The Dark Gate

by Pamela Palmer

  “Superstition.”

  “Sure. But sometimes superstition is based in fact if you go back far enough. We’ve got to start somewhere.”

  “It’s hogwash.” His hands rested on her shoulders. “See if you can find anything on the amulet that was stolen from the Smithsonian, the Stone of Ezrie.”

  “The one Tarrys said will open the gates between the two worlds?”

  Jack grunted. “Duke said there was some legend attached to it. The girl probably read it, too.”

  The feel of his hands, heavy on her shoulders, was thoroughly distracting. Her fingers stumbled, but a moment later the screen revealed the news report of the theft and a small picture. The blue amulet wasn’t large, about the size of a man’s thumb and shaped like a pear.

  Larsen squinted and looked closer. “There’s a symbol on the stone.”

  “A seven-pointed star. See if you can find anything on the legend.”

  “There’s nothing here. But one of my college roommates works at the Smithsonian. Autumn McGinn. If she wasn’t the one Duke talked to, she’ll know who was. I’ll send her an e-mail.”

  As she typed, she heard the mattress behind her creak under Jack’s weight.

  A minute later she turned in her seat to face him. “Done.” Larsen folded her arms over the back of the chair. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t want to believe he’s an elf any more than you do.” She rested her chin on her arms. “What are we going to do if he really has magic?”

  For once, Jack didn’t scoff. “I don’t know.” Then he scowled and raked his fingers into his hair. “I can’t believe in elves, Larsen. I just can’t.”

  “Then don’t. That’s not what’s important.”

  His brows dipped low. “I thought you were convinced they’re real.”

  “No, I’m convinced the albino is real. And I’m convinced he has abilities we can’t comprehend. All that matters is we don’t deny what he can do. What you call him doesn’t really matter. Call him whatever you like. Elf, Esri, bastard…zoodopper.”

  A funny smile broke over his face. “Zoodopper?”

  Larsen smiled weakly. “That’s my point. Who cares what you call him? We know what he can do.”

  Jack reached out, touching her hair, trailing his fingers down one thick lock. “You’re right.”

  He looked at her with eyes that lacked the probing intensity, the distrust of so many of his gazes and were instead filled with a tenderness and understanding that went straight to her heart. This gaze caressed and comforted, lifting some of the suffocating worry and filling her with a strange fluttering lightness like a butterfly on newly formed wings.

  Why was she so drawn to him? How could he tear down years of defenses with a single look? She was Larsen Vale. The Ice Bitch. A woman who didn’t—couldn’t let people get this close.

  Slowly, the look in his eyes changed, heated. His gaze dropped to her mouth and she knew he wanted to kiss her. Her pulse sped with a sudden longing to be in his arms again.

  A longing that scared her. She’d struggled all day to push him away, to put some distance between them. If she gave in to the need to touch him now, she’d undermine everything. He’d never again believe she was uninterested in him. He’d know the truth, that she wanted him, had always wanted him. And he’d get too close, see too much.

  Her secrets would never be safe again.

  As desperately as she wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him until she forgot everything but the taste of his lips and the feel of his tongue stroking hers, Larsen forced herself to unfold her legs, stand and walk away.

  Jack watched Larsen leave the bedroom without a backward glance. He’d give his right arm to know what was going on inside that head of hers. One moment her eyes were soft and warm, the next they were hidden behind that cool wall.

  She wanted him. No, she didn’t want him. That was the problem. She was drawn to him but she didn’t want to be. For a reason he couldn’t figure out, she wanted nothing to do with her attraction to him. Or maybe she just wanted nothing to do with him.

  The thought sank to his stomach like a brick. How would he survive the rest of his life without her, without her quieting touch, if she left him?

  “I’m going to make a sandwich,” she called from the kitchen. “Do you want anything?”

  You. Just you. He rose from the bed and followed her into the living room.

  “I’ll get one later,” he said, picking up the phone and dialing Henry’s number. “I want to check on David, first. Make sure he’s okay.” He needed to set his mind at ease. The magic, the enchantment, the immortality—none of it turned his blood to ice like the possibility that David might have actually been harmed by the little archers outside his apartment the other night.

  “Hello?”

  “Sabrina, this is Uncle Jack. I need to talk to your mom.”

  “Hi, Jack. Mom’s not here. She’s at the hospital with David.”

  The blood drained from his head, driving him down onto the sofa. “Why? What’s the matter with him, sweetheart?”

  She made a frustrated sound. “It’s that little bald man’s fault. He did something to David, but no one’s listening to me. You should tell them, Jack. They’ll listen to you. I know my mom will.”

  His fingers gripped the phone until the instrument bit into his flesh.

  “What’s the matter with him, Sabrina? What do they think is wrong?”

  “No one tells me anything,” she said on a huff. “But I hear things. My mom’s crying all the time. Last night she called my grandma who’s on a cruise and told her to fly home right away if she wanted to see David again. She said his organs are shutting down, hardening like they’re turning to stone. All of them. The doctors are giving him forty-eight hours, tops.”

  He felt a knife go through his heart. “Where is he, Sabrina? Which hospital?”

  “Children’s. Uncle Jack?” she asked in a small voice. “I’m scared.”

  “I know, honey. Just do what your mom wants, okay? She needs that right now.”

  “I know. Is he going to be okay, Jack?”

  She wanted assurances he couldn’t give. Dammit. Damn the bastard. Damn his little bald minions.

  “The doctors are doing everything they can, Sabrina.”

  “Okay.”

  But what if it wasn’t enough? What if David really had been elfshot? Modern medicine wouldn’t stand a chance.

  He said goodbye to the girl and hung up, the terrible mass of emotion he’d held in check free at last. He surged to his feet and stormed across the room, then back again, pacing at a furious tempo.

  “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to rip out his heart with my bare hands and feed it to the dogs.”

  Larsen came around the counter. “Jack, what’s happened?”

  Rage burned through him as his feet pounded across the room, roaring in his ears, raising its voice in unison with the voices yelling in his head. He was fighting an enemy he couldn’t beat, an impossible enemy who was hurting those he loved.

  Jack paced the living room like a wounded tiger while Larsen watched, helpless.

  “Jack, please, tell me what’s happened.”

  Her words finally seemed to penetrate the haze of anguish that surrounded him. He sank onto the sofa and buried his face in his hands.

  “He’s dying.”

  “Oh, Jack.” This was all her fault. The archers had come for her and hurt David instead. And it was tearing Jack apart.

  She went to him, joining him on the sofa. When he didn’t respond to her presence, she ran her palm across his back, over and over, returning the comfort of touch he so often shared with her. Finally he dropped his hands and turned to face her, his eyes bleak.

  “Forty-eight hours. That’s all they’re giving him.”

  Larsen gasped. “What do they say is wrong with him?”

  “His organs are turning to stone. Just like Tarrys predicted.” Something broke in his eyes. “How can this be hap
pening?”

  Larsen slid her arms around his neck and he met her halfway, pulling her tight against him and burying his face in her hair. She could feel him shaking beneath the torrent of grief and outrage, and she held him, stroking her fingers through his thick, dark hair as he clung to her.

  Finally his grip loosened and he pulled back, his eyes so full of despair it made her ache. Without thinking, she slid her palms over his cheeks and kissed him, driven by a need to offer what comfort she could. He responded with a strength that startled her, wrapping her in a tight embrace as he kissed her hard, communicating his need for comfort, for forgetfulness, for her.

  Passion flared between them in a torrent of need and desperation. All day she’d tried to deny this attraction, tried to pretend there was nothing between them. But after a single fiery kiss, she was lost.

  Their teeth clicked as Jack’s tongue swept inside her mouth, filling her with the taste of pleasure and heat, filling her with emotions she couldn’t name.

  “I need you,” he murmured against her lips as his warm hand slipped beneath her shirt, trailing a hot path over her heated skin until it reached the barrier of her bra. “I need to touch you, Larsen.” His voice shook, but this time with desire.

  “Yes, Jack.” She spread a path of kisses from his lips to his cheek, to his ear. “Yes.” She nipped at the lobe, drawing a violent tremor from him.

  His hands grabbed for the hem of her shirt, his elbow bumping the sofa back, but they got it off her, followed quickly by her bra.

  Jack hesitated, his gaze probing hers, his eyes filled with grief and fire and question. Slowly his hands lifted to frame her face. “I want to make love to you.”

  Years of defenses shook and crumbled beneath the desire his touch stoked inside her and the raw need she felt to share herself with this one man. She covered his hands with her own, then pulled them away from her face and lowered them to her breasts.

  The feel of his large hands covering her, her nipples cradled in his palms, sent shafts of pleasure spearing through her. She arched into the touch, pressing his hands harder against her as her head fell back.

  “Larsen…” His lips touched her neck, his tongue sliding along the sensitive line as his fingers encircled the hard tips, twirling them between the pads of his fingers and thumbs, sending a hot current of electricity shooting downward to the juncture of her thighs.

  She groaned with exquisite pleasure as his lips slid down over her collarbone to cover her breast, taking the pulsing, tingling flesh into his mouth. His tongue stroked where his fingers had moments before, the sensation delicious but maddening as it did everything to increase the urgency filling her loins and nothing to quell it. Small, helpless noises were coming from her throat.

  Larsen dug her fingers in his hair, at once pressing him closer and pulling him away. “Jack…please.”

  He pulled back, yanked his shirt over his head, then pulled her beneath him on the sofa, his jeans-clad hips pressing hard against hers, the soft furring of hair on his chest tickling her sensitive nipples.

  He lifted his head to stare into her eyes, his own shining like jewels. “I need you, Larsen.” Holding her gaze, his hand slid between them, between her thighs, and pressed against the very center of the flame.

  She gasped, pressing against his hand, mindless with the need to quell the ache. She wasn’t a virgin, though her sexual experience had been limited. Never had she felt like this. Never had she longed to take another so deep inside of her.

  “Do you want me?” he asked, his breath ragged, blue eyes gleaming with desire.

  “Yes. Yes.”

  Triumph flashed in his eyes and he pulled his hand from between her legs, gripping her hands as he pressed the hard ridge of his erection against her through their clothes, mimicking the act of mating, starting her on a slow, upward climb. Her pulse raced, her head began to spin…

  Larsen froze. Her heart lurched in her chest as she realized the spinning had nothing to do with what Jack was doing to her. She was fading into another vision as she had this morning, under the trees. Through the blur of Jack’s head, a bedroom appeared, very different from the modern room that surrounded her for real.

  The one in the vision was, like before, a different time, if not quite as far back as before. The walls were papered, the window had glass, but it was thick and opaque, reflecting the flames from the hearth. Clearly nighttime; the hearth flame was the only light in the room.

  On the small bed in the center of the room sat a boy of maybe twelve or thirteen. He was moaning, his head in his hands, his brown hair hanging loose to his shoulders. He was dressed in a plain off-white linen shirt with pants that ended at his calves, revealing bare feet.

  An old woman bustled into the room followed close behind by a man in an old-fashioned black coat with a white ruffled collar. They spoke to the boy in something that might have been French, or maybe Flemish.

  As with the girl in the previous vision, while the man held him down, the old woman put her thumbs on the boy’s temples and chanted.

  As before, the woman chanted the same odd words, over and over. Eslius turatus a quari er siedi. Eslius turatus a quari er siedi. And as before, the boy began to smile, as if cured from whatever was causing his pain.

  “Larsen.”

  The vision dissolved and Larsen blinked to find Jack no longer on top of her, but beside her, one palm on her face. He was looking down at her with tight concern.

  “What’s the matter, angel?”

  Oh, God. “Nothing. I’m fine.” Clearly the biggest lie ever told.

  Why did she keep seeing these? They weren’t death visions. For once she was seeing things that seemed to end well. But why? What were they? What did they mean?

  She pulled away from him and scrambled off the sofa, but he grabbed her arm and held it in a gentle vise.

  “Larsen, don’t.” His gaze, when she met it, was sad, not angry. He sat and pulled her down beside him. “I’m not going to hurt you, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Yes, of course.” He thought she was afraid of him? “I just…changed my mind.”

  His gaze bore into hers. “I think somewhere along the line someone hurt you.”

  It wasn’t true. And yet…Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She did hurt. She hated being like this, hated the visions and the fear that she was touched by evil. Hated that she was afraid to let anyone get too close.

  “No one’s hurt me.”

  Jack sighed. “Maybe not physically. But someone destroyed your trust in men.”

  She dropped her gaze to her lap, unable to meet his probing eyes. He was wrong. It wasn’t someone but some thing. And it hadn’t just destroyed her trust in men, but in everyone.

  She felt his hand brush over her hair.

  “I would never do anything to hurt you, Larsen. Believe that if you believe nothing else.”

  The tears burned harsher now and she felt one escape to slide down her cheek.

  The pad of his thumb brushed it away. “I won’t pressure you. I’d never push you to do something you didn’t want.”

  She didn’t respond. Couldn’t lift her gaze for fear of dumping more tears. But she didn’t pull away when he gathered her gently against him and pressed her head to his bare shoulder.

  He held her like that, stroking her bare arm, giving her only comfort and the assurance he thought she needed, asking for nothing in return.

  Something warm grew inside her, bursting on a rush of tenderness. Within his arms, she felt as though she’d finally come home. But the feeling was just an illusion. She had no home. Nowhere she could reveal herself. Nowhere she was truly safe.

  She eased out of his embrace and went to retrieve her bra and shirt. When she was dressed, she turned to find him lying on his back on the sofa, his arm flung over his eyes, his mouth a tight line of despair.

  David. Their love-making had been a way to forget—at least for a moment—that the boy was dying, but she’d stolen even that from him.r />
  She sank onto the nearest chair. “I’m sorry, Jack.”

  “I can’t let him die,” he said, confirming her suspicions. He sat up again, meeting her gaze with hard, tormented eyes. “I’ve got to do something.”

  “The bald girl, Tarrys, said we need to find an ancient healer. Maybe a Chinese doctor or someone with holistic training could help him.”

  He shook his head, denial in his expression. Then suddenly he stilled, his eyes widening. “Aunt Myrtle.”

  “The one your mom sent packing after she did some woo-woo number on you?”

  “Yeah.” He shoved to his feet and reached for his phone, then stopped. “Nah. Can’t call her. Too risky considering our current status as D.C.’s Most Wanted. We need to get David to her.”

  “Jack, they’re never going to release a dying kid from the hospital.”

  “Then we’ll have to break him out.”

  “Maybe his mom…”

  He made an impatient swipe with his hand. “His mom can’t be involved. I can’t be sure she hasn’t come into contact with that devil’s power.”

  “Are you sure about this? We don’t know he’s been elfshot. You don’t even believe in elves.”

  He met her gaze. “Weren’t you the one who said it doesn’t matter what we call him as long as we accept what he can do? Well, I’ve accepted he’s done something to David. The doctors can’t help him. Maybe Myrtle can.”

  Larsen let out a deep, worried breath. “Okay. But how are we supposed to kidnap him from a hospital?”

  A tight, determined smile formed on his mouth. “I’ve got an inside connection. The woman I saved at Jingles is a doctor at Children’s.”

  “I thought you told her to leave the area.”

  “I did. But I’ve still got her cell phone number.”

  He made the call while Larsen watched him pace the bedroom. When he hung up, he looked like a man reborn, his eyes shining with the light of battle.

  “She’s still in town, just staying with a friend. She’s going to meet us at the east service entrance at 2:00 a.m.”

  “I can’t believe she agreed to this. It’s kidnapping.”