Soul of the Dragon (32 page)

Alexa came out of her room the next morning like a general exiting a chopper on the battlefield. Strapping on her hip holster, she marched down the steps, then halted in surprise. Though she was battle-ready this morning, she hadn’t expected troops.
 

Rock was there, a fact she hadn’t remembered until now. He wore black cargo pants and a snug black shirt, his favorite weapons in evidence at his hips and shoulder. He stood at ease, arms folded, legs apart, looking like he’d actually take orders from her.
 

Next to him was Kurt, also in black, also clearly awaiting instructions, though his perch on the arm of the couch was a bit more relaxed than Rock’s stance.
 

Peter paced nervously to the side, wearing loose jeans and a t-shirt and looking all the frailer for the beefy men surrounding him.
 

And Ryc. He stood at the bottom of the stairs, their night together evident only in the shadows behind his eyes. His clothes were usually black, but today he wore a white t-shirt with jeans. White. The color of surrender, or hope?
 

Alexa allowed herself one tiny twinge of loss, then closed off her heart and began.
 

“Thanks, all of you, for being here. I never asked any of you for help, but I’m grateful for it just the same.
 

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” She outlined the plan she’d developed in the shower, making modifications for the additional personnel. Tars was going on the attack, no doubt about it. But she was for damn sure not going to wait for him.
 

“Did you track him?” she asked her brother.
 

He shook his head. “We tried, and got as far as the east coast before we lost him.”
 

“Call Victoria and tell her what we’re doing,” she told Peter. “Not all of it. Tars knows you’re here, I’m sure, and he’ll use her to keep tabs on us.” She told him exactly what to say and made him repeat it.
 

“Can you get a plane?” she asked Rock, who nodded. She gave out the rest of her instructions, then pulled Ryc aside while Kurt and Rock checked the gear and packed it up.
 

“Where’s Cyrgyn?” she asked quietly.
 

“On his way to Scotland,” Ryc murmured. “He left in the middle of the night so he’d be over the water before daybreak.”
 

“Good. He obviously knows where to go.” Which was more than she did. “Where’s Tars’ tower?”
 

Ryc shrugged. “I’ve never been there.”
 

“Great.” Alexa didn’t want to delay them with research, but she wasn’t going to traipse all over the UK looking for it, either.
 

“Don’t worry,” Ryc murmured, stepping closer. “You’ll recognize it.”
 

She frowned. That wasn’t the way she did things. But she knew he was right.
 

“I’ll meet you there,” he said, moving toward the exit. She reached for him, then stopped herself. Last night had muddied a lot of waters, and when normally she would have demanded to
know where he was going and why he wasn’t traveling with them, now she felt awkward doing so.
 

It was probably best they stay apart, for now.
 

A bang distracted her as Rock dropped the last bag into the back of the Hummer.
 

“Okay.” Alexa nodded to Ryc, then clapped her hands once. “Let’s head out.”
 

* * *
 

The flight was uneventful. Most of them slept on the way over, used to grabbing it when they could because they never knew when they’d get it again. Peter even managed to relax and catch a few winks.
 

They landed and transferred the gear to a truck, then drove to a hotel where Alexa dropped her team. They argued when she told them she was going to scout the tower, but none could dispute the attention they’d draw as a group.
 

“One woman with three gorgeous guys may be a sight,” Ryc, who’d rejoined them at the airport, said wryly, “but a couple is less noticeable than a woman alone, as well. I’m going with you.”
 

Alexa didn’t want to waste time and energy fighting. “Fine. We’ll keep in touch with these.” She held up her small two-way radio, which had a longer range than smaller, more modern comms. “Channel nine point three. Check them.” They all tested their transmissions. “Peter, call Victoria and tell her—”
 

“I tried,” he interrupted, looking concerned. “She didn’t answer. Neither did Aunt Ethel when I called the new apartment.”
 

Alexa frowned and calculated the time difference. “It’s eleven o’clock at night there. Where are they?”
 

“Could be asleep,” Kurt offered, but Alexa shook her head.
 

“Not Aunt Ethel. She’s a night owl.
And
an early bird.” She pocketed her radio and checked her gun. “Just keep trying, okay, Peter?”
 

“Yep.”
 

Alexa and Ryc left the hotel and got into the nondescript sedan she’d rented. As Ryc had predicted, she knew just where to go. She left the hotel parking lot and headed east.
 

They drove in silence while her instincts guided her. Half an hour later they topped a rise and she pulled over. In the distance, about a mile ahead, stood their destination.
 

“It’s different,” she commented. The stone structure stood tall against the bright sky, alone in a field. “There should be forest. A village.” And for sure no parking lot. Three cars glinted in the sun. Tourists, she figured. Come to check out the museum in the middle of nowhere.
 

She unclipped her radio from her belt. “Rock.”
 

Static crackled. “Yeah. What have you got?”
 

“One lone Scottish tower, just waiting for excitement.” She gave Rock directions to the site and described the terrain. “Stay put until you hear from me. Or don’t hear from me,” she added. “Give us half an hour to check it out.”
 

“You got it. Be careful.”
 

“We will.” She gestured to the cars. “Shall we join them?” Ryc shrugged. She put the car in gear and drove on, parking next to a station wagon near the base of the tower. They got out and wandered across the hot macadam, glancing around at the empty fields, empty parking lot, and
empty sky.
 

Alexa liked none of it.
 

She gathered some energy, both normal and water, as she neared the building, pinning coils of it to her with mental manipulation.
 

The sign next to the tower entrance read, “Museum of Magic: A tribute to the mages of yore.” They entered and paused to let their eyes adjust to the lack of light inside. The room at the base of the tower was wide, perhaps a hundred feet across. A small counter to their right held color pamphlets and a reading list, but was unstaffed. Portraits and prints on the walls depicted fanciful images of mages and sorcerers, while placards below or to the side described the painting and the origin of the act contained within it. On the right, stone steps curved upward, circling the tower several times before ending at a landing near the top.
 

A family of four argued about whether or not magic existed. Up the steps, near the second tier, a teenaged couple necked noisily. That accounted for two cars. The family no doubt drove the wagon, the teenagers the little Nova. Which left the BMW. Tarsuinn.
 

They made a pretense of studying the exhibits, Alexa strolling to her left, staying close to the wall, and Ryc stepping to the right. They met on the far side.
 

“He’s got to be upstairs,” Alexa said under her breath. “I think we should head back and work up a plan.”
 

“That’s fine with me.” Ryc took her elbow and walked with her out the door. “The back of my neck is prickling,” he muttered once they were in the parking lot again.
 

“Don’t look back.” Alexa felt it, too. Tars was there, and he was watching them. Malevolently. She fought the urge to run to the car. Nothing happened, though, and soon they were heading back down the road.
 

“I guess he wasn’t any more ready for us than we were for him,” Alexa said. No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the wheel jerked under her hands. She tried to correct but the car went off the road and tumbled into a ditch.
 

Before she could even register what had happened, the driver’s door, which pointed at the sky, ripped off the car. Alexa felt some force pulling at her, trying to remove her from the vehicle. She fought it, grabbing her seatbelt and the gearshift. But the seatbelt clicked open and ran through her hand, burning it, and the gearshift came with her when her body lifted into the air.
 

She looked down at Ryc. His eyes were panicked when he realized she wasn’t getting out under her own power. “Alexa!” He reached for her, too late. Alexa grabbed for the doorjamb and caught it, but the action caused her body to swing down and she hit her head, hard, on the metal.
 

The last thing she saw before blackness took over was Ryc’s face.
 

Alexa came to slowly. She first became aware of her head, which had fallen forward onto her chest. That was apparently because she was standing. No, not standing, hanging. Her wrists hurt. She forced her spaghetti legs to support her and the pressure on her arms eased. She was manacled to a wall. A stone wall, as indicated by the cold against her back.
 

Her head ached. The right side throbbed, and she remembered banging it on the car doorjamb. She tried to lift it and moaned when light flashed behind her closed eyelids. Waves of pain bounced back and forth inside her skull. She prayed she wouldn’t throw up. That would show just how tough she was. Right.
 

Slowly the nausea receded and her head simply ached. She cracked an eyelid and confirmed that she was in the tower. The top of the tower, judging by the glimpse of treetops and open field she could see out one of the narrow windows.
 

After a minute she could open both eyes and focus on the room. Tars wasn’t in it, but she wasn’t alone. A young man in a suit stood at a small table across the room, perusing a file full of papers. He didn’t turn for several minutes, but when he did, he smiled and came closer.
 

“Ah, Alexa Ranger.” He checked her head wound and tsked. “We finally meet.”
 

She squinted at him, trying to place the familiar voice. “You work for Tarsuinn?”
 

The man raised one eyebrow. “You say his name rather oddly.” He placed his hands behind his back and stepped back and forth in front of her in a practiced manner. He looked like he belonged in a boardroom, not an ancient tower. “I am Mr. Suinn’s personal assistant, Mark.”
 

“What kind of assisting do you do?”
 

“He couldn’t make a move without me.”
 

Alexa snorted. He was in for a surprise, she mused, knowing things would get interesting once Tars arrived. Mark’s manner reminded her of a sniveling sidekick from any Disney movie, despite the veneer of importance he’d put on. “When will your boss be showing up?” she asked.
 

Mark had gone back to the desk and didn’t look up. “Momentarily.”
 

Alexa hoped “momentarily” would allow her to regain some strength. She tried to feel around for energy so she could unchain her arms, but couldn’t detect any, not even what she had gathered earlier. Whether that was because of her head injury and weakness or because Tars had either eliminated it or blocked it from her, she didn’t know.
 

A scraping sound came from beyond the door, and a moment later it opened. Tarsuinn walked in but ignored Alexa. He went straight to equipment in the center of the room. Alexa hadn’t looked closely before but now realized it was a brazier and a stand holding several small mortars and pestles.
 

“Practicing witchcraft?” Alexa asked when he lit the brazier and added pinches of dust from two of the bowls.
 

He glanced at her and his lips twitched. “No. I just like the scent.” He crossed to the table where Mark had spread papers, picked up a pen, and began to sign. Within a few moments Alexa could smell rose and musk and maybe even a little sage. An odd, interesting combination. Much
like the man himself, she mused.
 

Feeling stronger, she closed her eyes and reached out again for energy, this time expanding her awareness to the exterior. Nothing.
 

“You won’t find any,” Tarsuinn’s voice sounded right in front of her. Alexa’s eyes flashed open. He stood inches away, and she hadn’t noticed him approaching.
 

“Any what?”
 

He laughed. “Don’t try to bluff me. I know what’s going through that analytical mind of yours.”
 

“Then you know I think this is incredibly stupid. Moronic, even. What’s the point of tying me up? You won’t win me this way.” She glanced at Mark, wondering how much of a threat he was. He hovered by the desk, looking nervous behind his patronizing smile.
 

Tarsuinn’s face hardened, all amusement fleeing. Some of the madness she’d sensed before flitted behind his eyes. “There is a point, my dear Alexa, and it’s far from moronic. You’ve made it plain I cannot have you. But I will not admit defeat. The point of the curse was that he shall not have you, either. And to ensure that end, one of you must die.” He tossed a hand in the air. “Either one. Doesn’t matter. Your beast will come for you. And when he does, you shall choose.
 

“Then, it will be over.”