“Where am I?” It glanced around at the dark forest canopy.
Her mind whirled. If the
geminus
had been summoned, it might know its location through the act of traveling—just as Livia had feared. But the spell had brought the creature there directly. It had no bearings, no means of learning her whereabouts. Her only consolation.
“No words from the opinionated Gypsy? Such a change.” It stepped closer. “What is most impressive is the measure of your courage. None of us anticipated the fight you put up. Surely you had some training in magic.”
She did not answer as she moved stiffly backward. Her bones were made of ice, freezing her from the inside out. Even back in London, when she had been kept prisoner inside Whit’s home, he never looked at her the way the
geminus
did so now. A butcher contemplated a carcass with more tender feelings.
“How did you come by such power?” The
geminus
was all courtesy, speaking to her gently, politely. As though they weren’t standing in the middle of a forest, with dark, threatening night all around. She did not miss the way the creature draped one hand loosely upon the hilt of Whit’s sword.
“No? Not forthcoming with the details?” It made a dismissive wave. “Whatever its origin, it shall not remain upon this earth long. Neither will you.”
“Where is he?”
“More importantly, where am I?”
“Tell me where he is,” she demanded.
“Lord Whitney?” The
geminus
shrugged. “I cannot say.”
She struggled against panic. Whit could be in danger or hurt, and she was alone, without aid.
“Cannot? Or will not?” When the creature did not answer her, she pressed, “Give it to me. His soul.”
The
geminus
smiled its echo of Whit’s smile. “Child, they aren’t handed out like Christmas oranges.”
“I’ll take it from you.” She waved the torch toward the creature, but it did not shy back.
“Observe.” It opened its coat, revealing pockets sewn into the gray silk lining. To her trained eye, it was easy to see that the pockets hung flat and empty. Dipping its fingers into its waistcoat pockets, the
geminus
again came up with nothing. “You are welcome to search me, of course.”
“Tell me where it is.”
The
geminus
smiled. “What I find most charming is your belief that you can make demands.” Its smile faded, and its expression turned cutting. “But you prove yourself a danger, and that cannot stand.”
It glanced down at the hilt of the sword as if just remembering the weapon’s existence. “This may prove amusing.”
She jolted at the sound of steel drawn from the scabbard. Did the
geminus
truly mean ... ?
Her answer came as the
geminus
swung its blade. Dropping her torch, she dove to the side and narrowly missed the slash. The creature not only had Whit’s shape and voice, but his skill with a sword as well. Whit’s expertise and athleticism made the
geminus
dangerous. She dodged behind a tree as it swung at her again. The blade’s edge cut into the side of the tree, sending pieces of bark flying. She had seen that same sword used against demons, knew what kind of damage it could do to living flesh.
Gorgio
men fought one another with swords, yet she had no similar weapon with which to defend herself. Not true. She
did
have a weapon. Her fire. She did not need to draw power from an existing fire; she found the power within herself.
Heat gathered inside her. Flames curled around her hand. She leapt out from behind her cover and sent a bolt of fire hurtling toward the
geminus
. It spun to the side, avoiding the flame. But the edge of the fire caught its arm, and it hissed in pain as a smoldering cut crossed its bicep.
Its grimace shifted into a smile. “By all means, burn this mortal body. As long as I possess Whit’s soul, whatever damage inflicted on me also injures him.”
She stared at the
geminus
, horrified. It might be speaking lies, but was she willing to take that chance and hurt Whit?
It swung again.
Damn and hell
. She could only leap away and do nothing to defend herself. Her mind worked frantically as she kept sidestepping and dodging the
geminus
’s strikes. What could she do? How could she fight this thing?
She couldn’t, not without risking Whit’s life. Leaving her with no recourse, no means of attack or defense. The flames around her hand vanished, useless.
The forest, which had been dark and threatening moments earlier, now became her only means of defense. When the
geminus
lunged toward her, she dove to the ground. As she rolled, she scooped up a handful of earth. The
geminus
whirled around. Springing up, she threw the dirt into its eyes. The double might be a minion of the devil, but dirt and twigs in its eyes temporarily blinded it like any creature, just long enough for her to dart into the woods.
She ran into the dark. Branches scratched at her face and pulled at her cloak and skirt like ravenous ghouls. Shadows engulfed her, and the sounds of her own labored breathing and snap and crash of broken branches filled her ears. Behind her she heard the noisy approach of the
geminus
as it pursued. The fact that it did not try to conceal itself made her blood even colder. It did not care if she knew it was coming—her fate was inevitable.
How long? How long until the
geminus
tired of this game and used its magic against her? The devil knew what kind of power it possessed.
Her eyes burned and her body ached from its countless lashings. No way to attack, no means to defend or hide herself. Curse that mad ghost to leave her here alone without answers or help.
More than Livia, she needed Whit. His presence and his strength. The goodness she knew existed within him and his warrior’s spirit. Despite the tumult between them, she could not truly doubt his honor or determination. She felt herself reaching out to him, wherever he was, stretching toward him like a ship reaching for the shore.
“Whit!” His name sprang from her instinctively. It did not matter if she shouted and gave away her location, for the
geminus
knew where she was regardless. She cried out again. “Whit!”
Somewhere out in the large, dark world, he had to hear her. Or else she was lost.
Whit felt a sharp tug in the center of his chest. Something pulling at him. His palm rubbed circles over his breastbone, seeking to ease the sensation, but the feeling did not stop. It wasn’t precisely pain, yet it drew on him—hard. A bright hand curled around his heart, the touch distant but also unbearably intimate. Again, it tugged, and he staggered back.
What black sorcery is this?
Glancing around the vault, he looked to the souls upon the shelves as if they could help him. His prizes, his treasure. They did nothing. As he stared at them, his vision dimmed. The glow of the tokens faded. No, they did not fade, but his greed for them did. The claws of his hunger for more released. Rather than wanting to devour them, when he looked upon the souls, pity and shame inundated him, a flood of unexpected compassion.
No! How ... ?
The pull came harder now. He gasped, sinking to his knees. His hand scrabbled with the buttons on his waistcoat, pushing them open, then the same for his linen shirt beneath. Looking down at his chest, he cursed. Warm radiance centered over his heart, the size of his fist and as luminous as one of the souls upon the shelf. But he had no soul of his own. What was happening?
A voice rang out. A woman’s voice.
“Whit!”
No one was in the vault with him. Only he had access to it.
The voice called his name again. He recognized that voice. It knotted tightly into his mind, his being. Longing rose up within him, a yearning to be with the woman. She alone possessed the answers. She had fire and spirit, and he needed that, needed her. Not the souls upon the shelves, but
her
.
He gasped once more as the pull gripped him harder, warmth enveloping him. Around him, the vault faded, receding from his senses. Everything plunged into darkness.
All around him was black. Had he gone blind? No—forms emerged from the gloom. Tall shapes stretched upward, and at their tops ... branches. Wind rustled through foliage. Beneath his feet, twigs snapped and fallen leaves rustled. Above arched the night sky smeared with clouds. Cold air bit at his cheeks.
Whit stood in a forest. He could not remember where he was nor how he got there. Images and sounds danced through his mind. He had gone into the woods. The ghost had appeared and fashioned some kind of spell to find the
geminus
. Then Zora—
Good God ... Zora. Where is she?
Primal need and panic roared through him. He had to find her. She could be in danger. Hurt. Damn him, he’d vowed to protect her.
He moved to draw his saber. Yet it was already in his hand. The forest’s darkness hid whether or not the blade was wet. He touched his fingers to the metal. At the least, they came away dry. Didn’t mean he had not used it, though.
His fear ratcheted higher. Everything that had happened between Livia’s appearance and this moment was a confusing tangle of images he could not decipher. Had he gone mad? There had been times when he had been deep in his gambling mania when the world surrounding him fell away. He had been aware of the cards or dice and nothing else. During those times, he forgot to eat, to drink. Ignored his body’s need to rest. Yet that was not madness.
A swath of his memory didn’t exist. He had fleeting impressions, but these were insubstantial, destabilizing. What if he had done something awful to Zora? The thought that he might have hurt her in his madness scoured him.
Something ahead of him ran through the forest. The woods filled with the sounds of someone plunging through the branches and shrubbery. As though the person was being chased and sought only escape, not concealment.
Pursue, or keep his distance?
His decision was made in the next instant.
“Whit!” Zora, frightened and desperate.
A moment’s relief. She was alive. He had not hurt her. As he charged toward the sound of her voice, he bellowed her name.
There was silence, and then ... “Whit?” Her voice was tentative, so very unlike her.
“Do not move.” He pushed his way through low-lying branches. “I’m coming for you.”
At last, he neared what had to be her. Shadows encompassed everything, and she wore a cloak, but he instinctively recognized her shape, her presence, there in the forest. An unseen but deeply felt resonance surrounding her. Both of them were panting with mingled fear and exertion.
“Zora?”
“Stop there.” Her voice was hard, even as it wavered.
Light flared, dazzling him. He squinted in the glare until he could see her—
thank God
—standing in front of him. Flames traced over her hand, and she warily held it closer to him. Scratches ran across her face and her cloak and skirt sported tears. Her flight had been a reckless one born of fear. Cautiously, her gaze searched his face, and though he needed to go to her, he held himself still under her examination. If she was wary, there had to be good reason for it. She stared into his eyes, peering closely, searching for something.
He sheathed his saber, waiting.
Without warning, she launched herself at him. The flames covering her hand vanished. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her hands pressed against his back, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. His own arms came up instinctively. He pulled her tightly against him, feeling her slim body tremble. He shook, too.
For a moment, neither spoke. They simply allowed themselves the pleasure of holding one another, reassuring themselves that they were both whole and well. He stroked her night-cold hair, soothing them both.
“You were gone.” Her breath puffed warmly against his neck. “It was you, but it wasn’t you, and I didn’t know where you were.”
“Here. I’m here now.” He wanted to draw this moment out for as long as possible. His heart pounded and he sensed the answering throb from Zora’s chest pressed against his. It stunned him how good it felt simply to embrace her like this, wanting only to have the proof of her, safe and complete. What he experienced was not desire, nor the need to take and possess. Solely to have her here, in his arms. She fit him perfectly, as if he had been fashioned for this alone—to hold her.
Too many unanswered questions hung in the air. Gently, he held her away from him. “Tell me what happened.”