Chapter Thirteen
Keegan parked Char’s car a half mile from the meeting location. He’d go the rest of the way on foot. Tough to secretly scope out the layout of the place by pulling into their driveway.
He checked the time. An hour until midnight. Plenty of time to look around, but damn he wished he had been able to scope out the barn earlier in the daylight.
This would have to be enough.
After checking in all directions, he jogged away from the car and into the darkness. A barn was lit up in the distance. It had to be the place. There were no other lights on the horizon.
Perfect place for an ambush.
He made his way through the Spanish moss–covered oak trees, ducking under the low-hanging branches as he kept watch for any sign of movement. Adrenaline raced through his bloodstream, making his fingers twitch. The buzz of the cicadas made it impossible for him to hear anyone approaching.
When he got to the clearing, he froze.
Agent Bale stood facing the barn, his gun drawn. The moon cast a ghostly shadow behind him that shivered over the marsh grass as the breeze brushed through.
What the hell was he doing?
Keegan crept to the edge of the trees for a closer look. Bale’s attention was focused on the building. If the Serpent Society had scouts looking for them, the government agent was a large target.
Maybe I should leave him there. Keegan toyed with the idea. There were no loyalties between them. He started to turn, and Char’s voice whispered through his mind.
You were immortal.
What if she was right? Fate was a damn bitch, waiting until he had something worth living for before making death an option again.
He cursed under his breath, and Agent Bale spun his way.
Keegan held his hands out. “It’s me, mate. Put the gun away.”
Agent Bale lowered his weapon and came closer, his voice a hushed whisper. “The Grail isn’t here.”
“And how would you know that?” Keegan raised a brow.
He holstered his pistol. “I told you I have a man on the inside.”
“Does he know where they’ve stashed it?”
“Right now, it’s a moving target. We haven’t located it yet.”
Keegan straightened his shirt, struggling to quiet his adrenaline. He’d been ready for a fight. “Then I guess I’m not needed here. Let me know when you’ve found it, and I’ll take it from there.”
He turned to go, but Agent Bale caught his arm. Keegan glanced at his hand and then his face.
Agent Bale released his grip. “We still need to get in there. We might be able to press them for a lead on the truck where they’re transporting the Grail.”
“You want me to go inside and sweet-talk the bastards?” Keegan shook his head, his lips curving into a humorless grin. “That’s not how pirates operate, mate. If I go in there, I kill the thieves, and I take back what’s been stolen.”
A muscle clenched in Agent Bale’s cheek. “Then we may never find it.”
“Damn it.” Keegan focused on the barn in the distance. “If I go in there, will your man on the inside help me?”
“Not exactly.”
Keegan balled his fingers into tight fists. “If he doesn’t help me, he’ll end up dead with the rest of them.”
“He already is.”
Keegan frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
“My inside man was murdered by the Serpent Society. He wants to help me bring them down, so he’s giving information to a medium in town.” He glanced over his shoulder at the place he’d been standing. “I was using a locator spell to find him when you broke my concentration.”
“A ghost is supposed to help me in there?” Keegan clasped the back of his neck with a disgusted chuckle. “I’m done with this. We’ll find the damn Grail without you and your deceased friend.”
Keegan started in the opposite direction. He’d call Colton and John. Once they had the crew together, they could make a plan that didn’t involve depending on spirits and the government.
“And how long do you think it will take them to figure out who Dr. Sinclair really is?”
Keegan froze, grateful Agent Bale couldn’t see his face. It would have been painfully clear he cared for the historian far more than he should. Slowly he turned back, forcing his expression to remain neutral.
“Why would they give a shit about a historian?”
Agent Bale crossed his arms over his chest. “She hasn’t told you.”
“Told me what exactly?” Keegan shook his head. “Why are you so interested in her background, anyway?”
Agent Bale’s eyes darkened. “Because my alcoholic shaman is her father.”
Keegan pulled in a slow breath, keeping his voice even. “It’s nearly midnight. We don’t have time for cryptic puzzles.”
“You’re right—we don’t.” He took two steps closer. “After I helped Kingsley Pratt fake his death for the benefit of the Serpent Society, we started observing a teen in Savannah, but Charlotte Pratt never exhibited any otherworldly abilities.”
“I don’t know a Charlotte Pratt.” Keegan shrugged. “Dr. Sinclair hasn’t mentioned a father, let alone an alcoholic shaman. You’ve got your wires crossed, mate.”
“You think I don’t know how simple it is to change your name?” Agent Bale chuckled. “Now who is playing games, pirate?” He slid his gun from the holster. “Whatever uncertainties I may have had about her identity were answered when I said she might be in danger and you stopped and turned back. We can talk after we finish this meeting. We need at least one of the members alive.”
Keegan didn’t move. “If your hunch about her is right, what does that mean for our historian?”
“Did her father fill your heads with my nefarious plans for her?” Bale shook his head. “If she’s dangerous to the citizens of this country, I’ll get involved. If she’s not a threat, there’s nothing to be concerned about. That’s all you need to know for now.”
Keegan drew his blade and followed Agent Bale toward the lights in the distance. He wasn’t sure if the new swell of adrenaline was for the meeting with the Serpent Society or from the realization that he would kill Agent Bale before he allowed the government to take Char from him.
How had he been so careless with his heart? He’d never met a woman like her. She’d had him from the first night she came back to his dressing room and…talked. She started out as a beautiful puzzle, but when she wept in his arms tonight, he realized she had become so much more.
A partner of sorts.
And he enjoyed it far more than he should. He might be able to protect her from Agent Bale, but nothing could save her from old age and death.
…
Charlotte flinched when a knock came at her front door. She frowned and got up to peer through the peephole. Her parents fidgeted on the porch.
“I’m not in the mood,” Charlotte called through the door.
“Please, magpie,” her mother pleaded. “Your father doesn’t have much time.”
She was going to regret this.
Charlotte unlocked the dead bolt and pulled open the door. Her parents rushed inside.
She locked her door again and followed them to the kitchen. “More secrets to share?”
Her father took a chair and met her eyes. “Have you recovered all your memories yet?”
“I don’t know. They’re jumbled and foggy.” She sat across from him. “I don’t feel any different.”
“I’d like to guide you through a meditation. It’s important you can control your power.”
“It’s not a ‘power.’ It’s more like a bizarre nightmare.” She massaged her forehead. “Meditating isn’t suddenly going to make my bloodthirsty spirit fly out and protect me.”
He glanced at her mother and then back to Charlotte. “It’s not just Agent Bale I’m worried about. The Serpent Society is still in Savannah. If they connect the dots like Agent Bale is doing, the government could be the last of our worries. You need to be able to protect yourself.”
“I have a gun permit and a membership at the range.” Charlotte crossed her arms. “I can protect myself without any powers.”
Her dad got up, pacing the room. “The Serpent Society isn’t just a bunch of old men collecting relics.” He stopped, focusing all his attention on her. “They’ll kill you, Charlotte. I gave up everything to stop that from happening, and I’m not going to walk out of this room without knowing you’ll be safe.”
“Fine.” She groaned, uncrossing her arms. Keegan wouldn’t be back for at least an hour or so. This would keep her from watching the clock and worrying. What could it hurt? “What do I have to do?”
“I’m going out to the car to get my supplies. You get comfortable on the couch.”
Charlotte went into the other room and lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, unwilling or unable to look at her mother. She wasn’t sure which.
Her mom took a seat on the smaller love seat, gnawing at her fingernail. Charlotte didn’t have to see it. The sound instantly transformed her into a rebellious teen again. “Mom, I’ll be fine.”
“I’m sorry, magpie. About everything. Your father was so scared they’d hurt you. I thought lying about the accident was the only way to—”
“I don’t want to hear your excuses.” Charlotte’s gut twisted. “You did what you thought was right. I think it was cruel.”
Her mother sniffled. “I know.”
The tears did her in. Charlotte craned her neck to see her mother. The lines on her mom’s face made her seem much older. Her shoulders bunched up like she was trying to make herself as small as possible, and Charlotte’s indignation fizzled.
Her mother had never made much money, enabled her alcoholic father, and then lied about his death, but under all the screw-ups and failures, Charlotte never doubted her love.
Kelly Pratt was a mess by most standards, but she was the only mother Charlotte would ever have.
Charlotte reached out and took her mom’s hand. Her mother’s red-rimmed eyes met hers, and Charlotte forced out a whisper. “I love you, Mom. I’ll get past this; just give me some time.”
Her mom nodded, squeezing her hand. Before she could reply, the door opened, and Charlotte’s dad came in with a black bag. He unzipped it on the table, firing off orders to her mother.
Charlotte had never seen this side of him. He set up an altar, meticulous in placing the crystals and runes in a geometric pattern. Her mother returned to his side with a lighter. He brought the flame down to the bundle of sage lying in an abalone shell. Using a large feather, he scooped the smoke until it surrounded Charlotte.
“I cast out all entities that are not for my daughter’s highest good. As long as we remain within these walls, white light and our ancestors protect us, and when Charlotte’s spirit flies free, we will watch over her earthly vessel and keep her from all harm. So mote it be.”
His voice was hypnotic, his movements fluid, nothing like the drunk with shaky fingers and red eyes who used to come home and pass out on the couch.
He put the sage on the table and motioned for her to lie down. “Close your eyes, Charlotte. Focus on my voice.”
She followed his directions, took deep breaths, slowly sinking into the earth. Her thoughts gradually emptied of worldly care. Something rattled, and the rhythmic thump of a drum called to her, her pulse matching the slow, steady rhythm.
His tone deepened, beckoning her to let go, the ultimate freedom. Her limbs tingled, and eventually she didn’t “feel” anything. She opened her eyes, finding herself hovering over the scene below. Her body was perfectly still on the couch.
Panic swelled, but her father’s voice induced calm. Gradually, Charlotte realized her chest rose and fell below. She wasn’t dead; she was…free?
Her father scanned the room. “If your spirit is with us, give me a sign.”
Charlotte tried to answer him, but her vocal cords were apparently still on the couch. The smoke from the smoldering sage rose in a straight line up toward the ceiling. She attempted to lift an arm, but her spirit self was invisible, even to her.
She focused on the smoke, pushing her will toward it, but the line of incense never moved.
“Dammit.” How had she physically hurt anyone like this? She couldn’t even move weightless smoke.
Her mother whispered, “Are you sure she’s all right?”
“Yes.” He looked up, right at her—or through her. “I sense her close by. Magpie, if you can hear me, your body is safe, and you can return anytime, simply will your spirit back into your flesh.” Her father closed his eyes, murmuring, “For now, explore. Distance means nothing to your spirit.”
Where would she go? And what did he mean “will” her spirit back into her body? Ugh. She should have asked these things before leaving her body.
She focused on his face, praying he might somehow “hear” her. “Can you find me if I get lost?”
His lips curved, although his eyes remained closed. “Your body is your anchor. You can find it anywhere.”
“You hear me.”
He lifted his palms. “Faintly through the veil.” He added in a whisper, “Come back soon.”
Distance meant nothing. Okay. She could go anywhere. But where?
Keegan’s face filled her consciousness. His crooked smile, the sexy gruffness in his voice when he whispered against her ear.
Suddenly, her surroundings were gone. She was inside a barn of some kind. She’d never been here before. Then Keegan’s voice pulled her focus.
“I believe you have something that belongs to me.”
A man in a black robe stepped out of the shadows with his gun raised. Before Keegan could react, gunshots deafened her nonexistent ears. A bolt of energy jolted through her spirit. Maybe that’s all she was now. Her heart would’ve been racing if she had one.
Keegan dropped to the ground, grasping his knee.
Another man in a black robe approached. “Cut through his pants and see if the wound heals.”
For a second, Keegan’s focus moved from his leg. He looked up, right at her, and frowned, confusion in his eyes. He couldn’t possibly see her, but maybe he sensed a presence? She couldn’t be sure.
The shooter holstered his gun and came closer. He knelt beside Keegan with his pocketknife out, but before he could cut the jeans, Keegan snatched his wrist, turning the blade onto the robed man as they rolled across the floor.
Charlotte screamed, but there was no sound. She scanned the big area for something, anything she could use as a weapon. A pair of iron hooks hung from the bale of hay. She moved closer, willing them to move.
Nothing.
Damn it!
Keegan scrambled, rolling on top of his attacker and pressing the blade closer and closer to the other man’s throat. “These are my favorite pants, you fanatical asshole.”
From the corner of the room, Agent Bale sprinted forward, gun raised. “We need him alive, Keegan.”
Charlotte scanned for the second robed man, wishing she could warn Agent Bale there were two armed men. Suddenly the other robed man stepped into the light, behind Agent Bale, and fired one shot.
Agent Bale crumpled to the ground face-first. The barrel lifted again, this time aiming at the back of Keegan’s head as he wrestled on top of the other robed man.
Rage and terror blended together into raw power, shooting through her spirit, burning with intention. And suddenly the iron hay hook flew across the barn like a bullet.
The pointed tip of the hook pierced the armed man’s forehead. He gurgled, dropping the gun as he collapsed to his knees and finally fell forward, motionless on the floor.
Charlotte bolted upright on the couch, gasping for air and trembling. She blinked, staring at her father, her stomach retching at the rapid change in locations. “I… Oh God.”
Her father wrapped her in his arms as the terror he’d locked away in that black box for years overtook her. Every memory came back to mingle with the bloody scene in the barn, but one realization was crystal clear.
She was dangerous.
…
“You are one lucky bastard.” Keegan removed the blade from the man’s throat and buried it in his thigh. “This should keep you from slithering away.”
The robed man screamed as Keegan crawled toward Agent Bale. He peered over at the bastard who’d shot Bale and probably would’ve shot Keegan, too. A hay hook jutted out of the man’s skull. Impossible.
He looked over his shoulder to the stack of hay bales. The other hook was still buried in the alfalfa. He turned to the dead man again. The hook had flown at least a hundred feet and saved their asses.
It should have baffled him, but he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Char took his advice. There wasn’t time to question it now. He winced as he sat up. Damn it. He wasn’t healing instantly, and he’d forgotten how much it fucking hurt to get shot. He was still conscious, so the bullet didn’t hit an artery. He couldn’t say the same for Bale.
He pushed Agent Bale’s black jacket up, inspecting the wound. Right into the kidney. Shit. Bale wasn’t gushing blood, so maybe the bullet hadn’t done as much damage as he thought. He rolled the agent over onto his back to check for an exit wound through his chest.
“Right pocket,” Agent Bale wheezed.
Keegan raised a brow and opened Agent Bale’s jacket. He patted down the inner pocket and slid his fingers inside. He withdrew a pouch and loosened the drawstring. Herbs?
He sniffed and glanced at Agent Bale. “You need a hospital, mate, not some herbal tea.”
“Put it on the wound.” Agent Bale’s words were wet, like he’d tried to speak and gargle at the same time. He needed a damn doctor.
Keegan ground his teeth. There was no way he’d be able to carry Agent Bale out with his blown knee, but the agent didn’t have much time left.
“Hurry.” Agent Bale winced. “Both sides.”
He wasn’t going to argue with a dying man. Keegan took out a pinch and drizzled it over the bloody hole in the front of the agent’s shirt. As he pushed Bale over to get the entry wound, he noticed Agent Bale’s fevered whispers. Latin. Maybe he was giving himself last rites. Who knew?
Keegan spread more herbs over Agent Bale’s back. “Now what?”
Agent Bale closed his eyes. “Give me a minute.”
The whispered Latin words came faster, frenzied, but gradually Agent Bale took deeper breaths. Keegan had witnessed plenty of magic in Savannah through his lifetimes in the city, but this was new. Until now, he’d thought the Grail was the only key to healing and immortality. Maybe he’d been wrong.
No time for questions now. Since Bale didn’t seem likely to meet the reaper just yet, Keegan went back to the robed bastard.
He’d already plucked the pocketknife from his thigh, brandishing it like a sword. “You’re dead.”
“Nah.” Keegan shook his head. “Bum leg, maybe, but I’ve had worse.”
Keegan circled the robed man, half his attention on Agent Bale, who seemed to be getting some color back in his face.
The Serpent member lunged forward, lashing out with the knife. Keegan dodged the blade and landed a solid punch into the knife wound on the man’s thigh. He fell to the ground, wailing in pain as he dropped the weapon.
Keegan bent over, gasping for air. He rested his hands on his thighs. His damn leg throbbed. Healing wasn’t coming fast enough. Fuck.
Agent Bale came to his side, pouch in hand. “I can fix it.”
“At what price, mate?”
He opened the drawstrings and slid his fingers inside. “There are more ways to live forever than drinking out of that cup.”