Bound. Jen Colly
form, moving freely without being seen, even among his own kind. The only downfall of using Spirit was the chilled air it created around him. It would tip off the Guardians to his presence. Backing away from Morley, he tucked his invisible self into the far corner of the cell.
The Guardian glanced left and right as he sped through, no doubt rushing his turn to check on the prisoners. He’d just passed the cell when his steps faltered in mid-stride. He backtracked, leaned closer, and studied the man on the floor.
“Quint! Morley’s dead!” He yanked the keys off his belt, fumbled through them. The cell door swung open just as Quint came racing down the narrow aisle, his freckled face flushed.
“It’s the same knife. Red rose on a white hilt. It’s him,” the Guardian whispered, glancing over his shoulder. “But he’s never killed in the dungeons.”
“Or slit a throat.” Quint motioned the Guardian into silence and brought a radio to his lips. “Captain? We have a situation in the jail.”
The radio buzzed briefly before the captain’s steady voice broke through. “Go ahead. What is it?”
“Cancel the execution. It’s already happened.”
“What?” the captain roared. “Who killed him?”
Quint stared down at Morley’s corpse. “I don’t know, but he was killed with a very familiar knife.”
Ten seconds of silence suddenly gave way to the captain’s controlled voice. “I’m about to enter a council meeting with an unexpected guest from Balinese. I can’t leave. Handle it, Quint.”
“Yes, sir.” Quint clipped the radio to his hip. “Seal the jail. No one goes in or out, including Guardians. I want a full head count first, Guardians and prisoners, then a thorough search.”
For nearly half an hour Keir watched the Guardians methodically check the jail from cell to cell, top to bottom. The captain’s second in command possessed an altogether entertaining tenacity when thrown into action. Keir hated to walk away, but the lady waited.
In his invisible state, he sent Quint a mock salute, then turned, moving through the jail without giving his path much thought. He’d been here time and again, and he’d be back. Blocked walls, iron mazes, and wasting life. Home, sweet home.
Keir skirted along the walls, keeping the cooler air of his Spirit clear of the Guardians. Often that chill could be felt nearly two feet away from his location. Being captured was not part of his plan. Best not to take the chance.
The stairs carried him away from the prison to freely search for Morley’s intended target. Galbraith was an oddly constructed city, the cylindrical structure diving deep into the ground with a dozen levels. Originally designed to separate nobility from the lower classes, it remained true to its purpose. The layout made finding Lady Arianne a simple task.
As Keir had just eliminated the need to execute Morley, the lady had no reason to make an appearance at the arena. Tonight being Monday, he scratched the chapel off his list. It wasn’t mealtime, which excluded the dining hall. By process of elimination, if she wasn’t in the council room, she’d be home.
Still cloaked in Spirit, Keir paused not far from the closed and guarded doors of the council room. Relentless bickering seeped through the doors. He cringed and turned away. Her home waited two floors above.
Chapter 2
Galbraith
He’d studied her, knew her habits. Out of the public eye and away from a herd of councilmen, the captain was her only companion. Lingering near the far wall in Spirit, Keir watched the doorknob turn. He had been right. She’d come home. Captain Wolfe Rye held open the door and stared down at Lady Arianne from his impressive height as she breezed into her home.
Sliding the lock into place, the captain turned to her, scowling. “You better know what the hell you’re doing.”
“You want to play the father figure? Fine.” She spun around and glared at him, her perfect pearl earrings swinging under the quick change in momentum. “Oh, wise one, what should I have done differently?”
Wolfe retreated to the blush pink settee, sank down into the cushions. Eyes squeezed shut, the captain let his head fall back. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.”
“Oh, yes you are.” Arianne tipped her chin up. “You have that I know best tone.”
The captain gave his thick, short beard a choppy scratch. “Listen, I’m not saying you did anything wrong, but you’ve got to stop and think before you make these kind of changes.”
Keir had heard enough. If they planned on bickering all night, he might as well show himself. Releasing his Spirit, he appeared in the lady’s flowered pastel chair, comfortably reclined and not a dozen feet from her.
“Leaping before you look again, Lady?”
Arianne squeaked and jumped back. Captain Rye reached for his gun. Recognition lit the captain’s eyes, and instead of his sidearm, he grabbed a pink pillow and whipped it at him.
“Keir!” the captain bellowed. “You’re an ass, you know that?”
“I’m only keeping you on your toes.” He scooped up the pillow and tossed it back to the settee.
“I hate your surprises.” The lady pressed her hand to her stomach. Then, as if she’d just seen him for the first time, lifted an eyebrow and inspected him from head to toe. “You look rather lowbrow.”
“Not a fan?” He combed his fingers through his wild and wavy hair to regain some order. “It’s not like we’ll be seen together.”
“I suppose not,” she relented.
He shrugged. “Seemed appropriate for a prison visit.”
Her eyes flashed wide. “Wolfe told me that the assassin died in prison, but… It was you?”
“You didn’t tell her?” he asked Wolfe.
“No. We’ve been busy. The how of his death was just a detail at the time.”
No reason to deny the facts. “Yeah. My hand, my knife.”
Her head tipped and she glared at him. She was mad. “Was it necessary to slit the throat of my prisoner?”
Keir stilled. He’d been prepared for this fight, and was not about to back down to the indomitable lady of Galbraith. “The man tried to kill you, Lady. He deserved far worse than what I had time for.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“He knew me. If I’d stuck a dagger in him and walked away, he might have had a chance to talk to your Guardians, and if he told them I still lived, your Guardians would hunt me down. I’d be executed, and you’d be dead in less than a week without me around to save your hide.” A smile twitched at the corner of his lips. He’d left her no room to argue about his methods. He was right, and they both knew it. “But enough about me. How was your meeting?”
“Eventful,” Wolfe supplied, but backed off when the lady’s icy gaze landed on him.
“Demons may roam Paris. One demon entered Balinese and attacked the man who trains their Guardians. Then it was brought to our attention that the man who had Spirited into my home and attempted to assassinate me had been killed, his throat slit in a locked and guarded cell. Three impossible events. The council should have been utter chaos, arguing over how best to protect our own city from the demons outside, or from the assassins Spiriting about. Not one of them acknowledged the danger. They listened to the representative from Balinese, nodded their heads, and quickly moved on to their own personal agendas. Skeffington flat out asked our guest if he would be interested in marrying me to create a bond between Galbraith and Balinese.” She took a long, deep breath, a quirk that seemed to calm her nerves and end her runaway speeches. “I dissolved the council.”
“Interesting.”