Dark Victory. Brenda Joyce

lot. But her comment gave Nick pause.

      He had decided well over a year ago that the witch burnings were not as random as most of law enforcement believed. He also disagreed with the agency’s social anthropologists and shrinks who claimed the gangs were simply on a new demonic high, and it was cooler to burn people at the stake than to murder each other gangland style. He knew with every fiber of his being that there was a rhyme and a reason to the burnings. He was absolutely certain that there was one great black power behind all of the gangs in the country, if not the world, and that their leader was a medieval demon.

      And he had made it his personal mission to nail the sonuvabitch.

      So if the Highlander had followed a medieval demon to New York, he’d jump for joy if the incident was somehow connected to the witch burnings. “We know nothing about our holy friend—although I intend to change that.”

      “It was too quiet this weekend, until now,” Sam said after a reflective pause.

      “Yeah, it was like a vacation.” He hated vacations. “Let’s not speculate. We have a priority. We need to find our medieval ally before someone else does.”

      “Why?”

      Before he could tell her about the breaking news, the child screamed.

      He knew that horrific sound inside and out. It was a part of his soul and he’d hoped to never hear it again.

      The young girl screamed, and he heard the roar as the sedan went up in flames. He inhaled, flinching. He had no time for a flashback now.

      But he saw the inferno on the night-darkened freeway and he heard the heavy, black laughter.

      “Nick? You okay?”

      He heard Sam, but vaguely, as if she was speaking to him from far away. He breathed hard and realized he felt sick. He’d just had a goddamned flashback!

      It took him a moment to push the image away. When he had, he was at his window, staring down at the cars passing below on the slick city streets.

      Holy shit. He’d vanquished the flashbacks about a decade ago. He couldn’t understand why they were starting up all over again.

      He’d pretend it hadn’t happened—so it hadn’t happened. He had the best secretary money could buy—and money couldn’t buy Jan, only her own, personal demons could. Jan was classified Level Five at HCU and she’d been at his side through the best times and the worst times. Once upon a time she’d been his best field agent. If she ever learned he was having flashbacks again, she’d hound him so bad he’d cave and go to a shrink. Of course, by then, hell would have frozen over and the war would have been won or lost.

      He got it together and faced Sam. “Here’s the deal. The Highlander got Brad with his sword in front of a bunch of cops and civvies,” Nick said.

      Sam faced him, her eyes wide.

      “The press got wind of it and they’re going with it. I can’t close it down. They’re calling him ‘the Sword Murderer’—original, don’t you think?”

      “Shit,” Sam said. She was a bit pale, when Sam was usually the coolest cucumber he knew.

      “He also took at least one hit from our city’s finest,” Nick added. “Of course, a teensy-weensy bullet probably won’t bother him very much.” He picked up the white phone and made a single call. It would stop the cops from hunting their Highlander down. He could do that much.

      He smiled cheerfully at her after hanging up. “The cops will be put to bed shortly. But the story is breaking on the evening news right now.”

      “It will cause hysteria,” Sam said, heading for the door. “We have to find him before one of the vigilante gangs does.”

      Normally, Nick didn’t mind the dozens of violent vigilante gangs in the city. They were no match for the demons, but they sure as hell helped the war effort—even though their activities were against the law. CDA, the cops and the Feds all looked the other way.

      He wasn’t looking the other way now.

      The Highlander was wounded—and from all accounts, on the run. He needed their protection. “Let’s go find the holy warrior,” he said. “And see if we can help our medieval friend.”

      HER NEWSPAPER TUCKED under her arm—she usually glanced at the front page in the teachers’ lounge when her class was in fifth-period music—Tabby walked into the school where she taught first grade. She greeted a half-dozen other teachers as she strolled toward her classroom, still trying to get focused on the day to come. She loved children and she loved being an elementary-school teacher, especially in public school, where many of the kids so needed direction and guidance. But she’d slept badly last night. Her dreams had been anxious and stressful—they’d all been about the dark Highlander.

      She’d awoken with the certainty that he was in trouble, more so than ever, and that he needed her.

      One strange visit to the Met and her life had changed so quickly, she thought.

      And something was up. Sam hadn’t come home that morning. She worked at night—evil played after dark and hid in the daylight. But she was usually home at sunrise. Tabby knew she should assume whatever Sam was doing was routine, but her senses were telling her otherwise. Something was happening, and she wished she knew what.

      Tabby entered her classroom and some of her anxiety vanished. The room’s walls were covered with the kids’ cheerful and colorful paintings and pictures, their latest spelling assignments, and maps of the city, the state and the country, with important landmarks flagged. Some articles they’d discussed from newspapers and magazines were also taped to the walls.

      She always had a really good vibe when coming to class, and that hadn’t changed. First period was current events, so Tabby laid her copy of USA Today down on her desk, and with it, the article she’d clipped for the kids from the New York Times.

      She glimpsed the paper’s headline and cried out.

      Sword Murderer Threatens City. Tabby sank into her chair, scanning the article, somehow already knowing what she was going to find. A man dressed in a medieval Highland costume had murdered a man in Tribeca last night. He had escaped the authorities, but he was wounded, armed and dangerous.

      Tabby began to shake. He was in the city, and he was hurt.

      She closed her eyes and whispered, “I can help you.”

      Come to me, she thought, straining for him. Come to me.

      “Hello,” a cheerful voice called to her.

      For one moment, Tabby was so focused that she heard the woman but couldn’t move or open her eyes. Then the woman spoke again and Tabby came back to the present.

      She got up, drenched with perspiration, and faced a woman she had never seen before. The woman had very fair skin and hair, and she was wearing a beige suit that gave her an oddly bland appearance. “Are you okay?” the woman asked.

      “I’m fine—I was lost in thought,” Tabby said, aware that she’d spoken the truth.

      “I’m filling in for Marlene, and I just wanted to pop in and introduce myself,” the woman said, smiling. “I’m Kristin Lafarge.”

      Marlene was vice principal, and she was on maternity leave. Tabby smiled in return, walking forward so they could shake hands. “Hi. I’m Tabby Rose, although you probably already know that.”

      “I do,” she said pleasantly. “And I’ve heard great things about this school. I’m looking forward to my time here.”

      “It’s a great faculty and a great group of kids, for the most part,” Tabby said.

      Kristin glanced at her desk. “Just what we need, a nutcase on the loose in the city, running people through with a sword.”

      Tabby smiled grimly. “I’m sure he’ll be