so I have always believed….
It was the truth of the gods; he had been tempted by women, both of land and of sea, many times before, and would be again. But he had no woman, and would have none. He would die—if he ever died—alone. It was still a challenge to ignore her song.
I’m here on a mission to save my people, he reminded himself. Not to lose myself in a siren’s beckoning.
For her part, as she gazed back at him, color rose in her cheeks.
He’s incredible, she thought, obviously unaware that he could read her mind. He wasn’t surprised that she was mesmerized by him. Wasn’t that the way of it, the folk of the sea able to beckon human beings to their sides with a glance or a whisper?
To their sides, but not to their hearts.
And yet, I am moved….
Her lips parted and she stared at him for one, two, three seconds. Exhaling, she broke contact and averted her gaze.
He was impressed by her ability to do so. Of course, he wasn’t singing to her, as she was to him. He had not yet met the woman who could look away then.
“Mademoiselle Davos, how did you come here?” Jean-Marc asked her, breaking the silence. “Where is the woman who was caring for you?”
“My jailer? Taking a nap,” Nia said.
Plucky. Erik almost smiled. Jean-Marc closed his eyes and Erik knew he was sending someone to check.
“You’re not a prisoner,” Jean-Marc said. “I thought you understood. You’re a Keeper. You have inherited the obligation to guard and protect a magical object. We believe it was your mother who passed this duty on to you. In the case of you and Sophie, you must Keep the Jar of Naxos, and—”
She looked at Erik. Please, don’t be crazy like this guy, she thought, still clearly oblivious that he could hear her. Her plea was followed by a breakwater jumble of thoughts, veiled ones, about a long-lost aunt and danger….
“You’ve made a mistake,” she snapped. “We’re not Keepers. I don’t know anything about a jar. Give Sophie back and let us go.”
“What do you know about the men who invaded your restaurant?” Erik asked her. “About your aunt?”
Her face went dead white and her lips parted. “That’s how you people found us, isn’t it? Through that e-mail. You were spying on us.”
“Why would we do that?” Erik asked.
She was shaking from head to toe, barely hanging on. He thought about singing to her, but magic use by other Houses was forbidden on Shadows territory. Besides, Jean-Marc was more than able to conjure a calming spell for her if he chose to.
“Let me see my sister,” she begged. “I’m just a restaurant owner. That e-mail was a prank.” She advanced on him, her hands balled into fists. “Give me back my sister!” she shrieked at him. “Sophie! It’s Nia! Where are you?”
Erik glanced pointedly at Jean-Marc, who moved his hands. The scent of oranges and roses permeated the air and Nia Davos sank to the floor, unconscious.
“We’ll leave now,” Erik told Jean-Marc. “Can you give her some clothes?”
“A bag’s been packed,” Jean-Marc informed him. “Bonne chance.” Good luck. Jean-Marc looked down at Nia. “Have a care with her. She may the only thing standing between you and destruction.”
“Or the cause of it,” Erik bit out.
Chapter Two
“And this ‘Keeper’ position passed through my mother to me,” Nia said, as a beautiful Scandinavian woman in a dark blue suit placed a plate of steamed fish, wild rice and asparagus on a large tray in front of her. Nia was wearing a China blue sweater and a black-and-blue-checked skirt that grazed the tops of neat flat boots and was slit up to her knees, revealing black tights.
She had not dressed herself, and there was no way she would eat the food—even though she was starving. There was probably something in it that would knock her out again.
“So the Guardian believes,” the woman replied.
Her name was Birgid, and the two of them were on a private plane headed for the North Sea in Scandinavia. Birgid had won a bit of trust from Nia by calling the local hospitals for her while they boarded. The Polish bridegroom was in critical condition. Nia’s restaurant was a smoking ruin.
And Sophie was still gone. Apparently the men who had kidnapped Sophie were not the same ones who had kidnapped Nia.
Birgid had tried to explain things to her, tell her who she was. And who Erik was. What he was.
Crazy. All of them.
“And the reason I never knew I was a Keeper was because my mother abandoned her post. For love.”
Birgid nodded again. “Perhaps one could find a nicer way to say it than ‘abandoned.’ Since the Jar was missing anyway, there wasn’t much to hold her.”
The other plush seats in the cabin were occupied by a dozen massive Scandinavian men wearing sidearms beneath navy blue suit jackets. They’d been in flight for about twenty minutes, and she hadn’t stopped demanding to speak to Erik, who had disappeared shortly before takeoff. For all she knew, he wasn’t even on the plane.
“I want to talk to Erik.” She had demanded to speak with him at least once a minute since they’d boarded. She was practically shouting. A few of the men eyed her, and Birgid put a soothing hand over hers.
“Let me see what I can do,” she promised. She straightened and walked toward the rear of the plane. Nia stared down at her food. She really should eat something. But how could she?
She lowered her head and thought about her sister, and then her restaurant, praying, in her way, for her employees and customers. And for her own sanity. Tears spilled and ran the length of her nose.
“Oh, God, oh, my God,” she whispered.
She wept in silence. Then Birgid reappeared and dipped down beside Nia’s seat.
“He says he will see you, but he wants you to be prepared,” she said. “He will remain in his natural state, as when he was born, to prove to you that he’s telling the truth. He will see you alone. His men have vacated the tank.”
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