“And I should be concerned because?”
“You’re not the total asshole you want people to see,” Phillipe said. “And because this girl is probably one of yours. Three noticed certain energy traces and made connections.”
There was a subtle stiffening in Christan’s posture, a coolness in his voice. “I thought warriors were the only ones who could detect the energy signals.”
“You know Three. She wanted a way to keep track, considering the size of the human population.”
“You’re telling me she created her own version of a human find my phone?” Christan wondered why he’d asked; Three wouldn’t leave such a detail unattended.
“It’s her little secret. None of the others in the Calata know how to do it.” Phillipe settled back in his chair, avoiding the sun, his silver eyes curious. Unlike so many of Three’s assistants through the centuries, Phillipe was not only intelligent but subtle. “You’re sounding quite modern, Christan. Been spending a lot of time surfing the Internet?”
“You don’t like English?” Christan asked in fluent Italian that held the accent of Florence.
“Whatever you prefer.” Phillipe’s response was in Portuguese. Being immortal, Phillipe could speak any language he wanted, and it was another little stand-off between them that was part posturing, part what-the-fuck.
Unsurprised, Christan shrugged, then switched back to English. “I fail to see the fascination with stupid animal videos.” He pushed the file back across the table. “She doesn’t need me for this. Find someone else.”
“She wants you.”
“I’ve spent a long time in the Void.”
“A blink of an eye for you. Besides, you’re her favorite.”
“She must have other babysitters.”
“Not like you.” Phillipe picked up the manila folder and returned it to the attaché case. “I will share a detail not in the file. The number of girls is up to ten now, five attacked within the last week. Others are noticing.”
“Not my problem.”
“Always your problem. Power is power, and the girl in that photograph has disappeared. The last time Three knew her location was two weeks ago. She was in Italy. No trace since then. She has no living family other than a godfather in London, no reason she would leave her two friends on their tour around Europe.”
“Who sourced this information?” Christan asked, and perhaps he was more concerned than he let on.
“The Italian group. They have their own problems, and they don’t have the manpower to launch an extensive search.”
“You still haven’t given a compelling reason.”
“As I mentioned, her energy is faint, but enough for Kace if he gets close. We don’t know who she’s connected to, other than her name. Katerina Varga. Blue eyes. How long ago did Arsen lose his mate?”
“I have no idea since I’ve been on vacation.”
“She died young, I believe, in the last century. You’ve known Arsen for thousands of years. You would recognize his mate as quickly as you would recognize your own. What color are her eyes? What letter does her eternal name begin with?”
Christan didn’t reply. There was no need, as they both knew the answers to those two questions. After a moment, Phillipe removed a second file from the attaché case and slid it across the table.
Christan opened it. He stared down at the photos for several long moments.
“As you can see, they aren’t just awakening past life memories anymore,” Phillipe said. “They want more. Florence has seen an uptick in deaths staged to look like accidents, but they’re getting sloppy. And Katerina was last seen in Florence.”
“I hate Florence.”
“Everyone loves Florence. It’s one of the top vacation destinations in the world.”
“I can’t leave right now.”
“I agree you can’t leave your woman where Kace can get to her. It was a reckless thing you did, Christan. I’ve never known you to be so impulsive.”
“You’ve never known me. I was gone before Three adopted you as her pet.”
“Still, we’re grateful you survived.” Phillipe chuckled. Obviously, he knew about the one word debacle, which meant Three did, too. “Take Galaxy. She’s human. If Katerina’s memories are returning, she might be able to help. A woman’s influence and all.”
“She is not likely to accompany me anywhere, let alone half way around the world to Florence.”
“Then you’ll need to convince her, because Kace is no longer in Portland.” Phillipe stood, reaching into his pocket. He withdrew a small computer thumb drive. “This is what we have on Katerina Varga. Go to Florence, Christan. Take your woman, drink some wine, and help ease Three’s mind. Take Arsen as your chaperon if you have to. If Katerina is there, we need you to find her and bring her home. She’s someone’s mate, if not Arsen’s.”
“I hate Florence.”
“She knows you do.”
CHAPTER 15
Wallowa Mountains, Oregon
The flight from Portland to the small airport in Enterprise took an hour. From there, Christan boarded a private plane and sat restlessly through the twenty-minute flight to Arsen’s compound in the Wallowa Mountains.
The complex was nearly invisible to Google Earth technology. The landing field looked like a grassy meadow but wasn’t. If anyone bothered to study the satellite views, they might notice a few outbuildings, sheltered between the pines. Further investigation would reveal a lodge, with eight surrounding cabins, offered for private retreats aimed at executives struggling with team-building fatigue. Inevitably, someone would try to book the rustic cabins. But of course, reservations were filled for more than two years in advance, and the lodge didn’t operate during the winter.
From the air, the view was stunning. The compound was isolated in the middle of twenty thousand acres of private forest land and surrounded by the largest wilderness area in Oregon. Jagged granite peaks rivaled anything in the Rocky Mountains. At the highest elevation, deep fissures remained white with snow. Small lakes were hidden in the blue shadows, secret places that were reminiscent of a time when the world was new, clean, and filled with magic too ancient to recall. When warriors ran with the wind, thrilled to the power that made them and fought with the ferocity and pure joy of exhilaration.
The drone of the plane’s single engine had become a white-noise. The pilot didn’t speak through the earphones Christan wore, and for that he was grateful. He was lost in his thoughts, staring out through the small window to his right and not interested in conversation.
Christan wondered, now, about the curiosity that had compelled him during those early centuries, when he’d watched humans even as he killed them. Christan had not been alone with his fascination. Other warriors found the human contradictions intriguing. Hate and love. Pleasure and pain. Thought and action. Human histories—recalled at night around blazing campfires. Christan longed for what he didn’t understand, realized life could be lonely, deep in the bone. The isolation was what he knew, felt most comfortable with, and yet he still climbed mountains, searched deserts for some need he could not identify.
Perhaps his interests were too complicated. Perhaps it was a way to fill the endless years between the wars. Or perhaps it was a rebellion against the Calata’s power to control his life. There was no absolution, though. Christan knew what he was, what he had done and what he could do again with the right provocation. He’d been trapped then. He was trapped now. And he didn’t want to go to Florence.
But the last photograph Phillipe laid out had narrowed the choices down to one.
He would have to go.
He would have to take her with him.
It would be impossible to leave her alone no matter how angry he felt. Whatever she’d done in the past, she didn’t deserve what Kace would do if he found her again.