Books by Maggie Shayne (325 page)

“Good girl,” George praised. Then he drank the last of his tea, which was, Nidaba guessed, two-thirds cream and sugar. He set the cup down again. “Good night, Nidaba.”

“Good night, George,” she said. She watched him go, sipping her tea and trying hard not to hear Sheila’s words about Natum echoing in her mind. But they echoed anyway.

To distract herself, Nidaba stared at the dog, who stared right back at her. It really was a beautiful creature, with broad shoulders, and a wide powerful chest. Feet like a bear, and a wide, untapered muzzle. She weighed close to a hundred pounds, or a bit less, and Nidaba imagined that if she turned on an intruder, she’d tear him to shreds in minutes. If she were so inclined.

The dog rose and walked toward Nidaba, her eyes piercing. The hair on the back of her neck bristled upward, and a low, menacing growl came from deep in the beast’s massive chest.

Nidaba blinked, and got to her feet, taking a step backward. “What is it, Queenie? What’s wrong with you?”

The growl got louder as the dog crept closer, half crouching now as if she would spring.

“There, now,” Nidaba said, backing further away, edging toward the door behind her. “Don’t you remember me? I thought we were going to be friends ...”

The door opened before she ever reached it. The growling ceased, and the dog eased her stance instantly. She looked up even as Nidaba turned around. And when the dog saw Nathan standing there, she seemed to relax.

Then she turned and trotted away in the direction George had gone.

Nidaba still had one hand pressed to her chest. “By the Gods, I thought the beast was going to eat me alive.”

Frowning, Nathan came forward, shrugging off his peacoat on the way. “Are you all right?”

“Yes.” She sighed, feeling a bit sheepish. “George told the dog to guard me. I guess the beast understands far more than I realized. She must have heard you coming before I did. She got all wrought up.”

“Really?” He seemed surprised, staring after the dog. “She’s never acted at all menacing before.”

“Well, she certainly did just now.” Nidaba shrugged. “Maybe she senses the danger in the air. That’s the only explanation I can think of. Once she saw it was only you at the door, she was fine again.”

Nathan rubbed a hand over his chin. “Might not be such a bad idea to have a dog like that around the place.”

“No, I suppose not.”

He came closer and placed his hands on her shoulders, his eyes searching her face. “It frightened you, though. You’ve had a hellish day, haven’t you?”

Lowering her gaze from the probing power of his, she said, “I’ve had worse.”

“I know you have.”

Drawing a breath, he released her. He fetched down another cup and poured himself some tea. “I think it’s time we talked, you and I. Don’t you?”

“I suppose it’s inevitable that we do so sooner or later.”

“Come on. We’ll go out onto the veranda where no prying ears will hear too much.” He took her arm and led her back through the dining room, into the front parlor, toward the library off to one side. But she stopped him and turning, stared up at the portrait above the mantel.

“Do you like it?” he asked her.

She couldn’t quite manage to look at him as she asked, “Why did you paint it, Natum?”

He stood motionless. “I was afraid I might... forget you. Your face. Your eyes. I was wrong, of course, but. ..”

She finally turned to him, but he shrugged and looked away.

The veranda was through a set of French doors in the library. It was simply a cement pad, rounded and extending from the edge of the house. A railing surrounded it, and it sported a glass-topped umbrella-shaded table at its center and benches on its sides. Natum walked past the table, stopping beside the bench farthest from the house. He stood until she sat. Then he sat down beside her.

He stared at her for a long moment, and finally said, “I hardly know where to begin. At the beginning?”

“Begin at the end,” she said. “The beginning is too long ago to be important to us now.”

“Not for me, Nidaba. The beginning was long ago, yes. And it’s painful as hell to revisit. But to me, it’s very important. Maybe ... the most important part of my life.”

She turned her head away.

“Nidaba, we have to talk about what happened between us back then,” he said, touching her face, turning her to face him again. “Please.”

Her eyes burned with unshed tears. “If you pound a nail into the heart of a sapling tree, it bleeds. It hurts, and it bleeds, but it survives. It lives and it grows. Layer upon layer, year upon year, until that nail is so deeply buried that it’s invisible. Oh, the tree knows it’s there. It’s still piercing the heart, after all. It’s still painful. But to remove it after so much time—don’t you see? It’s not possible. Not without cutting the tree down. Not without killing it.”

“No. You’re wrong—”

“You put this nail in my heart long ago, Eannatum. It has healed over. Don’t try to pull it out, because you’ll only start the bleeding anew. Leave it. Just leave it.”

“
You
are the one who left
me
.”

“
You
are the one who married
her
.”

He clenched his jaw. “I had no choice. You were the one who made me realize that.”

“I know,” she said, about to argue that he did have a choice. He could have chosen her over his throne. A secret part of her had wanted him to do just that. To throw it all away just to be with her. Foolish, foolish notion. But why rake over these old ashes again? She sighed, met his eyes. “It would never have worked between us, at any rate, Natum. You obviously see things far differently from the way I do. I cherish my freedom, relish my immortality, and live fully within it. While you confine yourself, hide what you are, live as mortal.”

“I’m as free as any man. I live this way because I choose to.”

She shook her head. “You’re a prisoner, Natum. And this house is your prison, and this persona you’ve created, this Nathan King, is your jailer. It’s the same as before, don’t you see? Only then the prison cell was a gilded palace, a royal throne. Duty was your jailer then.”

“I don’t see it that way, Nidaba.”

“No, of course you don’t.”

“If you’d let me explain ...”

“I do not care. It doesn’t matter now, Eannatum. In fact, all that matters just now is the enemy who has found me here. The one who is trying to kill me.”

Nathan drew a deep breath. “I think I know who it is,” he said at length.

“Do you?”

“Yes. There was a woman here, looking for you. An immortal—I never touched her, but I sensed it. She claimed to be a friend.”

“I have no friends.”

“I thought as much. She said her name was Arianna. Arianna Sinclair-Lachlan.”

Nidaba’s head came up quickly. In her mind’s eye, she saw her son. Nicodimus ... and the young woman Nidaba had long blamed for his death. Her memory of the past year seemed to clarify all at once, flashing into place so brightly it was nearly blinding. Suddenly everything made perfect sense.

She had lost her son—twice—but a year ago, she had found him again. Alive, immortal, wonderful...

“Nicodimus,” she whispered, her heart quaking at his name, tears brimming. How could she have forgotten? He wasn’t dead. He lived!

“Nidaba? Is something wrong?”

She looked up at him quickly, confusion making her hesitate. Nicodimus was this man’s son. Eannatum’s son. And yet... did she dare tell Natum that he lived? He’d had the boy killed once before ...

He couldn ‘t have!

But what if he did? And even if he didn’t, she couldn’t risk Nicky’s being dragged into this situation with her. Not now. Not yet. She could end up losing him yet again, to the blade of this Dark Witch, whoever the hell she might be.

If Natum knew his son was alive, he might not be willing to wait to contact him. And if he knew Arianna was a friend—Nidaba’s daughter-in-law, in fact—he might contact her as well. No. She must wait. Bide her time. Make very, very sure it was the right thing to do before she confessed any of this to Natum.

Her heart doubted he had ever done anything to deliberately harm his own child. But her mind wasn’t as certain. Not even for Natum would she place Nicodimus in harm’s way.

A hand brushed her face. “Are you all right?”

Staring into his eyes, she nodded. “Yes. Please, go on.”

“All right. Nidaba... for any Dark Witch to be this gifted at casting a glamour, she must be very old. Very powerful.”

Nidaba lifted her chin, shaking off the remnants of her overwhelming emotions. She felt stronger now that she had remembered finding her beloved son again. “So am I,” she said.

“But you’re in a weakened state.”

She waved a hand dismissively. “A good night’s sleep, another solid meal, and I’ll be back to one hundred percent. I’m nearly there now.”

“Still...”

“Eannatum, I need a dagger. They must have taken mine from me at that hospital. And I do not wish to face this bitch alone unarmed again.”

For the first time in their entire conversation, Natum smiled slightly. “Changing the subject, Nidaba?”

“No.” Sitting straighter, lifting her chin, she said, “I do want to talk to you about the past. About... all of it.” More than that, she wanted him to tell her he was totally innocent in the attack on her and her son. And she wanted to believe him when he did. “But don’t you think we need to focus first on keeping our hearts in our chests where they belong? We’ll talk, Natum. Soon. And I will listen to what you have to say to me. I promise you that. But right now, I need ...”

“Some time?” he asked.

She frowned at him. “A blade,” she told him.

He blew a sigh, shook his head. “You always have had a one-track mind.”

“A blade, dammit.”

“All right, all right. Come on, come with me.” He held out his hand, and Nidaba took it. Then Natum looked down, and she did too, at his large, strong hand enveloping her smaller one. He closed his eyes briefly, as if touching her were almost painfully sweet.

There were so many things he wanted to ask her. He knew she’d borne a child—but he had never been sure if that child had been his, or what had truly become of the boy. And he never knew exactly what had happened the night Nidaba and her son had allegedly perished in a terrible fire.

Not in all these years.

But the pain that came into her eyes at the merest mention of that time was too much for him to bear. So he told himself he could wait to learn all of those things. He could wait. Until she was ready to speak of them.

He put her into his car and drove into Boston, to his gallery, which he hadn’t opened since she’d returned to his life.

“What is this place?” she asked when he unlocked the door and took her inside.

“It’s my business, Nidaba. I buy and sell antiquities. And, um ... my most private collection is here. Though I never display it. I keep it here because the security is far superior to that at home. Come.” He led her through the gallery, with its swords and shields from various eras displayed on the walls. Pottery and statues lined every shelf. Tapestries and cloaks were arranged on the walls.

Glass cases held chalices and spears and golden coins from civilizations long dead.

In the private display area, the small alcove he’d created for his eyes alone, were cylinder seals from the land of Sumer—one of them the very seal of the once great king, Eannatum.

His eyes stung a bit each time he visited this area, and more so this time, for Nidaba pulled him to a stop. “By the Gods, Natum,” she whispered. Her fingers dragged across the face of the glass case, where slabs of cuneiform tablets stood on display stands, where headdresses and jewelry from days long forgotten decorated lifeless mannequin heads.

“It’s .. .just memories. That’s all,” he whispered.

“But... but Eannatum, the
lilis
drum. It’s one that was played in your own palace! And the headdress ...”

He watched her eyes widen. “Is the one you wore when you danced for me. And the lapis lazuli necklace as well. Yours, Nidaba. I preserved them as perfectly as I could. And if you ...
when
you leave here, you may take them with you.”

Were those tears brimming in her eyes?

“You kept them—all this time...”

“They were all I had left of you. They and... and this.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the small bit of stone, worn with age, into which she’d carved his name, and hers, and the symbol for eternity.

Nidaba looked at it. Then at him. “This is the piece I made for you, to celebrate your initiation.”

He nodded. “You gave it to me when we did the rite by the river, and filled the Euphrates with fish. My first act of magick, Nidaba. A time—and a friend—I could never forget.”

Blinking, she averted her eyes. “I can’t believe you’ve kept it all this time.”

“Come.” He replaced the stone in his pocket, closed his hand around hers, and led her to his office in the back, unlocking the door, and flicking on a light. Then he turned yet another key. This lock was hidden within the woodwork of a wall-sized bookcase. Only it wasn’t really a bookcase at all. It was a sliding door that concealed another glass case, this one with his collection of daggers mounted inside. Dozens of them. It covered one entire wall of his office.

“Where did you get them all?” Nidaba breathed.

“Immortals. Light Witches who were murdered. Dark Witches I had to kill. I suppose ”immortal“ isn’t exactly the word we ought to use to describe ourselves, is it? Not when every dagger in this case represents one who has died.”

“Not died,” she muttered. “Only moved on. Even mortals are immortal, Natum.” She walked along in front of the case, examining the blades. Double-edged, single-edged, serrated and curved. Long and short. Handles of wood, bone, iron. All decorated with jewels. Sapphires, diamonds, rubies, emeralds, every stone imaginable in every possible combination and arrangement.

“Take whichever one pleases you. Hell, take several if you want them.”

“I couldn’t—”

“You know perfectly well you could. And you will.” He watched her face as she tried very hard to conceal her delight. “You don’t fool me, you know,” he said. “You’ve always loved beautiful things. Jewels. Baubles. Enjoy this. Let me enjoy giving you pleasure, just this once.”