"According to the records Phillipe found, Franciscan friars established a mission there in the late eighteenth century." Michael told her. "They dedicated it to Saint Francis, the founder of their order, and worked to feed the poor, take in orphans, convert the local Indians to the faith, and start the first school in the area."
"They sound like saints." Alex closed her eyes. "Wake me when we hit the Pacific."
"That is the official account of their activities," Michael said. "Unofficially, the brothers of St. Francis defied the local grandee and the army he had stationed at the Presidio by giving sanctuary to rebels and criminals, stealing shipments of gold bound for Mexico City, and redistributing it to other missions serving the humble poor."
"Really." She eyed him, intrigued in spite of herself. "Rebels in robes?"
"One of their brothers, a handsome young man of noble birth, worked as a friar by day and a leader of the rebellion by night." Michael told her. "He was reputed to be the best swordsman in California."
"Oh, I've seen that movie." Alex nodded. "But Antonio Banderas wasn't a priest. He was like a petty thief or something. He played Zorro version two. Anthony Hopkins was Zorro version one. What?"
Phillipe pressed his lips together. Michael gave her a familiar look.
"What do you want from me? I was working hundred-hour weeks. I was tired. It was easier to sit and eat a pint of Ben and Jerry's and watch a movie." She scowled at Michael. "Until they put pictures of Antonio Banderas, preferably half-naked, in the real history books, I'm sticking to DVDs."
"With respect to the film version you have seen, the friars of St. Francis continued their gentle reign of terror for several years, until they were betrayed by one of their own and arrested." Michael nodded to Phillipe, who pulled up an image on the screen. It was a very old painting depicting a group of monks being burned at the stake in the center of a crowded courtyard. "None of them would confess to their crimes. Even when the grandee offered to douse the flames and set them free as soon as they confessed."
"John would do something noble and stupid like that." Alex felt her heart twist as she studied the painting. "What happened to the mission after they got torched?"
"After the friars were executed, the grandee burned it to the ground." Michael tapped the keyboard and brought up an image of a crumbling adobe structure, its walls blackened and nearly obscured by weeds and brush. "This is what the mission looks like today."
"I found a story about military girls who went into the hills," Phillipe said. "They saw their spirits."
Alex's eyebrows rose. "Military girls?"
"Two air force linguists who were stationed at the Presidio in the eighties." Michael said. "The two went hiking while they were off duty and came across the ruins of the old mission. The girls told police that they saw a fire burning in the old courtyard where the friars had been put to death. One of them, a handsome young man, smiled at them."
"Typical ghost story." Alex said, dismissing it. "They probably saw a couple of campers and let their imaginations go wild."
Michael gave her a shrewd look. "Those two girls disappeared a week later from their barracks, apparently in the middle of the night. The only thing military investigators found were ropes hanging from their windows. The two girls were never seen again."
Alex shivered. "Now that? Is truly creepy."
"I think those girls saw something more than ghosts at the mission." Michael said. "It's possible that they saw Kyn being killed by the Brethren. It would explain their disappearance. The order does not leave witnesses."
"Kyn being killed by Brethren burning them at the stake?" Alex knew the religious fanatics could be unbelievably brutal, but they were still modern men. "Isn't that a bit medieval, even for these guys?"
"They use only fire both then and now." Phillipe said. "Everywhere they attack the Kyn, they burn them."
"Arson destroys a great deal of evidence, and there is no Kyn with a talent that combats fire," Michael added. "All of the Kyn who were recently driven out of France and Italy were burned out."
"But that doesn't make sense," Alex protested. "You just can't go around setting fire to people, not in this day and age. Even in Europe, every kid has a cell phone that takes digital pictures, right? Something like that would be all over YouTube."
"Kyn prefer to live on large estates in remote areas," Michael reminded her. "That gives the Brethren room and privacy to do as they wish when they attack."
Alex shook her head. "I'm still not buying it. Fire is too random, and smoke doesn't incapacitate the Kyn."
"Fear does." Phillipe put in. "We remember how it was after the trials, when they began burning our leaders. We all have a terrible fear of fire."
Alex knew the obscene ordeals the Templars had suffered in the fourteenth century, after the church ordered them rounded up, imprisoned, and tortured. Until learning of the Kyn, she had thought the warrior priests had been mere men. According to what Michael had told her, by the time the pope disbanded their order, all of the Templars had become vrykolakas, the "dark Kyn" of humanity. As the inquisitors learned during long months of torture, the virtually indestructible bodies of the Kyn made them very hard to maim and almost impossible to kill.
"There weren't any copper weapons in those days, were there?" Alex asked Michael.
He shook his head. "Copper was used for other things, at least until the Brethren discovered that the metal poisons us."
"What about 'off with his head'?"
"Beheadings were only for the royals." Phillipe told her. "Too good for common people."
She tapped a finger against her lips. "So the only way to kill the Kyn in those days was to burn them alive. Interesting." She saw how they were looking at her. "Just FYI, if I wanted to kill you. I'd go with decapitation every time. Fast, no smoke, easy cleanup, plus a nice trophy for the wall."
While the two men laughed, images of fire and blood began dancing in her head and forming a vague theory. Alex had only begun studying the effects of heat on the pathogen, so her knowledge was limited, but there were other tests she could perform. All she needed was…
"Phillipe, can I borrow your laptop for a while?" The seneschal handed it to her. "I need to make some notes for when we get back."
Alex opened a Word document and began outlining her theory and what she would need to prove it.
Some time later, Michael touched her shoulder. "Chérie, can you stop for now?"
She looked over at him absently. "What for?"
"The plane has landed."
Alex checked the screen. The few notes she had intended to make took up seventy-three pages of text. "Yeah. Okay. Sorry."
"Do not apologize." He tucked a stray chestnut curl behind her ear. "You are beautiful when you type."
As he never traveled with humans, Valentin had not taken into account how the confines of the plane would affect his senses. Although she sat at the back of the cabin, he could almost taste the girl's terror.
He had been happy to assist her in her moment of need, but he did not want to feel this supremely annoying curiosity. It had been a mistake to seek her out last night, and he had been resolved not to repeat it. As soon as they landed in Atlanta, he would never have to see her again. As for her reasons for leaving Chicago so quickly, they were none of his concern.
Another wave of her scent came to him. If she did not soon cease projecting so much fear, she would rouse other feelings in him.
Valentin saw that Liling had lifted her carry-on bag onto her lap and was searching through it. She then looked all around the floor, as if she had lost something. "Is anything wrong, Miss Harper?"
She glanced up. "Not really, I had a map tucked in the side of my bag, and it's gone now. I must have dropped it in your car. I'll just buy another one when we land." She put the bag down. "I didn't mean to disturb you."
He inclined his head and went back to pretending to read the prospectus he had not been reading. Her scent intensified as her anxiety increased, teasing his nose. Unable to concentrate, he finally rose and walked up to the galley section at the front of the cabin. Although he had no use for it, he had it kept stocked with food and drink for his human pilots.
He would put together a meal for her; that should calm her and give her something to do besides drive him into a blood frenzy, as she had nearly done last night.
Gregor would be outraged to see his Darkyn lord preparing a pot of tea for a mere human, Valentin thought as he heated the water and placed the tea bags in the small Royal Doulton china pot. Certainly if this surge of philanthropy continued, he would have to consider hiring an attendant to travel with him.
He inspected the contents of the small refrigerator and selected a few of the sandwiches and fruit he found there for the tray. Then, adding the pot and a cup and then carefully balancing the lot with his good hand, he walked slowly out to the cabin.
"Miss Harper," he said, "would you be kind enough to assist me?"
Liling was there in a moment, taking the tray for him and placing it on the console table beside his seat. She smiled at him before turning to go back to her seat.
She thought he had made the refreshments for himself. "This is for you, Miss Harper."
"Me?" Her voice squeaked on the word as her black eyes filled with dismay. "I'm not… You don't have to feed me, Mr. Jaus. I'm fine."
"Then this will only go to waste, as I despise tea," he informed her. "Fruit gives me indigestion, and I find little sandwiches especially annoying."
"I'd be happy to make something for you." She glanced past him to the galley. "Anything you like."
He would like to unravel that thick braid of hers, Valentin thought, and see if she could sit on her hair. Then he would wind it around his fist and use it to tug her head back, exposing the delicate golden length of her throat…