Possessed by An Immortal Page 13

  “Hush, little one, it will soon be over.” She stroked Bree’s hair. “Listen to my words.”

  Bree had hardly heard her words right then, but she’d always dreamed them the same way afterward.

  “Three princes lived by the sea, mighty knights in the time of the Crusades,” Jessica went on. “The eldest was a warrior, the second a sorcerer and the third left to seek his fortune in the Holy Land. In time the third brother returned with a fortune in gemstones from the East.”

  Bree was lying limp on the floor, dripping with sweat. She was dizzy, the room dark and close, her only anchors the hard floor beneath her shoulder blades and the lifeline of Jessica’s hand. She licked suddenly dry lips. “I know this tale. The older brothers killed him for the gems. And then they went to war, one against the other. Kyle told me. It’s the story of Vidon and Marcari. He’s descended from the warrior king of Vidon.”

  “So he is.” Jessica kept stroking her hair as another contraction passed. “The two brothers split their father’s lands between them and made two kingdoms, side by side.”

  “Why did you say the king of Marcari was a sorcerer?” Bree asked, trying to stay with the story instead of the huge, sucking hole of pain.

  “Old legends say that both kings recruited an army of half-demon warriors to fight for them. Vampires and wolf-men, and the fey lords on their winged steeds of shining white. These strangers were mighty and mysterious, loyal but fierce beyond the ways of men. The slaughter was terrible.

  “The King of Vidon blamed the strangers for killing so many humans, and sought to murder his unearthly warriors. In contrast, the King of Marcari, knowing he had given the order to fight, blamed himself. He offered protection to the warriors against retribution, and they swore fealty to his throne and called themselves La Compagnie des Morts.”

  The Company of the Dead. Kyle had said the stories of the mythical Company were fairy tales meant to frighten naughty little princes. And yet, he would never give her details. She had the impression they still gave him nightmares.

  Jessica went on. “Outraged, the King of Vidon made his human knights swear to purge all magic from the world. The words of their oath still say that, to this very day.”

  This seemed a bizarre story to tell a woman in labor, and Bree had started to grow afraid. Helpless and in pain, she’d prayed for the ambulance to come.

  And then dream-Jessica said something new. Bree didn’t remember this part. She was adding things, her brain mashing together reality and fantasy.

  The woman leaned close, her eyes sparkling from within. “The real truth is that the Knights of Vidon want to stop the wedding. If Amelie marries Kyle, then the war will finally be over, and they won’t have an excuse to fight the Company.”

  “Why are you telling me this now?” Bree asked in her dream.

  Jessica smiled down at her, holding Bree’s hand in both of hers. “I’ve given you the most important pieces of the puzzle. Think about what you see right under your nose, Bree.”

  Bree jerked awake just as the sign to Eureka, California, flashed by, bright in the morning sun. She blinked, disoriented by the dream—and especially to that bit at the end. That was new.

  What you see right under your nose. Puzzle pieces? There were so many: Mark, Jessica’s murder, the long flight to keep Jonathan safe. None of them fit together.

  “Are you awake?” Mark began a few moments later.

  “Yes.”

  “I know you don’t want to talk about this, but...” His words trailed off, dying a slow death.

  “But?” Bree prompted, rubbing her eyes. Weird dream. She studied Mark, thinking again how he reminded her of Jessica. They had something in common, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Her subconscious groped for an answer, but came up with nothing but fairy tales.

  He slid his sunglasses on. “To do a proper diagnosis, I should know the medical history of Jonathan’s parents.” His tone was careful. “Congenital diseases, that sort of thing. You never gave me that information at the hospital.”

  Weary, Bree closed her eyes. Jonathan was wide-awake now, playing bulldozer with his dinosaur and driving her slowly insane with roars and screeches. Insane, but delighted because he was full of energy like a four-year-old was supposed to be. Whatever Mark had given the boy had knocked him into a sleep so deep it had frightened her half to death, but now he seemed almost normal. She’d forgotten how active he could be.

  Mark didn’t give up. “Some conditions run in families, like hemophilia. Some members of the royal family of Russia weren’t able to stop bleeding if they were injured.”

  Royal family? Was he working up to the Prince-Kyle-as-baby-daddy discussion again? She could hear it in the careful neutrality of his tone. “Kyle isn’t the father,” she snapped. “I told you that.”

  He gripped the steering wheel as if he meant to crush it. “This is important.”

  She glared at him. “I know that. I’m telling the truth.”

  He was silent for a long moment. “Do you know the medical history of Jonathan’s father?”

  “Some. He had asthma.”

  He gave her a surprised look. At least, he looked surprised around the edges of his dark glasses. Maybe it was because she was overtired, but her temper snapped. “What? Did you expect me to say I don’t know which one of my thousand lovers got me pregnant?”

  Mark shook his head. “No, of course not.”

  “Are you sure about that?”

  “Don’t assume what I may or may not think.”

  She knew she was being unreasonable, but couldn’t stop herself. “Why not? When the paparazzi palooza hit, I called everyone I knew in the media to set the record straight—and, hey, I’m a film mogul’s daughter. I know them all. No one, no one, wanted to believe I was anything but Kyle’s mistress. It’s hard to plead chastity with a baby in your arms.”

  “I’m sorry.” He sounded more angry than sorry.

  “The truth is that Kyle and I were just good friends and neither one of us wanted to wreck that by falling into bed. We. Never. Did. It.”

  Mark’s jaw bunched, as if he were clenching his teeth. “I suppose it was easier for the media to believe you were after fame and money.”

  “Fame is a nuisance and my parents are already scary rich. And Kyle would have given me whatever I needed, whether Jonathan was his boy or not. What I wanted was to be left alone to be a normal mother.”

  He turned to her with a frown. “Surely there were people who could have stepped in when things went bad. Why didn’t you go to Kyle for help?”

  “Jessica was dead and, from what I could tell, I was next. I wasn’t going to lead the killers to Kyle’s doorstep or take them home so they could murder my folks. My family makes my head explode sometimes, but there are limits to what I’ll do to them.”

  Her attempt at humor seemed to sail over his head. “What about Jonathan’s dad?” he demanded.

  She didn’t want to talk about Adam. It made her too sad. “He died before Jonathan was born, and he had no family to speak of. It would have been easier if there had been loving grandparents somewhere in the wings, but there weren’t.”

  “Not your mom and dad?”

  Bree wanted to laugh but remembered wishing she could see them last night. A fleeting impulse. A bad idea. “My father lives in the fantasy world of his movies, and my mother’s idea of kid-friendly is an illustrated edition of Tortious and the Hare: Ten Lessons for Little Lawyers of the Future.”

  “They raised you. You turned out okay.”

  She turned her face to the car window. “Barely.”

  She didn’t want to talk about the details, like the time she hid in the bedroom closet, her hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her crying. Not all of her nannies had been Mary Poppins. And then later, she’d hidden in the same
closet because of the men. She’d had a relationship with that closet.

  The only person who’d known about that was Adam.

  Poor Adam. She’d only been his girlfriend a few months. They’d been friends forever. She’d already known it wasn’t going to work when he’d headed off to the beach that last day and never come home again. Music and surfing. That was his life, ended at twenty-three.

  “When I found out I was pregnant,” she went on, “I made up my mind to put my baby first. I wasn’t going to raise him like one of those purse-sized Chihuahuas, an accessory that’s in one season, gone the next.”

  “Okay.”

  “I didn’t know how to do it. I’d never lived like a regular person. Not really. So I put some distance between myself and everything I’d known and concentrated on building a life I could control. Something stable and small, a little bit at a time. A job. An apartment. Groceries. Normal people things.” She looked out the car window at the bright morning. “That worked really well, as you can see.”

  He let out a long breath. “You tried to do a good thing.”

  The words were simple, but they meant more than flowery promises. She’d had enough of those in the past, and they hadn’t amounted to much. “I’m just so afraid of disappointing Jonathan. I don’t want him to grow up feeling the way I did, that the person in charge just isn’t up to the job. It would be better not to have Jonathan think of me at all.”

  I screw up more often than not. I never learned how to keep people close. Not my parents, not Adam, not Jessica. Bree thought of the man sitting next to her—angry, bossy and an incredibly good kisser. He was doing so much for her, and she wanted to do so much for him. Wipe that scowl off his face, for starters. But it was no good. I’m trying so hard to live up to the needs of one small boy, there’s just no room for anyone else. I’d just make a mess of it.

  Mark was quiet for a long time. They were in the suburbs of Eureka, traffic noises a steady accompaniment to the dinosaur rampaging in the backseat.

  “Time for breakfast,” he said.

  Surprise made her turn away from the window. This was the first time she hadn’t had to remind him about food. He never seemed to eat more than a few bites, although he hardly looked starving. She wondered how he maintained an athlete’s build on nothing but black coffee.

  He pulled into a diner and switched off the engine. “Jonathan will never think you didn’t try your best for him. Neither will I.”

  Bree struggled with his bluntness, not sure how to reply. “I don’t know if I can give him what he needs.”

  “You will. I’ll do everything I can to help.”

  “You’ve kept us out of harm’s way.”

  “Yes.” A tiny thread of satisfaction crept into the word. “That much I can do.”

  The conversation left her confused, as if she were still half stuck in her dream. These strangers were mighty and mysterious, loyal but fierce beyond the ways of men. The words from Jessica’s story fit him all too well. Think about what you see.

  So she did. Mark was a doctor, but he was also an operative chased by armed men. He lived in the remote woods and treated cougars as if they were naughty kittens. He’d kissed her as though she was rare and precious, but had no trouble taking Jessica’s book without batting an eye. Mighty and mysterious was a good description for Mark Winspear.

  He gave her a sly smile, as if he could read her thoughts. She suddenly understood what it meant to be fascinated, in the most primitive sense of the word. Bree swallowed, irritated, grateful, afraid and wanting him all at the same time. Heat crept through her belly, making a mess of whatever coherent thoughts she had left.

  He’s one of the puzzle pieces. And try as she might, she still wasn’t seeing the pattern.

  Chapter 15

  “Waffles?” Mark suggested as they sat down in a vinyl-covered booth. “I think those were promised before your breakfast plans were rudely interrupted by gunfire.”

  Bree reached for her coffee. She had that horrible, groggy feeling that came from sleeping in fits and snatches, but the hot liquid rolled over her tongue like a blessing. The diner was everything it should be: cheerful, homey and redolent with the scent of baking and bacon. A real family place, with high chairs and a kid’s menu.

  “Can we afford to stop that long?” Bree had to ask, even if her stomach growled at the thought of hot food.

  “Everyone needs a rest.” Mark pulled off his sunglasses and raised an eyebrow. “And I’m sure the T. rex is very fond of hunting blueberries.”

  “Rowr!” Jonathan replied, walking the toy up Mark’s arm. He suffered it patiently.

  Bree remembered that Mark had children somewhere in his past. Two sons. Would they look like him, with clean, handsome features and olive skin? Where were they? Who was their mother? The questions threatened to choke her, but the last time she’d asked, he’d given her a look that nearly stopped her heart with its cold refusal.

  She watched the muscles in his lean forearms as he helped Jonathan with the menu, then with his orange juice. She wanted to leap in and do it herself, but there was absolutely no need. They even looked a bit like father and son, both with dark hair and dark eyes. Did Mark see his own boys when he looked at her son? The thought of it made her catch her breath.

  “How far will we get today?” she asked, hoping to distract her unruly thoughts.

  Mark looked around, so she did, too. All the nearby booths were empty. She should have checked before she asked the question. Just like she should have checked before calling her dad. I’m okay as long as I’m on my own. When other people start getting involved, I get emotional and stupid.

  Mark removed the dinosaur from where it had strayed atop the sugar packets and returned it to its master. “It’s about an hour and forty minutes to Leggett. The road we’re on turns into the Pacific Coast Highway and will take us down to San Francisco. That’s about six hours straight through.”

  Somewhere along the line, he’d stopped being so grumpy. It had happened so gradually, she hadn’t noticed. Maybe he hadn’t, either. “Let me take some of the driving,” she said. “You’ve gone all night.”

  He looked amused but nodded. The waitress came and took their order. Waffles for Bree and Jonathan, a bloody-rare breakfast steak for Mark.

  “Where are you headed then? Out for a family holiday?” the woman asked cheerfully.

  “Sure,” said Bree when Mark looked vaguely panicked. “The weather’s great for it.”

  “Oh, yeah, look at all that sun. Time to work on your tan.” She pocketed her pen and hurried off.

  Mark shifted in his seat, muttering to himself. “Tan. Family holiday. Great fiery hells.”

  “What?” Bree demanded, pretending she hadn’t heard.

  He looked guilty but was saved from having to answer. The waitress returned with a cartoon of a magic castle to color and a handful of crayons. Jonathan picked up a brown one and got busy coloring in the stone towers.

  “He has amazing focus,” Mark commented in his doctor voice.

  “He always has.”

  “Good motor coordination. Well above average for his age. Have you had his hearing and eyesight tested?”

  Her stomach tightened. “Not recently. Why? Is there something wrong?”

  “No.” He picked up a green crayon and twirled it in his fingers. “I suspect they are advanced, as well.”

  “Explain.”

  His brow furrowed. “I can’t. Not yet. But it’s almost as if when he stopped speaking, other parts of his brain, like small motor coordination, developed beyond his chronological age.”

  Bree felt cold. “I thought you said this was a blood disease.”

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t.” His finely sculpted mouth turned down at the corners. “But it’s got an unusual symptomology.”r />
  A sick feeling washed through her, and she shifted in her seat. She didn’t want to admit it, but Mark was right. Now Jonathan was coloring madly, the pink tip of his tongue clamped between his teeth. He was filling the sky with blue, his hand moving at lightning speed. Yet the crayon never strayed beyond the cartoon’s border, leaving even, smooth strokes. Bree doubted she could do as good a job.

  Nothing she did could erase the paleness of his skin, or the dark circles under his eyes. He was too thin, his little arms reminding her of the hollow bones of birds. How did this happen? What did I miss? When was it that my attention wavered, and this disease swept in and took my baby?

  “Hey.” Mark reached across the table, catching her hand. His skin was cool as he squeezed her fingers. “We’re working on this, remember? I said I would make a diagnosis, and I will. We’re going to solve this.”

  “I hope so.” His touch broke through her defenses, and her eyes prickled. She closed them before tears could fall. He didn’t need to see her pain. That pushed people away, or else made them want to rescue you. She was attracted to him, but didn’t want to be his project. That would diminish her. She pulled her hand free, keeping her gaze on the table.

  Why don’t you give in and let him take charge? her inner voice coaxed. Are you just too proud?

  Probably that was true. She’d fought to stand on her own two feet instead of taking handouts from her parents, and wasn’t about to backslide. But it was more than that. She wasn’t going to relax until Jonathan was safe and well. Until then, she wasn’t taking any risks, physical or emotional.

  Breakfast arrived. This time it was Mark who cut up the food on Jonathan’s plate, patiently redirecting the boy’s attention to the meal whenever his interest strayed to the crayons, or the dinosaur, or the other people now filling up the diner. The boy’s appetite came and went these days, and with it his ability to sit still while everyone else ate. Mark watched over him without complaint.