Death of an Adept

Adam's present situation was clearly designed to underline how very vulnerable he now was. Quite apart from being drugged and restrained, he had been stripped to trousers and shirtsleeves while unconscious, relieved of shoes and belt and tie and all personal effects. While his watch, cufflinks, and a gold fountain pen were laid out on the bedside locker beside his wallet, what gave Adam the strongest pang of misgiving was the absence of his Adept ring, along with the rings intended to seal his marriage. These were items that might well be used against him, because of their strong emotional link - a potential weapon he did not doubt Raeburn would attempt to exploit for his own profit and amusement, and to Adam's detriment.

And handcuffed as he was, Adam held little hope that his old adversary would allow him any chance to make a bid for escape. His one frail recourse in his own defense was to try and send out a call for help on the astral - if he could pierce the drug-induced lethargy dragging at his thinking.

Hoping that any observers would think that he was merely drifting back into unconsciousness, he closed his eyes and attempted to retreat into trance. But before he could adequately compose himself, his concentration was jarred by the sound of brisk footsteps outside the closed door, followed by the harsh clatter of bolts being drawn.

Queasy apprehension gripped him as the door opened. The face of the man who entered was all too familiar to Adam's bleary gaze - deceptively ordinary-looking in a navy three-piece suit. Francis Raeburn left the door ajar behind him as he advanced to Adam's bedside with a reproving cluck of his tongue, his normally pale face aglow with high color.

"That will do, Dr. Sinclair," he said briskly. "It's most uncivil of you to try and contact your associates the minute you believe my back is turned. The courteous guest should avoid causing trouble for his host - besides which, you would be wasting your efforts. These premises are quite heavily shielded, even by your discriminating standards."

Rolling onto his back to gaze up at his captor, Adam made no attempt to summon a rejoinder. Even half-drugged, he could see that Raeburn had undergone a change in the months since their previous encounter. The ascetic features were now more sharply defined, and the thinning blond hair had gone a trifle silver. The pronounced flush, the overly elaborate banter, were signs of a man only marginally in control of himself. A detached part of Adam reckoned that Raeburn had been driving himself hard since they last met - pushing himself near to the breaking point in search of the elusive touchstone of power and victory.

The result was a loss of equilibrium. Raeburn's intellect might remain as sharp as ever, but the emotional core of his personality was being systematically eroded. The process was a long-term one, the results only now becoming outwardly apparent. But Adam knew that such erosion was one of the dangers ever-present in courting the favors of the Patrons of Shadow.

As this thought moved sluggishly across his mind, he became awar; that Raeburn was speaking again.

"I must apologize for the inelegance of your restraints," Raeburn said, nodding toward the handcuffs. "My men were more efficient than I dared to hope. I wasn't expecting you quite so soon. But we'll remedy this embarrassing oversight very shortly." He paused a beat for emphasis. "Aren't you the least bit curious to know what I have in store for you?'' His tone was lightly edged, as if the quality of Adam's silence had vexed him. Faced with a direct question, Adam was careful in his answer.

"No doubt you'll get around to telling me in your own good time."

Raeburn laughed. "Well-reasoned. Just now, I think I'll let you indulge your imagination - especially since I have no wish to blunt your anticipation."

Reaching above Adam's head, Raeburn turned on a high-intensity light clamped to the bedstead, then delved into the pocket of his suit jacket and produced the small velvet box which Adam had brought away with him from the engraver's studio. Opening it, he took out the two wedding rings and made a show of examining each of them in turn under the light.

"A. S. to X. L. X. L. to A. S. - how touchingly Victorian," he quipped, his Lynx ring flashing like blood on his hand as he replaced the rings in their box. "I can't say that sentimentality much appeals to me - but then, your appetites and mine never have coincided, have they?"

Closing the box with a snap, he pocketed it and brought out Adam's Adept ring, subjecting it to the same degree of scrutiny.

"A handsome enough stone," he conceded, "but it could use a bit of polish."

Watching Adam out of the corner of his eye, he held the ring close to his lips and breathed heavily on the sapphire. As he did so, Adam felt himself swept by a sudden flush of mingled heat and cold that penetrated to the bone, so intense that it forced a hissing intake of breath.