KICK ASS: A Boxed Set (42 page)

“We go back to the beginning,” he answered.

“Back to Valoren?”

He grabbed her hand, reeled her in and kissed her with such passion, Cat decided to let her doubts about their future melt away with the heat. “No, back to my office at the university, where we first met.”

The light in his eyes was one she knew well. He wanted to make love, and far be it from her to deny such a request. “The university still considers you an employee?”

He shrugged. “Last I heard, they haven’t moved our stuff out yet. Officially, Dad and I have applied for a sabbatical to do research on the Romani culture that will be the stuff of legend, or so I told the department chair. And I think it’s time to put some truth behind that statement. Until Mariah tips her hand. She’s smart, but she can be sloppy when she’s under a lot of pressure.”

“You mean that business with Hector Velez? You still don’t want to contact him, maybe find out what he knows?”

By his immediate frown, she knew he wasn’t yet willing to poke that sleeping dog. “Men like Velez don’t give up information on the cheap. I’d rather not tangle with him if we can avoid it.”

“And if we can’t avoid it?”

“Then once again, we’re in big trouble.”

* * *

Morning did not bring the answers Gemma had sought. She and Paschal had spent most of the night on the floor of the repository, sleeping off a fatigue Gemma hadn’t experienced since she’d battled the flu. By four o’clock a.m., she’d regained enough energy to drag herself and a barely conscious Paschal up to the first-floor bedroom. She dropped him on the bed, covered him with a blanket, then grabbed a quilt and cuddled into a ball on a chair at his bedside. When the sun defied the drawn wooden blinds at sunrise and flooded the room with light, she awoke with a start.

Paschal was watching her, a hint of a smile on his still-pale lips.

“What are you looking at?” she asked, instantly defensive.

“You snore,” he replied, implying that he’d been awake and watching her sleep for quite some time. His skin still looked as thin as paper, and the circles under his eyes made him resemble a raccoon.

She sat up, yanking at the blanket that had tightened around her. “Yeah, well, so do you.”

“I’m sure I don’t sound quite so cute when I’m doing it, though.”

“Cute is for puppies.”

“Yes, and so are food and water, if you get my meaning.”

She did. She struggled to her feet, and though she still felt as if she had not slept in a few days, she pushed herself out of the room and raided the kitchen. She found a wheel of cheese still encased in wax, some whole-grain crackers and a bottle of cabernet sauvignon. Wasn’t exactly the food of champions, but it would have to do.

Paschal didn’t complain. Several bites into their repast, his color seemed to return.

“I suppose you have a lot of questions,” he ventured.

“You have a talent for understatement,” she replied, sipping gingerly from her wine and then taking a hearty bite of the cheese. The shakes were still threading through her system. So much had changed since yesterday, but she couldn’t even begin to process it all until Paschal told her what he knew.
Everything
he knew.

“Why could I see what you saw?” she asked.

Paschal grinned. “Why am I not surprised that the first question you ask is about yourself?”

Gemma grabbed the blanket again and pulled it around her. The house wasn’t particularly chilly, having been closed up for days, but she didn’t like Paschal’s implication, even if it was true. “What else do you want to tell me about?”

“Aren’t you still curious about Rafe Forsyth?”

“Not particularly,” she replied. “You already told me he was an enemy of Lord Rogan. Something horrible happened to him. Serves him right.”

A flash of something close to anger played across Paschal’s eyes, but he covered by sipping his wine. “You do realize, then, that your ancestor was not a well-loved man.”

“He was feared,” she shot back. “To me, that means he was formidable.”

“He was that,” Paschal replied. “He was also ruthless and charming and determined to act on his own private agenda, no matter whom he hurt in the process.”

A chill shot up Gemma’s spine. “That’s the second time you’ve sounded like you knew him.”

“I’ve been studying him for years,” Paschal replied, a little too quickly. “I know him as well as any man can.”

She eyed him curiously, aware that Paschal’s attempt to meet her eyes boldly belied the truth. He knew more about Rogan than would just some researcher. She’d been through all the documentation on her infamous ancestor, and even she didn’t have much of an idea of what kind of man he was.

“To the K’vr, he’s always been something of an enigma.”

“Curious,” Paschal replied.

Gemma finished off the last of her wine, then draped the blanket over her shoulders and walked to the window. The light that had woken her less than an hour ago was already starting to fade from clouds rolling into the area. With so many shade trees huddled around the house, the atmosphere outside took on a quality of night even at the break of day.

Unbidden memories of her childhood suddenly struck her hard. She’d spent so much time here in this gloominess, surrounded by things that looked and smelled of age and decay. She rubbed her cheeks unconsciously, wondering for the first time how this place had infected her young psyche. She’d been the daughter of a man who ran what amounted to a cult, the eldest child denied her right to ascend to the leadership simply because she was a girl.

“Rogan’s life was never the concern of the K’vr,” she said finally. It was easier to talk about the group than to sort out her conflicted feelings about her family. “All we ever wanted was his magic, the power promised to his followers by his brother.”

Paschal slid the plate of cheese onto the bedside table. “And did anyone ever consider the fact that Lukyan Roganov might have been full of shit? That he lorded this reputed magic over uneducated farmers in order to control every aspect of their lives and incomes?”

“Of course,” she answered. “At least, I did. But the magic is real. Why didn’t Rafe Forsyth die when he tried to strike down Rogan’s mark? He was hit by powerful magic.”

“Magic you want for yourself,” he concluded.

She lifted her chin higher. “Of course I do. It’s my birthright.”

“Not according to the K’vr council.”

Gemma bristled. She’d scale that treacherous wall at some point, but for now, she concentrated on deconstructing the vision. Unlike the shortsighted elders who kept her from the leadership solely on the basis of her gender, she knew women had always been important to Rogan. Or at least, one had.

“So, then, tell me about her,” she requested.

“About whom?”

“Sarina, of course. Who was she, other than this Rafe Forsyth’s sister and Rogan’s obsession?”

“Obsession,” he repeated with a snort. “How intuitive you are, my dear. Yes, he was fixated on her. She was young and impulsive and passionate. And the sister not just to Rafe, but to five British brothers who never quite appreciated the fire in her blood. Each one of them put his life on the line to save her from your glorified goon of a great-great-uncle.”

Gemma went back to the chair and plopped down. Her own brother wouldn’t have risked breaking a sweat on her behalf, much less put his life in danger. “The stories claim Rogan loved her deeply, but that she betrayed him.”

“They would,” Paschal replied. “Women have never been valued much in your line.”

She didn’t reply. The truth was self-evident.

“Sarina was a young girl who’d grown up in a particularly closed society,” Paschal continued. “What do you know about Valoren?”

“It was a Gypsy colony set up by the king of England to rid London of the Romani.”

“Yes, and the governor of this colony was a rather unusual nobleman named John Forsyth, Earl of Hereford.”

“I’ve never heard of him before,” she said.

“Seems in his later years, he went to great lengths to keep his own name and the names of his children out of the history books,” Paschal noted. “But he loved the Gypsies, even married one after his first wife died. She gave him both a son and a daughter. The son he named Rafe. The daughter, Sarina.”

“What about the other brothers? In the vision, Rafe thought about a soldier named Aiden and, um, the oldest one…”

“Damon.”

“Wait,” Gemma said, her memory clicking. “Damon Forsyth! That’s the man who’s taken up with Alexa Chandler, the man who fought my brother at Isla de Fantasmas. Are you telling me he’s from the past? That he’s over two hundred years old and alive and well?”

Paschal did not acknowledge her supposition, but his steady stare confessed the truth.

“How can that be possible?”

“Rafe did not die that night; nor did his brothers. They were trapped by magic of Lord Rogan’s design.”

Gemma threw off the blanket, feeling suddenly overheated. She jammed her fingers through her hair and considered the unlikely chance that this could be true. “But if Damon is back, does that mean…”

She thought about the name Aiden Forsyth. She’d heard it. Read it, maybe. Without explaining to Paschal, she ran downstairs to the bag she’d brought with her when she and Paschal broke into her childhood home. She retrieved a magazine she’d bought at the convenience store while they’d waited for the last of the K’vr to abandon the house.

Back in the bedroom, Paschal now sat with his legs over the side of the bed, as if he were attempting to stand.

“Sit down,” she ordered. “You’re not strong enough to move yet, and I’d appreciate your not falling down and breaking a hip while I’m the only one around to pick your ass up.”

He muttered several obscenities, but did as she requested, remaining in place while she tore through the magazine and finally found an article about the upcoming final film in the very popular Athena series, starring Lauren Cole. There, in a steamy clench with the international superstar, was a new and previously unheard-of actor named Aiden Forsyth.

“This is why you’re looking for the objects associated with Rogan,” she replied. “You’re looking for these brothers.”

When she glanced up at Paschal, she gasped. He’d moved into the light, and for the first time, she noticed that his eyes were nearly identical to those of the man in the picture.

“Not just these brothers,” he answered. “
My
brothers. And you are going to help me find them.”

Eight

“Rafe!”

Instinctively, Mariah strained against her seat belt to grab at the space where Rafe had just been sitting. Dawn had broken over the eastern horizon, and the moment the light had touched the helicopter, Rafe had vanished. She moved back into her seat and made a course correction, then scanned the land below for a place to touch down. If she was going to lose her mind completely, she’d rather not do it while hovering in midair.

After twenty minutes of searching for friendly terrain, Mariah put the bird down and tore out of her bindings. Above her, the rotors slowed to a steady, visible chop. She grabbed the bag holding the Valoren stone and searched until the rock was tight in her hands. The gem in the center retained its ghostly glow.

“Rafe? Where are you?”

Nowhere. Everywhere
.

The intimate whisper spawned a wildfire of gooseflesh across her skin. He was here. She had so many questions. Odd how, just hours ago, she’d been wondering about the advisability of stealing the stone out from under Ben. But now that Rafe had been with her for a few hours, she wasn’t ready to let him go.

She inhaled deeply and calmed her rapid breathing. “I can’t see you.”

I am here, Mariah
.

She leaned toward his seat, her hand lingering on the spot that might have still been warm from his body heat if she’d landed sooner. She snatched the stone from atop the leather dilly bag and stared into the heart of the fire opal, which glinted from the rising sun.

She swallowed thickly. “What… what happened?”

I do not know
.

His voice was like a lover’s murmur, caressing her skin with an unexpected intimacy. Images of their dream kiss sneaked back into her consciousness, taunting her.

“Are you inside the stone again?” she asked.

The tether to the stone has tightened
, Rafe replied,
but I do not feel trapped. It is as if I am one with the air inside this machine. The sensation is not unlike flying.

“Oh,” she said, placing the stone gently back into the bag, then burying her head in her hands. Okay, half an hour ago, she’d been talking to a man who’d claimed to be from the eighteenth century and who had appeared out of nowhere inside her hotel room. Now she was talking to the freaking air. How could she cling any longer to the impossibility that she was still in her right mind? Owing so much money to Velez, meeting up with Ben and fending off an attack by unknown assailants had caused her to lose her mind.

“What do I do?” she asked.

Continue on. I am with you as long as you have the stone
.

Somehow, his claim gave her comfort. She had a time-traveling ghost of sorts attached to her… and she found it reassuring?

But continue on she did, though she did not attempt to communicate with Rafe any further. The sun had risen fully. She made a stop at a friendly airstrip outside of Abilene and refueled, paying with the last of her emergency cash. She considered using the old rotary pay phone to call Ben Rousseau and find out exactly what he’d gotten her into, but resisted tipping him off to her whereabouts. It had been her own poor choices that had led her to this madness.

She’d had a bad feeling about Hector Velez from the beginning, but she’d ignored her instincts in favor of money. The coins had been sitting in the basement of a government official who’d taken them as a bribe. The jerk had been completely clueless about what he’d had. Tossed in a pile with the other valuables he’d taken from the people in his region to keep him from arresting their sons or forcing their daughters into workhouses, the coins had been an easy snatch.