The Darkness in Dreams (Enforcer's Legacy, #1)(77)
At that point, One regained control over the Northern lands of Africa. She held those lands in trust for Two, waiting for her return.
But Two had been gone for over twelve centuries. Her stay in the place known as The Away was said to be indefinite.
As for her compound, One’s sympathies were rooted in the exoticism of the Moors. She had adopted their architecture as her own, and a tall crenelated wall surrounded inner terraces leading to the two-story villa. The villa was built at the top of the hill to take advantage of the cooling summer breeze and to hold the high ground. Throughout the centuries, wars had been fought on these lands, armies decimated. Just as frequently, the gardens had been filled with women in elegant gowns. Men, too, some in whatever constituted the formal clothes for a particular century, others dressed in the ceremonial garb that ancient custom required.
Christan walked up the wide terraced steps, missing the weight of a sword strapped to his back. He moved with fluid grace, no energy wasted. As an Enforcer, he was more than comfortable with any lethal show of power. In this modern world, though, immortals had grown more paranoid about social media. Christan conformed to their preferences and the weapons he carried were less obvious.
A warrior stood at the heavy wooden entrance doors, dressed in the dark suit of the security detail. Sunglasses concealed his eyes. The man gave a deferential nod and ushered the enforcer inside. Christan walked the path he’d walked the day before, to the elegantly appointed room, highly secure. It was the room in which One conducted her most sensitive conversations.
Sliding into the shadows, Christan took his assigned position. It was against the wall and out of camera range. The video conference was in progress—he hadn’t been late; the two Calata members were always impatient. Three’s image was on the monitor, regal and dressed in white. Christan remembered how she’d been drawn to the Scandinavian persona, although not because it suited her. Three had once taken a Viking lover and had fond memories. Christan wondered if she’d kept the bear pelts.
Leander was also present. Christan nodded toward One’s enforcer leaning against the opposite wall, then glanced at the monitor again. Phillipe was now standing by Three’s side, and Christan’s attention sharpened.
“How many girls, One?” Three was demanding.
“Too many,” snapped the woman who was Three’s opposite. She stood five-foot four unless she was wearing four-inch heels, which she was, in a blood red color that matched the silk suit. A cloud of chestnut-colored hair shimmered around her shoulders. “And they’re not just your girls, Three, they’re attacking mine as well.”
“I’m sure Leander can deal with it.”
“Yes, unless your enforcer gets there first. Why did you send him into my territory without asking permission?”
“Because those were my girls,” Three said sharply. “And if we’d waited for your permission how many would have died?”
“You can’t turn someone like him loose without any control, not in this age of social media. Were you intending to expose what we do?”
“He was discreet.”
“He left a damn mess in that alley like he always does.”
“What Christan did was necessary,” Three snapped. “And if you weren’t so worried about the messes, you might have fewer of them. Have the men in the alley been identified?” Both women knew the alchemy had been designed to eliminate difficult explanations. A warrior in animal form would revert to his human body at the moment of death. Fingerprints and facial recognition technology would identify them.
One turned to Leander and flipped her hand impatiently. He stepped forward to hand her a file. Quickly, she read the details.
“Freelancers, some of Seven’s discards,” she said, tossing the file aside. “They’re growing bored while he’s on his walkabout.”
“When was the last time you talked to Seven?”
“Years ago, but he never communicated much. I deal with one of his assistants in Sydney.”
“Caitryn?”
“Yes.” One looked back at the scattered file, picked up a single sheet. “These warriors are well-known. They’re paid mercenaries of the lowest sort, not loyal to anyone.” One flicked the paper and it flew across the room. “You really should have anticipated that when you created them.”
“I recall the Calata being quite specific as to what they wanted,” Three said, and Christan watched as Phillipe turned his head and offered Three council on how not to inflame the situation. She tried to restrain herself. “Mercenaries would be a problem no matter what—you know most mercenaries are immortals and not warriors.”
“Beside the point,” One countered as she turned away. “Why is anyone using mercenaries to attack these girls?”
“At first, we thought this came from the Calata, trying to break the Agreement. Now we think it might have something to do with Two.”
“If this is about Two, why aren’t they attacking in North Africa?”
“You know her connection to the Etruscans.” And Two’s connection to Four, whose territory had once encompassed Italy. The Calata member had been protecting an Etruscan village when he was killed. The entire human population had been massacred, a horrendous crime, motivating the Calata’s desire for self-defense. Three had been asked to create warriors as a solution. Two had been crucial in providing the magic.