Band of Demons (The Sanheim Chronicles, Book Two) (24 page)

“Instinct,” she replied. “On the whole, he seemed… angry. It didn’t feel directed at us, or at least not entirely at us.”

They walked past the ruins of one of the mighty towers. Only the bottom of it now remained.

“You have the gift of insight,” the man said. “You are exactly correct. He blames me for something. Most want to overthrow me just because I’m here. They have no personal grudge. Sawyer… he’s different. He thinks I killed someone.”

“Who?” Quinn asked.

“He thinks I killed his wife,” the man responded.

Now it was Kate who seemed surprised.

“His wife?” she said. “But Elyssa…”

“She is his consort,” the man said, “not his wife.”

“I don’t understand,” Quinn said.

The man laughed at that.

“No,” he said. “You really don’t, do you? You and Kate, it seems, were made for each other. But not everyone who becomes the Prince of Sanheim is so fortunate. And not everyone that a potential Prince sleeps with has the requisite gifts to become his consort. When Sawyer met Elyssa, he was already married. Although their attraction was undeniable—and eventually overwhelming—his heart already belonged to another.

“When Sawyer and Elyssa slept together, it joined them in body and soul. They had to face his
cennad
, which, as you will find out, is devious and powerful and they barely survived. How much he told his wife, I don’t know. He loved her still, of that I am certain. Elyssa had other feelings toward her—she was never one to share—but she was willing to tolerate the arrangement. Anne, Sawyer’s wife, was not. One day, Sawyer returned to his home after a night with Elyssa to find Anne dead in a bathtub. She slit her wrists.”

They had walked to an outer wall at the edge of the cliff. They looked out on a deep, black ocean through what had once been a window, but now was only the bare remainder of one. 

“Why does he blame you for this?” Kate asked.

“Well, for one, he blames me for the entire event,” the man replied. “He never wanted to be the Prince of Sanheim, you see. Not unlike Quinn, he was reluctant at first. He thinks it’s all my fault. But more importantly, he thinks I talked with her, showed her something.”

“Now why on earth would he think that?” Quinn asked sarcastically.

The man turned toward him and looked mock-offended.

“And here I thought we were such friends,” the man said. “His only reason was what Anne had written on the side of the tub as she lay dying.”

Somehow Kate knew what it was.

“Sanheim,” Kate said. “She wrote ‘Sanheim.’”

“Yes,” the man said, once again sounding impressed. “She did. And Sawyer has been driven by hatred and rage ever since. He has defeated two other Princes of Sanheim and thinks that eliminating you will bring him that final step closer to taking me on—and having his revenge.”

“Does killing other Princes make you more powerful?” Quinn asked.

“Yes, at least that’s the theory,” he nodded. “Sawyer thinks Crowley failed to defeat me because he didn’t wait long enough. He had
moidin
, but had only killed one Prince of Sanheim.”

“Roahen,” Kate said.

“Right,” the man said. “To Sawyer’s mind, each Prince of Sanheim he defeats makes him stronger, more powerful. All of those
moidin
he has? That’s an insurance policy. He aims to succeed where Crowley failed. If he kills you two, he will have defeated three Princes and attracted dozens of followers. By next Halloween, the wall that divides my world from yours will be thin, and he will be more than powerful enough to make an assault.”

“You’re worried he’ll succeed,” Quinn said.

The man stared at Quinn with his intense, blue eyes.

“He will fail,” the man said, “like all the rest.”

“You aren’t sure,” Quinn replied, staring right back at him. “That’s why you encouraged me to become the Prince of Sanheim last year. I wondered why you were helping me. You wanted a foil for Sawyer—someone with a fighting chance of stopping him.”

“And what makes you think you have that chance?” the man asked. “Sawyer killed his first challenger within ten minutes. The man never knew what hit him. He defeated the next one in even less time. What makes you think you can succeed where those two failed?”

Quinn looked deep into the man’s eyes. One thing was certain—Sanheim was playing a game, moving chess pieces around a board—and Quinn was just another pawn to him. He didn’t dare trust him.

“I don’t know,” Quinn said finally. “But I know we can. And, if I have to, I know we will.”

“Not in your current state, you won’t,” Sanheim said. “You wanted to know why you’re here—what I want? Right now, our interests are aligned. I have no concerns about beating Sawyer in a fight, but I would prefer it didn’t come to that. I would like you to take him out. But if you go into this fight the way you are now, you two will lose. It won’t even be close.”

“What do you mean?” Kate asked.

The man turned to her in a quick movement that startled her. His expression was one of distaste, maybe even disgust.

“You know exactly what I mean, Katrina,” the man said. “You’ve been holding back.”

“Listen, I…” Quinn started.

The man ignored him with a wave of his hand.

“Oh, this isn’t about you, Quinn,” he said. “For all your ridiculous notions of surrender, the very idea is laughable. When push comes to shove, you won’t even consider surrendering to Sawyer. Besides, I’ve seen you. You are the Headless Horseman, whether you want to be or not. You are fully committed. Strangely, for all her talk, it’s Katrina here who is on the fence.”

“What are you talking about?” she said defensively. “I’ve done nothing but try to tap into my powers since…”

“Oh yes,” Sanheim said, and laughed. “Lurking in graveyards. Digging up old bones. Talking to a few wraiths. I’ve seen all this, my dear—cemeteries are my domain, don’t forget—but it’s been Quinn fighting all your battles. Halloween is nearly here and yet you refuse to really embrace what you are.”

“Which is what?” Kate asked. “I’ve been trying to figure that out.”

“Oh please,” he said. “You already know. You just don’t want to accept it.”

“What?” she said. “That’s not true.”

“Then you’re deeply stupid,” Sanheim spat at her.

Quinn put a hand on his arm and the man grabbed it and shoved Quinn back with barely a glance in his direction.

“Do you want to keep hiding in the shadows while your lover rides into battle for you? I thought you seemed more progressive than that.”

“I don’t,” Kate said. “If you’re so sure of what I am, just tell me.”

“That isn’t the way this goes,” Sanheim said, and he smiled. It was an extremely unpleasant grin. “This is a trial by fire—always.”

“Then at least help me understand instead of just sneering at me.”

“I am trying to help you,” he said. “You’re the one holding yourself back.”

“I don’t know what that means,” she replied.

“You have all the answers you’re going to get,” Sanheim said. “What have you learned?”

“Great. Now I get a test?”

Sanheim threw up his hands.

“Don’t you understand? It’s always a test,” he said. “There was a test for Quinn and there’s one for you. Just tell me what you learned.”

Kate thought for a moment and her mind was a total blank. She saw herself in graveyard after graveyard, searching futilely for ghosts or some other connection.

“If that’s all you have, you two are doomed,” Sanheim said. “And nothing I say or do can help you.”

Kate thought of digging up the grave for the woman in mourning. The memory flashed through her.

“I belong with the dead,” Kate said.

“Yes,” Sanheim said, and this time his voice was not mocking. “What else? What did the wraiths teach you?”

Kate relived the experience in her mind. She looked at Sanheim.

“Emotion is the key,” she said.

Sanheim took three steps toward her and was now in her face.

“Yes!” he said.

“It’s the key to them, to spirits,” Kate said.

“Not just them,” Sanheim said. He looked almost anxious now as he stared into her face. “For those who have passed on, emotions are all they have left. But even for the living, it’s what defines us.”

“Our fears define us,” Quinn said.

Sanheim turned from Kate and nodded at Quinn.

“For us—you and me—that’s true,” Sanheim said, and Quinn had the sense he had just been given a very large clue to a dark secret.

Sanheim turned back to face Kate.

“But not for everyone,” he continued. “Fear is wrapped up with other things. What is the emotion that defines you, Katrina?”

Kate stared back at him.

“I don’t know,” she said finally.

“Oh,” Sanheim said and he smiled his ghoulish grin again, “I think you do. In the case of the man, the
cennad
is a literal figure—his worst fear. But the woman’s form is determined by other factors. Like everything about women, it’s more subtle. What drives you, Kate?”

“Love,” she said. “Love for Quinn.”

At that, Sanheim burst out laughing. It was a true laugh and it echoed throughout the castle ruin. It gave the impression that there wasn’t just one person laughing, but many.

“Nice try,” he said.

“I don’t know what you want from me!” Kate said.

“The truth,” Sanheim replied.

“I know the answer,” Quinn said.

Sanheim held up his hand to stop Quinn from talking.

“Let her figure it out on her own,” he said. “This is important. Everything hinges on it.”

Kate felt lost. She knew the answer—must know it—but she couldn’t think of it. She thought of the ways she traditionally defined herself—as a writer, a woman, a reporter, a daughter, and now, a fiancée. She hadn’t said yes, of course, but it was only a matter of time. But none of those were the answer she was looking for.

Sanheim’s voice dropped then as he stepped again toward her. It was almost a whisper.

“What event defines your life, Trina?”

That answer she knew. Instantly. She saw her mother lying on the bed, her hand falling off it. The blood. The note. “See you soon, Trina,” it had said.

“The murder of my mother,” Kate replied.

“And what did you feel about it?”

She searched all the tangled emotions of that day: the sadness, loss, despair and fear. But the emotion she most remembered, the one that kept her warm at night, was not any of those.

“Angry,” she said. Her eyes locked with Sanheim.

He cocked his head to one side and smiled at her.

“What drives you, Kate?” he asked again.

This time she knew the answer.

“Anger,” she said.

A flood of memories washed over her. The years spent dreaming of avenging her mother. Why had she come back to Loudoun County last year? What had she wanted when she searched for Lord Halloween?

“Then why are you holding yourself back?”

“I’m not,” she said.

“You are,” Sanheim said. “Why haven’t you embraced your anger?”

“What are you, Darth Vader?” Quinn asked.

Sanheim turned to him and gave him an annoyed look.

“I don’t know who that is,” he said.

“Let’s just say he thought the key to life was embracing anger as well. It didn’t turn out that well for him,” Quinn said.

“You had better hope it works for you,” Sanheim said.

“This is ridiculous,” Quinn said. “Yes, she’s angry. The death of her mother affected her in lots of ways. But she killed Lord Halloween, remember? We both did. That part’s over.”

“No, it’s not. She’s stopping herself from embracing who she is. Conquering your fears set you free. Her fears are holding her back.”

Sanheim turned back to her.

“What are you afraid of?” he asked.

Kate’s mind was swirling. The image came to her of that night after they had killed Lord Halloween. She had woken up early the next morning, gone to the desk, and started writing a letter.

“You know now, don’t you?” he asked.

“I’m afraid… I’m afraid I’ll become him,” Kate said.

“Being the Prince of Sanheim means facing your fears—and defeating them,” Sanheim said. “What is your worst fear?”

“Becoming Lord Halloween,” Kate said. “When I wrote the letter… I didn’t…”

“It just came to you, didn’t it?” he replied. “Quinn faced his
cennad
and defeated him—and then became him. You faced yours, Kate, defeated him… and…”

“No,” she said. “No. That’s not possible.”

“Oh, it’s possible. This is your worry—that Lord Halloween is your
cennad
. When you killed him… you became him too.”

“No,” she said, but in her heart, she knew he was right. “No.”

“Then why did you write the letter?” the man asked.