Band of Demons (The Sanheim Chronicles, Book Two) by Rob Blackwell Page B

everything about him; had replayed past events with him countless times over the years. But she was surprised how much she had forgotten.
    “How?” she said. “Why? You couldn’t have escaped…”
    Kieran glanced around the room, taking in the kewpie dolls still lying strewn about the floor. He stopped to pick up an errant bead.
    “Nice place,” he said. “A bit…dramatic, though, don’t you think? The dolls? Really? I didn’t think you were into that stuff.”
    It took Carol a moment to recover herself.
    “People come to see a show, Kieran,” she said.  
    “Yes, the great ‘Madame Zora,’” he said. “I have to admit I’m a little disappointed. Given your talents, you should be famous—a legend.”
    “Fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” she said, keeping her voice flat.
    Kieran finished his circle of the room and looked at her. It was a piercing look, one that seemed to peel all the levels of confidence and self-assurance she had gathered over the decades. In his eyes, she was that 18-year-old girl with more talent than sense. God, how she had loved him. He was funny, charming, and even if he was taken, that didn’t mean he was against a little attention on the side. And she had been stupid enough to give him some, not knowing—or not caring—what it would cost her.
    “You mind if I sit down?” he asked.
    He didn’t wait for her response. Instead, he just calmly took the chair and placed himself in it.
    “Why are you here?” she asked.
    But she knew. Of course she knew. She had expected someone to come, just not him—never him. She thought she was prepared. But maybe they were smarter than she thought. Perhaps they knew just what would hurt her the most and had hurled it at her like a spear.
    Kieran gave her a look that simultaneously expressed disappointment and amusement.
    “Do we have to go through this?” he asked. “You know perfectly well why I’m here. You also know who sent me, what they want, and what they will do to you if you don’t give it to them. So do we have to play this game of charades?”
    “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Why…”
    He sighed, and the look of amusement died.
    “I guess we do. Let’s see,” he said, and he held out his hand and counted on his fingers. “Four words. Five syllables. Is that right? I always hated charades.”
    “You’re going to kill me?” Carol said.
    Kieran looked momentarily startled but recovered quickly.
    “No, that’s five words and six syllables. You suck at this game.”
    “I’m not playing it,” she said. “I asked you a question.”
    Kieran looked up at her.
    “I don’t want to,” he said, and she thought it might be the first honest thing he had said all day. “I really don’t, Carol.”
    “So don’t,” she said. “Last I checked, you weren’t some flunky. Least of all for them.”
    Kieran didn’t move a muscle, but she saw him flinch just the same. As nonchalant as he was pretending to be, the words stung him. Or maybe he was just uncomfortable with what he knew he had to do.
    “Times change,” he responded. “Last I checked, you weren’t some middle-age charlatan using cheap parlor tricks to win a few coins. But we all pay a price in life, don’t we?”
    “Of the two of us, I think it’s clear who has fallen the furthest,” Carol said. “She would never…”
    “Don’t tell me what she would never do,” Kieran said and a look of anger crossed his face.
    “No, I guess you already know,” she said.
    “If you are trying to get me not to kill you, you need to work on your technique,” he said.
    He reached behind him and pulled out a long knife. He put it on the table in front of him.
    “You’ve already decided to kill me,” she said. “Nothing I can do will change that.”
    Kieran stood up, glanced at the knife and then looked at her.
    “That’s not true, Carol,” he said, and some part of her wondered if he actually meant it. “It’s true that they want you