Ever After (18 page)

I got to my feet and pulled her up with me, then brought up a handful of my silvery fairy dust and blew across my palm.

“What does the fairy dust do?” she whispered as if the sound of her voice might make the spell go awry.

I smothered a grin, looking forward to all the wonders of magic that I could teach her. I jerked my chin. “Look there as the dust settles.”

The dust scattered about the room, searching for a trace of the one I sought. But, to my consternation, instead of lighting upon the footsteps of the intruder or a trail in the air that would mark the mirror's journey from the room, the dust merely settled upon the carpet and the debris that littered the floor.

“Was something supposed to happen?” Arabella asked, casting a searching glance about the room.

I nodded, narrowing my eyes. “The dust should've illuminated the trail of the person I indicated. But there's nothing. No trace of Fabrizio or our thief.”

“Try again,” she prompted. “Maybe you didn't do it right.”

I gave her a slightly annoyed look. “I've been doing search spells since I was at my mother's knee,” I groused. “I did it right.” I took a slow turn about the room, searching the ground for any sign of the trail. “Even though Fabrizio is trapped in a mirror, it should've worked.”

“What does his being in a mirror have to do with it?” Arabella asked, confused.

“The spell only works on individuals, not objects,” I muttered. “But even if Fabrizio's imprisonment were an issue, the spell should've picked up on the thief.”

“What would cause it to fail?” she asked, her dejection returning.

I clenched my jaw, knowing only one reason. “Whoever stole Fabrizio knew we'd use the spell and covered his tracks.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Who could've managed that?”

Good question.

When I didn't respond, she dropped down on the bed, her hands lying limp between her knees.

I sat down and pulled her into my lap, wrapping my arms around her. “It'll be all right,” I promised. “We'll figure out another way to locate the relics.”

She lifted sorrowful eyes to me. “I'm not just worried about finding the other relics, Gideon. Fabrizio's a friend.”

I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, then tucked her under my chin. “We'll get him back, lass.”

She snuggled in closer, resting her cheek against my chest. “Who would've taken him, do you think? The Huntsman?”

That was the logical assumption, considering he'd been turning up at all the same places, but how he'd traced Arabella to the theater was a mystery. And how he'd managed to hide his tracks from my search spell an even bigger one. “It doesn't make any sense,” I muttered, completing my thought aloud. “The Huntsman has known where the relics are each time without the benefit of Fabrizio's recon. Why steal the mirror now?”

She frowned in thought. “Maybe the Huntsman doesn't know where the final two relics are any more than we do. I mean, Fabrizio hasn't revealed the location of the helm—just that he's found it here in Chicago and that we'll go after it as soon as it's safe. Even I don't know the exact location yet.”

“Maybe,” I conceded. “But even if that's the case, how'd he know about Fabrizio? Who else knew you had the mirror?”

She shook her head. “No one but you and Merlin.”

I cursed under my breath and pulled my hand down my face, not liking where my thoughts were headed. Apparently, Arabella knew exactly what I was thinking.

“No,” she said, her chin jutting out at that defiant angle I knew all too well. “Not possible. Don't even suggest it.”

“How do you know what I'm suggesting unless you're thinking it too?” I shot back. “Whoever was involved here had to either be magic or have access to it. No nonmagical Tale could've hidden his tracks.”

She shoved to her feet, taking a few angry strides away from me before turning and crossing her arms over her chest. “Merlin isn't behind this,” she insisted. “There's no way. He wouldn't steal the mirror from me when he knows that's the only way I've been able to track down the other relics.”

“You give Merlin too much credit,” I charged, getting up but planting my feet where I stood. “He's always been too arrogant and self-serving for his own good. God knows what kind of scheme he's cooked up.”

Arabella shook her head slowly and gave me a look that clearly conveyed her disappointment. “Of all people, I figured you'd be the least likely to judge another before you have all the facts.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” I demanded.

She put her hands on her hips, her expression reproachful. “Considering the kind of prejudice you've faced in your life, and how quickly the FMA accused you of the murders at Guinevere's with nothing but circumstantial evidence, I would've thought that you would give Merlin the benefit of the doubt.”

“Merlin's reputation is his own doing,” I argued. “Trust me, lass, he has a past just like any man. He might've been an able and worthy adviser to your father, but power like that has a way of going to a man's head.”

She lifted her arms to her sides. “Very well, then. Shall we go ask him if he took the mirror? I believe he was planning to stay in Chicago for the rest of the week.”

“Very well.” I snatched up a knapsack from among the items strewn around the floor and began gathering up the relics and shoving them inside. “But we're taking these with us.”

I
sensed something was wrong at Merlin's flat the moment we pulled up. I grabbed the knapsack out of the backseat and locked it in the trunk, then placed my hand upon the car and murmured a spell that would prevent anyone but me from reclaiming what was inside. Satisfied that the relics were safe, I turned to Arabella. “Stay here.”

Her irritation hit me like a smack in the face. Which was probably what she was hoping for. “Like hell I will,” she informed me, hands on her hips. “You know better.”

I shook my head with a chuckle. “Aye, that I do, lass. That I do.” I snaked an arm around her waist and pressed a brief kiss to her lips, then reached into a rift and dragged out a set of throwing knives.

Arabella's eyes went side. “Well, hello, my lovelies.”

I slipped the holster over her shoulders and adjusted it for her. “Mind you only use these on the enemy.”

“It's the enemy that'd better mind me.” She gave me a saucy grin, then snatched one from its sheath, turning it over in the moonlight, whistling low at the craftsmanship. “These are magnificent. Where'd you find them?”

“Didn't,” I said, starting for Merlin's flat. “I made them.”

“Made them?” she echoed. “You're joking!”

“Nope.”

She jogged quietly beside me, her footfalls nearly silent as we made our way up the back stairs. Unfortunately, her talent for silent approach apparently was confined only to her footsteps.

“When did you make them?”

“Ages ago.”

“Where did they come from?”

“Storage.”

“Storage?” she repeated, that insatiable curiosity I found so endearing making her eyes sparkle in the darkness as she fired off questions. “What kind of storage? Where is it?”

I held my finger to my lips, shushing her with a chuckle.

She sighed, exasperated, but was grinning. “Fine,” she whispered. “Keep your secrets.”

With that, she sprinted forward and took a running leap, grasping the bottom rung of the fire escape, pulling down the ladder and scaling it with ease. She reached the first landing, then leaped up to grab the railing above her and flipped up over it like an acrobat in the Cirque du Soleil.

I couldn't help the pride that swelled in my chest as I was flooded with memories of the many times we'd sneaked into the home of some tyrannical lord to nick a pair of candlesticks or plate of gold that would feed a nearby village for a good month.

I glanced over at her as I made the landing, not bothering to suppress the smile that curved my lips. My God, how I'd missed her. I'd mourned the love we'd shared, the intimacy that was our solace in the darkest and coldest of nights. But I hadn't realized how much I'd missed our adventures together.

Feeling the weight of my gaze upon her back, she paused in opening the door that led into the hallway and turned back to me. “What is it?” she mouthed. “Is something wrong?”

Was something wrong? Hell, pretty much everything was wrong. My life was falling apart in ways I'd never anticipated. She had finally been returned to me, our love for one another was as beautiful and breathtaking as it had always been—perhaps more so after so long apart. And there was every likelihood that she'd soon be taken from me again by a cruel disease. This was what my head told me, what I should've believed. But all I could think of at that moment was how for the first time in centuries, everything felt right. Because Arabella was at my side.

I shook my head in answer to her question and chucked her on the chin. Then I stepped forward, putting myself ahead of her. I pulled the door open wider, slipping into the dim hallway. The only lights were at either end of the hallway in keeping with the stark, industrial feel Merlin had cultivated for his Chicago flat. Unfortunately, the intentionally poorly lit hallway might look all dark and mysterious, but came at the cost of Merlin's security setup. Hell, he didn't even have a protection spell on the door, no doubt thinking no one would ever dare to cross such a fabled wizard as he.

Arrogant git.

When I reached the door to his apartment, I wasn't surprised to see that it was slightly ajar. I slowly pushed it open, grimacing as its heavy steel hinges creaked. I let my senses drift out. There was someone else in the apartment. What I couldn't immediately tell was whether or not that someone was Merlin.

I motioned for Arabella to stay by the door to prevent whoever was there from making a hasty retreat. She gave me a tight nod and moved her hands to the throwing knives hanging at her sides, silently unsheathing them.

Unlike Arabella's theater, Merlin's home hadn't been ransacked. Which either meant we'd gotten there before the thief could do his worst or that the intruder had come for some other purpose than finding the relics we'd left behind.

A soft shuffle in the bedroom that Arabella and I had used made me snap to attention. I turned back to Arabella and motioned toward the bedroom door, alerting her to where I was heading. With each step, my senses sharpened, my apprehension growing. The danger waiting in the darkness was menacing, there was no doubt, the intruder's purpose far more sinister than just making off with a few relics.

I pressed my back against the wall just outside the bedroom, peeking around the doorjamb into the room, trying to get a read on where the intruder was lurking. I squinted into the darkness, searching for even the slightest movement within the shadows.

I darted to the other side of the doorway, attempting to get a look at the other side of the room from that vantage point.

Shit. Nothing.

Only one thing left to do. I tensed, crouching at the ready, and shifted into the room. And brought my arm up to ward off the heavy battle-axe swinging toward my head. I caught the handle just in the nick of time, the deadly blade coming within inches of splitting open my skull.

The assailant grunted in frustration and tried to break away but not soon enough. I shoved, throwing him back hard enough to knock him off balance. He crashed into the dresser, crying out when the wood slammed into his spine. He reflexively released his hold on the battle-axe and rolled away, drawing a spiked mace from God knows where in one deft movement—with his left hand. In that split second I sized up the hulking shadow in the darkness, his height and build equal to mine, and suddenly realized just who I was dealing with.

The Huntsman.

He charged forward, bringing the mace down toward me in a powerful arc. I snatched up the axe just in time to block his strike, not about to let the head of the mace make contact and possibly infect me with another curse. Even though I was certain this wasn't the same man who'd attacked me at the Renaissance festival, I wasn't going to take any chances.

I twisted, driving my shoulder into him and sweeping his leg to knock him off balance. He landed flat on his back, the mace still in his grasp, but the bastard was fast, rolling out of the way before the sharp spell I spat could ensnare him.

I charged at him again, cursing the fact that I'd cornered him in a bedroom, of all places. The space to maneuver was almost nonexistent in the confines of the room, the furniture creating a half-visible obstacle course that threatened to trip me up at any moment and give the Huntsman the advantage. I needed to draw him out of the damnable room, get him somewhere more open.

I pivoted and bolted from the room and heard his harsh, sadistic chuckle as he clearly mistook my reason for retreating. His footfalls were heavy as he gave chase, not bothering to hide his pursuit now that he thought he had me scared as hell and on the run.

I pressed my back to the wall outside the room, waiting. When he came charging through, I brought my elbow up and drove it into his face, shattering his nose. He roared with pain and rage, only momentarily stunned by the blow. But the pain made him sloppy as he swung his mace in wild arcs, his attack no longer strategic. I could sense his fury—and his desperation. He was afraid. Not of me, clearly. He didn't see me as a foe at all—at least, not a worthy one. No ... there was someone else. His employer.

Interesting.

One particularly savage blow caught the head of my axe, wrenching it from my hands and sending it sailing through the air toward the door where I'd left Arabella. I cried out, sending out my magic in a frantic burst, halting the axe's path in midair, then releasing it, letting it drop.

It was enough of a distraction that the Huntsman barreled into me before I knew what was coming, sending us both crashing into Merlin's coffee table. The wood broke apart beneath us, painfully digging into my side. Before I could extricate myself from the rubble, the Huntsman's fist connected with my jaw once, but it was a glancing blow that only served to piss me off.

When he came at me a second time, I grabbed his fist and twisted, snapping his wrist. He roared, pulling back enough that I was able to land a punch of my own and throw him off of me and into a nearby bookshelf. The shelf shuddered with the impact, sending several of the books tumbling off. The Huntsman lunged for his mace, ready to have another go.

Enough of this bullshit. I was done fucking around.

I brought up a ball of my silver magic and lobbed it at the Huntsman. It slammed into him, throwing him back against the wall and knocking one of Merlin's Picassos to the floor. Realizing the work of art was in peril, I snapped my fingers, transporting it to the pocket of time I used for storage barely in time to avoid the Huntsman's next charge.

Damn, the guy was persistent!

Suddenly, the lights flicked on, momentarily blinding both the Huntsman and me. I blinked away the spots before my eyes, and when they adjusted to the light, I found him training a red laser sight on the center of my chest.

“Well, well, well,” the Huntsman drawled, his voice nasal and thick with blood from his broken nose. “What 'ave we here? If it isn't the infamous Gideon Montrose. Never thought I'd be the one to get the drop on you. Guess it's just my lucky day, mate.”

“Guess again,
mate.
”

My pulse spiked at the sound of Arabella's voice, but I couldn't see her. Neither could the Huntsman. He glanced around, searching for the source of the voice, giving me the chance I needed. I sent out another burst of magic in the form of a lightning bolt, nailing him in the center of the chest and sending him flying off his feet. He landed with a grunt and slid across the floor before coming to a hard stop when he smashed into a heavy bronze statue that was part of Merlin's extensive, if eclectic, art collection.

Arabella shoved the hood from her head, becoming visible again just a few feet from where the Huntsman lay, an arrow at the ready and trained on the man's chest. At some point during my altercation with the assassin, Arabella must've completely disregarded my instructions to stay where she was and slipped away to retrieve the invisibility cloak and bow she'd left at Merlin's.

“Will you
ever
listen to a word I say, lass?” I chastised, shaking my head as I strode to where she stood over the Huntsman.

She gave me that saucy, dimpled grin of hers. “Not likely.”

I winked at her. “Good thing.”

“Seems a pity to waste an arrow on this worthless pile of shit when I could use these magnificent knives instead,” she said on a dramatic sigh. “Shall I let him run, love, give 'em a try?”

I shrugged. “Up to the Huntsman here.” I snapped my fingers, dissipating the magic I'd used to immobilize him and jerked my chin at him. “What do you say,
mate?
Want to take your chances? See if you can outrun one of her knives?” I flicked my hand, sweeping the edge of Arabella's cloak back over her shoulder to reveal the silver knives in their holster. “You might be able to do it. I'd give you . . . What odds do you think, lass? Thirty percent?”

Her eyes narrowed with deadly menace. “Ten.”

I whistled at the dire odds. “Well, better than nothing, I suppose,” I conceded. “I can feel you tensing, Huntsman, getting ready to bolt and test your ten percent odds of escape, take your chance on whether or not my associate will use those lovely, cursed knives of hers.” When I saw his eyes widen a bit I added, “Oh, yes,
cursed.
Didn't I mention that before?”

“I think you left out that part, love,” Arabella chimed in.

“Ah, well, no matter,” I said, offering him a tight smile. “She'd only be switching to the knives to make things a bit more interesting.”

Arabella
tsked
. “Too right.”

“The thing is, Huntsman, my darling lass here's already got the drop on you with her bow, and I know for a fact you can't outrun that arrow. She's a deadly shot, this one.”

“I'd say he's exaggerating,” Arabella told him with a casual shrug. “But he's not.”

“Enough of your little games,” the Huntsman snarled. “If you're going to kill me, get on with it.”

I shook my head. “I have no intention of killing you—unless I have to. I just want information. And then I'll let the FMA deal with you.”

He chuckled darkly. “The FMA? Do you really think they can hold me? My services are too valuable to too many people for me to be locked up, rotting in a prison.”

I dropped down, then grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him half off the floor, my face close to his as I snarled, “They're not important to
me
. And they sure as hell aren't important to Guinevere's maid and Georgie Porgie, you son of a bitch.”

The bastard merely grinned at me, not perturbed by my anger in the least. “They were important to the Tale who hired me to kill them. Maybe you should take this up with him.”

I shoved him away and got to my feet. “Happy to. Who is it?”

“Did you really think you could just ask and I'd tell you?” the Huntsman growled. “I 'ave a reputation, mate.”