Deirdre’s mind raced. How long would the spell Marius placed on Anders last? She had to say something to buy them more time. “What if the Scirathi turn on you?”

“Not bloody likely,” Sasha said with a laugh, “seeing as they’re all dead. The Philosophers gave the few of them that were left little gold vials of blood. The sorcerers gobbled it up like the greedy things they are. Too bad for them it was tainted with something nasty. The sorcerers curled up like poor dead spiders.”

Deirdre tried to cast another surreptitious look at Anders. He still wasn’t moving. “How did you get that photo of Anders? Did you fake it?”

“I didn’t need to, Deirdre. It was a wonderful stroke of luck, catching him in the act of going through your things.”

“So what you said about Anders was true,” Deirdre said, her gut clenching.

Sasha gave a satisfied smirk. “Every word of it, darling. Anders has lied to you about who he is from day one. He’s been keeping tabs on you, never letting you get too far out of his sight, the loyal, pathetic git. He followed you up here to protect you.”

That didn’t make sense. “To protect me?”

Now Sasha’s expression edged into a look of disgust. “Everyone’s always saying what a brilliant Seeker you are, Deirdre, but no offense, you seem a bit thick to me. Maybe they’re right; maybe you’re good at spotting the footprints in the dirt. Problem is, you don’t notice the elephant walking by. Why do you think Nakamura assigned a former security guard to be your partner, then let him keep his gun? It’s been Anders’s job all along to protect Nakamura’s precious star agent. Only the lovable lump has failed, hasn’t he?” The gun moved from Marius to Deirdre.

Deirdre cast an anguished look at Anders’s still-frozen form. He hadn’t told her the truth because he was protecting her. Only that deception had caused her to mistrust him, and now . . .

Lightning flashed, and thunder crashed outside. Deirdre thought she heard a sharp sound along with the thunder, but before she could think what it was, Marius raised a hand. Had he regained enough of his strength to try another spell?

It didn’t matter.

“No you don’t,” Sasha said, pointing the gun at him. “You may be three hundred years old, but I can still blow your head off. And in fact, that’s what they sent me here to do.”

“So what have they promised you?” Marius said, gazing at Sasha. “Immortality? I know them far better than you ever possibly can. Even if they find what they seek, they will not give that to you.”

For the first time the smooth mask of Sasha’s calm cracked, and anger twisted her face, ruining its loveliness. “You lie, Marius, just as they warned me you would. Even at this moment, they’re preparing the way for those who have been faithful. We True Seekers will be rewarded. And traitors—they will die.”

It happened in an instant. Sasha swung her arm to one side, pointed the gun beyond Marius and Deirdre, and fired.

Deirdre turned. Like a statue tipped on its side, Anders had fallen over, his rigid body still in the shape it had been, arm outstretched, gun in hand. As she watched, a bloom of red appeared on his white shirt, spreading outward.

“The bigger they are,” Sasha said, her smirk returning. “Now it’s your turn. DEER-dree.”

She pointed the pistol at Deirdre and squeezed the trigger. At the same moment, Marius took a single step forward. Thunder split the air.

The thunder rolled away into silence. Smoke curled up from the barrel of Sasha’s gun.

“Oh,” Marius said. He stumbled back, sitting in one of the wing-backed chairs by the embers of the fire. He looked tired, and it seemed for all the world as if he had sat down to rest. Then a spasm passed through him, and blood gushed out his mouth. He reached a hand inside his suit coat, then pulled it out, staring at his reddened fingers as if in fascination.

“Great Spirit,” Deirdre whispered. She knelt beside the chair and gripped his arm. “Marius!”

He did not answer her. She looked up, her voice a snarl of anguish and rage. “What have you done?”

“Nothing more than a minor mistake,” Sasha said. “After I eliminated you, I was to offer him one last chance to rejoin the Philosophers. But they doubted he would accept, and once he refused I was to destroy him. So it’s no great loss. And neither is this.”

Sasha moved forward and leveled the gun at Deirdre’s head. Deirdre shut her eyes. One more clap of thunder shattered the dusty air.

The thunder faded. There was a dull thud as something struck the floor. Not understanding how she could, Deirdre opened her eyes.

Sasha sprawled on the floor before the fireplace, staring upward, an expression of astonishment on her lovely face. There was a hole in the center of her forehead, oozing blood.

Deirdre looked up. A rangy figure stepped into view. Rain had darkened his blond hair, plastering it to his brow, and his eyes glinted like emeralds. There was a gash on his cheek, trickling blood. He held a gun in his hand.

“That is a wicked thing,” Beltan said, then threw the gun to the floor next to Sasha’s body.

Deirdre’s mind was numb. Did he mean the gun or Sasha? And how was he here? But none of that mattered. Fear flooded her, clearing her mind. Albrecht and Anders had both been shot.

“Beltan, go see to Anders. I’ll—”

A bloody hand clamped around her wrist. She gasped and found herself gazing into gold eyes. Only they were dull now, more like tarnished bronze.

Marius licked red-stained lips. “Your partner is . . . still in stasis. There is time. Call for help. Use the phone in . . . the carriage house.”

She groped inside his coat; she had to stop the flow of blood. Her hands met a wet, gaping hole. Oh, by the gods. “Beltan, help me!” she cried, her voice shaking with panic.

She heard quick footsteps, then sensed Beltan standing behind her, but she could not take her eyes off Marius. Even in anguish, his face was beautiful, his golden hair like an angel’s. To her astonishment, he was smiling at her.

“Do not be sad for me,” he said, the words gentle. “Three and a half centuries is far too long. I’ve endured only so I could find someone to tell my tale to, and now I have. I found you, Deirdre. I am ready to join her now. I am ready to sleep.”

“No,” she said, but the word was soft: a lament rather than a command.

Another spasm passed through him. “It seems I am not meant to understand the . . . final mystery. I confess, I never believed I would. But you still can, Deirdre. Go to them for me. Go to . . . the Sleeping Ones.”

She could only shake her head, beyond words now.

“Please!” Marius’s eyes flickered like the flames of twin candles. His grip on her arm tightened. “Find the catalyst. Find it and . . . bring it to them. No matter what else happens, they must—”

His hand slipped away from her wrist. The twin candles flickered one last time, then went out. His head lolled back against the chair. Deirdre stared, unable to move.

“He looks at peace,” Beltan said gruffly, breaking the silence. “He was the one who was helping you, wasn’t he?”

Peace. The word was foreign to her. Deirdre looked up at the blond man, trying to make her brain function. “Beltan—how?”

“That little flea Eustace shot at us with his gun. He fought more fiercely than I would have thought once I cornered him.” Beltan touched his wounded cheek. “But I was able to engage him so Anders could reach the manor. I followed as soon as I finished my work.”

These words registered on Deirdre only for a moment. Then sudden energy crackled through her.

“Anders,” she said, standing and rushing across the front hall to where her partner lay on the floor.

He was still motionless, staring blankly. Blood had seeped from the wound in his chest, making a puddle on the floor, but not nearly as much as she had feared. She touched a finger to his neck and detected, faint but steady, a pulse. He was still in stasis. But for how long?