“Funny girl, aren’t you? Over my dead body.”
“Then stop tilting at windmills. You can’t use the amulet. That leaves me, with you at my side. It’s the only choice. You can’t die—I mean, you can, but you’ll always come back. And we know it won’t kill me. We’re perfect for this.”
“Nobody’s perfect for battling evil. It’s seductive. When we find it, it’s going to come at you with everything it’s got.”
I was braced for it. I knew it would. I took a deep, slow breath, filling my lungs, squaring my shoulders. “Jericho, I feel like my whole life has been pushing me toward this moment.”
“That’s it. Fate’s a fickle whore. We’re not going. Take your clothes off and get back in my bed.”
I laughed. “Come on, Barrons. When have you ever run from a fight?”
“Never. And others paid for it. I won’t have the same happen to you.”
“I don’t believe this,” I said with mock horror. “Jericho Barrons is vacillating. Will wonders never cease?”
The rattle moved in his chest. “I’m not vacillating. I’m … ah, fuck.”
Barrons doesn’t lie to himself. He was vacillating and he knew it.
“The moment I laid eyes on you, I knew you were trouble.”
“Ditto.”
“I wanted to drag you between the shelves, fuck you senseless, and send you home.”
“If you’d done that, I never would have left.”
“You’re still here anyway.”
“You don’t have to sound so sour about it.”
“You’re upsetting my entire existence.”
“Fine, I’ll leave.”
“Try and I’ll chain you up.” He glowered at me. “That’s vacillating.” He sighed.
After a moment, he held out his hand.
I slipped mine into his.
The Silver in Barrons’ study belched me out. I went flying across the room and slammed into the wall.
I was tired of the mirrors not liking me. When this was over, I wanted Cruce’s curse lifted. In my free time, I might like exploring the White Mansion.
I frowned. But then again, I might not. Maybe I needed to cut all my ties with my past.
Barrons glided out behind me, looking urbane and unruffled as usual, dark hair and brows frosted, skin icy. “Stop,” he ordered instantly.
My feet rooted to the floor. “What?”
“People on the roof. Talking.” He stood still so long that the frost began to slide in droplets down his cheeks and neck. “Ryodan and others. The Keltar are near. They’re waiting for—what the hell was that noise?” He strode past me and stalked from the study.
He pushed through the door that joined the rear, private residence part of the bookstore to the public portion.
I followed, hot on his heels. It was dark outside, drizzly with a light fog beyond the tall windows, and the interior was lit only by the soft amber glow of the recessed lights I left on all the time so the store would never be fully dark.
“Jericho Barrons,” an elegantly cultured voice said.
“Who the fuck are you?” Barrons demanded.
I caught up with Barrons just in time to see a man step from the shadows in the rear conversation area.
He walked toward us, offering his hand. “I am Pieter Van de Meer.”
Long and lean, with the impeccable posture of a man trained in martial arts, he was in his mid to late forties. Blond hair framed a Nordic face with deep-set pale-green eyes. He had the quietly watchful air of a snake, coiled but not about to strike unless he had to.
“Take one more step and I’ll kill you,” Barrons said.
The man paused, looking surprised and impatient. “Mr. Barrons, we don’t have time for this.”
“I’ll decide what we have time for. What are you doing here?”
“I’m with the Triton Group.”
“So?”
“Let us not play games. You know who we are,” the man chided.
“You own the abbey, among other things. I don’t like your kind.”
“Our kind?” Pieter Van de Meer afforded a small smile. “We have watched you for centuries, Mr. Barrons. We are not a ‘kind.’ You are.”
“And why am I not killing you now?” Barrons purred.
“Because ‘my kind’ is often useful, and you’ve long sought a way to infiltrate our ranks. You never succeeded. You are curious about us. I’ve brought something for the girl. It’s time for the truth.”