A half hour passed before Denton returned.
Alone.
My head still ached. Drool oozed from the sides of my mouth and had for the past few minutes. I studied him. He and Antoine were similar in the face, the same dark hair, powerful features and piercing brown eyes. But from the bumps on his nose and a scar above his eyebrow, I guessed he’d been in his share of fights. Unlike Antoine, this man’s countenance exuded more of a sense of entitlement. I’d seen the look before. That I’m-smarter-than-you-are-and-always-will-be arrogance.
“There’s no one here, but the three of us. No houses nearby. Stone walls and earth all around you. I’m going to ungag you. But let’s not wake Lydia with any screaming.”
Like I would. Asshole. I don’t scream.
He released the ball gag from around my head, grabbed a towel from a rack and wiped my face of the spittle. I swallowed. I never realized how satisfying that simple act could be. My jaw was sore and I worked out the kinks.
He motioned to the room. “You invaded our private sanctuary.”
“And you stole that box over there with the potions from your brother and kicked me in the head. Then you drugged St. Benedict with them. So how about we cut the crap.”
His smile disgusted me. “Touché, Ms. Vitt.”
He motioned to the box. “My dear brother thought it his duty to retrieve it. Some sort of family heirloom. Like always, though, Antoine never could grasp the bigger picture.”
“And that would be political extortion?”
I was baiting him.
He stepped over to the table and lifted one of the bottles. “These are powerful potions. Much more powerful than anything we have today. The ancients knew their chemistry.” He laid the bottle down. “Tell me why you’re here.”
My head remained foggy from the pop to my temple, but I was pretty sure I’d correctly assembled the pieces of this deceptive game.
“Is this her thing?” I asked.
He shrugged. “We all have our secrets. The madam likes her play in a particular variety. I merely oblige her.”
“Apparently she trusts you.”
He chuckled. “Obviously. That’s the whole idea. She submits, I dominate. She trusts, I take advantage. The amazing part is that I helped bring her to within a statistical tie with the current president of France. A masterful campaign, if I do say so. She might even win—”
“If you weren’t working for the other side.”
“Precisely.”
“She’ll never know until it’s way too late, will she? Let me guess. The final debate is tomorrow night. The election less than a week away. So you’ll leak that video, what, three days from now? The internet will explode. Her image of a strong, forceful leader, a family woman, the person to lead France after the disaster of Casimir will be gone. It won’t change a lot of minds, but it could change enough to swing a few percentage points against her. That’s all you need to win.”
He pointed a finger at me. “Sit tight. Don’t go anywhere.” He smiled at his own joke. “I’m going to check on Lydia, then I’ll be back to deal with you.”
He left the dungeon.
What a mess. Hopefully, Antoine would head this way at some point. All I had to do was buy some time. But I was strapped at the wrists and ankles to an iron chair. I shut my eyes and tried to calm myself with images of Cotton. Our intimate experiences with each other couldn’t be more different than what occurred in this place. But to each his or her own. Sex for the sake of sex? For the high, the escape, the release? Something to be said for that. But there was also sex used to prove power, to show strength, to satiate physical desire, to establish position, calm fears, debase, or define. Not all of which was good. Then there was sex simply for the connection, the celebration of emotion, a way to become closer, to explore and understand another’s psyche, to delight in what two people can do to and for each other. That’s what Cotton and I shared. Sure, we took chances, but we never pushed boundaries.
Unlike Denton Lussac.
Thoughts of Morgan le Fay appeared in my mind.
Flashes from the dream.
What was happening to me? Was I actually seeing the past? If so, those visions were beginning to affect my thinking. From what I knew about reincarnation, it’s supposedly about repeating the past until you finished what was started. Fulfilling a karmic destiny. Righting wrongs. Redeeming yourself and learning lessons. What was the point of my past life? If it were mine at all.
The oak door reopened and Denton returned.
“Miss me?” he asked.
I did not answer.
“When I took the box back at Eze, I was in a bit of a rush. I failed to notice one of the bottles was gone. Antoine has the curiosity of a corpse, so I’m assuming you have it. Do you?”
I remained silent.
“Of course that was a rhetorical question. When I strapped you into that chair I noticed something in your pocket.”
He fished the bottle from my pocket. “Let me guess. You’re thinking, how do I get out of here? I need to get Madame Benedict to a hospital. Call the police. Save possibly the next president of France from herself, and the man she believes is orchestrating her political triumph, but who is actually creating her downfall. But, unfortunately, Madame Benedict will recall nothing of what just happened. A side effect of the drug-induced stupor she currently finds herself in. And the best part?”
I waited.
He displayed the bottle from my pocket.
“These concoctions are pure organic. Nature’s own. They leave no chemical residue. No signature. Nothing to find in the blood or tissue. Madame Benedict will have no idea what came over her. But you.” He pointed my way again. “You are a different story.”
“I didn’t realize I had such a reputation.”
“I made a call while I was upstairs earlier. The Direction Générale de la Sécurité Extérieure is familiar with your reputation. You’re a known commodity. I’m told you’ve been involved in several incidents that had global implications. And wealthy too. Your family’s concerns are quite profitable. And, on top of all that, you’re building a medieval castle. That sounds impressive.”
I matched his sarcasm with my own. “Would you like to contribute to the building fund?”
“Any other time, perhaps. But I have an election to lose.”
“Was it President Casimir’s idea for you to double cross St. Benedict?’
“Actually, it was mine. But he pays well.”
His chattiness concerned me. Apparently, he did not intend for me to leave this dungeon alive. He examined all sides of the bottle he’d taken from me.
I saw something in his eye and had to ask, “You’ve experienced the effects, haven’t you?”
He nodded. “Quite the trip. I was someone of great importance. A warrior. In a fight, then in a fortress, making love to a beautiful woman.”
That sounded familiar.
“The woman have a name?”
He stared at me. “Morgan le Fay.”
I fought my disgust. “Did you have a name?”
“Kaz of Gormet.”
Fascinating. We were both in the same loop.
“Which bottle did you inhale?” I asked. He did not answer, so I tried, “How many trips did you take?”
“Two.” He displayed the bottle again. “I’m assuming you’ve been doing some sniffing of your own. Which explains why you kept it.”
Kaz of Gormet versus Helians of Gormet.
Antoine Lussac versus Denton Lussac.
Brother against brother.
In both times.
He lifted the towel he’d used to wipe my face and covered his mouth and nose. Then he uncorked the bottle and held it beneath my nostrils. “I’m afraid your time has come to an end.”
I caught the distinctive waft.
“A little induces the visions,” he said from behind the towel. “But a lot?”
His question hung in the air.
“A lot may kill.”
I held my breath for as long as I could, then I had no choice.
I inhaled.