Truth Seeker Page 4

  Now they were getting to useful intel. "What limitations, besides not being able to eat, drink, and have sex?"

  "Being stuck in one place. You've heard all the stuff about not being able to cross water and spiritual boundaries, like those around my house?"

  Philippe nodded.

  "All are simplifications of the complex rules that govern the afterlife. Most of us can't go beyond a certain radius of where we died. Those that do find that their strength wanes so quickly that they have to return immediately or they're stuck in one place until another spirit comes along and is willing to help."

  "So if they could travel through spiritual space rather than physical…"

  A terrible thought struck Philippe. The pirate nodded.

  "It's the travel, not the distance that wears us. Eliminate the travel, and you'll have spirits joining forces to take over the world from the living."

  A chill crept over Philippe from the pit of his stomach outward. "Why are you telling me this?"

  "There's a price for your talent, lad. Those that can see spirits are bound by universal law to do something that will benefit them." A disfigured burned face came out of the shadows toward Philippe, bits of charred flesh and hair stuck to its white skull, its blank eye sockets houses of flickering white light. Philippe choked on a scream.

  "I caused enough harm during my life," the face said through ragged lips, "that I cannot stand idly by during death. I and all others will have their release from this torment."

  "When?"

  "I don't know, no one does, but it will happen. But when it does, those who have robbed humans of their rightful life-spans will be doomed. Most think that they can't have it any worse than they do now. I know with certainty that they can. Your task, young man, is to keep that from happening."

  As if the task looming ahead wasn't big enough. "How?"

  "Find the builders, or, I suspect, builder, of the tunnels. Destroy what they have constructed." The ghost leaned back into the shadows, and Philippe tried to slow his breathing, but the ghost's next words chilled him. "Before they lure others—human and ghost—to their eternal doom."

  How is this possible?

  Maggie strained against her bonds, the discarded cords of religious habits. She knew that some spirits could be restrained by such devices, but she, a Truth Seeker, should be beyond such influence. The authority she wielded was from the highest power. She, too, had a price: a large ransom, but not gold or silver. Her captors bargained for her existence. Even though her body wasn't human, it could be destroyed, and then she would be left like one of them, nothing more than a collection of loose energy trapped on this plane until the end of the world.

  "Hello, cousin."

  Maggie looked up, and her lips curled in a snarl before she could catch herself.

  "Niniane, I suspected it was you."

  A tall young woman in a black gossamer gown stood before Maggie. Her golden hair flowed over thin shoulders, and cruel green eyes sparkled with a wrath built over centuries.

  That explained the bonds. Niniane had a piece of Maggie's hair, a lock exchanged when they were children. With it, Niniane could wield certain power over Maggie. Margaret, the enchanted sister left out of the King Arthur tales, had joined the Truth Seekers, a society for the search of the elusive Grail of Truth that had developed into a spiritual law-enforcement agency. Niniane, commonly known as the Lady of the Lake, had turned against the knights—and all humans—after Avalon had been destroyed.

  As a rule, Maggie let others handle Niniane, but this time, she had been trapped, her first mistake. Her second was that, although she had a lock of Niniane's hair, she did not keep it with her because its evil energy attenuated her powers. It was well-hidden, true, but still vulnerable and beyond her use.

  Niniane gloated. "So I hear you've seen your old colleague Beauregard."

  "And noticed that you managed to seduce him into your wild scheme."

  "Not so wild. Soon the world will be the property of the fairies, elves, and spirits again. And the silly humans are financing the whole venture."

  Niniane twirled something around her finger—the locket with Maggie's hair.

  "Yes, I still have this." Niniane dangled it in front of Maggie's nose. "Where's mine?"

  "Why do you want to know?"

  "It should be obvious. It's the only way I can be stopped—if someone finds it and binds or banishes me."

  "It's well hidden." Maggie's heart sank. Yes, she had hidden the locket at Raphael's ranch, but there was no way she could get word to someone to find it—not until it was too late.

  "As for your pet… You're improving, Margaret. That one looked like a keeper." Niniane snickered. "That should be him right now."

  Light footsteps descended the stairs, and the ancient wooden door to her cell banged open. The two ghosts who had followed Philippe, a redcoat and a colonial soldier, were empty handed.

  "Well?" Niniane snapped.

  "He got away. He ducked into old Rothfeather's house."

  Niniane hissed. "He would choose the home of that burned-up fool."

  "James' sister helped him."

  "Curse her. Why must I always be foiled by virgins?"

  Maggie ducked her head to hide her smirk. She knew Betsy wouldn't let her down.

  "I wouldn't smile if I were you, dear Margaret." Niniane's lips parted over pointed teeth. "You may have gotten away with the one mortal who can trespass in my tunnels, but the old man in Texas will, ah, join his more permanent guests soon if you don't tell me where the locket is hidden. Beauregard is on his way there now."

  Maggie remembered the ashen pallor of Raphael's skin and wondered if the tall ghoul's threat may be for nothing. But still… Beauregard mustn't find the locket. Truth Seekers couldn't lie without sacrificing their immortality, but she had to buy some time, at least until sunrise when Niniane would be weakened and her ghostly guards in their daytime hiding places. And Raphael, who had been nothing but kind to her and the ghosts on his ranch, didn't deserve to be tortured. She took a deep breath, the taste at the back of her mouth bitter with what she was about to do.

  "It's not there." It pained Maggie to the core of her soul to tell the lie.

  "Yes? Well?" Niniane leaned forward, her expression hungry.

  Maggie wished she could enjoy her cousin's desperation, but she had to force out the words. "It's… Its buried deep in the ice at the South Pole."

  "Oh." Niniane frowned. "At what coordinates?"

  "The pole, what do you think?"

  Niniane snapped her fingers. "I have an ice witch who owes me a favor."

  Philippe, who hadn't realized how attuned he'd become to Maggie, felt her lie to the core of his soul, and it broke his heart.

  "No," he whispered.

  "Your girl must be in dire circumstances, as we feared," Rothfeather told him. "Her kind can lie in emergencies, and…" He broke off.

  "And what?"

  "When they do…" He shook his head. "They lose their powers and become mortal like you."

  Philippe leapt out of his chair. "But that means she's in even more danger now. They couldn't hurt her before." He looked around and spotted the door. "I've got to go for her."

  A gnarled fist closed with an iron grip on his arm. "Now don't make me go poltergeist on ye, lad. Chances are they don't realize what she's done yet. She still has time."

  "Until when?"

  The hand eased up and pulled back into the shadows. "Until sunrise."

  "Which is…?"

  "In two hours."

  "Will that give her enough time? Will it give me time to find her?"

  "It depends on the lie she told and how quickly she's found out."

  5

  A raven's cawing woke Maggie. Strange… She'd not needed sleep before, not since she had been Margaret of Cornwall.

  Then she remembered. She'd told a lie. She was a Truth Seeker no more. Ah, well, she had pondered retirement anyway. Maybe work at Raphael's ranch, something quiet,
low-key. Maybe even settle down, have a family.

  She shook her head. The thought had never crossed her mind before, but when she closed her eyes, she dreamed of a faceless man, his arms around her. But not Philippe—he was too innocent, his life only started. She needed to be with someone who would understand the lifestyle she'd led and the things she'd had to do.

  But Philippe… She hoped the old pirate entertained him well. She knew she probably wouldn't even see the rest of her mortal life once Niniane found her out, but by then Rothfeather would have figured out what she was after and would send someone to safeguard it. He was a good sort, if a little gruff… A pirate who had taken the gentleman's way out.

  Maggie squinted against the light that assaulted her blue human eyes. What had they done with her glasses? With them on, she might still have a remnant of her power. She shifted and felt them in the pocket of her coat.

  "Well well well…" Niniane held the torch close to Maggie's face. "Look who told a lie. I'll give it to you, Cousin—I didn't think you had it in you to give up your immortality like that."

  Maggie looked through the flame and the smoke and saw Beauregard's sepulchral form. Her heart skipped a beat. Had he found it?

  "It happens to all eventually," he intoned. "Unfortunately, I could not find it."

  "That's all right, Beau." Niniane's voice was soft, sinister. "That means I get to have the pleasure of torturing it out of her."

  Maggie exhaled. It was still safe…for now.

  "I was saving that ice witch's favor, Margaret. You'll pay for having me waste it."

  "How did you figure it out so quickly?"

  "We have locations everywhere, dear sister, even at the South Pole. It's summer down there now, plenty of light, so all her snow beast had to do was look. But I digress… It will be fun to torture you. Your initiation to Avalon will seem like a pleasant memory after this."

  Philippe looked down at the ancient pistol in his hand.

  "It has one bullet in it," Rothfeather cautioned him. "So make your shot good."

  "Just one bullet?" Philippe had never handled a gun.

  "It's silver with a cross engraved on it. It will stop her for a bit. That way you can rescue your girl. She must have a purpose in the plan if they've held her so long. You need to hurry. If The Lady can't get the truth out of her by daylight, she'll lose patience and kill her."

  "The Lady?"

  The old pirate nodded. "Niniane du Lac. Heard of her?"

  Philippe recalled the name from English literature classes of long ago. "Of the King Arthur legend?"

  "Let's just say she lasted a bit longer than he did, and she still causes trouble for mortals."

  "Why is dawn the deadline?"

  Rothfeather gestured to him. "You escaped. They know you'll come back for her, or that someone from her organization will find you and have you lead them to her. Niniane's guards won't be strong enough to stop you once the sun rises, and she doesn't like to be vulnerable."

  A chill crawled up Philippe's neck. "How is shooting her going to stop her if she's immortal?"

  "She's part faerie, so it won't kill her, but that which keeps her from dying also makes her vulnerable to certain charms, including silver bullets and the sign of the Christians. This bullet is doubly potent."

  "What will it do?"

  "She'll fall, bleed, and have to disappear for a day to—well, wherever she goes—to recuperate. It should buy you the time you need. Hurry now, lad, or your friend may be done for."

  "Where are they?" Philippe stood and tucked the pistol into his belt.

  "Thomas and Betsy will show you."

  "You always had such a pretty face," Niniane told Maggie as she hit her the twentieth time. She'd started light with slaps, then progressed to punches and kicks, and now she held a silver knife, careful to only touch the hilt. Maggie, bruised and broken, sensed the sunrise and prayed that it would all be over with soon. If Niniane couldn't get the truth out of her by daylight, Maggie herself would be killed, but Maggie hoped her spirit would be strong enough to hang on long enough to let her fellow Truth Seekers know the location of the locket. It was a gamble. Maggie needed to get word to Philippe—if he'd come.

  A certain lightening of the air indicated to Maggie that the time drew near. She closed her eyes and waited for the final blow.

  Philippe stopped in front of an old warehouse on the waterfront. Thomas, who had begun to fade as soon as they stepped outside in the pre-dawn light, put his translucent hand on the door.

  "Aye, this is the place."

  Philippe could feel it, too. The morning cold bit through his long woolen coat and heavy boots, and he hoped it would be warmer inside.

  "Good luck, mate." With a final twist of his hand, Thomas unlocked the door, and Philippe crept inside.

  At first, he heard nothing as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. It looked like Niniane's spirits, weakened by the sunlight, had all departed for their daily hiding places.

  He felt along the wall and found a staircase. The odors of mold and rotten fish accosted his nose as he made his way down the metal stairs into the basement. Light flickered around a cracked wooden door and between the splintered wooden panels. A large black bird sat on a stool at the bottom of the stairs, and it blinked baleful red eyes at him. He crept to the door and looked in.

  Maggie sat tied to a rotten wooden chair. A gorgeous blond woman with emerald eyes stood over her and held a knife, its tip bloodied by the long cut she had just carved down Maggie's bruised cheek. Blood dripped down the Truth Seeker's face and into her hair. Enraged, Philippe raised the pistol, but he told himself to wait for the right shot.

  "Now that you're human again, you know what it's like to feel hate, don't you Margaret? I think that before you felt a little sorry for me."

  "That was before you gave up your humanity entirely," Maggie whispered through clenched teeth.

  "And you always liked to help humans. Or is it because you wanted to go back to being one yourself? Were you counting down the centuries until you could retire like Beauregard and live a normal life? Did you flirt with lying so you could escape the drudgery of eternal service? Did you ever know what it was like to love a mortal and want to be one so you could spend a lifetime together?"

  Maggie didn't respond, and Philippe found himself wondering the same.

  "It's daylight," Maggie whispered. With a movement too quick for human eyes, Niniane thrust the knife toward Maggie's abdomen. Philippe pulled the trigger, and Niniane flew back with the impact and disappeared.

  "Maggie!" Philippe picked up the knife where it had fallen and cut Maggie loose. She held a hand over the bleeding wound, just beneath her rib cage. Philippe took off his coat and over-shirt and used the soft flannel to staunch the flow.

  "Don't worry about me," Maggie gasped. "You have to find the locket. It's the one thing that can stop her."

  "I have to get you to a hospital." His eyes welled with tears.

  Maggie shook her head. "This is more important. You have to stop her."

  "Where is it?"

  "At Raphael's ranch. Find it today. Let the spirits guide you."

  "How am I supposed to get there?" He didn't want to know the answer. "There's no time."

  "The tunnels. Use them. You're the one mortal who can."

  Her breath came in gasps, and Philippe carried her up the stairs. As he thought, they were in a deserted part of town. He staggered toward the sound of traffic and soon found a busy street.

  "What happened to you there?" A policeman hailed them.

  "She needs to get to a hospital," Philippe called. He pushed Maggie into the man's arms and sprinted away.

  He ducked the raven that swooped over his head but lost sight of it between two buildings.

  Philippe found the nearest chain coffee shop, crowded with the morning breakfast rush. His heart ached, but he figured that, of all the places to be stabbed, downtown Boston was a good one. He glanced over his shoulder every few seconds to see if he
was being followed. He had blood on his hands, but he hadn't done anything wrong…except for hesitate those few crucial seconds.

  The line inched forward. He'd looked, but there were no bathrooms, so he needed a plan to get to the store-room in the back through the "Employees Only" door. Philippe silently thanked Maggie for jumping them to Boston and not somewhere in the friendly, curious Southeast. No one made eye contact with him—he was just another worn-out, unshaven graveyard-shift worker in a long, black overcoat.

  As he left the draught from the door, the warm air and smell of coffee enveloped him. He could feel the tunnel open, and his heart flipped. He would have to spill something, and, while the baristas cleaned it, slip back into the store-room.

  He didn't have to wait long for the opportunity. An older man with a grizzled gray beard and wild black eyes bumped in to Philippe with his caramel mocha latte. A quick jostle, and the latte landed with a sticky splat on the floor. All motion stopped. Conversation ceased, and Philippe found himself the center of attention.

  "Hey, buddy, what's your problem?" The old man glared at Philippe with bloodshot eyes.

  "Whaddaya mean?" Philippe hoped that the drunk couldn't hear the fear in his voice. "You bumped into me."

  The baristas looked more surly than perky as they wielded damp towels and hurried from behind the counter.

  "That's okay, sir, Terry's making you another one." The barista shot Philippe an annoyed look as he bent down to swipe at the mess.

  But Philippe wasn't there. When the crowd's attention shifted to the baristas, he ducked and slipped through the crowd to the back of the store. There he found a door that opened on to a long hallway. His nose told him in which direction the beans were stored—left, toward the enticing aroma, the pull of the tunnel more insistent.

  Philippe paused. Was it withdrawal, or had he just never noticed how the tunnel called to him with his favorite mocha java aroma? Was it a trap? He heard the door creak behind him, and the hairs stood up on the back of his neck.