance.
It was easier this time. The skill improved with each successful endeavor. In less than a minute she was in Dorst’s head, watching through his eyes as she sifted quickly through the memories, skimming past the personal thoughts and experiences of what transpired after their meeting. She invaded his mind for a purpose and saw no reason to delve into his privacy. Dorst was a spy and full of illicit information. She had no doubt he would allow an in-depth examination by her, but she knew how destructive that could be. He would be worthless to her ever after.
As she neared the time in question, she slowed her search.
She sat in her room with a single lamp on the table illuminating her work. She looked through Dorst’s eyes as she doodled on a notepad, the action aiding her thoughts as she made plans for another incursion into European territory. She looked over her shoulder at the sound of someone knocking, felt immediate suspicion at the interruption. No one knew she was here. Who could be at the door?
Whiskey eased a tentacle of thought toward the door, finding nothing on the other side. Obviously a Human, as Sanguire were unable to touch them in such a manner. Assuming some drunk was lost, she rose and went to the door. Opening it, she stared at the clerk from the lobby. “What do you want?” She heard Dorst’s voice instead of her own.
He shrugged, his nose ring flashing. “Not a thing.”
Alarms rang in her head as he turned and walked away. Before she could close the door, she felt another presence, a Sanguire mind rolling over her own.
Whiskey recoiled from the blackness that followed. She tumbled, Valmont grabbing her elbow to keep her upright. Her hand massaged her forehead as she separated Dorst’s memory from her own, collected herself from their joining. When she stood on her own, she looked at Dorst still sitting on the bed.
“Well, that was unpleasant.” A hint of his jovial demeanor leaked through the exhaustion. “It seems our assassin knows who and where I am.”
Valmont released Whiskey. “What happened? What did you see?”“Someone paid off the front desk clerk to knock on the door. Reynhard was put off guard, and the Sanguire was able to overcome and compel him.” Whiskey inhaled deeply. She felt rough around the edges, and sat upon the only chair in the room, the same one Dorst had been in before he had been attacked.
Glancing at the scribbling on the notepad there, she felt the déjà vu of the pen in her hand, knowing it was Dorst’s memory.
“Do you know who it was?”
She shook her head. “Not really. But I’m betting it’s who has Margaurethe. He has to be damned strong to take on Reynhard and win.”
“Ki’an Gasan Margaurethe?” Dorst asked. “What are you talking about?”
She stared out the window, lost in thought, so Valmont answered. “Someone kidnapped Margaurethe and Andri from The Davis Group last night. We thought it was you.”
“Me?” Dorst sounded affronted. “I would never do such a thing! I gave my oath to my Ninsumgal.”
Something about her walk through Dorst’s mind puzzled her. She compared it to the other times she had done similar, while Valmont and Dorst talked around her.
“Regardless of your oath, Reynhard, we had evidence to suspect your involvement.”
“And what evidence was that?” Dorst’s voice became stronger as his anger burned bright.
Whiskey remembered the connection with Margaurethe, only a few short days ago. Every time they had bonded, she had seen something about Elisibet that her lover had encountered.
And every time, that event was from Margaurethe’s point of view, Whiskey riding silently behind her eyes as she watched, listened and felt what the woman experienced.
Valmont scoffed. “For one, your reputation precedes you. Only you have the ability to come and go at will despite the guards.”
“Oh, please. I’m not the only Gúnnumu Bargún in the world. Some others are even as good as I.”
She heard Margaurethe’s voice, a conversation she had had with her lover the night of the murders.
“I spent the afternoon grilling your employees. It doesn’t look like any of them are this unknown assassin.”
“That’s good to hear, though that’s a lot of people. Did you get to everybody?”
“Well, those I didn’t know personally before they came here.”
Pacal was Whiskey’s man-at-arms. He might have chosen to reside with the Mayan delegation, but he was still an employee of The Davis Group. Margaurethe had to have investigated him.
“Perhaps,” Valmont said. “But you’re the only one that knows the security setup. Someone has been parading around in my guise. I’ve been accused of three murders this week. That interloper stole a car from the garage after killing a guard, and was caught on camera.”
“Murders? What murders? And my Gasan already s
aw what happened to me that night. I wasn’t there. Who is this witness?”
Whiskey saw memories with Margaurethe’s eyes. She saw with Dorst’s eyes. Even when she purposely attacked another, as with Castillo and Valmont, she saw glimpses of their thoughts through their eyes.
But she had not seen through Andri’s eyes.
Swallowing a sudden rage, she turned icy eyes on her advisors.
“It’s Andri. He’s not who he seems.”
Chapter Thirty
Margaurethe struggled toward consciousness. Her vision blurred as she forced her eyes open. Several minutes passed until they focused, revealing her location.
She lay sideways on a cot in a dusky little room. Light glowed from beneath the door, the only illumination. She stirred, trying to sit up, realizing in the abortive attempt that her arms and legs were firmly chained. Strangely groggy, Margaurethe tried to puzzle out what happened to her. She tasted blood in the back of her throat, smelled it in the air about her. The aroma was familiar, and she realized it was her own.
Whiskey. She had been talking to Whiskey, and then she had left to check something in her office. Margaurethe searched her memory, piecing together the fuzzy scenes into a comprehensive recollection. A vague sensation of irritation flickered through her in distant sympathy with a memory. Margaurethe had finished her business and found herself in the empty foyer. She firmly recalled setting a guard on Whiskey no matter where she traveled within the building as a precaution against another attack.
Valmont. He was the one suspected of killing the others.
Yes, it was coming back to her now. But Whiskey, fresh from Cora’s funeral and wake, recently discovering her talent, didn’t want to further investigate the matter. Instead, she fled to her quarters to distance herself from the pain and anger. That was why Margaurethe had set the guard—her young lover might be loath to deal with the realities of the situation; she was not.
There had been no expected Aga’gída in the foyer, though he had been there when she had passed through earlier.
Margaurethe stretched as much as her bindings would allow, noting the pain coalescing at the back of her head and neck.
Still on the hunt for her elusive memory, she put the ache out of her mind. She had stepped inside Whiskey’s sitting room, searching for the guard, figuring he had taken position there.
He hadn’t been. She most definitely had a thing or two to say to him when she found him. Not wanting to upset Whiskey, she had extended her mind in an effort to locate him, but found nothing. As suspicion had clouded Margaurethe’s mind, Andri had quietly entered the sitting room from Whiskey’s apartment.
He seemed agitated, scared. Quickly darting to her side, he had said something. What was it again?
“ Ki’an Gasan ! We must hide. The brown man I saw, the one in that poor girl’s apartment, he’s here!”
Margaurethe’s head pounded as it did then, though for an entirely different reason. She licked dry lips, realizing her nose had bled at some point, causing the taste in her mouth. She remembered telling Andri to go into the hall, to find Whiskey’s personal guard and send them in. She had only taken a few steps away before pain had exploded in her head. Everything had gone dark.Clearing her throat, Margaurethe shifted once more. She saw movement in front of the door, a shadow crossing the light.
Extending her senses, she picked up the sound of footsteps.
Her nose only found dust, and she fought against a sneeze. She pressed her face into the dirty mattress in an attempt to stifle the explosion. It worked for the moment, but the tickle in her sinuses indicated her failsafe wouldn’t last long. It was Andri who had hit her from behind. Had Valmont enlisted the terrified little man to his cause, somehow knowing that his cover had been torn away, and he was revealed for the traitor he was? Margaurethe opened her mouth to breathe and alleviate the impending sneeze.
Despite the memories coming together, Margaurethe still felt stuporous. Most of her senses seemed to work fine. She tried to focus her mind on the shadow beyond the door. She couldn’t.
Swallowing a stab of fear, she tried again. She concentrated on scanning around her, but found herself unable to get out of her head. The sensation nauseated her, an essential part of her spirit completely hobbled. As if in answer to her prodding attempts, the door opened, a shaft of light spilling across the room and making her squint.
“Ah, it’s good to see you’re awake, luv,” a familiar voice said.
Margaurethe stared at Andri, finding the confident expression alien to his countenance. She swallowed and attempted to speak.
“Who are you?” Her tongue felt overlarge and dry.
He grinned, his features flickering, his body lengthening, as he changed into a stranger. “No one you know, sweetling.
Though it has been quite fun, hasn’t it?”
“You’re the assassin.”
“My, aren’t you the smart one?” He winked at her. “I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to realize I wasn’t who you thought I was. You knew the original Andri Sigmarsson, you and Sublugal Sañar Valmont both. Yet neither of you deigned to give me a going-over. Very sloppy, that.”
She cursed to herself, remembering in-depth scans of everyone new to her after Dorst had reported an assassin being hired. Cora’s and Anthony’s murders had interrupted her plan to scan the remainder of the staff the following day. “Since I’m here and alive, I’m assuming you haven’t been able to murder Whiskey.”
He leaned against the doorjamb, crossing his arms over his chest, his smile casual. By all appearances, he loitered and chatted with a dear friend rather than a hostage. “Not yet, though I expect it will be soon. I’ve been waiting for you to awaken before I called her.”Margaurethe snorted once and finally sneezed. She ignored his mild “bless you,” sniffling. “Don’t think I’ll speak to her on your behalf.” She wished her tone were more firm instead of tremulous from another potential sneeze. “If you give me the phone, I’ll tell her to leave me with you and to live.”
“It won’t make much difference, will it? She loves you dearly, Ki’an Gasan. She’ll not rest until you’re safe and I’m dead. Or she is.”
She knew it to be true, and hated that he knew it as well.
“How much are you being paid? I’ll double it.”
His chuckle was a pleasant one. “Now how far do you think I’d get in my profession if I turned on my employers that easily, eh? I’d be out of work in no time. No.” He shook his head. “I gave my word I’d do the job, and I will.”
Anger flared, giving her enough strength to push herself up to a sitting position. She twisted until her bound feet touched the floor, pleased to see him stand erect in preparation for a potential attack. “Do you realize who she is? You’d be murdering our final hope!” Her head pounded.
“Oh, I’m perfectly aware of who she is, luv.” His lips turned down with regret. “As I said, however, I’ve already given my word. If it’s any consolation, I plan on finding my employer and giving him a dose of the same.”
“It’s not a consolation.” Again she tried to break through the haze in her mind, attempted to strike out at him. Her head throbbed once in response, a stab of agony shooting behind her eyes and another wave of nausea forcing bile into her throat.
She must have given some indication of what she was doing.
“My apologies, Ki’an Gasan, but you’ll find yourself quite unable to use your gifts against me.”
“What have you done to me?” Margaurethe remembered hearing horror stories of Sanguire who, after sustaining head injuries, were forever unable to use their gifts or mental abilities. Had he done the same to her? Had he crippled her beyond measure when he had knocked her out? What would she do?
“Only a psychedelic anesthetic.” His earnest expression conveyed truthfulness. “Something to protect me from your talents. When the Ninsumgal arrives, I don’t wish to be fighting on more than one front.”
“She’s stronger than you think.”
<
br /> “Aye, I’m aware of that. And she’s aware that I’m older and more powerful than her. Granted, she’s got strength, but I’m certain I’ll have no problem. I did well enough when she rooted around in my head for my ‘memory’ of Valmont’s treachery. She thinks I’m a hostage just like you.”
Margaurethe closed her eyes, ignoring the shape shifter’s change before her. Whiskey’s soft spot for Elisibet’s valet was no secret among the other staff. If Whiskey thought Andri was as much a victim as herself, she would be in even more danger.
With Margaurethe’s mind numb, there was no way she could convey the truth to her.
“You’re probably tired,” he said in Andri’s voice. “Lie down and get some sleep. It will all be over soon.”
Margaurethe glared at him. “You’d best kill me, too. I’ll not be a witless mourner this time.”
He cocked his head. “Then you’d better queue, luv. My employer has first dibs, I hear.” Before she could demand more information, he gave a familiar bow and stepped out of the room, gently closing the door behind him.
In the dark once more, she slumped. What could she do?
***
Whiskey stared out the Town Car window. Valmont sat at her side, fingers tapping against his leg. Phineas had taken the wheel, and Sasha sat beside him, keeping tabs on security via a cell phone. Castillo had remained behind to see to Dorst’s injuries. Dorst had been given his fill of a kizarusi, and had promptly fallen into a fitful slumber. Considering how old Andri was, Whiskey had insisted that Dorst be moved to The Davis Group immediately, and they had taken the limousine.
She didn’t know if the assassin had been checking on his victim, and didn’t want Dorst in his weakened state to be there. If the man could overpower Dorst, Castillo would be child’s play.
The car idled on the top floor of a parking structure. It had been an hour since discovering Dorst and still no word from either Castillo’s sources or the assassin.
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