The crypt,he decided. That’s the place I would choose for an ambush.
He kept walking, waiting for his quarry to leap out of the shadows. He heard the faint rush of movement from the yawning darkness of the crypt a few heartbeats before the figure swept toward him. The preternatural speed and the certainty with which the attacker moved in the darkness told him everything he needed to know. He was dealing with a strong hunter-talent.
Although he was not a true hunter when it came to his physical abilities, he understood their nature and their talent, having grown up in a family littered with the breed. When they were in their full senses, their night vision was excellent and they moved with the speed and agility of wolves. He could not hope to match his attacker in those attributes, but he was not without resources. The critical thing was to make certain the other man did not get close enough to use his greater speed and strength against him.
He was prepared for the swiftness of the other man’s movements. It was like confronting a charging wolf. What he did not expect was the blinding flash of paranormal fire.
It was as if a paranormal sun had struck a mirror. The night burned around him, searing his senses. He was engulfed in a blinding radiance.
His heart pounded. A terrible chill spread through his veins, icing his blood. He fell, landing hard on his hands and knees. It was all he could do not to collapse on the cold pavement.
He knew then that he was dying.
“Virginia,” he whispered. The thought of never seeing her again was intolerable, but far worse was the knowledge that he was leaving her in grave danger. He had failed her.
“Virginia,” he said again, louder this time.
It seemed to him that the cold brilliance faded ever so slightly around him, as if the simple act of saying Virginia’s name had temporarily driven back the forces that had blinded him psychically and were now killing him.
The unnatural radiance moved closer to him. Although his paranormal abilities were gone, he realized he could still make out the crypt and the gravestones to his left. He could feel the pavement beneath his hands. He could hear the echo of the killer’s boots on the pavement. He was rapidly losing his strength, but he still had his normal senses.
“My client wants you dead, Sweetwater.” The voice came from the darkness beyond the senses-dazzling light. “But there is no great rush. I haven’t had a job like this in a while. I’m going to take my time.”
“Who hired you?” Owen managed.
“He called himself Newton, but I doubt that’s his real name. Seemed to know a lot about you, though. He said you’re a talent. Told me where I could find you. He knew all about your whore in Garnet Lane, you see.”
“He gave you that device you used to blind me?”
“He called it the Quicksilver Mirror. Told me it was valuable and that he’d want it back as soon as I finished with you. But between you and me, I plan to keep it. Right handy, it is.”
“Did he tell you why he wants me dead?”
“Doesn’t seem to like you very much. I got the impression that you’re standing in the way of something he wants.”
Owen felt himself growing colder. His vision and hearing started to dim. The energy of the mirror was affecting his normal senses now.
“He gave you the mirror because he knew you couldn’t take me with just your talent alone,” he said.
“That’s a bloody damn lie.” Outraged by the insult, the hunter moved closer. “I could kill you before you take another breath. I don’t need this mirror to finish you off.”
Owen gathered what was left of his strength. It took almost everything he had, but he managed to move his hand back to his ankle. His fingers touched the sheath strapped to his leg.
“You’re burning a lot of energy keeping that mirror hot,” he rasped. “You’re exhausting your talent.”
“Unlike you, I’ve got plenty to spare,” the hunter snarled.
The paranormal brilliance was definitely fainter now. The hunter did not realize how much energy he was using to wield the mirror. He was too excited, too focused on the thrill of the kill. Emotions were always the enemy when it came to this sort of thing, Owen thought.
“You’re definitely weakening,” Owen said. “You won’t be able to finish this.”
“Let’s find out,” the hunter growled.
The blinding paranormal radiance flashed once more, sending another searing wave of energy across Owen’s senses. In the next instant the terrible light winked out like a gas lamp that had been turned down.
“Damn thing is broken,” the hunter said. “But I told you, I don’t need it.”
“Not broken. You don’t have enough strength left to focus it.”
“ Bastard.I’ll show you who is weak.”
The hunter hurled the mirror aside. It clanged on the paving stones. Owen was vaguely aware that he did not hear the sound of glass breaking, but there was no time to analyze the implications.
The hunter rushed toward him, moonlight glinting on the knife in his hand. He was not nearly as fast as he had been at the start of the confrontation. He had used too much energy controlling the paranormal weapon. But he was still quick and savage, still enraged.
Freed of the pressure of the mirror, Owen could breathe freely again. But when he tried to heighten his talent he got no response.
He yanked the knife out of the ankle sheath. The hunter reached for him, intending to lock him in a choke hold and secure him for the killing slash across the throat.
Owen twisted onto his side, managing just barely to avoid the hunter’s hand. He brought the knife up in the same instant, felt it sink deep into flesh.
The hunter grunted, recovering his balance with startling speed, and leaped back. The quick action caused him to pull free of the knife. Blood gushed forth from his chest.
For a split second, the hunter did not seem to comprehend what had happened. He looked down at the blood spraying out of his body, and then he raised his head to stare at Owen.
“No,” he said. “No, it’s not possible. You’re not a hunter.”
“You should not have called her a whore,” Owen said softly. “In my family we do not allow anyone to insult our women.”
The hunter stared, horrified and bewildered, for another second. He crumpled to the pavement.
Dragging in a lungful of air, Owen called on what was left of his resources to haul himself to his feet. It took just about everything he had left to stagger the short distance to the body. He knew before he checked for a pulse that the hunter was dead, but he crouched down and put his fingers on the man’s throat. When it came to their work, Sweetwaters were always thorough.
He heard the others in the lane, but his head was spinning now. He tried to focus. One man, he decided, moving very fast, hunter-fast.
“Uncle Owen, are you all right?” Matt stopped at the sight of the body. “What happened?”
Alarm slashed through Owen. “You left Virginia alone?”
“What? No, sir, of course not. Tony is with her. She couldn’t keep up with us, so they sent me on ahead. They’ll be along any moment now.”
“What the devil? You allowed her out of the house?”
“Couldn’t stop her, sir. She said you were in terrible danger. Said we had to find you. Insisted on coming with us. He looked at the body. “Who is this?”
“Hunter-talent. Someone named Newton gave him a commission to kill me.”
“Bloody hell.” Matt surveyed him with concern. “Looks like he came close. Are you all right?”
Owen ignored the question. He was on the verge of passing out. He had to stay focused awhile longer.
“Make sure you get the weapon,” he said.
“What weapon?”
“I don’t know what it is. Never got a good look at it. He called it the Quicksilver Mirror. I heard him drop it on the pavement.”