The Fire King (38 page)

“Oh,” Robert replied, in Greek, “I’m familiar with the concept.”

“Stab him,” Long Nu said, staring at Tau’s head with bitter hate. “And then burn him. Or let him find his way back to life, and then do it.”

Prolong the pain.
Soria remembered what she had seen of Long Nu’s memories, and could not fault the old shape-shifter for her rage. Part of her felt the same. But Karr stared at Tau’s corpse with peculiar compassion and sadness.

“My brother,” he breathed, so quietly that Soria was not entirely certain anyone else heard. And then he gave Long Nu a sharp look.
“And now? We have peace, but is it dependent on my kind remaining in the shadows? Will we always be outcasts?”

“No,” Soria said fiercely, squeezing his hand and staring at the old shape-shifter. “You have a home with us. All of you. Dirk and Steele will not turn you away.”

“You cannot speak for them,” Long Nu said.

“I can speak for what’s right,” she replied coldly. “You made a deal with Roland, didn’t you? That’s why he didn’t involve the rest of the agency. Why he told no one but me about Karr.”

The old woman’s eyes narrowed. “I acted on my own. What he did was done to preserve the peace. In case Karr had to be killed.”

Koni made a disgusted sound. “You won’t be able to hide this. I won’t let you.”

“Little bird,” whispered Long Nu. “You forget yourself.”

“No.” He met her gaze.
“You
forgot.”

Displeasure flickered. Behind Long Nu a leopard glided free of the shadows and made her way to Robert’s side. Robert glanced down and rested his hand briefly upon Serena’s furred shoulders. He smiled tightly. “You cannot bury history. But you can bury
him.
So do it now. Cut that tie, at least.”

Soria almost suggested they burn the voodoo doll, as well, but she was afraid of what would happen to Karr. She leaned down to poke around the bag, and found the doll in moments. Maybe she would keep the damn thing, lock it up. Something. Karr watched her tuck the doll into the pocket of her dress, but except for a tightening of his jaw, said nothing.

“What about the rest of us?” Althea asked, stroking the long white tail that curled around her waist. “Not everyone wants to die. If you break the magic …”

Karr peered at Tau’s head, and kicked it with his foot.
“Are you certain this is necessary?”

Soria translated. Robert raised his brow. “Do you want to take the risk that he’ll haunt you, your children, your grandchildren—”

Karr held up his hand.
“What of me? Will
I
die?”

Soria’s heart lurched with fear, but she shared the message. Robert shrugged. “Of course you will. You’re not immortal.”

“But he’s three thousand years old,” Soria said.

“And he can barely stand after suffering injuries he received
yesterday.
For the truly immortal, that doesn’t happen.” Robert pointed at himself. “I would still be dead, otherwise.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Koni muttered, dragging over the duffel bag. “Stab the fucker already, and then burn his ass. You’ve got your own living matchstick up there on the mountain, and plenty of room to scatter him. Worry about the voodoo later.”

Karr gave him a long look, shook his head and then picked up the sword. A faint tremor raced through him when he held the blade. Uneasiness pricked at Soria. Second thoughts. But before she could tell him to stop, he buried the sword in Tau’s heart.

The corpse jerked, almost as if it was alive. Silence descended. Everyone stared at each other.

Althea said, “I do not feel any different.”

“Nor do I,”
Karr added, staring at Soria.

“Well, then,” Robert said. “Ku-Ku brought marshmallows.”

Escape.

That was all Karr wanted. All these people, most of them strangers, and now that the fighting was done, he had nothing left. Just his wounds and a sore heart—which eased considerably when Soria found him.

He was on the edge of the cliff, amongst the rocks. It was night, and fires burned around the tents behind him. Long Nu had gone with her soldiers. Althea and the others were down in the caves, tending to the chimera children and monks. As for the whereabouts of the rest, that was a mystery he was content not to solve. He had mysteries enough in his own heart.

Soria sat down beside him, their shoulders rubbing tight and warm, and, there was such effortlessness in the way she touched him, such comfort, that he found himself smiling again, and kissed the top of her head.

Soria closed her eyes, leaning her brow against his chin—so close to him, closer than any other, in body and heart. She
was
his body and heart. And it was as miraculous as the circulation of his blood and the breath in his lungs. Karr remembered briefly how it had been to stand under the night sky for the first time after his resurrection, knowing he had been born anew. Feeling new. It was happening again. He was shedding something of himself. Pain, betrayal, becoming nothing but dust in his heart. Ghosts were dying. There was no room for shadows. Not with her.

“Nice night,” she said softly. “Stars.”

“Yes,” he said.

“Right there.” Soria pointed. “North.”

“North,” he echoed. “My homeland. I doubt it exists anymore.”

“It does not mean you stop looking.”

He smiled faintly, sliding his arm around her and leaning back until she sprawled warm and soft across his chest. “And if I have found home? Some measure of peace? What if all I wanted was to stay here in this spot, with you? Or perhaps journey south, or across the oceans? What if I wanted to simply live, without fighting, without war? With you?”

“That is a long trip,” she said, brushing her lips against his mouth. “You think you can stand me for as long as it takes?”

“Only if it takes all my life,” he murmured. “There is no journey without you.”

Soria stared into his eyes, defiant and brave, and unafraid.

“Let’s get started,” she whispered.

Keep reading to meet Ms. Percy Parker, an albino beauty who has come to London and must learn not only to deal with the ghosts that she can see, but her own part in the puzzling prophecy that threatens the world …

by Leanna Renee Hieber

London, England, 1888

A young woman, the likes of which London had never seen, alighted from a carriage near Bloomsbury and gazed at the grand facade before her. Breathless at the sight of the Romanesque fortress of red sandstone that was to be her new home, Miss Percy Parker ascended the front steps beneath the portico with a carpetbag in tow. One slender, gloved hand heaved open the great arched door of Athens Academy, and in the foyer beyond milled a few young men, papers and books in hand. Percy stepped into the diffuse light cast by a single chandelier, and hesitated.

The jaws of passing students fell in turn. What they saw as a petite, unmistakable apparition stood in the doorway. Most of her snow-white skin was hidden from view by a scarf draped around her head and bosom. Dark blue glasses kept eerie, ice blue eyes from unsettling every stare she nervously returned. Her trappings aside, only a mask could have hidden the ghostly pallor of Miss Parker’s fine-featured face.

The sudden tinkling of a chandelier crystal broke the thick silence. Percy’s gaze flickered up to behold a young man, equally pale as herself, floating amidst the gas flames. The transparent spirit wafted down to meet her. It was clear from the stares of the young men of solid mass, rudely focused on Percy, that they were oblivious to the ghost. She acknowledged the spirit only subtly, lest she be thought distract as well as deformed.

The schoolboy from another age spoke in a soft Scots brogue. “You’d best give up your pretensions, miss. You’ll never be one of them. And you’re certainly not one of us. What the devil are you, then?”

Percy met the spirit’s hollow gaze. Behind her glasses, her opalescent eyes flared with defiance and she asked the room, her voice sweet and timid, “Could someone be so kind as to direct me towards the Headmistress’s office?” When a gaping, living individual pointed to a hallway on her left, she offered him a, “Thank you, sir.”

Eager to retreat from the curiosity, she burned with embarrassment. The only sounds that followed were the rustling layers of Miss Parker’s sky blue taffeta skirts and the hurried echoes of her booted footfalls down the hall.

HEADMISTRESS THOMPSON
was announced boldly in script across a large wooden door. Percy took a moment to catch her breath before knocking and holding it again.

She soon found herself in a small office filled to overflowing with books and files. A sharp voice bade her sit, and she was promptly engulfed in a leather armchair. Across the desk sat a severe woman dressed primly and buttoned tight in grey wool. Middle-aged and thin, she had a pinched nose and high cheekbones that gave her a birdlike quality. Tight lips twisted in a half frown. Brown hair was piled atop her head, save one misbehaving lock at her temple. Blue-grey eyes pierced Percy’s obscuring glasses.

The woman wasted no time. “Miss Parker, we’ve received word that you’re an uncommonly bright girl. I’m sure you’re well aware that your previous governance, unsure what to do with you, supposed you’d best be sent somewhere else. Becoming a sister did not suit you, Miss Parker?”

Percy had no time to wonder if she was sardonic or understanding, for the Headmistress continued: “Your Reverend Mother made many inquiries before stumbling across our quiet little bastion. Considering your particular circumstances, I accepted you despite your age of eighteen. You’re older than many who attend here. I’m sure I needn’t tell you, Miss Parker, that at your age most women do not think it advantageous to remain
academic.
I hope you know enough of the world outside convent walls to understand this.” Headmistress Thompson’s sharp eyes suddenly softened and something mysterious twinkled there. “We must acknowledge the limitations of our world, Miss Parker. I, of course, chose to run an institution rather than a household,” she stated, conspiratorial.

Percy couldn’t help but smile, drawn in by the Headmistress’s more amiable turn, as if she considered herself unique by lifestyle inasmuch as Percy was unique by fate. But the twinkle soon vanished. “We expect academic excellence in all subjects, Miss Parker. Your Reverend Mother proclaimed you quite proficient in several languages, with particularly keen knowledge of Latin, Hebrew and Greek. Would you consider yourself proficient?”

“I have no wish to flatter myself—”

“Honesty will suffice.”

“I’m f-fluent in several tongues,” Percy stammered. “I’m fondest of Greek. I know French, German, Spanish and Italian well. I dabble in Russian, Arabic, Gaelic … as well as a few ancient and obscure dialects.”

“Interesting.” The Headmistress absently tapped the desk with her pen. “Do you attribute your affinity for foreign tongues to mere interest and diligence?”

Percy thought a moment. “This may sound very strange …”

“It may shock you how little I find strange, Miss Parker,” the Headmistress replied. “Go on.”

The unexpected response emboldened Percy to continue. “Since childhood, certain things were innate. The moment I could read, I read in several languages as if they were native to me.” She bit her lip. “I suppose that sounds rather mad.”

There was a pause, yet to Percy’s relief the Headmistress appeared unmoved. “Should you indeed prove such a linguist, and a well-rounded student, Athens may have ongoing work for you next year as an apprentice, Miss Parker.”

“Oh!” Percy’s face lit like a sunbeam. “I’d relish the opportunity! Thank you for your generous consideration, Headmistress.”

“You were raised in the abbey, correct?”

“Yes, Headmistress.”

“No immediate family?”

“None, Headmistress.”

“Do you know anything of them? Is there a reason … ?”

Percy knew it was her skin that gave the woman pause. “I wish I could offer you an answer regarding my colour, Headmistress. It’s always been a mystery. I know nothing of my father. I was told my mother was Irish.”

“That is all you know?”

Percy shifted in her seat. “She died within the hour she brought me to the Sisters. Perhaps I was a traumatic birth. She told Reverend Mother that she brought me to the Institute of the Blessed Virgin Mary because the Blessed Virgin herself had come proclaiming the child she bore must be an educated woman. And so she left them with that dying wish.” Percy looked away, surprised to find herself still willing to speak, despite the pain. “My mother said her purpose had been fulfilled, and, as if she were simply used up, she died.”

“I see.” Miss Thompson made a few notes. It was well that Percy did not expect pity or sentiment, for she was given neither. “Miss Parker, Athens is unique in that we recognize all qualities in our students. We’ve a Quaker model here at Athens. We champion the equality of the sexes and I happen to believe that learning is not bound in books alone. It is my personal practice to ask our students if they believe they possess a gift. Other than your multiple languages, do you have any other particular talents?”

Percy swallowed hard. She was unprepared for this question. For anyone else it may have been a perfectly normal inquiry without giving the slightest cause for discomfort. But Percy knew she was far from average. “I have a rather strange manner of dreams.”

The Headmistress blinked slowly. “We all dream, Miss Parker. That is nothing extraordinary.”

“No. Of course not, Headmistress.”

“Unless these dreams come more in the manner of visions?”

Percy hoped the flash of panic in her eyes remained hidden behind her tinted glasses. Years ago, when Reverend Mother found out about the visions and ghosts, she’d put aside her shock to caution Percy about speaking of such things. Neither was something the science-mad, rational world would celebrate. Percy knew her appearance was odd enough, let alone seeing the dead or having visions.

It was lonely to be so strange, and Percy wanted to confess everything she felt was wrong with her and have the Headmistress accept her. But she also recalled the horrible day when unburdening her soul had caused a priest to try to exorcise her best friend, a ghost named Gregory, from the convent courtyard. She’d never find anyone who could truly understand. Thus, she would not associate herself with the word “vision” and she would most certainly never again admit to seeing ghosts.