The Bone Conjurer (12 page)

“The Knights Templar, as you know, were formed after the first Crusade to police the high roads and keep the pilgrimage traveling to Jerusalem safe from thieves and cutthroats,” Garin explained. “They took vows of chastity, poverty, piety and obedience.”

“The cross on their robes,” Annja added, “didn’t that symbolize martyrdom?”

“Yes, and to die in combat was considered a great honor, a sure trip to heaven. They never surrendered in battle, unless all the Templar flags had fallen. They were a feared force of the times.”

“Medieval. Twelfth and thirteenth century.”

“Yes, the Templars fell in the fourteenth. Accusations of blasphemy and heresy led to their demise. They were accused of trampling and spitting on the cross. Engaging in vile sexual practices, such as homosexuality and head worshipping. Their doomsday happened on a Friday the thirteenth.”

“Really? Here I thought that was Freddy’s day,” Annja only half joked. “I thought I’d heard everything about the Templars. What with all the
DaVinci Code
and grail stuff in the media.”

“There is much on the knights, true. But the Skull of Sidon is often overlooked by scholars as mere myth.”

Garin leaned forward from where he sat on the couch, splaying his long tanned fingers before him as he explained.

“There was a Templar knight in love with a lady from Maraclea.”

“Clear waters,”
Annja said. “Isn’t that what Maraclea means?”

“Yes, or simply
sea.
And then there are some scholars who will goad a person into believing it means something like
greater shining,
an allusion to the Holy Grail. Which makes the tale more interesting than not.

“The knight was actually a lord of Sidon, rumored to not only be a Templar but also a pirate. Sidon was rife with pirates at the time—the city was crawling with them. Anyway, because of his vows, the knight could not consummate his relationship with the Maraclean lady. But, after her untimely death, all vows were null. Or so he decided.”

“Oh, don’t tell me.” Annja could guess the next part, and it couldn’t be good.

Garin’s wicked grin made her lean forward, anyway. “He exhumed her corpse and, well, let’s say he had his way with it. Those of a certain mind would have the knight coming into the greater shining, actually gaining the grail, this means of enlightenment, through that copulation.”

“Seriously?”

“It’s a theory, Annja. So after the macabre act, it is said the knight heard a voice telling him to return to the grave in nine months. Which he did.”

“Because one always obeys disembodied voices after committing necrophilia.”

“Naturally.”

The two shared a wink, and Annja looked down and aside to avoid the man’s mesmerizing gaze.

“Upon returning,” Garin continued, “the knight found a skull placed above the woman’s crossed leg bones—which some believe is the origin for the skull and crossbones symbol. And if he was really a pirate, then all the more basis for the belief.

“Anyway, the knight took the skull and again the voice spoke. It told him to guard it well, because it would be the giver of all good things to him—become his protecting genius. That is also what the Holy Grail is supposed to do, be the giver of all good things.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that. So he left with the skull and—?”

“When he wielded it in battle his enemies were put back, destroyed. His protecting genius granted him all good things. Or so that is the story.”

Annja waited to see if he would continue. Garin rubbed his chin, eyeing her intently.

She broke out in laughter. “You’re kidding me, right? Who set you up to this story? Roux? I mean, please. A skull born of a necrophilic liaison?”

He stretched his arms across the couch back and propped an ankle across his knee. “Annja, bearer of a magical sword that appears from out of nowhere at her beckon, does not believe my tale of a magical skull?”

She chuffed out another half laugh and took a swallow of pomegranate juice. Why did the immortal men always have to mention the obvious?

“I believe what I can see, touch and hear,” she said. Yes, still a skeptic, and proud of it. “Giver of all good things? The skull didn’t do anything particularly good when I had it. In fact, it brought a nasty bad guy to my doorstep, who proceeded to tear apart my home. He destroyed some irreplaceable research books.”

“Better a book than you.”

She curled her fingers about her bandaged wrist. The long sleeve hid the bandages, but Garin noticed. The fact he didn’t ask about it went a long way toward his discretion.

“So that’s why you want it?” she asked. “You need good things? What, that money can’t buy, do you need?”

“I didn’t say I wanted the skull.”

“You don’t have to. You never show up to help me without an ulterior motive.”

“Annja, you bruise me.”

“Doubtful. That ego of yours is ironclad.”

“It is merely I feel you are out of your league. You don’t know the maelstrom you’ve stepped into. You think the bone conjurer won’t stalk you until your feet are bloody and you offer your own skull to get him off your back?”

“Bone conjurer?” She tucked a leg on the seat and leaned onto the overstuffed arm. “I’ve heard the term before. Is that what Serge is? And how do you know him?”

“I don’t know him personally, but I’ve heard of him, or rather his kind.
Bone conjurer
is an ancient term, used since biblical times. He’s a necromancer. One who summons the dead, can communicate with spirits, manipulate and redirect common mortals by utilizing revenants. Much like a modern-day medium. The term is old-world.”

“Peachy. I haven’t had any adventures with the dead lately.”

Garin steepled his fingers before his mouth and nose. “Annja, you must take this seriously. I believe in the immense power the man holds. A necromancer can manipulate the dead to great means.”

“So what good is a centuries-old skull to him?”

“I can only imagine it is a necromancer’s grail. And let’s just forget all the connotations to the real grail legend.”

“Hallelujah. There are so many it’s become comical.”

“This Skull of Sidon, born of a necrophilic encounter, will no doubt serve a necromantic master incredible evils.”

“I thought it gave
good
things?”

“Yes, but your perception of good may be completely opposite of what someone like Serge believes to be good. Good to him may be unspeakable to you and me.”

Anything unspeakable to Garin was definitely not good. As well, to Annja. She’d seen a lot since taking Joan’s sword to hand. Demons, murderers, twisted scientists intent on cloning history’s monsters, even those who would create Frankenstein’s monster.

“I still don’t buy it. Skeletons don’t give birth to skulls.”

“It is said the birth was most grisly.”

She laughed. “Wonder if she asked for an epidural.”

“Skeptic.”

“To the bone.” She rubbed her wrist again. A bone conjurer had a sample of her bone? That could not be good. “But I’m willing to do some research. You got a laptop I can borrow?”

“I do. I wouldn’t expect you to take my word for what it’s worth.”

“It’s worth a trick, if you ask me. And I’m so not buying you not having an interest in the thing. Worried about little old me? Last time I believed you wanted to help me I ended up dodging machine gun fire.”

“That was an oversight, Annja. Listen, I’m hungry. I’m going to order Thai. You have any requests?”

“No, just hook me up with a laptop, and feed me anything. I’m good.”

“It’s down the hall in my office. Second door on the right.”

Closing the office door behind her, Annja surveyed the ultra-slick room. Everything was stainless steel and tempered glass. Nice, but cold. She had Garin figured for a more earthy kind of guy. Then again, he did like to toss around cash as if it was confetti.

This apartment was a recent acquisition. She wondered if it was a rental, or if he’d keep it. Did it matter? It wasn’t as though she intended any sleepovers.

He, on the other hand, could be plotting just such a thing. She wouldn’t put it past him.

She powered up the laptop. She did intend to go online and search. Not yet, though.

Annja inspected the glass desktop. Just the laptop. She checked behind the curtains and roamed her eyes along the ceiling. No security cameras.

She flexed her fingers and sat before the desk, pulling open the top drawer. It contained the usual office ephemera. No important papers. He may not have lived here long enough. Anything important may still be out in the open, she thought.

The computer was warmed up. Chancing the look, Annja checked the browser’s history. It listed Web sites Garin had visited for the past week. eBay, Amazon, her show’s site and a few archaeology sites she recognized.

“So he
has
been following me.”

None of the sites offered a solid clue to the man’s motives.

She slipped her cell phone from a pocket on the pants Garin had bought her. Roux’s number was on speed dial. Calling him was as precarious as walking into Garin’s home. One never knew who would answer.

Annja had been surprised enough times by bubbly young female voices to not even be flustered when another answered this time. Roux and Garin were two of an old and distinct kind. They may not use the term
playboy,
but it’s the first word that came to her mind.

The woman on the phone called loudly to Roux. The phone receiver dropped with a
clunk.

What must it be like for them to never age and have an entire world of women at their beck and call? she wondered.

Heck, to have a single date would please her immensely. Dating was looking as precarious as the polar bear lately. If she didn’t start paying attention to it, it was going to disappear altogether.

Bart was on her radar, and she knew she was on his. Since his broken engagement he’d been more open to her.

“Don’t be the rebound girl,” she murmured. “You’re better than that.”

Tito’s had been fun. But was she interested in risking a great friendship for something more?

At the moment, extracurricular activity would have to take a backseat. She needed to figure out who was who and why they all wanted the skull. She should have asked Garin to tell her about Benjamin Ravenscroft.

Shaking her head, she lifted her feet over the glass desktop, then changed her mind and dropped them to the floor.

“Good evening, Annja.” Roux’s voice held a feather of his French accent, and it always sounded old-worldly to her. She liked it. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he said.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she started.

“Nonsense. The girls are out enjoying the pool.”

Girls. And probably not much older than legal, if she guessed correctly.

“So what can I do for you?” he asked.

“I’m here at Garin’s Manhattan apartment.” She paused to catch his reaction. He didn’t disappoint.

“Did you call to joke with me, Annja? You shouldn’t do that with an old man.”

“You may be old, but you’ve the attitude and physique of a fifty-year-old.”

“Fifty? Annja, you wound me.”

Well, she wasn’t going any lower. He looked a nice healthy fifty, if truth were told. An attractive, healthy fifty. Man, she did need to start dating if the two oldest men in the world turned her head so easily.

“Garin pulled me out of a grave this morning as I was breathing my last breath.”

“Sporting of him. Why the sleep with the worms?”

She flinched at the mention of worms. Garin had plucked one from her hair, she was sure of it.

“I’ve found a new friend who wants to kill me if I don’t hand over a fancy skull given to me by an anonymous—and now dead—thief.”

“Ah, adventure again. I do love to live vicariously through you, Annja. You may think I’ve lived a dangerous life, but you, you do defy even my best adventures. What’s the skull about? I’m assuming Garin wants to get his hands on it?”

“That’s my guess, but he’s playing Mr. Nice Guy right now. Claims he wants to protect me from a necromancer. He called it the Skull of Sidon. I’m just sitting down to research it right now.”

At that, she typed it in at Google. Roux’s sudden intake of breath caught her attention. “You’ve heard of it?” she asked.

Google brought up ten pages of matches. The first flashed Knights Templar in the blurb, along with mention of the Lady of Maraclea.

“Annja, Garin’s right. I don’t want you going near the necromancer. Those bastards are bad news.”

“Yeah? What about the skull?”

There was a long pause, and then, “It’s as bad news as is the necromancer.”

“So you believe in a skull born from a necrophilic liaison?” Just saying it made her want to spit, as if her mouth were still full of dirt.

“I do. But more so, I believe in the necromancer’s power. And if you’ve got something he wants, he’ll kill to get it. I take it he’s the one who put you in the grave?”

“Yes. But I don’t think he was trying to kill me. Just give me a scare. He has to keep me alive. I don’t have the skull at the moment, and I am the only one who knows where it is.”

“He’ll find it.”

“I don’t know how he can. I was very careful not to be followed.”

“If he’s got something of yours, he can track you. A strand of hair, a piece of clothing.”

She turned her wrist up and the bandage sneaked below the sleeve hem. Annja swallowed. “What about a bone sample?”

“What? You’re not serious!” he shouted.

Annja flinched at his vehemence. “We had a scuffle, and he had this sharp instrument that took a chunk out of my wrist like a core sample from a tree.”

“Goddamn it! Annja, bone is the necromancer’s primary weapon. He can summon ghosts and all sorts of dark and twisted things with it.”

It was rare Roux used foul language with her. Annja pushed the laptop aside. Garin stood in the doorway, listening. He filled the whole doorway with his wide shoulders and a stare so intense it could burn out her irises.

“Did you tell Garin?”

“No.” She tried to look away from the man’s gaze, but he had her locked in the crosshairs. She hadn’t noticed him approach. He could have been listening to the whole conversation. “I don’t think I told him.”

“Tell him. Curse the gods, let me talk to him.”

Now that was an interesting request. Roux and Garin were to odds more often than allies. While she tried to put the two as a father and son pair, they constantly proved to her they were more enemies than relatives. Certainly no common blood ran in their veins.

Annja handed her cell phone toward the man occupying the doorway. “It’s Roux.”

Garin took the phone and, before speaking, narrowed his eyes at her. Nope, not going to give him a clue. She’d leave the verbal combat to the big boys.

“Roux?”

While the men spoke Annja tapped the keyboard, bringing up the first site that featured a photo of a skeleton laying repose in situ at a dig sight. The leg bones were crossed, and a smaller skull sat at the hip bones. It was not an actual photo of the Maraclean woman’s remains, it warned, just a reenactment of the legend.

That was the thing. Annja didn’t know how to believe something so wild until she could trace it to the original dig. Where was the skull discovered? How had it made its way to the fifteenth-century alchemist Garin had told her about? Had it
ever
been buried, or had it always been tucked away somewhere, like in an alchemist’s lab?

Garin had said something about the alchemist
not
having it after they left. What was that about?

If Marcus Cooke was still alive he would have the answer to where the skull had last been.

Why did the skull and necromancer freak out Roux so much? That man was cooler than cool. He’d stood against bullets, RPGs, grenades, swords and so much more, Annja felt sure, than to let one man scare him.

A necromancer? She’d come against greater opponents in the past few months. Ninjas, bio-pirates, mad scientists, tomb raiders and just plain nasty killers.

Sure, Serge was big, strong and powerful. While he didn’t seem to exercise any particular martial skills, he could no doubt snap her like a twig if he got her in the right hold. He might even give Garin a challenge physically, but she would lay wagers on that match. They were about the same height and build. And she knew Garin would not hesitate before exacting punishment in his own defense.

Serge, on the other hand, had not proven murderous. Yet.

And if he did possess some supernatural power, wouldn’t he have used it on her by now?

Maybe his power wasn’t like zapping lightning bolts out from his fingers. It had to be conjured. Focused through the spirits Roux had said necromancers use.

He did have a piece of her bone. He could be working some mojo on her as she sat here. But ghosts? Didn’t she have to
be
a ghost for him to discover something about her?

Typing in
necromancy,
Annja waited as Google searched. The trouble with the Internet is you couldn’t tell it you only wanted to search scholarly articles about any given request. The search brought up Web page after Web page about necromancers—all gaming sites.

“Not what I want,” she muttered.

Garin snapped the phone shut and set it on the glass desktop. He pressed his knuckles to it and hissed sharply, “He has your bone sample?”

It wasn’t a friendly question. In fact, the accusation admonished with a slice.

“I thought it was a freaky kind of weapon.” She tugged up her sleeve to reveal the bandage. “It’s healing fine, thank you very much. Though it still hurts like a mother.”

Garin gripped a fist before him, then released it. “This is not good, Annja. With a piece of your bone the conjurer can—”

“Can what?”

“I don’t know specifics. Necromancers can do nasty, macabre stuff. It’s not pretty. But I do know you’re up shit creek. We’ve got to get the skull.”

“It’s at the university with Professor Danzinger. I left it for him to authenticate. What time is it?”

“Nine.”

“I’m sure he’s left for the day.”

“We can’t take the chance the skull will be left unattended. Let’s go.”

“But Roux thinks I should stay out of this.”

He swung to face her in the doorway. A lift of dark brow challenged sardonically. “You always do what Roux asks of you?”

“No.” But neither did she want Garin to lead her around. “How will having the skull in hand protect me from Serge? Won’t it just draw him right to me?”

“It’ll keep him back. It is the giver of all good things. Trust me on this one, Annja.”

He touched her chin with a finger and held her gaze. His eyes were intense. A lot of history lived there. History she was hungry to learn.

“You’ve witnessed the skull’s power before, haven’t you?” she asked.

He made to leave, but she gripped his sleeve. Garin slid into the doorway, closing their distance to but a breath.

“Tell me about it,” she said. “Give me proof this skull is worth the worry.”