Free The Keep of Fire by Mark Anthony

Philosophers will not be pleased.”
    Deirdre tightened her grip on the railing. “Damn the Philosophers.”
    Now laughter floated on the air. “Speak carefully, Deirdre Falling Hawk. The Philosophers have many ears. You’ve always had a tendency to forget that fact.”
    A figure stepped from the shadowy wings of the stage, into the spotlight.
    “Welcome, Travis Wilder,” the man said.
    Travis shook his head, and a sick feeling oozed into his stomach. Who were all these strangers who seemed to know him so well? He glanced at Deirdre, but her eyes were dark and distant, fixed on the stage. At that moment she might as well have been a stranger to him, too.
    “What do you want?” Travis said, surprised at the way his trembling voice rose on the air of the opera house.
    “To help,” the man onstage said.
    Travis sighed. He noticed that the other had not said,
To help you
.
    Deirdre touched his arm. “Come on, Travis.”
    She led the way down to the stage, and he followed.
    By the time they reached the bottom, the man sat on the edge of the orchestra pit. He looked to be Travis’s age, early thirties, or perhaps just a little older given the flecks of gray in his curly black hair. He wore rumpled chinos and a white linen shirt rolled up to the elbows. Stubble shadowed his square jaw, and his nose was aquiline above sensual lips. He looked like a movie star from some forties film noir: handsome, disheveled, possibly dangerous. On the stage next to him was a manila envelope.
    “Who are you?” Travis said.
    The man held out a hand. “My name is Farr. Hadrian Farr.”
    Travis didn’t accept the gesture. That wasn’t what he had meant.
    The man—Farr—seemed in no way rebuffed. His hand moved to the manila envelope, as if this was what he had been reaching for all along.
    Travis tried again. “What do you want?”
    The man smiled. His teeth were crooked. It was a charming expression. “We seek things,” he said. “Unusual things. Wonderful things.”
    Travis drew in a sharp breath.
    Everyone is seeking something.…
    He breathed out, wanting to ask more, but he didn’t know where to begin.
    Farr pulled something from the envelope and held it out. “Do you know this woman, Mr. Wilder?”
    Travis’s hand shook as he accepted the photograph, as if somehow he already knew what he would see. The woman in the photo was desperate and regal. She ran down the steps of a building, her hand to her throat, staring forward with stunning green-gold eyes. In that instant, he understood.
    Travis looked up and met Farr’s gaze. “You’re Seekers, aren’t you?” He turned toward Deirdre. “Both of you.”
    Farr raised an eyebrow, and Deirdre’s mouth dropped open. Travis allowed himself a humorless smile. It was good to know that he could spring a few surprises of his own.
    “Don’t look at me,” Deirdre said when Farr glanced her way. “I didn’t tell him.”
    Farr nodded. “We need to remember that Mr. Wilder might well know much more than we imagine.”
    Deirdre reached out, as if to touch Travis, then pulled her hand back. “How did you …?”
    He smiled and brushed a finger across the photo. “It was Grace. Grace Beckett. She told me about the Seekers.” He glanced up. “And about you, Hadrian Farr.”
    Farr’s expression was intent. “So you are acquainted with Dr. Grace Beckett.”
    Now Travis did laugh. He thought of all he and Grace had been through, all they had done, all they had survived. “You might say that.”
    He handed the photo back to Farr. Shadows pressed around them like silent actors.
    Travis looked at Deirdre. “I suppose this means you didn’t really come to the Mine Shaft to play music.”
    Her smile was small and private. “In a way, I did. That time I sang at the saloon, three years ago, is more special to me than you can know. I suppose part of me was hoping I could feel a glimmer of that magic again. And maybe I have. But you’re right. There’s another reason why I came to