Invisible Recruit: Invisible Power Part 11

"The Council of Seven?" I croaked, my whole body going numb.

"Of course, how many Councils do you know about?"

Four gazes lasered in on me as I stood there, a frozen wreck in the middle of a dark kitchen. "You mean the old man?"

It was Francois who answered with a nod. "Oui, ma cocotte, Philippe Cheverill was an arch druid. And the head of the Council."

CHAPTER 22.

The next hour was a blur. Francois gabbed one of my arms, Bran the other and hustled me out the back door into the brisk air of a spring night. The roar that was Paris echoed around us as a waxing moon peeked from behind scattered clouds. The old child's rhyme came to me: If you see the moon at the end of the day A bright full moon is on its way If you see the moon in the early dawn Look real quick, it will soon be gone.

Latching onto the mundane, just as I had earlier. No way could the dead man be the head of the Council. That was like saying I'd held the President's hand as he lay dying. Or the Pope's.

So how did he know my name? Maybe he remembered it from the vote that sent me straight to prison when the Council decided revealing there were extenuating circ.u.mstances-of the supernatural kind-to the murder I was accused of last year, would create more harm to the larger preternatural community. I got it then, I was a small cog in a very large wheel of worldwide preternaturals trying to just get along.

Okay, maybe I was a little bitter, a little resentful of the Council's decision. If they had a few more b.a.l.l.s, and created their own policing force that kept lowlifes like the rogue Were in check, then they wouldn't screw with the poor peon who was just trying to protect herself. Me being that peon.

But that was water under the bridge.

Since I'd never appeared in person in front of the Council I was surprised that the head of the group could remember my name from a file and maybe a mug shot. It had been a year ago and surely he'd had bigger issues to handle since then. Such as this whole Vaverek mess. And the Seekers. Though the old man had mentioned them.

But why in the world should anyone think I killed him? I'd only held his hand.

Unless someone had put who I was together with my past and found an easy scapegoat. But how likely was that? Nothing made sense.

I careened to a halt, making Francois and Bran pull up short.

We were in a bricked alleyway, the smell of boxwood hedges and ivy strong in the s.p.a.ce barely wide enough to have the three of us abreast. The moon almost obscured by clouds so maybe we'd been running longer than I thought we had.

"I didn't kill him," I said, wanting to scream it from rooftops. My breath was chugging but my skin felt cold and clammy. If going through the human judicial system was scary it was nothing to facing the Council's wrath if they really believed I'd killed one of their own. "Someone is setting me up."

"Why, duckie?" Francois' teeth gleamed in the near dark. "As much trouble as you create I could see someone wanting you out of the way, but what are the chances of that particular person being at this particular event?"

d.a.m.n, when he said it like that he made perfect sense. I dug my heels into the cobbled path, which wasn't easy given I was still in stilettos. "But I didn't do it. I'm innocent."

Bran snorted, but for once I didn't feel like kicking him. I was running way low on allies as well as being too double-whammied by tonight's events. And that didn't include why the head of the Council warned me about my father, if that's who he was talking about.

"Get a move on it," came Bran's terse response. No warm and fuzzies from him. "I can't hold a cloaking spell out here for much longer."

"You can do that? While we're on the move?" I was impressed. I could barely do that when hiding in the shadows. Not that my rusty magic abilities were important right now. At least the simple spells. The suck-everyone's-powers-around-me thing I could do, but not the simple stuff. I was so messed up, plus I was doing that focus-on-the-everyday-detail thing again.

"Come on." Francois took my hand this time, handling me gently as if I were fragile. He was right. Inside I was splintering.

But Noziaks didn't shatter. Implode maybe, but not until we fought back and I hadn't even begun to fight back.

Ignoring Francois' hand and Bran's impatience shimmering through the night I bent to peel off one of my shoes.

"What are you doing?" Bran growled, as if I was intentionally being perverse.

"You try running in stilettos."

"Do you have any idea how much those cost?" Francois moaned. "Those are Borgezie stilettos."

I smiled, a real smile, the first one all night as I removed the second shoe and handed them to him. "Then you wear them."

I thought I heard Bran choke back a laugh but it could have been a cat knocking over a garbage can lid. Either way I had started to run and it didn't take long for Bran to catch up with me. I tightened my hand around my clutch, not wanting to lose my phone in it.

"Any idea where you're going?" he said, as he jogged beside me.

"Nope."

"Why should I not be surprised."

I didn't bother responding; my focus one hundred percent on pounding the ground, hoping there were few rocks or shards of broken gla.s.s around, and wondering what I was going to do next.

CHAPTER 23.

It was after midnight when the three men returned to Van's cell. Another change of routine that had him curious as to what was up and why.

All he could do was wait. Not one of his favorite pastimes.

The footsteps sounded faster now. Impatient. Two of the men were breathing heavily as if they'd raced a long way. The human's hands were clumsy as he fiddled with the cell door lock. Van could smell his fear from across the room.

"I want to know his status. Now!" The one Van thought of as the power broker snapped. It sounded like he was finishing an ongoing conversation.

The doctor, Jean-Luc was it? No, Jean Claude, scuffled across the room, his nerves obvious by the pounding of his heart, the increase of his sweat, the shallowness of his breathing. Something was scaring these two. Something or someone.

The doctor was rough as he jerked Van's head up, shining a penlight into his eyes.

"What the h.e.l.l?" Van snarled, not having to work too hard to sound p.i.s.sed.

"Ah, Mister Noziak, you do know how to speak," the power broker murmured and yes, he was the same man from earlier. "Shall I share with you a little secret?"

Torment came in many forms. This man's specialty, so far, seemed to be verbal torture. But if he felt chatty, and let something spill that Van could use, who was Van to let the opportunity pa.s.s.

He grunted an a.s.sent, knowing the other didn't expect much more from him.

He was right, as the power broker nodded. "Bonne. I think you will like what I have to say."

But the a-hole didn't continue. Instead he waited.

The p.r.i.c.k.

Van nudged him along with a taunt. "What makes you think I care about anything you have to say?"

It worked like a charm as the other cleared his throat. "Even if the news I have concerns your sister?"

The growl ripped from Van this time was not feigned as he tugged at his restraints.

The doctor jumped back. "Do not aggravate him, I implore you," he said, clicking his teeth. "Not if you wish the experiment to go as planned."

So the trial was now an experiment. But what did that have to do with Alex? Did they really know something or was this just more torture?

"C'est la vie." The power broker's tone showed he'd learned what he'd wanted from Van.

When Van broke free he'd make sure this guy didn't die quick or easy. It was his turn to taunt. "Big man, aren't you," he said, his voice husky and low. "Only a coward goes after a man's family. But then I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

"That is a shame, Mister Noziak," came the quick reply. "That you think I am only, how do you say, poking at you. For I just saw your sister a few hours ago."

Van held himself very still. No way was Alex in Paris. She was in prison. It sucked, but at least she was safe there. So why was this creep saying otherwise?

"Like I would believe anything you said," Van spat out, ignoring the doctor as the man slipped a blood pressure cuff around his arm.

"A suspicious man, I see. Would you believe me if I told you her hair is still waist length?"

"A photo could tell you as much."

"True."

The blood pressure cuff tightened.

"This is not good." The doctor shook his head, before glancing at the other over his shoulder. "I must insist that you cease."

The power broker released a sigh, as if he was finished anyway. "The shifter will discover in due time whether I speak the truth or not." He stepped toward the door, waving the human forward. "Don't forget the photo."

Blinded by a flash of light, Van could do little more than scrunch his eyes closed to rid them of the dancing motes. "What the h.e.l.l-"

"For your sister." The power broker laughed. "A momento."

For real? Or another way to undermine Van?

"Till tomorrow." The man touched a hand to the brim of his hood before walking out of the cell, followed closely by the doctor and the human.

Van tugged at his restraints, knowing it was useless, and only earning the stench and pain of them burning deeper into his skin.

Whatever was going on he'd find out tomorrow. And if these people had involved Alex they'd rue the day they were created.

CHAPTER 24.

Jeb Noziak was awakened by an insistent knock on the door. Philippe? With news of Van or Alex?

He threw off his bed clothes though it'd been less than an hour since he'd gone to bed. His attempts to reach either of his children on the astral level had failed. Something was blocking them from his awareness. Not a simple cloaking spell that any hedge witch could produce but more like a jammer. He'd never encountered anything like it before, which didn't make him a happy man. Especially after what he'd learned from Pdraig's files earlier.

Alex had a lot to explain to him once he found her. A whole lot.

The knocking became louder. More frantic.

"I'm coming," he called out, grabbing a bathrobe and tightening the belt around him. He didn't bother with turning on a light as he could see as well in the dark and the room was familiar enough.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice a near snarl as he recognized Pdraig standing in the hallway, his hair mussed, strain bracketing his face. "Where's Philippe?"

"He's dead," came the abrupt reply. "The Tunisian has run off."

What? Shock roared through Jeb. Not possible. Then he remembered Philippe's earlier words, about the previous attempts on his life. But why?

The Tunisian? Oh, yes, the butler. But what did the butler have to do with Pdraig's news?

"What happened?" he demanded, stepping into the hallway. "An accident?"

The younger man shook his head, his face looking pale beneath the glare of lighting. Every lamp in the house must be switched on as if to scare away the night threats. But if what Pdraig had said was true, the worst had already happened.

When Pdraig didn't respond, Jeb steered him toward the library, and once he'd been seated, slumping forward in the chair, his head in his hands, Jeb grabbed a bottle of Jameson's and splashed a liberal amount in a crystal gla.s.s.

"Drink this," he urged Pdraig. "Then we'll talk."

It took the younger man two gulps to down the whole gla.s.s. Jeb kept his surprise to himself. Shock did different things to different people.

"Tell me what happened?" he repeated, the minute Pdraig appeared stable.

"They think he was poisoned." Pdraig's eyes showed far too much white, like a spooked horse, but Jeb couldn't wait.

"By who?"

The Pdraig shook his head, holding out his empty gla.s.s. Jeb rose to pour him some more, frustrated at the delay.

Only when Pdraig swallowed the next full gla.s.s did he continue. "There are names swirling around. Innuendos. Accusations. It's a b.l.o.o.d.y a.r.s.eways c.o.c.kup." His Irish accent as well as slang had increased. A sure sign of distress. He glanced up as if noticing Jeb for the first time. "They're on their way here. The Guards."

At Jeb's frown he added, "Un policier. The coppers."

Jeb got the message, but still he pushed for details. "Now?"