CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Scotland, The Past
HEAVY GRAY SHADOWS WERE pressing her down.
She tried to push them out of the way, but she was so groggy, so weak.
Where was she? What had happened? Her entire body was on fire, hurting like hell.
The wracking torment made it hard to breathe.
Maybe there wasn’t enough air. She couldn’t pull the cobwebs of heavy gray out of her way.
Suddenly determined, she tried to swim up through them to the light.
She wondered if she was drowning.
As she had that surprising thought, she opened her eyes and saw near blackness. Beneath her hands and fingers, her bare legs, she felt hard, rough stone. She lay in a pool of moisture.
Her first thought was that she lay in a pool of her own blood.
Sam sat up immediately, gritting against the pain. As she did, she felt the shackle on her right wrist. The fog in her brain lifted. She’d just leapt through time with Rupert Hemmer.
Now, she recalled everything.
It was becoming easier to breathe. Had he taken her back to 1527? He could have taken her anywhere, to any time. As she wondered about that, she had the sudden feeling that Hemmer was more than he appeared to be.
Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness. She strained to see. And she realized she was not alone.
She didn’t care about the rodents, whose scurrying was audible. But then she heard human breathing. Finally, she could make out the shapes of other people huddled together, not far from her.
It took her one more moment to realize that the other people were also prisoners, and that they were behind bars.
Sam inhaled, meeting several pale stares. Somewhere behind and above her, a torch or fire was lit. Sam realized that she was in a dungeon.
The prison was a large, rough stone chamber. It was windowless, and clearly underground. Facing her were the cells with iron bars. The men and women she was imprisoned with were gaunt skeletons in rags. They looked as if they’d been left in the dungeon for years.
Sam looked at the shackle on her wrist. She was chained to the wall. She tested it, using barely any strength. It seemed solid enough.
“You can’t break free,” Rupert Hemmer said.
Sam looked up at Hemmer as he paused before her.
He was an incredibly incongruous sight. He stood above her in his custom-tailored, pinstriped suit, with two huge, barbaric thugs.
Sam felt their evil and knew they were tainted.
They wore short jackets, dark hose and knee-high boots with pointed toes.
Each carried a long sword and a dagger strapped to their belts, and each held an axe.
The first order of business was learning exactly where she was, and in what time. “Thanks for the ride,” she said. “But I don’t appreciate the scraped knees.”
Hemmer laughed. “I have to hand it to you, courageous Sam. You didn’t make a sound during the leap and you didn’t shed a tear. I’m almost sorry we had to knock you out.”
“I’ll bet. And, Hemmer? I hate to say this, but you can’t use me against Maclean. He’d have to care and he doesn’t.”
“Then we’ll just use you,” he said, shrugging. His smile was chilling. “I make it a point to rid myself of those like you whenever I can.”
Other than a few scrapes and bruises, Sam wasn’t hurt.
The moisture on the floor wasn’t blood, but she had become aware of the dank, stale odor in the dungeon.
She decided not to think about what the moisture might contain.
“I’m not afraid to die.” She smiled at him.
“But I promise, I will take you down with me when I go.”
Softly, Hemmer said, “I don’t think you’ll be singing such a merry tune in another moment.”
He was going to try to hurt her. Not to get back at Maclean, not to get the page and its power, but just for the hell of it. She stared at him. This man hid his evil, and that begged the all-important question, just how evil was he?
He’d admitted to selling his soul. Everyone knew Hemmer was a deal maker. Who knew what he could have negotiated with Satan? “Where am I?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” He shuddered with distaste. “You’re in the Middle Ages. How anyone could endure this primitive time is beyond my capacity to understand.”
“Could you be more specific?”
“Are you hoping for a knight in tarnished armor?” He laughed. “Maclean won’t bother to come back for you, not that he would know where to find you, anyway.”
“You partnered up with the infamous monk of Carlisle. I’m probably in one of his castles—unless you own real estate this side of the law, too.
And because it’s not a good idea to meet oneself in another time, I’d bet my grandmother’s pearl necklace I’m in 1527—a safe time for him because that’s where he belongs. ”
“Smart girl. But there’s three hundred and sixty-five days in the year. He can’t possibly find you without coming to us and that’s what we’re counting on,” he said.
As the thugs reached down for her, Sam tensed, thinking about Ian. If he came after her, they’d be expecting him. And she was fairly certain he’d come after her. He wouldn’t leave her lost in time, a captive of evil.
She did not want him to walk into a trap. She didn’t want him to face off again with the monk, especially not alone. She could not worry about how protective she was feeling about him. Instead, she had to escape. Escaping would effectively destroy any trap and ruin their leverage.
Hemmer shook his head. “You humans…you’re in love with him. I’d have never thought you such a foolish woman.”
Sam jerked. Hemmer could read minds. “So what, exactly, did you get from Satan when you sealed the deal and sold your soul? Other than the power to leap and to read minds?”
Hemmer grinned. “No denial of your feelings?”
She slowly shook her head. “Romance is not in my nature, so no, I am not in love. But I have decided that Ian’s case is mine. He was evil’s victim, and I intend to make things right. It’s called justice.”
“What I like best about you is that you truly have no fear,” Hemmer said softly. “I have immense plans for you.”
She knew what he intended. The one thing he did not bother to hide was his lust. She just didn’t know which move he’d make first—torture or rape.
He’d probably try both, together.
She wasn’t exactly afraid. She knew she could get through whatever was coming. But she’d have to be an idiot not to know there’d be lots and lots of pain.
Sam thought about her sister. They’d always had amazing telepathy, before either one could talk or walk. But that telepathy had been dependent on a few factors—like geographic location and time. For Tabby to hear her now, she’d have to be somewhere in the vicinity and in the same year.
But just in case she might be nearby, Sam sent her a distress signal. A magic spell would be really useful about now.
“Release her,” Hemmer said to the huge savages with him.
The thug snapped the shackle with his bare hands, then jerked her cruelly to her feet.
Sam decided not to resist…yet. She was well aware that she’d been divested of all her weapons, and she only had her bare hands.
“So, do you like being the monk’s lackey?
Where is he, by the way? Surely he won’t miss the party. ”
“I am no one’s lackey.”
“Oh, so you guys plan to share the power from the page?” she mocked.
“I never share power.”
Sam smiled. A war loomed. Divide and conquer worked for her. “I’ll bet that’s exactly what Carlisle’s thinking.”
“Does anything frighten you?” Hemmer asked softly.
“You sure don’t.”
He smiled. “I’d be disappointed if I did.”
Sam was shoved by the guards toward a very small trapdoor. As she stumbled forward, she heard a woman’s cry. Sam looked back at the other prisoners. As she was shoved forward, she said, “What are they down here for?”
“I have no idea. Nor do I care.”
The trapdoor was opened. Sam saw a ladder leading up to the floor above the dungeons and glimpsed familiar black pointy-toe shoes.
Hemmer pushed her hard at the ladder.
Sam grabbed it reflexively.
The monk of Carlisle got down on his knees to grin at her. “Hello, Sam. I am going to make good all of my threats.”
“Lucky me,” Sam said.
He added, “As for the other prisoners, they’re there to feed my dogs.”
“NICK, MACLEAN IS on his way up.”
Nick was on the telephone, speaking with his contact at the CIA, who ran the agency’s counter-evil unit.
The unit was as clandestine as CDA. It fought all government-directed evil from abroad.
Like HCU, it was under-funded and understaffed, in spite of the fact that it had hundreds of ongoing investigations into hundreds of foreign governments.
His CEU counterpart had needed his take on a matter involving a new rash of witch burnings in Madrid.
As he hung up, he was suddenly uneasy, and it wasn’t because they’d both agreed that one demonic cult was responsible for all the incendiary violence across the globe.
His gut churned, a damned familiar sensation. It signaled impending doom.
“Where’s Rose?” he asked. Damn it, he was worried about her. But Sam could take care of herself.
“I don’t know,” Jan said. “Nick? Maclean sounded strange, tense…intense.”
“Send him in,” Nick said, standing. He had great instincts.
They’d been finely honed in the nine or ten decades he’d been fighting evil in all its forms and incarnations.
Something was wrong. It wasn’t Maclean, because he didn’t give a damn about him.
Once they had the page of illusion, Maclean could go his merry way.
Interpol and Scotland Yard could have him. He might even make the intros himself.
No, his gut was telling him that someone he cared about or was responsible for was in danger.
He called after Jan, “Find Sam. I want an update.” He glanced at his wristwatch. It was one thirty in the morning. Why wasn’t Sam with Maclean? She was supposed to work him. By now, she might even know where he’d hidden the page.