Jamys frowned as Gifford launched into his reading. “I am not the first Kyn to compel this mortal. I can feel a trace of another lingering in the patterns of his thoughts. The Kyn who questioned him may have left a command in Gifford’s mind to expose his most guarded secrets.”
“Do you know any Kyn who can do that?” When he shook his head, Christian studied the historian. “If the Kyn who got here before us meant it to be a self-destruct button, it wasn’t a very good one. I mean, cheating on taxes and playing X-rated Confessional won’t get the guy arrested. At best there’d be a month of scandal mongering by the local papers and TV stations. He’d probably get kicked off the museum board.”
“Which would destroy his reputation.” Jamys reached out to Gifford and touched his shoulder. He intended to command the mortal to stop reading and tell him everything he knew about the man who had paid him for his silence, but as soon as he connected with the professor’s mind, he felt a now-familiar barrier.
Instead of hurling his ability at the wall as he’d done with Chris, Jamys held back, sending tendrils of his mind in all directions. In a distant corner of the human’s thoughts he found a gap in the barrier, and slipped into it.
You will show me who you are, Jamys thought, easing into the powerful presence and permeating it from within with his own ability.
A parade of mortals and immortals began flashing through Jamys’s thoughts: a slave-collared thrall, the leader of a slave rebellion, a haughty courtier, a devout Templar, a brooding monk, a defiant sailor. Each of the males had the same brutally handsome and eerily familiar face, one that grew gaunt or sleek by turns but never aged. Each carried the hammer of a smith, and in their cold gray eyes an eternal fire burned.
Jamys saw the sailor become an avenging angel, and the angel a secretive explorer, and the explorer a reclusive farmer. As the man changed, so did his garments, becoming more fitted and modern as he changed lives again to work as a train conductor, a wealthy businessman, a laughing showman, a dreadlocked common laborer, a bald-headed janitor.
Jamys finally recognized the man as he shifted into the casual garb of the sailboat owner, and reached deeper.
The immortal had lived hundreds of different lives, changing himself to suit the demands of each new era, but he had never been happy. He carried a terrible burden, one he shared with his human kin, who had slowly dwindled away over the centuries. Something else had happened to the immortal, was yet happening, something wondrous and terrible that had sent him back out into the world. He had to bring together the last of his mortal bloodline with the sons he had sired so long ago, the three medieval knights made immortal like him—
Jamys staggered as he was forced out of the professor’s mind by a surge of power unlike any Kyn ability he had ever encountered.
Gifford’s eyes grew unfocused. “You are clever, boy,” he said, his voice dropping to a resonant baritone. “But I have wiped clean from the mortal’s mind everything he knew of Hollander and the Horde. You will learn nothing from him.”
Christian stepped back. “I know you.” Her voice shook as she added, “You were in the tomb with me.”
Gifford’s eyes glowed as he turned his head toward her, but the voice Jamys heard speak next came from inside his own mind. “Live, and you kill a hundred, a thousand, a million.” He looked at Jamys, and the voice inside his head grew icy. “Kill her, and you shall save them.”
Jamys stepped closer, and gazed into the historian’s eyes. “Touch her,” he said clearly, “and you will never again live another life on this earth.”
Gifford began to laugh and shake as his eyes rolled back into his head. A moment later he sank to the floor.
Christian grabbed him in time to keep him from hitting his head. “Okay, I think the professor’s had enough.”
Jamys crouched down beside her and checked the mortal. Gifford appeared unconscious, but his breathing was regular and his heart beat steadily. “He is asleep.”
Christian picked up the journal Gifford had dropped along with a page that had fallen out of it, handing the journal to Jamys before she unfolded the page. “This is a map. Looks pretty old, too. No X marking the spot, but there’s a ship’s course marked on it from what looks like Jamaica to Florida.” She showed it to him.
He eyed the date and some words scribbled at the bottom of the map. “This had to be the final course of the Golden Horde. The pirate must have drawn it for the priest before he died.”
“If we follow the ship’s course, maybe we won’t need an X. Let me see that journal again.” When Jamys handed it to her, she turned to the front leaf before she went still.
Jamys inspected the rectangle of red-bordered black paper in the front of the journal. In the center were two inverted, overlapping scarlet triangles with the letters LHS stamped in gold across them. “What is that?”
“It’s a bookplate. Collectors use them to tag their personal libraries.” She closed the journal and stood, her shoulders rigid. “I know the guy who sold this to Gifford.”
“How could you know this man?”
“Easy.” She gave him a bleak look. “I used to work for him.”
* * *
Once the nightclub had been cleared and closed, armed guards emerged from the tunnels to take their assigned positions throughout the stronghold. In the largest of the conference rooms Burke met with the mortal household staff to brief them, while Aldan assembled the garrison in the lists to do the same.
Lucan remained in his office to review the last week of video recordings from the security cameras, in hopes of finding some clue as to the identity of the Kyn who had tampered with his mind and taken control of his body. He saw no one and nothing unusual, save for the most recently arrived group of refugees, who were now being kept under guard at a nearby resort hotel.
He looked up as his captain and his tresora entered. “What have you learned from your people?”
Aldan nodded to Burke, who said, “The household staff have not noted anything out of the ordinary, my lord. The visitors have kept to their rooms for the most part, and what minor disruptions they have caused have not been intentional. No one has been observed on the penthouse level, near the stores, or anywhere inappropriate. Earlier I sent a sample of the stock that was poisoned over to the blood bank to be tested, but that will take some time.”
“Copper-tainted blood could not do this to me,” Lucan said. “Captain, what of the men?”
“They’ve no love for the visitors, Master, but they’ve seen naught to alarm them. The strangers have shown no untoward behavior.” He hesitated before he added, “Vander, the one you fought the other night, has remained behind under guard. As appointed leader, he requests a moment to speak with you about his men.”
Lucan had no interest in listening to any complaints about ill-treatment, but Vander had served with the other men in his group, and had likely witnessed some or all of them using their talents. “Bring him to me.”
Glenveagh and Sutton flanked the visitors’ leader as he strode into the office. “Suzerain.” Vander performed a shallow bow. “My brothers have asked me to speak on their behalf and ask as to why we have been removed from the household.”
“Some cowardly bastard has used his ability in an attempt to challenge my rule,” Lucan told him. “My first thought was to kill all of you; that would instantly eliminate the threat and give me an enormous amount of personal pleasure.”
Vander looked confused. “My lord, my men and I would never use ability against you. You have provided us with—”
“Shut up,” Lucan said as he rose from his desk. “One of you is going to die tonight; answer my questions truthfully and it may not be you. Now, what ability have you, Mr. Vander?”
“I am a treasure finder,” he muttered. “Nothing of great value can be hidden from me.”
“How exceedingly profitable.” Lucan came around the desk. “Demonstrate it for us. Now.”
Vander jabbed a thumb at Glenveagh. “This one carries in his left pocket a watch and chain.”
“Which I consult often enough for it to be noticed by anyone,” Glenveagh said. “Hardly hidden treasure.”
Vander gave him an unpleasant look. “What of the woman’s locket in the pouch on your belt? Is it meant as a love token for your Scot?”
Before the guard could lunge, Aldan clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not so easily won, little man. You must romance me first.”
Lucan resisted the impulse to smash their skulls together. “Glenveagh, open the pouch.”
The guard unsnapped the flap and took out a delicate chain. “I purchased it as a gift for Christian,” he said as he held it up to show Lucan the heart-shaped pendant. “Next month is her birthday.”
“The Pearl Girl.” Vander smiled. “I fancy a piece of that myself. Think earbobs would persuade her to spread her—”
Aldan plowed his massive fist into Vander’s face, and watched him sag. “Forgive me, Master. I fear my knuckles are overly fond of Miss Christian.”
“Aye, and my sword,” Glenveagh muttered.
“Enough.” Lucan picked up the glass of bloodwine Burke had brought him earlier and dashed it in Vander’s face, rousing him. “You will keep a civil tongue in your head, or my men will cut it out.”
“As you command, Suzerain.” Vander spit out a shard of tooth. “You have seen my talent. What more do you want?”
“Who among your men can control the mind and body of another?” Lucan demanded.
“None.” Vander looked bewildered. “I have never seen such a . . .” He stopped and licked his lips. “No man I serve with has that ability.”
Lucan leaned in. “Do you think me a fool? You have seen this done. Who was it?”
“It was when I sought out the girl, Christian,” Vander muttered. “He used it to compel her to deny me. Your particular friend, the one who looks like a lad.”
