Lana pressed her lips together. Had Myst left behind some personal possession when she managed to escape? That would certainly explain how the Brotherhood had managed to be waiting for her in France.
Abruptly the fear that Bas wouldn’t reach the young, vulnerable female in time threatened to distract her. She clenched her teeth. For now she had no ability to help her old friend track down the clairvoyant. All she could do was concentrate on the things within her power to control.
“How far into the future?” she asked.
“It’s never the same,” Calder said, returning his attention to the papers in his hands. “One vision could be years in the future and some only a few hours away. It was too unpredictable to be of much value.”
Lana felt a small sense of relief. If Bas managed to rescue Myst, then it was possible the Brotherhood wouldn’t be able to use the traitor clairvoyant to find her again.
“Do you have other information about him?”
“Let’s see.” He shuffled through the documents, his brow furrowed. “He was born in San Francisco sixty years ago and abandoned by his parents when he was ten. He worked at Valhalla until last year when his wife left him for a Sentinel.”
Lana grimaced. Was that the reason he’d become a traitor? Was he bitter at his wife’s betrayal?
“Where did he go when he left Valhalla?”
More shuffling. “Denver,” Calder finally announced. “He worked for an accounting firm for a few months and then he simply disappeared.”
“He didn’t marry again?”
“No.”
“No children?” she pressed.
Calder shook his head. “None that he claimed.”
“So no one would have raised the alarm when he vanished?”
“Probably not.” The older man glanced up, realizing Lana had more than a passing interest in Peter Baldwin. “Has something happened to him?”
Lana grimaced. She didn’t know if the clairvoyant had deliberately sought out the Brotherhood or if they’d somehow managed to brainwash him, but it did seem increasingly likely that he was a traitor.
“We think he might be working with the Brotherhood,” she admitted.
Shock widened Calder’s eyes before he was clicking his tongue in disgust.
“A shame.”
“It will be more than a shame if we can’t prevent him from helping our enemy to acquire a weapon to destroy Valhalla,” Lana informed her companion, a heavy sense of dread lodged in the pit of her stomach.
She planned to use everything within her power to halt the Brotherhood, but she’d discovered over the past months that sometimes her best efforts weren’t enough.
Calder tilted his head to the side, easily sensing her tension.
“What weapon?”
“I don’t know.” She gave a frustrated shake of her head. “And that’s the problem.”
“How can I help?” Calder instantly offered his services.
“Will you try and find anyone who might have kept in contact with Peter?” she asked. “There could be someone who knows what happened to him in Denver.”
“Of course.”
“Thank you.”
On the point of turning to tunnel her way out of the office, Lana was halted as Calder reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder.
“If you have a minute, Mave, there’s another matter I would like to discuss with you.”
She stifled an exhausted sigh. She was weary to the bone and she still had a dozen things to do before she could finally eat and go to bed.
“Is it important?”
The pale eyes abruptly glittered with a hectic excitement. “Actually, it’s a most astonishing breakthrough.”
Lana had known Calder for over fifty years. She’d never seen him so animated.
“Now you have me curious,” she wryly admitted. “What’s happened?”
Calder tossed the information onto a nearby stack of books, allowing him to rub his hands together. The unconscious gesture sent tiny sparks of magic into the air, emphasizing the male’s excitement.
“It started with the child you recently brought to Valhalla.”
Her brief amusement was forgotten. “Molly?”
“Yes.”
She stiffened, a band of fear clenching around her heart. “Is there anything wrong with her?”
“No, she’s fine,” Calder hastily reassured her. “In fact, she’s more than fine.”
“What does that mean?”
Turning, the male began to pace from one end of the office to the other, amazingly not disturbing so much as a piece of paper.
Magic?
More likely years of practice.
“As you know it’s common practice for one of my staff to test any new residents,” he said.
Lana resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It’d actually been her command that all high-bloods be tested. Some possessed gifts that were unstable, or downright perilous.
Valhalla needed to be prepared for any potential threat.
“Is Molly a high-blood?” she asked in confusion. She hadn’t detected any spark of talent in the little girl, but she didn’t have Calder’s refined senses.
Calder paced back in her direction, his brow furrowed as if considering his words.
“She had a resonance,” he said slowly. “But no discernable talent. At first we dismissed it. There are a number of humans who carry an echo of power without ever being able to use it.”
“So she has a spark.” Lana shrugged. She assumed her old friend had a point, but as usual he was taking the scenic route to get to it. “Does it matter?”
“It wouldn’t have, but early this evening I decided to see the child for myself.” Calder stopped directly in front of her. “I entered the nursery to discover two of the older children had spontaneously acquired new gifts.”
Lana studied the thin face with an increasing confusion. “What gifts?”
“A young healer developed a talent for kinetic energy,” he said, referring to the ability of a person to move objects with his or her mind. “And a healer accidentally crushed a toy truck he was playing with. I assume the young boy has the potential to become a Sentinel.”
“Spontaneous manifestation has happened before,” Lana pointed out, even as she was grappling with the information that two of her children had acquired new gifts.
“Yes, but they’re extremely rare,” Calder retorted. “To have two happen at the same time”—Calder lifted his hands—“the odds are astronomical.”
He was right. Lana had heard of fewer than twenty in the past three hundred years.
“What are you suggesting?”
Calder was back to rubbing his hands together, the air vibrating with the force of his enthusiasm.
“We tried for years to discover how spontaneous manifestation occurs. Unfortunately, all our information has come from secondhand stories. None of us have actually witnessed a manifestation firsthand.”
“And?”
“And I think Molly was the catalyst,” the older man announced, oblivious to Lana’s dark frown. “I think that’s her gift.”
Lana clenched her hands, feeling oddly protective of the little girl.
It wasn’t because Molly was Bas’s daughter. Lana didn’t have any emotion toward her one-time lover. At least nothing beyond a fond irritation and the knowledge that he should probably be locked in her dungeons.
Instead it was because Molly had managed to touch some maternal instinct deep inside her. A knowledge that was frankly terrifying.
Annoyed with herself, Lana slammed the door on her ridiculous broodings and concentrated on what Calder’s hypothesis might mean for her people.
“You believe she can stir latent powers?” she asked.
He gave a vigorous nod. “It makes perfect sense.”
“Maybe to you,” she said, her tone dry.
“Okay.” No doubt accustomed to having to explain his convoluted ramblings, Calder sucked in a deep breath and visibly organized his thoughts. ??
?Let’s say there are these catalysts. They seemingly have no obvious skills, but when they are put into contact with someone with dormant powers, they are capable of creating a chemical reaction that transforms them into high-bloods. Or if they’ve already manifested a talent, the catalyst will ignite any secondary powers they might possess.”
Lana stilled, trying to visualize what he was claiming.
There were some high-bloods who had mutations that were obvious from birth. Necromancers, or diviners, as they preferred to be called, had faceted eyes that were unmistakable. Other high-bloods didn’t develop their talents until puberty, although it was usually a slow, steady process.
Then there were the humans who had the potential within them, but their talents remained dormant.
And, of course, the very, very rare occasions when a talent appeared without warning.
It’d frankly never occurred to her that those spontaneous manifestations were caused by the magic of another high-blood.
“A catalyst.” She tested the word, feeling it settle inside her with a sense of rightness.
“It would explain a number of mysteries,” Calder said.
“Yes,” she slowly agreed. “I suppose it would.”
“I would like to use Molly in a few experiments—”
“Absolutely not.” Lana nipped her companion’s suggestion in the bud.
He might be the Master of Gifts, but there was no way in hell he was going to use Molly to discover if his hypothesis was possible or not.
Frustration tightened his sharp features. “I assure you they won’t put her in any danger.”
“No.” Lana squared her shoulders, her magic filling the air with enough force to send papers and books tumbling to the floor. “Molly is separated from her parents and surrounded by strangers. She will be treated as a cherished guest during her stay at Valhalla, not a guinea pig in a lab.”
“I . . .” Despite his frenzied need for answers, Calder was able to sense that now wasn’t the time to press her. He instead grimaced before giving a nod of his head. “Yes, Mave.”
Her point made, Lana turned and headed toward the door. “Please let me know if you learn anything new about Peter Baldwin.”
Chapter Twelve
With a growl of fury, Stella hurled her cell phone across her bedroom. It cracked in half before falling to the floor with a satisfying thud.
She was cursed.
There was no other reason.
How else did you explain such a total clusterfuck?
She’d planned for weeks. She’d spent thousands of dollars. She’d promised her followers they were on the brink of greatness.
And when she’d crawled into bed, it’d appeared her shitty luck was about to turn. They had the clairvoyant, and soon she would give them the weapon that was going to destroy Valhalla.
Now...
Wearing nothing more than a silky camisole top and matching shorts, she reached to flip on a nearby lamp even as there was the sound of hurried footsteps. Seconds later the connecting door was shoved open and Peter stepped into the room, his pudgy face creased with worry.
“What’s wrong?”
Stella glared at her unwelcome intruder, her lips curling at the sight of his flabby, pasty white body revealed by the boxer shorts.
Christ. Just the sight of him was enough to remind her of what she’d sacrificed. And for what?
A big, fat nothing.
“They allowed the clairvoyant to escape,” she snarled as the idiot crossed the room as if he was going to take her in his arms.
“How?” he asked, coming to an abrupt halt when she lifted a warning hand.
She felt another blast of fury as she recalled Roy’s stumbling explanation.
“She was traveling with a Sentinel who supposedly managed to overwhelm the guards and take off with her before anyone knew what was happening,” she ground out.
Peter scowled, his expression more annoyed than horrified. Which only proved he truly was a stupid, stupid man.
“Are they following her?”
Stella paced toward the nightstand beside her headboard. “They’re searching, but she could be anywhere,” she said.
“They should concentrate on the area around the nearest monastery,” Peter suggested. “She’ll more than likely go there to try and travel home.”
Stella narrowed her eyes. She was done screwing around. She wanted that weapon, and she wanted it now.
“Or you could do another reading and tell me where she’s going to be,” she informed him.
Peter shoved his fingers through his hair, which looked like a rat’s nest.
“I’ve told you it doesn’t work like that,” he muttered. “Now that I’ve had a vision the object is worthless.”
“Then I’ll get another one,” she snapped. After the clairvoyant had disappeared from the ranch twelve years ago, Gilbert had stored her meager belongings in a safe. That’s where Stella had gotten the small silver bracelet Peter had used for his initial vision. “I think the clairvoyant left behind some clothing.”
He was shaking his head before she even finished speaking. “It won’t matter. I’ve never had two separate visions of the same person.”
Sharp-edged frustration combined with her fury. She was surrounded by incompetent idiots. Keeping her gaze on his pudgy face, she pulled open the drawer.
“So you’re telling me you’re worthless?” she accused.
He hunched a shoulder, his expression petulant. “Hey, I gave you the information you needed to find the female,” he muttered. “It’s not my fault your minions screwed up.”
“Trust me, my minions will suffer for disappointing me.” Her voice held an edge of cruel anticipation. Once she got her hands on Roy and his merry band of fuckups, she intended to make sure they paid. And they weren’t the only ones. “Everyone will suffer if I don’t get my hands on that weapon.”
He offered a tentative smile. “Okay, it’s bad, but all we need is a new plan,” he said, acting as if he had some right to tell her how to run her team.
Delusional moron
“We?”
With a smooth motion she reached to grab the small handgun she kept tucked in the nightstand, lifting her arm to point it directly at the center of Peter’s chest.
Peter froze, his gaze locked on the weapon in her hand. “Stella?”
“Yes?”
“I . . .” He struggled to keep the fear out of his voice. “What’s going on?”
A humorless smile curled her lips. Until she’d watched his face drain of color she hadn’t been sure he could be hurt by a mere gun. God knew he’d taken endless beatings without croaking while he’d been held in the cage.
He might be a spineless coward, but he was still a high-blood, which meant he was much harder to kill than a normal human.
Now that she was certain she had his full attention, she waved the gun toward a nearby chair.
“Shall I tell you about my past, Peter?” she drawled.
“Please, do.” He hurriedly moved to perch on the edge of the chair. “I’m always fascinated to learn more about you.”
An addictive surge of power raced through Stella as she held the gun steady.
This was what she craved. This sense that she was in complete control of her surroundings and everyone around her.
Unfortunately she couldn’t constantly walk around with a gun in her hand. So instead, she had to rely on building an empire that would ensure she didn’t ever have to be vulnerable again.
“I was born in a trailer outside Vegas to a woman who got pregnant in the hopes her worthless boyfriend would marry her,” she said. She enjoyed telling her story. It reminded her just how far she’d come. If she could overcome her past, she could do anything. “Big shocker, he took off before I was ever born and she was forced to make a living by stripping in a squalid club.” Her lips curled in disgust. Her mother had been weak. A born victim. “My first memory is hiding beneath the stage to keep from being molested by t
he creeps who infested the place. By the time I was twelve I learned that instead of hiding it was far better to use the crowd of losers’ lewd attentions to get what I wanted. A few smiles, a bounce on their lap, and suddenly I could buy decent clothes and a warm meal.”
Peter tried to look sympathetic, even as his gaze darted toward the door, no doubt hoping he could keep her distracted long enough that he could try to escape.
“You poor baby.”
“My name is Stella, not baby,” she rasped. The men in the club had called her baby even as they were trying to shove their hands down her pants.
It was an endearment she wouldn’t tolerate.
His gaze shifted back to her. “Forgive me.”
She drew in a deep breath, struggling to hold on to her frayed temper.
“When I was fourteen I ran off with a biker who promised me paradise. What I got was a life in cheap hotels and a regular black eye.” Stella grimaced. She had a dozen scars and several fractured bones from her two years in the tender care of Brodie. “One night I waited for him to pass out and then tied him to the bed. I beat the shit out of him with a whiskey bottle.”
Peter cleared his throat. “You did what you had to do.”
She shrugged. She wished she’d killed the bastard. That was the only certain way he wouldn’t take another little girl and treat her as his own personal punching bag.
“More than that, I continued to learn from my mistakes,” she assured him. “Clearly men could be used to get what I needed, but I would never again put myself in a position of weakness.”
Clearly sensing he was being lumped with the other loser men in her life, Peter made an effort to distract her.
“What about Gilbert?”
“He was a pawn, like all the others,” she admitted, glancing around the elegant bedroom. “He gave me access to luxury and a potential army. All I needed was a cause to unite them behind me.” She stepped forward, the gun held steady in her hand. “You . . . dearest Peter, gave me that cause. And now, like Gilbert, and all the other men in my life, you’ve reached your expiration date.”
“No.” With a surge of fear, Peter jumped to his feet, his hands held out in a gesture of pleading. “We can still get the weapon.”
She arched a brow. “How?”