“Really?”
Lexi clicked on the image of a lion, followed another link asking if she wanted to see the source. Her fingers paused on the keyboard. She realized Marge was touching her arm, a comforting, grounding gesture.
“Let it go, Lexi. Just let it go.”
“I can’t.” She knew that lion. It lived in a place deep in her soul that was bleeding. Lexi moved the mouse, enlarged the high-resolution photo, maneuvered the image until she was looking at the front paw, beautifully carved in the marble, exquisitely lifelike. Even the dip, where a muscle flexed, as if the animal had tensed.
Now there was a shard missing, evidence of a tragedy so long past she shouldn’t remember the pain. But she did, felt it slicing as that sword had sliced, the blade passing through her father’s body and into the stone of the statue behind him. Destroying as it was withdrawn. Heard the screams and desperate racing feet. Blood hot and wet in the drying sun, crimson spreading on the ground. Real. All of it real.
Lexi snapped the laptop closed and sucked in a calming breath. A moment later Robbie walked into the kitchen and she was able to smile when he bent to kiss Marge’s forehead.
“Is this still girl talk?” he asked.
“I think Lexi might have questions.” Marge stroked her hand along his firm backside because, for a man of his age, he could still fill out a pair of jeans. Lexi watched their moment of tenderness and slid lower in her chair, knowing she would never look at Robbie again without thinking about boob lights.
He was filling a mug with coffee. When he turned to lean against the counter, Lexi noticed his eyes. They were cedar green, edged in brown. Beautiful, caring eyes. She could see the healer in him, and she wouldn’t blame him for what others had done.
“Feeling better this morning?” he asked.
“Yes, but I don’t think I thanked you yesterday.”
“It wasn’t necessary.”
“You’ve been very kind.”
“But I can see you’re consumed with curiosity.”
Lexi grinned. “One could say it was the curiosity that killed the cat but was too damned entertaining to interrupt until the cat’s demise.”
Robbie nodded. “It could be said.”
He sat down next to Marge, and when prompted, began to explain their situation. “Imagine a chess game, where one opponent positions the Black King and the other reacts by summoning the White King.”
“Kace being Black, positioned by Six?” Lexi asked.
“And Christan belongs to Three.”
Lexi was beginning to hate that word. “Then, Six is bad, and Three is good?” she asked.
“Immortals don’t think in terms of good or bad,” Robbie answered. “They think in terms of power.”
“You talk about belonging to them. Is that because they created you?”
“Yes. Two alchemists were responsible for the magic. The other members of the Calata have no idea how warriors were created.”
“Do you?”
He smiled. “No.”
“Marge said you had to do what the Calata ordered.”
“Those were the requirements of the Agreement, safety for the human girls in return for compliance from the warriors. Now, there’s less need for brute force. I don’t think a warrior has been compelled into service unwillingly in over four hundred years.”
Lexi was curious despite her reservations. “What did you have to do when they compelled you?”
“We found and returned lesser warriors who’d violated their commitments or started little wars of their own, worked behind the scenes in the military or political arenas. Helped in disputes, negotiated doctrines like the Peace of Nicias that ended the war between Sparta and Athens. That was the document the Agreement was based upon.” The two inviolable exchanges that could not be broken. Lexi remembered that much from an old history class.
Chills crept up Lexi’s spine. “This thing with the memories returning and girls dying—”
“Is an attempt to break the Agreement. It cannot go unchallenged.”
Robbie’s smile remained in place, but Lexi heard the steel beneath the words. “This is why Christan was recalled?”
“Yes. He’s Three’s enforcer. All six remaining Calata members have enforcers. Some are more effective than others.”
“You’re loyal to Christan.”
“Of course.” A wealth of information in two words. What experiences had bonded these men into an unbreakable unit? Over how many centuries? Their existence was far from what Lexi had imagined, and she looked away when Robbie took Marge’s hand.
“How can you stand it?” she asked.
“Sometimes we remember the past. Take Christan, for instance. Marge has been asking for this story. Want to hear it?”
When both women nodded Robbie continued, “It was centuries ago, and a battle raged for months in what is now known as the Qilian Mountains in China. Six backed one of the armies and wanted to enjoy the carnage, so he demanded Christan shift and fly him to the battlefield.
“Christan refused, and Kace flashed into an eagle, offering to take Six. But Six wanted to remind Christan why we never refuse, and after twenty minutes of what I will not describe to you, Christan relented. He turned into a gold dragon, all shimmery with horns down his spine, and Six jumped on because he thought he’d won. When he realized what he had to sit on, Christan was already in the air, swooping and jiving with Six’s eyes all buggy. When Christan finally dumped him in the middle of all that blood and gore, the immortal was so overloaded with the sensory experience he forgot about his threat to strip the flesh from Christan’s back.”
The violence in their world was staggering. “Six could do something like that?”
Cedar turned to jade. “Oh yes, he could. And did so a week later.” Then the soft, caring cedar green was back, warming with a hint of cinnamon. “Every time you see a dragon parade, with men dancing around in the gold dragon suit, you can thank Christan for giving them the inspiration.”
“No way,” Marge whispered.
“Yes, way,” Robbie said, “although Christan denies it ever happened.”
“Then how do you know?” Skeptical, Lexi narrowed her eyes, aware that she didn’t like this version of the man who alarmed her with such pure, lethal focus. “Were you there?”
“Eye witness.” Robbie tapped his chest.
“Can any warrior change like that?”
“No one can do it like Christan, although Arsen tried in the Middle Ages. He flew through the market, got tangled in the skeins of drying wool, and was chased out of town. Not by knights—it was a pitchfork-wielding crowd of women and children. I believe a few tomatoes were involved. Only the bravest still tease him about it now.”
Lexi fell silent, thinking of unrelenting power until a sudden vibration rolled beneath the floor. It was the earth energy, warning her. The warning came too late. A window shattered. Something hard clattered across the floor. Blinding white light. The concussion knocked her from the chair, and Lexi screamed into the expanding silence.
CHAPTER 12
Explosions were odd, Lexi thought, odd like the dreams. Not quite real until the silence crashed in upon itself. She pushed to her knees and spit plaster dust from her mouth. The smell in the air was acrid with the stink of burnt oil. Smoke swirled like shredding cotton. Whatever the explosion was, the purpose was concussion and not incineration; there was no fire.
Lexi heard Marge calling to Robbie, saw him crawling in the woman’s direction. A large feral cat was streaking through an open door that hung on shattered hinges. The animal was alarming, and Lexi remembered how Arsen had shifted into a tabby cat. She wasn’t sure if this was an enemy or not. She pushed to her feet, picked up a black fireplace tool. Held it defensively while the air vibrated in heated, choking waves.
The yellow cat screeched to a halt. The animal’s lips pulled back, sharp fangs clear as it crouched. Marge remained on the floor. The pressure in the room increased. The cat lunged. Lexi swung the heavy tool in her hands—until it slammed violently to a halt.