he was in the city, and hurt, Brie got up. She was clad in a simple pink tank top and briefs. It was Indian summer, and even at night it was warm and humid. She hurried across her large, shadowy loft, hitting lights as she went. She’d half expected Aidan to be present, maybe unconscious in the shadows and sprawled out on her floor, but the loft was empty.
At her front door, which was triple locked and had multiple alarms, she peered through the peephole into the hall. It was lit and empty, too.
Her loft was thoroughly fortified with Tabby’s spells and prayers and Brie wore a Celtic cross that she never took off. A small page from the Book handed down through generations of Rose women was also framed and nailed to her door to keep evil out. But Brie said a silent prayer to the long-ago gods, anyway.
She could feel evil, very close by, drifting about the streets, preying upon anyone foolish enough to defy Bloomberg’s voluntary curfew. But she didn’t want to think about the city’s problems now. She had to somehow find Aidan and make sure he was okay. Maybe Tabby and Sam could make heads or tails out of this. The other person who would probably have a clue was her boss, Nick Forrester, but she was hesitant to call him. She kept a very low profile at CDA. He knew nothing about her gifts—or her cousins and their extracurricular activities.
Brie grabbed the phone as she went to her computer and began logging onto HCU’s immense database. The Historical Crimes Unit was a part of CDA. She spent her days—and even her nights—looking through two centuries of case files, searching for historic coincidences. Her job was to find matches between their current targets and demons operating in the past. It was amazing how many demons terrorizing the country today came from past centuries.
Because searching for coincidences involved comparisons with active cases, she had access to current criminal investigations, including federal, state and local NYPD records. Multitasking, Brie began to search for the most recent reported criminal activities as she dialed her cousins’ number. She pictured Aidan lying hurt on a dark, slick city street, but she knew it was only her imagination responding to her worst fears.
Tabby answered, sounding as if she’d been deeply asleep. She’d divorced well over a year ago. It had taken her a long time to recover from her husband’s infidelity, and she had just begun dating again. But she was very conservative, and Brie had expected her to be alone and asleep.
“I really need your help,” Brie said swiftly.
“Brie, what is it?” Tabby was instantly awake.
“Aidan is in trouble—and I think he’s nearby.”
Tabby paused and Brie felt her trying to recall just who Aidan was. “You don’t mean the Highlander who brought Allie back last year?”
“I do,” Brie whispered.
“Can this wait until morning?” Tabby asked.
It wasn’t safe for anyone to tool around the city after dark. “I don’t think so,” Brie said grimly. “It wasn’t a vision, Tabby. I felt his pain. He’s in trouble—right now.”
Tabby was silent, and Brie heard Sam in the background, asking what was wrong. The sisters shared a loft just a few blocks away. “We’ll be right over,” Tabby said.
Brie hung up, slipped on her jeans and sat down to seriously go over the cases she’d pulled. She was immersed in files when the doorbell rang twenty minutes later. She’d found nothing, and she supposed that was a relief. What she didn’t want to find was a dead victim with Aidan’s description. For all she knew, though, he was immortal. She hoped so.
Maybe the worst was over, she thought as she went to let the girls in. Maybe he’d gone back in time, where he belonged.
Tabby entered first, a willowy blonde in slacks and a silk tank top who always looked as if she were on her way to or from the country club. No one would ever guess from looking at her that Tabby was an earth mother. Sam followed, shockingly gorgeous even with her short-cropped platinum hair—but then, she had a Lara Croft from Tomb Raider body. Brie admired her immensely because she was so fearless and so open about her sexuality. She happened to know that Sam’s messenger bag was loaded with weapons, and she carried a stiletto strapped to her thigh beneath the denim miniskirt she wore. On anybody else it might be corny, but on Sam it was darned serious.
Tabby took one look at Brie and rushed to hug her. “You are so worried!”
Sam closed and locked the door. “Did you find anything?” she asked, nodding at the computer.
“He’s probably gone back to his time,” Brie said. She wet her lips, aware of an absurd disappointment.
“Don’t look so happy about it,” Sam said wryly, striding across the loft to the computer and peering at the screen. “I don’t think a man like that is easily hurt.”
“I think he was tortured. I have never felt so much pain,” Brie said.
Sam didn’t look up from the screen, scrolling through files she had no right to view.
Tabby put her arm around Brie. “You’re so pale. Are you all right?”
“I’ll survive,” Brie said, forcing a smile.
“Are you sure it was Aidan?” Tabby asked, rather unnecessarily, as Sam sat down at the desk. Tabby glanced at the poster from the movie The Highlander, which Brie had framed and hung on her living-room wall, her amber gaze narrowing.
“One hundred percent. I saw him as clear as day. It wasn’t a vision, but it wasn’t my imagination, either. I can’t empathize across time. I certainly can’t hear someone cry out from far away. He was here, close by. He was hurt. Really, really hurt.” Brie trembled, feeling sick again.
“If he’s hurt and in the city, we’ll find him,” Sam said firmly.
Brie felt reassured. Sam always got what she wanted.
“When did you put that poster up?” Tabby asked.
Brie blinked at her. “I don’t remember,” she lied, flushing.
Tabby stared. Then she moved toward the living area. “Well, this looks to be an all-nighter,” she said cheerfully. “It’s almost three in the morning, and I don’t think any of us will make it back to bed.” She began laying out her mother’s crystals on the coffee table.
And the roar of anguish began again, deafening Brie. She gasped, stunned by the bellow of rage. Her hands flew automatically to her ears. His pain sent her down to the floor, where she doubled over, crushed by it, consumed by it…imprisoned by it. This time, the sensation was unbearable.
Oh my God, what’s happening to Aidan? Is he being tortured?
“Brie!” Tabby screamed.
Vaguely, she was aware of Tabby holding her, but it didn’t matter.
Brie knew they were ripping his heart out now. They were ripping her heart out. She wept in Tabby’s arms, her world spinning with shocking force and then going black.
Aidan, she somehow thought. He was dying from the torture, and she was dying, too.
NICK FORRESTER
