Enlightened (Love and Light Series) (33 page)

Loti searched Calisto’s eyes, her face hard. “Why does this Modore want me?”

Calisto squeezed gently. “Who knows what his exact intentions are. He’s unpredictable and self-serving.” He sighed. “The creature is insane and has spent the last millennium stirring up trouble—but with purpose. He wants, if you can believe it, to save the world—in his own way. He believes humanity is hopeless—the human race cannot be enlightened. So he wants to get them out of the way before they screw it up for the rest of us.”

“You’re kidding,” Loti tittered. “Like some cosmic clean-up crew? You’ve got to be kidding.” Her eyes went wide and wild. “And how in the world would I fit into this?”

“You have no idea what you’re capable of, do you?” Calisto asked with wonder in his voice.

She shook her head in slow motion. “No. So far I can heal, with Wolf’s help, and I am locked in a bond with a bondmate who doesn’t really want to be bound to me.” Her voice wavered a little.

“You know that’s not true,” Calisto said as he stood up, and she followed. “Whatever stupid stunts he pulls, he wants to be with you. Don’t ever doubt that.” Calisto kissed her cheek. “Even if he doubts himself.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

In the dim light of the lamp, Rachel dug through the box on Katie’s desk. She stayed behind to gather the things the coven would need for the casting tonight. They needed to find Loti’s stalker before he made his next move. With Wolf and Calisto’s help, maybe, they would get somewhere this time. She rummaged through the cloth and plastic bags, reading the markings and tossing some on the antique credenza. The front door knob jiggled as someone slide a key in the lock.

“Nan?” She glanced at the open study door.

She snugged the lid on the pale, pink box and grabbed another one marked “Crystals” in her grandmother’s graceful long-hand.

“Why’d you come back? You could have called me if—”

“Hello, dear.” Patrick stood in the doorway twisting the key ring in his hand, a pained expression on his face.

“Patrick.” She froze. “We have been trying to . . . ” Her heart thumped with a chilling anticipation, and she trailed off, narrowing her eyes. “Why aren’t you in Ireland?”

Rachel tucked the lid on the box, dropping her gaze. She kept him in her peripheral vision. When he stepped across the threshold, she flung her hands out, a burst of blue lightning flashed. He waved his hand like he was dismissing a silly remark, and the streak of light fizzled into nothing. Her eyes grew wide as she stepped back. She’d known him all of her life and had no clue he was this powerful.

“I am so, so sorry, sweetie. This is not my choice. Please know that.” He waved both hands in front of him like he was scooping a wonderful, appetizing fragrance to his nose, and Rachel collapsed in a boneless pile on the ecru carpet.

~~~~~~~~~~~

She woke up in the dark, her face wet and gritty. A light flashed and she squinted. It bounced away, revealing glimpses of stalactites clinging to the ceiling and a rock wall worn smooth. Water dripped. As her eyes adjusted, Patrick set a lantern on the floor. The light threw ghastly shadows on his face. She swallowed, grimacing at the thick soreness and pushed herself up, drawing her knees under her. She held her throbbing head with one hand.

“Why?” Was all she could think to say.

“I wish I could tell you, Rachel.” Patrick slumped down on a mound of rock shaped like a scoop of ice cream. His shoulders hunched, he wrung his hands, and leaned his elbows on his thighs. “I’m so, so sorry.” His face held so many emotions it was difficult to sort them out. Sadness. Confusion. Disappointment? No, more like . . . hopelessness. Rachel got her feet under her and tried to stand.

“Patrick?”

“No, no, sweetie.” He waved both hands. “Stay still for a few minutes. That whammy I gave you takes some time to wear off.” He sat straighter, rubbing his liver-spotted hands on his pleated khaki trousers. Glancing at his watch, he sighed and looked up, studying some imaginary scene. She plopped back down as the world wobbled and grew fuzzy around her.

“What happens now?” She groped around into a crisscross applesauce position, absorbing as much of the cave as the lantern would reveal. The air was eerily still and odd smelling. Stale. Lacking some quality she couldn’t figure out.

“There’s no way out. You have to be able to teleport. Not everyone can do that.” With stiff legs, Patrick got up from his perch. The stone walls echoed the muted taps of his dress Oxfords. Pushing his tweed jacket out of the way, he tucked his hands in his pants pockets. He could have been preparing to give a lecture, except for the tortured look on his face. When he faced Rachel, the lantern cast deep marionette-like lines around his mouth, and his eyes gleamed with a watery quality. She waited for him to continue, furiously trying to remember her last attempts at teleporting—not a successful day. She’d ended up with a splitting headache and no fruits to show for her labor.

“Is there a point to this?” She sighed, frustrated with herself.

“Yes. I’m hoping to avert an even worse disaster. I hope you survive.” Patrick lowered himself with care to a squatting position beside her. “But if I can stop this whole thing from happening—well, I had to make a choice.” He shook his head in a beleaguered way. “Not that I’ve been very good in the choices department.” He was a man defeated, resigned, with a heavy brokenness about him. He’d been like a grandfather, since her real grandfather died long before she was born.

A genuine lump formed in her throat. “You don’t have to do this, Patrick. We’ll help you—you know that. Nan will do what-ever—”

“No. Can’t take any chances.” He got up, rubbing his hip. His movements were jerky as if rehearsed. “I’m going to go now and don’t want you to panic. I trust Katie and the rest of the coven will figure this out and get you out of here.” More to himself he said, “I’ve learned that much.” A mindless hand rubbed his bald spot. “I had to distract her. She would choose you over Loti.”

Rachel sprang up, blue zig-zags streaked at him. He waved it off.

“Now stop that. You’re going to get yourself hurt.” Rachel shot another one at him.

Patrick’s face turned stern, the way it had when she was a toddler. He jerked both hands in an up and outward direction, and she froze mid-strike.

“Listen to me very carefully, Rachel. I need you to remember something.” Her eyes followed him, but the rest of her was suspended in mid-air. “Ask your grandmother about Purgatory.” He touched her cheek. “This is important.” A tear pooled in the corner of his eye. “Ask her if she ever figured out how she escaped.” And he gestured, disappearing.

As Rachel collapsed to the floor, blue lightning struck the ice cream scoop. A glowing blob of melted rock dripped down the side, solidifying as it puddled on the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The silver net couldn’t have weighed more than a couple pounds, but it immobilized Wolf. He managed to tuck his chin and get his hair between the silver and his face. One ear still sizzled against it. Burnt and bloody hands balled against his chest as he curled around them. The weave pattern burned on his face was healing quicker than normal. The van slowed down, stopped, and then jerked forward. There weren’t any windows to look out of, so he couldn’t see where they were going if he wanted to. As it was, he had to be careful not to move too much.

A long, grinding metallic and whirring sounded as sheet metal rattled. While it was still going on, the van lurched and stopped. Wolf tensed as the engine stilled, and the van rocked, doors opening and banging closed. The back doors opened wide to a vast darkness and two men in jeans dragged him from the van. He tried to get his feet under him, but they held him like a rolled up carpet. He gritted his teeth as silver seared his face all over. He bucked a few times, but their grip didn’t loosen. Not vampire, but not human either. Too strong. They smelled like dog, so maybe lycanthrope? He hated werewolves. So unpredictable and stubborn. As best he could tell, they carried him through a door and down several flights of steps. His head smacked into a railing and the wall more than once.

“Gentlemen, in here, please.” The voice from the shop rang a bell, but he couldn’t place it. They passed through another door, and then it slammed shut.

“Set him in the chair.”

He knew that voice. The thugs dropped him in a wooden chair and walked around behind him, keeping one hand on each of his shoulders. Wisps of smoke rose from his face as the silver settled down. He winced as he peered through the net, but this kind of pain was his forte, much easier to handle than other kinds. The room was empty save for two men and a lone table with things on it he didn’t like—scalpels, silver chains, and metal objects he couldn’t make sense of.

“Mr. Arrighi. Welcome. Patrick, may we remove the silver, so our guest can relax?”

Patrick Lynch walked around the chair mumbling under his breath as the two men stepped aside to allow Patrick to cast a magic circle. Wolf peered through the silver as he came around in front.

“You can take the silver off.” Patrick walked past Wolf.

“This was the one who helped you and Joe that day?” Wolf spoke to Patrick, who stopped in his tracks, a stricken look on his face. “What did he make you promise, Patrick?” Wolf never took his eyes off the old man as he turned to Wolf, opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it.

 “Go, Mr. Lynch. You have other duties to perform,” the eerily familiar voice said.

 Patrick looked shell-shocked at Wolf, and as if he couldn’t bare it any longer, he turned away. His head hanging, he plodded toward the door.

“Our Patrick is a bit frail these days.” The vampire stepped closer and Wolf recognized him. Patrick stole through the door that snicked shut behind him with a final, metal click.

“Modore.”

The goons lifted the silver and Wolf tried to leap from the chair, but it was as if the air itself held him in place. It probably did. He strained against the thickness all around him, but the more he fought it the more difficult it was to move. On impulse, he relaxed and found he could make small adjustments within the chair, but not get up. Each man grabbed an arm, and Wolf strained to keep them from clamping silver cuffs over his wrists. Fresh smoke and the smell of burnt flesh drifted up. He should have been able to throw them across the room now that the silver net was gone. Patrick must have cast a pretty serious spell to keep him not only in the chair, but weak.

“Now that you are settled, we can begin.” Modore smiled serenely as he fingered the instruments on the table.

“What do you want?” Wolf gritted his teeth.

“Loti.”

Wolf’s heart slammed in his chest, but he knew how to heel fear. His eyes narrowed and his jaw flexed. “Why?”

Modore turned back to Wolf, his shoulder-length hair fluttering around his long, gaunt face that crinkled up into a bizarrely welcoming smile. In one hand he brandished a silver scalpel and in the other dangled a delicate length of silver chain.

“She is valuable to me.”

Wolf kept his eyes on the scalpel while he reinforced the shield between him and Loti.

“Why? What do you want with her?” Wolf stalled.

“Please, we’ve known each other off and on these past few hundred years.” He actually pouted. “You seem to have forgotten me.” Modore glided across the concrete floor to Wolf. “But, then again, you haven’t been playing our game lately. Are you no longer taking part in your precious Culper Ring crusades? Did you give up trying to save the world, Wolf?”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

The scalpel went rigid in Modore’s hand, but his smile was indulgent. “I want to walk in the sun.”

Blood pounded in his ears. “Loti can’t make you walk in the sun.”
This beating heart thing is annoying.

“Are you so sure she cannot? Because I am sure she can. But that is not my only use for her. There are many benefits to bonding with a Light Walker.”

“Then why’d you send one of your goons to kill her?”

Modore held the scalpel a hair’s breadth from Wolf’s forehead. “I didn’t, but,” he bared his teeth, “you may want to speak to your old friends in Washington about that. I have a feeling the Culper Ring was a bit desperate after their prize agent died.” He straightened up at Wolf’s obvious confusion. “Oh, you didn’t know David was an agent? I believe he was sent to prevent you from finding her.” Modore waved an absent-minded hand. “But you’ll have to confirm that with them, of course.”

Modore pressed the scalpel to Wolf’s forehead, a thin line of blood welling around the blade as Wolf’s skin sizzled like bacon.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Patrick’s face contorted as Wolf’s bellow breached the heavy metal door. Clawing at his chest, he staggered into the wall, groping for support. He sucked air in and out like a woman in labor, his face twisting and going slack. Tears streamed down his wrinkled face.