“Yes, I’ve heard that. So he left with the skull and—?”

“When he wielded it in battle his enemies were put back, destroyed. His protecting genius granted him all good things. Or so that is the story.”

Annja waited to see if he would continue. Garin rubbed his chin, eyeing her intently.

She broke out in laughter. “You’re kidding me, right? Who set you up to this story? Roux? I mean, please. A skull born of a necrophilic liaison?”

He stretched his arms across the couch back and propped an ankle across his knee. “Annja, bearer of a magical sword that appears from out of nowhere at her beckon, does not believe my tale of a magical skull?”

She chuffed out another half laugh and took a swallow of pomegranate juice. Why did the immortal men always have to mention the obvious?

“I believe what I can see, touch and hear,” she said. Yes, still a skeptic, and proud of it. “Giver of all good things? The skull didn’t do anything particularly good when I had it. In fact, it brought a nasty bad guy to my doorstep, who proceeded to tear apart my home. He destroyed some irreplaceable research books.”

“Better a book than you.”

She curled her fingers about her bandaged wrist. The long sleeve hid the bandages, but Garin noticed. The fact he didn’t ask about it went a long way toward his discretion.

“So that’s why you want it?” she asked. “You need good things? What, that money can’t buy, do you need?”

“I didn’t say I wanted the skull.”

“You don’t have to. You never show up to help me without an ulterior motive.”

“Annja, you bruise me.”

“Doubtful. That ego of yours is ironclad.”

“It is merely I feel you are out of your league. You don’t know the maelstrom you’ve stepped into. You think the bone conjurer won’t stalk you until your feet are bloody and you offer your own skull to get him off your back?”

“Bone conjurer?” She tucked a leg on the seat and leaned onto the overstuffed arm. “I’ve heard the term before. Is that what Serge is? And how do you know him?”

“I don’t know him personally, but I’ve heard of him, or rather his kind. Bone conjureris an ancient term, used since biblical times. He’s a necromancer. One who summons the dead, can communicate with spirits, manipulate and redirect common mortals by utilizing revenants. Much like a modern-day medium. The term is old-world.”

“Peachy. I haven’t had any adventures with the dead lately.”

Garin steepled his fingers before his mouth and nose. “Annja, you must take this seriously. I believe in the immense power the man holds. A necromancer can manipulate the dead to great means.”

“So what good is a centuries-old skull to him?”

“I can only imagine it is a necromancer’s grail. And let’s just forget all the connotations to the real grail legend.”

“Hallelujah. There are so many it’s become comical.”

“This Skull of Sidon, born of a necrophilic encounter, will no doubt serve a necromantic master incredible evils.”

“I thought it gave goodthings?”

“Yes, but your perception of good may be completely opposite of what someone like Serge believes to be good. Good to him may be unspeakable to you and me.”

Anything unspeakable to Garin was definitely not good. As well, to Annja. She’d seen a lot since taking Joan’s sword to hand. Demons, murderers, twisted scientists intent on cloning history’s monsters, even those who would create Frankenstein’s monster.

“I still don’t buy it. Skeletons don’t give birth to skulls.”

“It is said the birth was most grisly.”

She laughed. “Wonder if she asked for an epidural.”

“Skeptic.”

“To the bone.” She rubbed her wrist again. A bone conjurer had a sample of her bone? That could not be good. “But I’m willing to do some research. You got a laptop I can borrow?”

“I do. I wouldn’t expect you to take my word for what it’s worth.”

“It’s worth a trick, if you ask me. And I’m so not buying you not having an interest in the thing. Worried about little old me? Last time I believed you wanted to help me I ended up dodging machine gun fire.”

“That was an oversight, Annja. Listen, I’m hungry. I’m going to order Thai. You have any requests?”

“No, just hook me up with a laptop, and feed me anything. I’m good.”

“It’s down the hall in my office. Second door on the right.”

19

Closing the office door behind her, Annja surveyed the ultra-slick room. Everything was stainless steel and tempered glass. Nice, but cold. She had Garin figured for a more earthy kind of guy. Then again, he did like to toss around cash as if it was confetti.

This apartment was a recent acquisition. She wondered if it was a rental, or if he’d keep it. Did it matter? It wasn’t as though she intended any sleepovers.

He, on the other hand, could be plotting just such a thing. She wouldn’t put it past him.

She powered up the laptop. She did intend to go online and search. Not yet, though.

Annja inspected the glass desktop. Just the laptop. She checked behind the curtains and roamed her eyes along the ceiling. No security cameras.

She flexed her fingers and sat before the desk, pulling open the top drawer. It contained the usual office ephemera. No important papers. He may not have lived here long enough. Anything important may still be out in the open, she thought.

The computer was warmed up. Chancing the look, Annja checked the browser’s history. It listed Web sites Garin had visited for the past week. eBay, Amazon, her show’s site and a few archaeology sites she recognized.

“So he hasbeen following me.”

None of the sites offered a solid clue to the man’s motives.

She slipped her cell phone from a pocket on the pants Garin had bought her. Roux’s number was on speed dial. Calling him was as precarious as walking into Garin’s home. One never knew who would answer.

Annja had been surprised enough times by bubbly young female voices to not even be flustered when another answered this time. Roux and Garin were two of an old and distinct kind. They may not use the term playboy,but it’s the first word that came to her mind.

The woman on the phone called loudly to Roux. The phone receiver dropped with a clunk.

What must it be like for them to never age and have an entire world of women at their beck and call? she wondered.

Heck, to have a single date would please her immensely. Dating was looking as precarious as the polar bear lately. If she didn’t start paying attention to it, it was going to disappear altogether.

Bart was on her radar, and she knew she was on his. Since his broken engagement he’d been more open to her.

“Don’t be the rebound girl,” she murmured. “You’re better than that.”

Tito’s had been fun. But was she interested in risking a great friendship for something more?

At the moment, extracurricular activity would have to take a backseat. She needed to figure out who was who and why they all wanted the skull. She should have asked Garin to tell her about Benjamin Ravenscroft.

Shaking her head, she lifted her feet over the glass desktop, then changed her mind and dropped them to the floor.

“Good evening, Annja.” Roux’s voice held a feather of his French accent, and it always sounded old-worldly to her. She liked it. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” he said.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she started.

“Nonsense. The girls are out enjoying the pool.”

Girls. And probably not much older than legal, if she guessed correctly.