Born in Blood (The Sentinels #1)(73)

But he was a master of manipulating the emotions of others. He easily recognized when he was being finessed.

Lies wrapped in truths.

“They attacked?”

Flames engulfed the images, the distant sound of screams filling the tomb.

“The oracles were the first destroyed, burned in their own temple. Next were the witches.” The flames lowered to reveal the inner temple where the robed figures were being led into underground tunnels by armed warriors. “The Sentinels realized we were on the brink of extinction so they collected as many of our people as they could save and scattered them around the world.” The images began to shift, flickering from one isolated abbey to another. “We remained in hiding for centuries.”

“They created the monasteries,” Zak murmured.

“Yes, as well as the pathways so our people could remain connected.”

Ah. That made sense. No one spoke of the origins of the high-bloods, or the mysterious connection between the monks.

Not that he thought for a minute that he was getting the full story.

“What do you want from me?” he demanded.

The images abruptly returned to the earlier battle, this time revealing a robed figure standing at the top of the temple with a chalice held above his head, blood dripping down his arms from the deep wounds in his wrists.

The same image that was etched in the hieroglyphs in the upper temple, he recognized with a tiny jolt of shock.

Only he was the one holding the chalice.

“Sokar was our leader,” the voices hissed.

Zak didn’t need to ask if Sokar was the body in the sarcophagus.

He knew it beyond a shadow of a doubt.

“A necromancer?” he instead demanded.

“Yes.” The image pulled back to reveal several robed figures standing behind him, their arms raised with the same wounds on their wrists.

“He, along with his trusted disciples, remained behind to ensure the rest could escape,” the voices explained. “His sacrifice saved hundreds of high-bloods, but has left us trapped between the world of the living and the world of the dead.”

The images abruptly ended, the room once again filled with shadows.

Zak contained his flare of frustration. He had a thousand questions. There was so much of the high-blood history that was hidden, or even lost in the mists of time.

But he wasn’t a fool. He’d been allowed to see precisely what the strange voices wanted him to see and no more.

He couldn’t fully trust anything he might be shown in this place.

“You still haven’t told me why I’m here.”

The answer came without hesitation. “The imprisonment of Sokar has stolen the connection to the dead that was once the birthright of the necromancers. We have long waited for one to be born who could return what was lost.”

“And you believe I am the one?”

“We shall soon discover.”

That wasn’t precisely the assurance that Zak was hoping to hear, but he bit back his demands for a more definitive promise of ultimate glory.

“You will give me the power to raise the dead?”

“Open the gates,” the voices whispered. “And the power will be yours.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Without Fane’s intimidating presence to scatter the gawkers, Callie was prepared for the avid stares as Duncan led her through the police station.

Some curious. Some hostile. Most wary. As if convinced she was some dangerous demon who worshipped the devil beneath the full moon and raised zombies on the weekends.

Moving past the large room filled with desks, filing cabinets, the usual office equipment, as well as suspicious cops, Callie kept her chin held high.

She wasn’t going to apologize for who she was.

Muttering his opinion of cops who had bigger guns than brains, Duncan put a possessive hand on the lower curve of her back as he urged her toward the back of the room.

“Ignore the idiots,” he said, loud enough for his words to be overheard.

Watching as one of the younger cops deliberately wrapped his fingers around the grip of his service revolver, she smiled wryly and murmured, “Easier said than done.”

Duncan glared at the cop until the younger man flushed and turned away.

“I could shoot them if you want,” he offered.

“That seems a little extreme.”

His glare swept around the silent room. “Not to me.”

A door was suddenly thrown open and a small, dark-haired woman appeared.

“If you all have time to stand around scratching your balls then there’s a stack of cold case files in the basement I can start handing out,” she announced, her hands planted on her hips as she watched the cops scurry to look busy. “No? Good.” She turned her attention to Duncan and Callie. “This way.”

Callie hid a smile as they were led out of the room and down a short hallway. This had to be the infamous Chief Molinari. Somehow she’d thought the woman would be six feet tall with horns and a tail.

Not that her diminutive size made her any less intimidating.

In fact, she reminded Callie of the Mave. Stern, frighteningly competent, and ruthless when necessary.

Keeping his hand on her lower back, Duncan urged her closer to his side as they followed the chief down the hall.

“You said the man asked for me?” Duncan demanded.