Twilight Illusions (22 page)

They parked the car, then walked through the streets. As they did, Tamara urged Shannon to practice the telepathy, and soon they were conversing almost totally in silence. Shannon started attempting to read other people's thoughts as they passed. The results were often hilarious.

Then, in a trash-littered, abandoned alley, Tamara stood by Shannon's side. “Let's race to the other end.”

A shiver of apprehension skittered over Shannon's nape. “This isn't a very good place to hang out, Tamara.”

“Think about it,” she said. “Who's gonna bother us?”

Shannon smiled. She was right.

“You've got a lot of strength now, Shannon. And speed. You won't believe it. Be careful not to hit the wall on the other side. Pain hurts more now than before.”

“I'd noticed that.”

“On three,” Tamara said, and then counted mentally.

They were off like bullets from a gun, and Shannon would have collided with the wall if Tamara hadn't caught her arm and brought her to a skidding stop.

For hours Tamara helped Shannon to explore her new self. And as time flew past, Shannon began to think this wasn't so bad after all. She could jump from the top of a tree and land on her feet. She could see in the dark. All her senses were honed to razor sharpness. She was strong, energized. And she could read minds.

“You think that's incredible, just wait until you…you know.” Tamara's pale cheeks pinkened.

“No, I don't know. Wait until I what?”

Tamara grinned and tilted her head to one side. “You and Damien…
you know…
”

“Oh.” Shannon bit her lip. “Is it…different?”

“Way different.”

Shannon licked her lips. “I don't know when I'll find out. Things aren't exactly…right between us.”

“You love him, don't you?”

She thought about that, and found herself nodding emphatically. “I do. I really do. I lost sight of it for a while, a really short, confused while. But I never stopped.”

“Well, he's nuts about you. You'll work things out.”

Shannon nodded, recalling his words to her before she'd fallen asleep this morning. He'd said he loved her even more than Enkidu. It awed her that he could feel that strongly about her.

They walked back to the car, only to meet a stranger there. A vampire. Surprising that she knew it at a glance, but she did, and she stopped short. He was tall, and almost emaciated. So slender. In his long face every bone was visible. His neck was like a reed, his shoulders pointy and hard.

He approached them slowly, and Tamara caught her breath, gripping Shannon's arm.

“No use,” he said, and his voice reminded Shannon of a cobra's hiss. “I'm six thousand years old. You're a toddler and a newborn. Don't bother running.”

And in the blink of an eye, he had them, his bony arms anchored around their waists, capturing their arms at their sides. Shannon struggled. She knew Tamara did, as well, but couldn't see her. He'd taken off at such incredible speed that everything was a blur. She thought they were airborne, but couldn't be sure. Tamara hadn't told her anything about flight.

Don't call out to Eric and Damien.
Tamara's thoughts echoed in Shannon's ears.
It could be a trap for them. I've been through it before.

“No matter,” the monster who held them rasped. “I've left a note at the house for them. It's long past time for Gilgamesh to meet his fate.”

T
hey'd tried for hours to pick up some sense of the rogue in the city. They'd sought a hint of his thoughts, his presence, in the places where the victims had been found, and in the theater, and in and around Shannon's office. The sense of him should be stronger where his physical self had been. But their efforts got them nothing. He was concealing himself against them, and doing it well.

They returned to the house then, and Damien braced himself to come face-to-face with Shannon again, to see the despair in her eyes, the fear of him, the anger. Maybe this time there would be hatred in her amber eyes, as well. He had no idea what he could say to her. She despised what he'd done, hated what he'd made her. So how could she not hate him? How could she even bear to see him again, let alone sleep another day under his roof? What would she say when he told her he'd failed, and asked her to stay with him for one more day, give him one more night to make it safe for her to leave him? He couldn't let her go until this threat was removed, even though he was sure the hatred he'd felt emanating from this rogue had been directed at himself alone.

Hell, he didn't want her to leave at all, to be honest. He couldn't bear the thought of living a night without her vibrance to brighten it. Irony tasted bitter. He no longer had to fear he had become a ruthless killer, that to love her would be to endanger her. And he no longer had to fear that death would tear her from him. But he'd lost her all the same, hadn't he?

He felt Eric tense beside him. And then he sensed it. The feeling of something wrong, terribly wrong, of danger. The knowledge that the rogue had been here.

He ran to the front steps, up them, and found the note, impaled on the point of a dagger as old as time, pinned to the door.

Eric tore it down, leaving the blade where it was, and struggled to read, but he shook his head. “It's not in any language I know.”

Damien frowned, taking the sheet of paper from him. “It's cuneiform script.” The symbols on the paper were similar to those chiseled into stone aeons ago. A cold shiver racing through him, Damien translated aloud: “‘Gilgamesh, king of Uruk, lord of a people long dead, vile betrayer of the gods, immortal, demon, murderer. For your role in the death of one who loved you, for your hand in her murder, for the life of Siduri, my betrothed, you will stand trial. In the temple of Inanna, you will be judged, that the gods might witness your sentence carried out. No longer does the temple lie buried beneath the burning sands of Uruk. Still buried, yes, but not there. Never to be seen by mortal eyes. Brick by brick did I move it. I await you there. Your lover waits at my side. Ready she stands to take your sentence upon herself in case you fail to heed my summons. Long have I anticipated this reunion, man of old. Anthar.”'

Damien looked up from the note, to see the fear, the wonder, in Eric's eyes.

“Gilgamesh,” he muttered, staring at Damien. “My God.”

“I'm no one's god, just an immortal like you. We have to go now, fast.”

Eric's brows rose. “But how? You've no idea where you're going.”

Damien gripped his arm. “Your Tamara—”

“Will stubbornly erect a fortress around her mind rather than lure me into what she must know is a trap.” Eric closed his eyes. “I'll try, but if she really doesn't want me to know where she is…” He shook his head and tried to concentrate.

 

“What the hell
is this?
” Shannon watched the huge doors slide slowly open, then jerked against the hands that tugged her into an elevator big enough to hold an elephant. God, he was strong. His bony hand gripped her arm so hard she thought he'd break it. Tears streamed down her face. Her throat closed so tightly she could barely draw a breath. Her chest spasmed with sobs she tried to stop. And still she fought him.

She was afraid, terrified of what this skeletal man planned to do to her. But more than that was the fear of what he'd already done. To Tamara. They'd been airborne, soaring through the night at a speed that seemed impossible, with the wind stinging Shannon's face, screaming in her ears. So high the ground seemed no more than a fast-moving, colorful blur. And he'd just let Tamara go. Just let her go!

She hadn't even screamed. Not a sound. Nothing. And Shannon couldn't see where she landed, because the bony bastard had still been speeding through space, still been clutching her tight. But Shannon
had
screamed. And she hadn't stopped screaming until he'd hit her with a skinny fist and knocked her close to senseless.

And now she was in this elevator, going down at a sickening speed, deep into the bowels of some kind of structure that seemed to sit in the middle of nowhere.

The doors opened almost before they'd come to a teeth-jarring stop. The hand on her upper arm closed tighter, and wincing in pain, she stepped out into a stadium-size room where every step echoed a thousand times. In the center of the room, she saw it, a towering wonder of whitewashed brick, gleaming, immaculate. Her gaze traveled over the angular ramps and steps and corners, all leading upward. A squared spiral at least forty feet high, topped by what looked like a temple.

“What the hell is this?” she asked again.

 

“Who is this Anthar?”

Damien shook his head. “He must be from my time to know who I am and understand the cuneiform so well. The blade is ancient. Sumerian. And he must have known me once to have heard of Siduri.”

“A woman?”

Damien nodded. “I'll explain later. We have to hurry.” Already a cold knot of foreboding twisted inside his heart. He wished he could blink his eyes and be at her side. But he knew better. He was as attuned to her mind as he could get, and all he felt was her fear. It overwhelmed everything else. There was a dim sense of the direction in which she'd traveled, and Damien followed that sense, felt himself getting closer.

Anthar. Who the hell was he, and why this quest for vengeance? Damien didn't know. He knew only that if the bastard hurt Shannon in any way, no matter how small, Damien would kill him a little at a time. She must be so frightened. By Inanna's mercy, she must be twice as sorry he'd brought her over by now. She probably wished he'd simply let her die. He'd wanted to do so much for her. To show her happiness, to make up for all the sorrow in her life. Instead he'd brought her into a world of darkness, and so far all she'd known had been fear.

He'd get her out of this safely. He would, if it cost him his life to do it. And then he'd give her what she craved. Her freedom. No matter how much it would hurt him, Damien knew he had to let her go.

Eric had been silent for some time, and when Damien broke out of his own thoughts long enough to glance at the man, he saw turmoil contorting Eric's face. He stopped, facing him. “Marquand, what? What is it?”

His jaw tight, eyes moist, Eric kept moving. Then faster. And a moment later, he knelt beside a still form on the ground, cradling it in his arms and quivering with silent rage.

Damien ran forward. “Tamara!” Her left leg bent at an unnatural angle, and one arm was twisted beneath her body. Obviously broken. Damien's heart turned to ice as he saw Eric's pain. But her lovely black lashes fluttered, and she stared up at the man who held her with so much love in her eyes it hurt Damien to witness it.

“I'm…glad to see you.”

“Tamara.” Eric's voice wavered. He bent lower, kissed her face.

“Gently, Eric. It…hurts.”

“I'll kill him,” Eric whispered. “I'll kill him for this.”

Damien felt tears choking him. When the hell had he become so attached to these people? “You're going to have to move her, Eric, pain or not. Find her some shelter before dawn.”

Eric nodded and glanced around. “Where the hell are we?”

“Somewhere in Ohio, I think.” Damien glanced around him. “There are houses. I can—”

“No.” Tamara tried to lift her head, her good hand clutching Eric's arm. “Damien, you have to go on. Find Shannon before that beast hurts her.” She drew a pained breath. “But be careful. It's you he wants.”

“I know.” Damien straightened and stared off into the distance.

“Go ahead, go after them,” Eric said. “I'll take care of Tamara. We'll be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

Tamara nodded. “I'll be okay after a day's rest, Damien. And we'll join you…with reinforcements.”

Eric's jaw went rigid. “Tamara, you didn't—”

“I most certainly did. We have to end this bastard's killing spree, Eric. And we need all the help we can get.” She relaxed a little, letting her head fall onto Eric's knees. “I pity that bastard if Rhiannon gets to him before Damien does.”

Eric glanced back at Damien. “I wouldn't be too sure about that, Tamara.”

“Neither would I.” Damien turned, and started off again toward Shannon.

 

He was forced to seek shelter when the sun rose. But he resumed his search the instant it set, and he knew when he'd found her.

His best guess was that the structure dead center of a barren field had once been a missile silo. One of those sold by the government to private owners when arms-reduction deals took the place of the cold war. He approached the doors, and they opened. Then the bastard knew he'd arrived. Damien stepped inside what appeared to be an elevator, not caring if he was walking into a trap as long as he could get to Shannon. The car swept downward, clanged to a stop and opened as if to spit him out.

Damien stood frozen for a single moment, reeling at the sensation of having stepped back in time. The ziggurat stood as haughty and immaculate as it had been when it was new. This same temple had been the center of his city once. It had been filled with his people, his gods. A man-made mountain is what it was. A high, white monster of stairs and ramps, sharp corners turning this way and that, a path to the heavens marching its way to the cella at the very top. The temple proper. The chamber of the gods, where sacrifices had been offered.

He knew the temple well, remembered the way the white bricks had gleamed beneath a blazing desert sun. Now it stood in darkness. Appropriate. Ironic.

Mounting the first steps, Damien went upward, following the same path he had thousands of times so many years ago, only faster now, his strides more powerful than ever before. And more desperate. In seconds he stood at the entrance to the cella. He stiffened his spine and went inside.

A figure like a walking skeleton moved from sconce to sconce with a torch in his hand, lighting each as he came to it. The main room, sixty feet in length and lined with sconces on both sides, soon glowed with amber light as it had in days long past. Shadows fled the touch of the torchlight, ducking into the darkened doorways that lined the chamber. Every few yards a smaller chamber opened off one side or the other. But this was the room of worship, the room of the gods, the room of sacrifice.

Damien stepped forward, marveling that the place had been so well restored. The stone figures that depicted the worshippers were just as he remembered them, some standing as high as his knees, others smaller. Male and female, bearded and smooth skinned, eyes too large, hands folded in prayer.

Damien moved past them, tearing his gaze away from the figures that represented his people. Instead he focused on the emaciated man who'd stopped at the opposite end of the chamber, and turned to face him.

“I'm here, Anthar. I've done as you asked. Where is Shannon?”

Anthar only smiled, an evil expression, the flickering orange torchlight making it more so. He stepped aside, waving a hand beyond him to the life-size statue of the god Anu. Anu's golden hair and beard had been polished until they gleamed, and his eyes, inlaid with lapis lazuli, danced with fierceness in the firelight. At his sandaled feet, upon the stone offering table, Shannon lay wide-eyed, trembling, her hands bound at the wrists, clenched together on her stomach. Her ankles, too, were bound together. She was dressed in a white gown, fastened with a jeweled brooch at one shoulder, leaving the other bare. Golden bands encircled her arms. Her feet were bare.

As Damien's gaze met hers, he felt her fear, her absolute misery. He tried to convey reassurance, hope, comfort. Anthar stepped forward to ignite the torches near her head and at her feet. She cringed from him, and a sound of terror came from deep in her throat. Damien lunged forward, but Anthar stepped into his path.

“Look around you, Gilgamesh. See the gods you betrayed by seeking to become one of them.” He lifted the torch toward each of the deities that towered at Anu's right and his left. “The goddess Inanna, whose name you cursed from the deathbed of your friend. Ea, of the fresh springs, friend to mankind. Even him you have offended. Enlil, god of earth, wind and spirit, whom you have defiled. Ninurta, god of war, furious with you now.”

Damien held his temper in check with an effort. “It seems, Anthar, the only one I've offended is you. The gods haven't acted against me in all this time. I hardly think their justice would be so slow in coming.”

“Their justice is at hand,” Anthar said in a deep monotone.