Lisa Shearin - Raine Benares 02 (9 page)

“Janek
Tawl is a friend of mine,” Rinker told me, deftly changing the subject. “He
says you’re the best seeker he knows. I was glad to find out you were visiting
us.”

Janek
Tawl was a friend of mine, too. As chief watcher of the Sorcerers District back
home in Mermeia, Janek’s path had crossed mine on a regular basis. Janek
occasionally sought my expertise as a seeker, and from time to time he was able
to give me leads on cases I was working on.

“Janek’s
a top-notch watcher and a fine man,” I agreed. “I’m honored that he thinks so
highly of me.” I tossed Mychael a meaningful glance.

“Mychael
tells me you want to help us find one of our missing students.”

Small
talk was over. I liked a man who got right down to business. “I want to do
everything I can to help,” I told him.

Rinker
pulled a cloth-wrapped object out of a leather bag. He carefully handed it to
me without unwrapping it. Good man. He knew his business, and more important,
he knew mine. More than once I’d been called to a crime scene only to find that
the object I most needed to use had been handled by nearly every watcher
on-site, contaminating it and rendering it useless for seeking. It was their
emotional imprint I’d get, not the victim’s. So the only person I’d find was
the stupid watcher who’d last picked it up.

I
took the wrapped hairbrush. “Did anyone touch this before it was wrapped?” I
asked him.

“No
one,” he assured me.

I
smiled at him. “Thank you, Chief Watcher. It’s always a pleasure to work with
true professionals.”

He
nodded. “I understand you were there when Miss Jacobs was taken through that
mirror.”

“Megan
Jacobs is the student’s name,” Mychael clarified.

“Yes,
I was,” I told the watcher. “Unfortunately, I wasn’t in a position to do
anything to prevent it.” I frowned. “I can’t make up for what happened, but I
want to help you find her—and the man who took her.”

“You’re
familiar with Banan Ryce?” Rinker asked.

“We’ve
met,” I said flatly. “It wasn’t professional, but it was hardly social.”

The
watcher didn’t ask me to explain, which was good, because I had no intention of
doing so.

I
turned to Mychael. “May I use your couch? Hopefully I won’t need it, but better
comfy than concussed.”

“Of
course.”

I
went to the couch, sat down with my back against the cushions. Even before my
Saghred-enhanced seeking skills, I made it a point to try to sit someplace soft
when working. The impressions I got from an object could be vague or jarring,
and since I was attempting a direct link with a hopefully still-living person,
the disorientation from that link could very well put me on the floor.

I
held the wrapped hairbrush in one hand and peeled back the fabric with the
other. It was a small silver brush of fine quality. Even better, there were a
few long, blond hairs caught in the bristles. Last week, I got to experience a
murder victim’s last seconds right along with him—all courtesy of the power
boost the Saghred had given me. The victim had been killed the day before, so
I’d gotten nothing from his personal object but last impressions and a mild
case of the whirlies.

Megan
Jacobs was still alive, as far as we knew. I’d never been inside a living
person’s head before. I was pretty sure I could do it; I just didn’t know what
to expect. Being the control freak that I am, I always want to know what to
expect. Too bad I rarely get what I want.

I
picked up the brush and clasped it in both hands.

The
connection was immediate, crystal clear, and unnerving as hell.

I was
disoriented, but what I felt was sick. I took shallow breaths and blew them out
in short puffs, willing the contents of my stomach to stay right where they
were. My stomach listened, and I saw the world through Megan Jacobs’s eyes.

The
girl was alive, conscious, and scared to death. The scared part seemed like an
appropriate enough response to being dragged through a mirror by Banan Ryce. As
best I could tell, Banan hadn’t been keeping her company. That was good. What
wasn’t so good was that she wasn’t in any place I could easily identify.

It
was cold, damp, and almost completely dark. A single small candle in an iron
holder was on the floor with her. The floor and walls felt like stone to me,
probably subterranean, judging from the temperature, though whether it was
natural or a man-made structure such as a cellar I had no way of knowing—and
neither did Megan. She wasn’t tied up and could have gone exploring. I know I
would have. She just huddled in a corner, shaking. The shaking I could deal
with, but if she didn’t stop breathing like she was trying to outrun a demon
from the lower hells, she was going to pass out and take me right along with
her. She certainly had the right idea about Banan Ryce, but he wasn’t in the
room with her now.

But
that didn’t mean she was alone.

There
was another girl with her. The meager light showed a slender figure, curled on
her side. She was turned away from me, so I couldn’t see her face, but I could
see her hair. She was a blonde. The slight rise and fall of her back told me
she was breathing, so she was either asleep or unconscious.

Megan’s
panicked breathing was making me light-headed. Though it might have been less
from Megan, and more from what I was about to try. In the good old days of last
week, when I was just a simple seeker for hire, I could use an object from a
missing person to get an idea of the direction they’d been taken. A vague idea.
That’s what I could do in my pre-Saghred professional life. Megan had been
taken through a mirror. Mirrors didn’t leave a trail to follow; but since I had
successfully linked with Megan, I should be able to pinpoint for Sedge Rinker
exactly where those girls were—and better yet, where he could get his hands on
Banan Ryce, if the smug bastard was nearby.

Maybe.

Knowing
the mechanics of how something was done and actually doing it yourself were two
entirely different things. Sometimes those things turned out to be merely
unpleasant—sometimes they were lethal.

Ah,
the joys of my chosen career.

I
loosened my grip ever so slightly on the hairbrush, likewise loosening my
direct link with Megan Jacobs. I maintained contact with the girl, although I
was no longer inside her head. The impression of the girl remained, strong and
clear. It was like keeping someone in your line of sight, but no longer
touching them. I kept my eyes closed and my breathing even. I was now back in
the citadel, no longer where Megan was being held.

Step
one successfully completed.

I
felt myself start to smile and stopped it. Don’t get cocky, Raine.

I
almost didn’t dare to breathe. As a seeker, I knew what to do now; I just
didn’t know how far I could go. Logic and the strength of my contact with Megan
Jacobs told me I should be able to go from the citadel directly to where Megan
was being held.

Sometimes
logic didn’t work. And sometimes it bit you in the ass.

I gripped
the brush again, but resisted a direct link, instead focusing on direction. I’d
just been with Megan; now I needed to know where she was.

The
impression of the girl was like a scent. I followed it.

I
felt myself leave the citadel and go out into the square where the stage had
collapsed this morning. Men were working by torchlight to clear the last of the
debris. I followed Megan’s scent into the twisting, cobbled mazes of Mid’s
streets, through the college campus, and into the center city.

And
lost her.

Not
lost as in I lost the trail, but lost as if Megan Jacobs had suddenly ceased to
exist. If the girl’s trail had been a lit candle, someone had just blown it
out.

I
gripped the brush harder. Still no Megan.

I
backtracked and tried again. No dice.

Dammit.

Rami
Pirin was the son of a bitch who’d taught me everything I knew about seeking. I
called him a son of a bitch because his lessons had been unrelenting and most
times downright mean. He was also the best seeker I’d ever known or heard of.
He could have done what I was trying to do. With my new Saghred-powered magical
mojo, I should have been able to do it easily. Rami had taught me that only
three things could have caused what had just happened: Megan had been killed;
I’d screwed up and lost the trail; or a powerful someone didn’t want me finding
Megan and had done some fancy magical footwork to ensure I didn’t.

One,
I would have known if Megan had been killed. Two, I knew I hadn’t lost the
trail. That left option number three. Rami had always taken that particular
option personally. Like teacher, like student. If that meant I had to find
Megan and Banan Ryce the old-fashioned way, so be it.

“I’m
just an old-fashioned girl,” I muttered through clenched teeth.

“What?”

It
was Mychael’s voice.

I
took my hands off the brush and completely broke contact. I slowly opened my
eyes. Everything was a little swirly there for a moment, but I was still on the
couch and still upright. I was safe, but those girls weren’t. And worse yet,
someone packing mage-level power didn’t want them found.

“Where
is she?” Mychael asked.

“Cut
right to the chase, don’t you? I’m fine, by the way.”

“Good.
Where is she?”

“Relatively
small room, completely dark, stone walls and floor. She’s not tied up, but
she’s too scared to do anything about it. She’s alive and unhurt—for now.” I
paused and glowered. “And as best I can tell, she’s being held in the central
city.”

Mychael
glowered back. “Best you can tell?”

I
resisted the urge to snap. “Yes, as best I can tell.” I told them both about the
trail vanishing, and Rami’s three reasons why it could have happened.

“Do
you know if Banan Ryce has that kind of power?” Mychael asked me.

“He’s
been known to pack a punch, but he can’t do anything like that.”

Mychael
was silent for a moment. “That’s a lot of trouble to go to for a getaway
hostage.”

“Yeah,
it is. But Megan Jacobs isn’t alone. There’s another girl being held with her.”
I looked at Sedge Rinker. “Did you know that you have two kidnapped girls?”

Mychael
looked sharply at the chief watcher.

The
watcher clenched his jaw. “Megan Jacobs was the second victim,” he told
Mychael. “The first was taken last night.”

“Why
wasn’t I notified?” Mychael wanted to know.

“Her
parents are here and want to keep it quiet.” It sounded like Rinker liked
saying that as little as Mychael liked hearing it. “If it was a random
kidnapping, they don’t want the abductors to know who she is. They also don’t
think we’re working quickly enough, and have hired their own investigators.”

Mychael
scowled. “Who’s the girl?”

“Ailia
Aurillac.”

Mychael’s
scowl deepened. “Her father is Gerald Aurillac,” he told me.

“The
shipping magnate?” I certainly recognized that name. Phaelan had helped himself
to several of Gerald Aurillac’s ships over the years. Rich takings, quality
merchandise. No doubt Aurillac would be put out at the Conclave college losing
his little girl. I thought I’d keep my family’s connection to the Aurillacs to
myself. If Sedge Rinker didn’t know, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him.
He had a good opinion of me; I thought I’d let him keep it a while longer.

“She’s
petite and blond, right?” I asked.

“Yes,”
Rinker said.

“That’s
probably her then.” Even worse for local law enforcement—a missing heiress.

“When
two of my men went to the Aurillacs’ yacht to inform her parents, Magus
Silvanus was already there and had broken the news.”

Mychael
didn’t swear, but his eyes sure did.

“Who’s
that?” I asked.

“Carnades
Silvanus,” Mychael told me. “The senior mage on the Seat of Twelve.”

“How
does he know the girl?”

“He’s
her faculty advisor,” Rinker told me. “As soon as her dorm housemother
discovered she was missing, she notified the magus and then the watch. The
magus went directly to the girl’s parents.”

And
stepped hard on some city watch toes when he did. Bet that hadn’t earned him
any popularity points with Rinker’s people.

“What’s
in it for him?” I asked. “Besides a brown nose?”

“A
black eye for local law enforcement,” Mychael said. “Guardians included.”

I
carefully wrapped the hairbrush. “Banan Ryce took Megan Jacobs. Since Ailia
Aurillac is with her, I think it’s safe to say that Banan or his Nightshades
are responsible for her as well. Where was Ailia taken from?”

“Her
dorm room.”

So
much for campus security.

“By
any chance does she have a large mirror?” I asked. I couldn’t imagine a wealthy
heiress who wouldn’t.