Born in Blood (The Sentinels) Page 9

  He’d been lost in the intoxicating pleasure of her kiss, trying to ignore the world around them, when Fane had made his untimely arrival.

  From there things had only gone downhill.

  The tattooed pain-in-the-ass had arrived in silence, filling the air with a bristling antagonism that had Callie awkwardly pulling from Duncan’s grasp, a stain of color on her cheeks.

  For a crazed minute, Duncan had curled his hands into fists. As if he was going to slug the bastard.

  It was only the knowledge that the Sentinel had devoted his entire life to protecting Callie, and that she might very well need his considerable powers before this was all said and done, that kept him from breaking his knuckles on Fane’s arrogant jaw.

  A choice he regretted as the Sentinel led them to the small chapel. Duncan was barely allowed to glance around his barren surroundings when Fane roughly grasped his hand to shove it against the post in the center of the room and the world melted to nothingness.

  A punch wouldn’t actually damage the bastard, and broken hand or not, it would have been satisfying to have landed a blow.

  The sense of emptiness abruptly vanished as the world once again coalesced around him. Briefly disoriented, Duncan clutched the post, his head whirling.

  “Shit.”

  “Troubles, cop?”

  Duncan scowled at the Sentinel, who was watching his discomfort with a smug smile. “Nothing that couldn’t be solved with a well-placed bullet.”

  “Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better.”

  Ignoring their squabble, Callie walked across the stone floor to study the strange etchings on the wall.

  “This is a different place.”

  Duncan moved to join her. “What?”

  “This isn’t where Boggs was when I met him last time,” she explained, glancing toward Fane. “Where are we?”

  “Germany.”

  Without another word, the warrior turned to leave the cramped room, clearly expecting them to follow.

  For once Duncan didn’t mind the man’s arrogance.

  Not only was he still trying to find his balance, but his mind was reeling from the casual announcement he’d just been zipped halfway around the world.

  Holy shit.

  The furthest he’d ever been from KC was his honeymoon in Key West.

  And that’d taken him two days to drive.

  In the process of wondering if Sentinels kept passports and foreign money stashed around the world, Duncan realized that Callie was moving.

  With a shake of his head he was following her, stepping out of the circular chapel into the refectory.

  The long room was what he’d expected of an ancient abbey. Made of plain stone and lined with towering arches that opened to side passages, it had several tables shoved at the back, as if the monks gathered in the space to eat. Or maybe pray.

  The ceiling was vaulted to give the impression of a vast space and painted with the same hieroglyphs that were tattooed on Fane.

  Protection against magic.

  And god only knew what else.

  Callie came to a halt as they caught sight of Fane at the far end of the room, quietly speaking with a hooded monk. Clearly it was bad manners to interrupt.

  “What’s going on?” Duncan instead demanded.

  “I assume that we’ll need transportation to travel to Boggs,” she said, her arms wrapping around her body in an unconsciously defensive motion.

  He stepped behind her, gently massaging the taut muscles of her shoulders. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” he swore.

  She glanced back, her eyes catching and reflecting the lights of the candelabras. “Haven’t you heard that the days of damsels in distress are over?”

  His breath caught. How could he be constantly caught off guard by her beauty? His hands skimmed up and down her arms, driven by a compulsive need to touch her.

  “I don’t doubt you can take care of yourself, Callie, but we all need someone to watch our backs,” he said in a husky voice.

  “Even macho cops?”

  “Especially macho cops.”

  Silence. The sort filled with potent fascination, licks of treacherous heat, and a mutual wariness of the bonds forming between them.

  This hadn’t been in the cards.

  For either of them.

  “Come on,” Fane intruded, his heightened temper heating the air as he glared at Duncan. “We have to hurry.”

  “What’s the rush?” Duncan snarled, promising himself that as soon as he was certain Callie was safe he was whisking her far away from her guard dog. Intrusive, pushy bastard.

  He didn’t care if he had to chain the warrior to the wall and throw away the keys.

  As if sensing his dark promise, Fane sent him a last searing glare before leading them through one of the arches.

  “Boggs refuses to speak once the sun rises.”

  Falling into step, Duncan grimaced. “He’s not a vampire, is he?”

  Fane shrugged. “You’ll see.”

  Duncan glanced toward the silent Callie. “I’m not going to like this, am I?”

  “As the Mave said ... he’s eccentric.”

  He shook his head. There was no use speculating what might be waiting for him.

  They walked through the narrow hallways of the abbey, the occasional flicker of candlelight the only thing to hold back the thick gloom.

  Although for him it was seven or eight in the evening (he never wore a watch), the abbey was shrouded in sleep with only an occasional glimpse of robed figures who were unfortunate enough to have the night shift.

  They passed through an empty workroom filled with wooden tables piled high with rolls of parchment and bottles filled with a dark liquid he assumed was ink. There were even feathered quills piled on a far bench.

  Scribes? In this day and age?

  That seemed ... redundant.

  Fane kept his pace brisk as they left the abbey and crossed a paved courtyard to stand next to a large building that looked like it had once been the stables. Within minutes a black SUV with tinted windows appeared from around the corner of the building and Fane pulled open the back door to help Callie into the backseat.

  Duncan was quick to slide in after her, sinking into the buttery leather seat so that the Sentinel was forced to climb into the front seat with the hooded monk.

  Childish?

  Hell, yeah.

  But it was common knowledge that most men stopped maturing about the age of five.

  Closing the door, he’d barely managed to click his seat belt in place when the monk shoved his foot down on the accelerator and they were hurtling away from the abbey at a speed that had to be illegal.

  Silence filled the interior of the expensive vehicle as Callie retreated inside her thoughts. Fane appeared to be in some Zen-like zone. The monk presumably had made some sort of vow of silence, or maybe he was just enjoying his pretense they were racing the Grand Prix.

  And Duncan ... well, his jaws were clenched too tight to utter more than a squeak.

  Duncan caught a glimpse of a wide river that he assumed was the Rhine following the narrow road that wound through a dense forest. They raced through a tiny village so fast he barely made out the quaint shops with their wooden signs and polished front windows that were filled with hand-carved cuckoo clocks, squishy teddy bears, and the inevitable beer steins.

  His ma would be enchanted, he acknowledged, making a mental note to have his siblings chip in to send his parents on a well-deserved vacation. His da would insist on visiting Ireland, but would make sure his ma had a say in the plans.

  They’d been traveling less than a quarter of an hour when the SUV made a sharp turn onto an overgrown path. He instinctively reached to tuck Callie against him as they jolted over the uneven path, wondering who taught the damned monk how to drive.

  Thankfully the bone-jarring journey at last came to an end at the top of a hill, and with a low groan, Duncan shoved open the door and cli
mbed out of the vehicle. He turned to help Callie out, not surprised that she’d barely stepped onto the path when Fane was smoothly taking his place at her side.

  Duncan clenched his teeth and concentrated on his surroundings. Now wasn’t the time to play caveman. The only thing that mattered was getting the answers they needed without putting Callie at risk.

  It took a moment of peering through the gloom to realize that the mound that was rising from the trees wasn’t another hill, but a stone structure that was being slowly consumed by the forest.

  “He lives in a castle?” he muttered in surprise.

  “I doubt he has an actual home,” Fane said, pulling a clear crystal that was hung on a leather strap from his pocket. “He’s more of a squatter.”

  Duncan grimaced, taking in the crumbling curtain wall that had once surrounded the grounds. “He couldn’t have squatted at the Ritz?”

  Fane spoke a soft word and the crystal began to glow. “Be on guard, cop,” he warned, urging Callie toward the bridge that crossed the long-forgotten moat.

  Bringing up the rear, Duncan pulled his gun and searched the shadows for something to shoot. “You expect trouble?”

  Fane passed beneath the barbican and entered what must have been the lower bailey. Now it was just a rough patch of weeds and bramble. “Don’t you?” he growled.

  “Yeah.” Duncan felt a chill trickle over his skin, as if he was being watched by unseen eyes.

  They crossed the open ground, Fane neatly leading them past the gaping hole where there’d once been a drinking well and around the nearly hidden cannon.

  Before them the inner keep loomed three stories high with empty windows and the appearance of a hollow shell. No doubt it was a treasure trove for the local historians, but it was making Duncan twitch.

  He was a cop who’d mastered the urban landscape.

  He could spot a suspicious perp in the middle of a crowd. He could tail a car for days without being noticed. He could enter a room and instantly tell you the number of exits, the placement of obstructions if he needed to move in a hurry, and if anyone in the room was carrying a concealed weapon.

  But suddenly surrounded by the untamed wildness of nature, he felt like a fish out of water.

  It wasn’t the thick foliage that was a constant threat to trip him, or the clinging shadows that could hide anything. Or even the silence that made it impossible to sneak up without giving away his position.

  It was the strange pulse of power that brushed the very edge of his awareness.

  He’d heard rumors of norms who could feel magic. As if it was a tangible force. He suspected they were recruited by the government to keep track of the high-bloods.

  Until now, he’d never thought it was a talent he possessed. He still didn’t. No. If he had to guess he would say that everyone had some ability to sense when there was a disturbance in the air. It was simply the degree of sensitivity to that disturbance. And when it was as strong as it was in the lower bailey even the most oblivious person could feel it.

  Fane led them up the steps of the keep, kicking open the heavy wooden door and continuing forward without missing a step.

  “No knocking?” Duncan mocked, glancing up at the open-beamed ceiling that was swathed in cobwebs.

  Fane held his crystal over his head, bathing the open space in a soft light.

  There wasn’t much to see.

  Stone walls. Stone floor. Stone fireplace.

  At one time the room was no doubt made homey by a blazing fire that danced light over the ornate tapestries that had been draped on the walls and the air had been filled with the scent of fresh straw spread over the floor.

  Now it was just ... stone.

  And dust.

  A damned tidal wave of dust.

  “If he didn’t want us to enter he would have put up wards,” Fane was saying, his pace cautious as he walked toward the steps that led to the floor above. “Of course, that doesn’t mean he didn’t create a few traps for the unwary. Hermits have an odd sense of humor.”

  Duncan rolled his eyes. Of course they did.

  They climbed the stairs, finding yet another empty room that matched the one below. Except the floor was rotting wood, not stone.

  Fane halted, his body coiled for attack. “He’s above us.”

  Duncan clicked off the safety on his gun. “You can sense him?”

  The Sentinel flashed Duncan a mocking smile. “I don’t have the same talent as a hunter Sentinel, but I can sense a high-blood when they have Boggs’s level of power.”

  Duncan grimaced. Just fucking perfect. Another freak who obviously suspected that he wasn’t entirely normal.

  Not that this was the time to worry about his little secret.

  “Do you sense anything else?”

  “No. He’s alone.” Fane stepped to the side, his gaze in constant movement. “I’ll keep guard here.”

  The dark gaze briefly rested on Duncan, silently warning him that the Sentinel was trusting him to keep Callie safe. And that if he failed there would be hell to pay.

  Duncan resisted the urge to flip him off as he wrapped his arm around Callie and started up the next flight of stairs. He might logically appreciate Fane’s fierce loyalty to Callie, but he didn’t need the bastard telling him to keep this woman safe.

  Reaching the top floor, he forgot the aggravating Sentinel and even the constant pulse of magic that was wearing on his nerves.

  A lone candle was set in the center of the grimy floor, casting flickers of light over the piles of rubbish that consumed half the room.

  And it was rubbish.

  Broken chairs, tarnished silver teapots, a mound of clothing, ice skates, a framed mirror, ratty books, and hundreds of other items that he didn’t recognize.

  It was like Hoarders on steroids.

  “Good ... god,” he muttered. “What is all this crap?”

  “History, Duncan O’Conner.” A hooded form stepped from behind the piles, his voice oddly melodic. “As well as a promise of the future.”

  Just for a second Duncan thought it was one of the monks who’d followed them from the monastery. Then the candlelight caught in the folds of the robe and he realized it was black, not the brown of the monks.

  He pointed his gun at the center of the deep hood. “That’s close enough.”

  “I have no intention of harming the diviner,” the stranger assured him. “No more than you would.”

  With a flamboyant motion, the man whipped off the robe and tossed it aside.

  Even braced to expect the unexpected, Duncan nearly went to his knees in shock.

  “Son of a bitch,” he breathed, struggling to comprehend the fact that he was looking at an exact replica of himself. No, not exact, his stunned mind accepted. The pale hair and lean face with a shadow of golden whiskers might be a mirror image. As well as his lean form dressed in jeans and casual shirt. But the eyes were all wrong. They were a pure, unnerving white. Not pale, not clear. Just ... white.

  “What’s going on?”

  Callie lightly touched his arm, urging him to lower his gun. Smart female. His nerves were on a hair trigger.

  He didn’t want any accidents.

  “Boggs is a doppelganger.”

  Duncan frowned. “A what?”

  The ... creature smiled. “I can take the appearance of those who are close to me.”

  Holy shit.

  A cop to his bones, Duncan was instantly on high alert. A creature who could alter its appearance to look like anyone?

  The possibilities for disaster were endless.

  He could become a guard and rob a bank. He could go on a murder spree and create a new persona for each killing. Hell, he could turn into the president and start a war.

  And worse, his aura flickered with a hint of darkness that revealed he had more than once dipped his toes in the evil pool.

  “Why haven’t I ever heard of doppelgangers?”

  Boggs laughed with creepy delight, throwing his arms wide. �
�‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Duncan O’Conner, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”

  “Stop that,” Duncan commanded.

  The white eyes were lit with a sudden inner glow. “Perhaps you prefer this form?”

  In the blink of an eye the doppelganger had become Callie, with spiky crimson hair and a slender body displayed in spandex pants and stretchy top.

  “No, I damned well ... wait.” His furious words were bit off as he recalled Callie’s words. “I thought you said he was blind.”

  Chapter Nine

  Callie shivered. Even knowing what was coming, she still found it impossible not to be flipped out.

  “He is,” she said, trying to keep the distaste out of her voice.

  She was a high-blood. She understood exactly what it meant to be treated as if she were an outcast. Still ... Boggs took strange to a whole new level.

  “Then how does he know what we look like?” Duncan rasped.

  “I sense your essence,” Boggs admitted, releasing his magic to reveal his true form. Duncan hissed at the sight of the pale, hairless creature that looked disturbingly like a larva. His features were indistinct and his eyes glowed with power. The robe had returned, but it was open to reveal a body that was lacking genitalia. “And before your policeman’s imagination begins to run wild, let me assure you that I have to be standing within a few feet of those I duplicate and that I can only hold the image for a few minutes. I’m no danger to society.”

  Callie felt Duncan stiffen, as if Boggs had managed to strike a nerve, but as usual the cop tilted his chin and held his ground.

  Foolish courage.

  It was going to get him killed.

  “Can you read minds?” he growled.

  “I don’t need to be a psychic to know what you’re thinking. I’m tediously familiar with the prejudices of men with badges. They instantly assume that freaks have no morals.”

  “The Mave sent us to ask you questions,” Callie interrupted. Men. Did they always have to have a pissing match? “Are you willing to answer them?”

  A cunning expression flickered over Boggs’s alien features as he subtly shifted closer, closing the robe to hide his body. “I suppose it depends on the questions.”