Ghost Phoenix

by Corrina Lawson

  King Edward IV. Richard’s father. She wondered if the legendary Queen of his court was also a famous figure from history. But no Doyle had ever known the Queen’s original name.

  “Definitely simpler, I suppose. But then I met you.”

  He turned and she was absorbed in that glorious sun again.

  “And that is a good thing?”

  “I’m beginning to think so.” Don’t ramble. No babbling. Be competent.

  He nodded. “It’s obvious your grandfather does not cherish and honor you as he should. You’re not a servant, not of him and not of me. I release you, Angel. You have a choice.”

  “What? You want me to decide?” Her breath shuddered. She could walk out free of obligation. Richard would not hold it against Doyle Antiquities. Grandfather could not complain. Back to her dreams of a normal life.

  “I took your case. I gave my word. I’ll finish it.”

  Richard winced. “I understand keeping words of honor. But I thought instead of seeing me as an obligation, you might actually enjoy this.”

  “I will. I mean, I do. I mean, except for the blood and the getting shot at.” Yes, that sounded competent. She’d probably think of something perfect to say to Richard just before the plane landed in France.

  While he was sleeping.

  “Anyone would be disturbed by what happened today. I’ve been shot before. I didn’t like it the first time, and the experience, unlike surfing, doesn’t improve with repetition.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder. “You handled yourself perfectly, Angel.”

  She looked down at her hands. They were shaking. “And now I’m falling apart.”

  “And now you are suffering from a natural after-reaction. I have seen it from strong men, brave men, who wept for hours after a grievous battle. There’s no shame in it.”

  “You’re so calm.”

  “I’m a prince of the blood. And I’ve been Maytagged before.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Rolled around and spit out by life.” Again, he took her hand, brought it to his lips and kissed the back of it.

  She heard the faint squeaks of the old boards of the brownstone as people walked around in other offices. Wind caused branches to scrape against the bricks outside. All the sounds familiar to her from years of this brownstone being her life.

  Richard was new. So was the way he stared at her.

  “Alec Farley wasn’t what I expected.”

  “He attracted you?” Richard frowned.

  “He’d attract a horde. But no, I meant the way he talked about his ability. He seemed so comfortable with it. I liked that he didn’t try to hide it.”

  “Yes, he’s open and easy about that. I envy that too. Being open about my ability was never possible.” Richard let go of her hand.

  She wished he still held it. “The telepath was a little scary.”

  “Telepaths are always dangerous because while sometimes you can tell when they’re using their ability, often you can’t.”

  “When she read your mind, did she learn about my ability? Or could she read my mind when she came into the room?”

  “She didn’t learn about you from me. I know how to sequester thoughts to hide them from a telepath unless they ask a direct question or do a deep probe. If Beth Nakamora knew about you, she would’ve told the firestarter and he would’ve asked you about it. As you said, Farley’s direct. I haven’t met such a combination of power and purity in a long time.”

  “And Philip Drake? He scared me more than the telepath.”

  “That’s because he’s killed far more people than Beth Nakamora. Drake, if he were a telepath, probably would have insisted on that type of deep probe.”

  “He seemed to have very little human feeling at all.”

  “Drake’s human. I could tell that from the memories fed to me. He loves Beth and he loves his new wife. But I was unable to decide whether he was putting up a front or was truly ready to kill us if we posed a threat. Look how easily he yielded to his daughter. I think Drake enjoys intimidating people, especially if he perceives them as dangerous. It may even be second nature to him. But that is not all there is to his nature.”

  “And Daz Montoya? I was surprised you agreed he could come with us.”

  “It’s better to have him close than watching us from afar. Plus, he’s on easy terms with Alec Farley and yet he’s quite human. He’s more than a simple soldier. I was curious. And you gave your approval.”

  “I know.”

  “Enough about them.” Richard shook his head. “There’s also far more to you than meets the eye, Angel.” He stroked her cheek with his finger.

  “Um, thank you.”

  He took her face in his hands and leaned over.

  She melted into the chair, glad she was sitting and not standing.

  “I had no idea how I longed for something new, something precious, until I saw you walk on air.”

  He touched her lips lightly with his. Her breath shuddered out.

  “You like me for my phantom power?”

  “I like you for all of you. The saving of my life by pulling the bullet out. The keeping quiet about it in front of some formidable people.” He ran his hand through her curls. “For the richness of your hair and the beauty of your eyes and for daring to do something that terrifies you.”

  “Oh.” Stupid, stupid, could she say nothing coherent here? Excuse me, Prince, while I try to pick my jaw up off the floor?

  “If for nothing else in my life, I should thank Marshal for sending me to you.” He smiled and drew back. “Let’s go, then, Angel, and see what we can discover together.”

  He picked up her suitcase.

  “You shouldn’t carry that. You’re a client.”

  “A lady does not carry her luggage,” he said. “And it’s not heavy.”

  “Thank you kindly, good sir.”

  He offered her his arm. She hooked her arm in his, and they descended the stairs together.

  Chapter Nine

  Richard carried the suitcase down the narrow stairs with ease.

  That didn’t seem right. He should feel some exertion from it.

  Once on the street, the limo driver offered to take the suitcase and put it in the trunk. Richard lifted it as if it were a feather and handed it over. He could tell it was heavy by the way the driver used two hands to get the suitcase in the trunk.

  How odd. And how interesting.

  Once inside the limo, Marian pulled out her phone from a bag that also carried her computer. “I need to rearrange some things since I didn’t expect to be going out of town today.”

  “Go for it.” He settled back and wondered how he could test his newfound strength. He squeezed the armrest but let go when he felt the leather cushion begin to give way.

  He lifted his hand and saw his finger impressions embedded in the leather. Well. He’d better be careful about how hard he shook hands in the future.

  His muscles had not changed. Something else was augmenting his strength. A telekinetic ability? One or two members of the Court had possessed such strength. They had been valuable soldiers but, unhappily, their gift had not shown up in their descendants.

  Why, in God’s eyes, would such an ability manifest itself in him now? He looked down at his hand, frowning. More power was always helpful, but not if it couldn’t be controlled.

  “Something wrong?” Marian set down her phone and brushed her finger over his side, where the bullet had gone in. “Does it hurt? Do you need a doctor?”

  “Only lost in thought, Angel. And perhaps a little tired. Sit with me.” He put his arm around her shoulder. She stiffened for a second, took a deep breath and relaxed against him.

  Ah, very good. She was different from the beautiful, tanned California girls. But those relationships were physical. Holding M
arian close felt more precious.

  If he desired, he supposed he could kiss her and much more right here. They had time before reaching the airport.

  Yet somehow, he thought it would break the spell. He wanted her. But he wanted her not in some rushed coming together. He wanted their first encounter to be binding.

  And then what?

  He had no idea. He smiled. And that was the best part of it all. Finally, something utterly new to conquer.

  Stellar.

  “This is definitely the way to travel.” Daz put his feet up on an ottoman and his hands behind his head. He was almost too big for the chair in the plane’s cabin. “Nice ride, Prince.”

  “‘Richard’ will be fine, thanks. Or ‘dude.’”

  The teasing was typical of a soldier, Richard decided, but typical didn’t apply to Daz any more than it did to Marian. He quickly skimmed the report on his laptop about Daz that Marshal had somehow cobbled together in the last few hours.

  Daz’s record showed a college degree, decorated service with the U.S. Navy and eventually he’d become the leader of a Navy SEAL team. His credentials were so impressive that Lansing had hand-picked Daz to mentor the firestarter. Daz had a young son, by a woman he hadn’t married, but he supported the boy and was living up to his obligation as a father, at least as much as his work would permit.

  It was as if a younger version of Marshal existed in the present day. Marshal had learned court manners and politics over the years. Daz could do that, if he ever wanted.

  Right now, Richard was less concerned with Daz’s courtly manners and more about his manner toward Marian.

  Daz handed Marian a drink. From her perch on the couch, Marian took a tentative sip.

  “Oh, this is excellent!” she pronounced. “What’s it called? Do I want to know what’s in it?”

  Daz screwed the tops back on the liquor bottles at the bar. “It’s called a Girl Scout Cookie and the main ingredients are cake vodka and crème de menthe.” His head disappeared under the bar for a second. When he straightened again, he held a beer.

  “Vodka. Oh, God.” But she drank down a full swallow.

  “It’s the cool new drink,” Daz said.

  “Yeah, I tried one of those in college. Fuzzy navel or something. I didn’t try it again.” But she smiled to take the edge off the comment.

  “Those things were always too damn sweet for me.” Daz drank down a long swallow of beer.

  “I bet you put down a lot of beers,” Marian said.

  “My share. More than my share.”

  There was no way for Richard to break into the conversation. College was a normal human experience this century. A shared experience.

  Richard wondered perhaps if he should go to college. No, he had tried that once a long time ago and been tossed out of a history class for disagreeing with the instructor’s portrayal of Henry VII, that miserly, cruel man.

  Maybe he should’ve taken a course other than English history.

  Marian stretched out on the couch. Daz claimed the chair opposite her. At least he didn’t presume to sit next to her. Richard sat crosswise to both of them, pretending to read a “definitive” biography about Rasputin. Richard well knew how wrong “definitive” statements about history could be. But he hoped to gain some nuggets from it. Philip Drake talked of curses, and the legends surrounding Rasputin’s death no doubt obscured the reality of things. It was unusual that the Soviets had looked into Rasputin’s abilities, but they’d been obsessed for a while with psychics, so that might explain their interest.

  But he couldn’t concentrate. His angel looked adorable on the couch, her eyes covered by stray curly bangs. The traveling sweats she wore didn’t do her justice. They turned her into a blue blob, save for those wonderful brown curls.

  “Why did you learn to make such a complicated drink?” Richard asked.

  “Gotta keep up with the latest thing girls like.” Daz saluted Richard with his beer. “Stay up with the times.”

  “Tradition sometimes has a reason.”

  “Really? So why are you a surfer dude instead of the arrogant asshole prince your brother was?” Daz asked.

  Richard slammed the book shut. “You want to revisit that argument?”

  “No.” Daz shrugged. “I just wondered how you came out so different from him.”

  “Surfing is a place where I can be who I am, without questions or interference. It’s impossible to explain it to those who don’t understand. But I’ve learned to be myself. Do you surf?”

  “Some. I’m more for jet skis.”

  “You lack patience.”

  “Life is short, at least for some of us.” Daz looked around. “Your court must have some serious money to afford a plane like this. Where does it come from?”

  Richard shrugged.

  “A hidden royal treasury?” Daz asked.

  “Hidden treasure rarely does any good, as it’s hidden and can’t be put to use. Our wealth is due to good investment choices by those who take the long view.”

  “As simple as that?”

  “As simple as that.”

  “You realize we’ll track who owns the plane back to your people,” Daz said.

  “I don’t care. Your telepath already has a brain stuffed with info about us. And such distrust, Daz. Doesn’t it go against the stated mission of the Phoenix Institute to covertly track our court? Alec Farley said he wanted all things in the open.”

  “Alec’s not an idiot. Beth may have said you’re okay but your people backed up what your brother did. I can’t ignore that and neither can Alec. Besides, if he didn’t try to dig up something on you, Drake would.”

  “No doubt.” Drake. Richard wanted a private conversation with that one. Or perhaps combat. One on one, if only to test himself. Someday. He flexed his fingers. His newfound strength might help, if he found time to practice and control it.

  “Any other questions?” Richard asked.

  “Plenty, but none you can answer right now,” Daz said.

  “Because I won’t tell you?”

  “Because words aren’t good answers. It’s how people behave that matters. You saved my life today. So I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt. And we’ll see what happens next.”

  Marian burped. Daz laughed.

  “I’m so sorry,” she mumbled. “I think one is enough.”

  “You don’t drink much, do you?” Daz asked.

  “No. Maybe once or twice a year.”

  “You should relax more often.”

  “That’s not good for me,” she said.

  “It’s good for everyone.”

  She shook her head and curled on her side, pulling a blanket over her shoulders. “Not for me.” She closed her eyes again.

  Poor Angel. Her gift required intense concentration. Alcohol or another drug would interfere with that. No wonder she avoided drinking. But this drink had done her some good, if she could sleep. And it had the added benefit of shutting down her bonding with Daz. Or was it flirting?

  Richard wished he could relax as easily as that. But his ability kept him from getting drunk. A closed path to him. Surfing relaxed him but he could hardly do that here.

  Before surfing, he had brooded.

  No, he must be honest with himself. Before surfing, his response to stress had been to run away. When faced with an untenable situation, he learned to quit the field.

  Edward was the Queen’s darling. Richard was the lesser, the one never good enough. His brother knew best. So everyone said.

  So Richard left, instead of fighting for baby Alec, and wandered, until California.

  “So how did the Court take to your surfing?” Daz asked.

  “They left me alone. Immortals learn a lot of patience.” Most of them.

  “What brought you back?”

  Ric
hard tossed the book casually to the floor. Instead of resting, it skittered across the cabin, as if he was angry and had tossed it with force.

  Daz snapped to his feet. “Short fuse, prince guy?”

  Richard shook his head. “I’m chill.”

  “Doesn’t seem that way.”

  “That’s because you’re determined to poke at me until I explode.”

  “Maybe so.”

  “Tell me, is Farley completely in the open with his ability?”

  “He hasn’t called a press conference or posted an Internet video of him fooling around with fire, if that’s what you mean. Though YouTube is probably only a matter of time. He’s used his powers in the open enough. There were even vids of the explosion he stopped in New York Harbor. But the resolution was too low to spot Alec inside the fire.”

  “Being public doesn’t bother him?”

  “He likes what he is. How about you?”

  Richard snorted. “You want the Court in the open? Hah.” He grinned. Why not? The Queen would love the attention once she accepted the idea, and the cameras would love her if her health ever returned.

  Daz swallowed the rest of his beer. “So what did you do in that court of yours for all those six hundred years? Recite poetry to each other all day?”

  Chill, Richard reminded himself. “Yes, poetry and literature and history. We learned how to fight, how to acquire wealth, and how to influence events behind the scenes.”

  “Like your brother tried to do?”

  Back to this? “My brother led from the front lines. That’s how he died.” Richard stood. “That’s enough. You’re condemning my brother and yet how much better are you? You took the contract from Lansing, a man deemed too far gone even by the Court, to keep the firestarter under his thumb. You left the boy in captivity for years.”

  Daz stood. They circled each other.

  “You don’t know what it was like.”

  “The hell I don’t! Lansing offered money and prestige, and a chance to do battle, so long as you followed orders. And you followed those orders well, until the firestarter called you out.”