Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 02 (10 page)

“She
does,” Rinker said.

The
girl I saw with Megan wasn’t dead, but she wasn’t moving, either. “Were there
signs of violence found in the room?”

“None.
But we did find a rag soaked with wiccbane.”

“Good,”
I said.

That
earned me an odd look from both men.

“I’d
rather get wiccbane than clubbed over the head,” I told them. “Linking with her
might make me woozy, but that’ll be it.”

“But
you’ve already seen Miss Aurillac,” Mychael said.

“I
saw her, but I didn’t see how she got there. Megan Jacobs is conscious and
scared to death. The only thing I’m getting from her is light-headed. Ailia
Aurillac is asleep or unconscious. That means a link with her just might let me
see the last people she saw before the wiccbane got to her.”

Rinker’s
dark eyes shone. “You can do that?”

I met
his gaze. “I can do that.” Then I leaned forward with a conspirator’s smile.
“And I’m betting you have something of hers in that bag.”

“I
do. I was one of the first watchers on the scene. I found a gold locket on the
floor of her room. The chain was broken.”

“Any
blood on it?”

“A
little.”

Bad
for Ailia, good for me. That should make my link all the more powerful. I held
out my hand. Rinker dropped the pouch into it.

I
opened the bag and dumped its contents onto the couch beside me. I picked it up
by the chain, careful to avoid for now the specks of blood on one section. I’d
found through unpleasant experience that a chain conducted images a lot less
than a pendant. I didn’t know why; it just did. I looked at Ailia’s
pendant—gold, high quality, beautiful workmanship. The pendant was large enough
to contain engraving inside or even a tiny painting. My money was on the
latter. The Aurillacs could certainly afford a miniature portrait, or perhaps
it was a gift from the girl’s fiancé.

“Is
she engaged?” I asked Sedge.

“Not
that I am aware of.”

Probably
a gift from her parents then.

I
hesitated a moment longer, then dropped the locket and chain into my hand and
closed my fist around both.

I had
been grabbed from behind before. I knew what to do. I had a couple of responses
that had served me very well. Ailia had never been attacked. Panic was the only
response she knew. I didn’t enjoy feeling it along with her. Panic, terror,
frantic struggling against at least three attackers in the near darkness. She
didn’t stand a chance and they knew it. They were laughing. She managed one
muffled scream before they’d made sure she couldn’t. Two wore masks; one
didn’t. I knew the one not wearing a mask. Ailia didn’t, but she saw him. That
wasn’t good. Generally kidnappers who let you see them might be planning on
collecting a ransom, but they weren’t planning on letting you go once they did.

The
unmasked kidnapper was Banan Ryce. That made it even worse.

The
last thing both Ailia and I saw was Ryce’s green eyes.

The
next thing that blurred into focus was Mychael’s concerned blue eyes, which was
a vast improvement.

“Are
you all right?” he asked.

I
nodded, then shook my head to clear it. “Do you know if Banan still has those
two mirror mages working for him?” I asked Mychael.

"He
does. ”

“Looks
like they’re earning their keep.”

Banan’s
two mirror mages were identical twins, bound to each other by more than appearance.
To take something or someone through a mirror took a pair of mages working in
perfect unison—one at a receiving mirror, one at the origin mirror. Anything
less and a mirror was just a mirror. Banan’s twins were good, the best I’d ever
seen. One of the twins had probably been hiding in that courtyard this morning,
keeping the getaway mirror warm and running for his boss. A lot of stolen
goods—or two kidnapped girls—could be passed through two magically connected
mirrors.

“Are
Megan Jacobs’s parents wealthy?” I asked.

“They’re
well off,” Rinker told me. “But not anywhere near the Aurillacs.”

“Banan
Ryce could still be after a ransom,” I said. “But I doubt it. Even the
Aurillacs would be small change for him. And Banan Ryce doesn’t take a job
unless he’s paid a lot of gold up front with more on the way.” I paused
uneasily. “He’s got some—shall we say—expensive tastes.”

Neither
man asked me to elaborate and I was grateful. I still felt queasy enough from
the link.

“I
don’t care how good they are—Nightshades can’t completely go to ground,” Rinker
said. “They have to eat, and eating means supplies. I know of a few houses
where they’ve holed up in the past. I’ll have my men stake those out. Miss
Benares, is there anything else you can tell me?”

“Hurry.”

“That’s
a given.”

I
indicated the brush and locket. “May I keep these for now? I’d like to use them
again. Maybe next time I can catch Banan’s mage employer off guard and get some
specifics for you.”

“Of
course.” Rinker retrieved his cloak and headed for the door. “I’ll be in touch.
Let me know if you find out anything else.”

I
nodded and rubbed my temples. I had a hell of a headache coming on. No surprise
there. I squeezed my eyes shut and pinched the bridge of my nose.

“Headache?”
Mychael asked.

I
didn’t open my eyes. “Not yet, but I’ve got a doozy on the way.”

Mychael
had walked Sedge to the door, but didn’t close it after him. “Vegard?” he
called.

I
opened my eyes.

“Sir?”

“Could
you have the kitchen send up something for Raine?”

“Yes,
sir.” Vegard glanced in and gave me an encouraging smile. I returned the favor
as best I could. “You okay, ma’am?”

“I’ll
get there. I’m not hungry,” I told both of them.

“You
need to eat,” Mychael said.

“Is
that your healer’s voice I hear?”

“It’s
one of them.” He turned to Vegard. “It doesn’t have to be anything fancy, just
food and make it fast.”

“Yes,
sir.”

Mychael
closed the door.

I
leaned back on the couch, and let the quiet grow for a few moments. “Why didn’t
you tell me you’d taken a pair of Nightshades?”

“We
have yet to gain any useful information from them.”

“Useful
information? Or any information you’re willing to share with me?”

Mychael
didn’t answer. Sometimes silence said more than a whole mouthful of words.

I
took a breath and let it out slowly. “That’s what I thought.”

Mychael’s
eyes softened a little. “Raine, I’m telling you the truth. We haven’t learned
anything from them. But if we do—”

“You
still couldn’t tell me.”

He
hesitated. “I’m under direct orders not to.” From his tone, he liked saying it
as much as I liked hearing it.

I
just looked at him. “Justinius. The old man doesn’t trust me as far as his bony
arms could throw me.”

“He
didn’t get to where he is, and stay there for as long as he has, by taking
unnecessary risks,” Mychael told me.

“So
telling me what’s going on would be both unnecessary and a risk.”

“In
Justinius’s opinion, yes.”

“What
about yours?”

“If I
learn anything that tells me you’re in more danger than you already are, then I
will share that information with you. I feel responsible for getting you into
all of this, and I will protect you.”

“I
know, because it’s your job.”

His
eyes were on mine, steadfast and resolute. “It’s more than my job,” he said
softly. “I think you know that.”

I
did.

Mychael
sat down next to me, and raised his palms toward me.

“I
can help with that headache. May I?”

I
hesitated only a second before nodding. I didn’t know what he was going to do,
but I had a feeling I’d like it and my budding headache wouldn’t.

He
placed his thumbs against my temples, his strong hands wrapping around my head,
his fingertips a warm pressure against the base of my skull. His thumbs started
doing wonderful, circular things to my temples and his fingertips were doing
likewise to the back of my neck. Oh my. I dimly heard myself make a little
sound of contentment. No headache could survive that tactile onslaught.

“How’s
that?” Mychael’s voice was a bare whisper, a deep, rich, wonderful whisper. It
was his spellsinger’s voice. I closed my eyes and let it work its magic.

“Good,”
I murmured. “Perfect even.” I might end up in a puddle on the floor, but I was
fine with that. Puddles couldn’t have headaches, or not be trusted, or worry
about kidnapped girls, or connections to soul-sucking stones.

I
took a breath and let it out on a sigh. “So what do you think Banan wants
with—”

“Shhhhh.
Relax.”

I
smiled a little. “That’s easy for you to say.”

“Apparently
it’s not easy for you to do.” I heard the humor in his voice.

I
opened my eyes. Mychael’s eyes were close to me— and so was the rest of him. I
remembered what had happened last week at the goblin king’s masquerade ball
when we were this close and my face was cradled in Mychael’s hands. My heart
did a double thump at what we had done next.

“This
isn’t relaxing,” I breathed.

Mychael’s
blue eyes had darkened. “No, it’s not.” His voice was deeper, huskier.

I
swallowed. “Relaxation’s way overrated.”

Mychael
was close enough to kiss for the second time today. This morning we had Ronan
Cayle and four Guardians watching us. No kiss then. No one was watching us now.

Mychael
bent his head until his lips barely brushed mine. I felt the warmth of his
breath and the rapid pulse of his wrists against my face. We stayed that way,
breathing, barely touching. Then Mychael slowly moved his lips to my forehead,
resting them there in a lingering kiss, a kiss that banished my headache,
erased my tension, exiled my fatigue, and made my toes tingle. Spellsinger
and
healer. Nice combination.

“You’re
a really good kisser,” I whispered, kind of dazed.

I
felt Mychael’s lips curl into a smile. He gently tilted my face up to his.

“You
should go to bed.” His voice was low and vibrant.

“Bed?”
I was dazed, but I was liking it. Actually what I felt was a little tipsy. If
this was what a master spellsinger could do to a girl, he could keep right on
doing it.

“Bed,”
he repeated, like he thought he wasn’t getting through to me. “You need to
rest.”

I
felt a giggle bubbling up. “Whose bed?”

Mychael
blushed and lowered his hands from my face to my shoulders. Much to my
disappointment, the tipsiness immediately started to go away.

“That
would be your bed,” he told me.

I
grinned crookedly at him. It might have been leftover tipsies, but I do believe
I detected regret in that yummy voice.

Mychael
took his hands off of my shoulders. “I’ll have Vegard bring your dinner to you
there.”

Thanks
to Mychael’s attentions, and my own exhaustion, I slept
all night, and way later than I’d planned the next
day. It was early afternoon before I left the citadel for the Conclave
Scriptorium armed with a full Guardian escort and a letter from Mychael to get
me past the front doors.

I
could have easily found my way there by myself, but I played by Mychael’s rules
and took Vegard, Riston, and a ridiculous number of additional Guardians with
me. Vegard and Riston were uniformed, armed, and virtually plastered to my
sides. If I had to draw a blade in a hurry, I’d have to knock one of them out
of the way first.

The
rest of my Guardian escort was there to keep anyone who might be after me from
getting through their outer perimeter and into my immediate vicinity. They were
keeping watchful eyes on the faculty, parents, students, and various visitors
crowding Mid’s winding streets this time of year. Not surprisingly, everyone
gave us a wide berth.

The
Conclave Scriptorium never failed to make me stop and gawk like a tourist.
Light reading was not something you came to do in the Scriptorium. Inside those
granite walls was the largest and most complete collection of books, scrolls,
tablets, and anything else you could write, scratch, or engrave words on in the
seven kingdoms. Impressive would be an understatement. Overwhelming sounded
about right. Not to mention the place stank to high heaven, magic-wise. I’d
spent time in some mages’ private libraries, and while their bedtime reading
material could pack quite a magical punch, it had nothing on the Scriptorium.
Too long in this place could send a sensitive into magic overload that’d make
your worst hangover pale in comparison.