"Easy, my love. You might hurt him." He glanced up at Roland. "Go on, go find your rebel. I'll keep things secure here."

Roland left the castle, but he couldn't help wondering about Tamara's words. Was there the slightest chance that Rhiannon felt she had to prove herself to him? It was utterly ridiculous, of course. But then, Rhiannon had made that remark about his seeing her as inferior. Perhaps there was some truth to Tamara's theory.

Now, though, he had no time to worry about theories or motivations. Rhiannon was out on her own, and there were at least two potentially lethal enemies lurking in the village. He needed to find her right away.

He began at the house she'd told him she was renting, just outside the village. That she'd been there was without question. The bloodstained skirt and his white shirt lay on the floor, and the tub's interior was coated in droplets announcing its recent use. The room still smelled of the scented candles she'd burned. The candle wax was still warm.

A suitcase lay on the bed, laden with clothing. He a.s.sumed she was planning to bring it back to the castle with her on the return trip, but wondered if he was a.s.suming too much. She'd been fairly angry when he'd last seen her.

He shook his head, and checked the room thoroughly. He saw the notepad and pencil near the phone and he hurried to it. She'd written something on the top sheet, obviously. But she'd torn it off. He licked his lips, lifting the pad to the light to try to make out the indentations of the pencil. No luck. Angry, he turned to fling the thing at the wastebasket... and he saw the small bit of yellow paper, crumpled and resting atop some other rubbish. He picked it up, and smoothed it out.

There was an address, and a room number. Beneath those, underlined, one word: "Rogers."

Rhiannon saw the two men silhouetted by the lamplight. They sat in the hotel suite's front room. She clung to the windowsill, fifteen stories up, peering in at them as the sounds of traffic and mortal activity filled the night. She was at the window of a bedroom, but she could see them both clearly through the open door. For once, she wished she were older, more powerful. She longed for the power to trans.m.u.te herself into a mouse, and crawl about the room that way. She'd heard there were a few who could achieve such a thing, the very ancient ones. She'd tried it herself a few times, but always only managed to give herself a walloping headache for her trouble.

She did have the ability to entrance humans. She could, possibly, lull them into a state of catatonia, and then dance through the rooms at will without arousing a response from them. But there was a chance her efforts would only result in alerting them of her presence. For the man with Curtis Rogers was the one who'd attacked her at the soccer match. And she already knew he could guard his mind from hers.

A little shiver raced over her spine as she studied his face. He was mean-looking, with a wide, pugnacious nose and a thick coating of dark stubble. He was heavy, his arms big, but not fat. He looked like one of the professional wrestlers she'd seen on cable TV a time or two. He wore his dark hair cut close to his head, in short bristles. His lips were too thick.

She listened intently, and heard little other than their voices, speaking low. She sniffed the air, and smelled the big one's sweat, and Curtis's cologne, and expensive whiskey.

Silently, she hauled herself over the edge.

"We understand each other, then?"

Curtis shrugged. Rhiannon slipped to one side, out of their range of vision should they look this way. "I don't need to understand you. If you can help me capture one of them, you can name your price."

The man shook his head. "Not just any one of them. Her. She's the oldest, the most powerful. It's her I want." He slugged back the whiskey in his gla.s.s and licked his lips with a fat tongue. "I want you to tranquilize her, and leave me alone with her, for as long as I need."

Curtis shook his head. He got to his feet, crossed to the bar and gripped the amber-filled bottle by its neck. "You want to screw her. You're not fooling me. h.e.l.l, I can't blame you. She's a hot one."

The other man pursed his lips and said nothing. He held his gla.s.s up when Curtis approached, and whiskey splashed into it. "Maybe I will, but that isn't my main goal. You certain she'll be absolutely helpless?"

"Absolutely. This drug has been tested. It works." Curtis filled his own gla.s.s and paced away. "You mind if I ask why you think you can capture her when the rest of us have failed?"

"I have certain abilities. And I know their weaknesses."

"So do we."

"I know how to use them."

"Yeah, well, I can't say I have much confidence in your chances. But if you can do it, you can have her as helpless and as often as you want her."

Rhiannon shuddered at the image. She recalled too well the last time she'd been helpless at the hands of a DPI operative. Weakened from the blood they'd drained away, she could only lie there, hands and feet restrained, as they tortured and touched her.

"Then you'll tell me where they are."

She stiffened, listening.

Curtis hesitated. "There are others that interest me, besides her. They're mine. Mine alone, you understand?"

"Perfectly." He chuckled and the sound made her shiver. "You have special plans for them, no doubt. I wouldn't dream of interfering."

"And you can tell no one else. If their locale gets out, the entire DPI body will be staked out around the place. I'll never get my hands on them," Curtis said.

The man nodded. "Agreed."

Curtis sighed long and hard. "They're at a castle called Le Chateau de Courtemanche, south of L'Ombre."

His accent was terrible. The name of the village had sounded like "lumber." Rhiannon wished she could simply kill the both of them. G.o.d knew it would be justified. Unfortunately, Roland would never forgive her. He and his n.o.ble, knightly ideas about honor. And he thought he had a demon in him. Ha! If he had a demon, then she must be one.

"It might be of help if I were to take a sample of the drug--"

"Forget it, pal. That formula is top secret. No one has it but me, and that's the way it's going to stay."

So you think, Curtis, dear, Rhiannon thought.

"All right. I don't need it." The man rose and turned toward the door. Curtis turned to a table, out of Rhiannon's sight. She moved to a more advantageous angle and peered at him. He snapped the lid on a briefcase, and she glimpsed rows of test tubes, with rubber stoppers, inside.

The drug.

"Aren't you going to tell me how to reach you? I don't even know your name."

The man opened the door and paused. "I'll contact you, when it's necessary. As for my name, you may call me Lucien, for now."

He left the room, leaving the door wide. Curtis hurried to close it, shaking his head. He carefully fastened the lock, and then came toward the room she was in. She flung herself beneath the bed, and peered out to watch him. He kept going, right through the door that led to the bathroom. She pulled herself out, and hurried to grab the briefcase. In seconds she was out the window once more, and clambering carefully down.

She reached jumping distance and leapt elegantly to the ground, landing with a little bounce, and fighting to stave off laughter. She was nearly giddy with her success.

Arms came around her from behind and pulled her into a darkened alley. She struggled, but the strength in them was unbelievable, and for just an instant, she fully expected to feel the jab of Lucien's blade in her side once more.

"What the h.e.l.l do you think you're doing?"

"Roland!" She turned in his grip, and went nearly limp with relief. "You frightened me half to death. I thought you were that hunk of beef who tried to knife me before."

"I could very well have been. You take less care than a whirling dervish."

"I daresay, I've known more dervishes than you have Roland, and I take a good deal more care than they." His arms still imprisoned hers, and she shook free. She lifted the briefcase, and thrust it at him. "Maybe you'll stop being so angry when you see what I have."

"I don't care what you have, you could have been killed or captured trying to get it. When are you going to listen to me, Rhiannon?"

"Just look at it, Roland. I know you'll be pleased."

He thrust the case back into her hands: "Not here." He gripped her arm and began striding away, down the alley.

She tugged free once again, sorely hurt that he didn't even care to see what she'd accomplished. "I have a car waiting. A rental."

"Leave it," he barked.

"Go to h.e.l.l, Roland. My packages are inside."

She raced away from him before he could grab her again. In seconds, she'd settled herself behind the steering wheel. She was surprised when the pa.s.senger door jerked open and he slid in beside her.

"You detest automobiles."

"I'll put up with one tonight."

A little of her anger faded. "Just to be with me?"

"Yes."

She very nearly grinned.

"Because if I let you out of my sight, there is no telling what kind of foolish thing you'll do next."

He could have slapped her and hurt her less. She refused to let him see it, though. She started the engine and pulled away from the hotel. The case rested on the seat between them. He didn't make a move to look inside and she wouldn't ask again.

She pulled to a stop right in front of her rental house, and Roland scowled. "Keep going, Rhiannon."

"I only want to fetch my suitcase."

"Then park somewhere else and we'll walk back for it. No sense announcing our presence."

"Stop telling me what to do."

"Someone has to. You haven't sense enough to act responsibly on your own."

She got out and slammed the door. "That's enough. I am staying right here. I wouldn't go back to that musty old castle of yours if there were twenty DPI men waiting for me right now."

She dragged the briefcase out of the car as Roland jumped out the opposite door. She threw it at him, putting a good deal of force into it. The case hit him squarely in the chest, and he staggered backward. "Give it to Eric. It's the tranquilizer. I thought he might like to examine it, see if he can come up with an antidote, or something."

"Rhiannon, don't be ridiculous." He tossed the case back into the car and came around it. He caught up with her, gripped her upper arms and made her face him. Then his eyes widened, and he looked at her in disbelief. "You're crying."

She ripped one arm free of him, even though doing so hurt considerably, and dashed the tears from her face with her hand. "No, I'm not."

He shook his head slowly. "Rhiannon, I didn't mean to hurt you--"

"You? Hurt me?" She released a bark of laughter. "I am the daughter of a Pharaoh, a princess of Egypt. Men fall at my feet if I wish it. Mortals and immortals alike. Do you really think I can be hurt by the likes of you?" Her throat burned. "I hate you, Roland de Courtemanche. I detest you, and you will not have the opportunity to reject me ever again."

Roland returned to the castle alone. He drove the car, for the simple reason that he didn't want DPI to see it outside Rhiannon's house and realize she was inside. He wasn't even certain they knew it was her house, but it would seem likely. Her description would have been bandied about L'Ombre, and questions asked. Someone would know the elusive Rhiannon had rented the cottage.

He entered through the front door, and found no one about. He stalked to his chambers and stopped in the doorway, unable for a moment, to draw a breath.

Frederick glanced down from the ladder where he stood, polishing the silver chandelier that winked and sparkled. Tamara stopped swiping the bare windows with the wet cloth. Eric glanced up from the hearth where he knelt with a wire brush, scrubbing the stones. Jamey lowered the broom with which he'd been attacking cobwebs.

"Where's Rhiannon?" the boy asked.

Roland looked at the floor, rather than into Jamey's eyes. The cat came toward him, tail swishing, a similar question in her feline eyes. "She's at the house she rented. She wanted to stay there."

"Roland..." Tamara's voice carried a warning, but Eric stopped her with a glance and came forward.

"What's in the briefcase, my friend?"

He looked down, having nearly forgotten what he carried. "It's the drug, the tranquilizer Rogers used against you before."

Eric lifted one eyebrow. "How did you--"

"Not me. Rhiannon. She slipped into Rogers's hotel suite and stole it."

Eric's jaw dropped for just a moment.

Jamey smiled and shook his head. "Man, she's got guts."

"Guts?" Roland scowled at the boy. "It was an idiotic thing to do. Rogers was in the room at the time, not to mention that other fellow. The one who nearly killed her."

"And she went in there, anyway," Jamey insisted. "That took guts."

"She is reckless and self-destructive."

Tamara threw the washrag she'd been using onto the floor and stomped across the room. "She is brave, and cunning, and absolutely beautiful. I wish I were more like her."

Eric looked at her, a hint of alarm on his face. "I like you the way you are, Tamara."

"Rhiannon is far too sure of herself. She should be more careful." Roland slung the briefcase onto a stand and sunk into a chair.

"She's not at all sure of herself. Roland, you hurt her again, didn't you?"

"What on earth do you mean, 'again'?"

"Tamara, leave him alone. Roland is right about this. Rhiannon takes far too many risks." Eric touched her shoulder and she whirled on him, glaring in a way Roland had rarely seen her do. "If one of you had done what she did tonight, you'd be congratulating yourselves until dawn. Why on earth can't you give the woman some credit?"

"Did Rhiannon get the new drapes?" Frederick called down from the ladder.

Roland lifted his head. He felt a heavy burden of guilt lowering itself upon his shoulders, and Tamara was only adding to it. He'd wanted to protect Rhiannon. Instead, he'd somehow hurt her. "Out in the car, I believe." He looked once again at the rooms around him, and shook his head. "You've all been working nonstop all night, haven't you?"

"Don't thank us," Tamara snapped. "We did it for her, not you." She hurried out of the room with Jamey on her heels. Frederick limped down from the ladder and went after them.

Eric sat in a chair opposite Roland. "A car? Care to tell me how that came about?"

Roland did, beginning with the luggage in the cottage, and ending with the scene outside it. As he spoke, Jamey carried in a package containing the new drapes, and took his place on the ladder to hang them. Frederick came in to help, setting a box containing no less than a hundred candles, on the floor.