Wings In The Night - Twilight Memories Part 13

"You were ill. I heard you--"

"Dry heaves. A reaction to too much exertion after... after what happened. No more than that, I a.s.sure you."

His eyes narrowed and she knew he didn't believe her. It was to his credit that he didn't pry.

"Go on, tell me what's happened. You didn't come charging into the woods to check on my health."

"No, I didn't. Though maybe I should have." He took her arm, his eyes scanning her face with some concern. "Come with me. I'll explain as we go."

He did, and by the time they entered the great hall, Rhiannon knew the situation was grave. Jamey, determined though he was, couldn't hope to outsmart or outmaneuver DPI. Her concern for the boy acted as a buffer against the sting of Roland's condemnation. She had a focus.

Tamara paced, her face wet with tears, her eyes as red-rimmed as a drunkard's. She whirled toward the door when they entered, and it was heartbreaking to see the disappointment in her eyes when she saw that it wasn't the boy.

Frederick sat on the floor, knees drawn as close to his bulky chest as he could get them. He looked as if he'd been crying, as well.

Rhiannon went to Tamara, and folded the slight woman into her arms. "There's no need for such devastation, fledgling. We'll find the little rat in no time."

"How? We don't even know where to begin."

"Your cat's gone, too," Frederick moaned from where he sat. "I should have been watching him closer. It's all my fault. What if those bad men get Jamey? What will they do to him?"

"No bad men are going to get Jamey," Eric intoned.

Tamara sniffed and straightened. "It's not your fault, Frederick. We were all supposed to be watching him. Jamey is too smart for us, that's all."

"I'm stupid," Frederick said softly. "If I wasn't so stupid--"

Rhiannon stepped to him, bent over and pulled him to his feet. "Freddy, you are not now, nor have you ever been, stupid. I won't hear such nonsense from you again. Jamey slipped by all of us. Do you think we're stupid?"

He shook his head.

"You're right. We're not. And neither are you. Now..." She turned, slowly, addressing all of them. "Enough of this weeping and wailing. I cannot stand it. You're all forgetting one important thing."

"And what is that?" The voice was Roland's. He stood just inside the doorway. She hadn't heard him come in, and his eyes sought hers now, not hard with condemnation, but desperate for help.

"Who I am," she said, her voice so low it was only a hint above a whisper, but as clear and resonant as a bell. "Rhianikki, daughter of Pharaoh, princess of Egypt. I was a priestess of Isis, studied the words of Osiris. I felt the burning sands of Egypt beneath my feet when the pyramids were still new. Within my soul is the wisdom of the ages, young ones, and there is nothing, nothing, that I cannot do."

She watched Roland's reaction to her speech, fully expecting to see the familiar skepticism on his face. Instead, she thought she saw relief.

There was no doubt it was hope that filled Tamara's round eyes. "What should we do, Rhiannon?"

"Not we, Tamara. You. You are the closest to Jamey. You and he had a psychic bond even before Eric transformed you, isn't that true?"

"Yes, but--"

"No buts. You need only concentrate on the boy. Seek him out with your mind."

Tamara shook her head. "I can't. I only feel him when he's trying to reach me, or--or when he's in trouble."

"You can. It takes only the power of the mind. I will show you the way, Tamara." Rhiannon turned to Roland. "We'll need a quiet room. One with no outside auras cluttering it up."

Roland frowned. "No one has used the chambers on the third level in centuries."

She nodded and turned to Frederick, who was sorely in need of something to do. "Freddy, in Roland's chambers, in the small dresser beside the bed, you'll find two special candles and a packet of incense in a silver chalice. Will you get them for me?"

Frederick limped off to do her bidding. Eric scoffed. "Incense and candles? What kind of nonsense is this? We ought to be out searching for the boy."

"Be my guest, Eric. Go and search to your heart's content. You'll only be wasting your time. We have to know where he is."

Eric shook his head. "Don't take it personally, Rhiannon. I'm a man who believes in science, not hocus-pocus."

No doubt were you human right now, you wouldn't believe in the existence of a race of undead blood-drinkers," she retorted.

He looked at the floor.

"Eric, listen to her," Tamara said softly. She turned from him. "I trust you, Rhiannon. Just tell me what to do."

Eric threw his hands in the air and turned to Roland. "Are you going to stand still for this?"

Roland shrugged. "Unless you have a better idea, or a clue where to begin searching..."

Frederick returned with the incense and candles. Rhiannon took them and led Tamara up the stone staircase, Roland and Eric following. On the third level, she pa.s.sed several rotting doors before pausing at one. She stood still a moment, then nodded. "This one."

"Why?" Roland stared at her intently.

"You object?"

She watched him for a moment as he struggled with the decision. She didn't know why, and she told herself she didn't care. He'd made his feelings for her clear enough. She wouldn't trouble herself about them any further. Her only goal now was to locate the boy. Then she would leave and never return.

Finally, Roland sighed and nodded once. "Go on."

She pushed the door open and stepped inside, Tamara behind her. For just a moment, she paused in the darkness to examine the chamber with her preternatural vision. The outermost wall curved with the shape of the tower, but the other three were flat. Two windows had been cut through the stone on that curving wall. Narrow openings, narrower without than within, that had no gla.s.s in them to block the night wind coming through. Two benches, facing each other, and carved of castle stone, sat near the windows. Ancient rushes, dry as husks, lined the cold floor, crackling beneath her steps. The tapestries that had once been brilliant works of art, hung in straggles from the walls.

Rhiannon turned to Roland and Eric. "It would be better if you waited below."

"And leave Tamara to play sorceress games alone will you? Not quite, Rhiannon. I'm staying." Eric stepped farther into the room, leaned back against the stone wall and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Eric--"

"It's all right, Tamara," Rhiannon said. "I'm fairly used to being mistrusted by males."

"It isn't that--"

She quelled Eric's protests with a single glance. "I'll need your cooperation if you insist on staying. You must be utterly silent and still, and you must make an effort to keep your mind closed to us. Agreed?"

"Fine."

She glanced once at Roland, though even looking at him brought a stab of pain so intense she had trouble, keeping it hidden. "You won't know I'm here," he told her.

Oh, but she would.

She moved into the room's center, knelt down and waited for Tamara to join her. "I want you to lie down," she told her as she placed the candles and poured some of the incense into the chalice.

"I might have some matches," Roland offered.

"Silence." Rhiannon's whispered word carried a tone of authority, and Roland said no more.

Rhiannon stretched herself out on the crisp rushes, lying on her back. At her right, near her shoulder, but far enough away to be safe, was one blood-red candle. Near her waist, the silver dish, and a small mound of dried incense. Near her hip, the second candle. Beyond those three items, Tamara lay still.

Rhiannon closed her eyes. "Relax, Tamara. Close your eyes. Put all fear and worry from your mind. Feel the stone floor beneath your back begin to soften. Inhale slowly, deeply. That's it. Hold the breath in your lungs for a moment. Drain the nourishment from the air before you release it once more. Slowly... slowly. Yes, all of it. Every bit, until your lungs are utterly emptied. Now, wait... wait... and inhale once more. Fill yourself to bursting, but slowly. Yes."

She kept her voice low, even, hypnotic. "With each breath you take the floor is becoming softer. Feel it? It's like down, now. You can feel yourself sinking into it, can't you?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now, continue just as you're doing. And I will do the same. When your mind is floating free, you will know, Tamara. Reach out to Jamey then. Think of him. Put his image in front of your eyes. Surround yourself with the memory of his scent. Concentrate on the precise curl of each lock of his hair, the sound of his laughter, the warmth of his touch. In this way, you will find him."

Rhiannon began her own ritual breathing, then. She allowed herself to relax, and began sinking into the abyss of her own psyche. She would focus on Pandora, and hope for some clue through the cat.

Roland stood beside Eric, leaning back against the wall, watching the bizarre ritual. True, he'd been willing to give Rhiannon a chance, especially since he was afraid to open his mouth to object. He seemed to wound her every time he spoke to her. Why, he wondered? Why did he hurt her the way he did? He certainly hadn't intended to. G.o.d knew, she didn't deserve it. He'd shared with Rhiannon his most terrible secret, the one he'd been sure would cause her to hate and fear him. Instead, she'd offered comfort. Dammit to h.e.l.l, she'd shed tears for him! And he'd wounded her in return.

She hadn't looked him squarely in the eye for more than a second at a time since she'd left him in the cimetiere. He regretted that he'd caused her such pain. But at least now, her feelings toward him seemed to have cooled. One of them needed to remain at a distance, or he'd end up hurting her beyond repair. And looking at her slender body, relaxed in a trancelike state on the rush-strewn floor, he knew d.a.m.ned well it couldn't be him.

As the minutes ticked away, though, even Roland began to doubt her. What sort of witchcraft was she working here? How could lying about in age-old rushes help Jamey?

He was eager to be out and searching for the boy, and worried in case DPI should beat him to it. Then, with a small popping sound, the candles standing between the two women burst into flame. A second later, the incense in the dish began smoldering, sending a soft gray spiral of fragrant smoke upward.

CHAPTER TEN.

Nothing came. Nothing she wanted, at least. Rhiannon sat up abruptly and pinched the candles out with her fingers. She ma.s.saged her temples and sighed.

This had been her room. Rebecca's room. The girl who'd thrown herself from the tower to escape marriage to Roland. Images of the young, lovely creature had flooded into Rhiannon's psyche, making it impossible to concentrate on Pandora. There was something troubled in Rebecca's spirit, something uneasy. She was not at peace.

"Rhiannon?"

She glanced up at Roland, saw the question in his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"He's in a car."

Tamara's small voice startled them all. She still lay on her back, but her eyes were open. She remained motionless, as if she feared that moving would shake the images from her mind.

"He's in a small, black car. There's a blue duffel bag in his lap, with some clothes inside, and a little money. And his cleats. His cleats are in there, too." With that sentence, her voice warbled and her eyes filled.

Eric started forward, but Rhiannon held up a hand.

"Tamara, who is driving the car?"

She frowned. "I don't know him. He's very big. Like a wrestler. His hair is cut close to his head so it sticks up in bristles. It's dark. His nose is like a bulldog's." She frowned harder. "There is a tattoo on his right forearm, a cobra."

"Lucien," Roland whispered.

"Can you tell which direction they drive, Tamara?"

She shook her head. "There are mountains, with snow at the peaks." Tamara sat up slowly, and Eric bent to help her to her feet. She met his intense gaze. "It's the same man who attacked Rhiannon, isn't it? He has Jamey now."

Eric nodded.

Never before had Rhiannon seen such an expression on the fledgling's face. Always, she'd seemed so timid, so mild. Now, her eyes glowed with the fierceness of an approaching storm. She tossed her head like a lioness, her jaw tight with what looked like rage. "If he hurts Jamey, I will kill him." She spoke in a calm, level voice, leaving no doubt she meant what she said. Stiffly, she moved past Eric and out the door. Eric hurried behind her.

"Well. I've never seen her like that."

"I have," Roland said softly. "But only when the boy was threatened."

She turned in the doorway, where she'd been standing to watch them go. She was alone with Roland, she realized all at once. She swallowed the lump that leapt into her throat. "This was her room, wasn't it?"

He glanced around him, and nodded. "How did you know?"

"I feel her here. She did not detest you so thoroughly as you think, you know."

He shook his head. "That, I cannot believe."

She shrugged. "It's not my concern what you believe. I only thought you might like to know." She turned to go, but he caught her shoulder from behind.

"My words, in the cimetiere were not meant to cause you pain, Rhiannon. If they did, then I'm sorry."

She stiffened. "It takes more than words to cause me any pain. Don't worry yourself on that account."

He pulled her around to face him, and she saw the regret in his eyes. "Rhiannon, I hurt you. I know I did, and believe me, I wish I could take back the words that caused that hurt."

"Why take back the truth?" She removed his hand from her shoulder with a brush of her own. "We have the boy to find, Roland. This conversation only delays his rescue."

Roland sat in the front of the rental car, map unfolded on his lap. Of them all, he was the most familiar with the area and the terrain, having traveled much of it by horseback in times long past. True, the towns and cities and roads differed. But the lay of the land was the same. And the only snow capped mountains near enough for Lucien to have reached within such a brief span of time, were in the direction they now traveled.

Eric drove as Roland navigated. Rhiannon remained in the back seat beside Tamara. The small vehicle seemed to reverberate with the tension it held. It was Eric who finally broke the silence.