When Alexandra Keller had become the first human to make the change from mortal to Darkyn in five centuries, she had also brought with her the science, technology, and training of the modern era. Using it, she had relentlessly pursued the original cause of the change in order to create a cure. She believed that the curse was actually a strange form of plague, one that altered rather than killed.
Korvel had not been inclined to believe something so simple could be responsible, not until the American doctor had found the means with which to reverse the high lord’s condition. Richard, who had been forced to live on feline blood for decades, had been turned into an animalistic changeling. Now, thanks to Alexandra, his monstrous feline appearance was gradually transforming back into that of a man.
As soon as Phillipe of Navarre answered, Korvel said, “I need to speak with Dr. Keller immediately.”
“Forgive me, Captain,” Navarre said, “but my mistress does not wish to speak to you. At least, not until hell freezes over entirely.”
“Nicola Jefferson has been shot with copper. I need Alex to tell me how to get it out of her spine.” When the seneschal didn’t reply, Korvel said, “There is no time for games, Navarre. Nick is dying.”
After a short pause, Phillipe said, “Wait.”
Korvel carried the phone over to the table and put it on speaker as he retrieved a copper dagger from Simone’s bag.
“What the hell is this?” Alexandra Keller’s voice suddenly demanded. “Someone shot Nick?”
“Yes.” Korvel repeated what had happened, leaving out the fact that the shot had been self-inflicted. “None of her arteries were severed, but I can feel the bullet wedged between two of the neck bones. The skin on her nape is dark red.”
“That’s copper poisoning,” Alex confirmed. “How long has it been since she was shot?”
“Only a few minutes.” Korvel touched Nicola’s throat. “Her heart has already stopped beating.”
“Jesus Christ. All right. You’re going to do a modified anterior cervical decompression. Put her on her back on a hard surface and immobilize her head.”
Korvel picked up the phone and switched it to talk. “Alex, the bullet is in the back of her neck.”
“The surgical pathway is less complicated if you go in from the front,” she told him. “You’ll only have to cut one vestigial muscle and follow the anatomical planes to get at her spine. Tell me you have a copper-coated scalpel.”
“I don’t.”
She muttered under her breath. “Then use sharpest, thinnest copper blade you can find.”
Gabriel came to the table as Korvel turned Nicola, and held her head between his hands.
Korvel switched the phone back on speaker and gripped the blade in his hand. “We’re ready, Doctor.” He swatted at a large black beetle that flew at his head.
“All right, you’re going to make an incision on the right side—”
“Wait.” Gabriel held out his hand, and the beetle landed on his palm. “Alex, it is Gabriel. I know how to take the bullet out of her without cutting into her throat.”
A sigh came over the speaker. “You only have a minute or two, Gabriel. Whatever it is, do it fast.”
He placed the beetle on Nicola’s collarbone, and the insect disappeared into the entry wound. As Gabriel focused on his sygkenis, Korvel picked up the phone and quietly described what was happening.
“If this works, she’s going to need at least two units of blood to dilute the poison,” Alex told him. “Don’t give her more than three or you could send her into thrall. After the bullet’s out, you’ll also have to clean and close that entry wound.”
The front of Nicola’s throat bulged, and slowly a misshapen slug pushed out of the wound. As Gabriel pulled it free, the blood-covered beetle emerged and trundled across a collarbone, fluttering its wings before it flew off into the bedroom.
“The bullet is out.” Korvel took Nicola’s wrist between his fingers. “Her heart has begun beating again. Thank you for your assistance, Doctor.”
“Gabriel and the bug did all the grunt work. Call me if for any reason her condition takes a dive.” She hesitated before she asked, “You all right?”
A year ago her gruff question would have brought him to his knees. Now he felt only a vague regret for all the trouble he had caused her.
“I am now. Good-bye, Alexandra.” Korvel glanced at the bedroom. The tremendous noise Gabriel had made tearing apart the shelving had been enough to wake the dead, and still Simone had slept through it. He walked over to look in at her, and the sight of her still body made guilt gnaw at him. Their lovemaking must have exhausted her.
“Cristophe did this,” Gabriel said as soon as Korvel came back to the table. “Him and his wretched curse.”
“I don’t believe in curses, my lord.” He went to the kitchen to retrieve the blood she would need to heal. “Did your lady say or do anything before she turned the gun on herself?”
“She touched the scroll,” Gabriel said. “She held it in her hand, and then she begged me to destroy it, just before she shot herself.”
“I know Nicola is sensitive to objects belonging to the Kyn, but gold is harmless to us. Besides that, I handled the scroll myself, and nothing happened to me.” Korvel didn’t want to upset Gabriel any more than he was, but Nicola’s love-hate relationship with their kind might drive her to attempt suicide again. “I think perhaps your lady acted on impulse. It may be that the scroll reminded her of the treasure that led to her being made Kyn.”
Gabriel’s expression turned to disgust. “The Golden Madonna.” A low sound came from Nicola, whose eyes were open and watching the two of them, and he rushed to the table. “Nicola? I’m here.”
Korvel joined him and looked down at Nicola’s throat. The wound had closed on its own, and within a few seconds the pale pink scar left behind smoothed out and disappeared. “How is she healing so fast?”
“I do not know; nor do I care.” Gabriel pressed a kiss to her brow, her nose, and her lips before he murmured, “Don’t ever do that to me again. Not unless you shoot me in the heart first.”
Nicola’s expression softened. She opened her mouth, frowned, and then swallowed a few times before she spoke in a rough whisper. “Sorry.” Her eyes shifted to Korvel. “The scroll isn’t cursed. It’s a map.”
“To what, my lady?”
“I don’t know. I saw where it was. There was a beach, and water, and for a second, something else. Something green. As soon as I saw it I could feel it in my head. Then I was taking the gun out of my jacket.” She touched her throat. “I couldn’t stop myself.”
“Don’t think about it.” Gabriel picked her up in his arms and carried her over to the big armchair, where he sat down with her. “Captain, is there an extra blanket?”
“Of course.” Korvel went into the bedroom, glancing at the still form on the bed before he went into the closet. Seeing how close Gabriel had come to losing Nicola made him go over to the bed to tug back the coverlet and give his lady a quick kiss.
All he found were crumpled garments, carefully shaped and arranged to mimic the contours of a sleeping woman.
Although he seldom spent a full night in his bed, Rellen Lechance never had trouble sleeping. He attributed this to his mother, the French mistress of a Salerno hit man, who had let him share her bed whenever his father was not in town. She had slept with a blade under her pillow and a gun tucked under the mattress, and taught him to wake at the slightest sound.
“Your father will kill me if he finds you in here,” she would always say.
What brought Lechance fully awake was not a sound, but another memory: that of collecting some rosemary from his mother’s tiny garden. He kept his eyes closed as he rolled onto his side and reached for the gun under his pillow, finding only smooth sheets.
“It’s not there.”
The sound of Simone Derien’s voice came as no surprise; nor did the sight of her sitting on the end of his bed. Death, like his hit man father, often came in the night. “Coucou, ma petite amie.”
“Your guards are unconscious. One will need his arm cast when he wakes.” She popped the clip from his gun and began thumbing the rounds out of it. “Which member of the council do you serve?”
“I serve no one but myself, Simone,” he chided.
“By tomorrow Pájaro will be dead.” She produced his blade and tested the edge with her thumb. “But the men who are following him will not die for many days.”
“They are not my men,” he said honestly.
“That I know.” She stood up, and tossed a cordless phone into his lap. “Call your master. I will speak to him myself.”
“I have no master.” He waited for her to attack, and when she didn’t, he sighed. “Go back to your village, child. Wash your blind women’s sheets and herd their goats. You don’t have the stomach for this.”
She moved then, the blade flashing, and before he could evade her she straddled him. He froze as she put the tip of the blade at the corner of his right eye.
“Make the call, Rellen,” she said, “or the next thing you will be master of is a white cane.”
He dialed the number by touch and lifted the phone to his face. “I have been compromised. The girl is here, and she wishes to speak to you.”
Simone took the phone from him. “There is a traitor among the council, Padrone Ramas, and his operatives are failed tresori who are using your name, probably to frame you and create chaos among the council. The traitor orchestrated all of this in order to obtain the location of the cross.” As she listened, she removed the blade from Lechance’s eye. “I will retrieve it if I can, but you must advise the high lord directly.”
Once she ended the call, Lechance looked up at her. “You know that Tremayne wants the cross for himself.”
