by Ursula Bauer
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Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
512 Forest Lake Drive
Warner Robins, Georgia 31093
Immortal Protector
Copyright © 2007 by Ursula Bauer
Cover by Anne Cain
ISBN: 1-59998-501-2
www.samhainpublishing.com
All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: June 2007
Immortal Protector
Ursula Bauer
Dedication
To the Bear, the Crit Group, and Boba Fett. You all know why.
Chapter One
The games of the Gods are played upon the chessboard of the mortal world, and the heavens hang in the balance. —Book of Wardens
Venice, Italy
“Campbell located a deviation point for the timeline convergence.” Salazar, the elder Warden, tapped the screen of his hand-held computer with a thin stylus. A grainy publicity photo of a woman’s face appeared above on the video display at the far end of the polished chrome and glass conference table. “A mortal.”
Gideon Sinclair considered the woman’s oval face. It was plain, except for a pair of almond-shaped, silvery-green eyes. They were a soft contrast to the startling fire-red hair that wound in coils like angry snakes around her head. The hint of memory rose from the grave and he ruthlessly pushed it back amongst his dead. “Your message said the stakes are high.”
“One doesn’t call on a champion lightly. Particularly not a champion of the Tribunal.”
“She’s not one of us. She’s not a player.” Gideon looked back at the woman’s picture. The more he studied her, the less plain she seemed. “The Tribunal handles our own kind.”
“Campbell and several other mystics explored all available threads for this convergence. She’s the only deviation point available. Should the convergence progress uninterrupted, the war between Seth and Horus will begin anew.”
“The war never ended.”
“The war is cold, as are most conflicts between rival Gods. Such are the rules we all now play by.”
Rules? That was rich. Gideon wanted to laugh, but was suddenly tired of it all: the hidden agendas, the multiple convergences, the treachery, the endless game. The eternal stalemate.
“Okay, I’ll bite. What have you and your cabal foreseen today, Salazar?”
“Archeologists, Gideon, they’re the bane of us all. Some artifacts were meant to stay buried, but they can’t seem to let the past rest.” Salazar slid a thin flash drive across the smooth glass table. “Five items sacred to Egyptian Gods were recently unearthed from a new dig at the Valley of the Tombs of the Kings. Each item is concealed in a canopic jar that hides their true power. We dispatched a retrieval team, but the artifacts vanished from the site before we could secure them. Campbell saw her coming into contact with the one blessed by Isis. It all unravels from there.”
Gideon considered Salazar’s words, but he couldn’t help stealing another glance at the mortal. “How exactly does this transpire?”
“We’re not sure of all the details. A disruption at a deviation point will prevent catastrophe. You know how these things work.”
“I do.” Gideon shut his eyes for a moment, trying to banish the image of the woman and escape the strange thoughts coming to mind. He must still be fried from his last job. His body ached and his wounds were fresh. It stood to reason his brain suffered as well. He opened his eyes again and the harsh glare of the Venice sun blazing in through the arched windows of the sterile conference room threw everything into a stark, inescapable clarity. “You called me because you want her taken out of play.”
The Spaniard smoothed out imaginary wrinkles on the jacket of his custom-tailored, midnight-blue silk suit. “You know the protocol for this scenario.”
“I know the protocol.” He couldn’t face the picture again. Instead, he grabbed the flash drive from the tabletop and slipped it into the deep pocket of his biker jacket.
“We don’t have a choice. The mortal must die. When convergences like this arise…”
“Save the sermon.” Gideon stood and turned his back to Salazar and the picture of the mortal with the misty fey eyes. “I’ll get the job done.”
———
Patient expired at 0615…
“You can’t save them all.”
Meg Carter stopped typing, looked up at her boss over the screen of her laptop, and rubbed her tired eyes. “I know, Bill, but I can try.” It was the same old argument they’d always had, except it surfaced more frequently as of late. “Someone has to fight the good fight.”
Bill smiled, making his boyish features crease in a way that showed a more mature, handsome version and hinted at his true age. He stepped into her office and shook his head. “Doesn’t the drug research we do here count as the good fight?”
“I have three patients left on my service.” The glare from the single desk lamp and back-lit computer screen was nearly unbearable. The killer headaches she’d been having were growing worse. She really needed to see someone. None of her interventions were working, meaning the pain was symptomatic of more than a simple migraine. “I’m giving the clinic my full attention. These kids need me. I can’t transfer them to another doctor.”
Bill leaned his leanly muscled body against the corner of her desk and frowned. “You’re working too hard. When was the last time you took a real break from the war? Had a vacation that wasn’t tied to some conference on cancer or treatments or medicine? Come to think of it, when was the last time you had a weekend to yourself?”
Meg shrugged. Truth be told, she had no idea. “A few months ago?”
“Doctors love to lie to themselves.” Bill pushed his glasses up on his forehead and turned the full power of his baby blues on her. “Dr. Carter, as your boss, I’m ordering you to take a break. Get out of here, and take a few days for yourself. Call in sick. Anything. Just recharge those batteries. I can’t do this job without you, Meg. You’re the lynch pin of the team. The next phase of the Melaniprin study’s about to start. I need you on your game.”
The hope of the new chemotherapeutic made her smile. “Our last results were pretty promising.”
“They were outrageous.” A strange look came over him. “Thirteen years ago this kind of drug was still experimental. If Angel could have lived just a little longer, she might have benefited from one of the early trials.”
The wound of his daughter’s death was still fresh to him. Had Angel taken that drug in the earliest experimental phases, she would have been as likely to die from its dangerous, then unknown, side effects as she would the inoperable tumor in her brain. “You did the best you could, Bill.”
“Right. I know. I should listen to my own words.” He stood abruptly, his skin suddenly flush. “I envy you, Meg. You have the strength to handle private practice. I can only deal in the miracle business these days. Delivering the news, watching them die, after Angel…” His words trailed off.
“Maybe you’re the one who needs a break?”
“I wouldn’t know what to do with myself. You, on the other hand, are burning out. Pack it in, Doc and hit the road.”
&nbs
p; She glanced back at the computer. She had two more discharge summaries waiting completion. “I have to tie up some loose ends.”
“You’ve been here every night until midnight for the last few weeks. Promise you’ll tie up those loose ends and be out of here by nine?”
That gave her an hour. She winced as pain stabbed through her skull. Bill was right. If she wanted to lead the charge, be there for the clinic and kids, she needed to be there for herself first. She was no good to anyone in her present condition. That also meant scheduling a trip to a neurologist to figure out the underlying cause of the last three weeks of hell knocking around in her skull. “Fine. Your clinic. Your rules.”
“Don’t make me call security and have you bounced.”
“On my honor, I’ll ease up on the stick tonight.”
Bill seemed satisfied. “Fair enough. We can talk tomorrow about a vacation.”
After he left, Meg grabbed her glasses again and gave a shot at finishing the discharge summaries. Her vision rapidly blurred, so she removed the glasses and set them aside. Giving herself a momentary break, she stood and opened the door to the small office terrace and paused for a moment, letting the hot night air roll over her in soft waves. She closed her eyes, and let sensation steel her away. Normally the hot June weather was hell on her asthma, but this year she seemed to have little trouble at all. Only the headaches plagued her.
A gentle breeze shifted around her, carrying with it a subtle, unusual scent reminiscent of sandalwood with an earthy, alluring note she couldn’t quite place. How strange to smell something so exotic and otherworldy in upstate New York. It made her curious and tantalized her in a strange and exciting way. For a moment she wondered what it would be like to step away from the clinic, the work, her world, and try on something new. The moment passed, and she opened her eyes back to reality. The pain had receded sufficiently and she returned to the tasks at hand.
At precisely nine the phone rang. The extension was the main security post. Meg laughed lightly, then shut down her computer for the night. Good thing she’d wrapped things up. Bill was nowhere near as laid back as he appeared. He just might make good on the threat to have her tossed out of the building. She let the phone ring as she grabbed her bag and closed down the office for the night.
In the elevator she wondered if she should consider a more aggressive approach to her problem. Skip seeing the general practitioner, move straight to a neurologist. Perhaps John Mitchell. They’d gone to Albany Medical College together. John was top shelf and blunt. If there was something terrible lurking in her body, he would play her straight and find the most aggressive ways to treat the problem. Her vision blurred briefly as the elevator came to a stop and she had a moment of passing vertigo. When the doors opened she was fine again, but the vertigo hit her several more times as she walked through the building.
She decided rather than wait any longer, she’d call John discretely at home tonight and make an appointment. The escalation of symptoms scared her. She didn’t want her situation getting out into the community and she didn’t want to waste any more time. If she was lucky, he’d slip her into his schedule within the next few days.
Meg ventured down a dimly lit corridor that bypassed some of the smaller labs and used the side exit to avoid running into any of the security guards. They tended to be chatty and she wasn’t in the mood for company. Outside, the muggy air pressed in around her like the walls of a prison. She rummaged through her backpack for her phone as she crossed the first lot, then paused on the island separating it from the rear lot. The cell was in the far corner of the bag, hidden beneath two prescription pads and a tube of lip gloss. The lip gloss made her smile. It was a gift from Sherry Roth, the little girl she’d discharged this afternoon, and it smelled like cherry bubblegum.
She pushed the pads aside and was about to grab the phone when the sound of heavy footsteps caught her attention. Reflexively, she glanced behind her. In the dense mist was the unmistakable shape of a very tall, very large man crossing the lot and coming her way. She wasn’t one hundred percent sure, but she thought he had a ski mask on. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and her mouth went dry. She forgot the phone, grabbed her keys and started off again for her car at a run.
The man caught up with her before she’d gone halfway across the rear lot. He grabbed her bag and jerked her backward. She fell down and immediately started screaming and kicking. God help her, she was getting mugged.
Meg fought like a tiger, adrenaline dumping like rocket fuel into her blood. The guy couldn’t get a hold of her. He wore a ski mask, and black clothes. She continued to scream, but it sounded dull to her ears, as if the thick fog was swallowing her cries. No one came to her aid. No one heard her cries. Where the hell was security?
Unwilling to be a victim, Meg aimed a vicious kick at his groin and brought him down. She struggled to her knees, got to her feet and started to run, but the man was up in an instant and grabbed her again. She screamed for help as he spun her around, and she clawed at his face. He was forced to hold her at arm’s length while she struggled.
Instead of speaking, her attacker howled at her, and a puff of acrid black smoke rushed from his mouth. The world spun around her and for a moment she thought she might pass out. Sheer grit and fear kept her conscious. She held her breath and renewed her fight. The man reared back, opened his mouth again, sucked in an audible breath and let loose another one of the smoky gusts.
She went woozy for real this time, but just when she thought she’d pass out, a black blur leapt between them and knocked the man to the ground. The man dragged Meg along, but she was able to wrench free and fell to her knees. It defied logic and reason but somehow, a sleek panther, straight from the wilds of the jungle, had appeared. It wrestled with the man, slashing at him with blinding, powerful blows.
She crawled backward but was unable to tear her eyes away from the insane battle of mugger and cat. Sense set in and she reached again for her cell, but as her hands closed around it, the cat slapped at the man’s head and the ski mask ripped free. The face beneath was not human. It was dark yellow, mottled with red blotches, and twisted with thick ropes of keloid scars. There were only holes where a nose should be in a strangely shaped bald skull. It had black lips and pointed scarlet ears. Some kind of Halloween costume, she reasoned. Except it wasn’t Halloween.
The panther reared up once it had the advantage over the mugger, hissed, and then a thick mist enveloped it and swallowed it whole. The next moment, a man appeared where the panther had stood. Taller than her attacker, he wore a black leather biker jacket and held a wicked looking silver sword that gleamed with an unholy light. She couldn’t see his face from her vantage point, but his buzz cut hair was black as sin, and so was his intent.
Sanity slipped into her madness. “No, wait, let me call the police.”
Her attacker got slowly to his knees. He bled profusely from his wounds, but his blood was puss green and not red. He showed no signs of backing down and made an attempt to rise.
The swordsman moved his blade with an inhuman speed and severed the head of her attacker from the body. Putrefied green gore spewed out and then the body, head, and bodily fluids evaporated in a billowing cloud of ash.
Meg wanted to scream but she couldn’t find her voice, like she was in one of those bad dreams where you ran and ran, but couldn’t call for help and couldn’t outdistance the monsters. But she wasn’t dreaming. She was wide awake.
She sat down hard on the blacktop and stared, her numb brain trying to process what just took place. She was dimly aware of the sound of more people coming. And when she looked up, two with heavily scarred faces, and a third with that grotesque yellow mask rushed towards her. The fog thickened in their wake, closing out the real world, locking them all in a macabre grey prison.
A shadow fell across her. Before her stood the swordsman, his blade angled down, his harsh, craggy face cast in a mix of darkness and light. His stark black eyes were as vast as
the night sky and as cold as arctic ice. The instinct for self-preservation kicked in and she started to inch backward. The creatures were closing in. The man took a step forward and held out his hand. She caught the scent again, the same mysterious, exotic one that had drifted into her office earlier on a gentle summer breeze.
“I’m Gideon Sinclair, Dr. Carter. The police can’t help you now.” His rough voice rumbled through the night like thunder in a storm. “Come with me if you want to live.”
Chapter Two
Meg froze. Fear gripped her, squeezing her heart until she felt it would burst. She wanted to believe tall, dark and dangerous. For one maddening, mindless second, she wanted to reach for him, have him take her away from this nightmare. It was insanity, of course. The sword wielding lunatic was even more threatening than the attackers converging on them. There was a coldness in his eyes, steel in his pose, an aura of strength and lethal intent that could not be ignored.
Think, Meg, think. You’ve got to get free. She stuck her hand in her bag and dropped the cell phone. Her fingers grazed her albuterol rescue inhaler and an idea struck.
“My leg,” she said, her voice shaking with very real fear. “I don’t think I can stand.” She slung the backpack, palmed the inhaler in her other hand, and let him pull her to her feet. Her knees wobbled and he slipped his arm around her waist, holding her up and, more important, giving her a chance to get close.
“Stay behind me, and you’ll be safe.” His deep voice was hypnotic. This close his scent was a drug, swamping her senses. His face appeared carved from the most unyielding stone, in a harsh yet arresting manner. His rock hard, muscular body was pressed against her own, leaving very little to the imagination. Under any other circumstance she’d think she’d died and gone to heaven. This kind of man existed only in the hottest of midnight fantasies. But this was no fantasy, it was a nightmare, and she had to escape.