“Won’t bother me.”
Arsen was laughing. Lexi watched as he finished checking whatever computer program he was checking. He closed the metal door that looked like any other electrical panel door, other than the small lock. She suspected there was some very secret warrior stuff about that lock.
When they walked back into the bright sunlight Lexi had to squint. Arsen directed her down a gently sloping hill. Rows of green vines twisted on gnarled branches as thick as her wrist. The ground was littered with sharp white stones.
“I’m sorry about Kat,” Lexi said, speaking to his back as he led the way.
“You tried.”
“You never talk about her.”
“I don’t.”
“I can see why.”
“Can you?” Arsen stopped in the middle of the row, bent down, started pruning shoots from the vine.
Lexi watched him work. “You usually talk to other warriors, but men won’t offer you the right advice.”
Arsen tossed a green bit of vegetation to the ground and shifted his weight. “And what advice would you offer, Slick?”
“None. I’m your friend. Advice, especially the wrong kind, would ruin that.”
“Even friends have opinions.”
“I guess you’ve given me your opinion once or twice,” she agreed.
“Because you needed it.”
“And you don’t need opinions,” Lexi said. Arsen straightened and they continued down the row. “I’m not being mean, Bucko.”
He led her in another direction. “What are you being?”
“Honest. You frighten her. I don’t know how or why, but it was fear I read in her eyes when she realized you were there.”
“You don’t pull your punches when you’re being honest. I’ve never hurt her.”
“I know you would never hurt her—do I look like an idiot?” Lexi laughed. “Don’t answer that.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Speaking of dreams.”
“Yes?”
“Is she still having them?”
“I’d have to say yes.”
“Past life or nightmare dreams?”
“She has several memory lines on her hand.”
“I guess that’s one way to tell the difference,” Arsen said as they started down another row.
The gentle walk through the vineyard would have felt relaxing if they hadn’t been checking the security perimeter. The morning sun was warm, the earthy scents of growing plants begging Lexi to push her fingers into the ground, to pull up happy memories from the past—workmen laughing as they harvested the grapes. Girls with scarves tied around their hair, offering jugs of water or wine. Bare toes squirming in the soil.
“Arsen, tell me about this war.”
“You’re in the middle of it.”
“Thank God for honest friends.”
“You need to know.” Sun glinted in his blond hair. Lexi thought of Christan’s hair, dark silk against her palms.
“What do I need to know?” she asked.
“It’s punch and counter punch right now, someone testing for weakness.”
“He’s not weak.”
“Not now.” Arsen looked at her.
Lexi held his blue gaze. “What was that ambush in the alley?”
“Payback. Opportunism. Some hot shots cranked up over the trash we disposed of because they violated the rules. Big rules, Slick. Important rules.”
“That’s where Christan is now, talking about the rules?”
“His job, Lexi, is to enforce those rules.”
“I don’t want him to trade his safety for mine.”
Arsen gave her a pitying look. “You’ve seen him fight?”
“Yes.”
“He’s not Three’s Enforcer because he’s pretty.”
Lexi thought about that and then asked, “Who wanted the hot shots to violate the big rules?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“But you will, won’t you Bucko?”
“Count on it, Slick.
CHAPTER 31
The Calata member known as One maintained a secure enclave far enough from Florence to remain obscure. From there, she controlled immortal affairs over territories that ringed the Mediterranean Sea, through Spain, spreading North to the British Isles and the barbarian lands of Rome. Her territory extended East to the Carpathian Mountains and the contentious border with the Calata member known as Five. Her rival, known as Six, controlled Turkey and the Eastern Mediterranean coastline to the Suez Canal.
At that point, One regained control over the Northern lands of Africa. She held those lands in trust for Two, waiting for her return.
But Two had been gone for over twelve centuries. Her stay in the place known as The Away was said to be indefinite.
As for her compound, One’s sympathies were rooted in the exoticism of the Moors. She had adopted their architecture as her own, and a tall crenelated wall surrounded inner terraces leading to the two-story villa. The villa was built at the top of the hill to take advantage of the cooling summer breeze and to hold the high ground. Throughout the centuries, wars had been fought on these lands, armies decimated. Just as frequently, the gardens had been filled with women in elegant gowns. Men, too, some in whatever constituted the formal clothes for a particular century, others dressed in the ceremonial garb that ancient custom required.
Christan walked up the wide terraced steps, missing the weight of a sword strapped to his back. He moved with fluid grace, no energy wasted. As an Enforcer, he was more than comfortable with any lethal show of power. In this modern world, though, immortals had grown more paranoid about social media. Christan conformed to their preferences and the weapons he carried were less obvious.
A warrior stood at the heavy wooden entrance doors, dressed in the dark suit of the security detail. Sunglasses concealed his eyes. The man gave a deferential nod and ushered the enforcer inside. Christan walked the path he’d walked the day before, to the elegantly appointed room, highly secure. It was the room in which One conducted her most sensitive conversations.
Sliding into the shadows, Christan took his assigned position. It was against the wall and out of camera range. The video conference was in progress—he hadn’t been late; the two Calata members were always impatient. Three’s image was on the monitor, regal and dressed in white. Christan remembered how she’d been drawn to the Scandinavian persona, although not because it suited her. Three had once taken a Viking lover and had fond memories. Christan wondered if she’d kept the bear pelts.
Leander was also present. Christan nodded toward One’s enforcer leaning against the opposite wall, then glanced at the monitor again. Phillipe was now standing by Three’s side, and Christan’s attention sharpened.
“How many girls, One?” Three was demanding.
“Too many,” snapped the woman who was Three’s opposite. She stood five-foot four unless she was wearing four-inch heels, which she was, in a blood red color that matched the silk suit. A cloud of chestnut-colored hair shimmered around her shoulders. “And they’re not just your girls, Three, they’re attacking mine as well.”
“I’m sure Leander can deal with it.”
“Yes, unless your enforcer gets there first. Why did you send him into my territory without asking permission?”
“Because those were my girls,” Three said sharply. “And if we’d waited for your permission how many would have died?”
“You can’t turn someone like him loose without any control, not in this age of social media. Were you intending to expose what we do?”
“He was discreet.”
“He left a damn mess in that alley like he always does.”
“What Christan did was necessary,” Three snapped. “And if you weren’t so worried about the messes, you might have fewer of them. Have the men in the alley been identified?” Both women knew the alchemy had been designed to eliminate difficult explanations. A warrior in animal form would revert to his human body at the moment of death. Fingerprints and facial recognition technology would identify them.
One turned to Leander and flipped her hand impatiently. He stepped forward to hand her a file. Quickly, she read the details.
“Freelancers, some of Seven’s discards,” she said, tossing the file aside. “They’re growing bored while he’s on his walkabout.”