Stay the Night

"No security cameras, vehicles, or signs of occupation," she murmured after a few moments.



Robin turned his head right, then left. "He's been all over the grounds, but the scent is strongest there." He nodded toward the palazzo's main building. "You should stay here while I search."



"I should have stayed at the apartment, too."



She followed him through the shadows as they approached the side of the main house. Robin saw one door that hadn't been boarded over, and started toward it.



"Hey. Let's not walk directly into another trap," Chris suggested, and glanced up. "I see another way in. Can you give me a boost up to that second-story window?"



"I can toss you through it," he said, eyeing the boards covering it. "But I fear your head isn't that hard."



"Just lift me onto your shoulders," she said, removing one of the scarves tied around her hips and wrapping it around her right hand. "I'll do the rest."



Robin lifted her to sit on his shoulders, and then walked over to stand directly under the window before holding her hands so she could plant her feet. Chris didn't try to open the window, but tossed the scarf up, threading the end over the bottom rung of an old fire-escape ladder and catching it to create a loop.



She held on to the scarf, looked at him, and said, "Let me down easy."



The corroded metal groaned and rained rust down on both of them as Robin eased her to her feet, but the old iron ladder came down intact.



"The windows on the upper floors aren't boarded up, and the flood water never got that high, so they're probably not warped shut," she said after she tested the steadiness of the ladder. "We just have to climb up there and see."



Afraid the old ladder might collapse, Robin stayed right behind Chris as they climbed it to the fourth floor. As she predicted, the window nearest the ladder remained accessible, and opened after Robin forced the lock.



The empty interior of the room they stepped into magnified every sound they made. The lack of light made Chris blind, but Robin's night-adapted vision allowed him to find the door leading out at once. He stood beside it first, breathed in, and listened.



"He's below us," he said. "I can smell only him, no one else." Robin pulled his tunic off and draped it around her. When she frowned, he added, "It will help mask your scent."



She regarded his bare chest. "Who is he more likely to smell first, you or me?"



"You." Robin looked down at her. "But he would not expect me to bring a human with me while I am tracking, and may believe that whatever he smells of you comes from me."



She frowned. "Why would you smell like me?"



"You leave your scent on me every time you touch me," he said, bringing her hand to his face and kissing her palm. "After we make love I can smell you on my skin for hours."



Her expression turned wry. "I seem to have the same problem."



"It is why infidelity is not common among my kind. Stop looking at me that way or I shall collect more of your scent." He opened the door a mere crack and peered through it. "The way is clear. I shall go down and draw him out of the palazzo. While I keep him occupied, you must find the manuscript."



She nodded, and then reached up and gave him a soft, lingering kiss. "Be careful."



"The same goes for you, love." He held her for a moment, and then opened the door and slipped out.



Robin was surprised by how much effort had been put into restoring the ruined building. The inside walls and flooring had been replaced, and new furnishings brought in to replace the old. Nottingham could not have done it in a few days; this place must have belonged to him before he'd fled Italy.



If he'd had to flee at all. Robin would not be surprised if his old enemy had struck a bargain with the Brethren to regain his territory. None of the Guisbournes had ever been particularly concerned with honor.



Robin tracked Nottingham's scent down three floors to a staircase that descended down a dimly lit stone shaft. Another, fresher track led from it toward the back of the palazzo.



"There it is," Chris whispered, moving away from him.



Robin saw the manuscript sitting out in the open, atop a pedestal placed in the center of an octagonal recess in the floor. The recess looked damnably familiar, but he couldn't quite place it. He looked up and saw what looked like a series of pulleys hanging over it, and then peered at the floor again.



It was exactly the same size as the trapdoor to an oubliette.



"Wait, love. Don't touch it."



Chris had already stepped down into the recess and was reaching for the book. Metal shrieked, and the false foundation beneath the pedestal collapsed. Chris screamed as she and the book fell out of sight.



Robin ran to the edge and saw Chris lying at the bottom of the shaft. She appeared to be in some sort of cell. "Chris? Chr—"



A strong, cold hand shoved Robin over the edge.



Alexandra had never thought she'd be happy to see so many burn patients, but her initial assessment of the refugees that Gabriel and Nicola had delivered from Spain revealed that none of them had been shot by their attackers.



"Lady Alexandra," the footman said. "The high lord requests that you attend him in his chambers."



Alex saw a thin blond woman waiting outside the high lord's chambers, and stopped in front of her. They'd never been friends, she and Éliane Selvais. Among other things, the Frenchwoman had set off the chain of events that led to Alex becoming Kyn, but over time the initial vicious animosity between them had gradually altered into a semi-antagonistic form of mutual respect.



She'd never completely trust Richard's tresora, Alex decided, but she didn't want to see her dead anymore. "What's going on, Éliane?"



"Lord Tremayne wishes to know how the wounded are faring." The Frenchwoman sounded worried, and looked as if she hadn't slept in days. In a lower voice she added, "Please try to keep this brief. He's very tired."



"I guess all that talking has him worn out." Alex gave her the once-over and noted the slightly wrinkled condition of her suit, and a ladder running up the side of her stocking. She also radiated the smell of burning cherry tobacco. "You look like you could use a few dozen naps. Has Richard been behaving himself?"



"Of course. My lord is much improved, as you will see." Éliane looked as if she wanted to say more, but fell silent.



"All right." Alex went inside.



The scent of cherry tobacco stung the air, but it took her a moment to adjust to the candlelight Richard preferred to electricity. The high lord sat near one of the windows, his body concealed by a full-length black cloak.



"We meet again, Doctor."



Said the medieval spider to the smart-ass fly. Alex kept her expression and tone impersonal. "You needed to talk to me about something?"



"I do." Richard rose from his chair and came around it toward her. His walk, formerly a dragging lurch, now seemed easier and more natural. "What progress have you made with your research on the Darkyn curse?"



"There is no curse. The pathogen infecting us is composed of three separate viral organisms. Two appear to be evolved versions of anthrax and bubonic plague. I haven't identified the third virus yet." She watched him move to a cart with a bottle of wine and glasses. "You want me to get that for you?"



"I've forgotten that you've not seen my progress."



Richard removed one of his gloves and displayed his hand for her. "Once again I have fingers and joints."



Alex walked over and took hold of the hand, turning it over to study the changes. Before, Richard's feet and hands had been little more than oversize cat's paws. Now they looked more humanoid, although a thin layer of black-and-silver hair still covered his skin. "Well, it looks a little better."



"I still possess a great many inhuman characteristics." He contracted his fingers as he drew his hand back, and talon-shaped claws sprang out of the tips. "Shaking hands with me remains somewhat of a risk."



"Richard, it took the Brethren fifty years of feeding you cat's blood in a dungeon to force your DNA to mutate from humanoid to feline," she reminded him. "I warned you in Ireland that the treatments aren't going to switch you back overnight."



"I know, my dear. I am not complaining, merely cautioning you." He carefully poured a glass of bloodwine and glanced at her. "Will you join me?"



"I shot up earlier, thanks." Alex made a show of checking her watch. "If the kidnapping reunion's over, I have patients I need to see."



"Michael has been keeping information from me," Richard said, as if she hadn't spoken. "Such as why he accessed over three hundred reports from human authorities related to the Brethren attacks on our strongholds in France and Italy."



"Well, that's easy. I asked him to pull those," Alex said. "I wanted to see if they found out anything we'd need to deal with, that's all."



"How vigilant of you." Richard lifted his glass to salute her. "Now I suppose you will tell me this has nothing to do with your experiments on our blood."



"I think you should talk to Michael about this stuff. He's the one in charge. I just sleep with him." Alex headed for the door, only to come up short when Richard stepped in front of her. "Still as fast as the average house cat."



"You will tell me what I wish to know." Richard's voice changed as he poured his talent into it. "Everything, now."



Alex's ears screeched with pain, but the ice-pick effect of the high lord's tone wore off almost immediately. "Talent doesn't work on me the way it used to, Richard."



"You are immune now."



She shrugged. "Maybe I've finally made the full transition."



"No human or Kyn can resist my voice. What does that make you?"



"To be honest?" She folded her arms. "Pretty happy."