The Curse (12 page)

“Because Quinn might or might not have had control over what he did … if he did help Conlan.”

She made a derogatory noise. “I’ve never been one to accept the ‘I didn’t know what I was doing’ defense.”

“Even if someone is compelled, Evalle? Kizira might have been able to do that when she went to see Quinn in his hotel.”

If that happened.

If Quinn did break out Conlan.

If, if, if.

Evalle rubbed the back of her neck. Quinn had one of the most powerful minds among the Beladors. Evalle had seen
him
overpower Kizira’s mind two years ago, so she doubted Kizira had compelled Quinn. “So why would I not tell Tzader?”

“You would destroy your friends.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you say anything to Tzader”—Sam paused, panting as if just living took an effort—“he’ll have no choice but to have Quinn’s mind probed to prove Quinn’s innocence or confirm his guilt. If Quinn did help Conlan, even for a noble reason, a druid will find that memory. What do you think Macha would do?”

Horrible images flashed through Evalle’s mind, all ending with Quinn dying in excruciating pain.

And Quinn would accept a death sentence before giving up Conlan if he truly believed Conlan to be innocent.

What other possible reason could there be for Quinn to break trust with the Beladors? But he had no reason to deceive her or Tzader. Did he?

Sam’s assessment of the situation had merit.

Tzader’s first duty might be to protect Brina, but Evalle had picked up on something more going on between Brina and Tzader beyond the Belador-Maistir-to-Warrior-Queen relationship.

He would never jeopardize Brina’s safety, and he’d hate himself for putting Quinn’s neck on the chopping block.

But did Quinn really present a risk to Brina? Evalle needed more than Sam’s word. “Is that all you have?”

Sam’s hand shook where he held his knee still. “If Kizira did meet Quinn inside his hotel room, then that would explain how Kizira knew she’d find you with Tristan when you went underground with him in the Maze to retrieve the two Rías.”

Evalle hadn’t wanted to believe Kizira’s claim that Quinn had given her information. She still wouldn’t accept the word of a Medb witch and this unknown Belador over talking to Quinn first.

Loyalty meant standing up for those you cared about. Giving that person a chance to tell his side.

She asked Sam, “How do you know all of this?”

“I still have my resources within the Beladors—”

Just as she figured. “Spies.”

“Friends. And since going off the radar, so to speak, I’ve developed
resources
within other factions.”

“The Medb?”

He didn’t respond, neither confirming nor denying.

Evalle had heard all she wanted to from this guy. Time for him to show all his cards. “Why are you telling me all of this when we don’t know each other?”

Sam’s eyes creased with admiration. “I’ve heard all about you, Alterant. How you’ve had to fight to stay free of imprisonment simply because you’re not a full-blood Belador, yet you’re the first one to step forward to protect humans and the Beladors. That you don’t shift into your beast no matter what, even when your life is at stake. I’m telling you because you’re the only Belador that I’m sure is not the traitor.”

How could a stranger see more than many of whom she’d fought alongside? She shook off how that touched her deep inside and kept her business face in place. “We agree on that one thing. So what am I to do with this information?”

“Find the traitor. A war is coming with the Medb and the battle will be fought over Alterants.”

“I thought they wanted to kill Brina and capture Treoir Castle.”

“That’s what I understand as well, but the Alterants will be the difference between success and failure.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’m helping Tristan and Petrina escape before the Medb find them. That’s all I can do for these two Alterants. But you must find the others and keep them from the Medb. I will help you hide them.”

“I have no idea where any other Alterants are or I’d be bringing them in to Macha.”

Sam’s liquid gaze slid over to Tristan. “Tell her what you’ve learned in the past few weeks.”

Tristan stood and walked across the room to a fireplace with a hearth covered in cobwebs from lack of use. He leaned back against the mantel and crossed his arms. “Sam caught me walking in my sleep a few times, heading toward Atlanta. Petrina would do the same thing. It’s as if something was making us go back, some inner animal urge to return to Atlanta.”

“Good, because I need you to go back.”

“Not going, Evalle.”

“We had a deal.”

He shook his head. “I said I’d give you information, but I did not say I’d return with you.”

Sam cut in, “The point is that I think the Alterants are beginning to be drawn to Atlanta.”

She ignored Tristan for a moment and asked Sam, “Why?”

“It could be you.”

“Oh, sure. I’m a regular Alterant magnet.” She hadn’t found one in the past three weeks.

For once, Tristan didn’t make a smart follow-up comment, but spoke in earnest. “Didn’t you claim there’s been an unusual number of Alterant shifts and attacks in the past year in the Southeast?”

“Yes, but Rías could have committed some, or all, of the unprovoked attacks blamed on Alterants. You said so yourself.”

“True, but the point is, this hasn’t been as prevalent in other parts of the country, right?” Tristan said, leading her to see Sam’s point.

“Right, but … I don’t buy this theory that they’re coming because of me. Why me? Having outbreaks in the Southeast doesn’t prove anything. And three weeks ago lots of beasts shifted all over the country because of the sentient fog.”

Tristan argued, “Rías. Sam’s talking about Alterants.”

“Just give me facts … and tell me where you’re getting these facts if you want me to believe you.”

Sam’s arms shook when he pushed against the chair arms as if to stand, but didn’t when the effort was too great. “Believe me or not, but you don’t have a lot of time. If the Medb get their hands on the Alterants, they’ll be able to breach the castle and kill Brina. Find the other Alterants.”

“You’re just full of ideas, aren’t you? What makes you think I can find Alterants when I haven’t located any others since meeting Tristan and his sister? Fat lot of good that’s done me.” She glared at Tristan, who examined his hands as if critiquing a manicure. Turning back to Sam, she asked, “Any tips on how I can find these Alterants?”

“Yes, you can—”

The living room windows exploded into the house.

Evalle smelled the burnt-lime odor that screamed Medb. She jumped to her feet and vaulted over the back of her chair, landing sure-footed.

She reached toward her boot for her dagger.

Which was still on her motorcycle back at the Iron Casket.

Two warlocks in snug, black, ninja-type clothes jumped Tristan, who hit them with kinetic blasts. Barely fazed them.

Poor Sam had been snatched up and shoved against the wall by another warlock.

Evalle swung her hand in a horizontal arc from left to right. The kinetic slice had been intended to take out the knees of the warlock attacking Sam.

Her blast bounced off the Medb.

No way.

Evalle started toward Tristan, but two more warlocks leaped through the windows.

She had her own fight coming on.

Her and Tristan’s kinetics were dulled in here for some reason. A quick stomp released the blades in her boots as the last two warlocks reached her. Twisting her body, she swung her feet, cutting the first warlock’s neck. Purple blood spewed everywhere.

Tristan yelled in her mind.
Link with me and I’ll teleport.

She didn’t hesitate, opening her mind to feel his power surge through her.

The second warlock coming after her had paused to shove the one with the slit throat out of his way.

Evalle stuck her arms out when the room started spinning. She experienced a moment of panic. That warlock could attack her in this vulnerable position, half in and half out of teleporting.

But he’d turned from her to face the window where the Medb priestess Kizira came floating through, landing next to Tristan. She clamped a hand on his shoulder and he screamed in pain.

Evalle jerked when the pain lashed through their bond. Her body vibrated with the teleporting disrupted.

Kizira yelled at the warlock nearest Evalle,
“Stop the Alterant!”

All of a sudden, Evalle spun into full teleportation.

At the best of times Evalle hated traveling this way. She didn’t feel Tristan’s presence near her as when he’d teleported her in and out of the Maze of Death.

All at once, her body whipped back and forth like a jet gyrating out of control.

She lost the link to Tristan.

But her body still flip-flopped through space in a crazy spin. Alone.

Had he managed to send her flying before he disengaged from her? She couldn’t do this on her own, and she’d been teleported enough times to know something had gone wrong.

Please don’t send me into a solid wall or drop me in the middle of traffic or
…

The calamari she’d eaten churned in her stomach. She flipped and rolled, turned upside down, then all at once … she slammed to a stop. The spinning ended. Hallelujah.

When she opened her eyes, she was down on all fours on soft ground. Grass? And the air smelled … ancient.

She didn’t want to raise her head.

Please, not the Tribunal. How could Tristan do that to her? How would he even be capable of sending her to the realm of gods and goddesses? But then she heard music in another room. Loud, synthesized tunes pounded the walls around her. Nothing like the shrill silence of the Nether Realm where the Tribunal met.

Two massive boots stepped into her view.

She lifted her head to meet black eyes.

Definitely not a Tribunal. Deek D’Alimonte, which meant that reverberating sound shaking the floor had to be music blasting through the Iron Casket.

Hard to believe, but she’d landed somewhere worse than facing a Tribunal. The gods and goddesses had laws to uphold.

Deek made his own laws.

VIPER never sent anyone into Deek’s club for intel for one reason—they would not come to save the agent stupid enough to break any of Deek’s rules. Not without declaring war.

She’d been dumped in the one place on earth no one would willingly teleport without an invitation.

Deek surveyed her with surprise. “Evalle Kincaid?”

She’d take it as a good sign that he hadn’t fried her yet, but she couldn’t answer him. Not while she kept her mouth clamped shut to keep from humiliating herself by getting sick.

He angled his head in a confused-dog look. “Didn’t I warn you about causing problems in my club the last time we met?”

She nodded, hoping he’d allow her that for a yes.

“And you know my rule about anyone using majik or powers inside the Iron Casket.”

She gave him another nod, but technically she hadn’t committed either infraction. He never said anything about teleporting. She’d point that out if she could.

Just how powerful was a centaur in his human form? Sweat ran down Evalle’s cheek and dripped off her chin.

His face tightened with fury, but his voice came out soft. Dangerously soft. “You dare to teleport here uninvited?”

She shook her head, hoping to convey that this had been an accident.

“VIPER would not question my right to discipline someone who breaks into my domain.” He’d leaned down so far his breath fired across her face. “I will allow you
one
chance to use that shrew’s mouth to explain why I should not rip your body to shreds and use the parts to decorate my dungeon.”

That required opening her mouth.

He roared,
“Speak.”
The walls trembled.

She threw up on Deek.

NINE

P
ain crawled up Tristan’s arms and around his neck, twisting and biting. Phantom snakes with spiked skin squirmed inside his body. He clenched his eyes tighter.

Had Evalle escaped? Alive and in one piece?

He’d sent her to the Iron Casket, he hoped. Hell, he had no idea what happened after he’d shoved that blast of power into the teleporting.

He might if he’d been
born
with the ability to teleport. Unlike this witch priestess who was born with that power, Tristan had gained his ability secondhand by drinking a concoction that included the blood of immortal Hindu warriors.

Fat lot of good that blood had done him. Immortality would have been more helpful than limited teleportation skills.

A saucy female voice said, “Tristan, we meet again.”

The bane of his life. He forced his eyes open and gritted out one word. “Kizira.”

She released her grip on his shoulder and her warning-flare-red blouse shimmered with the movement. Sheer sleeves ruffled along her arms, down to her wrists, where slender hands had fingernails painted to match. Jeans hugged her shapely legs stuffed into knee-high boots made of eel-skin … that undulated.