Roux snatched the skull with a swift hand. He turned on Garin furiously.

“So this is what you’re after now?” the Frenchman said. “I thought I’d seen the last of this thing five centuries ago.”

“I’ll take that, old man.” Garin slapped the bottom of Roux’s hand, popping the skull into the air. He snatched the small cranium like a basketball and tucked it against his chest. “What brings you to New York? The European women growing stale for you?”

“I could ask the same of you. You never went in for American women.”

“I’ve always enjoyed women. Any nationality will suit.”

“So that’s why you’ve bought this place?” The old man’s eyes scanned the room. His expression indicated he was not impressed. “New hunting grounds to stalk?”

“It’s a rental. But you didn’t come here to inspect the decor or marvel over the great deal I got for it.”

“I don’t care what you spend your money on. Unless it swipes a sweet deal out from under me. How didyou manage to win that auction in Brussels? I had two buyers to ensure the Fabergé egg would be mine.”

“That was you at the Brussels auction?” Garin chuckled. “I had no idea I was bidding against you. But thanks for telling me. Makes the win all the sweeter.”

Roux bristled and cast a glance out the window, down toward the park. He was not here for a pleasant chat. His entire frame was stiff, strung tightly. “Where’s Annja?”

In an involuntary attempt not to mirror the man, Garin’s shoulders relaxed. He swung out an arm.

“You expect to find her here, in my home? I know you distrust me, Roux, but to suspect that Annja and I—”

“You used her to find that damned necromancer’s nightmare, then ditched her, didn’t you?”

Garin gave the skull a spinning toss. The slap of it against his palm satisfied. When he’d wielded the skull toward his opponents, it had given him good things—the defeat of the opposition and an ability to escape cleanly.

“It is a sweet little thing.” He kissed the skull’s overlarge cranium.

“You forget your lessons so easily, Garin.”

“And you think everything that happens to a man is a lesson. Some things happen for no other reason than that’s what was supposed to be. No lesson. No greater meaning. That’s it, Roux. I’ve got the prize and you don’t. So I’ll be seeing you.”

The old man raised a brow. Over the years they’d developed a balance of power between them neither could ever be satisfied with, but which both tolerated.

Roux sat opposite where Garin stood. He would not be shooed from the premises so easily.

There was no love lost between the two of them. Roux had taken Garin on as an apprentice when he was a teenager. More like slave. Though he’d not been beaten, overmuch. Roux had certainly held the teenage Garin in fear for his life should he disobey a command. His master had been rumored to be a wizard, and that frightened Garin into compliance for a good many years.

Garin had taken escape from Roux at first opportunity.

Fortunately for him, he’d gained immortality beforethat escape.

“Did you take a look at the sword while you were with Annja?” Roux asked.

“I did as it was sweeping threateningly before my eyes. The woman owns the thing, you know? It’s like an extension of her now. It is a wonder to witness.”

Shewas a wonder. Garin had not in his endless lifetime met a woman who intrigued him so thoroughly. She may not be the strongest or even close to devious, but she did embrace every situation the sword led her into with a marvelous gusto.

“And when you could not get her to hand it over to you, you took the skull instead,” Roux deduced. “Didn’t you learn a lesson the first time we wielded that monstrous thing?”

“That was your mistake, old man.”

“There is no wise means to handling that abomination. Unless it’s now got an instruction manual?”

“Get over it. I won this fair and square. There was a three-way battle, and I emerged the successor.”

“Three?” Roux leaned forward. “Don’t tell me the bone conjurer was in the mix.”

Garin glanced out the window. He didn’t want Roux in on this one. The man would be better to walk away and leave the dangerous bit of cranium to him.

“Well?”

“You asked me not to tell you. Make up your mind, old man.”

“You are as old as I, so do not toss about the unremarkable moniker. What did Serge do to Annja?”

“It was not the conjurer but a thug who worked for an unknown entity. Annja didn’t have a clue who he was.”

But Garin did. He’d yet to meet Benjamin Ravenscroft, but he might before he left New York. Opportunity was rattling at his door, and he was just too curious not to crack it open for a peek. As for his original client, well, a little bidding war always sweetened any deal.

Garin sat and leaned forward. “You make me wonder about your attachment to the woman, Roux. Just when I’ve begun to think you’ve a sort of father-daughter thing going on, you surprise me with intense concern for Annja’s well-being. Do you love her?”

“You are an idiot, Garin.” Roux lunged.

Garin saw the punch coming. He kicked high. His foot connected with Roux’s gut. The old man grunted. It was a mere tap.

The skull toppled to the floor as Garin swung a fist. Roux blocked the punch with a forearm to his wrist. It was like an iron bar, his arm. For some reason their immortality kept them strong. It was as if each year hardened them—their muscle, their mien, their minds.

They could go at it like this all day and neither would emerge the successor. Hell, why not? Garin had decades—nay, centuries—of anger to get off his chest against this man.

Barreling his head into Roux’s chest, Garin and his nemesis crashed upon the coffee table. The glass cracked, dropping them to the floor in a spray of safety glass.

Garin felt the hard metal shape of a gun against Roux’s chest. He dug in and palmed the pistol. Trigger finger curling, he knelt over the man, aiming at his head.

“Go ahead,” Roux challenged. “The blood will spatter your white carpeting.”

“I care nothing about the decor.”

The old man glanced aside. The skull sat out of reach, on its side, just behind a leather chair. The eye sockets faced them. Garin winced. It had to be held to work. He hoped.

“The good things that skull gives,” Roux said, “are born of evil.”

“Listen to you.” Garin stood, his aim still on the man’s head. “Aren’t you the one who recently obtained the Devil’s Jade? That thing is evil incarnate.”

“I don’t use it, I just admire it,” Roux said frankly.

“Yeah? Well I’ve got some admiring to do with the skull.”

“You think it’ll get you the sword.”

Jaw pulsing, Garin didn’t answer. It wasn’t right the old man knew so much about him. Of course, you know someone for five hundred years, eventually you’re going to learn all there is to know about them.

But this time he was wrong.

“You think I need a magical skull to get the sword? You know nothing. If I wanted it, I could take it from her.”

“No, you can’t. The sword belongs to Annja. If she doesn’t want you to have it, it’s gone. Like that!”

“I have my means.”

“Seduction will only get you so far with Annja. She’s not your average female. If you don’t want the sword, then what?”

“That’s my business, old man.”

“Don’t hurt her,” Roux warned. “Not for your benefit.”

Garin tilted his head. The accusation he would harm Annja cut to his bones.

Roux kicked his ankle, swiping Garin’s balance away and toppling him. Garin’s back hit the couch arm. The gun fired.

Blood spattered Garin’s face.

27