A muscle jumped in J.T.’s jaw.  The anger erupted in a blinding black haze.  He stumbled before righting himself.  Which way had she gone?  The deep seeded longing J.T. kept under lock and key wasn’t supposed to burst forth like a geyser, but it did.  He lashed out by putting his foot through the wall.  Wood splintered before raining down all around him.  A sense of inadequacy filled him like the rush of water from a broken dam.  J.T. staggered backward, falling on a table, sending the piece splintering in all directions.  Dazed and frustrated, he kicked over a brocade sofa.  Finding no solace in the move, he glanced at the mirror over the fireplace.  No reflection appeared in the silvered surface.  The sound of glass shattering echoed through the room.  Cut and bleeding, he didn’t even flinch.

Wasn’t he a vampire? Wouldn’t he heal?  From everything except being dead, he mused.  Snarling, J.T. lashed out again.  This time, the object of his rage was a hefty floor vase of fresh flowers.  “Where are you?” he yelled at the top of his lungs as the weighty vase shattered against the fireplace bricks.  The angry haze dissipated as quickly as it materialized.  Seething with ineptness, he staggered forward, leaving a debris field littered with glass shards, broken crockery, splinted wood and crushed flowers in his wake.  The bedroom on the other side of the hole in the wall beckoned.  Anger narrowed his eyes, stiffened his jaw.

Done again in heavy Victorian, the room was aglow with light from numerous crystal lamps situated around the room.    Stumbling through without regard for the destruction, he scanned the room.  “Jessie?”

Her scent lingered.  The image of her stirred J.T.’s blood.  The room's appointments went flying as the fury leaped inside him once more.  Without waiting for a rational explanation to surface, he reached down, taking the side of the bed and flipping the heavy antique onto its side.  Muttering an oath, he stomped to the middle of the room.  “Come out now.  I warn you.  I’ll find you wherever you are.”

The room was silent.

Inhaling sharply, J.T. circled in place, his hands fisted at his sides.  Had to clear his mind.  Had to think.  Vague snippets of Logan’s description of The Netherworld came back to him.  When they had discovered Nybbas, the company found a perfect utopia.  Mentions of secret corridors hidden within the walls where the Sultan used warrior guards and hostages to spy on unsuspecting trespassers warned him of more possible traps.

Jessie was gone.  This much he felt in his bones.  She had lingered a few seconds too long behind the wall before bolting when confronted.  J.T. studied his arm where the last traces of her bite faded.

Frustration bubbled in his blood.  Wheeling, he reentered the narrow passage between the adjoining walls.  There he found a crude stool along with a small, antique movie camera.  The filmstrip was telling.  Jessie had used the camera to capture his entry into the house.  Thank the gods, she had not had time to get the reel back to the Sultan.  J.T.’s whereabouts in the Netherworld may still be a secret.  Time would tell, he mused.  Dropping the camera, he smashed it under his booted foot.  Number one on his list of things to do while vacationing in the Netherworld was confiscate the others and destroy all he found.

Returning to the bedroom, he found women’s modern-day clothing neatly packed in a suitcase.  A familiar scent wafted over him.  The contents were Jessie’s.  She’d been staying in the room.  For how long?  Why?  The answers to those questions stirred an ache in J.T. chest.  He raked a shaky hand through his hair.  What if the Sultan brainwashed Jessie like he had Aubrie?  J.T.’s vision blurred with the idea.  If the Sultan messed with Jessie, using her for his evil ends, J.T. would kill him twice.

His hands fisted before relaxing with effort.  Taking a deep breath, J.T. concentrated on tamping down the murderous urge racing through him like a catalyst.  His days as a SEAL ingrained a powerful truth in his psychic.  One did not go into a fight without focused control.  Reminded his advisory would love for him to implode, he willed the fury back.

Once J.T. felt more composed, he scouted for other beings within the walls just in case any lingered.  Satisfied he was alone for the time being, J.T. stored the bombs in a safe location before continuing his search for more info on the whereabouts of the Sultan.  Keeping an eye out for warrior guards and hostages, he canvased the entire house.  Upstairs he found the escape hatch to the exterior of the mansion.  Logan told him of a route that he and Aubrie used during their flight into the jungle surrounding the fortress.  Mentally mapping the interior of the mansion, he set about exploring the outside parameter.  The search proved more difficult than he’d imagined as a dense thicket of trees and a lush undergrowth hampered his progress. 

The morning sun rose in the east on schedule.  When ignoring nature’s schedule could get you killed, J.T. decided to choose his battles.  Disrespecting the sun wasn’t on his list.   The walls of the mansion proved a protective oasis during the day, J.T. utilized the hibernation time in the reconstruction of a blueprint of Nybbas’ fortress. 

The kitchen reminded him of Aubrie’s back in Cheniere Station.  How many times had their small company gathered around her table to plan, debate or simply celebrate life?  The smile crept up on him.  J.T. had to admit he felt a connection to these people, these mystical creatures, and mortals.  Even Pilot, a shadow walker, proved a reliable, dependable friend.

Spreading his work out on the cool granite of the island, J.T. unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves.  The glass of wine at his elbow relaxed the tension along his shoulders to some degree.  “Best to keep busy,” he murmured.  A duplicate of the structure with all its cubby holes would be vital in the coming encounter, he mused.  Considering the structure was completely connected with secret passageways, he concluded the Sultan used the house as a trap.  “Draw a mouse in and snare him.”

Dropping the pencil when completed, J.T. rolled his shoulders, giving his neck a good crack.  “This looks good.  Now to get some shuteye.”  Thoughtfully scanning the blueprint in front of him, J.T. decided on the room he wanted for his nap.

He returned the bed to an upright position then went about straightening the covers.  Jessie’s suitcase he placed on a bench.  No longer wary of what went bump inside the walls, he shrugged out of his shirt before unzipping his jeans.  Sliding beneath the blankets, he cursed low.  Her smell was all around him.  Blocking the thoughts careening through his subconscious, J.T. tried for calm.  Logan had given him a spell to cast for safety.  With the spell in place, he closed his eyes.  He should have suspected the dream.

***

In the dream, he relived the day he met her in clear detail.  Jessie walked right up to him in the pawn shop.  Her long, ebony hair swayed around her waist with each step.  Her legs, lean and muscled, a dancer’s legs, were showcased in a pair of thigh-high Prada boots.  J.T. remembered the way his chest constricted at the sight of her.  His intel said she was in town to visit her parents, something about an urgent call to return home.  She was magnificent.  She was his suspect.

J.T., sucking in air, latched tight to his control as their eyes connected.  She was a natural beauty.  No fuss with the gunk most wore, though he supposed she wore makeup when she performed.  Her bottom lip protruded a fraction as if inviting a taste.  He remembered how her pouty lips captivated him.

“Can you help me?”

The question was meant to infer so much more.  Or, was that J.T.’s mind playing tricks?  He straightened, giving her his best congenial grin.  “Of course, I can.  Tell me what’s the problem.”  He remembered the air fairly sparked with her that close.  Though odd, he ignored the phenomenon at the time.  Her lashes, so lush and thick, batted over her eyes, those deep rich mocha eyes.  Dropping the hand, he had raised to rub his chest, J.T. marveled at how clear the memory came back to him.

“I need to know if this amulet is genuine or not.”  Jessie unrolled a velvet cloth, exposing an exquisite necklace of some age.  The chain of gold was weighty, and the pendant held intricate carvings of the same precious metal.  In the center of the carving lay quartzes as big as a silver dollar.   Circling the quartzes were several fat labradorites along with hematite, alternating around the single stone.  A beautiful copper wire laced the stones in an unending ring.

He remembered Jessie’s glance around the room was jittery as if she expected someone to snatch the gold necklace from her hands at any moment.

“I’m not an expert, but I’d say it’s real.  Is it yours?”

Her brow knitted.  Her tasty bottom lip protruded a little more.  “Of course, it’s mine.”

She acted as if he’d insulted her.  Maybe he had, but in his line of work, the only people who came into a pawn shop asking questions like hers were those in desperate need or clueless, or both.  She fit the bill.  He leaned in conspiratorially.  “Let’s ask an expert, shall we?”  With a hand, J.T. indicated the barrel-chested man in his mid-fifties with a receding hairline standing behind the counter.  “Permit me to introduce you to the owner, Frank.  Hey, Frank, how’s it going?”

Frank nodded.  “Good, and you?”

“I can’t complain.  Hey, listen.  This young lady.  I didn’t catch your name?”

The tantalizing bottom lip drew together.

J.T. imagined her jaw tightening over the idea of revealing her identity.  Too bad, she didn’t realize to complete a transaction in a place like this one, you had to give your driver’s license number before signing papers.  A real boon for him.

“Jessie.  My name is Jessie.”  Her clipped answer held nerves.

“Well, now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”  J.T. registered the irritated eyes slicing right through him.  His attempt at pacification was not appreciated.  Dually noted, he mused.  The exasperation in her sigh had his mind running away with him.  He had better get back to business for both his sakes, dick, and luck.  “Frank, we need to know what this is worth.”

Frank inspected the amulet Jessie presented him.  His jeweler’s eye, anchored in the crease of his eyelid, slipped a fraction before he shoved it back in place.  “Where’d you get this?”

Jessie’s mouth went slack.  “It’s mine.  My parents gave it to me.  Now, how much is it worth?”

Frank took s full moment to eye her speculatively.  “I’m not a jeweler, so my value isn’t going to come close to what this is worth if you’re in the market to sell.”  He waited for another pregnant beat, his jaw working in hesitation.  “Look, you don’t want to sell this to me.  I’ll be honest.”  He cut eyes at J.T. before shoving the piece back at her.  “Here.  You need an expert.”

“We’ll see.”  J.T. grinned.  “You know it’s real.  You also know it’s worth a lot of money.  Now, how about a cup of coffee?  I’ll give you the names of a couple of jewelers I know.”

The dark lashes wavered a moment before Jessie stuffed the piece back in her purse.  “No thank you.”  The answer came out chilled.  Shoving by J.T., she glanced back once.  “I appreciate the offer.”

J.T. opened his mouth, but she had already headed for the door.  “Wait,” J.T. said.  “I’ll give you those names.  No coffee required.”

She threw up a hand in dismissal before disappearing out the door.  The pawn shop scene evaporated with the slamming of that door.

Snarling, J.T. reared up in the bed.  Was the dream so real because he had grown accustomed to reliving the memory so regularly or did the Sultan have a hand in the matter?

Her scent lingered in the pillows.  She lingered here, yet Jessie was a millennium away.  He could feel the distance.  The testy frustration came resurfaced inside.  How had she eluded him?  Oh yeah, she had disabled him like only a man can be disabled.  Yanking back the covers, he stood, letting the meager light of a bedside lamp orient him.  She had good defenses which still did not explain where she went or how she had managed to leave so quickly?

Padding over to the broken boards dangling precariously from the hole in the bedroom wall, he tried reviewing the events of their brief meeting.  Something crackled under his foot.  Easing back, he reached down, plucking a small timepiece from beneath his foot.  The hands were stuck on midnight, twelve o’clock, the witching hour.  Where had that correlation come from, he wondered?  Taking the piece over to the lamp, he examined the intricate gold case which held an ivory face.  Not your ordinary, run of the mill timepiece.  The design resembled a brooch from the 1800s.  A filigree pattern laced the timepiece’s gold case.  Tiny black metal hands lay crumpled against the ivory face.  Jessie’s?  Funny the piece should end up on the carpet unless someone had dropped it.  Concluding she must have dropped the piece in her hast to escape capture, J.T. wondered why she ran.  Without an immediate answer, J.T. dropped into the wingback chair near the bed.  Her scent lingered there too.  If only he had managed to talk to her, rather than the reaction he had to her attack.  Again, he examined his arm which had healed completely, he marveled at the way the woman made him feel.  She had the power to bring him to his knees.  The memory came back vividly.

Jessie had agreed to dinner with him after he tracked her down again following the murder of her best friend.  Someone was stalking her.  That much was truth.  He had to find out why.  The amulet was a good place to start, so he invited her to dinner.  A drive in the country proved a boon.  She was the number one suspect in her friend’s murder. However, J.T. was certain she was innocent.

“This is a lovely place, J.T.”  Jessie’s voice held a degree of pleasure.  “How long have you owned the ranch?”  Watching out the window at the fence rails racing past, he grinned.  The road ran between the pastures leading to the main house.  “My dad died a few years back.  He left me the place.”

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to remind you of the loss of your dad.”

He shrugged before flicking a look at her sitting in the passenger’s seat.  “No harm,” he said with a smile.  “I feel closer to him out here than anywhere else.”

“He left you a wonderful place.  Do you ride?”

“Yes, I do, although, I haven’t in a long time.  Not since…”  Trailing off, he shrugged again.  “Not since returning from over there.”

His reference didn’t go over her head.  “Afghanistan was a difficult place.  I’m glad you made it back in one piece.”  The curve of her lips spoke of appreciation.  “So many didn’t.”  She toyed with the amulet hanging around her neck.

He shoved at the memories.  They were getting off the path he had decided to take with Jessie.  “You realize the stones in your amulet are not a happy coincidence, right?”  He stopped the car at the front steps leading up to the house.  With practiced ease, he rested his arm on the space between the bucket seats before giving her his full attention.

Jessie blinked before narrowing her eyes.  “What do you mean?”

“The combining of these particular stones has a meaning.  They have a purpose.”

Jessie frowned but said nothing as she unclasped the necklace, studying it closely in her hands.

“It’s simple really.  The hematite clears confusion while orienting a person toward practical action in reality.”  At her quizzical stare, J.T. added, “I checked out the stones with a psychic I know.  Then the quartz is like a speaker that collects the energies from the other stones before amplifying the energy outward.  It does the same for your intentions or thoughts.  Finally, the labradorite is for telepathy and prophecy.  The stone helps with sight on several levels of reality.  It’s also referred to as the ‘travel stone.’”

“The travel stone,” she repeated.  Her wary gaze darted from J.T. to the amulet now laying in her hand.  “It was my grandmother’s,” she finally said.  “She gave it to my mother with instructions to give it to me.”  Now her gaze lifted.  Her dark eyes searched his.  “I don’t know what it all means.  I just thought it was a monetary inheritance.”  She blinked as her lips thinned.  “Then my parents went missing.”  Scooting to the edge of her seat, she stared at the piece in her hand.  “What if the kidnappers are after the amulet?  Then what?”

“I can help you find out, Jessie.  If you’ll let me.”

She huffed out a shaky breath.  “At this point, what other option do I have?”  Reluctance warred with caution as she shoved at her hair.  Long, slender fingers, a dancer’s digits, raked through midnight strands.

J.T. waited a beat before reaching over, taking those slim fingers in his hands.  “Do you trust me, Jessie?”

At the sound of his words, she drew her hand back.  “I don’t know.  I barely know you.  You could be the one who took my parents, for all I know.”  Her lips thinned as she clutched the amulet to her chest.  “I better go.”  She opened the door.

J.T. reached out, snagging her arm before wheeling her to face him.  “Will you give me a chance?”  The inflection in his question must have done the trick, or maybe his eyes reflected the deep seeded concern he held for her wellbeing, but she turned toward him.

Seeing the move as a yes, he reached out, taking her by both arms before drawing her close.  The chance to examine those beautiful almond-shaped eyes proved too much of a temptation.  J.T. lowered his head to hers.  Her lips parted in a hesitant half-smile.

“I guess so.”  Her gaze tracked from his eyes to his mouth.  The need to touch him overshadowed her fear.  She leaned in, accepting the kiss with a quick urgency he hadn’t expected.

His hands were on either side of her face, drawing her even closer.  No explanation was necessary as J.T. saw the glimpse of need shining in her pupils.  “I’ll take care of you.  Easy, you’re safe, now.”  With a surge of primal fervor racing through his blood, he let his hand fall to firm on her shoulder.  His growing need swelling with the feel of her skin in his hand.

She moaned out a sigh.  The hesitancy was gone as her fingers skimmed over J.T.’s back, seeking and discovering each vertebra.  Her fingernails dug in, sending a thrilling warmth up his spine.

The hot, mind-melting sensation surging through his senses had nothing to do with protection and everything to do with passion.  Jessie’s breasts filled his hands as he trekked a torturous trail of need along her neck before dropping to taste her areolas one by one.  Her head fell back on the moan.  He waited a beat before releasing her.  “Come with me,” he groaned.

They had laid under the stars that evening, sharing each other’s bodies as their awakening spiraled out of control.  A night of passion introduced them to a deeper feeling emerging between them.  Later, as she rested her head on his chest, they spoke openly of secrets and desires.  Finally, as dawn began to break, J.T. said, “Let’s get you dressed.  I have something I want to show you.”  

His horses were the best thing in his life before she had arrived.  He felt a need to share their importance with her.  The stalls in the rustic old barn held five beauties, his best saddle horses.  They all nickered as Jessie and he entered the double doors.

“They're beautiful!”  Jessie stepped inside, immediately rushing over to the first stall.  “Can we feed them?”  Her exuberance shown in a quick rub and pat for each of the horses.   

“Sure,” J.T. laughed.  “They’re always up for a treat.  Here.”  He handed her a bag of apple-flavored alfalfa cubes.  “Give them a couple of these.”  While he watched her, Jessie greeted each horse with a cube as well as a tender scratch behind the ear.  Her laughter pleased him.  Something warmed inside of him for the woman before him.  He wanted to discover everything there was to know about Jessie Colter.  J.T. measured his words carefully.  “Stay with me.”

Her hand faltered.  Her shoulders straightened as she turned to face J.T.  “I can’t.”

“But why?  I’ll protect you.  You’ll be safer with me.”  The look in her eyes was one J.T. would never forget.  A battle was waged in her expression that day.   

“It’s more complicated than that, J.T., please don’t ask.  I can’t explain.  Just know, I would if I could.”  Her mouth, that gorgeous mouth trembled before firming into a thin line.  Her features held an emotion J.T. could not name.  In the depths of their passion, he had seen the look before.  Something deeply seeded had a hold of her.  Jessie was more than she professed being.  Unable to discover what exactly was not an option, J.T. vowed.  He would do everything within his power to discover the truth.

Jolted back, J.T. stiffened.  Light filtered past the heavy drapes hanging from ornate rods at the mansion’s bedroom windows.  J.T. ran a shaky hand across clammy flesh.  His dead heart no longer beat, yet he remembered the way the organ slammed against his chest wall that morning standing in his barn. 

Closing his eyes, he could still hear the explosion of wind coupled with the flying debris.  At first, it sounded like a tornado.  He’d lived through a couple in his time, so J.T figured the natural phenomenon was plausible.

Jessie stood only a few feet away.  Her dark hair floated about her face in a surreal world of slow-moving chaos.  Blinded by flying dirt, J.T. didn’t see the hole open in the floor until Jessie had already slipped past his grip.  Disappearing, she took his world with her.

J.T. jerked upright.  “What the fuck!”  The replay of that fateful morning brought back the pain of loss in vivid detail.  Scrubbing his hands up and down his face, he growled low in his throat.  The reason for coming to the Netherworld had nothing to do with Jessie and everything to do with discovering the Sultan’s plan.  The fact he was reliving the past meant only one thing.  The Sultan was messing with his mind.  “You haven’t won yet, you bastard.”

The antique chair springs squeaked in response as he rose.  J.T. crossed to the pile of clothes he’d left on the bench.  Yanking on his shirt and shoving into his jeans, he surveyed the room once more.  He had to get out.  It was still daylight.  Okay, he would explore the rest of the mansion’s rooms.  Maybe he had missed something in yesterday’s search.  Since the walls were secret paths about the mansion, J.T. checked for panels which opened into the dank interior of those paths.   Mentally marking each entrance, he discovered, J.T. covered most of the house before returning to the ballroom where Logan and Aubrie had exited the house once before through a long trek down a difficult inner passageway.  The path flanked the outside wall of the mansion, running the length of the east side.  With the sun setting in the west, he could leave shortly.

The sunset cast the room in a gloomy shroud.  The walls were a pale hue of blush.  Figuring the color enhanced the pallor of Victorian ladies, J.T. surmised the room had once been a staging area for matchmaking, a common practice during the period.  Dating was a group effort of the time and socials were a perfect avenue.  He slowed to examine the interior more carefully.

Heavily carved frames holding silvered glass mirrors broke the series of faces staring out at the smooth parquet flooring.  Having no reflection, J.T. ignored the mirrors.  His interest lay in what was behind each hanging.  Stepping inside the narrow corridor against the outside wall, he noted an interesting phenomenon.  An intricate network of small holes cut in the walls matched up with the hollowed-out iris’ of the honoree’s eyes displayed in the portraits hanging on the ballroom walls.  A wire held in place by brackets within the wall guided a viewer from picture to picture.  As he peered through one of the holes, J.T. noted the mirrors cast the reflections of visitors back to the voyeur’s positions.  An added view for the spy, he mused.  “Clever creep,” he murmured.  Locating the small light emitted from an opening at the far end of the corridor, he listened for the sounds of birds chirping in the trees.  His heightened sense of hearing picked up a frog sloshing water in a nearby bayou.  Logan had reminded him the ledge at the end of the corridor fell over the soft ferns below.  The bayou met the bank of those shade-loving plants.  “He uses this as his entry and exit to the mansion,” he murmured.  “No worry about being caught watching.  What a lowlife?”

The last shards of daylight filtered past the opening at the passageway’s end.  “Time to explore outside,” he muttered bitterly.  Lighting below in the ferns, J.T. survived the trees as thick as a jungle around him.  Using his extended vision, he examined the interior of the thick lower canopy.  Small animals, as well as a horde of insects, made their homes in the thicket.  Vines and briars grew with abandon here.  Lush bushes acted as supports for the invasive tangle of vines and briars.  Grateful for the strength as part of his powers, J.T. slashed his way into the center of the maze.

The light was leaving as he came upon a laborer working in a sugarcane field.  The man’s skin, the color of rich mocha glistened with a sheen of sweat.  His torso was made up of broad muscle.  The fellow labored in pants cut off at the knees.  With his back to J.T., the laborer did not hear his approach.

The tap on the shoulder had the man jumping back.  Eyes the color of midnight popped wide.  When he found no one there, the man hesitated before returning to his task.

Unsure of the man’s loyalties, J.T. remained invisible.  “I see you have a hard job.”

The fellow dropped his sling blade before vaulting into the thicket.

Materializing next to the man, J.T. laid a hand on his arm in restraint.

Shock registered on the man’s face but rather than fight, he submitted under the other’s examination.

“What’s your name?” J.T. asked in a level tone.

The man withdrew further into himself.  Frozen to the spot, the only thing moving on him was his eyes which darted like a frightened bird searching for a means of escape.

“I asked you your name.”

“Thomas.”  The words held a French slur like that of a Cajun.  Driven from their homes, centuries before the French-Canadian refugees had settled in Louisiana’s endless swamps, making them their homes.  Chances were, he was a descendant.

“Are you afraid of me or your master finding you talking to a stranger?”

“Both.”  Thomas’ Adam’s apple bobbed like a cork in his throat.  “Are you going to kill me?”

Positive he heard the man correctly, J.T. tilted his head carefully.  “No, why would I do that?  We just met.”

Thomas shook his head.  “I don’t know.”  The eye darting continued.  “The master says strangers are out to kill us.”

J.T. mouth firmed over the information.  “I see.  Well, you master’s wrong.  I merely want information.”

The man’s head bobbed in understanding, his eyes chasing light dancing on the ground from the tree’s gloomy shade above.

“Who is your master?” J.T. asked firmly.

The man’s face grew pale.  He swallowed before opening his mouth.  “The Sultan.”

“Good.”  The growl was deep from within like that of a satisfied Panther nearing its prey.  “Take me to him.”

Thomas shrunk back.  His hands fisted tightly together.  “Please, no.  I can’t do what you ask.  The Sultan will kill me.”

J.T. could see the man’s hands trembling in unison.  “Your master has brought you to heel, has he?”

The feat took a moment, but a mutinous jut settled on Thomas’ lip.  He inched closer to J.T.  “I may be a slave, but I haven’t forgotten what it is like to be free.  Someday…” he trailed off shaking his fist between them.

The pained expression reminded J.T. of a newborn vampire.  How aggrieved they were after finding their existence altered so completely.  Thankfully, you became immune to the idea of ever going back, or so he hoped.  Blocking out memories of his life before becoming a bloodsucker helped.  “Tell me where he is.  I won’t let him hurt you.”

Flicking an agitated glance at J.T., Thomas rolled his shoulder.  “You can’t stop him.  He is all-powerful.”  He lifted his eyes skyward as a bird took flight.  Thomas mulled over the situation in silence for a moment.

J.T. could see the struggle it took for Thomas to make up his mind.  “What if I took you with me?  Away from this place, away from the Netherworld.”

Thomas’ shoulders relaxed a fraction.  His brow lifted slightly.  “You would do that?”

“Yes,” J.T. offered.  “How many are here?”

Thomas glanced around.  “A couple of hundred I would think.  He keeps us secluded from each other in separate camps.  I live beyond the cane field.”  Pointing, he directed J.T. gaze to a small huddle of houses, mostly shacks really.  “You live there?  How many are with you?”

Thomas rolled his eyes up in consideration.  “Close to fifty, I think.”

“Do you have any weapons such as bows, arrows, guns, powder?”

“No,” Thomas said shaking his dark brown hair.  “The Sultan does not allow us the owning of a gun or blade.  Some act as though they have weapons hidden.  I have never seen any evidence.”

“Take me to the others,” J.T. ordered.

Trembling from head to toe, Thomas finally complied.

He had to admit, Thomas made him want to check behind every tree as well as under every stump.  A victim of torture most likely, J.T. mused.  Wondering at what cost rescue could happen for those affected by the Sultan, J.T. followed the man back to the huts.

Inside the circle of some twenty dwellings, Thomas rushed toward a solid man of roughly six feet five inches.  He held the tattoos of a Haitian immigrant.  The dark marks on his cheeks indicated he was a Voodoo disciple.  With skin even darker than Thomas’, the giant waved a hand at J.T. to come forward.  A leather vest hung open across his broad expanse of muscled chest.  Shredded arms over thick thighs appeared from the meager clothing the man wore as almost an afterthought.

“Who are you?” the man’s authority fortified each word of his question.

“My name is J.T. Leighton.  I come in peace.”

The man’s eyes ran the length of J.T. with obvious distrust.  Studying Thomas, he huffed out an irritated breath.  “It is death to allow you to remain here.  You ask for something we cannot provide.”  The French accent grew heavy with his concern.

“I mean you no harm.  I am here to save those who will return to my world with me.”

The sneer grew as the man eyed J.T. in contempt.  “You insult us with your offer of rescue.  I know what you’re after.   Souls is the only commodity you deal in, is it not?”

Familiar with scorn as well as mistrust, J.T. opened his hands, palms up for the man’s benefit.  “I come in peace.  My offer is sincere.  Your plight is one of slavery.  It isn’t my purpose to swap one master for another.  I too have been enslaved by your master.  He made me what I am today.”

Muted whispers raced through the small crowd.

“I hold a deep seeded contempt for his prison.  Call me part of a rebellion against tyranny if you will.  There are others like me.”  He scanned the men before him.  Some considered the possibility.  “There is hope of freedom if you come with me.”  Leaving it there, J.T. surmised the fellow would either consider his words as truth or shrink from him as so many had done before.

The Hattian turned to those behind him.  A short conference ensued.

Pretending he couldn’t hear every word spoken, J.T. busied himself examining the shacks scattered around the clearing.  No two were alike.  Most were little more than a slanted roof shed.  Small children huddled in the darkened corners of those hovels.  A stray dog or two stalked close by in the meager light of a campfire.  One young boy toddled out at the sight of a stranger.  He reached out, allowing J.T. to scoop him up.  A slender boy of probably two with dark curls rimming wide-set eyes the color of moss, the child grinned at him.

“Give him here.”  The woman’s cry bordered on hysteria.  “Give him to me, now.”  Frantic fingers reached for the child.

J.T. considered tightening his grip on the boy.  Knowing the interpretation of that move, he held the child out to his overwrought mother.  Managing a polite, yet guarded smile, he offered a compliment.  “You’re a very lucky parent.  He’s a personable boy.”

The Haitian appeared once more.  Giving the distraught mother over to others in the group, he turned before facing J.T.  “My name is Rocco.  I speak for these people.  We will listen to your plan and take a vote.  Diplomatic freedom within our group is all we possess.”

His tone spoke of sadness coupled with remorse for their plight, yet J.T. did not hear defeat in his tone.  “Let’s sit down, shall we?”  J.T. walked closer to the fire as the night air chilled.  The move was more of a symbolic gesture of solidarity as he had no use for warmth and as a rule, shied away from flames.  “I have friends.”  He arched a brow as he shrugged his shoulder.  “We comprise a team, a killing team.  Our objective is the Sultan.  He’s hurt all of us in some way, and it’s time for a reckoning.”

Rocco examined the newcomer with a narrowed gaze.  “How can we trust you?”

J.T. glanced down at his feet before answering.  The wry smile he possessed upon meeting the leader’s eyes again, he hoped displayed his confidence in his position as an insurgent.  “Well, at this point, you’ll have to take my word on it.  When we liberate your people, I guess then you’ll understand.”  He leaned in close enough for only Rocco to hear.  “In case you still don’t understand, let me spell it out for you.  You’re going to have to trust me in the meantime.”

The Haitian’s dark eyes studied J.T. for a full ten seconds before he nodded.  “We have lost everything.  Our freedom, our homes, even our loved ones.”  His eyes searched the group now hovering behind them.  “This is the first time the group feels a spark of hope.  Do not disappoint us, outsider.  You won’t like our reaction.”

J.T. pursed his mouth.  “Understood.  Let me show you what we have planned.”

After about an hour of straightforward explanation followed by planning, J.T. sat back on the stump on which he rested.  “There is one other question I have for you.”

Rocco turned to face him.  “What?”

“There is a woman here in the Netherworld.  She is tall, about five eight with dark hair.  Her name is Jessie, Jessie Coulter.  Do you know her?”

“No.”  The one word uttered flatly proved his only response.  “Perhaps another camp, but not here.”

J.T. observed the tension in the man’s features.  He could hear Rocco’s heart rate increase.  Something was off.  Rather than spook him, J.T. let the matter rest.  There would be a time for answers.  Now was for preparing the troops.  “Have your men organized and alert.  I will be in touch.  I have supplies stockpiled in the mansion beyond those fields.  Don’t allow the men to search there or their actions will raise suspicion.  Wait for me.  Do you understand?”

Rocco nodded.  “If I know, then the Sultan knows as well.”  He leaned in over his elbows resting on his knees.  “He is all powerful and sees everything.  Be swift about returning.  We are in jeopardy for helping you.”

J.T. could see the battle behind the man’s stony expression.  “I will.  I promise.”  Standing, he squared his shoulders, clasping forearms with Rocco.  “I have to go now.” He firmed his jaw.  Solidarity was everything.  “Remember what I said.  You’ll see our sign in the sky upon our return.  In the meantime, prepare.  Be ready.  I’ll contact you when we leave.”

Rocco nodded.  The handshake was automatic.  “Thank you.”

For a big man, the Haitian had small hands.  Unusual, J.T. mused.  “I’ll be in touch soon.”  With that, he took flight.  The mere fact they needed time played against their chances of getting everyone out of The Netherworld.  Time was running out.  He sensed the urgency back there with Rocco and Thomas.  Each man exhibited nerves at his mere presence.  That was normal for meeting a vampire in your territory.  Or, was it the fact, the Sultan would pay them a visit for their allowing such a meeting?

Considering their foe, J.T. decided they needed a better profile of the Sultan.  Everyone with coordinated info.  Duke and Logan could help with a compilation.  Grateful for the help, J.T. shoved at the memories.  Though he had been the blood demon’s number one henchman, he still didn’t know the complete DNA on their target.  What made him tick, what were his triggers, where was his lair.  Without the info, inside the Sultan’s head, they’d be going in blind as to his big plan.  Shadow Company needed a way to block the Sultan’s omniscient power. 

***

The people J.T. left behind at the camp stirred at the possibility of rescue.  Thomas sought out Rocco for a council.

“But what if the Sultan comes back before this J.T. does?”  Thomas’ irritation surfaced.  “He could kill us all for doing nothing other than talking to this J.T.”  The man raked his fingers through the braids atop his head, his ample muscles bulging with the effort.  “What if he saw us talking to the man?”

“I’ll take care of it.  All right?”  The declaration came forth in a hiss of an answer.  Rocco wheeled away without more to add.   Studying the sunset in the distance, he sighed.  Surely, they understood after all this time.  He would take care of them.  Provide for them as well as shield them from the one known as the Sultan.  “I have to leave for a day or two.  I want you in charge in my absence.  Understood?”  Sensing, rather than seeing the man’s nod, Rocco turned back slowly.  “Keep the others calm.  You know how.  We need provisions.  When the moon is full, I will leave the compound.  Have all the children inside before dark.  Don’t venture far and keep a close watch out for the Sultan.    “Do I make myself clear.”

“Perfectly.”  Slowly, Thomas stepped closer.  “Take care of yourself.”  Reaching out, he brushed a knuckle down Rocco’s cheek.  “We’ve grown quite fond of you, you know?”

Rocco’s eyes filled with moisture.  Coughing, the large man turned back to the window staring out at nothing.  “Just take care of them while I’m gone.”

“As you wish.” 

When Rocco turned once more, Thomas was gone.  Standing for a minute looking at the small village lights coming from the huts forming a semicircle in the glade, he wondered if they could survive?  The sigh was audible.

***

Since living in the open meant a person owned very little privacy, Rocco slipped into the darkness falling around the huts.  The leaves were damp and cool as he stole into the night.  In the darkened vegetation, he stopped.  The December moon’s light grew dim with cloud cover.  The time was upon him.  Reaching for the amulet under his vest, he swallowed before closing his eyes. 

Under the canopy of stars, Rocco shifted, each vertebra crackling as his joints, muscles, and tendons rearranged themselves.  Gone were the hefty muscles of the larger man.  His sinuous girth disappeared, giving way to slender bones and smoother skin.  The flesh tone remained olive, and the eyes burned the same dark brown.  The woman he became straightened with innate feminine grace.    As a woman, Rocco became Jessie or more accurately, Jessie shifted back from the man known as Rocco.  The transformation back to Jessie meant she could travel great distances with ease.  Shoving at her long, dark hair, she turned in a circle.  Her wary eyes saw everything. Each sound belonged to her.  Plans put in place long ago were about to come to fruition.

Jessie brushed back the leaves that covered her clothing.  Saying a small prayer of thanks for the cloud cover, she shoved into her jeans.  Secrecy was imperative.  With a robot-like movement, she tied up her combat boots before surveying her surroundings.  She would need the shadows for cover as she left The Netherworld.  The supplies she required were beyond the veil in the world she used to call home, her family’s home until catastrophe struck.

Flicking a glance over her shoulder for once more to make sure, Jessie bolted for the trees.  Disappearing into the thicket, she darted and dodged, heedless of the thorns and cutting palmetto.  All the time, she ran, gaining momentum.  Finally, racing at speed faster than sound, she evaporated into thin air.