Death of an Adept

Chapter Thirty-One

ADAM returned groggily to his senses to find himself sprawled on his right side, cramped arms stretched upward and his head half-cradled against his shoulder. Dull pain throbbed behind his eyes, accompanied by a faint stir of nausea when he opened them and tried to focus - though he could see only the rumpled white of his shirt sleeve close beside his face.

Swallowing down bile and a moan, he tried to draw his hands to his aching forehead - and found his wrists secured above his head by a pair of handcuffs run through the white-painted frame of a narrow iron bedstead. The restraint brought back memory in a head-splitting surge of alarm and dull despair. Still reeling, he risked moving his head a few painful centimeters, trying to get some idea of his surroundings.

Harsh light from an aged ceiling fixture revealed a tightly shuttered window, four blank walls in need of paint, a grey metal bedside locker, a single straight-backed chair, and a metal-reinforced door. The blinking red eye of a closed-circuit television camera looked down from a corner. The effect suggested a prison cell crossed with a mortuary.

The analogy made him shiver, and he let his head fall back against his arm, suddenly aware of the pounding of his heart, in rhythm with the aching in his head. The dry thickness of his tongue and the erratic behavior of his pulse suggested he might have been subjected to something more potent and long-lasting than the chloroform used to subdue him initially. Trying to pull himself together, probing sluggishly at memory, he realized he had no idea how long he had been unconscious, though the state of his bladder suggested a significant time span.

The memory of his abduction was all too clear - the sudden attack, the chloroform disarming him, resistance and then awareness fading as his abductors bundled him roughly onto the floor of a taxicab, like a heap of dirty laundry. As he shifted position slightly, attempting to ease cramped muscles, the twinges he could feel attested to the likelihood that he had cost them enough trouble to warrant a kick or two. His single fragment of consolation within that final waking memory was the image of Ximena's would-be abductor abandoning his quarry in order to keep from being left behind.

The fact that they had been willing enough to let her go suggested that Adam himself had always been the main prize. Nor had he any doubt who was responsible for his present captivity. The method of his abduction followed an ail-too familiar pattern - palpable evidence that despite repeated setbacks, Francis Raeburn retained the will and the means to exact retribution.

Adam's present situation was clearly designed to underline how very vulnerable he now was. Quite apart from being drugged and restrained, he had been stripped to trousers and shirtsleeves while unconscious, relieved of shoes and belt and tie and all personal effects. While his watch, cufflinks, and a gold fountain pen were laid out on the bedside locker beside his wallet, what gave Adam the strongest pang of misgiving was the absence of his Adept ring, along with the rings intended to seal his marriage. These were items that might well be used against him, because of their strong emotional link - a potential weapon he did not doubt Raeburn would attempt to exploit for his own profit and amusement, and to Adam's detriment.

And handcuffed as he was, Adam held little hope that his old adversary would allow him any chance to make a bid for escape. His one frail recourse in his own defense was to try and send out a call for help on the astral - if he could pierce the drug-induced lethargy dragging at his thinking.

Hoping that any observers would think that he was merely drifting back into unconsciousness, he closed his eyes and attempted to retreat into trance. But before he could adequately compose himself, his concentration was jarred by the sound of brisk footsteps outside the closed door, followed by the harsh clatter of bolts being drawn.

Queasy apprehension gripped him as the door opened. The face of the man who entered was all too familiar to Adam's bleary gaze - deceptively ordinary-looking in a navy three-piece suit. Francis Raeburn left the door ajar behind him as he advanced to Adam's bedside with a reproving cluck of his tongue, his normally pale face aglow with high color.

"That will do, Dr. Sinclair," he said briskly. "It's most uncivil of you to try and contact your associates the minute you believe my back is turned. The courteous guest should avoid causing trouble for his host - besides which, you would be wasting your efforts. These premises are quite heavily shielded, even by your discriminating standards."

Rolling onto his back to gaze up at his captor, Adam made no attempt to summon a rejoinder. Even half-drugged, he could see that Raeburn had undergone a change in the months since their previous encounter. The ascetic features were now more sharply defined, and the thinning blond hair had gone a trifle silver. The pronounced flush, the overly elaborate banter, were signs of a man only marginally in control of himself. A detached part of Adam reckoned that Raeburn had been driving himself hard since they last met - pushing himself near to the breaking point in search of the elusive touchstone of power and victory.

The result was a loss of equilibrium. Raeburn's intellect might remain as sharp as ever, but the emotional core of his personality was being systematically eroded. The process was a long-term one, the results only now becoming outwardly apparent. But Adam knew that such erosion was one of the dangers ever-present in courting the favors of the Patrons of Shadow.

As this thought moved sluggishly across his mind, he became awar; that Raeburn was speaking again.

"I must apologize for the inelegance of your restraints," Raeburn said, nodding toward the handcuffs. "My men were more efficient than I dared to hope. I wasn't expecting you quite so soon. But we'll remedy this embarrassing oversight very shortly." He paused a beat for emphasis. "Aren't you the least bit curious to know what I have in store for you?'' His tone was lightly edged, as if the quality of Adam's silence had vexed him. Faced with a direct question, Adam was careful in his answer.

"No doubt you'll get around to telling me in your own good time."

Raeburn laughed. "Well-reasoned. Just now, I think I'll let you indulge your imagination - especially since I have no wish to blunt your anticipation."

Reaching above Adam's head, Raeburn turned on a high-intensity light clamped to the bedstead, then delved into the pocket of his suit jacket and produced the small velvet box which Adam had brought away with him from the engraver's studio. Opening it, he took out the two wedding rings and made a show of examining each of them in turn under the light.

"A. S. to X. L. X. L. to A. S. - how touchingly Victorian," he quipped, his Lynx ring flashing like blood on his hand as he replaced the rings in their box. "I can't say that sentimentality much appeals to me - but then, your appetites and mine never have coincided, have they?"

Closing the box with a snap, he pocketed it and brought out Adam's Adept ring, subjecting it to the same degree of scrutiny.

"A handsome enough stone," he conceded, "but it could use a bit of polish."

Watching Adam out of the corner of his eye, he held the ring close to his lips and breathed heavily on the sapphire. As he did so, Adam felt himself swept by a sudden flush of mingled heat and cold that penetrated to the bone, so intense that it forced a hissing intake of breath.

"Yes, that's better," Raeburn purred. "A significant improvement."

With ostentatious care, he rubbed the stone gently against the lapel of his jacket and returned it to his pocket. The searing cold abated, leaving Adam drained and breathless as the door beyond swung fully open to admit the back of a black-clad blond man towing a tea trolley behind him.

Raeburn was still smiling as he nodded toward the newcomer.

"This is Herr Richter, my head of security, whose operatives have so amply redeemed themselves after their little mishap at your gate lodge last week," he said genially, even as Richter turned and Adam recognized the lean, bespectacled face and hard eyes that had figured time and again in Peregrine's drawings of recent weeks.

A darting look at the trolley Richter was rattling closer to the bed evoked a pang of more visceral dread, for the purpose of the paraphernalia laid out in such orderly array was all too obvious to anyone medically trained - stark declaration of Raeburn' s ability and intention to hold Adam helpless for as long as it suited his pleasure.

Nor was Raeburn leaving anything to chance, where the handling of his prize was concerned. Though Adam could have predicted the appearance of the two hard-eyed professionals who followed Richter into the room, the self-assured younger man accompanying them seemed out of place at first - pinstriped suit cut in the height of Bond Street fashion, with dark hair worn full and longish above a handsome, self-indulgent face - and with an expensive stethoscope draped around his neck with studied arrogance.

"I believe you already know Dr. Mallory," Raeburn said smoothly, even as Adam took a startled second look at the suave newcomer. "I have asked him to ensure that your stay with us will be as restful as possible."

Raeburn's immediate plans for him had been evident from the moment Richter arrived with the trolley. Still, a sense of queasy betrayal reinforced Adam's apprehension as he realized that the physician engaged to facilitate the arrangement, in violation of all medical ethics, was the slick young anaesthetist from his own hospital.

Mallory gave him a nod in sinister parody of a pleasant bedside manner, tearing open an alcohol swab and then selecting a pre-loaded hypodermic syringe from the tea trolley. Simultaneously, Richter's two associates came briskly around to the other side of the bed and, at a signal from Raeburn, pinned Adam's body and legs flat to the bed. There was nothing Adam could do as Richter pushed back his left sleeve and constricted the blood-flow with a vise-like grip around the upper arm, holding the forearm steady so that Mallory could slip his needle home.

"Consider this in the light of pre-op medication," Raeburn said softly from the sidelines, as Mallory's thumb slowly tightened on the plunger. "It would be extremely inconvenient if you were to raise a hue and cry. I simply can't abide the thought of so many good plans going to waste - so I think we'll be keeping you sedated from here on out."

As Adam's Second, it fell to McLeod to convene the council of war that, even then, was getting under way in the library at Strathmourne. Peregrine had spread the word immediately upon receiving Donald Cochrane's telephone call earlier in the evening, and key members and supporters of the Hunting Lodge had converged on the house in the next several hours.

When McLeod finally arrived with Philippa and Ximena, following the latter's release from Edinburgh Royal Infirmary, they had found the assembled household huddled around a portable TV set hastily brought in by Humphrey, for the abduction of Sir Adam Sinclair, a mere week before his scheduled society wedding, had been sensational enough to rate mention on the ten o'clock news. Among the members of the Hunting Lodge anxiously awaiting a more specific update from McLeod were Peregrine, the Houstons, and Lady Julian, fetched by Humphrey directly upon leaving the crime scene. Also present, by special dispensation, were Julia Lovat and Harry Nimmo.

"The way the abduction was carried out is totally consistent with methods used in the past by Francis Raeburn and the Lodge of the Lynx," Philippa said, after Ximena had related the basic circumstances of Adam's kidnapping. "Raeburn has crossed swords with Adam more than once; and while we've always been able to short-stop him, we've never quite managed to bring him down. Quite clearly, revenge will play a large part in Raeburn's present motivations. While I cannot over-stress the danger to Adam himself, however, there is little doubt in my mind that the abduction is also the prelude to something infinitely more sinister in its implications."

A shiver of greater uneasiness rippled through the company, but the library and, indeed, the entire estate had already been rendered as secure against intrusion as was possible. PC Gilston was standing guard outside the front door of the house, to fend off further press inquiries; and with Peregrine and Julia withdrawn to the greater safety of the main house for the duration, McLeod had pulled back Adam's recent security patrols to the immediate vicinity of the house, with strict instructions to safeguard the family's privacy.

"Naturally, the regular police are prepared to do all they can," Philippa continued. "Unfortunately, I doubt they have the resources to find Raeburn - at least in time. Certainly they aren't equipped to deal with him. That means most of the burden falls upon us. I expect that, at best, we have three days to accomplish this."

"Why three days?" Harry asked.

"Adam left a message on my answering machine late last night," McLeod said. "He was none too specific, because all of us try to avoid leaving hard evidence of what we do, but he said he'd been going through lolo McFarlane's dream journal and had come up with some leads - that he was convinced McFarlane is still alive, but he didn't think anything would go critical until after the weekend." He paused a beat.

"Monday is Imbolc Eve, one of the most significant festivals of the old Celtic calendar, a traditional time of blood-sacrifice. Adam was concerned for McFarlane when he rang me; but now that he himself is in Raeburn's hands, I think it's highly likely that Adam will become the sacrifice instead. I kick myself now that I didn't ring him back this morning to clarify," he added, steeling himself to Ximena's appalled intake of breath.

"He also mentioned a special witness that he wanted to talk to - and that he needed my help to do this," McLeod went on, sweeping his gaze across the other members of the Hunting Lodge, who immediately realized he was not speaking of a living witness. "I have no idea who he had in mind, but I think it's important that we try to find out - and start in immediately on trying to locate Adam himself. Philippa, I'd like to defer to your greater experience in directing this operation. You're in the best position to coordinate our efforts from here, while I continue to liaise with more conventional police efforts to find him."

Ximena, whose face had gone progressively paler during McLeod's recitation, glanced at all their faces in something of despair.

"Am I really hearing what I think I hear?" she whispered. "Are you saying that this Raeburn is going to make a human sacrifice of Adam?"

McLeod looked at his hands, unable to meet her gaze, and Peregrine, too, averted his eyes, both of them remembering Randall Stewart. The other members of the Hunting Lodge looked away as well. Julia bit at her lips, fighting back tears, and Harry looked stunned. Only Philippa remained undaunted as she reached across to take her daughter-in-law's hand.

"I'm afraid we are, darling," she said quietly. "But that isn't until three days from now. Meanwhile, there's much we can do. Noel, I'll need you to fetch a few things for me from downstairs."

A quarter-hour later, they were ready to begin, arranging folding chairs around two card tables pushed together in the center of the room. Victoria had covered the tables with a clean white cloth, and upon it in the center was set a large sphere of rock crystal on a silver stand. The electric lights had been extinguished, so the room was lit only by the firelight and a single new beeswax candle in a silver holder, set close beside the crystal.

Signing for everyone to find a chair, Philippa took a place between McLeod and Julian and laid Adam's silver-mounted skean dubh on the table beside the crystal. While upstairs to fetch it, she had changed from her smart designer suit of earlier in the day to a comfortable caftan of sapphire-blue velour whose color echoed that of the gem set in the skean dubh's hilt and the lesser sapphires gracing the hands of each Huntsman.

In addition, Philippa had donned an Egyptian necklace of exquisite workmanship - blue faience and enamelwork depicting a solar disk flanked by two ostrich plumes and gripped by a Horus hawk. While most of those present were aware that the necklace had belonged to Adam himself, in an earlier incarnation, she offered a modified explanation for the benefit of those who had no knowledge of such mysteries.

"This is apt to be a very long night, so I thought I'd change into something more comfortable before settling down to work," she said, adjusting the angle of the skean dubh more to her liking. "This will all seem very strange to a few of you, so I'll try to explain a little before we begin.

"The items we've assembled here are tools - nothing more. It's said that a good magician should be able to work high magic while naked in the middle of a desert - but the proper tools make the work far easier."

She touched the solar disk on the necklace at her breast and smiled at Ximena, in particular.

"This necklace is one of those tools. It was once the badge of office of a priest of Amun Ra - someone with whom my son has special affinities. Adam's father bought it for me, shortly after Adam was born, so it means a great deal to me as well. By wearing it while I work, I hope to put myself in harmony with my son while I attempt to locate him by means of scrying. That's what the crystal is for."

She let one hand rest on the crystal as she went on.

"Scrying is a form of self-induced clairvoyance. It's tantamount to a radio operator trying to tune in to a particular radio frequency - except that the resonances I'll be trying to home in on are psychic. For a more specific focus on Adam himself, I've brought down his skean dubh." She picked it up by the sheath, with the stone uppermost.

"This particular skean dubh is more than just an item of fancy Highland dress; it's a magical tool that Adam uses regularly in his work. Other than the ring that most of you have seen him wear - and that will be in the hands of Raeburn by now - this carries perhaps the strongest residual of his unique psychic signature that we could hope for. An affinity also exists between this stone and the one in Adam's ring, just as there's an affinity between his ring and the ones the rest of us wear. That may also work in our favor.

"In this instance, I plan to use the skean dubh like a tuner to help me focus on the particular signature band that I'm looking for. If I'm successful," she concluded, laying the skean dubh beside the crystal, "at least a few of us will be able to catch visual images in this piece of rock crystal."

So saying, she joined hands with Julian and McLeod and watched as the others joined hands as well, following her lead - Ximena between Julian and Christopher, to Philippa's left, Harry at the end opposite them, and Julia directly across from Philippa, between her husband and Victoria. When everyone had settled, Philippa drew a deep breath and began entering into trance.

One by one, the other members of the Hunting Lodge did likewise, silently linking their wills to Philippa's, Christopher bowing his head in a whispered prayer which Ximena found herself repeating. After a moment, at Philippa's silent cue, McLeod and Julian released her hands and shifted their contacts to her arms instead, maintaining the circle while Philippa took up Adam's skean dubh by the sheath and held it before her entranced gaze, elbows propped on her chair arms and against the table edge as she stared into the depths of the azure stone.

The hushed silence became a tranquil focus of stilled anticipation, only soft breathing and the faint crackle of the flames upon the hearth edging the stillness. Long minutes passed before Philippa slowly reached out her left hand to cup the stand of the crystal ball, her right hand bringing the pommel of the skean dubh to touch her bowed forehead.

A shiver passed through her body, transmitted along the circle as a frisson of certainty that something was happening, though no one dared break the silence. For another long moment there was no other sound - until all at once Philippa drew a sudden sharp breath, leaning slightly forward to peer into the heart of the crystal, the skean dubh still pressed to her forehead.

"Show me," she whispered. "Oh, please - let me see…."

Hardly daring to breathe herself, Ximena leaned closer, as did Harry and Julia, hardly knowing what they might be expected to see. The others did not move.

Philippa's eyes sharpened, her gaze flickering minutely back and forth as if she were, indeed, following some moving sequence of images. Then, abruptly, she exhaled gustily and slumped back in her chair, the skean dubh slipping from her fingers with a dull clatter.

"You got something," McLeod declared, eyeing her intently, as Julian's nimble fingers shifted on Philippa's wrist to check her pulse.

The other members of the Hunting Lodge also roused themselves, all of them looking to Philippa for enlightenment.

"Nothing of substance," Philippa murmured, shaking her head as she made her eyes refocus. "Only a few fleeting images associated with the actual kidnapping. They may even have been triggered by Ximena's descriptions of what happened."

"Nothing of Adam himself?" McLeod pressed.

Philippa shook her head again, and Ximena drew herself up, clinging to Christopher's hand.

"Does that mean he's dead?" she forced herself to ask.

"No," Philippa said emphatically. "That's the one piece of good news. If he were dead, the evidence would be clearly emblazoned on the astral. My guess is that he's being kept drugged and unconscious, in addition to being magically shielded. Raeburn's already proven his effectiveness at keeping things hidden."

"Then what next?" Peregrine asked.

"With some minor modifications to allow for a sharing of the work, we repeat this exercise at regular intervals, in the hope of catching Adam in a moment of wakefulness," Philippa replied.

"Isn't that a bit hit-or-miss?" Harry asked.

"It's very hit-or-miss," Philippa retorted, a little more sharply than she had intended. "But until and unless I can come up with a better approach, it's better than doing nothing."

She had Humphrey set up a pair of cots in the downstairs parlor, so that Julian, Christopher, and Victoria could keep up the search through the rest of the night, taking turns as two of them trolled on the astral for traces of Adam's unique psychic resonance while the third kept watch for their physical welfare. Ximena, exhausted both physically and emotionally, was sent upstairs with orders to sleep or else face the likelihood that Philippa would insist on a sedative. She did not argue the wisdom of the order, for all of them knew that fatigue might well prove one of their worst enemies, but neither did she manage to sleep much - though Julia accompanied her upstairs and lay down beside her, and she, at least, dozed.

Once the two of them had retired, Humphrey was sent to retrieve Adam's briefcase from the Bentley, so that McLeod, Philippa, Peregrine, and Harry could examine lolo McFarlane's dream journal. Though the four of them worked well into what remained of the night, trying to fathom what might have sparked Adam's telephone call to McLeod, no enlightenment was forthcoming. Toward morning, they, too, retreated for a few hours' sleep.

First light saw Huntsmen and Hunt Followers gathered in the library again for brunch and a morning briefing, save for Julian, who remained on astral duty in the parlor until relieved by Christopher. Philippa had phoned John Graham immediately after rising, and knew he also had his resources focused on finding Adam.

The phone started ringing shortly thereafter, and McLeod soon was embroiled in liaison functions with the official police investigation now picking up speed. Donald Cochrane arrived later in the afternoon to assist McLeod, shortly after Ximena announced with horror that she had just remembered that her mother was already en route to Scotland for a wedding that now might well never take place.

"Dear God, she left San Francisco two hours ago," Ximena said with a groan, as she looked at her watch. "I'd forgotten all about it. She'll be here first thing in the morning. What am I going to tell her?"

"We'll decide closer to the time," Philippa replied, hugging the younger woman close. "I haven't told Adam's sister yet, either, though I suppose I'd better ring her. Try not to worry, darling. We aren't beaten yet."

The rest of Saturday crept past without any definitive leads, official or private. The press had a field day with the Adam Sinclair kidnap case, positing motives that ranged through demands for ransom, the possibility of retaliation by a former mental patient or criminal Adam had helped apprehend, and even the desperation attempt of some jealous former love interest to thwart the upcoming wedding.

The police did their best to keep press speculation from becoming too outrageous, but could provide no hard news to replace it, as detectives doggedly pursued the conventional side of the investigation and kept turning up blanks. A taxi thought to have been used in the abduction was discovered overturned and burnt out in a cul-de-sac just west of Edinburgh; but even when McLeod brought Peregrine and Harry into the police impound yard where it had been taken, neither was able to pick up any residual resonances.

Meanwhile, using lolo McFarlane's dream journal as an additional focus, Philippa directed the members of the Hunting Lodge to extend their search to McFarlane as well as Adam - for if McFarlane had also been taken by Raeburn, as increasingly seemed the case, his captors might not have felt the need to shield his whereabouts as carefully as Adam's.

The logic was sound, but the widened search yielded no better results. At the end of the first full twenty-four hours following Adam's abduction, his would-be rescuers were no closer to finding him than they had been when they started.