The Wizard of Seattle Read online

  Praise for the Novels of

  Kay Hooper

  BLOOD SINS

  “Disturbing … Hooper pulls out all the stops.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  BLOOD DREAMS

  “You won’t want to turn the lights out after reading this book!”

  —Romantic Times

  “A good read for fans of other serial-killer books and the TV show Criminal Minds.”

  —Booklist

  SLEEPING WITH FEAR

  “An entertaining book for any reader.”

  —Winston-Salem Journal

  “Hooper keeps the suspense dialed up…. Readers will be mesmerized by a plot that moves quickly to a chilling conclusion.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  CHILL OF FEAR

  “Hooper’s latest may offer her fans a few shivers on a hot beach.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Kay Hooper has conjured a fine thriller with appealing young ghosts and a suitably evil presence to provide a welcome chill on a hot summer’s day.”

  —Orlando Sentinel

  “The author draws the reader into the story line and, once there, they can’t leave because they want to see what happens next in this thrill-a-minute, chilling, fantastic reading experience.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “The author draws the reader into the story line and, once there, they can’t leave because they want to see what happens next in this thrill-a-minute, chilling, fantastic reading experience.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  HUNTING FEAR

  “A well-told, scary story.”

  —Toronto Sun

  “Hooper’s unerring story sense and ability to keep the pages flying can’t be denied.”

  —Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine

  “It’s vintage Hooper—a suspenseful page-turner.”

  —Brazosport Facts

  “Expect plenty of twists and surprises as Kay Hooper gets her new series off to a crackerjack start!”

  —Aptos Times

  SENSE OF EVIL

  “A well-written, entertaining police procedural … loaded with suspense.”

  —Midwest Book Review

  “Filled with page-turning suspense.”

  —Sunday Oklahoman

  “Sense of Evil will knock your socks off.”

  —Rendezvous

  “A master storyteller.”

  —Tami Hoag

  STEALING SHADOWS

  “A fast-paced, suspenseful plot … The story’s complicated and intriguing twists and turns keep the reader guessing until the chilling end.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  HAUNTING RACHEL

  “A stirring and evocative thriller.”

  —Palo Alto Daily News

  “The pace flies, the suspense never lets up. It’s great reading.”

  —Baton Rouge Advocate

  “It passed the ‘stay up late to finish it in one night’ test.”

  —Denver Post

  FINDING LAURA

  “You always know you are in for an outstanding read when you pick up a Kay Hooper novel, but in Finding Laura, she has created something really special! Simply superb!”

  —Romantic Times

  “Hooper keeps the intrigue pleasurably complicated, with gothic touches of suspense and a satisfying resolution.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  AFTER CAROLINE

  “Harrowing good fun. Readers will shiver and shudder.”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Kay Hooper has crafted another solid story to keep readers enthralled until the last page is turned.”

  —Booklist

  “Kay Hooper comes through with thrills, chills, and plenty of romance, this time with an energetic murder mystery with a clever twist. The suspense is sustained admirably right up to the end.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  BANTAM BOOKS BY KAY HOOPER

  The Bishop Trilogies

  Stealing Shadows

  Hiding in the Shadows

  Out of the Shadows

  Touching Evil

  Whisper of Evil

  Sense of Evil

  Hunting Fear

  Chill of Fear

  Sleeping with Fear

  Blood Dreams

  Blood Sins

  The Quinn Novels

  Once a Thief

  Always a Thief

  Romantic Suspense

  Amanda

  After Caroline

  Finding Laura

  Haunting Rachel

  Classic Fantasy and Romance

  On Wings of Magic

  The Wizard of Seattle

  My Guardian Angel (anthology)

  Yours to Keep (anthology)

  Golden Threads

  Something Different / Pepper’s Way

  C.J.’s Fate

  The Haunting of Josie

  Illegal Possession

  If There Be Dragons

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Part One - Seattle

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Part Two - Atlantia

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Part Three - Seattle

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Copyright

  This book is for my editor, Nita Taublib, because of her enthusiasm, her honesty, and the sneaky tactics she uses to get me to return phone calls.

  This book is for my agent, Eileen Fallon, because she never yells at me, even when I deserve to be yelled at, and because we can talk about anything—even politics.

  And this book is for my friend Catherine Coulter, because of something she said in San Diego.

  PROLOGUE

  Atlantia—Past

  It was near midnight, but the sky remained a deep and pulsing blood red, as if a dying sun lingered long past its time. Directly above the village, above the miles-across natural amphitheater formed by the tall mountains that ringed the valley, the very air was alive with energy, crawling and crackling softly. The small cottages of the village were dark and silent, huddled in among themselves.

  If anyone heard the girl, no one answered her cries.

  She did not scream hysterically, nor was there any note of hope in her calls for aid. Her wide blue eyes lifted often to the shifting sky that could be glimpsed between the trees, but she spared no glance behind her, where the sounds of pursuit grew louder. After a time she saved her breath for running, knowing only too well that she could expect no help from the villagers.

  “Where’d she go?”

  “I saw her—”

  “There! Quick, cut her off!”

  Harsh voices. Three of them. Ruthless male voices containing no pity, no mercy, no emotion save furious urgency.

  With the instinct of a hunted animal, she evaded their trap, choosing the thickest part of the forest and ignoring the thorns that ripped and tore her white robe as she ran. The sounds of pursuit dimmed, the forest echoing with ghostly epithets no less savage for the distance between them and the desperately fleeing girl.

  The stabbing ache in her side forced her to halt when she was less than halfway across the valley. She leaned against a squat and gnarled tree and stretched her right hand up to the sky, as if beseeching some namel
ess, faceless god to help her. Her only answer came when her feeble energies were turned back on her fiercely by the unforgiving night of Atlantia; there was a flash of dim, grim light and a searing pain in her hand that jerked a moan from her lips. She brought the hand to her breast and cradled it there with her left one, not bothering to look at the new blister that had been added to the others.

  At night in the valley, all were powerless.

  Especially the women.

  Over the sounds of her labored breathing, she could hear her pursuers, closer now, on her scent like a pack of ravenous wolves. They were not wizards. Unlike her, they were not enervated by the heavy pressure of energies lashing in the sky above or unable to use the natural strengths of their bodies and minds. They were not exhausted, or lost, or alone.

  And they were not afraid of her. Not now. Not at night.

  She pushed herself away from the tree and stumbled on, so weakened now by her useless attempts at defense that she knew she would never reach the slope of the mountain looming ahead.

  They wouldn’t kill her, she knew, at least not deliberately. Even in this valley, where she was powerless, they would not dare to take her life. She almost wished they would, for what they intended to do to her would destroy her slowly and in agony. The power she could not use to defend herself would be stolen from her by their greed and lust.

  Or so they believed.

  She slowed her pace simply because she could no longer run, but continued to make her way through the forest, trying to move silently through the thick undergrowth. She held her seared and blistered hand to her side in an effort to ease the pain in both. She was so tired. So weak. Sanctuary was too far away; the slopes of the mountain ahead seemed more distant with every step she took.

  Her terror and hatred, rising from the depths of her soul like some black thing alive and on the wing, blinded her. Her strength almost gone, she plunged through a thicket of brambles, into a shaft of brilliant moonlight—and into the brutal embrace of her hunters.

  Two of them grabbed her by the arms, stretching her limbs out from her sides and holding them immobile as if, even now, they half feared her power. They were strong, their work-roughened hands grasping her arms with a force that nearly broke bones. These were farmers, she realized dimly, men who worked exhausting hours to tear crops from the capricious soil of Atlantia. And all three were still young enough to hope for something better.

  “Hey, boys, we caught ourselves a wizard,” a third one said with a laugh, approaching her with a caution that suggested both eagerness and wariness.

  “Don’t do this.” She felt the rough bark of a tree against her back, and pain stabbed her shoulders as her arms were nearly pulled from their sockets. She didn’t bother to deny her powers, knowing it would make no difference even if they believed her. And they wouldn’t believe her, for she bore the unmistakable sign of a female wizard of Atlantia.

  The two men holding her were silent but for their heavy breathing; the third stood before her and looked slowly, insolently, from her wildly tangled hair to the delicate, scratched ankles below the hem of her torn white robe.

  “Haughty bitch,” he muttered. “Strutting around in the daylight with your nose in the air like you own the world. Not so proud now, are you?”

  Terror, rage, and aching despair welled up inside Roxanne like a tide of anguish. She couldn’t stop this! They would never listen to reason, and they certainly feared no punishment for what they were about to do. She was helpless against them, powerless, without any defense at all. No matter what she said or did, they would be on her like animals, rutting out of hate and ambition and fear and lust. And she couldn’t stop them.

  Men. Even women of power were ultimately helpless against them. These valley men who hunted at night with their brutal hands and frightened lust, eager to vent their hate and greed and frustration on vulnerable females. Those male wizards with their lordly palaces high in the mountains and their lies and schemes and arrogance, enacting laws expressly designed to torment and degrade both the women of power they feared and the valley women who served as the vessels for their pleasures and their sons.

  With a choked sound she spat in his face.

  He stood motionless for an instant, as if he feared her saliva might contain some terrible magic that would melt his flesh. Then a hoarse growl erupted from his throat, and he slapped her, with the full strength of his arm behind the blow. It rocked her head back against the tree; blackness swam before her eyes, and nausea churned in her stomach. As if from a great distance, she heard hollow, echoing, booming voices.

  “Bitch! Make sure she can’t move.”

  “You gonna plow her standing up?”

  “Just hold her.”

  Nearly unconscious, Roxanne moaned as the pull on her arms sent spasms of agony through her shoulders and back. She felt the touch of fingers, cold and clammy as they fumbled against the base of her neck, and then there was a sharp tearing sound and the rush of air as her robe and shift were ripped open from neckline to hem. She tried to struggle, but her movements were only weak twitches. Fighting to hold the blackness at bay, she shook her head to clear it and looked up into the feral, feverish eyes of the man.

  He was tearing at his own clothing, yanking his trousers open and shoving them down, his lust further inflamed by the sight of her slender body. He half stumbled and lurched closer, his meaty hands grasping and clawing at her naked flesh.

  Roxanne made a last desperate bid for freedom, ordering her drained muscles to offer up what strength they had left. But the effort was little more than a jerk, and cost her almost unimaginable pain as the men tightened their grip on her arms.

  “Hold her,” the one pawing her grunted as he reached a hand down to guide himself. “Hold her—”

  She didn’t have the strength to fight, the breath to scream, or the will to die. The tears she might have shed were burned dry by her hatred before they could escape her eyes. She stared over his shoulder at tiny distant lights high on the highest mountain, and tried to detach her mind from the agony and degradation of what he was doing to her.

  They were laughing. The other two, the ones holding her, were laughing and fondling themselves with their free hands, waiting for their turn. They would take turns with her all night, using her again and again until dawn stole their courage and sent them slinking away from what would be left of her.

  She couldn’t … couldn’t … Something inside her snapped, and the pain was gone. She didn’t feel anything at all. Or hear anything. Or see anything.

  Tremayne drew his cloak about him to protect against the chill of the night air, and leaned against the balustrade. Far below, the valley was spread out in the peculiar flickering darkness of an Atlantia night; up here atop the tallest of the seven mountains that ringed the valley, the air was clear and sharp. Sound carried well up here.

  Especially some sounds.

  He tried to close his mind to what was happening at the other end of the terrace, not so much disturbed as disgusted. His “uncle” Varian—the title was actually one of respect, since their familial connection was distant—was entertaining his favorite concubine, a plump village girl of perhaps eighteen who had already borne him four sons and who was eagerly at work to accept a fifth into her womb. Varian tended to get sons on his women; his favoritism toward the improbably named Virginia stemmed more from her energetic lustiness than her fertility.

  They were rutting now on a pile of cushions at the opposite end of the terrace, some sixty feet from Tremayne, and he knew it would not disturb his uncle at all if he went over and pulled up a chair to watch; Varian, upon occasion, enjoyed performing for an audience—usually made up of his sons.

  Tremayne, however, was no voyeur. He would have much preferred to go inside, but knew only too well that his “cousins” were engaged in activities similar to those of their sire. He doubted he could find an empty room.

  So, closing his ears to the sighs and moans coming from that end of the terra
ce, he gazed out over the valley and let his thoughts wander. They were disjointed, as thoughts often are, skipping across his mind like stones on a pond. Occasionally one would drop and cause ripples that circled outward.

  The lady. No, don’t think of her. Think of something that won’t drive you mad. Your father sent you back here to Atlantia to find out why the earthquakes have worsened, why the tides are erratic, and why even across the sea the flickering clouds above this continent are visible. All the wizards outside Atlantia are worried—and now you know why.

  Yes, he knew why. Because here on this isolated island continent, ambition and greed had run rampant. An old civilization was splintering, the population teetering on the brink of extinction, the very ground beneath them shuddering in the first throes of death.

  The Master wizards here saw themselves as gods. Especially Varian.

  After being in this house for several months, Tremayne had come to the conclusion that Varian was a glutton, his appetites insatiable. He was a glutton for food, but since he was also a glutton for sex, perhaps he needed the energy. He was a glutton for power. He was obsessed with the determination to rule Atlantia, whatever the cost—and his frantic begetting of sons on every powerless female capable of bearing them was only one of the strands of his web.

  Varian, Tremayne had realized, intended quite literally to people the wizard population with his offspring and eventually crowd out all other male wizards. He was confident of his ability to control his sons—with some justification, Tremayne thought—and equally scornful of the other Master wizards’ less energetic reproductive abilities. As for the female wizards, he was plotting even now to find a way to destroy their Sanctuary and them.

  He’d steal their powers if he could—and he hasn’t given up the idea of that yet. He hates and fears them, but he can’t help wondering…. It’s all that’s forbidden to him, taking a woman of power into his bed. One day his lust may overcome even his fear of vulnerability, and he’ll risk his life to satisfy his urges.