Nightborn

Korvel told them about the strange e-mail. “Why would someone send me the exact information I needed and then destroy my computer immediately after I read it?”

“He doesn’t want you to trace it back to him. Seems like someone wants to help, but doesn’t want us to know who he is, where he is, or why he’s doing it.” Nicola went to retrieve the in-flight phone and dialed a number. “Benny? C’est moi. Yeah, well, I’m between countries at the moment. I need you to pull up a property listing in Jamaica.”

Korvel paced the cabin as Nicola spoke to her contact, stopping only when she ended the call. “What is it?”

“Winter Cove is listed as a private residence. There’s a house, a couple acres of woods, and three miles of beach.” When he started to speak, she held up a hand. “One more thing. It’s not the Derien estate. It’s owned by a Christopher Black. I’ll give you three guesses what his name is in French.”

Korvel didn’t have to guess. “Cristophe Noir.”

Simone tucked Jamar’s business card in her pocket and waved to him before she went to the security gates and input the date of her birth on the keypad. The locks grated as they disengaged and the gates opened.

She didn’t stop walking toward the house until she spotted the first of five sedans parked around the fountain. Her father had never explained the arrangements he had made to safeguard his house on the island, so it was possible the cars belonged to his security guards. Only the prominent rental company stickers suggested otherwise.

Before she came within sight of the windows she circled around the house, noting the lights that shone in the kitchen and several of the second-floor rooms. She drew closer, moving behind a row of azaleas to glance inside an open window.

“You tromp like a cow, Quatorze.” The man who stood just inside folded his arms. “We could hear you as soon as you stepped off the drive.”

Simone stared into the twinkling brown eyes of the man inside her house. He had a Swiss accent, and his face was unfamiliar, but the eyes…“Seize?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Good news. She can still count.” In one fluid move he jumped through the window and landed beside her. “I have been waiting to do this for fifteen years.”

Simone found herself in a tight hug. “How are you here? But you…I thought he—”

“Killed me?” Seize drew back. “No. Although while I was at the damned château he certainly made me wish I was dead.” He took her hand. “Come inside. The others are waiting.”

“Others?” she echoed weakly as she followed him to the back door.

“Not all of us could come,” he admitted. “Dix’s wife is ready to give birth any second, and Trente broke his leg last month on the slopes. I told him slalom skiing is only for the mentally ill, but does he listen to me? No.”

She understood when she stepped inside and saw the seven men sitting around a table piled with weapons. One who was covered in tattoos and wore his white-blond hair spiked pitched a throwing blade at her, which she caught reflexively before she spotted the crescent scar dividing his right eyebrow. “Vingt?”

The Dutchman grinned. “I told you she wouldn’t forget the important things. Fuck, you grew up gorgeous, too.”

Simone handed the blade to Seize before she went to Vingt. His grin faded as he looked up at her face.

“I’m not a ghost, beautiful,” he said gently. “Stop looking at me like I am.”

“I thought you were…” She stopped and reached out, almost touching the scar above his eye before pressing her hand to her mouth. She looked at all the faces around her, every one invoking memories she had tried so hard to bury deep. Overwhelmed, she started shaking her head. “No. Not all of you. I thought…He made me think…”

“We’re real.” Vingt stood and folded her into his arms. “Now don’t faint,” he murmured, “or everyone will think you’re a girl.”

That made her laugh instead of weep. “I am a girl.”

“Yeah, but you’re not a pussy.” To the man standing by the stove, he said, “Told you she’d be a goddess, Quarante. You owe me twenty.”

The burly man arranging cups on the counter sniffed. “Then you’ll have to make your own damn tea, Metal Head.”

“Quiet.” The oldest man among them, a tall, dignified Belgian with the beginnings of silver showing at his temples, slapped Vingt in the back of the head before he stood and came to her. “You need a haircut, little sister.”

“Cinq.” Of all the boys she had trained with, only he had come close to defeating her in the sparring room. He had also been her best friend and closest confidant. Once more she scanned the faces of the other men. “How did you know I would be here? Why are you here?”

“We all received the same message: ‘The frost has ended, and so the harvest must begin,’” Cinq said. “Your father made us promise that when it did, we would gather here.”

“I was in the middle of an American tour when the telegram arrived,” Vingt grumbled. “I thought my manager would have a fucking stroke.”

“My wedding is in three weeks,” Seize told him. “Assuming my fiancée hasn’t called it off by now.”

“Oh, stop whining,” Quarante said as he went over to turn off the whistling teakettle. “I had to quit my job. How many companies do you know that are hiring aerodynamic engineers?”

Simone’s head began to whirl. “But all these years—why didn’t any of you come back? Why didn’t you let me know you were alive?”

“The old bastard sent us off to boarding schools,” Vingt told her. “Of course, after spending a year at the château having my ass kicked by you, little girl, it felt like an extended vacation.”

Seize touched her shoulder. “We all remained friends over the years, but your father made each of us promise never to return to France in order to see you or contact you. He said if we tried, he would kill us.”

Cinq nodded at her wide-eyed look. “In return for our promise to stay away, he paid for all of us to go to university and set us up with new lives.” His mouth curled. “Believe it or not, I’m an investment banker.”

“I play lead guitar for Icepick,” Vingt put in. “I brought a copy of our latest album for you.”

“Don’t listen to it.” Quarante brought her a cup of tea. “Unless you want go deaf in one sitting. It’s heavy metal.”

“I think sitting is a good idea.” Cinq ushered her over to the table, where Simone sat down and numbly sipped the hot, sweet tea. “What did he tell you about us?”

“Nothing. After we fought in the trials, he had me beaten and locked me up. The next day you were gone.” She looked at each man’s face. “I thought he had killed you because I wouldn’t.”

“Derien’s dead, isn’t he? That’s why we received the summons. Why you came in his place.” When she nodded, Vingt released a long breath. “Fuck me. Now I have to go back to church.”

“What have you been doing all these years, Quatorze?” Cinq asked. “Surely not still training.”

“My father died ten years ago,” she said. “Since his death I have been working as a housemaid in a convent.”

Vingt looked horrified. “Oh, when this is over you are definitely coming back to America with me.”

Simone smiled at him before she looked at Cinq. “Why did my father make you promise to come here?”

“We’re here because we belong to you, Quatorze,” he said. “We’re your garrison.”

At that moment four men came into the kitchen, led by a massive German with a bald head and a black goatee.

Simone recognized him by the lobe missing from his left ear. “Neuf.”

“Look who is all grown-up now.” He bent to give her a quick affectionate hug before he spoke to Cinq. “Some men are down on the beach. A Spaniard with a bad temper has them digging. He’s calling himself Helada, but his voice reminds me of that little bastard Pájaro. You remember, the one who tried to hurt Quatorze before he ran away from the château.”

“Huh. The old man always said the cowardly shit drowned himself.” Vingt picked up a blade from the table and tested the edge before he patted Simone’s hand. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take him for another swim.”

“I’m afraid this is my fight, brother.” She examined the weapons on the table before she selected two fighting knives. “There will be others coming,” she told the men. “I need you in three squads to form a perimeter around the dig. Stay out of sight, keep watch, and don’t let anyone interfere. Seize, Neuf, Vingt, you will lead the squads. Cinq, you’re to shadow me.”

“I never thought I’d get the chance to see you fight again.” Vingt grinned as he stood. “This is going to be fucking amazing.”

The men dispersed from the kitchen, leaving Cinq and Simone alone.

“I am glad your father is dead,” he said quietly. “What he did to you was unforgivable.”

“Allowing me to believe that all of you were dead was the worst of it. But now…I don’t know what to think.” Simone carried her cup over to the sink. “I fought the handlers all night after your trial, Cinq. They finally had to drug me to take me down.”

“You thought I was dead,” he suggested. “You needed to mourn.”

“I wanted to die with you.” She leaned back against the counter. “I wouldn’t go back to training after he took you away. I wouldn’t eat or even get out of bed. So to persuade me to return to training, my father began bringing the boys to my room and having them beaten in front of me. That was how Neuf lost this.” She touched her left earlobe. “The handler’s whip severed it.” ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">