Thief of Light (53 page)

The Necromancer yawned and blinked up at the silken canopy over his bed, conscious of a delicious sense of anticipation. He must contrive to bump into the singer today, savor his fear and frustration, taste his Magick. Such a treat, like a fine aperitif before a gourmet meal.

Not an air witch, but an air
wizard
. Ah, how the fates conspired to smooth his path! Lustfully, he dwelled on the man’s magnificent body. To be frank, he was beginning to think he was going to enjoy his new dwelling as much as the Magick it housed. He’d almost forgotten the pleasures of the flesh, it had been so long. Idly, he wondered about the size of the singer’s cock, while his own lay shriveled between his thighs. To have women look at him with admiration . . . Men too. He had a vague recollection of boys, their smooth, hard flesh, the boundless energy of youth, rutting . . .

As an added fillip, he had the woman, the little whore. If he extended his dark senses, he could feel her even now, a small blank spot in his universe. His tame Scientist would discover what it was she did and how she did it. If it was useful, he might keep her, but if not . . . No matter.

Perhaps he should drink her down while the singer watched. Hmm . . .

His brow wrinkled. That was odd. He checked again.

The Doorkeeper was asleep. But it never slept. He didn’t permit it.

The Necromancer sent out a mental blast.
Nasake!

Erik could hear the murmur of an unfamiliar feminine voice. As he rounded the last curve, a woman said, “Come on. Out with you.”

He blinked, taking in the chamber and its contents in a single comprehensive glance. The big empty chair resembled those used by starship captains and navigators. In fact, the entire room was very like the bridge of a Technomage starship, the walls lined with a bewildering array of machinery and consoles.

Even more puzzling, the woman standing with her back to him was dressed all in white like a Technomage. As he watched, she leaned forward to put her ear to the door and another voice replied from the other side. He’d know the timbre of it anywhere, every inflection, every cadence.

Prue
.

The wave of relief almost took him to the floor, and he put out a hand to brace himself against the wall, breathing hard.

A gods-almighty crash jerked his head up. Prue came charging out of the door, her head down like a little battering ram. The impact of the door slammed the Technomage back against the wall. Blood sprayed from her nose. When Prue drove into the woman’s soft midsection with a determined shoulder, the breath punched out of the Technomage with a painful whoop. The two of them fell to the floor in a tangle of thrashing arms and legs.

With a roar, Erik leaped forward. He plucked the white-coated woman off Prue as if she were a biteme, lifted her clean off her feet and wrapped a brawny forearm around her throat.

Prue looked up and her eyes widened. “Erik!”

The Technomage drummed her heels against Erik’s shins, something red clutched in one waving fist. Emitting a horrible strangled noise, she tried to brush it against his arm.

With a scream of pure fury, Prue surged up from the floor and sank her teeth into the woman’s wrist.

Erik’s eyes widened. The red tube fell to the floor with a clatter and rolled away.

“Drug,” gasped Prue and collapsed as if her legs would no longer support her.

She didn’t think she’d ever seen anything as beautiful as Erik Thorensen, dripping wet, half naked and in a towering rage. His damp hair streamed back from his face, blown by an unseen wind. The shadows under his eyes showed as clear as bruises, but energy crackled off him, the horn talisman on his chest glowing like a hot coal.

“Prue,” he said in a hoarse rasp. “Gods, Prue, are you—?” He choked.

She smiled, unable to stop the trembling of her lips. “Don’t worry. I’m”—she swallowed—“all right.”

His eyes burned into hers, darkly blue. “Truly?”

“Truly.”

Erik’s gaze dropped to Prue’s hands, still shackled in front of her. His face darkened, and he pulled the Technomage hard into his chest. Almost lovingly, he whispered in her ear, “
What did you do to her, bitch? Tell me.
” The words hung in the air, a soft, menacing echo. Utterly compelling.

Prue’s jaw dropped. The Voice. Oh gods, sweet Sister!

Blood suffusing her cheeks, the Technomage Primus of Sybaris answered like an obedient child. “Benchmark measurements first. Then one full battery of tests. A light sedative after to make her sleep. That’s all.”

“
What was next?
”

The air in the chamber began to swirl. Instruments clattered on the benches, sheets of transplas fluttered like large-winged insects. Prue shivered.

The Technomage wrapped her hands around Erik’s forearm and dug her nails in.

“
And next
?” he repeated, tightening his grip a fraction.

The woman’s eyes bulged. “Another two batteries of tests, to tri angulate. Then—” She choked, clamping her lips shut.

“
After that? Tell me
.”

Merciful Sister, the instant he heard, he’d kill her. And afterward, he’d never forgive himself. Frantically, Prue turned her head, looking for the red tube. Shit, where—? Ah, there, near the door. She scrabbled it up in both hands.

“V-vivisection,” said the Technomage at last, as hoarsely as if Erik had reached a big fist down her throat and ripped the word straight out of her shrinking soul. Well, in a sense, he had. Because this was the Voice, exactly as he’d described it to her. Gods, it was true.

All of it.

A heartbeat of awful, frozen silence.

A tygre growl rose from deep in Erik’s chest. The muscles in his forearm flexed and the Technomage’s face went purple. As he gripped her chin with his other hand, his lips pulled back in a snarl, and everything that wasn’t tied down in the room went flying up to the ceiling.

Prue lurched to her feet and shoved the end of the red tube against the other woman’s wrist, right over the semicircular imprint she’d made with her teeth. She gripped the tube hard and squeezed. Something hissed, and abruptly, the Technomage’s eyes rolled back in her head. She went limp in Erik’s arms.

Prue touched his shoulder. “Let her go, love.” She smiled shakily. “I have to touch you, hold—
Please
.”

The fury died in his eyes. “Gods, yes,” he said, in a voice like gravel. Objects wavered uncertainly in the air, but when he looked up and frowned, they descended in a decorous fashion, floating toward the floor.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Erik opened his arms and the Technomage fell to the floor with a meaty thud. Her skull bounced.

Erik stepped over her body and caught Prue up in an embrace so fierce her ribs felt bruised. Gods, it was wonderful. He was saying her name over and over, as if it were the only word he knew. She buried her face in his warm, bare shoulder and breathed him in with great gulps.

“Sweetheart.” He stroked her hair and set her back a little. “We have to get out of here. Show me your hands.”

When she did so, he grunted. “Leather,” he said. “And what are these wires for? I’ve never seen any—Ow!” He snatched his fingers back and blew on them. “They burned me!”

“She said they were dampers.” Prue shot him a glance from under her lashes. “For my air Magick.”

He was frowning down at her shackles. “But you don’t have any Magick.”

“That’s what I told them,” said Prue, as gently as she could. “But you do. Which is why the wires caused you pain.”

Erik drew the knife at his waist. It had a long, wicked blade with an edge that glittered in the light. “Yes, I know,” he said absently. “Hold out your hands, sweetheart, and keep very still.”

Prue obeyed, fixing her eyes on his face. If she looked down, she’d imagine the vivisection, the first slice, the first scream. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She had no right to feel hurt. She’d refused pointblank to believe in the Voice. What would make him think she’d believe this?

“I only found out the full extent of it—
don’t move, I said
!—a few hours ago. There.”

The leather bindings fell away. Prue stripped the wires off and tossed them to the bench, already feeling better on a number of levels.

When she turned back, Erik was weighing the blade in his hand and staring thoughtfully at the Technomage, lying sprawled at their feet. “How did you get those cuts?”

“What?”

He touched her cheek, her neck, with his gentle fingertips. “Here. Someone slashed you.”

“Oh, that.” Sweet Sister, she had to think for a minute. “That was the laundry men.” When he raised a brow, she added, “The kidnappers.”

“Hmm,” said Erik, returning his attention to the limp form of the Technomage. “They’ll keep. What was in that tube? Will it kill her?”

Prue rubbed her wrists, considering. “I don’t think so. She said it caused paralysis.” Every muscle protesting, she knelt next to the woman and peeled back an eyelid.
See how you like it, bitch
, she thought, enjoying every second without shame.

“Well, well.” Prue sat back on her heels. “She’s awake in there and she’s terrified.” She let Erik pull her up, back into his arms. “Let’s go.”

“Yes.” Swiftly, he pressed a kiss to her lips, fierce and hot and full of promise. “I love you, Prue. Don’t you dare forget it.” A pause while he stared intently into her face, as if cataloging her features. “From here on, don’t speak unless I tell you. Complete silence, all right?”

She barely had time to nod before he slung an arm around her waist and half lifted, half carried her into the passage at a rapid jog trot. The door at the farther end was wedged open with a pile of thick books. It looked ordinary enough, but something in the immediate vicinity reeked like an abattoir. Erik went through first. A few seconds later, he beckoned. Gripping his hand, Prue pinched her nose shut with her fingers and slid through the gap.

Holding a finger to his lips, he drew her over to a dark curtain and pulled it aside to reveal a set of bookcases. With the utmost caution, he tugged until the shelves moved noiselessly aside. A rich man’s study, it looked like, though all she could see was the merest slice of it.

Apparently satisfied, Erik drew his blade, widened the space and stepped through, Prue right on his heels. The room smelled pleasantly of furniture polish, ink and flowers, undercut by the stale blood stink from the secret passageway. When Prue pushed the bookcase with a careful finger, it slid into place without a sound. Erik nodded his approval and reached for her hand.

He pointed to tall, arched windows that framed the garden vista. Early morning sunlight streamed through the glass, illuminating the jewel tones in the carpets and gleaming on the patina of well-cared-for wood. Their bare feet made no noise on the plushy rugs, but glancing over her shoulder, Prue noticed they’d left impressions in the deep pile as if they’d tracked through damp grass.