Ghost Phoenix (14 page)

“Because you're interesting,” Richard said.

Marian snorted. That did sound so very Richard. Boring seemed about the worst thing in the world to him.

“It's what he said, Daz. It's the family gift.” Or curse.

“You should have told me,” he said again.

“What difference would that have made?”

“I was about to put myself between you and that monk.”

Crap. He was saying he'd have taken a blow or worse for her. “I'm sorry.” He was right. “Daz, it's a family secret. I'm not supposed to tell anyone, ever.”

“Everyone at the Phoenix Institute has some sort of psychic ability. If you told us back then, they'd have understood. You're one of them. Us.”

“You kidnapped me, remember? Besides, your telepath was damn scary.”

Daz winced. “Beth is the least scary person I know.”

“You mean she's less scary than Alec, who commands fire, and Drake, who oozes menace? Don't take this the wrong way, Daz, but given who else you know, that's not reassuring.”

He laughed. “Okay, I see your point.”

“Thank you.” She meant it. Twice now, he'd tried to save her life, not knowing she didn't need the help.

“Are we the Three Musketeers and
all for one
again?” Richard asked.

“I never thought we were. But okay, Prince, how do we get out of here?”

Richard looked into the darkness. “We go down and then across, perhaps as far as two or three miles, if my memory is correct. I only hope the whole passage is intact. The door being undisturbed is a good sign but the roof could've collapsed. If so, we'll have to turn back and risk going through the abbey proper.”

Richard took the lead as they descended stone steps covered with dust that circled around a central column. Daz took up the rear, leaving her between the men.

“I'm really sorry,” she said to Daz.

“I guess I didn't give much reason for you to trust me.”

“There was the Girl Scout Cookie cocktail.”

He laughed. “Getting you drunk is probably even less reason for you to trust me.”

Their voices echoed in the downward-spiraling passage. Marian wished they would stop to look at the column they were winding around. Was it one huge stone or hundreds of little ones welded together? Were there any carvings she was missing in the dark? What would excavations in this place find? Perhaps the missing corpses of the royals?

This place didn't belong in a museum. It should
be
a museum.

“How old is this passage?” she asked.

“Older than myself, though it was expanded and reinforced during my time here,” Richard said.

“There are immortals older than you and your brother?” Daz asked.

“I suspect immortals go back as far as the human race. What happened to those who came before, I cannot say. Perhaps they gave up their desire for life and passed away. It was my Queen who began to organize us. Mayhap in other areas of the world, there was someone else filling the same role.”

“So who's your Queen?” Marian asked.

“The Queen,” Richard said.

Damn. She'd hoped for more than that. “Other immortals are hiding out among us?”

Richard shrugged. “Or blending in. Who knows? I was tempted to find out once but then someone showed me how to surf.”

“You thought surfing was more interesting than finding other immortals?” Marian said.

“People didn't seem at all interesting at the time, immortal or not. The sea changes from day to day.”

“Did Lansing ever see this place?” Daz asked.

“No, we moved away from here before he was born.”

“Just how deep are we going?” she asked.

“This deep.” Richard stopped at the bottom of the steps. She and Daz shone their flashlights into the darkness, revealing vaulted ceiling of bricks and cut stone. Cobwebs and other things skittered in the dark, but there was no sign of decay.

The floor was solid stone. That explained how it was preserved so well. Dirt floors would have let in much more moisture, not to mention more creatures.

“It must have taken years to build this.” If she could just get proper lighting down here, she would happily spend days puttering around. To say nothing of her father and her college professors.

“It took over fifty years to build the first tunnel, and more passages were added to over time.” Richard closed his hand around her wrist and guided it to the left. “I believe this one will take us far outside the borders of the abbey.” He guided her hand to the right. “But not this one. It will merely circle back around.”

Marian rubbed her wrist where he'd held it. Her skin was all tingly. “And what's at the end of our tunnel?”

“I have no idea what is there now. It will be interesting to find out.”

Marian decided
interesting
could quickly become one of her least favorite words.

“What if the tunnel's blocked at the other end?” Daz asked.

“We retrace our steps, wait until nighttime and slip out using the other tunnel. Darkness should provide us enough cover from anyone in the abbey,” Richard said.

“And then what once we're outside? Do we go back to our hotel room?” Marian asked.

“That depends on what we discover when we rise from the earth, what the surviving monks tell the authorities, and if they're believed.”

“A bridge to cross after we get out of here.” She sighed. “If it's blocked at any point, I can poke my head up and see what's on the other side, at least.”

“Handy power, that,” Daz said. “I wish I had it when I was a SEAL.”

“Thanks, I think.”

And that made him the second person in a week who was intrigued by her power rather than freaked out.

“Alec would love to see you in action,” Daz said. “You have got to show him when this is over.”

“It's not over yet.”

Richard took her hand. “Stay close.”

Close, yes. She squeezed his hand. “Okay.” Something wet trickled onto her palm. Blood?

“Are you hurt, Richard?”

“A scratch.” He took a cloth from his pocket and wrapped it around his arm. “I didn't even realize it was still bleeding. It will stop in a moment.”

“Daz? Were you hurt at all?” Marian asked.

“Nope, just bruises. The monks didn't touch me with those knives. I'm not getting sliced by a poison-soaked blade again.”

“When did that happen?” she asked.

“Classified. Hey, I can keep secrets too.”

They walked for a time in the dark and silence. Their footsteps echoed around them.

“Richard, if Rasputin is alive, what's our next step?”

“I don't know.”

And, for once, he didn't sound amused by not knowing.

Chapter Twelve

The end of the tunnel proved surprisingly anticlimactic. All was as Richard remembered. They easily opened a door at the exit, a twin to the one that led into the tunnel. Once on the other side, they walked up stone steps until they reached a wooden door directly above their heads, parallel to the ground.

Richard and Daz pushed up to open it. Nothing happened. The door was jammed or buried under something.

“It's stuck good,” Daz said.

“Let me try again.” Time to test his new strength. Richard heaved upward with his palms flat against the door.

The wood creaked and groaned. The hinges squeaked. Earth crunched and moved on the other side. He put his back to it and gave one last shove.

The door burst open to reveal a night sky.

Richard flexed his hands. In his efforts, he'd nearly torn the door to pieces. His newfound strength would take some adjustment.

They ascended into the night and looked around. They'd climbed out in the middle of a grassy meadow. The moon shone overhead. The faint sounds of cars passing by echoed in the distance, almost smothered by the sounds of crickets.

“This seems too easy.” Daz brushed off dirt from his knees.

“Would you rather have the police or murderous monks at this end?” Richard asked.

“I'd rather have answers at this end.” Daz shut the door and kicked dirt and grass over the wood to cover it. Richard joined in, being very careful with how much strength he used. It would never do to put his foot through the door.

Daz kicked one last clump of dirt over the door. “Now what?”

“We walk back to the hotel,” Richard said. “The abbey is only about three miles from the hotel. We should be about that close now.”

Marian held up her phone. “The GPS agrees with you. We go that way.” She pointed toward the sound of the cars. “We could call a taxi.”

“And then someone will know this location,” Daz said.

“Walk, it is. Sorry, Angel.”

“I haven't had my morning jog today anyway.” She pointed. “It looks like if we follow the road, we'll get back to town and the hotel quickly enough.”

Richard nodded. It had been so many years and the landscape had changed so much, especially because of the Second World War. Better to rely on Marian's technology than his faulty memory.

“What happens if the French authorities are waiting to question us at the hotel?” Marian asked.

She hated smuggling for her family, and she didn't like the idea of police. Marian had respect for the legal authorities. It'd been a long time since he encountered that too. The Court didn't care much for rules, other than their own. “We were at the abbey, then wandered around this beautiful valley until now. That's mostly the truth.”

Daz snorted. “And if they have us on video?”

Richard shrugged. “We'll take the wave as it comes rather than try to predict how it will break.”

“This ain't the ocean,” Daz muttered.

With each step, the walk leached energy from Richard, until he'd wished he'd called a taxi. His legs screamed their exhaustion. His calf muscles threatened to seize up. It wasn't the exertions of the day. He could surf for hours or walk the beach for the same amount of time. His companions seemed to be moving easily. Daz kept a steady, quick pace, unbothered, and Marian showed no signs of being tired.

His exhaustion was unnatural, like his strength. If this happened every time he used his new ability, the strength would be of limited value.

The town loomed before them. Richard fought an urge to kiss the ground. Later, perhaps he'd kiss his bed.

No police officials awaited them in the hotel lobby, though the doorman gave Richard's and Daz's dirt-encrusted shoes a second look.

Their four-room suite was similarly empty of any authorities. Good.

“Should I contact Lord Romanoff and let him know we were set up?” Marian asked.

“He might tell us more about his contact,” Daz said.

“We probably learned more from the monk than we will from Romanoff.” Richard scowled. He was too tired to deal with questions. All he wanted to do was collapse. He waved a hand. “Do what you think is best.”

“Are you sure you're okay?” Marian asked.

“I'm fine.”

He slammed the door to his room shut behind him. He could not, would not, collapse in front of either of them.

Daz would see it as weakness. And he certainly did not want his angel to see so him so drained. Yes, she'd seen him shot. But this exhaustion felt worse, as if he couldn't even lift a finger. He fell in the bed face first and sighed.

How much did Marshal know of the real truth behind Rasputin? Marshal wasn't a liar, but clearly something was off with his information about Rasputin, just as there was something off with the Queen's illness. It was as if someone had anticipated his next move, and Richard had no idea what game was being played.

“I'm used to him being rude to me but he's usually polite to you,” Daz said in the silence after Richard slammed the door shut on them.

Marian poured a glass of water from the small kitchen area of the luxury suite. She drank it all down, feeling the cold of the water as it went down her throat. That was better. Daz had set a fast pace. She'd kept up—all those mornings of going for runs paid off—but it wasn't easy.

“Do you think Rasputin is alive?” Daz asked.

“I've never heard that he is but I never had an immortal prince for a client before or been attacked by someone who claimed to be in the service of a saint. That Russian monk sure believed in Rasputin.” She sighed. “I don't know if I should call Romanoff or not and ask him about his contact.”

“Not now.” Daz poured her another glass of water and handed it to her. “You're exhausted.”

“Thanks.” Like the first glass, she drank all this down in one gulp.

“When you're tired and hungry, that's no time to confront someone, even by phone. Rest and recover now, conquer the world tomorrow.” Daz smiled and picked up the hotel phone on the counter. “I'm ordering in. Any preferences?”

“Food. Something with butter. Lots of things with butter.”

“Can do.”

She went to her room to wash up and change out of her sweaty clothes into something more casual. The over-large pillows and the big bed with the frilly shams seemed so odd after what she'd been through today. She usually stayed at nice hotels in a regular room, not in suites that gave her bedroom and bathroom envy.

By the time she finished washing up, it seemed more like a normal night after a normal day. But it hadn't been. She suspected tomorrow would be even stranger.

She stared at the connecting door to Richard's bedroom. She wanted to rush in and demand answers or, worse, demand that he hold her and comfort her.

She went back into the main area of the suite where Daz and dinner awaited.

The food laid out included rich French dishes with buttery sauces and vegetables and, oh my, the wonderful bread, all set off with candlelight. Daz set the table with the dinner, lowered the lights and closed the curtains.

“Why did you do that?” she asked.

“To keep anyone from seeing inside. After today, I want to be careful.”

“I thought you were trying to be romantic.” She put her hand over her mouth. She hadn't meant to say that out loud.

“Call that a side benefit.” Unruffled as usual, Daz pulled up at chair and sat across from her. It
was
romantic, especially with the chandelier winking above them. Save she didn't feel the least bit sexy or charmed.

She closed her eyes as she swallowed the first bite, savoring every taste, wondering when would be the next time she'd have a meal like this.

They ate in companionable silence for the most part, making only small talk about the food as the candlelight flickered lower. She finally pushed away her crème brûlée when she was only half-finished.

“That was excellent.” Daz drank down the second of his two beers and cleared off the table, putting the remains back on the portable cart the meal had been delivered on.

Daz drank directly from his beer bottle, of course. He had left the wine for her. Mindful of her exhaustion, she only had two glasses, but her head was still starting to swim. Just as well she was sitting in one of the dining room chairs, rather than on the comfy couch. She'd nod right off.

She pushed her chair away from the table and stood, bringing her plate over to the cart to help clean up.

“You were right. Recover first, worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. Still, the French like to savor their food. Inhaling it like we did isn't what they had in mind.”

“Hey, food is good.” Without asking, Daz refilled her wine glass.

She only sipped. He clinked his beer against her wine glass. She saluted him.

“This is nice. Romantic, even.”

“Hah. Aren't you still angry with me for hiding my phantom ability?”

“No.” He stepped closer. “Instead, I'm re-evaluating you and what you can do.”

“What? I mean, why? What do you mean?”

“You saved my life back there.”

“That's not what you said earlier. You said I put you in danger by keeping secrets.”

He set his hand on her shoulder and peered at her face. “And then you saved me by playing royal ghost. Not to mention opening the hidden door for us. You're verging on awesome.”

She pushed his hand away. “Daz, I don't… I've had more than I usually drink, I've been attacked today and I'm just not… Stop. Just stop.”

“Figures.” Daz sat back down in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest.

Wait, he'd been hitting on her, right? It seemed like he had been. And she'd said all the wrong things. Stupid, stupid. Not that she wanted to say yes. At least, she didn't think so. Daz was attractive, but he felt more like a brother than a potential lover.

She sat at the table again too. Maybe he wasn't hitting on her. Maybe he was just talking.

I wish I could go phantom right now and sink through the floor.

“What now?” he asked. “Since I see you're not in the mood to be told you're beautiful and awesome.”

Okay, that was definitely hitting on her. Whew. She had that right, at least. “I'm not feeling romantic. I'm feeling jittery and nervous and—”

“Not attracted to me at all.” He glared at her.

She laughed.

He scowled. “That's not the reaction I usually get from women over a romantic dinner.”

She doubled over, unable to stop. “But…you…look like a little boy…with your hair over your eyes…and so angry…and so…cute!”

The words came all between laughs. She must stop this. Now. So embarrassing. There was nothing to be laughing about! What was wrong with her? She pushed her wine glass as far away from her as possible.

Daz walked over, turned her chair sideways and knelt in front of it. He put his hands on her knees.

“Easy, there, ghost, I think you're coming down from battle.”

Her laughter stilled, as quickly as it had come. “What?”

“I thought maybe you were used to fighting with the ghost trick because you were so calm. But you're one of those who have panic attacks after stuff, right?”

“I'm not used to fighting with the ghost trick! It's used to avoid fighting. I don't understand what you're talking about.”

“It's okay, I do.”

“What does that mean? I'm not having a panic attack!” But she sure sounded panicked. Her voice was definitely high-pitched.

“Close enough. You're coming down from an adrenaline rush.” He stood. “I thought maybe the drinks would help us both.” He shook his head. “I didn't know it'd make you laugh at me.”

“I'm not laughing at you. Just at the way you looked when I…”

“You called me cute!”

“But, but, but…you are cute!”

Daz rolled his eyes. “I guess you're not even going to take me seriously no matter what I say.”

What did that mean? Maybe she did need more wine. No, that would probably make this worse.

“Take you seriously about what?”

“I was going to ask if you still trusted your client more than you trust me.”

She stood and put her wine glass down carefully. “How did we get from a quiet dinner to not having sex to whether I trust Richard more than you?”

“Damn. I'm fucking this up. Uh, sorry, pardon the language.”

“I've heard people swear before. I don't care. What are you fucking up?”

Daz turned his back on her, went to the living area and settled himself on the easy chair. “Sit down and I'll explain.”

“Use very small words because I'm not understanding much you're saying right now.”

“I think you are. I'm talking about making real use of that phantom power of yours.”

“Real use? Like today?”

“No, not like today.” He gestured to the couch. “Will you please sit and talk to me? No more passes, I swear. Obviously, that was a mistake. I should've listened to Beth. She said you wouldn't be interested. But you reminded me of someone, so I thought I'd give it a shot.”

“Beth said I wouldn't be interested in you? Did she read my mind?”

“No, she said it was enough to see how you looked at mister prince.”

“Oh.”

“Will you please sit down instead of hovering?” he asked again.

He had said please. Marian sat on the couch and put her legs up.

“Daz, you're saying I don't understand what happened today. But I do. I know Richard saved our lives and kept us away from the police. That he knew of the secret passage beneath the abbey is confirmation that he's exactly who he says he is, an immortal prince. As if you needed more confirmation, since you saw him heal a bullet wound just after you met him.”

“Oh, he's definitely an immortal. I get that. But just because he told the truth about one thing, it doesn't mean he's telling the truth about everything.”