Chains of Fire Read Online Free PDF

every tree and hedge. Clear skies and a full moon illuminated the ragged Alpine peaks and the now-idle ski lifts.
    “Even God cooperates when Patricia Mason throws a party,” he muttered sourly.
    Today had been a hell of a long day, the most recent in a series of hellish long days filled with grief, anguish, and worry. After the explosion that destroyed the Gypsy Travel Agency and all of the Chosen Ones except for Samuel’s group of seven newbies, they had been lucky enough to find a mentor in Irving Shea. He had supported them, helped them, directed their missions. Samuel doubted that they would have survived those first two and a half years without his tutelage . . . or his fortune.
    Then he tumbled down the stairs. No one expected him to live.
    But he did, conscious only in brief intervals, and their difficult lives had grown impossible. Irving was still in the hospital. He refused to allow Isabelle to help him—he had some dumb-ass notion about being a willing sacrifice—and the Chosen endured anguish as they watched him suffer.
    It was Irving’s butler, McKenna, who first called their attention to the practicalities.
    Irving’s fortune had supported the Chosen Ones. Irving had handled the money, dispensing it as needed to run the household where they lived and worked, and to fund their missions to hold back evil. He had made provisions that the fortune be put in trust for the Chosen when he died.
    He had not made provisions for this lingering illness.
    Now the taxes on Irving’s New York City mansion were due. The electric company wanted to be paid. Their cook and loyal supporter, Martha, needed money for groceries. And if the Chosen Ones didn’t somehow receive an influx of cash, they would not be traveling the world to rescue children abandoned by their parents.
    This was, Martha said, the traditional dilemma that stalked the Chosen Ones. If they used their gifts to help others, they starved. If they used their gifts for profit, they went to hell. The Gypsy Travel Agency had traditionally provided them with support, but now the Gypsy Travel Agency had been blasted to smithereens.
    Their leader, John Powell, had a fortune he’d made by sheer intelligence and determination. Isabelle, of course, had access to her trust fund.
    But . . . the Gypsy Travel Agency had been making a profit ever since Irving took over as CEO, and that money had been carefully stashed in Swiss banks. The trouble, of course, was that the people who knew how to access the accounts were gone. So after some discussion, Samuel had been sent to retrieve the fortune.
    He rubbed his eyes wearily. Yes, it had been one hell of a long day.
    A man’s British-tinged voice spoke behind him. “Sir, it’s cold out. Would you care to come back in, or should I fetch your coat?”
    Samuel turned on his heel and stared at the militarily upright posture of the man in the doorway. “Dad! I didn’t know you’d accompanied the Masons to Switzerland.”
    “Well! Son. This is a mutual surprise. I didn’t know you’d come to the party.” A faint disapproving note sounded plainly in Darren Owen’s speech.
    “Don’t worry, Dad. I was invited.”
    “Not by Miss Isabelle, surely.”
    “Most definitely by Miss Isabelle.”
    “She and you are not—”
    “No. We’re not together again.”
    Darren’s stiff form relaxed. “Thank God.”
    “Although they say the third time’s a charm.” At his father’s open alarm, Samuel laughed. “I’m kidding, Dad. I’m here on business. She’s here to help Mummy Dearest. This was a chance encounter which will lead the same place the other encounters led—nowhere.”
    “The other encounters took some ruinous detours before they got nowhere,” Darren said tartly.
    “But I’ve learned my lesson, and I daresay Isabelle has learned hers.” He waited for his father to correct him, to require him to call her “Miss Mason.”
    But although Darren quivered at having to restrain himself, he bit his tongue,