Concentric Circles (28 page)

Get to it, Chilkwell
. He approached the back gate, labeled, ‘Beware of Monster Dog,’ opened it and stepped into a three-story office building unseen from the street and alley.

“Good morning, George.”

George grinned under his bushy salt and pepper moustache. “Morn’, Kal. Gabriel’s expecting you. Darius is here already, too.” His face shifted into seriousness. “You ain’t in trouble, are you?”

“When am I not in trouble?” He winked, grinned at George’s laughter and made his way to the elevator.

The door slid open when he approached.
Ah, surveillance. Aren’t modern conveniences grand?
He stepped into the luxurious, mirror-lined box to the sky and pushed the lighted button.

Madam Elevator spoke. “Floor number three. Good morning, Meekal.”

The sensation of his eye roll blotted his annoyance, temporarily. Gabriel Mallet loved toys. Anything to do with computers and high tech.
Good thing your daddy left you bloody rich.
He made a point of not looking at the cameras.
Shouldn’t complain, even in your head. You aren’t so bad off.

The double door parted to reveal the upper story of the Gabriel Mallet Building in all its opulence. Water falling down the wall fountain sent gooseflesh over his arms. Piped from the Well, it seemed out of place here. He sighed and approached the receptionist desk.

“No need to sign in, Kal. He’s waiting.”

A qualm pulsated through him even as he winked casually at Joanne.
Maybe I am in trouble
.

“Ah, Chilkwell. Come in. Here he is, my very own piece of local history.”

A growl started somewhere in his gut. I’m not a trophy.

“Kal, this is Harlan Greystar and you’re already acquainted with Darius.”

“Darius, doing okay?”

“Aye.”

Meekal sized up Greystar in the flash of a firm handshake. “Pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Fair, honest yet…what? Ah, ruthlessness.
He gave a perfunctory smile and returned his attention to Gabriel. “What’s going on?”

Gabriel indicated a leather chair at the mahogany conference table. “Have a seat.”

Meekal chewed the inside of his cheek and slid into a leather chair.

“Greystar is here as a representative of MI-6.”

Shock surged through him. He returned his gaze to Greystar. “Why, would we need MI-6 involved?”

Gabriel nodded at Joanne as she passed him a folder, and then watched her leave.

Meekal waited even as he felt protectiveness toward Joanne. Gabriel had the reputation of skirt chaser. He’d known her since she moved here at the age of five.
Protect and serve.
“Sir?”

“These are the documents regarding Zubird.” Gabriel cleared his throat and waited for Meekal’s reaction.

Be resolute. He set his jaw and leaned his elbows on the table. “It was necessary, sir.”

“You misunderstand, Kal. Mr. Greystar is here because there’s a reward posted from their agency as well. It’s no big deal. I’ve already told him you want to donate it to the Children’s Fund in memory of Amethyst Graham.”

He eased back into his chair, slightly more relaxed. “That’s the plan, sir. You know I don’t want it.”

“That’s because you’re a Boy Scout, Chilkwell.”

A laugh bubbled up.
Lunn’s gonna be pissed at this Boy Scout
. “Well, I wouldn’t go that far, sir. It was Amethyst’s favorite charity. We’ll all miss her.”

“Yes, we will.” Gabriel’s face took on a sad look, surprising him. “She was distantly related.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that. My condolences.”

“Thank you,” Gabriel said, and then lowered his eyes to the folder. “There are several papers for you to sign. I know Gail already spoke to you about the procedure. The MI-6 reward is separate from the Council’s.” He raised his eyes again to Meekal. “You realized that, right?”

“It’s all the same to me. I still want the money to go to the Children’s Fund.”

“All right, then.”

He signed, including a waiver stating his request that everything go to charity in Amethyst Graham’s memory. “Fifty-five thousand pounds should do some good. Don’t you think so, sir?”

“Yes, I do,” Gabriel replied, his smile lighting the room.

“Mr. Chilkwell,” Greystar said. “Have you ever considered working internationally?”

“No, sir.” He finished off his last signature with a flourish. “We prefer to stay close to home when it comes to work.”

“But traveling isn’t a problem?” Greystar hesitated and glanced at Gabriel who responded with a tilt of his head.

Meekal knew the man was experiencing hesitation in broaching the topic of magic. “Traveling is a breeze, sir.”

Darius, quiet until that moment, snorted.

The impulsive grin that sprang to his face felt great.

* * * * * *

Meekal stood in the herbal tea isle at the Sedeeva’s Sanctum health food store in Shepton Mallet, scowling at any tea box that would possibly notice him. “Bloody hell,” he muttered in soft, yet irritated tones. “Chamomile. No that definitely won’t work. Where’s the Spice Tea? He ran his eyes across the shelves again. “African Deep Peach, Coco Supreme, Ginseng Rush and Lemon Ginger. Damn there isn’t even a place for it.”

He stepped back, scowl deepening and ruining his good humor. No India Spice anywhere on the shelf. He had promised Shayla to buy some and now he could not deliver, in more ways than one way. He growled. Completely neglectful of his surroundings, his elbow banged into the shelf behind him.

The clatter of merchandise falling to the floor crashed through his senses—all five of them
. Eugh! What’s that smell?
Nose crinkled, he looked at the floor. He was vaguely aware of someone rounding the end of the isle.
Ugh. What is that?
Shattered glass mingled with some obnoxious scent, which began to seep its way toward his trainers, propelled his feet into motion. He stepped back.

“What are you doing?”

The querulous voice resonated with all the grace of a fingernail down a chalkboard. He shivered and looked up.
Uh oh.
He swallowed his sudden case of nerves and tucked the corners of his mouth up into handy dimples. “Er hey, Viv. How’s it going?”

“Looking for some of this?” She wagged a box before his eyes.

Nothing like running into an old girlfriend, Kal
. Heat burned his cheeks, something that didn’t happen very often. “Well, now that you mention it.”

“Muma, muma, can I have these Frump Twists?” The small whirlwind of black hair and blue eyes arrived in the decimated isle, elation on his face. It changed quickly to eager disgust at the odor, and then he giggled and pointed at Meekal’s feet. The colorful candy package of Frumps in his hand forgotten.

Meekal stood immobile, staring at the miniature.
What the?
He swallowed mid-thought, and looked down at his feet surrounded by the noxious mess. It did not compare to the racing of his pulse and the dull fog consuming his brain. Determination gripped his heart and slowed it down. He raised eyes to Viv, quirking a brow at her.

She smirked.

Bloody hell.
Vivian Benedict had one of the evilest smirks ever created. She knew exactly what was going on inside his head. “Viv?”

She laughed. Her eyes dancing, she thrust the Spice Tea at his chest. “Enjoy. By the way, it’s on sale. That’s why they’ve put in on the end. Seems,” she teased, allowing her eyes to rake downward, “that you’ve created quite a sensation. The clerks can’t figure it out. It sells faster than they order it.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat. “Viv.”

She puckered up and blew him a kiss. “Also,” she said, reaching down, taking her son’s hand, “no such luck, Chilkwell.”

“Pfft.” He watched them round the end of the isle. “Okay, Chilkwell, so you aren’t a saint,” he muttered, dropping his gaze to the tea in his hand. He gripped the lightweight box tightly. Distracted, he made his way to pay for the purchase.

Once outside, he paused and surveyed the street. Something was off. Foreboding weighed heavy on his shoulders. He shook them, trying to send the bad vibes on their way. Still cautious, he stepped out of the way of an old bloke moving at a slow pace. Although dressed shabbily, his shoes were new and not of the cheap variety.

Meekal froze. Through narrowed eyes, he watched as the stranger sat on a bench and pulled a ragged book from an inside coat pocket. Next, moon-shaped reading spectacles went from dangling on a chain to a long hooknose. Satisfied with the balancing act required to keep them in place, the man settled himself for a comfortable read, waiting for the bus.

The hairs on the back of Meekal’s neck prickled. He decided to move on. A fast spin on his heel and he exited the street, walking fast into a narrow parking lot between two buildings.

“Well, Caitiff, here he is. Just like we said he’d be.” Dragar’s voice pounded his ears with anticipation of danger.

A harsh laugh resounded, grating on his spine. He turned his head ready for the attack. A fist made contact with his jaw. Instant pain. He went into a defensive stance and returned the assault. He ducked a jinx thrown from Dragar’s wand and tossed a stinging nettle charm, his favorite because it caused ever-increasing pain from tiny pinpricks all over the body. The Thyrza roared and began to flail his hands over his chest in panic. Screams echoed from the brick walls surrounding them.

Meekal, unaffected by the distress, moved on to another man. This one seemed rather young to have followed Malvenue. He arched his brow and growled. “Newest minion?”

“Looks can be deceiving,” he said, and then transformed, becoming old, wearing moon-shaped spectacles. A chortle, and then everything about old man blended away reveal true identity.

Recognition slammed his mind. “Ranger Rick.”

There was a repeat of harsh laughter. Meekal went down and spun his leg around, aiming for legs covered in rough denim.

Although Rick landed, he did so with grace. “Can’t get me, Chilkwell. Serves you right, screwing with my memories,” he said, swinging his fist and missing with a grunt. “Lucky I’m acquainted with Syther. He released it from deep recesses. I have a friend I want you to meet.”

A creepy crawling sensation ran up Meekal’s neck, a stinging bite to his jugular. He froze. The last thing he saw before blackness engulfed him was Ranger Rick’s white teeth gleaming in the sunshine. In his hand, he held the biggest spider Meekal had ever seen.

* * * * * *

Cold. Stone.
Meekal scrunched his closed eyes tighter, trying to clear the fog from his brain.
Am I dead?
The coldness beneath him seeped into his bones. From somewhere deep inside, he moaned. Pain.
Not dead.

He tried to move. Stiff, the soreness wracked him, finally centering on his ribs and abdomen. Wrong, his leg hurt, too. The pain spread like fire down his back muscles, past his knee to pool around his ankle. They must have beaten him after he passed out. Another moan escaped as he rolled over onto his back.

Eyes dry and encrusted, he forced them open. The external discovery was not much better than his previous physical assessment. He swiveled his head, biting back a yell as more jagged pain moved down his spine. “Be still, prat.”

The sound of his own voice barely cut the silence around him. He fought an upsurge of panic.
Shayla.
Amidst ragged breathing, he remembered she was not with him when he was captured.
Thank God
.

Now, he needed to figure out where he was and how to get away. He stared up at the ceiling. Oak beams spanned from wall to wall. In his peripheral vision, he could see stone on either side. He kept his head still and tried to steady his breathing. Damn, even that hurt. He figured he must have at least two broken ribs.

Phoenix tears. That’s what he needed. Moving in slow motion, he raised his hand to the pendant he wore. Never parted from it, he would survive. The exertion of the simple movement exhausted him. He clutched the sterling silver snake in his fist.
Need to rest a moment
.

Irregular, painful breathing echoed in his ears. He wondered if the poison from the spider was as deadly as he first thought when he saw it. Syther must have given him some sort of antidote. Maybe they knew he had to be alive. He groaned and squeezed the snake. In a fast movement, he jerked it, breaking the chain. The action pulled a feral yell from his lungs.

He lay gasping for life giving oxygen.
Gotta live, Chilkwell
.

Fuzziness embraced his mind once more. He fought its power, lifted the snake and its healing elixir to his mouth. Forget trying to open it with his fingers. He pushed the whole thing in and sought the feel of fangs against his tongue. Finding them, he pressed his mouth around it. The snake opened, emptying the phoenix tears.

He closed his eyes and sent out a thankful prayer as softness began to waft over him.

He surrendered to its energy. There was no way to know how long he waited. He lay, unmoving on the floor, allowing his healing to take place. As his breathing evened out, his mind began to clear. He sighed. It didn’t hurt. He focused on an inhale.
Wow. Take something for granted, lose it briefly and regain it.
He released his breath, pushing the pain outward to expel it from his body.

Tingles began to spread downward. He placed his hand on his broken ribs. The sensation of them fusing, fed his confidence. His heart relaxed into a steady beat. “Shayla,” he whispered, sending it out on the air.

Silence.

“Don’t give up,” he said to himself and the stones around him. The building seemed to breathe, alive with magical essence. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth, holding on as he sat up.

Although stiff, he rose with little difficulty. After a moment to get his bearings, he stood. Now, he could see clearly in the dim chamber. Cat vision assisted him. The odd shape of his prison made him pause. Upside-down stairs rose to the ceiling from the shortest wall. “I’m under the stairs? Damn.”

He lifted a foot tentatively and approached the wall to his left. Solid, no window. He sighed and spun around to wind-ride out.