CHAPTER ELEVEN
New York City
HER PAGER WOKE HER UP.
Sam was a light sleeper. She shot upright, looked at the pager and dialed Nick. As his cell rang, she realized she’d had less than two hours of sleep and she cursed. Why in hell was Nick bothering her in the middle of the day?
“Where’s your sister?” Nick demanded.
“Hey, good morning to you, too.” Sam was instantly uneasy. “I assume she’s out and about.”
“You helping her keep secrets, Rose?” Nick sounded pissed.
Sam could not read minds, but she didn’t have to. Nick knew all about Macleod. She was certain. “What’s up? Because I need my beauty sleep and I am a bitch when I don’t get it.”
“A really big man, who might be a magician—because he seemed to create lightning with his hands—robbed the Met.”
Sam went still. “Shit.”
“Oh, and another cop is dead. And a priceless friggin’ necklace is gone. So where did you say your sister is?”
Holy shit, Sam thought. “I’ll call you right back.”
“Rose,” Nick shouted, but Sam hung up. She jumped into her jeans and was pulling on a crewneck tee as she ran barefoot into the loft. She didn’t even bother to call her sister’s name, because she knew she was gone and so was Macleod. The loft was empty.
She breathed hard. There was no way Tabby had left the city and gone back in time without saying goodbye. She would never do such a thing. It sounded like Macleod had robbed the museum. If so, they’d probably walk through that door at any moment.
She breathed harder, shaking. She never trembled; she had nerves of steel. But now, she stared at the garbage bags taped across the living-room windows. Her cell rang.
She had it in her back pocket and she picked up. “I don’t know where Tabby is. But, Nick, something tried to get in here last night. Tabby swears it was a demonic energy.”
Nick was silent. “First some demonized kids, and then a demon ghost?”
Sam wet her lips. “Can a demonic ghost command subs?”
“How the hell would I know?”
“Gee, I don’t know, you seem to know just about everything,” Sam said, suddenly furious.
“Have you seen Macleod, damn it?”
“Yes,” Sam gritted, “and I lied. Tabby asked me to keep it quiet, so I did. Fire me. Like I give a fuck.” She realized she was choking, as if on the verge of tears.
Nick’s tone softened. “I might suspend you, but I’m not firing you. Come into HCU so we can figure this out. And, kid? You’ll hear from her.”
Nick was being kind. Sam’s rage knew no bounds. “She didn’t leave—she’s coming back!” She almost threw her cell across the room, but at the last moment, jammed it back in her pocket, instead.
The doorbell rang.
Sam was instantly wary. No one could get up without buzzing up from the exterior lobby first. She went to the door. Halfway there, she felt evil—and recognized it. Her surprise vanished as she opened the door and stared at Kristin Lafarge.
Kristin smiled, holding a bag from a nearby French bakery in her hand.
Her attention went to the garbage bags on the windows and back to Sam.
“Hello. I hope I’m not disturbing you. I couldn’t sleep last night because of what happened.
I tried to call your sister this morning, but she didn’t answer.
I became worried. I thought I’d drop by on my way to school. ”
“It’s noon.”
“Vanderkirk told me I could take a half day. At first I refused, but this morning, I changed my mind. Is Tabby here?”
“Come on in,” Sam said, smiling. But inside, she was ice-cold. This bitch was going to talk before she was allowed to leave and Sam did not intend to play nice. “Neighbor let you in?”
“Yes, the sweet elderly lady who lives on the second floor.” Kristin set the small paper bag on the kitchen counter. “Is Tabby here? Is she all right?”
Mrs. Morris would never let anyone in whom she did not know. She’d been mesmerized by Kristin. “As you can see, we had a bit of an altercation last night—the good, old-fashioned, horror-movie kind.”
Kristin sighed. “Sam, should we get to the point?”
“Oh, yeah,” Sam said, licking her lips. “Why are you after my sister?”
“Payback is a bitch,” Kristin said softly. Her eyes glowed and a dark wave resonated from her body. “Bitch get down, in so much pain.”
Sam felt a knife go through her stomach. She gasped, “I should have known—a witch from hell.” She flung her power at her.
Kristin was struck so hard she slammed against the kitchen counter.
Although her stomach still hurt, enough that she was afraid she might be bleeding, Sam smiled.
“You can’t mess with a Rose.” She struck her again and Kristin cried out, going down to her knees.
Then Sam advanced. “What has Tabby ever done to you?” she demanded, standing over her. “Why are you hunting her?”
Kristin closed her eyes and began chanting silently. Sam tensed, fully aware that Kristin was trying to cast a spell on her. She steeled herself against it. If Kristin was as powerful as her mother or grandmother had been, she might be toast. “Answer me, bitch!”
Kristin opened her eyes, which glowed eerily again, like incandescent opal. “Where is your sister, Sam?”
“She’s at Blayde, in Scotland.” Sam was horrified—she’d just told Kristin where her sister was!
Worse, she was confused. Suddenly she didn’t know what she wanted from Kristin, or why she was filled with so much urgency. And the moment she became aware of her confusion, she knew she had been mesmerized.
She had to fight the spell. She hadn’t told Kristin the year in which she could find Tabby.
“Is she there now, in the present? Or did she go into the past?” Kristin asked, approaching.
Sam struggled against the witch’s hypnotic eyes, knowing she must not answer, but replied helplessly, “She’s in the past.”
“What year, exactly?”
“1298.” Crap, Sam thought, as she spoke. Kristin had dark power and she was after Tabby, and Sam had just told her where to find her. But she’d get out of this spell and go back in time, somehow. She’d protect her sister, to hell with Macleod.
Kristin smiled and said, “Don’t move, darling, not yet.” She turned and went into the kitchen.
Sam felt as if she was caught up in an invisible vise. She knew she had to act—she had to destroy Kristin—but her will would not obey her mind.
Kristin returned, holding a butcher knife. “Take the knife, Sam.”
Sam knew what Kristin intended. I am a Rose, she thought, furious, and suddenly she lifted her hand and to her relief, her power blazed. The knife was struck from Kristin’s hand.
“Bitch get down, in so much pain,” Kristin hissed.
The invisible knife stabbed through her, but Sam strode forward, fighting the pain.
Kristin paled and turned, rushing for the door.
Sam picked up the knife, gasping in pain as she did so.
Kristin murmured in a strange language Sam had heard before.
Shocked, she held her abdomen with one hand, the knife in the other.
She was chanting in the ancient tongue of the demons.
Kristin seized the moment and ran out of the loft.
Sam breathed hard, slowly sliding down the wall to the floor, and eventually, the pain lessened. How did the witch know a language that only the oldest, most ancient demons still used?
“ARE YE HURT?” Macleod repeated, his gaze piercing.
Tabby inhaled and started to get up. He put his arm around her, helping her to her feet.
“I’m fine.” She was still shaken. He had been at her side in another crisis and she was glad.
Of course, there was no way of knowing whether she would have been attacked again if she’d remained in New York, where she was supposed to be.
But it was hard to hold a grudge now. She smiled wanly. “You appeared in the nick of time.”
“I was leavin’ the tower an’ I felt the evil, Tabitha.” He was subdued, too. “It dinna follow us.”
Tabby felt her insides lurch with dread. “Okay, you may be right…may being the operative word.”
“I am right. Do ye wish to sit down?”
His face had that hard warrior expression now, and she felt his impatience. He wanted to fight the evil spirit. She just knew it. “I’m okay. I feel a bit battered and I might even be bruised, but I’ll live.”
His face tightened impossibly. “Evil dared to breach my walls!” He erupted, and the walls shook. Small pieces of stone and mortar fell from the ceiling. Tabby ducked and Macleod pulled her close.
She looked up, instantly aware of him in every possible way. He was courageous, powerful, sexual and a gazillion-percent male. “I think you should control your anger—not that I blame you for it—so the whole wing of this castle doesn’t come down on us.”
He released her. “Aye.”
“Macleod, I feel certain that evil came from New York. It was the same evil that came from the Met. It is the evil associated with An Tùir-Tara. But is there any chance I am wrong? Could it be the Melvaig witch, sending us a little present?”
“Criosaidh is a witch, Tabitha, but a mostly human one. There are rumors one of her grandfathers was a deamhan, but I dinna ken the truth. But she lives an’ breathes as we do. She canna put herself into the air as evil.” His expression changed. “Or I dinna think she can.”
Tabby hugged herself. Now that the attack was over, the ramifications were suddenly sinking in—all of them very bad for her and Macleod.
“I’ll protect ye.”
She met his steady regard. “Why? Because we’re sharing a bed?”
“Aye…an’ ye’re Innocent.”
“But you’ve refused to take your vows.”
His dark blue eyes glinted. “MacNeil has harped on me like a shrew for almost a hundred years. Dinna start, Tabitha. Ye’re Innocent and ye have power. I wish to protect ye an’ I will.”
“I have a news flash.” Tabby grimaced. “Your power is meant to stop our flesh-and-blood enemies. You can’t stop a spirit, apparently.”
“But ye can.”
“Maybe, but my powers are erratic!” Tabby cried, really worried now. “One day they will be strong, I think, but I can’t depend on them. If we’re counting on me, we’re in trouble, Macleod!”
“Yer magic is stronger than ye believe.” He left the hall and Tabby followed him into the bedchamber.
“We still don’t know why a vanquished demon would hunt me,” she finally said.