The Immortals I_Lucas

by Cynthia Breeding

  “She looks like a good screw,” the younger one said as he glanced over to her. “We could each have a turn before anyone shows up.”

  “Shut up,” the older one said and threw the dice. “We ain’t bein’ paid to bang her. The guy wants her fresh.”

  Reluctantly, the younger one turned his attention back to the game and Sara breathed a small sigh of relief. A reprieve, at least for a little while. Hopefully by now, Michael would have called, but then she remembered that he thought she was with Lucas. And Lucas thought she was with Michael. How long would it be before anyone thought to actually look for her?

  And what about poor Nim? Had that last pitiful attempt to help her actually killed the faerie? She squeezed her eyes shut to keep back the tears.

  Nim had come to her on her fifth birthday. She had just begun to notice the bright little movements of sylphs twinkling in shafts of sunlight and had actually seen a tiny green manikin riding a blade of grass. Her mother had been excited when she told her and said something about having a “gift” and that night Nim had come to her.

  “I will be your protector from the Darkness,” the faerie had said and Sara’s five-year-old mind had asked why she couldn’t just turn on a light. The faerie had smiled and said it was a different kind of Darkness that she was referring to.

  And Sara had learned, as she matured and her mind opened to the higher planes through meditation and esoteric study, that it was all too easy to use Power for personal greed and self-fulfillment. Nim had always been there, guiding her so that she wouldn’t manipulate others. Each person must have free will. And once, just once, when Loser Number One had made off with her cash and she was preparing a real curse, Nim had lifted a mystic veil and given her a glimpse into the dark world where entities existed that fed off of fear and hate. Sara still shuddered at the thought of almost taking that path. The path that Adam Baylor was on.

  Every time Lucas had talked about Adam Baylor, Sara had felt a cold dread creeping into her bones. The man was one of those entities who fed off of fear and hate.

  She began to chant silently, calling in the Light, letting it fill her. She had to stay strong. She had a feeling she was about to meet the devil.

  * * * *

  Michael had only been at the mansion a few minutes when the doorbell rang again and Benton soon appeared in the doorway to the study.

  “This just came by Express Mail,” he said as handed a flat package to Mr. Smith.

  “Did you see the truck?” Lucas asked. “What did the guy look like?”

  The butler lifted his head and sniffed. “It was a mail truck, sir. The man was in uniform. Medium height, medium build, brown hair, brown eyes.” He turned to his employer. “Will there be anything else?”

  “No, no, you may go,” Mr. Smith said distractedly as he pulled at the cardboard tab. “I wonder what…” His voice trailed off as he pulled a single paper out. He read it quickly and turned pale.

  Lucas took the paper. “A certain young lady would appreciate it if you would kindly produce the document that was purchased at Sotheby’s auction. She is sure you will know to what she is referring.” Baylor. Such polite language. He would never put a threat in writing.

  “No address to deliver it to?” Michael asked as he looked over his shoulder.

  “He’s too clever for that,” Lucas said and swore under his breath.

  “Who’s “he”? Do you know who’s behind this?”

  Lucas nodded. “A man named Adam Baylor. He had a representative at the auction. He’s… He’s a collector, too.” No need to tell Smith the whole story.

  “Adam Baylor…,” Mr. Smith knitted his eyebrows together. “Doesn’t he own an international brokerage house? Seems that I’ve heard the name.”

  “That would be the man,” Lucas answered grimly. “He’s also suspected in laundering money for terrorists world-wide.”

  “Oh, my,” Mr. Smith said and put his hand over his heart. “Then our Sara is in real trouble.”

  If only you knew. Lucas paced the floor, the wolf snarling inside him.

  “What happens next?” Michael asked.

  Lucas stopped. How could the guy look and act so calm? There seemed to be a blue light defining the edges of his aura. Warlock magic? He took to pacing again. “Baylor is a sadistic son-of-a-bitch,” he said. “He’ll make us wait. Give us time to worry. Then he’ll call.”

  Mr. Smith started wringing his hands. “My number is unlisted.”

  Lucas grimaced. “That won’t be a problem for him.” But what would happen to Sara in the meanwhile? For once, he wished he didn’t know how cruel his grandfather could be. He knew the man would look for any weakness and use it against her. Balor liked to thoroughly humiliate his victims as well as inflict real pain. Lucas closed his mind to the torture and mutilations that had been inflicted on the women in the French, Spanish, and Scottish Inquisitions, all of which had been orchestrated by none other than Balor manipulating the minds of zealous, unbalanced priests.

  “Shouldn’t we call the police? The FBI?” Michael asked.

  “No!” Mr. Smith and Lucas answered him at the same time. Lucas knew not all of Mr. Smith’s “collection” was purchased legitimately and the man wouldn’t want police getting involved in an investigation.

  “Sara will be dead if Balor gets any whiff of police being involved,” Lucas said. He would have to Shift and he didn’t want to have to explain when he did it. “Trust me. I know the guy.”

  Michael looked doubtful, but to everyone’s relief, the phone rang.

  Mr. Smith’s hand shook as he picked up the receiver. “Hello?” His face blanched as he listened to the message and then slowly hung up.

  “I’m to meet him at a Circle K off Loop 820,” he said and swallowed hard. “He said to come alone.”

  “It’ll be a fake meet,” Lucas said. “And then they’ll send you to another place and probably a third one. They’ll be looking for a tail.”

  “Can’t you just ride with me in the car and stay hidden?” Mr. Smith stammered.

  “My guess is when you get to the Circle K another car will be waiting for you to use,” Lucas said, “and it will have a monitor to check if you use your cell phone.”

  Mr. Smith began to tremble. “Oh, my—“

  “Did the guy call you by name?” Michael interrupted.

  “No. Why?” The man’s eyes were dilated with fear.

  “Then it won’t matter who goes. As long as it’s just one person. I’ll go.”

  Lucas had been about to suggest the same thing, but now he reconsidered. He was ninety-nine percent sure Michael was on their side, but what if he wasn’t? What if Balor really were controlling his mind? Sara would be defenseless. However, he’d rather have McCain out in front of him that following behind. And this would make it easier for him to shift. He could barely contain the wolf right now, even after centuries of practice.

  He took the pendant off from around his neck. “Wear this,” he said as he handed it to Michael. “I’ll be able to find you.”

  Mr. Smith started to open his mouth to ask a question, but snapped it shut. Michael just gave Lucas a long look and then slipped the cross over his head.

  “Let’s get the show on the road then,” he said.

  * * * *

  Sara recognized the man instantly. Even though he was impeccably tailored in an expensive Armani suit and silk tie, she would have known that eye-patch anywhere. It was the man from the shadows at Sotheby’s. The air suddenly became oppressively still, like low-hanging black clouds before a major storm.

  He hardly glanced her way. “Well done,” he said to the two men as he sat down at the table and placed a bottle of Glenlevit scotch on the table. “You’ll be well-rewarded. Have either of you gentlemen tasted this before?”

  Manipulator. Both of them probably had criminal records a yard long. But they straightened in their chairs and the younger one grinned.

  “Can’t say that we have.”

  Baylor
gave him a cultured smile. “Then you’re in for a real treat. Glasses?”

  The older one went to her cupboard and came back with three glasses and Baylor poured the liquor. “To a good job, well done,” he said and lifted his glass.

  The brothers drained theirs as though they were chugging beer, which is probably what they were used to, Sara thought as she watched covertly. She noticed that Baylor didn’t really swallow any of his.

  “Well, now,” he said after they’d finished a second round, “let me pay you so you can be on your way.” He looked over at Sara and grinned. “I have plans for the lady.”

  The men snickered, took their money and left.

  Baylor remained sitting at the table until he heard the engine fade away into the distance. Then he took a linen handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped his fingerprints off the glass and the bottle. “I wouldn’t drink any of that if I were you,” he said as he came over and sat down on the sofa near Sara.

  A chill ran through her, whether from his presence or the fact that he had all but admitted the liquor had been poisoned. And the incriminating evidence would lead to her. If she were still alive, that is.

  “You want the document,” she said.

  He raised an eyebrow. “A woman that gets right to the point. I like that. So why don’t you tell me what you know?”

  Sara clamped her mouth shut.

  “The manuscript is already on its way here,” he said, “but I thought we could have a pleasant conversation while waiting for it.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Come now,” he said reasonably, “we can do this the easy way and you won’t get hurt. Tell me what I want to know.”

  She felt the first probe he sent into her mind like a solid wood door had been slammed into her face. She brought her psychic shield up, reinforcing it with the energy she had gathered earlier.

  He laughed. “I like witches,” he said. “You offer a challenge.”

  Sara could feel his power trying to wind its way around her defenses. She closed her eyes and envisioned another layer of light shielding her.

  “Ah, well then, we’ll do it the old-fashioned way.”

  She heard a sharp click and opened her eyes to see a switchblade in his hand. He leaned forward and brushed her cheek with the side of the blade. “You’re beautiful now, Sara. Wonder how Ramsey will feel if you aren’t so pretty?”

  She held her breath and steeled herself, but he dropped the blade to her shoulder. Just as she was about to exhale, he brought the knife between her breasts.

  “Tell me,” he said, “do you have the witch’s mark somewhere on your body?” When she didn’t answer, he brought the blade swiftly down, slicing through both her blouse and her bra. Sara looked down, expecting to see blood but there was none.

  “If I had wanted to cut you, I would have,” he said as he took the tip of the knife and pushed the shirt aside exposing first one breast and then the other.

  Sara bit her lip to keep from gasping. The cool air across her naked flesh caused her nipples to harden.

  “Ah, I like that,” Baylor said as he flicked one of them with the side of the blade. “Fear does that.”

  Fear. She must not show fear. He fed off of it. Dear Goddess! Help me! Give me courage to get through this! And live! She tugged at the ropes. If only she could free her hands!

  Baylor frowned and snapped the knife shut. “You might be more of a challenge than I thought. Did you know,” he asked as he leaned over and yanked a handful of her hair, “that centuries ago, women had their heads shaved and then their pubic hair if the Witch’s mark didn’t appear anywhere else? Just before they were burned.”

  Sara tried not to wince at his painful clutch. “What are you talking about?”

  “Ah, you do speak,” he said and sat back. “You’ve given me an awful lot of trouble, Sara. You’ll have to pay for that. I don’t suppose you’re a virgin still?”

  Sara looked away.

  “Pity,” Baylor said. “I do like tearing the membrane and ramming hard and deep into a dry sheath. I like for them to beg for mercy.”

  She suppressed an involuntary shudder. Don’t let him smell fear.

  He leaned closer. “But a dry ass is almost as much fun. I think I’ll do you that way first. The pain will be a small price to compensate me for my troubles.”

  Like she wasn’t paying now? And all because of her foolish pride. She should have asked Lucas for a ride home just as Michael had suggested. He’d never let her live that one down. A sob caught in her throat. If she lived.

  “You—or more precisely, the manuscript—has eluded me several times. The last time all I got was a bunch of papers on the existence of Gwenhwyfar.”

  Maybe if I can keep him talking… “Those notes took me hours of research to do.”

  “Um. Then I’ll put it to good use,” he answered.

  From his feral smile, she didn’t think she was going to like how he was going to do that. Maybe she should learn—now would be a real good time—to keep her mouth shut.

  “I see you remember,” he said benignly and continued, “I noticed the hitching post the first time I came out here.” Sara stifled a gasp and he smiled. “Oh, yes. I’ve been here before watching you. The night of the wolf attack. But I digress. The hitching post. Let’s see, Gwenhwyfar was condemned to the stake, wasn’t she?”

  Sara suddenly realized what the hitching post could be used for and her blood chilled. “For being a traitor to her king.”

  “Yes. Let’s be accurate,” Baylor answered. “And I have been a god as well as a king. Well,” he paused, “I worked inside a king’s head anyway.”

  Her mouth ran off without her permission. “You’re insane.”

  He seemed amused. “Not at all, I assure you. The king was Philippe IV of France. And he definitely wanted the Hallows. So, in a way, you are being a traitor. To me as I was then.”

  The king who had ordered the Templars to be arrested and later tortured. She stared at him. She wasn’t even going to ask why he thought he’d been a god. No way. She should just keep her mouth shut. Shut.

  “Gwenhwyfar never betrayed Arthur! It’s in the notes.” Why can’t I keep still?

  “Arthur might differ with you on that,” Baylor answered and assumed a scholarly tone. “According to legend, Lancelot rescued her in the nick of time. Maybe he will again. Do you feel lucky?”

  Why did she get the feeling she was looking up the barrel of Dirty Harry’s gun? Only this Dirty Harry was really the bad guy.

  * * * *

  Sara heard the crunch of the car’s wheels on the loose gravel that led up to the ranch house and a quiver of apprehension flowed down her spine. She had hoped to be rescued, but she didn’t think Lucas would just drive up to the front door. And if he’d brought a copy of the manuscript, what assurance did they have that they’d be leaving alive? Very little. Baylor had spent the last hour laying kindling around the base of the hitching post while she had watched from the porch where he had tied her.

  But it was Michael who drove up and stepped out of the car.

  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” Baylor said as he finished laying the last bit of piece of wood.

  Michael brushed past him to Sara. “Are you all right?” he asked as he turned her around and began to undo the rope.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Baylor asked.

  They both turned to see him holding a 9mm handgun.

  “A rather nasty piece of equipment. I much prefer older weapons, but I find this is very useful.”

  “You can put it away,” Michael said as he stared the man down. “Shoot me and you’ll never see the manuscript.”

  Baylor laughed. “No doubt I can find it in your car.”

  “Do you think I would be so foolish as to bring the manuscript here?”

  He fingered the trigger. “You would be more foolish not to.”

  “The one thing I’m not,” Michael said as he finished loosening Sara’s b
onds, “is a fool. If you want the damn thing, you play by my rules.”

  Baylor lifted an eyebrow. “I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with.”

  “No?”

  A pale light began to shimmer around Michael and for a moment, Sara thought she saw a flaming sword in his hand and then it was gone. She shook her head. Perhaps the fear she had bottled up was giving her hallucinations.

  Baylor had taken a step back, but at Michael’s surprised look when the aura faded, he stepped forward again. “You were almost impressive, Warlock.”

  Sara felt Michael’s mental nudge and sent him what energy she could. His shield had been weakened by the exertion and she wondered why he’d tried it.

  “It doesn’t matter who you are,” Michael said. “We play by my rules.”

  Baylor seemed almost amused. “By all means then. Explain your rules.”

  “Sara leaves. She gets in the car. You and I will walk. The manuscript is buried somewhere between here and the main road. I’ll show you where it is and we drive away.”

  Sara watched as Baylor considered the possibilities. He could kill them both and look for the manuscript, but there were lots of cactus and rattlesnakes out there. He didn’t have his henchmen to do the searching. Finally he nodded.

  He searched the car before he let her get in and gave them a nasty smile when he unearthed the revolver that Michaels had stashed away. “I’ll just take this for insurance.”

  Sara drove slowly behind them as they moved along the road. Several hundred yards away, Michael stopped and pointed. “On the other side of that mesquite tree.”

  “Show me.”

  “I’m not going any further,” Michael answered. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

  “I don’t trust anyone.”

  “That’s your problem,” Michael answered and reached for the door handle only to suddenly gasp and then collapse on the ground beside the car.