Invisible Recruit: Invisible Power Part 15

But obviously the grandmother did. One of the boys, the younger one who couldn't have been older than six or seven, which explained why he was probably bored out of his mind, was tugging on the older woman's sweater and repeating, "Groymutter. Groymutter."

Sounded like a dirty word to me, but what did I know?

It seemed like it took forever but the trio finally moved off, once the grandmother caught an eyeful at what had been intriguing her grandsons.

I waited until I heard their footsteps recede upstairs before glancing around. No one in sight.

A quick duck beneath the tape and I was in the room, keeping toward the walls so I couldn't easily be seen from the open doorway.

Last night I thought the s.p.a.ce looked crowded because of the people, but even empty it looked overfull, especially if you compared it to the warehouse I'd just left. A different decorating sensibility than I was used to with great floral carpets blanketing the floor, pastoral murals on the walls, ma.s.sive gold frames, crystal chandeliers, and wall sconces the only light even though it was barely eleven o'clock. The s.p.a.ce was making me claustrophobic. Or maybe it was approaching the spot where Cheverill had died.

Fortunately there weren't any bloodstains to make me squirm. Since the room had been blocked off, it might be a smidge easier getting a reading on the doctor. I was hesitant because it was a museum with a lot of people moving in and out of the s.p.a.ce, plus it'd been jam packed last night. But if I didn't try, my alternative was to do nothing. I set my purse on the nearest table and prepared to get to work.

The casting spell shouldn't be hard. I wasn't scrying, which involved looking into a translucent object such as a crystal ball, or water, or even smoke for that matter, in an attempt to see or find someone. For one thing I didn't have any tools though a quick glace around rea.s.sured me there were enough crystals dangling from the lighting fixtures that if push came to shove I might be able to try that approach. Instead I planned to cast a lost person spell. It tended to be stronger for me and easier to work.

Inhaling a deep breath I stepped toward the area where the doctor, if that's what he'd been, had been kneeling. Just then my purse started doing a little hum and jig on the glossy surface of the mahogany table. I was so focused on what I was about to do it took a few seconds to realize what was happening. My cell phone.

Could it be Ling Mai?

I lunged toward the table and fumbled getting my phone out, only to recognize the number calling as Bran's. Not that I'd memorized it or anything. Perish the thought.

But I didn't need a p.i.s.sed off warlock reaming me out for leaving the warehouse, or being at the museum, or my plan. How'd I know that's what he wanted? It was Bran.

Flipping off the phone was a tacky and small-minded gesture, I'll admit, as I shoved it back in the purse once I'd turned it off totally. Somehow I knew Ling Mai wouldn't be calling in the time it took me to spell cast and get out of here.

Back to the spot I settled my nerves and focused to bring up an image of the doctor, which was vague. I just hadn't been paying that much attention to him. Not with another man dying in front of me.

As if sorting through pictures on a cell phone, I let my memory scan past the other impressions of the room, the other faces. Bran with his thunder frown. The younger man I'd talked to after Cheverill had collapsed. Cheverill himself, with his head of silver hair and patrician features.

Then, at last, the doctor. Middle-aged. Gray in his hair, but only slightly. Deep grooves in his face, as if troubled or worried a lot. Really pretty nondescript, but hopefully enough to get a bead on.

I slowed my breathing, lowered my shoulders to release tension in my neck and focused.

Keeper of what disappears, I thee seek.

Open and find he who is lost from sight.

By sun, by earth, by air and by water.

I thee implore. What is lost, now shall be found.

Behind my closed lids I saw a glimmer. So faint I found myself leaning forward as if to see it better. Still vague. Green. An imposing stone building. The sound of traffic.

That could be anywhere in Paris.

I tried again. This time focusing more on my impressions of the doctor than simply his looks. Competence. Or was that what I expected to see? Focus, Noziak, and really see, as Bran had made me see the street yesterday morning. Not what I expected to see but what had really been before my eyes.

Fear. That's what jumped out at me. The doctor's? Yes, and others, as if a riptide of emotions circled around Cheverill's body. Greed. A vacuum of need. The need for power, for control.

Impressions so strong they felt like a physical sensation beating against me. And preternaturals. Cheverill for sure, but I didn't know what kind. Whatever he'd been, the younger man had been one too. Not blood bound but species drawn. And others. So many others. Powerful beings.

I remembered realizing there had been a lot of preternaturals at the event, but now it was being brought home in a different way. There was an intention behind their presence last night which I hadn't been aware of then.

I could feel my focus slip toward that issue and pulled it back to finding the doctor. Everything else could wait. I started my chant again. Only different now.

Earth called, find me the path.

Wind spent, blow me the way.

Sun lit, lead me along.

Water born, reveal the depths.

What is lost, must be found.

Seek. Guide. Direct.

Vessel I am. Vessel I shall be.

Show me the way. So mote it be.

And I had my answer, as clear as a street sign looming out of the fog. Now I just had to find the place.

CHAPTER 30.

Van had been waiting. Patiently, because he had little choice. Trial? Experiment? Something was going down today and as he watched the dawn's light brighten and fan across the floor he expected his jailors to return.

But they didn't. Not right away. Even the human who brought his food hadn't appeared.

As the cell grew lighter the nerves danced along Van's skin. A good sign because he'd been so drugged, so numbed for days that even pain was a welcome relief.

When he heard the screech of the outer door opening at last, he adjusted his balance until his weight was evenly on both feet. Then he relaxed his muscles as much as possible. The better to pounce the second he saw an opportunity.

The trio who'd come recently had brought reinforcements. A fourth person who smelled different, not like the Were who'd been here before. No talking today, just purposeful strides.

He sagged against his restraints, faking weakness when all his inner wolf wanted to do was rend and tear. But he wouldn't let his beast gain control. Not yet.

"You are awake?" Jean-Claude the doctor asked, sliding up to Van, but not close. From where Van was restrained he could smell the stale sweat of the man's fear. The stench increased when Van raised his head, slowly, to glare at the man with eyes more wolf than human. A trick Van had perfected back in high school when jerks went sniffing around Alex. He knew his eye shape elongated, the color lightened from a dark brown to a golden amber, and the focus intensified, at least that's what the one being viewed saw.

Which is why so many turned tail and ran. The doctor didn't. He froze. A sure sign of being lower on the food chain, far lower.

The human a.s.sistant was either braver or too clueless as he stepped close enough to raise a water bag to Van's lips. The liquid tasted tainted but as both human and wolf, Van knew he had to keep his liquids up. Dehydration would weaken him faster than missing his morning meal.

But it was only after he swallowed deeply that he noticed the change in the doctor's position. His shoulders relaxed, as did the lines around the man's eyes.

Of course, the liquid had been drugged.

Just then the doctor stepped forward, not close enough Van could swipe at him, but close enough the Were could raise a small instrument and shoot a dart at Van. One that struck his neck and lodged.

Something fast acting as Van felt it scream through his system, blurring his vision, numbing his reactions. So fast. Too fast.

"What . . ." he slurred, struggling against the freefall.

"Etorphine plus acepromazine." The doctor smiled, a c.o.c.ky who's-in-charge-now smile. "No need to worry about side effects," he added, stepping closer and poking at Van as if he were a side of beef. "Vets use it all the time on large animals. Fast. Effective. Little side effects."

Van was crashing. He knew it and there wasn't a d.a.m.n thing he could do about it. Struggling only seemed to make the stuff work faster.

The other two stepped into the room. The one who'd taunted Van before was the one to speak first. "After you shoot him full of the other drug he won't have to worry about side effects."

Other drug?

As if called, the doctor stepped forward, swabbing something cool along Van's arm.

"You're sure the combination won't kill him?" the new visitor asked, his voice not French.

"Non," Jean-Claude murmured, focused on a vial in his hands.

Good news? Or bad?

There wasn't energy to think more as a needle jabbed him.

Then a long, swift fall into darkness.

CHAPTER 31.

Jeb looked at the address he clutched in his hand then the ma.s.sive maroon door before him. "This is the number," he said to Pdraig who'd found a parking place for his Peugeot Sport Coupe and was now standing beside him outside 72 Rue de Varenne.

The building looked like the seventeenth century residence it once was, broad, imposing, with cool shadows striping the walls of the interior courtyard, a s.p.a.ce Jeb couldn't access from where he stood because of the closed and locked door.

This looked like a dead end as a row of white block buildings stretched on either side of him. There wasn't even a tree in sight. How did the French survive in a city where greenery was regulated to s.p.a.ces manicured and trimmed until even the gra.s.s wanted to weep? And how did Philippe, and Pdraig for that matter, live here being druids, beings tuned more than most to the earth? The only earth Jeb could see was buried in flower boxes on lower level windows behind wrought iron fencing.

"Let me see the note," Pdraig offered, though Jeb wanted to wring the young pup's neck for the suggestion. What was he going to read that Jeb had not read a million times already?

He thrust the crumpled paper at the other man, tempted to shift into his other self, his animal self, not his spirit form. As a wolf he could smell better, hear better, and see movement better. Right now all Jeb could smell was the scent of dark roasted coffee from a nearby cafe, hear the roar of the insistent Parisian traffic and see a limp French flag above the hotel's doorway.

"Doesn't even look like a hotel," he muttered, frustration rampaging through him, a man who valued control.

"It's not a hotel." Pdraig looked at a small plaque on the wall to the left of the closed doorway. "It's the Ministry of Housing and Cities. Which is why it's closed today. A state holiday."

"So where is this park? How do we find it?"

Pdraig shrugged, then glanced at his Patek Philippe watch. "We're early, which is good. I spotted a le bistrot around the corner. I can ask a few questions there."

It was solid advice. Which didn't mean Jeb wanted to hear it. More delays. But hadn't he tried to teach his children that the rushed man was a rash man?

Time to take his own advice.

"Lead the way," he said to Pdraig. "But let's make it quick."

He might be listening to reason but his gut was giving him a different message.

Hurry.

CHAPTER 32.

I waited till I was outside the museum to return Bran's call. I had tried Ling Mai's number once more but still no response, which meant by the time Bran answered I was primed and loaded for bear.

"Where are you?" he snarled. No h.e.l.lo. No how are you. No kiss my b.u.t.t.

"Paris." Two could play the snark game.

His inhaled breath was enough to create an airs.p.a.ce vacuum. "Alex."

My dad could get that same tone. The one on the razor edge between I'm-trying-for-patience-here and the belt strap.

"I have no idea where I am. This city looks the same no matter where you are."

"Try harder."

Or I could hit the cancel b.u.t.ton.

He must have heard my thoughts as he backpedaled. As much backpedaling as a warlock could do, which was measurable in micro-millimeters. "Francois and I may have some information for you."

"Oh?" Van? Getting me off a murder rap? Vaverek?

"Best that we don't speak of it over the phone."

I sidestepped a puce-colored Citroen that was trying to park on the curb and reminded myself that I was low on allies. A quick look around and I answered, "I just pa.s.sed the Champs elysees on my way to the seventh arrondiss.e.m.e.nt."

There was a pause on the other end and some m.u.f.fled words before he came back on. "Where are you heading?"