The Superstition Mountains Seers Fortress was situated not just within the mountains but near a famous geographic landmark called Weaver’s Needle. Stannett’s office, as part of the fortress, overlooked a sharp incline of what should have been desert terrain. Stannett, however, had altered a section of the land to create a dome of microclimate beneath which a garden more suited to the Mediterranean had emerged: Flowers cascaded over stone walls; stone paths led among sculpted beds full of lavender, succulents, and roses. Throughout, tall Italian cypruses punctuated an intense blue sky beyond.
Breathtaking.
A man with a horticultural sensibility should have been someone Caz could appreciate. Instead, his Fourth ascender instincts clanged in awkward counterpoint to the beauty of the garden. Something was not right with Owen Stannett, and this from a self-proclaimed sadist-hedonist.
Stannett wore his short and very thick dark brown hair in a strange wave on the right side of his head. Blackish chest hair protruded in clumps from the deep V of his embroidered red leather vest. His jacket was of a similar ilk, but white and embroidered with flowers in the primary colors, plus green and splashes of violet.
He looked western in a Liberace sort of way. He even wore cowboy boots.
Caz turned to sit in a stiff brown leather club chair across from the desk.
“Why so glum, Owen? I thought you’d be glad to see me. We used to have some fun together.”
Owen drew a shallow breath. “That was three centuries ago.”
“Oh,” Caz drawled. “Seems like yesterday, yet you actually appear upset. I thought you enjoyed sharing my bed.”
“When you weren’t hurting me, it was pleasant enough.”
Caz clucked his tongue. “Never hold a grudge. Besides, how can you possibly be mad when I helped you get this gig? Hasn’t it turned out well, especially from the time COPASS came into being?”
“I confess that it has.”
“Then I think you owe me a little favor or two.”
Stannett’s shoulders dropped an inch. Caz was impressed. Stannett had been something of a baby all those centuries ago, always complaining when something hurt, always wanting to be set free. But here he was in command of himself and so much in charge of the Fortress that he’d single-handedly hamstrung the ruler of Second Earth.
“What do you want?” Stannett asked.
Straight to the point. Again, Caz was impressed.
He gave him the essentials about the fiasco at the Creator’s Convent. Stannett nodded a couple of times. Caz spoke of Fiona and obsidian flame and the little prick didn’t flinch, not even a little. So the sly bastard knew about the emergence of obsidian flame.
“I’m not certain how I can be of use to you, Casimir.” He held his hands out, as though helpless, then sat down in his chair behind his desk.
Caz narrowed his eyes. “So how well do you know the High Administrator of the Convent?”
“A little.”
“Oh, I think you know her a lot. How sly you’ve become.” He paused and sifted through time zones as well as night and day. “Yes, that would have been this morning, Arizona time. How time flies.
“As you can imagine, I’m trying to reconstruct events, trying to discern connections. I’ve been trying to figure out how a woman so recently rescued from a blood slave facility would suddenly be able to give warning about an attack when she just doesn’t seem to have either clairvoyant ability or Seer skills. Sort of a mystery, don’t you think? How did she know there were death vampires in the forest?”
Like Rith, Stannett held his face immobile as he waited.
Caz continued, “So I got to thinking. Obsidian flame always comes in threes and yes, we have more frequent occurrences of the phenomenon in the Upper Dimensions, so I am somewhat familiar with them. But while I was levitating above the battleground, I sensed a presence beside me before the battle occurred. That was when I put two and two together. I thought, what if there is a powerful ascender inside the Convent who somehow alerted Fiona to the encroaching danger.”
“That would make sense.”
Caz felt his temper harden and he knew a sudden and profound desire to launch on Stannett and literally tear him, limb from limb. He took two very deep breaths. He despised all this insidious pretense, as though Stannett didn’t have a clue.
“Cut the crap, Owen. Tell me what you know of the devotiate, Marguerite. Tell me everything and tell me now.”
Only then did some of the former Owen Stannett return. His chin even shook a little as he patted the wave on the side of his head. “She is the most gifted Seer I have ever known.”
“Then why haven’t you moved her here?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Try me. I don’t lack for intelligence.”
“She belongs to Warrior Thorne.”
This, Caz would never have suspected. “Marguerite is Thorne’s woman, as in he f**ks her, a devotiate in the Convent?”
“He has, I believe, since early in her internment.”
Caz had a sudden new respect for Thorne. Who would’ve thought? One of those do-gooders molesting a Convent devotiate? But then, talk about a juvenile fantasy come to life. His mind drifted to Julianna and a swift scenario flipped through his mind of the woman in a severe Convent gown, innocent and so afraid of what was about to happen to her.
Lest he go too far down that intriguing road, he brought his attention back to the present. “I still don’t see why you haven’t brought the woman here. You had every right under COPASS law.”
“I never moved her for fear of what Thorne might do, how he might react. He has great need of her.”
“Don’t tell me you’re protecting Thorne?”
Stannett shook his head. “I’m protecting myself and my interests from what might happen if Thorne believed his woman to be in danger.”
“More future stream bullshit?”
Stannett didn’t try to argue his position. He merely nodded.
Caz drifted his gaze to the ceiling. Stannett had a ceiling made up of slate tile squares and mirrored squares. How very strange. Although the mirrors did lend themselves to certain advantages when engaged in certain acts.
The scales fell from his eyes. Caz started to laugh. He should have known. He should have known. There was only one reason a man locked a building down: privacy and secrets.
“Have you ever f**ked Marguerite?”
“No.” Clear, sharp, direct.
“What about your Seers here? You keeping them pure or are you helping yourself to whatever delights come your way?”