Dancing on the Wind (39 page)

Matty waited until he was sure Bolivar was deeply under then got to his feet. He

went down the hallway, checked on Keenan to make sure she too was sleeping

soundly—her psychic powers completely shut down. He bent over, kissed her forehead

and then adjusted the covers securely around her.

“Soon, my love,” he said. “Very soon.”

Leaving the motor home, he saw Roland exiting his trailer and the two men

swapped knowing looks. Roland nodded and Matty smiled, motioning the gypsy over.

“All done?” Matty queried.

“All done,” Roland acknowledged. “What now?”

“Now we wait,” Matty replied.

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* * * * *

Breslin found Lily and Royce Cookson, the man she had hired, exactly where he

figured they would be—the most expensive hotel in New Orleans.

“I am in the penthouse suite,” Lily had informed him when he’d called on the

house phone. “I’ll have the manager bring you up.”

As he rode up in the elevator to the palatial suite, he couldn’t help but wonder what

Lily was going to say. That she was enraged over her daughter’s latest assignment, he

had no doubt. Lily had not wanted Keenan to take the job with the Exchange—didn’t

want her working at all for that matter—and because Keenan had, the enmity between

mother and daughter had deepened. Of course he’d had a hand in deepening that

hostility, he reasoned, but that didn’t concern him.

The manager stayed in the elevator when the doors shushed open on the huge

expanse of black Terrazzo flooring that shone like the polished surface of a deep Arctic

lake. A sweeping view of the Crescent City lay beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass walls

that formed two curved half-moons from the elevator to the imposing black double

doors leading into the suite. Overhead, a magnificent chandelier was suspended from

the glass-domed roof.

“Sweet,” Breslin said, staring at the huge brass planters filled with tropical plants

that flanked the doors. He looked forward to having such luxury at hand when Keenan

and he were married.

Royce opened the door and ushered Breslin in.

“She’s taking a bath,” Royce said with a steady look. “You’re to join her.”

“My pleasure,” Breslin said, grinning. He had no more affection for Royce than the

private detective had for him, but the two men understood one another.

Lily was reclining in a large sunken marble tub when Breslin came into the

bathroom. In her hand was a fluted glass of champagne. The bottle sat on a silver tray

on the floor beside the tub—a second glass beside it.

“I want him dead, Zack,” she said then took a slow sip from the glass, looking at

him over the rim.

“It’s as good as done,” Breslin said, using the toe of one shoe to slip off the heel of

the other. “Any particular way you want me to do it?” He began to unbutton his shirt.

“The most painful way you can conceive,” she replied. “My daughter was in agony

last night because of him.”

Breslin tugged the shirt from his pants. “You hurt him pretty bad too,” he quipped.

“He wasn’t expecting that.”

Lily smiled. “I’ve had to hide my talents from everyone over the years,” she said. “I

found it was necessary.”

He ticked a disapproving finger at her. “Even me. How did you do that?”

“Power, Zack,” she said. “Very strong power.”

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He shrugged out of his shirt and unbuckled his pants. “So it doesn’t matter how I

kill him so long as I make him suffer.”

“Precisely,” she said, reaching out to pour herself another glass and to pour one for

him. She handed his to him as he stepped down into the tub.

“What about Kiki?” he asked.

“She’ll be devastated of course, and you will console her.”

“What if she still refuses to marry me?”

Lily thrust out her foot, rubbing the sole on his stiffening cock. “We’ll take her to St.

Brisa and have the marriage performed there. She’ll be under house confinement but

you can stay or go as you will. No one will ever find her there.”

Breslin drained the expensive French champagne then slid across the water to press

his body over hers. His arms went around her and his cock probed between the legs

she’d opened wide for him.

“I’d much rather have you than her,” he said in a throaty voice, his chest rubbing

against her.

“You have me, sweetie,” she said. “As much as you’re ever going to get me.” She

put her arms around his neck. “Now show me what I’ve been missing.”

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Fallon thought he had known agony in his lifetime.

He had been wrong.

Very wrong.

The pain that slithered through his body was unlike anything he’d ever experienced

and he knew it was destroying the part of him that was not human, that gave him both

his supernatural strength and his psi powers. He could feel the hellion whipping about

under his skin—succumbing to the poison invading his system. Her fledglings were

coiling over and over one another as they too yielded up their lives to the toxin.

“Ghoret venom,” Roland had laughed. “Hurts like hell, don’t it?”

Where the gypsy had come by the otherworldly poison was a puzzle Fallon feared

he wouldn’t live long enough to solve. The venom was attacking his nervous system,

heating his blood to the boiling point and beginning to pulverize his internal organs.

Black flecks formed on his flesh and pockets of pustules were beginning to form where

the venom oozed through the skin. There was no antidote for the toxin and one drop

was fatal to humans. To Reapers, it was an excruciating torment that burned so badly

he wanted to scream.

But that wasn’t to be the worst part of his torture, he discovered, for Roland wasn’t

through with him yet. He could hear the gypsy chanting in the other room and all

around Fallon the walls of the motor home began to bulge and contract. The air became

thick and musky, a nasty odor falling over him like a sodden cloak. His head throbbed

in tempo with the rising and ebbing of the walls, and as darkness closed around him, he

realized he was being drawn from the motor home and out into the beyond—a cold,

impenetrable blackness that scratched at his flesh like clinging briars as he traveled

through it.

“Martiya,” he heard Roland chanting from a great distance and Fallon’s blood ran

as cold as the air surrounding him.

Sheer agony engulfed Fallon as he went crashing through the sharp brambles—

feeling his flesh ripped and shredded only to land on his belly in some strange, alien

landscape where nothing but varied shades of blackness prevailed. The ground beneath

his cheek shook as something massive loomed on the horizon.

Pushing himself up, Fallon searched for some place to take cover, some defensive

position from which he could operate, but there was no rock, no tree—nothing but a

stygian vista overwhelmed with a noxious scent that clogged his nostrils.

And then
it
came at him, rushing from out of the pitch to grab him.

For the first time in his life, Mikhail Fallon screamed.

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

* * * * *

Breslin pulled up beside the motor home he was forced to share with Matty Groves

and got out of the rust-bucket of a car that depressed him every time he slid behind the

wheel. He hated being seen in the junker, hated the smell of it and couldn’t wait to be

rid of it.

“Did you find her?”

Glancing behind to find Matty Groves headed toward him, Breslin nodded. “Yeah.

She wants me to bring Kiki to the Gallison Towers to meet with her.”

“Why?” Matty asked. “Is she going to cause trouble?”

“I made her understand Kiki is undercover and just how dangerous it would be for

her to interfere. I think Lily got the message.” Breslin leaned against the car he hated so

vehemently. “She told me to offer Mignon money to meet privately with Sister Tandy.”

“How much money are we talking about?”

“One hundred thousand,” Breslin replied. “Chump change to a woman like Lily.”

Matty whistled. “Bolivar will jump at the chance.”

“That’s what I figured. Lily’s on her way out here—should be here any minute so I

told the security guys at the gate to expect her. She wanted me to bring Kiki to her, but I

knew Mignon would never go for that and Fallon would sure as hell nix the notion.”

Breslin nudged his chin toward Roland’s trailer. “Speaking of Fallon, how is the

asshole?”

“Sleeping as far as I know,” Matty replied. “I’ll go with you to Bolivar’s. I need to

check on Keenan.”

“Suit yourself,” Breslin grumbled.

The stretch white limo pulled into the backyard as Breslin and Matty reached

Bolivar’s door. Both men turned as the vehicle rolled to a stop. A uniformed chauffeur

got out and opened the door for his passenger.

“Quite an entrance,” Matty said.

“The woman has more money that God,” Breslin told him, “and she’s not reluctant

to spend it either.”

Matty’s attention was glued to the tall, beautiful woman who stepped out of the

limo. She was dressed in a gray pinstripe suit with a pink silk blouse that seemed to

shimmer beneath the roiling black clouds overhead. Her shoes and handbag screamed

money.

“Mrs. McCullough,” Breslin said as Lily came up to them. “This is my cousin

Reggie Quinn.”

“Dr. Regis Quinn,” Matty corrected.

“Oh yes,” Lily said. “Ned told me about you.”

“Nate,” Breslin stated. “My name’s Nate, ma’am.”

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Lily’s perfectly sculpted brow arched and her green eyes flashed with what could

only be amusement. “Gentlemen,” she said, and made the word sound like an insult, “I

don’t have all day. Where is this Bolivar woman and,” her dark rose lips pursed, “Sister

Tandy?”

“In here, ma’am,” Breslin replied, sweeping a hand toward the motor home behind

him.

“I’ll let Mother Bolivar know she has company,” Matty said, and before Breslin

could stop him, rapped once on the door then went inside.

“Where is Fallon?” Lily demanded.

“Shush!” Breslin warned with a hiss. “His name is Robin Marks. Don’t slip up like

that or you could get us all killed!”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Then where is Marks?” she queried.

“Sleeping off whatever it was you did to him.”

“I don’t want that son of a bitch interfering, Zack. You make damned sure he stays

away from this tacky trailer while I’m talking to Keenan.”

“Mother Bolivar said to come on in,” Matty called from the doorway.

“No slips, Lily,” Breslin cautioned in a low voice. “Please.”

Lily pushed him aside and strode regally to the motor home steps, taking the hand

Matty offered her. “Thank you, doctor,” she muttered.

“You are most welcome, ma’am,” Matty said with a grin.

Bolivar was sitting up on the sofa but she got to her feet when Lily came in. She

hurried over, putting out a hand in greeting. “Mrs. McCullough! What a pleasure to

meet you,” she gushed.

“Y’all excuse me. I’m going to go check on Tandy,” Matty said.

“Please sit down, Mrs. McCullough,” Bolivar invited her guest.

“I really don’t have the time for chit-chat,” Lily stated. “As I told Ned…”

“Nate,” Breslin corrected once again.

“Whatever,” Lily said with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “I would like to meet

privately with Sister Tandy. I am willing to make a rather sizeable donation to you for

the privilege.”

“How sizeable?” Bolivar asked, unconsciously licking her lips.

Lily looked down her nose at the woman. “One hundred thousand dollars.”

Matty grinned wickedly when he heard those words as he opened Bolivar’s

bedroom door. He was unprepared for the sight that greeted him.

Keenan was writhing on the bed, her hands clawing at her throat, struggling to

breathe. She was making harsh gasping sounds as though she were drowning. An inky

film of sweat covered her face, arms and legs as she convulsed. Her eyes bulged in a

face that was beet-red.

“No!” Matty shouted. “No!”

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Charlotte Boyett-Compo

He rushed to the bed and lifted her up to help her breathing.

“Keenan, baby, I’m sorry. I’m sorry!”

Oblivious to the three people who came running at his bellow, who crowded into

the bedroom, Matty cradled Keenan to him and called on the one man he prayed could

help.

“Roland! Call
it
off! Bring him back. Now! She’s suffocating!”

“Suffocating?” Lily gasped, her face as white as a sheet. “Oh my God! Do

something!”

Breslin pushed past Lily. “What the hell’s wrong with her?” he shouted.

“Roland!” Matty screeched, but this time his words were a psychic blast that made

both Breslin and Lily stagger beneath the onslaught. “
Bring him back
!”

“What have you done?” Breslin snarled. He reached out to grab Matty’s shoulder.

“Did you sic Martiya on Fallon?”

“Who is Martiya?” Lily demanded. She was trembling, unable to venture any closer

to the bed.

“He works for me,” Bolivar said. “He’s my enforcer.”

“
She
is a creature of the night,” Matty hissed. “A demoness!”

“What?” Bolivar questioned.

“And you sent this thing after Fallon?” Lily questioned. “Then let her have him!”