Bewitched & Betrayed

Chapter 12

“And my client wants him delivered to the old Ta’karid temple at sundown tomorrow,” Cradock said, with a smug smile that held no hint of apology for any death and dismemberment we might incur from trying to pull off a major kidnapping in less than a day.

Mychael didn’t move. “No deal.”

“You agreed to the terms.”

“Terms that gave us at least three days’ planning and prep time.” Mychael stood. “The deal’s off.”

“Are you saying you can’t do it?”

Mychael didn’t bite. “I’m saying we won’t. If your client wants the duke, he’ll have to pay more and wait longer. One day to get inside the elven embassy, get Sevelien, and get out isn’t kidnapping; it’s suicide.”

Cradock smiled like a man with a secret. “The duke isn’t staying in the embassy. Two days ago he moved into the house at the end of Ambassador Row.”

That was more than a little disconcerting. Why the hell did Markus move out of the embassy?

“Ambassador Row, which is conveniently around the corner from the elven embassy,” Mychael noted dryly. “Still no go.”

Judging from the sweat beading on Cradock’s upper lip, if the deal didn’t go down, and Markus didn’t get taken to the Ta’karid temple, Cradock wasn’t going to live much longer than sundown tomorrow himself.

I knew exactly what he’d done. “The goblin has already paid you, hasn’t he? Though perhaps a better question would be what is he going to do to you when he doesn’t get what he’s already paid you for? I think he’ll take his gold back with interest out of your hide.” I leaned forward and crossed my arms on the back of Mychael’s chair and lowered my voice. “Unless he said he’d take you—just like he did the general.”

A twitch took up residence in the corner of Karl Cradock’s left eye. Yep, I’d hit a nerve.

I pushed on. “You heard what happened to him, didn’t you? Or did you get to watch while it happened?”

Cradock’s continued silence was all the answer I needed.

“Sounds like you did the job, then stayed to help with the cleanup,” Mychael noted. “While your client no doubt found your attention to detail commendable, I wouldn’t exactly call pushing the general’s body out of a coach tidy.”

“You’re not paying us enough to clean up that kind of mess,” I told Cradock. “We’re in acquisitions—and I don’t do housework.”

In a blink of his twitching eye, Cradock’s bravado was back, though he still looked a tad pasty. I didn’t blame him; riding in a dark coach with a dried corpse would turn me pasty, too.

“My client made it worth my while,” Cradock told us. “For that much money, I’d toss my mother into the street.”

I snorted. “You have one?”

He flashed a grin. “Not anymore. And he’ll probably offer you the same deal.”

“I wouldn’t call being allowed to live only if I help dispose of a body a deal.” Mychael adjusted his cloak, and I saw the flicker of light reflected in the gem on the chain around his neck. My own hung just below Orla’s ample breasts.

“We’ll take the job,” Mychael said. “On the original terms plus an extra hundred in expenses—but we’ll pass on the client’s bonus. We’re not undertakers.” He leveled his gaze on Cradock. “And we want it all now.”

“Half now, half when the job is done.”

“Karl, I don’t think you’re going to be here when the job is done. There are two freighters in port, both of Caesolian registry. You’re from Caesolia; you know the captain of the Reliant, and you’ve already booked passage.”

Karl Cradock tried to look cool and calm, but his eye twitch was back. “The client hasn’t paid me my bonus, and I’m sure as hell not leaving Mid without it.”

“Yes, you will, because you value your life more than a few goblin coins; I don’t care how much they’re worth. We want our money now.” Mychael put both hands flat on the table in front of Cradock and leaned forward. “Every. Last. Coin.”

Karl Cradock told us we wouldn’t find Markus Sevelien in the elven embassy, which was good because I’d been in there once, almost got caught, nearly died, and was in no hurry to repeat either experience.

Where we were going was worse, if that was possible. It only confirmed my opinion about the wee hours of the morning—nothing good ever happened after two bells.

Generally, if you’ve just been paid an obscene amount of money to kidnap someone, you stash your gold and then you snatch your target. Not that I’ve had personal experience, but my last name was Benares.

We were carrying our payment, all of it. Goblin gold is lighter than normal gold, so one man could carry what it’d normally take a pack mule to haul. Mychael was doing the carrying. He had a satchel and pockets; all I had was an absurd amount of cleavage.

We were doing our walking-and-hiding thing again. Walk until we spotted another living soul, then hide in the shadows. And when we talked, we kept our voices low.

Markus was staying in one of the lavish homes on Ambassador Row, which was conveniently around the corner from—and within screaming distance of—Embassy Row with all the guards and weapons and death and destruction. A great place to visit in the middle of the night, if you had a death wish. A fly couldn’t sneeze on Ambassador Row without attracting attention of the fatal kind. Not exactly the ideal scenario for a kidnapping that Mychael said wasn’t going to be a kidnapping.

Not that I thought knocking Markus over the head and hauling him off was necessarily a bad plan. And it definitely wouldn’t take much right now to get me to knock Markus over the head. In my family, kidnapping was often the first step to productive negotiations with a rival or enemy. Any decent strategist knew that negotiations were better conducted from a position of power. For a Benares, that often meant a small room, a chair, and your rival blindfolded and tied to it.

I suspected Mychael’s plan involved warning Markus in some way that he was next on Sarad Nukpana’s menu, but if the two of us as Mychael Eiliesor and Raine Benares couldn’t be seen anywhere but the citadel, I didn’t know how we could do whatever Mychael wanted to do and still remain among the living, or at least the un-jailed.

I didn’t know because Mychael hadn’t told me.

“So are you going to tie a note to a rock and throw it through his bedroom window? Or toss a carrier pigeon over the wall and hope a trigger-happy guard doesn’t shoot it?”

“What?”

“How are you going to tell Markus that Nukpana’s uncle put a price on his head—and the rest of him?”

Mychael gripped my upper arm and pulled me into an alley.

“I think a personal visit would be best.” He gave me a look that spoke volumes, and then he sighed. “Though this would be much easier if you weren’t with me.”

I knew exactly what he was getting at. “So suddenly I’m not so indispensable?”

“Suddenly you’re a woman with a vindictive glint in those pretty gray eyes.”

I pursed my lips against a smile I felt coming on. “Compliments will get you nowhere.”

“Which one? Vindictive or pretty?”

I shrugged. “Either one works for me. But if you’re worried that I’ll choke the life out of Markus, I promise I’ll be perfect.”

Mychael chortled. “A perfect what?”

“Whatever Markus deserves.”

“No punching or choking.”

“I would never dream of it.”

“Raine.” That one word held a world of warning.

“Okay, I’d dream of it, but I wouldn’t do it.”

“Because you’d rather stab him.”

I just smiled. Mychael was getting to know me way too well.

“That’s not what we’re here for,” he told me.

“That’s not what you’re here for. If Markus had anything to do with Balmorlan kidnapping Piaras or getting Tam charged with murder, there are some impulses that I won’t even try to control.”

“Can you control yourself long enough for us to get into the house?”

My smile was tiny and perfect, maybe even demure. “Oh, you can count on it. I want to get in the same room with Markus. The question is how you propose to do that. We can’t exactly stroll up to the front door looking like this, knock, and hope we get invited in for drinks.”

“I thought we’d start by dropping our glamours.” Mychael dropped his.

I followed suit. I have to admit, it was a relief. My back was starting to hurt from carrying around what was no doubt Maire Orla’s pair of pride and joys. “Though what about the guards? If everyone’s supposed to believe we’re in the citadel and then Markus’s men see us, guess what? Cover blown.”

“We won’t be seeing the guards and they won’t see us.”

“Then what—”

“If you can’t control a situation, you have to know every detail, don’t you?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Mychael’s eyes twinkled from under the brim of his hat. “I’ll bet you don’t like surprises for your birthday, either.”

“No, I don’t. And what the hell does that have to do with anything?”

He leaned in close with a conspiratorial whisper. “Not all surprises are bad.”

Mychael took my face in his hands and those blue eyes gazed down into mine. There was no question reflected there, no uncertainty, and he sure as hell wasn’t asking my permission. Those eyes told me what he wanted.

He kissed me.

His lips didn’t demand; they simply took. With delicious slowness. His fingers of one hand ran lightly up the curve of my ear, lingering for a breath-catching caress at the tip before sliding down to my throat, leaving a trail of tingle-inducing heat in their wake. By the time his hand slipped around the back of my neck and pressed me to him, my hands were on him, sliding up to his chest and around his neck. My hands didn’t ask my permission, either. Traitorous hands.

Mychael’s kiss turned into a tantalizing nibble, gently pulling my bottom lip between his teeth, sucking, teasing.

I opened my eyes and was met with twin pools of deep ocean blue, gleaming with mischief as he released my lips and planted light kisses on my nose and forehead. His lips lingered there, the warmth of his breath and body doing a fine job of banishing the night cold—or at least giving me something better to think about. His lips had released mine, but his arms were wrapped firmly around my waist and didn’t seem to be in a rush to let me go.

“What was that for?” I found myself short of breath.

“Hopefully, a pleasant surprise.”

I looked up at him, a slow smile spreading across my face. “Eh, I’ve had worse.”

Mychael grinned and his fingers found that ticklish place on my ribs and I squealed before I could stop myself. His lips instantly covered my mouth, muffling the sound. He took his sweet time muffling.

“See, not all surprises are bad,” his lips murmured against mine. “And some are more enjoyable than you’ll admit.”

“Was that a distraction to keep me from stabbing Markus?”

“That depends. Did it work?”

“As a distraction, it was first-rate.”

“My lips humbly thank you.”

“As a deterrent . . . sorry, no dice.”

Mychael pressed his lips together. I actually think he was trying not to laugh—at me. I narrowed my eyes and glared at him.

“That sounds like a challenge to me,” he said. “I’ll have to make every effort to do better next time.”

“So what’s your plan?” I asked. “For Markus,” I quickly added.

Mychael ran his hands down my ribs to my hips and back again before releasing me. “Very well. After we’re in the house and have informed Markus of the situation, I plan to find out the truth of his involvement in all this.”

I bared my teeth in a fierce grin. “Now, that’s a plan I can—”

“My way,” he told me firmly.

“Your way what?”

“We’re going to find out my way. No fists, no daggers.”

“And which way is that?”

“I’ll ask him.”

“You expect him to be honest?”

“I’ll know if he’s lying, and so will you.”

True. Part of me didn’t want to know that Markus was lying—or that he would lie to me. It was the same part of me that didn’t want to know that I had been a part-time agent and a full-time patsy. I thought I meant more to Markus than that, and if I didn’t . . . well, dammit, it hurt. It hurt like hell. Not to mention it made me feel naïve and downright stupid. I didn’t like either one. During my life, I’d been screwed over by professionals, people who’d done it before and would gleefully do it again. I really didn’t want to add Markus’s name to that list.

“What if he is lying?” I asked quietly. “Or what if he tells us the truth and admits he did it?”

Mychael’s expression was cheerfully grim. “Then we’ll do it your way.”

“Best idea I’ve heard all night,” I muttered. “So, how do we get in the house?”

“I thought I’d give my usual signal and Markus’s butler would let us in through the back door. A quick veiling spell and the guards don’t see us. Markus has plenty of clandestine meetings in the middle of the night.”

I just stood there, and then I think I blinked. I wasn’t sure if I had or not; I was too stunned by what I’d just heard.

“Your usual signal?”

“I’ve been there before.”

“Apparently. What about the not so little fact that Markus is Taltek Balmorlan’s boss?” I asked. “The sadistic son of a bitch who kidnaps people for his personal armory. Carnades’s new best friend. Minion to the late and leathery General Aratus.”

“You have suspicions but no proof that Sevelien condoned any of Balmorlan’s activities,” Mychael said.

“When his people are attacking my friends, suspicions are all I need. Just because Markus’s name isn’t on Balmorlan’s orders doesn’t mean he’s innocent.”

“Nor does it condemn him as guilty.” His look softened. “You’ve worked with him for how long?”

“Nine years.”

“That’s a long time, Raine.”

“Yeah, it is,” I admitted reluctantly. I didn’t want to let go of a perfectly good vindictive anger.

“During that time did Markus Sevelien ever do anything to earn your distrust?”

“No, but—”

“What do your instincts tell you?”

“The same thing they always tell me. Be careful.”

“Good advice in any situation. Do they tell you anything else?”

“Markus is Balmorlan’s boss; he gives the orders.”

“That’s not an instinct; that’s an assumption.” His hands slid up my arms to just above my elbows. “Raine, many things are not as they seem, and people aren’t always who you think they are. But that doesn’t mean you can’t trust them just as much as you always have. And that includes their plans.”

“Are we still talking about Markus?”

“What I said applies to both me and Markus Sevelien.”

I paused. “Do you trust Markus?”

“I do.”

I sighed. “And I trust you.”

“Why, thank you.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m going to reserve judgment on Markus.”

One side of Mychael’s lips curled in a crooked smile. “I wouldn’t expect anything else.”

Mychael decided to hide the gold. Made sense to me. If we needed to run away from anything, Mychael’s clanking would be a sure giveaway. He found a neat little hidey-hole in the alley he’d yanked me into. He hid the satchel in the hole and kicked some alley garbage over it. When we finished with Markus, we’d stop back by and collect our ill-gotten booty.

We got within fifty yards of Markus’s house without incident. I was nothing short of stunned. But what didn’t stun, surprise, or shock me in the least was a stone wall around the property that had to be at least eight feet tall. The only way I caught a glimpse of the house was through a pair of massive iron gates wide enough to admit a carriage and outriders. The iron glowed blue with protective wards that snapped and sparked whenever a moth flew too close. That was one hell of a bug zapper—or elf-kidnapper zapper. The top of the wall sported the same blue glow. Cozy.

“Other than this one, the only other occupied house on the street is at the far end,” Mychael said in mindspeak.

That would explain the quiet—that and it was past two bells in the morning. Just because we didn’t see Markus’s guards didn’t mean they weren’t there. Markus hired only the best. Our dark leathers helped us blend into the stonework of the building at our backs.

We’d been standing in the shadows for nearly ten minutes, motionless, letting our eyes adjust to the darkness surrounding the house, to discern what was a shadow and what might be guards standing as still as we were.

There were no guards.

There should have been.

Something was very wrong.

I knew Markus well enough to find him using my seeking skills. If he was in that house, I’d know it. No need to step in something deep—or worse, a trap—if the man we needed to see wasn’t even there. But if he was there, and he was in danger, or hurt, or . . . or he was the man who ordered the people I cared about kidnapped and arrested and threatened with execution. If he’d done that, whatever danger was in his house with him right now was welcome to him. But if he hadn’t signed those orders and Balmorlan had acted alone . . .

Dammit. Why did this have to be so complicated?

Mychael’s hand was a comforting pressure on my shoulder as I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and silently.

“Is he in there?” Mychael asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Can you find out without anyone—”

“Yes.”

“Do it.”

I closed my eyes and tried to relax, breathing deeply. Breathing I could do; relaxing wasn’t going to happen, so I stopped trying and just went to work. I focused my will on an image of Markus in my mind until it was almost real enough to touch. Then I reached out across the street, over the wall, and froze.

I started shaking, but not from cold. Death was on the other side of that wall, inside that house. A chilled, spidery- light touch, a manipulator of death.

Mychael’s fingers tightened on my shoulder. “Reapers?” I kept my will focused on not moving, not giving myself away. It wasn’t a Reaper; what was in Markus’s house didn’t harvest the dead. It was alive and took a perverse pleasure in bringing back the dead. And he was powerful. Oh yes, he had power in spades, bone deep and cold as the grave.

It was a nachtmagus—and Evil with a capital E.

A pair of tall figures stood on either side of the front doors. A breeze shifted the branches of the tree shielding the house from the moonlight and I saw the face of the figure standing closest to me.

Gray skin, black armor, red serpent insignia over whatever heart the bastard had.

Khrynsani temple guards.

There was only one nachtmagus in town who could command a Khrynsani escort.

Janos Ghalfari. Sarad Nukpana’s uncle.

Ghalfari had hired two human kidnappers to take Markus, but now he was here himself. Why? And if Ghalfari was here, was Nukpana with him?

Through our bond, Mychael saw everything I did; and from the dangerous narrowing of his eyes, I wasn’t the only one who smelled a rat.

“Who knew that you had Morrell and Orla locked up?” I asked.

“Five of my men.”

I didn’t say someone squealed. Mychael knew it as well as I did.

The little voice that’d kept me alive for most of my adult life screamed for me to run. I thought the little voice’s idea was brilliant, but I wasn’t running. I wasn’t even leaving. Even if Markus had signed Balmorlan’s orders with his own hand, I couldn’t leave him for Sarad Nukpana to feed on for hours, slowly draining every drop of life.

If Markus was guilty, I had to know. If he was innocent, I had to save him.

Sometimes having a conscience was a bitch.

Though this wasn’t just about Markus. If Sarad Nukpana took Markus’s knowledge and memories, he would know the names of double agents, undercover operatives, plans, plots, defenses—in one stroke he could cripple elven intelligence, and a lot of good people would suffer and die. As far as agency knowledge, power, and influence, no one was Markus’s equal. Sarad Nukpana was fueling himself up to be an elf- annihilating juggernaut.

“You’re leaving and going for help,” came Mychael’s words in my mind.

That told me he was staying while I went. And while I was gone, he’d go in. No way. “I’m not going anywhere.” The elven embassy was a block away, but if I showed up at their gates, they’d just arrest me and jerk me inside. Or they’d try. None of which would get help here in time to save Markus. “You just want me away from here.”

“Raine, I can’t risk you being captured.”

I knew what he meant. If Sarad Nukpana was in there, the Saghred was going to try to make me take him.

“I’m strong and stubborn, remember? Or have you changed your mind about that, and think the Saghred and I will find Sarad Nukpana so scrumptious that I’ll lose control?”

“If Sarad Nukpana is in there, he’s not alone. If you were going to kidnap Markus Sevelien, how many people would you bring?”

“More than two, that’s for damned sure.” I glanced toward the house again. Lights were on and entirely too many people were home, the wrong people. “I think I can control myself,” I said dryly. “I’m not going to get caught—and neither are you.” No one, whether living, dead, or anywhere in between, was going to lay a hand on Mychael.

We both knew what I meant. Yes, the Saghred and I were one. And yes, I was Sarad Nukpana’s planned dessert, but I would use the full force of that rock against that murdering goblin if I had to. Actually, this was the chance I needed. End this now, here, tonight, before anyone else died, before Sarad Nukpana was strong enough to make his own rules and break all the others.

Mychael’s silence told me he knew he was wasting his breath, and that he didn’t have time to argue with me. His hand went from my shoulder to clasp my hand.

“Then we need to veil,” he said, and I felt his magic run up my arm and into every part of me. Instantly, it felt like I was still there, but not quite. I looked down at myself and up at Mychael. We were both still there. But from past experience, I knew no one else could see us.

“If Janos Ghalfari is inside, those two Khrynsani might be keeping watch because he and his men are still trying to find Markus—or Sarad Nukpana might be with them.”

And Markus might be slowly dying right now.

Mychael tightened his grip on my hand, making sure I stayed put. “There’s a street at the back of the property that runs the length of Ambassador Row,” he told me. “There has to be a coach waiting. Can you sense if Sarad Nukpana has been in it without getting too close?”

I’d been up close and personal with Sarad Nukpana before, and each time had been one time too many. I knew his scent and sense.

“Yes.”

“Let’s go.”

There was a coach and horses, and guards for both. I’d gotten a good look at the coach Nukpana had transported General Aratus in; this wasn’t it. That meant Tam’s dark mage associates and Mychael’s Guardians were at this moment at an abandoned carriage house watching a coach that wasn’t going anywhere, at least not tonight. If it had been the same coach, they would have followed it and ended up here. We’d have backup.

A different coach meant no reinforcements. No help.

Just us.

The guards around the coach were Khrynsani temple guards, not mages. That was good. While all Khrynsani were magically skilled, temple guards spent more time with blades than spells. I could seek past the four guards that I could see. There were probably more close by, but as long as they weren’t high-level Khrynsani mages, I should be able to find out what I needed to know without giving myself away.

I reached out across the thirty yards or so between me and the coach. There were no shields or wards on the coach. Uncle Janos was depending on his Khrynsani to keep his means of escape safe. I didn’t want to steal it; I just wanted a look inside.

I felt myself grin. Or maybe I did want to steal it.

Spook the horses, they’d bolt, then Nephew Nukpana and Uncle Janos would have to walk home. Now, that image was a keeper. Take away their transportation and get the added bonus of a distraction that might just get us into the house, or at least on the grounds.

“Raine, just see if Sarad Nukpana has been in that coach in the past hour and leave the horses to me.”

I was incredulous. “You like my plan?”

“I like this plan.”

I really didn’t want to look inside that coach and find Sarad Nukpana sitting there while his uncle was inside catching his dinner, so I got close enough to sense anything inside and took a big, psychic sniff.

My skin did a full head-to-toe crawl. Sarad Nukpana had definitely been in that coach; that meant he was here, inside the house. A black, oily sensation crawled along my skin, accompanied by the smell of musty air and mold. Death. Ancient and eternal. I didn’t know if it was from Nukpana or from the lives he’d taken. It didn’t matter. He was inside, so was his death-dealing uncle, and so was Markus.

Musty air and mold.

The same things I’d sensed when I touched General Aratus’s corpse.

Sarad Nukpana’s lair.

I needed more than confirmation; I needed a location.

I stopped, forced down some damned near overwhelming revulsion, and inhaled with all my senses. I got an image instantly. Smooth, hard stone, darkness, flickering firelight at the end of a long corridor or tunnel. The walls were smooth and cool, definitely man-made, a corridor or hallway, then. Shafts of cool blue light shone down from a light source embedded in the ceiling, possibly lightglobes. Rats scuttled and squeaked in the darkness next to the walls, running away from the light.

Away from what was in that room.

I’d been on enough ships to trust the instincts of rodents. In packs they could be downright brazen, so if a pack of rats ran from something, they had a good reason.

I had to see what that reason was, and I couldn’t do that without going into that room.

The coach lurched and my link snapped. Dammit. The guards couldn’t sense me, but the horses could, and they jerked in their harnesses to get away.

I usually ended up on the ground when a seeking link broke that quickly. I wasn’t on the ground now. Mychael was holding me up, one arm tightly around my waist, the other on the back of my head, pressing my face into his chest. I guess he didn’t want to chance that I’d make any noise.

With our link, he knew what I’d seen.

“Recognize it?” I asked.

“No.” He didn’t sound happy about that.

I wasn’t, either. It seemed like Mychael knew every bordello, alley, and abandoned building on the island, but he had no idea where the spooky room with the running rats was.

The image and memory wasn’t going anywhere. That was something about seeking. What you saw, you got to keep whether you wanted it or not. We’d find out where it was later. Now we had to get into Markus’s house. We had a family reunion to break up.

“Well, if you were planning on spooking the horses, I got them started for you. What’s the plan after that?”

“The back gate is just beyond where the coach is,” Mychael told me. “Just inside is a gardener’s shed. It stays unlocked. There’s a trapdoor with a short tunnel leading into the house’s basement. The basement door is warded, but I can get around it.”

“You have been here before. Okay, we get in the basement, then what?”

“We’ll evaluate the situation and act accordingly.”

Which meant Mychael’s plan was changing with our situation. He was flexible; I liked that. What I didn’t like was that we didn’t know what was waiting for us inside that basement.

I was right. Nothing good ever happened after two bells.