Darktide Page 10

  Levi

  His head was aching. When Levi reached up to attempt to determine the source of the pain, he found a large, tender bump on the back of his skull. At once he winced and removed his fingers, knowing that continuing to touch the sore spot wouldn’t do him any good.

  With the pain, memory came flooding back. How he’d been marched out the front door of the apartment and down the stairs, all his much-vaunted magical gifts of no use, thanks to Joaquin Escobar’s null powers. When they reached the parking lot and approached a dark gray van with California plates, Levi had begun to struggle in earnest, knocking two of the warlocks who held him to the pavement. He’d seized that opening, had begun to run — only to have the third warlock, a big burly man who looked as if he once played that violent sport known as football, come up from behind and tackle him. Something rammed into the back of his skull, and the world had gone black.

  Looking around, he saw that he was in a fairly large, well-appointed bedroom. Now that he’d located the source of his pain — and realized there wasn’t much he could do about it — he pushed himself to an upright position so he could take a more thorough inventory of his surroundings. Besides the queen-size bed where he now sat, the room had a tall dresser and two bedside tables, and another low table sitting next to the armchair placed in a little alcove off to one side. Not too far from that alcove was a door; it stood open, so he could see into the bathroom beyond, cheery with yellow and blue Mexican tile.

  Not precisely a prison cell, and he thought he could guess why. This room was clearly located in the house of the Santiagos’ former prima and her consort. Joaquin Escobar might live here now, but it didn’t look as if he had done anything to change the decor. And why should he? Evil the man might be, but changing the place over to look like the lair of a villain from a superhero film didn’t make much sense.

  Holding back a groan, Levi got up from the bed and went across the room to a second door, this one closed. He laid a hand on the knob and attempted to turn it, but nothing happened. He supposed he shouldn’t be too surprised; Escobar must have his null powers at full blast in order to make sure that his captive wouldn’t have any opportunity to escape.

  Despite the ache in his head, he knew he needed to perform another test, to be absolutely certain that his powers were as depleted here as they had been back in the apartment where he’d been captured. He stretched out a hand and tried to bring forth a floating ball of light, a will o’ the wisp, something simple that required very little energy.

  Nothing happened.

  He hadn’t expected much of anything to happen, but even so, he couldn’t quite prevent himself from letting out a sigh of disappointment. The experiment appeared to confirm that Escobar’s null powers were definitely strong enough to reach into this bedroom. How far did they extend outward from the dark warlock? Could he expand and contract them at will, depending on need? While Levi knew he must despise the man and all his acts, he still couldn’t help but be curious about the limits of the dark warlock’s powers, how they worked.

  No doubt you will soon learn more than you ever wished to, he thought, turning away from the door so he might go to the window. It, too, was locked, but the glass hadn’t been covered up in any way, so he could see outside easily enough.

  What he observed was a neighborhood of large, expensive homes, all sitting on fairly large lots, although closer together than many of the houses he’d seen in Cottonwood or Sedona. The sky overhead was blue, the sun shining brightly. Flowers bloomed in many of the yards. An expensive car of German make — Mercedes? BMW? he’d never paid much attention to that sort of thing — cruised slowly down the street before disappearing around a corner.

  In all, it was the sort of view that most people would consider completely ordinary. Certainly no one would ever think that a dark warlock was holed up inside a house in a neighborhood such as this. While Escobar’s powers were vast, Levi had a feeling that the man was doing everything he could to avoid rousing suspicion. He had to, surrounded by civilians as he was.

  The door slowly opened, and Levi turned from the window, his heartbeat speeding up, adrenaline spiking in his blood. All those necessary flight-or fight reactions, completely useless to him here.

  However, it wasn’t Joaquin Escobar who entered, but a black-haired woman in her middle or late thirties, a tray of food in her hands. She looked familiar, and Levi guessed she must be the witch who’d accompanied Escobar to Arizona as part of the kidnapping crew. No real surprise; the warlock probably made sure to surround himself with those he trusted most.

  The woman’s dark eyes wouldn’t quite meet Levi’s. She crossed over to the chair in the alcove and set the tray she carried on the small table there. “We figured you would be hungry.”

  Now that some of the pain and shock had begun to recede, he realized he was. He’d been captured in the late afternoon, but the sun here was bright and high in the sky, which meant he must have been knocked out for all of the night before and most of this morning. A long time to go without food, and yet….

  “Can I trust it?” he inquired, and the woman blinked at him. He supposed many might consider her attractive, with her big dark eyes and full mouth, but there was a certain hardness to her features that made her appear more intimidating than most of the women he’d met in Jerome.

  However, she seemed surprised now, as though she hadn’t expected him to be so forthright in his questioning. But then she shook her head and replied, “You think he is going to poison you, after all the trouble he went to get you?”

  Levi supposed she had a point. “Possibly not, but it never hurts to be cautious.”

  The woman actually chuckled. “He wants you happy and healthy, Levi McAllister. After you’ve eaten and have recovered some of your strength, he’d like to talk to you.”

  “‘He,’” Levi repeated. “I notice you don’t say Escobar’s name. Why not?”

  That seemed to be the wrong question to ask, because the slight smile she’d been wearing abruptly disappeared. “Because it’s not my place to do so.”

  “‘Place’? But wasn’t this your prima’s house? Isn’t this your own clan’s territory? I’m surprised you’d allow someone to tell you what to do here.”

  A frown touched her dark, arched brows, revealing a previously hidden line in the smooth brown skin between them. “You need to eat. He’ll want to speak with you soon.”

  Before Levi could respond, she’d let herself back out and closed the door behind her. It seemed futile to test the lock again, but he did so anyway, just in case. Of course it didn’t budge, and so he headed over to the table where she’d left the tray of food. On a bright yellow plate were a pair of tamales, with generous helpings of rice and black beans next to them.

  Having lived in Arizona for the past year and a half, Levi was familiar enough with this sort of food. It certainly looked good, and smelled even better. His stomach growled.

  Either you eat, or you don’t, he told himself. But being hungry and weak will most likely not serve you well in the long run. And, as your visitor just pointed out, why would Escobar poison you now? If he wanted you dead, he could have killed you back at the apartment.

  These arguments all seemed plausible enough. Levi picked up the fork with its heavy handle of twisted steel and scooped up some of the rice. It was very good, well-seasoned and cooked perfectly. The beans were likewise extremely tasty, rich and with an underlying spice, and the tamales tasted as though they’d been made by someone who’d been doing this for a very long time. One was filled with cheese and green chiles, the other with spicy shredded pork.

  Well, at least they don’t plan to starve you, Levi thought as he sat down in the armchair and placed the tray in his lap. Along with the food, a glass of water sat on the tray, and once he’d had a few more bites of tamale, he lifted the glass and took a long swallow. It was also good, sweet and cold, definitely not out of a tap.

  However, if they were trying to offer him friendly hospital
ity in an effort to disarm him, Levi thought that Escobar and his Santiago minions were going to be sorely disappointed. He knew he could not let down his guard, not for a moment. Accepting the food was wise, because he needed to keep his strength up. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t do whatever he must to get himself away from here.

  He very much feared what Joaquin Escobar might force him to do.

  Still, that fear didn’t prevent Levi from finishing all the food on his plate, or draining the glass of water. After he was done, he set the tray back down on the table, then got up from the chair where he sat and went into the bathroom. His reflection didn’t do much to reassure him — he looked pale, with bruise-colored shadows under his eyes. Not so surprising, after being given a mild concussion and then shoved in the back of a van for a seven-hour drive to California, but Levi still would rather have been presented with a more reassuring reflection. Although he knew this body was human, he didn’t like being presented with concrete proof of its inherent frailties.

  He bent his head over the sink and splashed cold water on his face, then used the remaining water on the palms of his hands to smooth his hair back. That was a little better, although he knew that Joaquin Escobar would take one look at him and realize how taxing the journey here had been, would only see more weakness to exploit.

  No, Levi knew he couldn’t allow such thoughts to enter his mind. He needed to appear strong, unruffled by his current situation. Perhaps Escobar would see through such subterfuge, but better that than present himself as someone who already knew he was beaten.

  The view of the neighborhood outside had been somewhat reassuring, so Levi returned to the window and looked out again. Nothing much had changed, except that a woman in slim-fitting exercise pants and a tank top was jogging leisurely down the street. Her long, blonde-streaked ponytail bobbed up and down as she went, and a pair of white earbuds were barely visible in her ears. No doubt she had no idea that one of the houses on this affluent street was now occupied by a dark warlock, or that someone was being held captive within.

  Although the woman didn’t look much like her, Levi couldn’t help thinking of Hayley then. Did she know he’d been taken by Joaquin Escobar, or would it seem to her and everyone else in the clan that he’d disappeared into thin air? Levi wasn’t sure which alternative was worse, although surely it was better to know the truth, no matter how bad it might be. Hayley was strong; she was not someone to fall apart simply because she received some bad news.

  Actually, the thing he feared the most was that she might take it into her head to attempt to rescue him. That would be a terrible idea. Levi in Escobar’s hands was bad enough, but if Hayley — and her extremely rare power — should also become his captive?

  He tried to push the thought aside. Unfortunately, the more he tried to ignore that terrible notion, the more it seemed to take on a life of its own. What if he himself was the trap this time? What if he was only being held captive so he might lure Hayley into a futile rescue attempt?

  Levi tried to reassure himself that such a thing would never happen. Both Angela and Connor knew it was vitally important for Hayley to be kept as far away from Joaquin Escobar as possible. No, it seemed more likely that the prima and primus would mount their own rescue attempt. Together, they were very powerful.

  But would they be powerful enough?

  The door opened, and Levi immediately turned away from the window. At the door stood the same woman who had brought him his lunch, although she didn’t seem terribly inclined to come inside and retrieve the serving tray and its accompanying dirty dishes. “He’ll see you now,” she said. “Come.”

  For a moment, Levi wondered what she would do if he refused. After all, with Joaquin Escobar’s null powers voiding the magical gifts of everyone within its field of effect, the witch who stood at the door now wouldn’t have much recourse if Levi attempted to overpower her physically.

  But he disliked the idea of attacking a woman, even if she happened to be under Escobar’s control. Besides, Levi didn’t know for sure whether he would be able to escape the house before the dark warlock realized his prize had gotten away. If he tried and failed, the consequences could be dire.

  And he did have to admit to a certain curiosity about what Escobar intended to say to him.

  He went to the door and on into the hallway outside. There were several doors on either side of the corridor, all of them shut. More bedrooms? Probably. He’d already seen that he was being held on the second floor of the house, which presumably was where most of the bedrooms were located.

  In between those doors were a series of paintings, all of them apparently original. Levi hadn’t made much of a study of the art in this world — he’d had other, more practical subjects to take up his time — but he thought he recognized the styles of several of the pieces, even if he couldn’t identify the artists. It seemed that Joaquin Escobar had also gotten an art gallery of sorts when he took this house for his own.

  The witch — whose name Levi still didn’t know — led him down a curved staircase with a wrought-iron balustrade and shining oak handrail, down into a foyer with a gleaming tile floor and several flower arrangements sitting on occasional tables to either side. A large arched opening appeared to lead into the living room; it was here that the witch brought him, to a space with more rare art, and orchids on carved stands in the corners.

  Standing in front of one of the tall windows that looked out onto the street was a man with his back to the center of the room. As soon as Levi entered, however, he turned around and fixed his visitor with a pair of piercing black eyes.

  “Thank you, Esmeralda,” the man said, and she inclined her head, then left without saying anything.

  “Joaquin Escobar?” Levi asked, thinking he might as well get the preliminaries over with.

  “Yes,” the man replied. He was several inches shorter than Levi, and yet the difference in height didn’t seem to matter much. Somehow he seemed to exude an aura of power, of being completely in control.

  Well, of course he did, because he was in control here. Levi had always taken his powers, if not for granted, then as something as much a part of him as the color of his eyes. Now that they had been taken away, it was as if he’d had a limb amputated. He could function, but nothing felt quite right.

  “But I am being a poor host,” Escobar went on. “Please, sit down.”

  The words might have been framed as a request, but Levi knew it was better if he did not refuse. At any rate, getting into a power struggle this early in the conversation certainly would be a miscalculation. With any luck, the dark warlock might turn out to be like one of those villains Levi had seen in movies or in television shows, the ones who were so proud of their nefarious schemes that they inevitably ended up giving them away to anyone who would listen.

  He went to one of the leather sofas and sat down. Escobar remained standing; another power ploy, Levi thought. Perhaps the other man did not like being reminded that he was not quite as tall as his captive?

  “Are you my host?” he inquired. “Because I believe most would say you are much more my captor.”

  Escobar smiled. “You are quite forthright, aren’t you, Levi McAllister?”

  “I don’t see any reason for subterfuge. We both know which sides we’re on, don’t we?”

  The smile didn’t waver, although Escobar moved away from the window to stand next to the mantel, above which hung another painting. Levi thought this one might be a Picasso — the style was quite distinctive — although he couldn’t be sure. There was something vaguely theatrical about Escobar’s movements, as if he wanted to stand next to the painting to show that he was also in control of all these priceless works of art, that he had claimed them just as he had claimed everything else in the Santiago clan he wanted.

  “Are you so sure about that, Levi? After all, you were not born into your clan. You have a unique opportunity to choose that which is right for you, rather than being trapped by your blood into a family aff
iliation you might not want.”

  These words made Levi frown slightly. Never in all his dealings with the witches and warlocks of the various clans had he ever encountered anyone who expressed a dissatisfaction with the family that was theirs. They all seemed content enough, especially now that the lines between the various clans were being blurred, and the feud between the Wilcoxes and the McAllisters now several years dead and buried.

  “I know I’m in the right place,” he said, making sure his voice was clear, distinct. “Jerome is my home, and the McAllisters are my clan.”

  “‘The McAllisters’!” Escobar repeated, not bothering to hide the contempt in his tone. “A piddly bunch with nothing much to recommend them. At least if Zoe Sandoval had seen fit to keep you, you would have ended up in a stronger clan.”

  Because Levi was secure in his love for Hayley — and hers for him — Joaquin Escobar’s words evoked no sting. Zoe’s rejection might have taken place a lifetime ago. Indeed, to Levi, it had, since his entire life encompassed only those scant eighteen months since he’d been brought to this plane to live.

  Instead of taking offense, he tilted his head to one side and said, “Which clan are you running from, Mr. Escobar? It seems to me that you’ve taken over the Santiagos because the clan you should be with no longer wants you. Or am I misreading the situation?”

  The dark warlock didn’t even blink. “If you are trying to get me to reveal something of my past, Levi, you might as well stop there. I am here because of what was done to my son. Whatever I might have left behind is of no concern to you. I am only saying that you might want to consider the benefits of being part of the Santiago clan.”

  “Or…?”

  “‘Or’ indicates that I might be threatening you. I am doing no such thing. I am only…making an offer.”

  One that I can’t refuse? Levi thought, recalling a bit of movie pop culture he’d once overheard. “An offer I think I must decline. I am happy where I am.”

  “Ah, yes.” Escobar didn’t blink. In fact, Levi was of the impression that the man didn’t blink nearly as often as most people. A subtle show of strength? “With the lovely Hayley. The two of you can both come here, you know. Again, I think you might have a much more promising future than you would in Jerome.”