Chapter 19 Sneakers, Stranglers
Sneakers, Stranglers
They kept saying you’re not a prisoner, but Jake still trailed behind her as she left the suite. He didn’t look too happy about it, either—that easy smile of his had shifted just a few millimeters into a polite grimace.
Liv didn’t care. She was too glad to be seeing something, anything other than the same four walls. Or did each room count as a discrete number of vertical surfaces? Bedroom, bathroom, the big outer room of the suite—that made twelve walls total.
Today, she was going to find out the exact dimensions of her captivity in the time-honored fashion of choosing a direction and going until one of them grabbed her.
She’d only picked Jake because he was shorter than the old guy and leaner than Erik. Neither of those two would let her out of the suite, even if she asked nicely and batted her eyelashes.
Mika was better at that particular skill, but Liv wasn’t a slouch by any stretch.
If she ever got back to her real life, she was going to have to give Mika a full rundown on using one’s flirty wiles to escape, and she didn’t want to be embarrassed during the recap.
This guy, with his lingering appreciative glances, was both a good target and an asshole.
But a useful one, if she could get him pried away from the other two. At least, that’s what Liv was hoping. She set off down the parquet-floored hall like she had somewhere to be, grateful for the brand-new, tightly laced Nikes cradling her feet.
If today went well, she might even get to use them. She examined the red velvet drapes, wondering who cleaned them. Did they have magic for that, too?
Jake drifted behind her, eerily quiet but always within easy reach. “Where you going?”
“Exploring.” Weren’t you listening? Liv’s mood was too sunny to be dinged, and besides, she had to start sweetening him up if she expected anything good to happen. “We should have packed snacks. And a rope.”
“A rope?” Now he sounded dubious.
“Didn’t you read Tolkien?” She glanced over her shoulder, gauging the distance. No use, he was still too close. “Sam’s always going on about rope until the elves—”
“Don’t read much, ma’am.” It didn’t sound like he missed it, either. “But you don’t want to mess around with elves.”
Now there was an interesting statement. “Are they real?”
“Depends on your definition, really.” Once he got started, he warmed to the theme like anyone talking about their actual avocation instead of just their job.
“Like the stragglers, they creep under the surface of the world. Little grey things. Most of the time, when people think they’ve been abducted by UFOs it’s the stragglers.
But sometimes it’s the stranglers, and those never let go of their research subjects. ”
Liv slowed, eyeing him sidelong. Maybe he was having her on, but the memory of her filthy socks laid neatly at the end of the bed—silent, incontrovertible witnesses—just wouldn’t go away. “You’re saying UFOs aren’t real, but elves are?”
“I’m saying the legends come from somewhere.” His stride lengthened; now he paced next to her, a sleek golden cat. He was so damn quiet, it was unnerving. Nobody with boots that heavy should be able to drift so lightly. “The world’s a lot different than civilians think.”
Well, there was an objection to that, and she reached the end of the hallway, glancing both ways while she made it. “I’m a civilian.” The passage to the right was disconcertingly dark at its end, so she turned that way to see if he’d stop her.
Jake didn’t. He just fell into step beside her again as she started off. “Not anymore. Not completely, anyway.”
“Thanks. You really know how to compliment a girl.” You are a living font, Ignatius had intoned solemnly during last night’s dinner, of a force the uninitiated might call magic.
Liv suppressed a shiver. The black sweater was cashmere, nice and warm, and the jeans fit like a dream. Well, if they’d brought her in knocked-out, they’d had plenty of time to get her measurements.
She wondered which one of them had performed that little duty.
“There are songs about lirai.” Jake’s smile was armor-clad now, a social mask. “We could sing you a few.”
Maybe I could make you dress up in straw hats and striped shirts. “You’re one short of a barbershop quartet.” The darkness at the end of the hall was only relative. There was a staircase heading down, but Jake was somehow in front of her, looking into the well.
He also turned, his heels a scant inch from the edge of the first step, and folded his arms over his broad chest as if daring her to push him and run. “We come in threes. Father, Elder, Younger.”
“Sounds awkward.” Which one of you’s the top, she wanted to ask, but decided he wouldn’t get it. Or he would, and he’d consider it an invitation instead of sarcasm.
As it was, he just regarded her narrowly, making it quite clear they’d reached the limit of her allowance in this particular direction. “It’s meant to provide complete consensus, and to make sure we watch each other. He’s always whispering, little girl.”
“Your mad god.” She drew out the last two words, wishing she had Mika’s dead-on razor drawl. What was Mika thinking now? Were her friends putting up flyers for Liv, with a grainy selfie harvested from her now-silent social media feeds? Missing, please call.
Did anyone even notice she was gone?
That was a terrible thought—that she’d just dropped out of sight, and after a few days’ worth of confusion the world would close over her absence, continuing as usual while she was trapped here.
Who would clean out her condo? God, she hadn’t done laundry or anything before she left, either.
Thinking of her entire life on display to whoever had to go in to clear that overpriced though terribly conveniently located few rooms for the next occupant made her skin crawl with hot embarrassment.
“A mad god. Not mine.” Jake, suddenly sober, straightened and dropped his hands. Now there was a dangerous glimmer in his blue gaze, and if he was this serious all the time, she’d like him a lot better. “Never mine.”
“But you have the…” Her brain refused to serve up the right word for it. Tattoo? No, it didn’t look like it was inked, more… branded, pressed into the flesh with hot metal. Which was another disturbing thing she never wanted to think about ever again. “The thing, on your wrist. Right?”
“Well, yeah. It’s the only way to get strong enough to not-die the first time you play with a shadowbeast. But it comes with the whispers, and those are damn awful.
” He hunched, cast a guilty glance past her at the brightly lit hallway.
“Shouldn’t talk about it, really, but I guess it’s okay. You’re lirai, after all.”
“Just a potential, though, right?” At least she had that much down. Ignatius kept patiently repeating things, but some refused to stick in her head.
The fact that the old guy was boring and terrifying in equal measure probably had something to do with it.
“That’s like saying a Ferrari’s just a car.” Jake shook his head. “You really want to go to the kitchen? That’s what’s down there, by the way.”
“Sure.” Maybe I could get my hands on a knife. Or a pan. Liv tried to look extremely interested in cookware and food preparation. “Never been called a Ferrari before.”
“Well, they’re blind out there.” He made a dismissive little movement, consigning the entire outside world to a dust-heap. “And if you’re thinking of getting to the knives and stabbing me, we can try it. I like knifeplay.”
It was her turn to retreat, knowing a threat when she heard one.
“So you’re the young one in the trio?” Baby boy of the band?
Liv had always gone for the less conventionally attractive guys, figuring she wouldn’t have a chance with the pretty boys—especially since they so often turned out nasty.
Now she was trying to remember the name of the manufactured pop group they’d all been gaga over in middle school.
She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe her memory was getting patchy with all the jolts; maybe it was a sign of incipient Stockholm syndrome.
God, she hoped not.
“Yeah.” Jake rolled his shoulders, a loose easy movement, muscle twitching under cotton T-shirt and his black canvas jacket with heavy plates sewn in.
Probably Kevlar, she could see the outlines of the plates when he moved the right way.
“My antics are supposed to help the other two hold on. Funny thing, though, I’ve been feeling a lot less antic-y lately. ”
Is that a good or a bad thing? Liv decided not to ask, chose a less obvious question, and backed up two steps, then another. “Because of me?”
“Sort of.” He took a single step forward, away from the stairs, and it was official. He was herding her. “I never thought we’d come across an actual potential. It’s like finding out Santa Claus is real.”
Now there was a chilling thought. “Is he?”
“If he is, you don’t want to meet him.” Jake considered her for a few moments, his golden head cocked and his mouth turning down at the corners, a long assessing look before he straightened and smiled, the mask in place again. “You want to see some cool shi—I mean, you want to see something cool?”
If I say no, will you pick me up and put me back in my cell? Well, what did she have to lose?
Liv almost winced. Thinking that was a sure way to invite the situation to get worse—if that was even possible at this juncture. “Sure.”
Of course, it might be possible anyway with those nightmare things around, and she did her best not to consider the notion as she followed Jake, his head up and his steps deliberately short, back toward the glow of electric light.