Calabi Chronicles: Bloodstone Read online

  “No, no, no, no, no,” Aideen yelled in the storeroom. She crawled into one corner, closed her eyes, and pressed her hands to her ears in a futile attempt to stop sights and sounds that existed only in her mind. “A dream. Just a dream. Snap out of it, Aideen. Goddamn it, snap out of it!”

  Slowly, the vision’s intensity faded until she was able to block it completely. She looked around the storeroom and remembered the mess she had left in the bathroom the night before. She glanced at the clock and saw that the store would open in less than an hour.

  “Fuck,” she swore and grabbed the smock. She unhooked the hip pack and stuffed the Bloodstone, diary, and jewels back into the secret safe before she dashed through the storefront to the bathroom where her clothes still waited in a semi-dry heap on the floor.

  Dressed in the damp clothes, she stepped into the storefront just in time to hear someone knocking at the glass door. It was a young man, slightly older than her, his expression bathed in impatience. Her gaze lingered on him just long enough to take in the impeccable black hair and the expensive tailored suit with its tucks and darts that hinted at a powerful swimmer’s body—broad-shouldered and thin waisted. Visions of Cenn still plagued her and the man’s visual perfection barely registered.

  “Half an hour still,” she yelled through the glass and pointed to the clock on the wall.

  The rapping became more insistent and he mouthed the word “now”.

  Aideen waved him off and went back into the storeroom. She looked at the worn vinyl couch against the wall safe and smiled. Hell, she didn’t need to open the store any time soon. The suit out front could knock all day. She would schedule an appointment with her insurer for an appraisal of the book this afternoon. Its sale could, quite possibly, eliminate the financial need for her to ever open the shop again. She reached for her address book, her hand hesitating on the drawer pull.

  “Don’t be stupid, Aideen, girl,” she chided herself. “It’s nothing but a moldy old book that’s given you a bad dream.” Still, she couldn’t bring herself to open the drawer and retrieve the insurer’s phone number.

  The shop’s phone, ringing from the storefront, stopped her internal debate, effectively wiping away the money signs that were dancing lewdly in front of her. Avoiding any eye contact with the man who was still outside her store, she picked up the phone and gave a brusque greeting. “Dublin Arcanum.”

  “Miss Godwin, open the door.”

  It was a man’s voice on the other end. The words were lightly accented with a southeastern lilt and Aideen slowly turned to look at the man standing on the other side of the shop’s glass door. He held a cell phone to his ear and the impatience that had colored his cheeks was tinged an angrier red.

  “Why would I do that, Mister…” She let the question fade and stepped over to the glass. Her gaze moved over him in quick appraisal. With the distance between them bridged, she could see that his eyes were a dark gray that matched his designer clothes and his black hair flashed blue when the light hit it. She tried to remember if she had seen him at an estate sale, perhaps even Sunday’s sale. She examined his face more closely, becoming lost in the sensuous mouth and cloud-gray eyes. She blinked, breaking the spell.

  “Toland,” the man answered. “You’ll do it because you have stolen property in your shop.”

  “I’m afraid I have no idea what you’re talking about Mr. Toland,” she said, but her concern betrayed her and she glanced back at the storeroom door.

  His gaze followed hers to the door and he flashed a predatory smile. “I believe you do know what I’m talking about—your purchase from the Meyrick estate.”

  “As you said, I have purchased something from the Meyrick estate.” She stepped forward, steeling herself against the magic of his dangerous smile and mysterious gaze. “That’s the opposite of stealing.”

  “I understand your position, Miss Godwin—”

  “Aideen,” she interrupted. Her hand hovered next to the deadbolt and he glanced down, a hungry anticipation flashing across his features before Aideen took a nervous step away from the door.

  “Aideen,” he agreed hurriedly, his hand touching the glass in an effort to summon her back. “As I said, I understand your position, but the property you purchased was stolen from my ancestral lands nine years ago.”

  “Where?” she asked and returned to the glass. The eyes, there’s something about his eyes, she thought as she searched his expression for any sign of deception.

  “Kenmare,” he answered. “Please, let me in so we can discuss this privately.”

  “Who are you?” she asked. His identity flitted at the periphery of understanding and she quickly jerked her head to the side in an attempt to catch a glimpse of his shadow self. The ghost of a dream flickered across the man’s features but she shattered the image with a sharp puff of air. Just a dream, she reminded herself.

  “I told you, Miss Godwin,” he said and his suave voice once again grew irritated at the confusion and resistance he saw in her. “My name is Toland, Kean Toland. And what you purchased from the auction was stolen from my ancestors’ graves.”

  The small hairs along the back of her neck became prickled and she nervously rubbed them down. She shook her head at him and tried to turn but his presence commanded that she stay. She gave him a hard, appraising look but found no solution that would calm the vortex of questions that vied for her attention. Kean, Ancient, Cenn…

  “Aideen, open the door.”

  “No,” she half-stated, half-pleaded. “This is something for our solicitors to resolve.”

  Kean pressed against the glass, every fiber of his body ordering her to open the door. “Aideen, you have no idea of the power of those items that waits to be unleashed or the forces that seek it. Forces that will stop at nothing.”

  “No.” This time her voice was firm when she denied him.

  “Please!” He banged his entreaty against the glass. “You’re in danger, Aideen.”

  “The only danger I see, Mister Toland, is from you,” Aideen responded and turned abruptly from him. She replaced the phone on its receiver and walked on shaking legs back into the storeroom. With the storeroom door shut, she collapsed against the workbench, her body trembling. Only a dream, she told herself over and over. Only a dream.

  Chapter Two

  Kean paced in front of the Dublin Arcanum as Aideen disappeared into the storeroom. He glanced at his watch and then slammed an open palm against the door’s metal frame. There was little chance she would open the store now that he had frightened her and, surely, Donald Meyrick would know by now to whom his uncle’s estate had sold the Bloodstone. It would not be long before one of Meyrick’s henchmen, or even the man himself, showed up to forcibly take the stone from her.

  “Dammit!” he shouted and hit the door’s frame a second time. He’d nearly had her. Standing there—her pale, luminous face almost pressed against the glass, her green-eyed gaze captured by his words—she had almost opened the door. But something had risen up in her, breaking the spell he was weaving with his words and motions.

  Looking up and down the street at the unopened shops, he shook his head. No, she hadn’t broken the spell, he just hadn’t cast it well enough. Whatever Gerald had been grooming his daughter to become, she was just a shopkeeper now. And he was just a man whose heart she had carelessly and unknowingly scarred a decade ago. Still, when she had stared straight into him with her sharp gaze, he was sure she had read his soul. He ran a hand roughly across his chin while he surveyed the street one last time. A certain ease settled over him, calming his frenetic heartbeat as he realized what he had to do next. Aideen may have turned her back on her birthright, but he couldn’t leave her as an innocent pawn in Meyrick’s dangerous game.

  Kean quick-stepped to his car, a sleek, black Jaguar XK8, turning off his alarm system and unlocking the door as he did so. Inside the vehicle, he opened the glove box and pulled out a Desert Eagle handgun. Its titanium body threw off a silver glare in the early
morning light and he shoved it beneath his jacket, fastening the holster clip to his belt. Kean put the Jag in reverse and pulled from the parking space in a wide arc. Turning left onto a side street, he found the alley that ran behind the row of shops that held Aideen’s. At the alley’s mouth was a small white truck with the store’s name on it. He drove past it and parked at the end of the alley on the far side of a dumpster. Getting out of the car, he reached under the seat, from where he pulled a slim leather case. There was an electronic blip as he reactivated the car’s security system and then he spun around, scanning for any shop owners on the way into their stores.

  Satisfied that no one had seen him, he walked to the alley door marked Dublin Arcanum. Taking a deep breath, Kean unzipped the case and pulled a set of lock picks from it. Ah, Gerald, he sighed. Forgive me, old friend, but I’m about to scare the hell out of your daughter.

  Kean cupped his palm against the metal door and listened. A muted scraping noise, like something being dragged across a cement floor, reached him. He slipped the first pick in and hoped the noise would disguise the sound of the lock’s tumbler falling into place. The deadbolt slid back and he heard a sharp cry followed by more scraping, louder than before. For an instant, he thought of shooting the second lock off but slid the pick into it, no longer concerned with working quietly. The lock sprang open and he crashed against the door, a slim chain breaking from the pressure.

  Aideen was running for the storeroom door when he stumbled in front of her. Her eyes went wide, darting in the direction of the open door and then behind him. She hesitated half a second too long and Kean was upon her. He clamped one hand over her mouth and wrestled her to the floor. With his foot, he reached out and kicked the door shut.

  He pinned Aideen’s arms to her sides with his legs, her smaller frame buried beneath his. Kean shifted his weight onto his heels and felt her relieved intake of breath. Fear dilated her pupils and his cheeks reddened in shame.

  “Miss Godwin,” he started hesitantly. “Aideen, I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth.”

  He started to remove his hand but forced it back over her lips as she drew a heavy breath. Kean rotated his wrist until he could read the dial of his watch. There were only a few minutes until her store was supposed to open. He needed to get the stone and get out of there. With his free hand, he reached under his jacket and pulled out the handgun. He rested it alongside his thigh and gave her a hard stare. She blinked at him, her eyes starting to water. Slowly, he removed his hand from her mouth and coiled her long blonde hair around his fist. He rose, gently pulling her with him to the door. He reset the top and bottom lock and then let his gaze sweep the small storeroom. His heart rate spiked as he noticed a cheap vinyl couch a few centimeters from an elaborately paneled wall. That couch, he smiled, had been the scraping sound. She hadn’t finished replacing it before she bolted for the storeroom door.

  His grip still tight in Aideen’s hair, he guided her to the couch. “Pull it out,” he commanded. She resisted and he raised his arm until she was standing on her tiptoes. “Pull it out, Aideen.”

  “Shit,” he swore under his breath when she still refused to move. Reholstering his pistol, he kept her pulled taut at arm’s length and dragged the couch from the wall. He looked at the seemingly random geometric shapes that paneled the wall. Turning to her, he caught a smirk lurking in her green eyes. The smirk faltered as he smiled back at her. “Your father built this panel for you, didn’t he, Aideen?”

  When she didn’t answer, he rotated his belt until the gun was centered at his back. Then he grasped the coil of blonde hair with his left hand and forced her to her knees. He bent down beside her, his right hand exploring the deep grooves of the panel. His smile grew more carnivorous as he fingered the trigger to the panel’s spring lock and the covering fell back to reveal a wall safe.

  “What’s the combination, Aideen?” he asked.

  “Go find a corner to bugger yourself in,” Aideen suggested, her green gaze growing heated. “And how do you know my father?”

  Before Kean could answer, there was a soft thud against the door to the alley. Kean’s hand leapt to Aideen’s mouth and he pressed his weight against her, pinning her to the wall. The door handle jiggled and she struggled against him. Close-mouthed, she screamed and he bumped her roughly, forcing the air from her lungs. “Shut up,” he hissed. “Or you’re signing the death warrant of whomever is on the other side of that door.”

  Aideen stiffened and went silent. From the alleyway, she could hear her assistant Ricky yelling for her to come and open the door. Fuck, she swore silently. Why did the little shit have to be on time today?

  “Good,” Kean said as he felt her relax against him. “I just want the stone and the book and then I’ll…” He paused, realizing he wouldn’t be able to leave the store without Aideen. She knew his name and face and Donald Meyrick might torture her for pure sport. But how, he wondered, was he going to get her to the Jag and back to Kenmare? The hair on the back of Kean’s neck rose to sharp points and he released Aideen, his gaze going to the door. There was a dull pop and the sound of something heavy falling against the door.

  “Meyrick!” The word erupted from him in an involuntary whisper. He pulled the gun from its holster and thumbed the safety off. He glanced at Aideen and saw her shocked surprise that he had threatened her with the pistol’s safety on. There was the scrape of metal in the door’s top lock and Kean stood up. Positioning himself between Aideen and the alley door, he turned his back to her and aimed the gun at the door. “Open the goddamn safe, Aideen,” he pleaded.

  Aideen’s hands flew to the safe’s combination lock. The numbers passed in a blur as she spun the dial. The last number in place, she heard the safe’s lock slide open just as the deadbolt to the alley door slid back. There was the sound of something, Ricky she guessed in a ragged breath, being dragged away from the doorstep and then the scrape of metal in the bottom lock. She reached into the safe and pulled the diary and stone from it, clutching them to her chest as she stood. She had the sudden image of a man on the other side of the door. Pale, white-haired, he was nearly albino in appearance except for his ice-blue eyes. At his feet, Ricky, his skin drained of color, blood seeping from the back of his neck, wore a death mask of surprise.

  “Stay behind me,” Kean cautioned as he moved across the room, keeping the gun leveled at the alley door. They reached the storeroom door and he stopped her. “Check the front,” he whispered.

  “It’s clear,” she said without looking. The Bloodstone propelled her forward and she grabbed Kean’s arm and pulled him into the showroom as the man in the alley finally managed to pick the bottom lock. She raced across the room and threw the bolt back on the front door. The door’s silver chimes joined the heavy discharge of Kean’s gun ringing in her ears.

  Kean turned and pushed Aideen the rest of the way through the shop’s front door and onto the sidewalk. Grabbing her elbow, he broke into a sprint, his nervous gaze returning to the door of her shop. A small alley shot off to their left and he pulled her into it, his head popping around the corner to see if they were being pursued. Kean’s grip tightened on her arm and they ran to the end of the side alley. They emerged into the alley behind Aideen’s shop, some twenty feet from the dumpster that hid his Jaguar. He pulled his car keys from his pocket and deactivated the alarm system.

  “Get into the car,” he said, walking backwards. His gaze flicked between the side alley and the back door to Aideen’s shop.

  Forcing herself not to look back down the alley at Ricky’s inert body, Aideen obeyed him. She opened the driver’s side door and slid over the gearbox. One hand still clutching the stone and book, she pulled the seatbelt across her chest. Kean climbed in after her, lightly tossing the pistol to his left hand as he placed the key in the ignition.

  “Get down,” he said and switched the gun back to his right hand.

  Rolling down the window, Kean stuck the gun out and glanced back down the alleyway. But n
o one was following them. “I didn’t kill him,” he said, his voice heavy with doubt.

  Aideen closed her eyes and saw the man wrapping his tie around his thigh, the leg dragging behind him as he returned to the alley door. His gun was raised to chest level, a cold, murderous gleam in his eye. “No, now go!” she yelled.

  Chapter Three

  They headed west out of Dublin, in the direction of Enfield. Kean checked the rearview mirror so often, Aideen worried they would hit one of the slower moving cars in front of them. When she wasn’t closing her eyes in anticipation of such an event, she was watching Kean. The gun, its safety back on, nestled between his muscled thighs, his left hand resting lightly at the bottom of the steering wheel, two centimeters above the pistol’s grip. When they passed the exit for Laragh, the traffic thinned and she saw the tension ease from his body.

  “Where is it you think you’re taking me?” she asked.

  Kean’s gaze tripped over her, the stone and book she still pressed against her chest and a mild look of surprise registered on his face. A wave of irritation crashed against her as she realized he’d forgotten about her. She still wasn’t sure whether he had saved her life or merely kidnapped her to preserve the stone and diary. Her grip on the objects tightened and Kean returned his attention to the road.

  “Where?” Aideen repeated the question.

  “He’s seen me,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “I can’t take you to Kenmare now.” He looked at the road signs, searching for a solution. “I have a place along Galway Bay.”

  Cold fingers pressed against Aideen’s flesh, prickling the skin and making the small hairs on her arms bristle. If he knew her father, there was only one place he could be taking her. “Not to Árainn,” she said, her words stilted. “Not to Inish Oirr.”