Never let it be known that you were there at the time of the murder. Keep that cross that you are wearing around your neck on at all times. Trust no one. Never be out in the dark alone. I’m afraid for you.”

“You’re afraid for me. Should I be afraid of you?”

She was startled, and yet didn’t make a move, didn’t jerk away, when he brushed his knuckles along her cheek. “Miss Adair, I swear it, there is no need whatsoever for you to be afraid of me.” No need? She was all but mesmerized. His touch had brought a sense of heat to her that seemed to stir senses and soul.

She needed to be very afraid.

She needed to rise, and tell him to stay away from her, and from her grandfather. But then, she hadn’t even mentioned Jacques, and there was no need to be afraid that he might know anything about an old man living in a quaint chateau, even if Jacques had acquired more than a following in his day.

She didn’t manage to make herself get up. Or move away. She kept staring into his eyes. She didn’t know if he was still touching her or not, because it seemed as if the warmth was still with her.

She couldn’t break away.

He could.

He rose suddenly. “Excuse me, some of my friends have arrived. I look forward to seeing you again.” He pushed in his chair and walked away. She saw him greeting people, a couple, a very tall dark man and a slim, elegant, blond woman. They were dressed casually, as tourists, the woman in jeans and a denim jacket, the man in jeans as well, his jacket leather. They were an attractive, arresting pair, but then, Paris was filled with attractive people. She had the feeling that their intent was to blend in with the crowd.

They moved away, walking down the street.

They had gone a long way before she realized that she still hadn’t moved.

And that she still felt his touch.

CHAPTER 5

There was a new freedom in sleep.

And freedom in dreams. Now, when she rested, she could fly.

Rise above the darkness, and fly in mist, in shadow. Concentration was essential, and she was glad of her chosen resting spot, for she felt completely secure, and therefore able to focus entirely on her task.

A flash of joy filled her as she felt the presence of another. Of course, they were guarded, all of them.

She was careful. Yet she felt elation and a whisper in the wind that surged around her as she soared through the world of darkness.

Is it you? The air, the darkness, spoke to her. And she replied, feeling glorious and powerful.

Yes! I am back.

I know. I meant to be there for you. Now, you must come to me.

The world has changed.

The world will always change.

There is great danger. I sense it.

Yes. Come to me. We must be together. We can begin a new world once again.

I will come, of course.

There are others. You must beware.

Ah, but I am powerful. As are you!

Yes, but you must beware, there are others— and others who have changed. Who fear, who command that we deny the power we can wield.

They are cowards.

They are strong. And still, there are those of the Alliance...

Then they must be killed, and quickly. I am not afraid. I was always the strongest.

Ah, my love, you forget that it is I who have managed to free you. We know where to begin to create a world in which we can Hoe, revel, love. . . and be safe. I have planned long and carefully.

We will have with us those who would not cower before those weaker than we are. Come to me, and I will show you what this life can be. But come with care. You will laugh still more when you find what I have done in this world!

When Tara returned to the chateau, she found Jacques at work in the library. A large, ancient volume was open on his desk.

He looked up when she entered.

She set her purse on his desk and he arched a brow.

“The man from the dig returned it to me at the cafe in the village, across from the church.” Jacques looked relieved. “And everything is in it?”

“Everything.”

“There are no papers missing?”

“No. My passport, ID, money, credit cards ... everything is there.”

“That is good.”

“He does, of course, know my name.”

“And do you now know his?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“Brent Malone.”

She watched her grandfather as she said the name. He looked down at his book. She put her hands on the desk, and made a point of staring at him so that he had to look up to her.

“Do you know him?” she asked.

“No, no, I don’t think so.”

“Strange. He talked about all the evil buried in the crypt as well. I found myself saying many things to him that I said to you.”

Jacques nodded, then indicated the chair in front of the desk. He tapped his reading glasses on the open book before him. “Perhaps, when you see this man again, you will ask him to come here. I’d like to speak with him.”

“I sincerely doubt that I will see him again.”

“Oh, I believe you will. You’re familiar with the Sun King? You grew up in America, so your history had to do with Washington, Lincoln, Roosevelt, Kennedy, and so on. Of course, every child in France learns all about the Sun King.”

She stared at him evenly, gave him a rueful smile. “I know about the Sun King. Louis XIV. Longest reigning French monarch. He came to the throne as a child, and as a young man, much of his policy and power was held by Cardinal Richelieu. He became a very great king, carefully balancing statesmanship and religion. His rather had built a small hunting lodge on the outskirts of Paris; Louis XIV determined to make it into a great palace. Versailles.”

“As he aged, he determined as well that, after a life with a multitude of mistresses, he would be loyal to his wife. Alas, the poor thing died a year later. The king married again. He was supposed to have been a man of tremendous sexual prowess.”

“They don’t put a lot about that in the history books,” Tara said.

“The point I’m making is that he was known—before his belated dedication to his queen—for having dozens of mistresses. He was a decent man in that he had many of his love children legitimized, many went on to marry princes and princesses and other royalty and nobility.”

“Well, that was a decent concession, I suppose.”

“Back to the mistresses... there were many of them. Many. Naturally, the lady of the moment often held sway over him, received honors ... and was somewhat above the law.

“At one time, the mistress of the moment was a woman known as the Countess Louisa de Montcrasset.

She was supposed to be extraordinarily beautiful, and to have the most unusual power over the king. She was the daughter of a French nobleman, but had not grown up in Paris—the records say only that she had been raised among nobility ”to the east“ She appeared at court one day, and as her father’s daughter, she was duly welcomed. Within a matter of weeks she had usurped the place of the king’s other favorites, and even at times when there were great matters of state to be decided, she could draw his attention.”

Tara smiled at her grandfather. “The Sun Ring was ruling at the time when Charles II was welcomed back to England. The ‘Merry Monarch’ was loved by the good majority of his people. Cromwell’s brand of dry government and total lack of frivolity was overturned by the king’s love for the theater. And women. He had his decencies as well, of course, refusing to divorce his barren wife while going through a variety of mistresses. He did not legitimize his children, however. His beloved son was beheaded by his brother, James, then James was overthrown by his daughter and her husband, William of Orange.”

“You’re getting ahead in history,” Jacques said. “Yes, of course, Louis and Charles had much in common— they were monarchs with a love for the arts, building, learning—and women. One woman in particular. Louisa de Montcrasset.”

“The young beauty who suddenly appeared from the east. The daughter of the nobleman.” Tara offered him a rueful smile, but felt a strange sense of unease. Her grandfather and the digger, Brent Malone, seemed to have far too strange a passion for the dead and the past.

“There were those at the time who doubted that she was who she said she was.”

“Ah, and they attacked her relationship with the king, I presume.”

“You see, her father had long been out of the country. He was a military man who traveled far and wide, and when he wasn’t fighting on the king’s behalf, he was a diplomat of sorts. He hadn’t been seen in years. He had been a handsome Frenchman, so it was written, with dark hair and eyes, slender, aesthetic face.”

“Then what was so unusual about him having a beautiful daughter? Come on, I don’t look a thing like you. Or Ann. Genetics can be very strange.”

“It’s written that she had something of an exotic face. And ‘cat’s’ eyes.”

“She might have been a decadent woman, and from what you say, able to use her charms to get what she wanted. Very immoral, perhaps. But don’t you think she might be hated for that fact alone, and therefore, many who wrote about her would make an attempt to demonize her?”

“Not many of those who despised her wrote about her.”

“And why not?”

“They died.”

“Oh?”

“The sixteen hundreds, my dear, was a time when witchcraft was greatly feared. It was suspected that she had joined a coven, that she had made a pact with the devil, that she gained her beauty through the sacrifice of others.”

Tara leaned forward, arms folded on the table, posture serious. “We both know that the devil does not come with a forked tongue and tail and make pacts with people.”

“We both know that whether the devil came or not, and that although surely, the many thousands of people who were persecuted were most surely innocent, there were those who did join covens, and who did believe that they could evoke the powers of darkness and do harm to others. In France at the time, as well as in many places in Europe, there were many who were executed for witchcraft. But it wasn’t the suspicion of those around her that she had joined a coven that made her such a frightening entity. I just told you. People died. Soon after she came to court, dozens of people began ... wasting away. They would be tired at first, distracted.