Renegade (9 page)

He raised an eyebrow. “How did you remove it if you were bound?”

Val grimaced, pushing away the shadow of remembered fear. “Rolled to my knees, bent over, and let gravity do its work.”

He captured her arm, ran his hand lightly down it, just for a moment, and her blood seemed to sizzle. Thank God, he’d looked back at the diagram.

She ached to touch him, to draw his strong body close again, but how pointless was that? Most likely, common troubles and isolation drew them together, a bond that wouldn’t last.

But the comfort of having someone believe her, believe
in
her, could seduce her so easily. Was it the same for him?

“And where,” he muttered softly, “did they come up with such an amulet?” His brows knitted together. “I’ve suspected they’ve been working up to something big for quite a while. Something involving dark magic.”

“Well, that’s never good.”

They stared at the board in brooding silence.

“Anything special about that kid,” he asked slowly, “the one you went to rescue? Besides his grand poobah mom?”

“Not so far as I know. Why?”

He frowned. “Have you ever felt a tingle like that before?”

The look on his face as he set his glass on the bookcase made her want to run. Instead, she clenched her fingers on the stem of her goblet. “No, I haven’t. Have you?”

“Yes, when I led my team into a trap.” He gripped Val’s shoulders, as though to brace her, and the hardening of his face sent dread rippling through her. “What you felt,” he said, “that tingle, came from the mixing of mage magic with ghoul.”

“Well, of course.” Val frowned. “Ours and theirs hit—”

“No, honey.” Regret darkened his eyes, but his expression was grim. “I mean mage magic joined with ghoul against you.”

She stared up at him. He couldn’t have said what she thought he had.

“I had the figures on that nest right,” he continued, his eyes level on hers. “The number might’ve fluctuated a little, but not that much. Mages and ghouls reinforced it. Together they trumped your team’s power, pierced your screen, and hid the ghoul defenses. No matter how little you want to believe it, mages helped the ghouls kill your team.”

T
he only good thing about emergency surgery was that it kept a man’s mind off idiocy like politics. This afternoon’s Council meeting had been one prolonged irritant, like a boil on the butt.

Scowling, Stefan flopped onto the couch and pulled out his recorder to dictate the surgical notes. At least he wasn’t writing another death certificate. Deputy Reeve Selena Vale had suffered multiple gunshot wounds at Milledgeville but had responded to on-scene treatment. She’d been stable until the sudden drop in blood pressure today.

That bleeding artery was fixed for good this time, but he felt tired down to his bones, ready to turn in even if it was only ten fifty. But surgery always left him too wired to sleep. At least living at the Collegium meant he didn’t have to get in a car and drive after a long procedure.

He clicked the recorder off and stared at the blinking message light on his desk phone across the room. Whatever it signaled could wait. Anything urgent would’ve come over his pager. Or been relayed to him after surgery.

Email could wait, too. He’d far rather look at the screen saver slide show of his sister, Annie, and her husband and kids than read a bunch of carping about the Council choosing Joe Healey as acting shire reeve, or whatever else lurked in his inbox.

Someone knocked at the door. This late, it could only be a friend or, God forbid, a councilor. Pulling himself off the couch, he extended his magical senses and recognized Will.

When Stefan opened the door, Will stood in the hall with a folder in one hand.

“Dr. Harper, I know it’s late, but I thought you’d want the preliminary research on the use of ancient herbal magic for internal injuries right away.”

“Yes, come in. Thanks.”

With cover for their meeting thus established, Stefan locked the door behind Will. No one in Griff’s circle socialized without a business excuse, especially since they both had links to Griff. Stefan had worked with him when he was reeve, and Will had stayed with the Dare family as a kid when his parents were on archaeological digs.

“Have a seat,” Stefan said. “Beer? Or something else?”

“Anything but coffee, thanks. I’ve had enough of that for one day.” Will handed over the folder.

Stefan tossed it on the coffee table en route to the fridge. He grabbed a beer for Will and one for himself.

After passing Will his bottle, Stefan spread the papers from the folder on the coffee table. Handling them while he and Will talked would give the appearance the conversation was about the papers. Since scrying didn’t carry audio, no one would know what he and Will really discussed.

“So,” Will said, “Joe Healey? I couldn’t believe the Council chose him as acting reeve at the meeting this afternoon. He doesn’t have Banning’s ability to think creatively. Or anything near her drive. Never distinguished himself in any way.”

“Except his knack for kissing the right political asses.” Stefan dropped into the easy chair at a right angle to the sofa.

Will took a long pull on his beer. “Yeah. Gerry’s pissed. He wanted Sybil Harrison or, if she’s considered too close to Banning, Deke Jones.”

“So did I.” Stefan and Gerry Armitage, Will’s boss, often saw eye to eye. “But Otto Larkin pushed hard for Healey.” Stefan pulled papers out of the folder and leafed through them as though reading. “I thought Teresa would come across the table at him for a minute, there.”

“I would’ve liked to see that.” Will grinned. Teresa DiMaggio, the stocky, middle-aged weaponsmistress, had definite opinions and little patience for bullshit.

“I was hoping.” The print on the pages blurred. Stefan rubbed his weary eyes. “Anything on that stuff Griff sent you?”

“Not much. I got a line on a guy in Finland who may be able to help. He owns a lot of old books, he says. Even some papyrus scrolls.” Will sighed. “Ever think about where we’d be if the ancient library at Alexandria hadn’t burned?”

“No. I’m not a geek.” Stefan grinned over his beer. “Knock yourself out, though.”

Will not only loved mage lore but could name every development in the history of Superman since
Action Comics
No. 1 in 1930-whatever. He could also rattle off a list of which Jedi carried which color lightsabers in the
Star Wars
movies.

Will smirked at him. “Want to hit the gym, see how it feels when a geek kicks your ass into next week?”

“Nah. Can’t stand to hear you scream like a little girl.” If only. Stefan could hold his own in magical combat, but Will was better. And had a second-degree black belt in jeet kune do.

“Dream on, Doc.”

Before Stefan could respond, someone knocked at the door. Stefan glanced at Will in shared concern and went to answer the knock.

Gerry Armitage stood in the hallway. Judging by the grim look on his face, the news wasn’t good.

“We could’ve used your level head in Council just now,” Gerry said. “You won’t believe the crap that’s coming down.”

Hell. Now what?
“Come in, Gerry. Have a seat. What Council meeting?”

“It was called suddenly.” Settling on the couch, Gerry glanced at the blinking message light on the phone. “Guess you didn’t hear about it.”

“I was in surgery.” Foreboding gnawed at Stefan’s throat.

“I would’ve gone with you, Gerry,” Will said.

Gerry shrugged. “You were deep in medical research. That’s more important. Besides, you don’t have a vote.”

“What happened?” Stefan demanded.

Gerry blew out a hard breath. “I could use a beer if you can spare it.”

“Sure. Will, do you mind?”

“In Blake’s defense,” Gerry said as Will headed for the kitchen, “he’s very worried about our former shire reeve, about her evasiveness.”

“We all are.”

With a nod of thanks, Gerry accepted his beer from Will, who sat beside him. “The long and short of it is, Blake authorized Healey to spy on Banning. Gave her some sort of necklace that penetrates shielding, lets them scry.”

“That’s outrageous,” Will said as Stefan snapped, “What?”

“Several of us objected, but they did the scrying again so we could all see. Damn it, I thought Banning had a brain between her ears.” Gerry took a long, slow drink.

“What has she done?” Stefan managed not to look at Will. He couldn’t give the game away. Had she given Griff up? Set the Council on Marc and the shelter?

“She was with some guy. Tall, dark haired,” Gerry said as Stefan’s blood chilled. “His face was blurred, but for just a second—while they were, ah, heavily engaged—it blinked clear. I’d swear the son of a bitch looked just like Griffin Dare.”

“That’s not much to go on,” Will said.

“It was enough for Blake and Healey. They’ve sent two squads to her place at the lake to arrest them both.”

Oh, fuck us all sideways.
Stefan couldn’t help looking at Will. They had to get Gerry out of there so they could warn Griff before it was too late.

“This is like something out of a nightmare.” Val stared at the councilors’ names and the list of ghoul nests Griffin had written on the whiteboard. They’d been talking about this for over an hour, and it still didn’t seem any more real to her. “Mages working against their own kind to help ghouls!”

“I know how you feel.” Staring out the window, he shook his head. “Just as you know we can’t duck this. We have to stop it. What you said about disappearing witnesses means the corruption spreads farther than we knew.”

He turned, anger evident in the taut lines of his body. “One of our kind has sent our people to their deaths, not once but several times. And almost killed
you
. I want the bastard.”

He tipped up her chin, and the gentleness of his touch contrasted with the steely resolve in his eyes. His fury for Val warmed her, made her pulse quicken. Awareness of his touch rippled through her body. So tempting.

His hand drifted along her jaw, his thumb caressing her cheek. She caught his wrist and gently pulled it down to his side. Yet her fingers lingered on his arm long enough for his eyes to darken. Her heart stuttered.

Stupid
, she reminded herself, and jerked her gaze back to the board, to the name Americus. “If there’s a large ghoul nest outside Americus, there would be lots of missing persons’ reports from the area around it. Someone had to have picked up on that. And hidden it, damn them. We should check it out.” She circled the name, underlining it in her mind, too.

“No one would do that,” he said, “without support from above, from a councilor. At least, not successfully for very long.”

The pain of that truth felt like a boulder in her chest. Swallowing against it, she wandered to the kitchen. Since the water hadn’t settled her gut anyway, she’d gone back to wine for the mellowing effect. She poured more of the pale liquid into her goblet and went back to the living room.

Griffin was staring at the floor, looking frustrated and weary. He ran a hand through his hair.

He’d lived with this, fought the ghouls and defended against an enemy he couldn’t find, for years while the people he protected vilified him.

“How do you keep going?” she asked. “You could create an identity somewhere, make a life for yourself.”

His head lifted, and he turned a surprised look on her. “Somebody has to do it. Why not me?”

Her heart turned over at his answer. The simple, selfless courage in his words stole her breath away. She couldn’t form a reply, and the look between them held. Yearning fluttered in her heart.

His gaze fell to her mouth. If he touched her—

Griffin looked away and cleared his throat. “Besides, I won’t let the bastards beat me.” He frowned at his empty goblet. “Is there any more wine?”

“Couple of glasses’ worth.” As he walked into the kitchen, she asked, “Speaking of making a life, how have you survived all this time? Or shouldn’t I ask?”

He poured his refill and strolled back into the room. “You saw the paints at my place by the swamp. I sell my work when I can. Thanks to a college roommate, I have an off-and-on gig as a ‘psychic consultant’ for the Feds.” When her brows rose, he added, “I’m a tracker. Comes in handy sometimes.”

Most mages had the average skill set, basic magic use, and could refine it with practice, though some mages excelled more in particular areas. A rare few had special skills, like tracking or increased ability to scry, translocate, or even shield.

“I had a tracker on my staff,” she said. “One I thought I could trust. He works in intel and recon.”

They shared a grim look, and he said, “We’re going to straighten this out, Valeria. The bastards will pay.”

She, too, wanted payback, but the idea of chasing it for years with no help seemed impossible. She ached for the loss and loneliness he’d endured. “Griffin, I wish—”

“Don’t. It doesn’t help.”

He took a long swallow of wine. “It’s a hell of a mess. I should’ve left you out of it.”

“It’s my job. Or was.” Val shook her head.

“It will be again,” he said, and his eyes were hard. Determined. On her behalf.

No one had cared that much about what she wanted since her parents’ deaths. Even Gene and Zara, supporting her for the job of shire reeve, hadn’t shown this kind of determination. Griffin’s expression was stony.

Looking at the board, she took a deep breath to steady herself. She hadn’t met a man she’d wanted to touch, to have touch her, in a long time. Why the hell did he have to be the one?

“Someone,” he added, “obviously tipped the ghouls at Lake Sinclair. But there’s nothing to tie anyone on the Council to that. Let’s run it down anyway. What does Blake say about the ghouls?”

Nothing like hitting the sore spot, the man whose good opinion she’d lost, first. “He hates them. He did worry about wasted resources from some of my raids, but he never actually tried to stop them. Though I heard some of the Council—don’t know who—were unhappy about the one I led a couple of weeks ago.”

Val stared into the golden depths of her goblet, detesting what she had to say. “Gene wanted me to put more effort into keeping kids away from dark magic, arresting dabblers. I’d hate to think it’s because he wants to protect the ghouls.”

“Of course you would.” Griffin’s face was kind as he added, “The chief councilor has access to a lot of information, in every department, but that doesn’t mean he’s a traitor.”

“Alden was the council chief.”

“Yes, and that experience taught me not to jump without concrete proof. Blake wasn’t on the Council then. Now maybe he’s just juggling priorities. Elayne Smith was on the Council as quartermistress six years ago, is High Council now, and she loves secrets and intrigue. Seems to hate the ghouls but has been known to say we should consider a truce.”

“She still does,” Val said, “but she has the sense, or seems to, to realize that’s unlikely.”

She frowned at the whiteboard. “Pansy Wilson is new to the High Council. She loves gossip and backstairs dealing, but never says much about ghouls and doesn’t seem to have any sympathy for them.”

“What about Otto Larkin?”

“He’s so generally disagreeable, it’s hard to know what he thinks about anything. And Dutton blows with the prevailing wind.” Val shrugged. “Nothing definite on the High Council, then. I’ve never heard anything about ghouls from the department heads that struck me as odd.”

“Still, we might be able to narrow the field if we—” His head snapped up. “Shit. We have to go. If you have a go bag packed, grab it.”

“What? Griffin, what is it?”

“Mages coming this way. Two cars. No, damn it. Three.” He stepped away from her. “Valeria, move!”

If the Council needed her to come back, they would phone, not send cars. But… “How would they know you were here?”

“My screen may not be as good as it usually is. Or something’s interfering. Do you have anything that would do that?”

“No, I…” Her stomach knotted as intuition hit. Gene had given her that pendant despite his disapproval. Her hand went to her throat, but she’d left the pendant off after her shower. Was the
protective spell
on it just for protection? It had to be. He wouldn’t spy on her. Would he? Maybe to keep the Collegium safe. If so, that didn’t make him a traitor.