Son of the Sea

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“Why would we do that?” Erik asked.

She was shaking from head to toe, barely hanging on. He thought about singing to her, but magic use by other Houses was forbidden on Shadows territory. Besides, Jean-Marc was more than able to conjure a calming spell for her if he chose to.

“Let me see my sister,” she begged. “I’m just a restaurant owner. That e-mail was a prank.” She advanced on him, her hands balled into fists. “Give me back my sister!” she shrieked at him. “Sophie! It’s Nia! Where are you?”

Erik glanced pointedly at Jean-Marc, who moved his hands. The scent of oranges and roses permeated the air and Nia Davos sank to the floor, unconscious.

“We’ll leave now,” Erik told Jean-Marc. “Can you give her some clothes?”

“A bag’s been packed,” Jean-Marc informed him. “Bonne chance.” Good luck. Jean-Marc looked down at Nia. “Have a care with her. She may the only thing standing between you and destruction.”

“Or the cause of it,” Erik bit out.

Chapter Two

“And this ‘Keeper’ position passed through my mother to me,” Nia said, as a beautiful Scandinavian woman in a dark blue suit placed a plate of steamed fish, wild rice and asparagus on a large tray in front of her. Nia was wearing a China blue sweater and a black-and-blue-checked skirt that grazed the tops of neat flat boots and was slit up to her knees, revealing black tights.

She had not dressed herself, and there was no way she would eat the food—even though she was starving. There was probably something in it that would knock her out again.

“So the Guardian believes,” the woman replied.

Her name was Birgid, and the two of them were on a private plane headed for the North Sea in Scandinavia. Birgid had won a bit of trust from Nia by calling the local hospitals for her while they boarded. The Polish bridegroom was in critical condition. Nia’s restaurant was a smoking ruin.

And Sophie was still gone. Apparently the men who had kidnapped Sophie were not the same ones who had kidnapped Nia.

Birgid had tried to explain things to her, tell her who she was. And who Erik was. What he was.

Crazy. All of them.

“And the reason I never knew I was a Keeper was because my mother abandoned her post. For love.”

Birgid nodded again. “Perhaps one could find a nicer way to say it than ‘abandoned.’ Since the Jar was missing anyway, there wasn’t much to hold her.”

The other plush seats in the cabin were occupied by a dozen massive Scandinavian men wearing sidearms beneath navy blue suit jackets. They’d been in flight for about twenty minutes, and she hadn’t stopped demanding to speak to Erik, who had disappeared shortly before takeoff. For all she knew, he wasn’t even on the plane.

“I want to talk to Erik.” She had demanded to speak with him at least once a minute since they’d boarded. She was practically shouting. A few of the men eyed her, and Birgid put a soothing hand over hers.

“Let me see what I can do,” she promised. She straightened and walked toward the rear of the plane. Nia stared down at her food. She really should eat something. But how could she?

She lowered her head and thought about her sister, and then her restaurant, praying, in her way, for her employees and customers. And for her own sanity. Tears spilled and ran the length of her nose.

“Oh, God, oh, my God,” she whispered.

She wept in silence. Then Birgid reappeared and dipped down beside Nia’s seat.

“He says he will see you, but he wants you to be prepared,” she said. “He will remain in his natural state, as when he was born, to prove to you that he’s telling the truth. He will see you alone. His men have vacated the tank.”