“Sir,” Charles says as he clears his throat and hands Mr. Trent a handkerchief. He takes it and mops up his face. “Time is of the essence.”
“What the hell do you want?” I demand. “You kidnapped me. I’m a cop. You’re going to be in serious trouble when I get out of here.”
Mr. Trent laughs and folds the handkerchief in half, holding it against his face. His voice is muffled, he’s bleeding, but he’s still smug as fuck. I really don’t like the guy.
“You’re free to go, Miss Bisset,” he starts. “When I get what I want.”
“Then you need to tell me exactly what it is you want.” I need to buy some more time. The sun is still up, streaming in evening light from the large window in front of me. I couldn’t have been out for long.
“Oh, you know.”
I roll my eyes. “Obviously you’re not sure I have what you want and you’re trying to bait me into listing off every magical item in my possession.”
“Have a seat, Ace,” Mr. Trent says, waving to a leather chair in front of his desk. Charles, who left after giving him the handkerchief, comes back into the room with a damp towel. Mr. Trent cleans up his face and then strides over to the window.
“There’s an old legend that’s been passed down through my family for centuries.”
“Okay?” I look down at the handcuffs. The words are written in Latin, of fucking course. At first glance they look typical, but now I see there’s no hole for a key.
“And the legend says that four of our brothers were struck down by a dark magician, held captive for years by the very blood that brought them their demise.”
Holy fucking shit. Mr. Trent hails from descendants of the Templar Knights. That’s why Jacques recognized the symbol. He’d seen it before, back in his human days. I swallow hard and force myself to take slow, steady breaths.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“The knights spent years trying to find their missing brethren. Loyalty was important to them. And so was vengeance. But nothing was found. No blood. No bodies. It was as if they disappeared.”
Mr. Trent turns around, taking in a dramatic breath. Something tells me he’s practiced this speech before and is having fun seeing how much further he can weasel his way under my skin before I crack.
“I am a descendant of Hugues de Payens,” he says, like that’s supposed to mean something to me. “And our family never forgot. On the search for our lost brothers, my fathers before me made it their mission to find and destroy every magical item or being they could. They believed no one should possess the power of magic. It was dangerous. Only God should have that much power.”
He sits at his chair, turning slightly so he can gaze upon the collection of occult items behind him. I have a feeling I know where this is going, and the outcome isn’t favorable.
“And for centuries, that’s what we did,” he goes on. “Until my great-grandfather realized just how beneficial it could be to use the magical items instead of destroying them.”
“Thanks for the history lesson, Professor,” I sass. “But I still don’t see how I fit in here. Just let me go now and I’ll make sure you don’t end up as someone’s butt-bitch in prison.”
“You’ve got spunk, kid. I like that.”
“Kid?” I cock an eyebrow. “I’m not that much younger than you.”
He laughs. “On the contrary. Take a guess at how old I am. Come on, now, this will be fun.”
“Forty-two.”
“Ohh, ouch.” He winces. “I was hoping to pass for forty. Though forty-two is still a far cry from my actual age of eighty-six.” His eyes flash as he waits for me to gasp in surprise and ask how in the world that’s possible. “Aren’t you curious, Ace? Aren’t you going to tell me I’m lying?”
I shrug. “You just said you’ve spent your life collecting magic shit to use for personal gain. I’m sure an anti-aging spell was found somewhere along the way.”
His face goes slack. “You’re no fun, you know.”
“So I’ve been told. All work and no play makes me a dull girl.”
“Dull, but still pretty. Even with blood all over your face.” He tips his head, inspecting me. “I prefer my women to be a little more curvy with bigger tits, but I’m sure you’ll clean up nice.” He holds up his hand. “Not to worry, you’re not my type. But you will look good on my arm when we’re in public.”
What the fuck is he talking about? If he thinks he can keep me like one of his magical relics, he’s got another thing coming. “I thought you said I was free to go.”
“Oh, you are, but only if you give me what I want.”
