Nightbred

“Unless that memory was taken from him, as Gifford’s were.” Jamys bowed. “Until sunset, my lord.”

Lucan clasped his hand to Jamys’s forearm. “Come prepared to fight, my friend.”

Ernesto Garcia stood outside the stronghold, and handed Jamys a pair of dark shades before he opened the door of the car waiting for them. “I have sent men ahead to secure the scene, but we will have to do this quickly to avoid drawing any attention from the surrounding merchants.”

Jamys nodded and, once inside the car, picked up the courtesy phone. As Garcia drove to the jeweler’s shop, he debated on how much to say before he dialed the number for his father’s private chamber.

“The sun is still up, assassin,” Thierry answered, his voice almost a snarl. “So unless you have found my son, or Florida has been invaded and has been put to the torch—”

“I am here, Father,” Jamys said. “I have been at Alenfar since I left your house.”

Silence answered him, and then Thierry said, “The very next time I see that damned Englishman, I will chop off his hands and stuff them down his gullet.”

“I never told Lucan I had left Baucent without your permission.” Jamys closed his eyes against the burning glare of the sun. “Father, when I was a small boy, and you were preparing to go into battle, do you remember what you would say to me?”

“Of course I do.” Thierry’s tone gentled. “I would say ‘Protect the women, defend the household, and know that here or in heaven, I will see you again.’ And never once did you shed a tear.”

“Now it is your turn to be brave,” he told his father. “For this night I go into battle.”

For a long time Thierry said nothing. Then he sighed, and said, “You have always been a warrior in your heart, my son, and if now you must take up the sword, I know you will be the same in the field.”

“Then if I may, I will ask you to protect my stepmother, and the men and women of the household,” Jamys said slowly. “Please tell Jema that I love her as the mother of my heart.”

“That will make her smile and weep,” Thierry predicted. “Will you forgive me my harsh words, and my foolish fears?”

“I have, and pray you will do the same for mine,” he assured him. “For everything in me that is good and strong and wise, I owe to you.”

Thierry made a rough sound. “And will I see you again, Jamys?”

“Here or in heaven, Father. Farewell.” He switched off the phone, and looked up to see Garcia driving into the alley behind a row of buildings.

“We have arrived, my lord.” The tresora parked the car in front of a steel door marked COBURN FINE JEWELERS and retrieved a case from the floor.

At the door Jamys watched him pick the lock in seconds and, once inside, disarm the security system with a quick bypass circuit. “For a policeman, you have the skills of an accomplished thief.”

“Often Lord Alenfar requires me to work on both sides of the law.” Garcia nodded toward the interior. “The shutters have been lowered so you will not be seen from the street. I will stand guard here.”

Jamys went to the front of the shop, where the Persian rug Stryker had described had been laid out in front of the display cases. He knelt down and rolled it aside to reveal the large decorative tiles beneath, and ran the tip of his dagger along each one before he found a seam, and used the tip of his blade to dislodge the tile over the floor safe. A keypad set into the safe’s door was the only access point, but he punched through it and gripped the side of the hole left behind to wrench open the steel lid.

A large black velvet case lay inside, and when Jamys removed it and opened the lid, he found it filled with trays of glittering emeralds in every shape imaginable. Yet when he came to the very bottom tray, which had three deep, fist-size impressions in the cloth, he found it empty.

Lucan had been correct; Coburn no longer possessed the Emeralds of Eternity. Jamys sat back on his heels and pushed the trays aside, eyeing the safe and the dull metal at the very bottom. He frowned and reached in, taking out the false bottom to expose a layer of bricks sealed in plastic, a thin electronic device, and coils of wire.

Like most Kyn, Jamys trained in the use of weapons of every era; he knew exactly what it was and how to employ it.

He reached for the trays of emeralds, and sorted through them until he found three round specimens that were only slightly smaller than the recesses in the empty tray. He glanced around the shop, rising to go to a display of golden jewelry cases, and chose one large enough to contain the black velvet tray. He then placed that and everything he needed in the bag, closed the safe, and recovered it before joining Garcia at the back door.

“Did you find what you needed, my lord?” the tresora asked.

Will you die for her? the monk’s voice mocked inside his head.

“Yes,” he told them both.

Chapter 19

Chris followed Sam back into the garden, where Werren stood alone by the fountain. “Where are the other women?”

“It matters not.” She bent to pluck a white rose and twirled it between her fingers. “If you wish to escape, I will not stop you. But you will not use any of us.”

“I forgot, she has Kyn hearing,” Samantha said as she walked up to the other women. “As long as you maintain whatever illusion is cloaking us right now, they won’t see or hear us.”

Werren smiled. “I will protect them from anything you do.”

Samantha walked past her, turned, and brought her fist down on the other woman’s nape. “Not if you’re taking a nap.” She caught Werren as she and the garden fell, and eased her down to the deck.

Chris glanced at the hostile faces of the other women surrounding them. “Your friend is okay; Sam just knocked her out. Werren wouldn’t let us talk to the rest of you.”

An old woman stepped forward. “Werren takes care of us. We cannot have the garden without her. We are not interested in what you have to say.”

“You want to rumble, Grandma?” Sam asked. “Bring it over here.”

“Look, we’re all in—on—the same boat,” Chris said. “As long as you stay here, things will only get worse.”

“The master is not always cruel,” the pretty brunette said. “If we are obedient, he mostly ignores us.”

“Every woman who has tried to escape Purgatory has been killed,” the old woman said. “A dismal life here is better than burning forever in damnation. At least we have a chance to redeem ourselves in the eyes of God.”

Sam approached her. “This isn’t Purgatory. You’re still alive in the real world; you’ve just been changed from mortal to immortal.”

“What manner of immortal?”

“We heal spontaneously, have unique powers, and we don’t age or die,” Sam told her. “We’re called the Darkyn.”

Some of the women laughed; others appeared shocked; all of them looked frightened. The old woman went over to the covered barrel standing where the fountain had been and pried off the lid to look inside.

Chris went over to her. “Your name is Analise, isn’t it?”

“Aye.” She stared down at the dark contents of the barrel. “Werren would never let us drink until after she summoned the garden. She did not wish us to know we were drinking blood.” She glanced up at Chris. “We are monsters. Vampires?”

“You’re Darkyn,” Chris corrected. “You’re part of a superhuman race that is powerful and hard to kill, but that has also learned how to coexist peacefully with humans. Sam is Kyn, too.”

Analise eyed her friend, who was talking to some of the other women. “There are others like us?”

“Thousands.” Chris nodded. “All over the world. They live together in strongholds called jardins, and work together to live productive lives, and protect each other. They have many human friends and allies, like me, who help keep their existence secret.”

“Why were we not permitted to live with them?” Analise asked. “Is it because we are women?”

“The other Darkyn out there don’t even know about you, or that Dutch forced the change on you,” Chris said. “I’m guessing he’s been keeping you here because he’s a sick bastard who hates women.”

Analise had more questions, and Chris tried to answer them as honestly as she could. She could hear Sam doing the same for the rest of the women, until a low groan from Werren silenced all of them.

Analise went over and helped the blond woman to her feet. “Why did you never tell us the truth?”

“Learning what I was almost drove me mad.” Werren rubbed the back of her neck. “I only wished to spare you.”

“Spare us?” Analise slapped her, making Werren stagger backward. “We have been prisoners for centuries, made to whore for Dutch and the crew and any man who crooked a finger, when we might have escaped and found the others like us. You did not spare us. You damned us to hell.”

“Do you remember Lonora? Estelle? Marielle?” Werren countered. “No, you would not. They were the first women he changed. The women I told the truth to. They all tried to escape, but Dutch stopped them with a thought. He beheaded each one of them in front of me. That is why I did not tell you, Analise. Because I did not wish to toss your severed head to the waves, and swab your blood from the deck.”

“You had no right,” the old woman insisted.

“I did what I thought was best for you. For all of you.” She turned to Sam. “Are you pleased with yourself, Detective? Now that they know, they will never again be content, and he will kill them, one by one, and start over.”

“He can’t turn any more women,” Sam said gently. “Over time the process of the change has become lethal to humans, something else he kept from you. You and the others are all the immortal women he’ll ever have.”

Werren looked uncertain. “But Dutch intends to change the crew. That is why he brought the man here, and tortured him until he died. He had stolen the gems that made Dutch immortal. Once he has rule over the warriors and the stronghold on the mainland, he will send out those men to search until they find the treasure. With it Dutch will be able to change as many mortals as he pleases. Then he can build a fleet of ships manned by men who will never die, and go a-pirating forever.” 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">