Spartan Resistance (32 page)

“Didn’t have to, in your case.” Kieran nodded toward the cavern floor. “Your
curiosity bump is itching over those two, right?”

Amazingly, he really did seem to understand. Gawaine relaxed a bit. “Yeah,” he admitted. “There’s lots of gossip around the agency, if you ask in just the right way…and don’t piss them off while you’re asking,” he added. “But I can’t seem to dig up much about either of them. They just appeared here about a year ago and started living down here and raising an army. Llewellyn is some sort of psychic and goes around scaring everyone with prophecies and that’s one thing. The other thing that is all wrong is Rhydder.”

“What’s wrong about him?” Kieran asked, sounding interested.

“They say he’s Dark Cast.”

“They do.” Kieran’s tone was one of confirmation.

“But the dark cast isn’t supposed to be able to learn psi talents…or anything much in the way of special skills.”

“That’s the speculation, but no one is completely sure. Most of what the vampires know about the casts has been lost.”

“But why?” Gawaine asked. “That doesn’t make sense, either. Brenden Christos is supposed to be so old he pre-dates Jesus. How come he doesn’t know everything about the casts?”

“Perhaps they chose to forget, long ago,” Kieran said. “They deliberately chose not to pass the information on to the next generation of vampires, because it makes people like you think about vampires in ways that they don’t deserve.”

“I’m not a bigot,” Gawaine said quickly. Defensively.

“But even just suspecting that Rhydder is one of the dark cast is enough to make you think that he is somehow stunted, or that he should be.”

Gawaine shook his head. “It’s not me doing that. It’s everyone else. Maybe nobody knows much about the casts, but they all instinctively know that the dark cast are the bad guys. It’s in their bones. No one talks about Rhydder. They don’t mention him in passing. It’s like he and his soldiers down here are the family skeleton. They’d rather pretend there isn’t an army of misfits down in the basement.”

Kieran didn’t answer, but he didn’t deny it, either.

“I’m trying to gather facts, so I can make connections, that’s all.” He nodded toward Rhydder. “So you tell me. Did he really spend years living five minutes into his past, so he could be human all the time?”

“I don’t know how long he did it for,” Kieran admitted.

“Then he
did
do it, at least for a while.”

“That is something I can confirm. But why do you care?”

“Because that’s time jumping. A psi talent. If Rhydder is one of the dark cast, who can’t learn anything, then how did he learn how to time jump?”

Kieran looked at him—a sharp glance. Then he looked down at the cavern floor, at Rhydder, who stood out among the soldiers because he was taller and because he was unarmed.

Gawaine turned and looked at him, too. “I figure that his friend Llewellyn taught him,” he said. “If he did, then that makes Llewellyn something special. But the only thing I can find out about Llewellyn is that he’s Welsh.” He rolled his eyes. “Like the name didn’t tell me that already.”

Kieran smiled.

“He’s really old,” Gawaine added. “I heard him mention Pergamum once. That’s probably where he learned his healing stuff, but Pergamum is nearly as old as Brenden. So who is Llewellyn? And if he’s really that old, how old is Rhydder?
That’s
what I’d like to know, because none of it makes sense.”

The silence lasted for a long while. Then Kieran stirred. “
If
Rhydder is one of the dark cast, it might not be because of Llewellyn’s skills that he learned how to time jump.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because there was another who could.”

“Another Malsinne? Who?”

Kieran grimaced. “Salathiel.”

Gawaine sighed. “Damn, I forgot all about him,” he said, vexed. It was something he really should have considered, too.

Kieran rested his hands on the safety railing and squeezed. “Psi talent is wild talent,” he said softly. “There’s no knowing where it’s going to abruptly manifest itself, or why. There’s never any reason for it. Look at me.” He glanced at Gawain. “But they’re still good questions you’ve got. I can tell you now that you’re never going to get answers by tackling those two head-on. You’re going to have to be a bit sneakier than that.”

Gawaine grinned. “
How
sneaky?”

* * * * *

Chronometric Conservation Agency Headquarters, Villa Fontani, Rome, 2265 A.D.

Christian wasn’t happy with the temperature or the consistency of the mash in Jack’s bowl and patiently set to rewarming it. Jack was chattering, trying hard to talk, making explosive sounds with his little lips and banging on the table with the flat of his hand.

“Tally, he wants his Teddy bear,” Christian said, not looking around.

“How do you know that?” Tally asked.

“That ‘pah!’ sound is him trying to say bear.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

Christian glanced at her over his shoulder. “Because when he makes that sound, I give him the bear and he stops making it.” He shrugged and went back to mashing.

“Are you trying to make me feel guilty for not understanding my son as well as you?” she asked, but he could tell by the lightness of her voice that she was just teasing.

“I could probably make Rob feel guilty doing that, except he seems to know what Jack is saying even better than I do,” Christian admitted.

“Pah! Paaah!”

Christian smiled and picked up the bowl and spoon. “What about food, instead of fuzzy bear?” he asked Jack.

Jack was pouting, looking at the bear where it laid on the bed. Tally was reaching for the bear, but before she could pick it up, it disappeared. Christian had been looking right at it and saw it go, just like it might have disappeared in a time jump.

Then Jack gave a happy gurgling sound and banged the teddy bear against the table in front of his chair.

“Oh, god, Lee…!” Tally breathed. Her eyes were wide and her face very white.

“Breathe,” Christian said, automatically diagnosing her state. “You’re stressing your symbiot.

“But you
saw
it!” Her voice rose. “Jack made it…he…”

“Teleported it,” Christian finished, as fear squeezed his gut.

Jack cheerfully thumped the stuffed animal against his chair, happy once more.

Breathe
, Christian told himself.

* * * * *

Brenden pushed his chair out from the desk and got to his feet with a decisive straightening up movement. Then he paused at the corner of his desk.

Swearing, he pulled the chair back under him and sat down.

Thank the gods he’d polarized the window, or everyone out in the command center would have watched him get to his feet for the fourth time in the last ten minutes.

He couldn’t seem to make a decision.

He couldn’t think at all. All sorts of extraneous fragments and completely irrelevant ideas were intruding, like dust on a lens, distorting the primary image.

Her soft lips
.

He had to do
something
. There was a goddamn emergency out there.

His green eyes, watching him
.

But the emergency wasn’t one at all. Like the last disaster Gabriel had delivered, this one had not touched the agency or its members. Deonne had the hardest job out of all of them, figuring out what messages they should use to sooth down the human hackles.

And Nayara would be busy for a week, taking meetings and talking down the politicians and the authority figures who would want to know what the hell the vampires were doing about this second disaster.

She had kissed
him
.
Did that mean she had always wanted to? Or had she really wanted to hit him instead?
 

But there wasn’t anything that Brenden could personally take care of to deal with the latest Gabriel tragedy. He wished there was. Right about now, he would gladly cave in a few heads, pummel a few kidneys… he could cheerfully tear someone apart right now.

You should be back in New Orleans
.
Why are you still sitting here?
 

That was the voice that had got him to his feet four times in the last ten minutes. New Orleans was where he was supposed to be. Why was he still sitting here?

Because he couldn’t face Billy. Not now.

Nayara’s implant connected to his with the little click.

I asked you to bring Billy here. I have time right now.
 

Brenden straightened up from his lean against the desk.
With all this going on
? His heart sank, as he waited for her answer.

There’s always something going on. And this is stressing Mariana. I want it sorted out now. Thanks, Brenden.
 

The same little click disconnected them.

Brenden hung his head. “Artemis, defend me,” he muttered.

This time, when he got to his feet, it was because Nayara was waiting. It was the only reason he could walk through the door.

* * * * *

Mariana knew she was hiding, but nothing that she should be doing held enough attraction to propel her out of the room. Besides, anything she might decide to do would put her within easy reach of the command center and that thought kept her firmly anchored on the cushion.

When her door alarm chimed, she stared at the door suspiciously. After sixty second of staring, the chime sounded again and this time, knocking came with it.

“Who is it?” she called out.

“Mariana, open the door. I want to talk to you.”

It was Laszlo’s voice.

Her stomach instantly developed butterflies and she pushed her hand against her chest. “This isn’t a good time,” she said weakly. She had sent him a message cancelling dinner, rather than calling him. It had been the weak way, the coward’s way, but she was fresh out of courage right now.o

“Just open the door. Please. I only want to talk. I won’t go away until we do.”

Mariana guessed that he would do exactly that. Tap and ring, until someone else along the corridor of bedroom suites stuck their head out the door and complained.

She got to her feet, feeling stiff and achy. She had been sitting still for too long. Reluctantly, she opened the door.

Laszlo was standing in her doorway, both hands on the doorframe, as if he had been leaning against it. He was wearing expensive and fashionable clothing that made the most of his lean length. Maybe it was even what he had been planning to wear to dinner with her. After all, she had cancelled almost at the last minute.

Her heart gave a little beat as his green eyes met hers.

“This really isn’t a good time,” she told him. “I’m sorry I had to bail out on dinner at the last minute, but things have been happening here and…well…”

His eyes narrowed. “Gabriel,” he said. “I heard. But if things are jumping around here, then why are you hiding out in your room?”

She pressed her lips together. “Laszlo, really, I’m sorry about the date, but I can’t explain any farther.”

“You cancelled it….” he said slowly. He stepped into the room and shut the door, closing them in, then turned to look at her. “You cancelled the date. You told Nayara about me. And now Brenden is as jumpy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. What is going on, Mariana?”

For a moment, blank confusion buzzed in her brain. She couldn’t make what he said come together in a way that made sense. Then the truth slammed into her with an impact that made her gasp. “You’re
Billy
!”

He tilted his head. “I’m Laszlo, too,” he said, with a small smile.

“You’re From-the-past-Billy,” she said, her heart thundering. “What are you doing here?”

“This is my time,” he pointed out.

She shook her head impatiently. “You slept with Brenden, not me. I spoke to you in New Orleans three hours ago by my subjective time and if Brenden is as good as I hear he is, then it was almost exactly three hours ago by your subjective time, too.”

He gave her a small, lop-sided smile. “I’m Billy by that definition,” he told her.

“Why are you here?” she repeated.

“I’m looking for answers, the same as you.” He stepped closer. “How did you know Brenden and I…?”

“You don’t have a good poker face,” she told him.

“I am
brilliant
at poker,” he replied. “High stakes poker was the foundation of my money.” He studied her. “I think you’re more sensitive about Laszlo—
and
Brenden—than either of us realize.” He lifted her chin and it was a gentle touch, so much like Laszlo’s that her breath caught. He looked into her eyes. “What made you cancel the dinner?” he asked. “Because I know you had no intention of letting either of us influence how you dealt with Laszlo.”

Her heart was still racing, but this time, it was Laszlo’s—
Billy’s
, she corrected herself harshly—proximity. “Don’t. Please.”

“Don’t?”

She stepped away from him and his hand. “This is highly confusing, especially with you here in this room, dressed like…well, like you, instead of the twentieth century clothing.”

“You like him, don’t you? More than that. He’s got under your skin.”

Mariana couldn’t look at him. For a moment, she could smell apples, baking in the hot afternoon sun. She could taste….

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe away the image, the taste, the reminder of him. Guilt speared her.

Billy’s hands on her shoulders turned her to face him. “You’re behaving like Brenden was. What’s going on, Mariana? I know you’ll tell me the truth.”

“I kissed him,” she said and blinked away the guilty tears. “I’m sorry. I know that sounds pathetic, but I am.”

His hands fell away from her shoulders. “You’re not talking about me—about Laszlo, I mean.”

She shook her head, her misery complete.

He pushed his hands into his pockets. “You wouldn’t be so cut up about this if it had meant nothing. But you’re eating yourself up about it.” He closed his eyes as he figured it out. “And so is Brenden,” he added.

He turned away from her. “He could barely look me in the eye when he came back to New Orleans. Said he was under orders to come and collect me and tried to hustle me out of the room inside ten seconds, like just being there was agony. He kept saying we had to hurry, but even if the whole world was demanding my return back here, we could have taken a month to get back and it wouldn’t have made any difference here.”