Chapter 43 Normal Business #2
“It’s safest.” Quiet and patient. The car rocked a little as chains dug into ice; the temperature was falling rapidly.
“And you’ll be there?” She hated the edge of whine in her own voice.
“Once they make sure I’m not a threat.”
That doesn’t sound good. “Can’t we just—”
“It’ll get worse. You had a lot of potential, and now it’s fully activated.
You’re sensitive. A whole city full of people screaming through your skull isn’t fun, and I can’t block them all.
” There was a faint clicking—he’d hit the turn signal again.
“They’ll take care of you, and they won’t let me near you again until they’re sure I’m not a threat. ”
“That’s ridiculous. Why would you be taking me there if—”
“You’re not gonna be the only lirai there.”
Oh, isn’t that a relief. The voices swirled closer, a crowd in a nearby stadium instead of a seashell-trapped mutter.
The car slowed further, took another wallowing left turn, and there were tiny dazzles in the darkness behind her squeezing lids.
The stars winked out, one by one, as Erik negotiated another slow, slippery turn, this time to the right.
The release of pressure was instant, and Liv almost choked. Her eyes flew open. For a moment nothing she saw made sense.
A long, sealed-black driveway ran, ruler-straight, toward a bulky stone building with a giant center and raked-back wings—all these people had the same architect, and he apparently liked Gothic bullshit.
The central structure had three squat, round, point-topped towers, snow whirling between, coming down in sheets.
Erik let out a probably unconscious sigh, the tension inside the vehicle spilling away.
The necklace’s reflection against the windshield swirled with deep, impossibly vital colors.
“It looks like a fucking theme park,” she muttered, glancing guiltily at him.
Erik’s mouth twitched again, the barest hint of a smile.
The grounds were probably pretty, but they were buried under a thick white blanket. Still, Liv’s shoulders relaxed; the sudden, blessed quiet was welcome.
Except she could still feel the noise outside, pressing against whatever thin boundary they’d crossed.
Erik took a deep breath. “They’re going to ask you if we were respectful. Tell them everything honestly, even how much we fucked up, okay? Don’t hold back.” Did he actually sound nervous now?
That was a first.
“Oh, I won’t,” she muttered. “I won’t hold back at all.”
“Good.” His knuckles were white; the steering wheel made a soft, stressed groan. “If they find out I’ve been turned, they might even take the oneiros. Let them, okay?”
Fuck that noise. “You gave it to me.” Her chin set, stubbornly. “You’re taking it back?”
“Not while I’m breathing, and there’s no corruption in the stone. But if I’m a danger to you, I want them to take it. Just to be sure.”
Oh, for the love of… Her irritation, once more, was a tonic. If she was pissy, things couldn’t be that bad, right? At least, that’s what Jada would say.
God. None of her friends would understand this bullshit. And just thinking about the monsters getting near any of them, especially Mika, sent a chill down her back.
She despised all of this, but she hated most of all that her captors were turning out to be right.
The building drew closer, much larger than it seemed from the end of the drive.
For a moment the damp grey walls glowed with rainbow traceries, as if they had one of those funky holes in the basement and the strange variegated fire had decided to crawl up and around in questing tendril-veins.
“There’s a word for taking back a present, Erik. It’s not a nice one.”
The driveway widened into a circular area with a round, snow-choked garden space trapped in its center; the SUV banked, rolling to a gentle halt before a flight of sharp-edged granite stairs.
That was when she noticed no snow clung to the driveway or the steps, despite the heavy white curtains robing the rest of the structure.
Snow shoveling by magic. A wild, inconsequential, braying laugh died in her throat.
“I’m gonna get out,” Erik said softly, staring out the windshield. “They’ll treat me like a potential enemy, and they’re right to do so. Just wait for them to get you out of the car.”
Like hell I will. Still, what were her options? “What if it’s the monsters?” She sounded five years old and scared of the dark.
Hellluva coincidence, Liv realized. That’s exactly what I am.
“It’s not.” Erik reached for the door handle, hesitated. “Liv?”
“Don’t get out.” She couldn’t make her fists loosen. “Let’s just leave. Keep going. Get away.”
“This is the safest place for you.” He popped the release, a burst of cold mineral-scented air filled the cab, and he slid free of the driver’s seat, rising with agonizing slowness and keeping both his hands visible.
He left the door open and stepped away. The invisible shell over him was gone, snow gathering swiftly on tousled dark hair and the shredded jacket’s shoulders. Both his big, capable hands were up and empty, the classic I surrender stance.
The snow swirled. The SUV’s door-chime dinged softly, over and over.
A voice—hard, deep baritone, a tone used to command—came out of the snow. “Somniorum serve.”
“In omni re.” Erik put his chin down, keeping his hands high. Liv gasped.
They melted out of the snow, men with short haircuts and muscular shoulders in dark jackets, all moving with that same eerie, predatory grace.
Liv huddled in the car and watched them surround Erik.
Several had guns, they all had the strange crystalline-bladed knives he and Jake carried, and the older ones had swords and gleaming signet rings like Ignatius’s.
They didn’t all look the same, but that strange fluidity and air of danger made them seem related.
She found out she could move after all, and hit her seatbelt’s release. Had he buckled her in?
It would be just like him.
“Wait,” she said, a tiny cricket-whisper. Her arms and legs didn’t quite want to work. She scrambled across the console and spilled out the driver’s side behind Erik, ignoring the constant dinging. Door open, door open, door open. “Wait. Don’t. Don’t hurt him.”
They didn’t, but they also weren’t very gentle, pushing so he dropped to his knees in the snow.
“Stop it.” Liv’s hands were fists; she stepped forward. They all outweighed her, they were probably all super-strong, but she considered throwing herself at the closest one—grey-haired, his eyes a piercing blue, the snow avoiding him even as it clumped on Erik’s shoulders.
A redheaded guy with broad shoulders and tightly laced boots produced strange, oversized matte silver handcuffs.
Liv tried to heave away when two of the older men, their swords vanishing into scabbards fastened to their backs—neatest trick of the week—took her arms and began practically carrying her for the slowly opening front doors.
Golden light widened, a crack in the whirling white, and they dragged her, gently but irresistibly, into the stone building.
She screamed Erik’s name the entire way.