A root of malevolence. There could be no better description of Nicholas Iscariot. Shall marshal such power as never before known. Max had never liked the sound of that, and he liked it even less now that his daughter was in the midst of it.
Thank God I came, her pride be damned.
“But who is the dauntless one?” asked Temple. “Do you know?” This question was directed at Max, but it seemed as if she were too bashful to look at him for more than a second, let alone address him directly.
“Even if I did,” he replied, “it wouldn’t matter. It would be beyond foolish to rely on a prophecy to determine how to resolve this matter. We must rely on ourselves.”
“Right, of course,” Temple murmured, and returned her attention to her book.
“Do you have any way to contact your friend—Flora, is that her name?” Max asked Macey.
She shook her head. “No.”
“I suppose we have no choice but to wait for whatever will come,” he said. “Unless anyone here has a better idea?”
They shook their heads, each as grim as the next.
He suspected it was going to be a long, unpleasant night—waiting for some message, some further information.
While all the while, dodging cold dagger-eyes from his own flesh and blood.
And wondering what the other woman he loved was doing, cozied up on the sofa in front of a bloody fire.
Bugger it to hell.
ELEVEN
~ In Which our Heroine Considers the Perfect Right Hook ~
Macey avoided her father’s eyes, as well as his person, for the rest of the dreary Sunday and its evening at The Silver Chalice.
She had nothing to say to Max Denton.
Sure, she was glad he was here—for all she knew, he was the dauntless one, and as far as she was concerned, he could face down Nicholas Iscariot with whoever his “other half” was. But that didn’t mean she had to start buying him ties for Christmas and having Sunday dinner with the man.
There were other things on her mind—things she wished she could erase, and things she knew she was foolish to be upset over. After all, the safety of hundreds, even thousands, of mortals would surely be at risk during the conflict with Iscariot. Her own private matters of the heart were of little concern in the grand picture.
But try as she might to stop them, her thoughts kept going back to the moment when Grady had opened his front door earlier today.
She’d looked up at him from beneath her dripping fedora, ready to speak—to make up some excuse to come into the man’s house. She knew Grady, knew he would never turn away a damsel in distress, or anyone in need, for that matter. She hadn’t had a plan, she just thought if she gained entrance, if she could spend some time with him…maybe…perhaps…they could start over…differently.
Or something.
She didn’t know what. Didn’t really know why she’d gone there in the first place.
Macey made a sound of disgust that had Chas glancing over at her. He, like everyone else in the group—which was spread out at separate tables in the pub—was poring over ancient books and writings in search of a way to destroy Rekk’s Pyramid.
At least, that was what she was supposed to be doing, instead of tormenting herself with memories of Grady—and the fact that Sabrina Ellison, older woman and adventure photographer, had been coming down from his bedroom in her dressing robe.
Even now, the thought of that made her well up with nausea, and her very fertile mind delve into imaginings it had no business going into.
Her first reaction, after the stupefaction of discovery and the blind reeling away into pouring rain after a stammered excuse, was that it had been less than two weeks since she’d asked Wayren to use the special gold disk.
Less than two weeks, and he was already fooling around with someone else? An older woman, too, vastly experienced and worldly—and possibly even a very rich one.
But by the time Macey got to the end of the block and was passing Garrick’s Butcher Shop, her tears of frustration were mingled with rain, and she realized how foolish she was being. If Grady had no memory of her, it hadn’t been only two weeks since they’d been together. There hadn’t even been a “together” in his mind.
You did the right thing, she reminded herself as she sloshed through puddles and trudged through mud. Grady deserved his own life.
But you didn’t give him a choice. Temple’s voice mingled with her own conscience, and Macey glared into the waterlogged day.
It’s done, she told herself firmly. It’s over. I’ll live with my decision.
And so Macey returned to the pub late in the afternoon to find the ominous note from Iscariot that had sent them all into a tumult. Yet, in a very small way, she was grateful for the distraction it provided.
Now, it was hours later and she was considering her options: continuing to search for the solution to destroying Rekk’s Pyramid, going to bed and resting until the next thing happened with Iscariot, or heading back out into the now-pitch-dark city and see what trouble she could stir up. She didn’t want to just sit here.
Hmm…maybe she should go back and see what Capone was up to. Terrorize him a little, as he was prone to do to others.
As if reading Macey’s mind, Chas stood abruptly and gave a graceful stretch that had her watching him with appreciation. Well, there was another option.
“I’m going to bed,” he said, his gaze sliding over hers. “My eyes are burning, I’m beat, and it’s—Christ, it’s nearly midnight. Who knows when we’ll hear more from Iscariot.”
“Much as I hate waiting for him to act, I can see no other option at the moment,” Max commented. He was wearing glasses to help him see the small, faded print of the book he was reading, and the dark-rimmed spectacles made him look like anything but a fearsome warrior. “However, I suggest at least one of us remain in the pub at all times in case we receive another message.”
“But don’t you feel like we should be—doing something?” Macey said. “Rather than just waiting? Who knows what he’s doing right now!”
Max removed his spectacles and looked at her, lifting a brow. “I’m all ears, Macey. What do you suggest?”
She gritted her teeth. He was right, and, dammit, she agreed with him, but she wanted to be doing something. Instead of brooding and thinking. It felt as if they were at Iscariot’s mercy.
“If you want to go on patrol, hunt around, see if we find anything, I’ll go with you,” her father added.
Not what she had in mind. Not with him, anyway. “The weather’s so bad out, I suppose everyone’s probably holed up for the night,” she muttered. “Even vampires.”
“Wait…I think I’ve found something.” Temple spoke suddenly and caught their attention. “It says something here about an evil pyramid stone…it goes on with a description—Yes, that sounds like it: onyx stone, shaped like the ancient pyramids, the base is square and the length of a short finger…yes, this must be it. It says here…hmm…let me translate…” Her voice trailed off, and was followed by the scritch-scratch of a pencil on paper and her mutterings.
Macey felt her father’s eyes flicker back to her, but she didn’t look at him. She wasn’t giving him any openings to start up a friendly parental conversation.
“All right,” said Temple after a moment of writing. “Here’s what I have. Apparently, the pyramid can be destroyed—get this—‘with the curved tongue of the ruby-eyed skull.’”
“What the hell does that mean?” Chas said. “Skulls don’t have tongues—or eyes, for that matter. Where is Wayren when you need her?”
Macey couldn’t help it—she looked reflexively toward each of the doors, half expecting the mysterious chatelaine to walk through one of them at any moment. Both doors remained closed.
“That’s all it says,” Temple replied. “And I’m confident the translation is right. I checked it three times. There might be more, but that’s all there is in this section.” She yawned. “I’m going to bed. It’s been a long day, and I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Despite the dark situation, her face softened into a cat-with-the-cream expression.
“I’ll stay here—take the first shift,” Max said. “In case something changes.”
For some reason, his easy offer made Macey feel slightly guilty—but she wasn’t going to give in to that base feeling. Then it evaporated as her father went on, “Woodmore, if you’ll relieve me at four.” It wasn’t a request—and he hadn’t included Macey.
“I’ll relieve you at four,” she said flatly. “Chas should rest. He’s been badly wounded.”
Max merely shrugged, ignoring Chas’s outraged scoff that he might need to be coddled. “Very well. I’ll be here. Presumably, there will be a place for me to sleep at that time?”
Macey couldn’t help but feel a tad deflated at his easy acquiescence. “Yes. I’ll show you then.”
Thus the group disbanded for the evening, and it was assumed Chas would stay on site instead of going back to his own flat, due to the nature of their predicament.
Macey shot a glance at Max just as she went through the door to the private apartments and saw that he’d settled himself at a table with a short crystal glass, a tall, dark bottle, and a stack of books and papers. He looked…forlorn.