“Well, since we’re in the advice business, let me trade you some,” Billy said. He returned the Macuahuitl to its shelf, tilting it so the sunshine sparkled off the black glass and sent prismatic rainbows across the gloomy room. “An old gunslinger once told me that you never draw a gun unless you intend to use it, and you never-ever-tell someone you are going to draw your gun. You just do it.” He smiled, revealing his prominent front teeth. “It’s a big mistake to tell someone what you are going to do to them… they might decide to do it to you first.” He turned to look at Kukulkan’s retreating figure. “When all this is done and dusted, he and I will have a little conversation, a serious conversation…”

Machiavelli bowed. “I like how you think.” He walked outside, blinking in the sunlight. “Now, how do we get back to the island?”

Billy held up his cell phone. “I’ll call Black Hawk.”

“I’m sure he’ll be surprised to find us both still alive.”

The American immortal shook his head. “Probably not. Black Hawk knows I’m impossible to kill. He’s tried it often enough.” He stopped as a sudden thought struck him. “What happens if your master dies? Do you lose your immortality?”

Machiavelli shook his head. “No, you remain immortal. There is no one to command you… and no one to revoke your immortality.”

“That’s interesting.” Billy’s cold blue eyes followed the Elder until he had disappeared into the grass. “Have you ever thought about killing your master?”

“Never,” Machiavelli said.

“Why not?” Billy asked.

“In case there comes a day when I want my immortality removed, a day when I want to age and die.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

“Didn’t you set a couple of your plays in forests just like this?” Saint-Germain asked lightly.

“Only the comedies,” William Shakespeare said in a hoarse whisper, “and my forests were populated by gentler creatures; this is an evil place.”

Palamedes stopped suddenly and both Francis and William bumped into him. “Will you two be quiet?” he whispered. “You’re making as much noise as a herd of elephants. And trust me, there are certain things in this forest that even I do not want to wake up.”

“It makes no odds,” Saint-Germain murmured. “I’m sure they know we’re here. They knew from the moment we left the car.”

“Oh, they know we’re here. We’re being followed,” Shakespeare added.

The two immortals turned to look at him. Although the forest was pitch black, their enhanced senses allowed them to see in surprising detail, though without color. Palamedes looked at Saint-Germain, who shook his head slightly; neither had been aware that they were being followed.