Dark Victory (6 page)

“I do,” she said pleasantly. “And I’ve heard great things about this school. I’m looking forward to my time here.”

“It’s a great faculty and a great group of kids, for the most part,” Tabby said.

Kristin glanced at her desk. “Just what we need, a nutcase on the loose in the city, running people through with a sword.”

Tabby smiled grimly. “I’m sure he’ll be apprehended.” Please keep him safe, she added silently, a prayer.

“I hope so. Although it’s not in the news, it’s all over the school that the victim was murdered eight blocks from here.”

He had been so close.
Tabby lived five blocks from the school. She breathed hard as Kristin left, promising they’d catch up in the teachers’ lounge later. The vice principal was hardly out of the door when Tabby ran to her desk. She seized the newspaper. The murder had happened at eleven o’clock last night—when she’d been asleep, dreaming about him.

Had he come to her neighborhood because of her spell?

She inhaled, shaken. Was it possible that she had cast such a powerful spell? She had to call Sam. HCU would help him. Or was Sam already on the case? Was that what she’d been working on last night? But her first students began arriving, and Tabby couldn’t linger on the phone. Instead, she sent Sam a text message.

Have you found the Highlander?

Then she began greeting her class. If she did not get a grip and focus on her students, it would be an endless day for her, and unfair to them. Besides, a medieval warrior with the power to travel through time could probably handle a few cops and a wound or two. But she was not relieved. As she greeted her kids, she almost expected him to walk into her classroom, but every time she looked up, a parent or a student stood there.

A tiny, pretty blond girl named Willa, who happened to be one of Tabby’s brightest pupils, came into the classroom. “How are you, Willa?” she asked. Willa could already read and write at the second-grade level, and she was always asking questions that were amazingly insightful for a six-year-old.

Willa asked, “Can we have a spelling bee?”

Tabby laughed, and laughing felt good. “A spelling bee! You must have seen that show on TV over the weekend. I’ll think about it.” It was a foregone conclusion that if they had a spelling bee, Willa would win it.

More children filed in, greeting her with happy smiles, calling out to one another eagerly. It was a really good group of kids. But she couldn’t relax and she couldn’t stop worrying—or glancing at the door. When a few of the parents and caretakers expressed concern over the Sword Murderer being on the loose, Tabby reassured them all that the school was completely safe.
Was he nearby?

If only she had a moment to focus, she would meditate and try to feel his presence.

Finally her last student arrived. Tabby shut the door, asking everyone to settle down so they could talk about the lame-duck presidency. “Does anyone remember what that means?” she asked. As she showed the class a picture of a duck, the kids shrieked and made outlandish comments. She let them carry on, her gaze drifting to the newspaper article.

“Ms. Rose? Ms. Rose!”

Tabby jerked, realizing the kids had settled down and were waiting for her expectantly. She heard her classroom door open, but did not turn. Assuming it was a staff member, she said, “Who wants to try to tell me what a lame-duck president is?”

Only Willa raised her hand. Tabby noticed that the kids were distracted by whoever had come into the room, but she said, “Willa?”

“Why are they locking the door?”

Tabby turned as she heard the lock click. Two teenage boys stood by the door, clad from head to toe in black, their complexions eerily pale and made more so by the application of pancake makeup.

Her heart began to thunder uncontrollably. The boys had the appearance of the subs that ran in the gangs burning civilians. She prayed the boys were Goths, not possessed humans. The sub gangs had always preyed on the Innocent in large groups—until last week’s Rampage. As for her “new” sixth sense, the only feeling she was getting was that these boys were definitely looking for trouble.

She managed to feign a calm she did not feel as she slowly put the paper aside and stood up. “Hello.” The children must not be alarmed. “Can I help you?”

The boy who had pitch-black hair with flame-colored streaks dyed in it grinned. “You sure can, Teach.”

She didn’t know if she finally had the power to sense evil
or not, but she knew these boys were evil. While she didn’t know what they wanted, she did know their intent was purely malicious. How was she going to protect the children?

She turned from them and smiled at the children. “I have a great idea. Everyone sit down on the floor in a small circle, with the paper. Find as many items relating to the President as you can.”

One of the teen boys snickered.

“Come on,” Tabby said, wanting to gather the children into one tight group. As they all sat down on the floor, as far from the two boys and the door as she could get them, she handed Willa the article. “Willa, I want you to be the group leader and make a list.”

Willa stared at her with her big, intelligent blue eyes. Tabby smiled more fully; Willa knew something was wrong. “Are they going to watch the class?” Willa asked.

“Maybe.” Tabby smiled, when she heard the whirring of a drill.

She whirled and saw the blond boy drilling holes into the door. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” the dark-haired boy said. He pulled out a long metal object from his backpack.

The blonde was now drilling a set of holes into the wall, and Tabby realized they were adding a bolt to the door to lock her and the children inside the classroom. She lowered her voice, aware of her fear rising. But she somehow breathed and tamped it down. “Whatever you intend, do it to me. But let the children go.”

“Oh, don’t you worry, pretty lady. We are definitely doing it to you.” He laughed at her.

Tabby wet her lips, knowing she must hold her fear at bay for the children’s sake. She sent a silent message to Sam—telepathy was huge for them. “What’s your name?”

He bared his teeth and said, “Angel. You like that…Tabitha?”

They knew her name. Then comprehension flashed in her mind—her name was on the door. “You want me, not the children. Please, whatever you want, I won’t resist. But we have to let the children go, now.”

“We’ve got plans for the kiddies,” Angel said.

“Ms. Rose?” Willa asked.

Tabby jerked, wishing Willa hadn’t left the security of the circle of children, as false as it was. She took her hand. “Willa, go back to the other children.”

Willa looked carefully from her to Angel and then to the blonde, who was drilling screws into the new lock on the door. “Is he locking us in?”

Before Tabby could come up with an excuse for what was happening, Angel said, “We sure are, pretty girl.” He walked away and dumped the contents of a huge duffel onto the floor.

Tabby cringed as she saw the kindling.

He poured gasoline on it and grinned. “What’s wrong, Teach? Afraid of fire?”

Tabby breathed. “Go back to the other children, Willa.” But now she saw that every child had his or her eyes trained upon the drama that was unfolding.

Angel’s hand snaked out and he seized Willa, who screamed. “Maybe we’ll start with her, witch,” he said to Tabby.

Tabby sent Willa a reassuring glance, and Willa fought her tears and stopped struggling. “Let my student go,” she said, and it was not a request.

Angel nodded at his blond friend, ignoring her. The blonde produced matches and began to light one.

Tabby’s heart thundered as he lit the match. Her mind raced with lightning speed. Willa was going to be burned at the stake, and perhaps the other children would, too. And then they’d burn her. She needed a spell.

Dear God, it
had
to work.

The pile of kindling burst into flames. The children screamed, except for Willa, who was deathly pale now. But she could not calm the other children. Tabby closed her eyes and murmured,
“Fire fears water, fire needs rain. Fear fears water, give us rain. Rain douse fire, give us rain.”

“She’s casting a spell,” the blonde said, sounding a bit alarmed.

Tabby opened her eyes. Nothing had happened; nothing had changed. Her students were crowded together by her desk, some of them crying, and all of them were staring at the fire roaring in the front of the classroom. The blond boy seemed nervous, but Angel looked pissed. Tabby was expecting the fire alarm to go off, but it did not. Surely they hadn’t been smart enough to dismantle the fire alarms last night or that morning before school?

Tabby glanced at the ceiling and saw a wire hanging off the closest alarm, and her heart sank. The fire alarms had been tampered with. Then she saw a yellow mark spreading across the ceiling.

“Come on, pretty girl—girls get to go first,” Angel said, grinning.

Willa screamed as Angel started to drag her toward the fire.

Tabby realized there was a water mark growing on the ceiling. As she rushed forward to fight for Willa, water dropped on her head—once, and then again and again. But a few drops of water weren’t going to put out the fire. She reached Angel and Willa; the blonde seized her, restraining her. “Don’t worry, you’ll get your turn.”

“Let her go,” Tabby said furiously, struggling to jerk free of the blonde. She was wearing her usual two-inch heels and she ground down as hard as she could onto the instep of his foot.

He was wearing sneakers and he howled, releasing her.

Tabby seized the can of kerosene and flung it at Angel. He cursed, releasing Willa, wiping the few drops of kerosene from his face. The fire suddenly roared, turning into an inferno. Tabby seized Willa and shoved her closer to the children. “Run!”

“Like hell,” Angel sneered. His eyes were black fire.

The next thing she knew she was in his arms and he had the blade of a knife pressed hard against her throat. She froze.

“There are many ways to kill a witch,” he said softly.

Tabby didn’t move, afraid he was going to sever her carotid artery.

“Do it and let’s get out of here,” the blonde said, “before she casts another spell.”

“Sounds good to me.” Angel grinned wickedly.

Dinna move.

Tabby heard the command, spoken in a heavy Scot brogue, as clear as day. Her fear vanished. Stunned, she looked across the classroom, past the fire.

The dark Highlander stood outside. He was staring at her through one of the windows. Their gazes locked. His was hard and ruthless, like his set face.

Tabby began to tremble.

And glass shattered. Energy blazed and the fire exploded, the heat intensifying. The children screamed, as did the blond boy, who was hurled backward into the bolted classroom door. Angel cried out as the Highlander bore down upon them both, sword raised. Panicking, Tabby pushed at Angel’s arms, but he didn’t release her.

The Highlander towered over them and smiled dangerously. “Release her or die.”

Tabby stared into his ice-cold eyes and knew he meant his every word. She wanted to protest but could not form words. His power was so strong, she inhaled it. It wrapped itself around her, male and thick and potent.

Angel knew he meant it, too. He dropped the knife but did not release her, wrapping both arms around her now. “I’ll let her go—outside.”

Tabby failed to breathe. Angel meant to use her as a human shield, in order to escape.

“A foolish choice,” the Highlander said softly.

She heard him again, although he did not speak.
Dinna move….

Tabby met his dark blue gaze and knew he was going to free her somehow. He would triumph—this man never lost. Her life was in his hands, but she trusted him with it. She didn’t move, obeying him.

The silver blade flashed.

Tabby wanted to scream as it arced down toward her. Watching that blade descend was the most horrifying moment of her life.
She had made a mistake; she was going to die.
But it was Angel who screamed, as the sword came between them.

For one more moment, he held her. Then, as Angel’s head toppled away from his shoulders, she was in a headless man’s arms. He collapsed and she was released. The children screamed. Tabby jumped away, shocked.

The Highlander had beheaded Angel while he held her. He could have taken her head, too!

Aghast, she met his gaze. Then she saw the blond sub pointing a big black gun at him from behind.

She gasped as it went off.

He turned, and silver blazed from his hands. The blonde was hurled back again, and this time, as he hit the wall and crumbled to the floor, Tabby knew he was dead.

And then Tabby ran to the children, urging them to crowd around her. “Don’t look over there!” She had never seen a man decapitated before. Of course she hadn’t. This was New York City, 2008, not Scotland in 1550. She choked back bile and fear.

Most of the kids were crying. Bobby Wilson wanted to go home. As they huddled tightly together, several in her arms, she tried to get past her horror and shock. He had saved her life. He had done what he had been taught to do. He was the product of his violent, barbaric times.

But he had beheaded Angel while she was in his arms.

“The fire is spreadin’,” he said, and she felt him standing behind her. “Ye need to take the children from here.”

Tabby turned to look at him, incapable of saying a word, her pulse soaring. She met his dark, intense blue eyes, eyes she had seen at the Met—and in her dreams.

“Ye dinna wish fer me to kill the boys?” His blue gaze chilled. “They intended fer ye to die a verra unpleasant death.”

And that was when she realized he wasn’t the same Highlander—not exactly. He was the same man she’d briefly seen and touched at the Met, she had not a single doubt. But he wasn’t blistered and burned. His hard, determined face was scratched from glass, and he had a scar on one high cheekbone, but there were no burns, no blood, no blisters. In fact, he was damned gorgeous. His tunic was bloodstained, and there were cuts on his arms, face and legs from leaping through the glass, but he had not been in a fire recently.
This man had not been at An Tùir-Tara.