One With the Shadows (30 page)

She smiled at the captain. “Well done, Monsieur le Capitaine. We made it.”

He gave her a grimace. “We did indeed, if you call Cagliari on Sardinia our destination.”

“We’re not in Algiers?”

“The shore’s on the north,” he said in disbelief.

“Oh.” She’d never been much on direction. But now that she looked at the sun behind her, it was coming up directly in back of the boat. “How far is Cagliari from Algiers?”

“About three hundred sea miles.”

That would not please Gian. The cabin door cracked open. Gian squinted against the light. “Good job, Gaetjens.”

“I’m not sure we could have done it without you, signore.”

“Come. Let’s draw a new course.” He shut the door abruptly. Kate knew why. The captain gave the wheel to a sailor and ducked into the cabin. She followed. Gian had a parchment spread out on the table and weighted with the heavy tankards they used for ale.

The captain thrust an index finger at the map. “We must stand in to Barcelona or back to Rome for repairs and supplies. Shouldn’t take above a week to get a new mast.”

Gian shook his head. “No time, my friend. Can she limp into Algiers?”

The captain frowned. “Maybe. If the weather holds.”

“I think the weather has done its worst.” Gian moved his hand over the map, looking for a route, then pointed. “Here. We’ll hit land here, then hug the coast.”

The captain looked up, concern etched in his weathered face. “You take a chance.”

Gian set his lips. “The stakes are high. Our competition has just gained ground on us. We’ll collect fresh water on shore here and crack on for Algiers.” Glancing up, he saw Kate standing, back against the door, and touched his hand to his forelock in the classic sailor’s salute. “Good morning.” The captain headed out to the tiller, his look pensive.

“I thought you said we were faster than their larger ship,” Kate whispered.

“But they are more stable in a storm,” he said, “with their greater weight. And barring they did not lose a mast themselves, they would have been able to stay closer to their course.” He shrugged as though he didn’t care, but his eyes were serious. “They may be before us.”

“In Algiers?” She chewed her lip in dread. She had no desire to meet Elyta again, ever.

“Perhaps. She’d find our destination in Amalfi. Or maybe they’ll go straight to the temple. You told them I was taking the stone back there.”

“But they don’t have the stones to guide them.”

“Maybe they don’t need them.” He looked away, toward the horizon. “Elyta was once a mentor to the woman called Asharti who started the whole mess in North Africa. It was Asharti who found the temple. If they were still friends then, maybe Elyta already knows where it is.”

Eighteen

On the evening of the fourth day after the storm had abated, they drifted into Algiers’ harbor. They had actually made good time, or so the captain said, considering. But four more days on board a tiny boat with no privacy and no chance to be alone with Gian was torture. Gian was edgy the whole time, pacing the cabin, working all night with the sailors. It was almost as if he didn’t want to be with her. His answers to her questions were short if he answered at all. There was something wrong with him.

The gangplank was hardly set out when Gian appeared in coat and boots. “Gaetjens, escort Miss Sheridan to the Hôtel Africain. I have some urgent business I must attend to.”

Gian registered her mulish expression. “You’ll be perfectly safe.”

“I’m sure I will…” Indeed, the sailors had all been most kind and deferential after she’d cared for the injured Jenkins.

“In case you are looking for our cargo, I’ve taken them with me for safekeeping.”

Before she could say more, he disappeared into the crowd on the docks. She was left to gather their belongings and trail after the captain to the hotel, fuming. He might be able to keep his pockets from being picked. He’d caught her out after all. But it wasn’t right to leave her without a clue as to what was next or what she was to do.

By the time she and the captain reached their destination, she was perspiring. The night was steamy. The hotel turned out to be a whitewashed affair with a tiled roof and arched windows filled with filigree iron. Inside, cool blue tiles and the luxury of indoor plants were welcome, but the French spoken by the desk clerk was even more so. Kate didn’t speak Arabic. The porter deposited Gian’s valise in one room and left her with the key to one adjacent.

“Thank you for all your help, mademoiselle,” the captain said, bowing over her hand.

“Thank you, Captain. You have been most kind.”

“Now, I must beg forgiveness, for I have a mast to see to.” He grinned. “It would not do to be unready when il signore Urbano wishes to return to Amalfi.”

She sincerely hoped they had a chance to make use of that new mast.

It was nearly midnight when she felt vibrations and the faint scent of cinnamon and something else wafted through the door. Could that be Gian? If so, he had gained back his scent.

The door opened and he strode in without knocking, looking strong and relaxed, ready. The circles that had hung about his eyes were gone. His face was pleasingly flushed and his eyes snapped with energy. His vibrations were faster again, almost at the edge of consciousness.

Blood. Why hadn’t she guessed? She felt a fool. “I see you got what you needed.”

He flushed further.

“You could have had more from me, you know.”

“I couldn’t risk taking from anyone on a boat that size. If they’d realized they had a vampire aboard, I’d have had them jumping overboard.” He strode to the window and closed the shutters. “They’re here.”

“Elyta?” she gasped.

“No, Ian Rufford and his wife. They’ve taken a villa in the old part of town.”

“You mean you weren’t sure they were even in Algiers?” How like him to keep that little doubt from her.

He didn’t answer, but gestured to her valise, still unpacked upon the narrow bed. “Bring your things. I’ll take you to them.”

“Now?”

He raised his brows. She felt silly. Midnight was not an imposition to vampires. Now he was going to try to leave her with them while he went off and …

But he couldn’t, if Rufford didn’t know where the temple was. Only she could make the stones point the way. Had he thought of that? She wouldn’t break it to him yet.

She grabbed her valise. “How long will it take to get a caravan together?” That’s what one did, wasn’t it? She imagined a long line of camels marching into the burning sun. Sun! How would Gian travel in a caravan?

“Mrs. Rufford will know.”

Mrs. Rufford?

He must have seen her look of skepticism. “She’s been arranging expeditions since she was fifteen.”

*   *   *

The villa was walled in thick sandstone brick, plastered and whitewashed. It glowed in the moonlight. Gian pounded on the thick wooden door.

“There is a bell,” she pointed out.

He shot her a look of exasperation. “My fist will work just fine.” He was right. The door opened and a tall man in a striped burnoose and skullcap asked them their business. Kate kept her head down to conceal her scar. The servant led them into a most remarkable room. Its floor was tiled and in the center a beautiful fountain covered with brightly glazed tiles tinkled under a square opening direct to the night sky. Banquettes lined the walls and pillows were strewn about in comfortable disarray. Lamps cast a warm light over everything.

The room was filled with the scent of cinnamon and that something else, and vibrating energy, some very high, at the edge of consciousness, and some slower, methodical almost.

A brawny man sat at a writing desk, his quill scribbling across foolscap at a furious pace. His hair was sandy brown and too long for fashion, pulled back in a ribbon at his neck. His face was bold, his chin strong. Kate would bet his coat had been made by Weston, his boots by Hoby. Matthew had trained her to look for the work of the best tailors and bootmakers.

At his feet, in the midst of piles of very old books, curled the dainty figure of one of the most striking women Kate had ever seen. Her hair was dark, coiled in intricate braids around her head. But curls escaped and framed a graceful neck. Her skin was the color of coffee with lots of cream in it. She wore native garments in a lovely pale green embroidered with gold. Her sleeves brushed her palms and a translucent wrap of the same color looped round her and fastened at the crown of her head. Meant to be drawn across her face in public, it hung open now.

As the servants announced them, Kate braced herself for the look of pity when they saw her scar. They both rose, and Kate saw that the woman’s eyes were an amazing color somewhere between green and gold that put her dress to shame. She felt their glances register the scar—who could not? But there was more of curiosity than pity or shock in their eyes. Maybe it took a lot to shock a vampire. Then their gazes both moved to Gian, and their faces lit with pleasure.

“Urbano,” the man said, striding forward and holding out his hand. “What the hell are you doing in these parts?”

“I am glad to find you in residence, Rufford. I have a mission most urgent.”

“Well, sit down.” He waved to the servant. “Tea, Abdullah, if you please.”

Kate had eyes only for the woman. She had blanched, and was looking positively ill. Still she gathered herself and came forward, managing a genuine smile.

“Gian, you are a welcome sight.”

Gian bent and she planted a delicate kiss on each of his cheeks. She was English too, by her accent. She didn’t look English. But she didn’t look like the local women Kate had seen in the streets either. As Gian let her go, she put a hand to her throat, apparently trying to catch her breath. Gian and her husband didn’t seem to notice.

“Let me introduce Miss Sheridan. Miss Sheridan, Ian Rufford and Mrs. Rufford.” He did not explain what Kate was doing there in his company. She could feel the two owners of this lovely house wondering. They must know him to be a notorious rake. Or maybe they only wondered why Gian Urbano was in the company of such a disfigured woman when he could have had any woman he wanted. She flushed.

Rufford bowed crisply. Mrs. Rufford took her arm. The woman was trembling. “Please, we are so far … from the stuffiness of, of English drawing rooms. Please call … call me Beth.”

Kate smiled. “Thank goodness. I never liked those drawing rooms. Then you must call me Kate.” Up close, those green-gold eyes were even more startling, fringed by dark lashes. She led Kate to a banquette, but in truth, Kate was half supporting her as she clung to Kate’s arm. Gian was busy telling Rufford about the loss of the mast. “Are you well?” Kate whispered.

“I can’t think what’s come over me,” the woman murmured, sinking. “I feel so strange.”

“Can I ask your husband to call for something, a vinaigrette perhaps?”

She shook her head. “I’m sure it will pass.” But all the color had drained from her face.

“We’ve come for help, Rufford,” Gian said. “We’re headed for the Temple of Waiting.”

“Dangerous place.” Rufford pulled at his loosely tied cravat as though he was too warm.

“Elyta Zaroff has acquired two stones from the fountain.”

Rufford and his wife did not seem surprised. “I heard that they were out and about, or one at least. I thought when Rubius sent you after them that you were just the man for the job.”

“I’ve got them. I’m returning them to the temple.” He patted his coat pocket.

“I thought the Elders wanted them at Mirso.” Rufford didn’t judge. He just said it.

“Yes, well.” Gian cleared his throat. “They can’t fall into the wrong hands. Even if those hands are at Mirso. They’re safer at the temple.”

Rufford examined him, then nodded once. “If you say so, I agree. Who would not trust the man who held Algiers against all odds? And I owe you for the rescue in Casablanca.”

“Which three of you had held for a month,” Gian noted. Rufford waved a hand in dismissal of his own bravery. “Besides, there were many of us who came to break the siege.”

“But you organized the whole,” Rufford insisted. “Saved Fedeyah’s and Davie Ware’s hide as well as mine. And Davie’s new wife too.” Then he sighed. “Rough times.”

Kate watched a shadow cross Gian’s face. With an effort he shook off the memories she had seen haunting him from the very first time she saw him.

“Elyta wants to drive members of the government mad and take over France,” he continued. “The sooner these stones are back where they belong, the better.”

“Two problems,” Rufford said. He got up to pace. He seemed an active man for one so brawny. “One, the temple is covered in a million tons of sand. Two, I don’t think we could find the place anymore. We never knew the exact longitude and latitude. The landmarks are now obliterated. What do you think, Beth?” Rufford’s brows drew together. “Beth?”

“I’m fine,” the lady said, and promptly fainted.

“Beth!” Rufford threw himself down at her side, chafing her hand. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his eyes wild.

Beth couldn’t answer so Kate stepped into the breach. “She hasn’t been feeling well since we came in.”

“She’s usually as strong as any five men,” Rufford said, lifting her into his arms. He didn’t realize, in his distraction, that his wife might not like that comparison.

“Was she well before we came in?” Gian’s eyes darted about the room as he thought.

“Yes, yes.” Rufford made for the door, his wife in his arms. But he stopped and turned. “I can’t summon a doctor. He wouldn’t know what to make of her.”

Kate cleared her throat. There was one possible explanation. “Could she be … expecting?”

“Unlikely,” Gian said shortly. “It is almost impossible for our kind to have children.”

That was news, since he had a mother.

“Still,” Rufford said, “I was made only five years ago, and I made her a year later. When we are young there is a better chance. It is conceivable.” He didn’t look unhappy that she might be pregnant. In fact he gazed down at his wife and smiled. These two were obviously in love. Somehow he had made her vampire by accident. He couldn’t have meant to do it. Yet they had no air of tragic figures. Did they not consider it a tragedy?