Spell of the Highlander
Page 58

And meant she had to hurry. She couldn’t imagine the woman would stay out for very long.
Heart pounding, Jessi dashed off for the double doors and Cian.
Lucan slammed his fist through the silk-papered plaster wall of his study.
Again.
And a third time.
Blood beaded swiftly across his shredded knuckles and just as swiftly disappeared. The skin healed, not shiny and pink, but it healed.
He turned back toward his desk, glanced up at the offending darker rectangular spot on the wall, and snarled at the speakerphone, “Tell me again exactly what they said. In detail.”
“None of them recalled many details, Mr. Trevayne, sir,” Hans replied from the receiver. “Just that they saw a tall, tattooed man with dark braids carrying a large, gold-framed mirror, accompanied by a young, attractive woman, walking through the Sheraton’s lobby on Friday morning. If the two of them stayed at the hotel, all records have been erased. One of the guest rooms was found with fresh human blood on the carpet, drapes, and furniture, but the hotel has no record of having assigned that room to anyone for several nights, and no body has been found.”
Son of a bitch, the worst was true. Eve was most certainly dead and the Highlander was being aided and abetted by the St. James woman. They’d united efforts against him.
And he had less than seventeen days to find them.
“Were you able to learn where they went from there?”
“No, Mr. Trevayne, sir, we’ve not been able to ascertain that. We’re working on it. Do you have any ideas, sir?”
Lucan rubbed his jaw. Where would Cian MacKeltar go, now that he had someone beyond the glass who was willing to help him get there? That was the determining factor, after all. The rules of their little game had changed dramatically. Not once in a thousand years had Lucan ever imagined that such an improbable sequence of events might ever come to pass—that something might shatter his unbreakable wards; that he might be out of the country at the time; that a thief might break into his home and steal the glass; that the glass might end up in the hands of someone willing to help the Keltar.
It reeked of preposterous synchronicity.
Nevertheless, it had happened.
Where would the Keltar go? There was no doubt in Lucan’s mind: home to his Highlands, of course. The mountain-man would move heaven and earth to walk on Scots soil again, especially now.
It had been a long time since Lucan had visited the hills above Inverness. For countless generations, after he’d imprisoned Cian in the Dark Glass, he’d kept close tabs on the Keltar bloodline.
He’d wanted to be certain Cian’s mother had done as she’d sworn in exchange for the continued health and well-being of her seven precious daughters: sealed away all Keltar lore from future generations and stricken her son’s name from all Keltar annals—thereby preventing any future Keltar from nursing a blood-grudge and trying to free their ancestor.
But by the early fourteen hundreds, when his sources had confirmed that the MacKeltar—to the last man, woman, and child—believed the legendary Cian nothing more than a myth, Lucan had quit watching and quit caring.
He’d turned his attentions elsewhere, immersed himself in the building of his empire and his search for the remaining Dark Hallows.
Time and success had made him careless. He’d not been challenged in so long that complacency had dulled his edge.
Christ, seventeen days! It was unthinkable! He was so near to achieving his goals. He couldn’t afford these idiotic distractions!
“Scotland, Hans,” Lucan clipped at the phone. “Search Inverness. I suspect he’ll bypass civilization and head for the hills. Find out if any MacKeltar still live in the area and let it be known I’m offering five million to whoever gets me that mirror, ten for the mirror and the woman. However, I must be informed the instant the mirror is located, and kept constantly apprised of its whereabouts. There’s another ten million in it for you, Hans, if you bring this to successful completion within a week.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Trevayne, sir! I’ll let the others know, sir. I’ll get every man on it. I’ll take care of this for you. You have my personal guarantee, sir!”
Lucan stared into space for a long time after he terminated the call. What was twenty-five million to him? Nothing. He’d wearied of wealth centuries ago. He wanted what he’d always wanted: more power.
He was so close to the culmination of all his dreams, a hairsbreadth away from finally possessing the Unseelie Dark Book. From finally being the greatest sorcerer the world had ever known, both mortal and Fae.