How sad. All this and no one to share it with. What was the point?
“It has state-of-the-art security, two dozen guards, and a panic room in case of terrorist attacks.” He sounded perversely pleased by those facts, as if he relished the challenge.
“And just how do you plan on getting us in there?” I asked dryly.
“I called in a favor. The guards won’t be a problem. But make no mistake, Ms. Lane. It still won’t be easy. The security system must be disarmed, and there are half a dozen wards to be broken between us and him. I suspect the old man will be wearing the amulet. We may be here for some time.”
We made our way down the hill, and were nearly to the house when I spotted the first body, partially concealed by a bank of thick shrubbery. For a moment, I couldn’t make out what it was. Then I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Gagging, I turned away.
It was one of the guards, not simply dead, but badly mutilated.
“Fuck,” Barrons cursed. Then his arm was behind my knees, and I was over his shoulder, and he was running with me, away from the house. He didn’t stop until we’d reached one of the outlying guesthouses.
He dropped me to my feet and pushed me back into the shadows beneath the eaves. “Don’t move until I return for you, Ms. Lane.”
“Tell me that was not the favor you called in, Barrons,” I said in a low, careful voice. If it was, he and I were through. I knew Barrons wasn’t entirely on the up-and-up, but I had to believe such butchery was beyond him.
“They were supposed to be unconscious, that’s all.” His face was grim in the moonlight. When I would have spoken again, he pressed a finger to my lips then moved off into the night.
I huddled in the shadows of the guesthouse for a small eternity until he returned, though by my watch a mere ten minutes had passed.
His voice preceded him. “Whoever did it is gone, Ms. Lane.” He stepped into view and I smothered a sigh of relief. The only thing I hate worse than the dark is being alone in it. I didn’t used to be that way, but I am now and it seems to be getting worse. “The guards have been dead for hours,” he told me. “The security system is disarmed and the house is wide open. Come.”
We moved directly for the front entrance, not bothering with stealth. We passed four more bodies on the way. The front doors were open, and beyond them I could see an opulent round grand foyer with a dual staircase that unfurled gracefully up each side and met in a landing suspended beneath a domed skylight hung with a glittering chandelier. I stared straight ahead. The marble floor had once been polished pearl. It was now splashed with crimson, strewn with bodies, some of them women. The housekeeping staff had not been spared.
“Do you sense the amulet, Ms. Lane? Are you picking up anything?”
I closed my eyes to shut out the carnage, and stretched my sidhe-seer senses, but carefully, very carefully. I no longer thought of my ability to sense OOPs as a benign talent. Last night, after finishing yet another book on the paranormal—ESP: Fact or Fiction?—I’d been unable to sleep so I’d lain there thinking about what I was, what it meant, wondering where the ability came from, why some people had it and others didn’t. Wondering what was different about me, what had been different about Alina. The authors contended that those with extrasensory abilities utilized parts of their brains that were dormant in other people.
Wondering if that was true, and bored out of my gourd—late-night TV is lousy in any country—I’d fingered my spear and gone poking around in my own skull.
It hadn’t been hard to find the part of me that was different, and now that I knew it was there, I couldn’t believe I’d been unaware of it for twenty-two years. There was a place in my head that felt as old as the earth, as ancient as time, always wakeful, ever watching. When I focused on it, it pulsed hotly, like embers in my brain. Curious, I’d played with it a little. I could fan it into a fire, make it expand outward, consume my skull, and pass beyond it. Like the element it resembled, it knew no morality, didn’t understand the word. Earth, fire, wind, and water are what they are. Power. At best, impartial. At worst, destructive. I shaped it. I controlled it. Or didn’t.
Fire isn’t good or bad. It just burns.
Now I skimmed it, a stone skipping the surface of a placid sea; a deep, dark sea I intended to keep placid. There would be no stirring of still waters on my watch.
I opened my eyes. “If it’s here, I can’t feel it.”
“Could it be somewhere in the house and you just aren’t close enough?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, Barrons,” I said unhappily. “It’s a big estate. How many rooms are there? How thick are the walls?”
“One hundred and nine, and very.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “I need to know if it’s still here, Ms. Lane.”
“What are the odds of that?”
“Stranger things have happened. Perhaps the massacre was the result of a foiled robbery attempt.”
It certainly looked like an expression of rage. Incensed, inhuman fury.
I told him the truth, although I knew it would seal my fate and the last thing in the world I wanted to do was pass through those doors. “I couldn’t sense Mallucé’s stone until I was in the same room with it. I didn’t pick up on the spear until I was above it, and I only sensed the amulet once I was inside the bomb shelter door.” I closed my eyes.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Lane, but—”
“—I know, you need me to walk the house,” I finished for him. I opened my eyes and notched my chin higher. If there was the slightest chance the amulet could still be in there, we had to look.
And I’d thought the graveyard was bad. At least those bodies had been bloodless, embalmed, and tidily interred.