Chapter 12 Exquisitely Uncomfortable
Exquisitely Uncomfortable
As so often, the Mad God had sent human servants for dirty daylight work.
Edward was right behind him; once they broke from the semicircle of armed ordinaries, the noise of gunfire rapidly faded.
It looked as if several different agencies had been tapped for this effort, a considerable outlay of energy and funding—and perhaps Nigel had been so focused on the lirai he hadn’t noticed their approach.
Which was an unforgivable lapse.
The first problem was transport, easily solved at the campsite’s parking lot, which was now jammed with an alarming number of law-enforcement vehicles. He had only to find a car with a light screen of summer pollen saying its owner had been hiking at least since morning.
Unlocking a car with a small thread of combat sorcery was child’s play.
It was slightly more difficult to get the half-conscious, no doubt deeply traumatized Dreamer into the backseat, sliding across to the opposite side.
She was floured with summerdry dirt, her hair a glorious gold-streaked tangle, her eyes half-closed, her head lolling; small hitching breaths akin to dry sobs shook her as he propped her upright and braced his knee on upholstery, searching for the seatbelt.
Her protection was the first duty, but he also didn’t want her attempting anything… unwise. A moment’s worth of effort and the lock on what was now her door clicked down, to remain until he released the sorcerous knot.
Better safe than sorry.
“Cloaking,” Edward said grimly as he slammed the driver’s door and pulled down the sun visor, then felt under the front seat for a possible spare key.
His diligence rewarded, he let out a low whistle and started the Volvo’s engine without resorting to further sorcery.
“Didja smell it? Like corpse-rot and sarnaki.”
Which answered that question. Nigel’s conscience pinched, hard. “I did not,” he admitted. The shame of admission would only grow if left to fester in silence. “Well done, my Elder.”
“He wants this one dead. Badly. And us too, I suppose.” Edward barely waited for the Father to get his own entry-point secured before shifting into reverse and stepping on the accelerator. “Used us to flush her out, you think?”
“I regret I did not realize it until too late.” Nigel found himself nearly crouched on the backseat, attempting to keep the lirai’s head from lolling too badly. The Dreamer sucked in a deep breath, her eyes snapping open—she was dead pale, dirt streaking soft cheeks—and glared at him.
“You’re safe,” he continued, attempting to forestall hysterics. “It’s all right, we won’t let anything happen to you. It’s over, you’re safe now.”
Sweet lush mouth trembling like a shocked child’s, she continued to stare uncomprehending as the car jolted to a stop. Edward dropped the gearshift into drive, and acceleration began once more, this time forward.
She blinked, mouth opening further, and a fraction of sense invaded her gaze. Next came screaming, no doubt—but Nigel clapped his hand over her mouth, suppressing a flare of shame. His palm had to be dirty; his calluses scraped much softer skin.
She’s going to hate you. It was natural, inevitable. Whatever had happened to her before, she was now violently ripped from any familiarity or so-called ‘normal’ ties she could lay claim to. A lirai was now in the hands of the Sons, and they would protect her with their cursed lives.
“Please.” He said it just loud enough to override the muffled sound trapped in her throat.
“Don’t, Edward has to drive. We’re taking you to safety.
” How could she believe as much, though?
Nigel searched for some further assurance to give, something that wouldn’t sound…
what? “I will not let anything hurt you,” he heard himself say, with dull finality.
It made no impression. The lirai shook her head, her hands rising to bat ineffectually at him.
Nigel took the blow on his shoulder, a light stinging slap to his face, and the martinet or one of his fellows must have trained her, for the next strike was a fist nearly clipping his chin.
She tensed and attempted to surge toward the door on her side, but the seatbelt caught her.
“Um…” Edward was not watching this in the rearview mirror, but his tone said he was perhaps curious enough to begin doing so.
They could not afford distraction.
“Drive,” Nigel said, crisply. He stared into a woman’s terrified eyes, hoping against hope she would calm down, sense his commitment, understand—however dimly—that she was safer than she had ever been in anything she would have called a normal life. “Let us hope they do not have the exits blocked.”
* * *
It was an exquisitely uncomfortable ride through a beautiful sunny afternoon. Their new responsibility ran out of struggle-steam and sagged against the seat, pale and trembling; Nigel was finally able to settle next to her, keeping a sharp watch upon their wake.
Nothing. A highway curving among tree-clothed hills, moderate stretches of loneliness broken by other vehicles intent upon their own business, their windshields and flanks glinting as the sun descended, dipping and rising through lengthening shadows.
Not a single breath of pursuit, no matter how he strained his senses.
The ambush had been sprung far too early, or the god’s human hands had not heeded orders to concentrate upon the Sons first, applying enough physical damage to keep them down long enough, then execute the fragile, irreplaceable Dreamer.
Or capture her, since the slow lingering torture-sacrifice of an unsealed lirai was, naturally, the god’s most valuable and preferred sacrifice.
He tried at intervals to reassure the Dreamer, but she merely turned her rumpled head and stared out the window, trembling visibly.
Small, fine-boned hands rubbed against each other, repetitive motion, attempting to self-soothe.
This transport had been well-maintained, even down to a box of tissues in the backseat.
Which Nigel offered, but the act merely earned him a fresh, nearly incandescent glare from under her tumbled, honeystreaked hair.
The town they halted in at twilight was small, yet afflicted with enough tourist interest to have three inns—one of the hotel variety, two of the motel—and the Mad God’s minions might not expect Sons to choose such ramshackle shelter for a newly won treasure.
Especially not the more run-down of the motels, and Nigel found himself hoping she wouldn’t be offended at the lack of comfort.
There were much larger considerations. For one, her docility was strange.
She slumped against the car door, her gaze unfocused, and flinched whenever Nigel moved.
He didn’t think he was using more-than-human speed, but it had been a long while since he had to keep his reflexes tamped down to avoid unnerving a civilian.
Several minutes after Edward vanished into gathering dusk—parked in a heavily tree-shadowed corner of the lot—the Elder reappeared at the car’s side with a room key and a set, stern look which somehow expressed relief. The lirai’s door swung wide, letting in a drench of warm, still evening air.
“Desk clerk’s taking a smoke break,” Edward said quietly, leaning down.
Despite the casual posture, he was more than ready if she sought escape.
Not that she could go very far, since the seatbelt was still fastened.
If she began to cry out again, though, more direct methods would have to be applied. “The cameras are easy to fuzz.”
“Good. And…?” Nigel tapped at his temple with two fingers.
“Still quiet.” The Elder glanced at the lirai; the haze of her presence reached for some distance, muting the god’s whispers. “Powerful.”
“Indeed.” Nigel almost moved, controlled himself at the last microsecond.
Her compliance was physically easy to gain with both Elder and Father nearby, but there was no Younger who remembered what it was like to be…
human, and thus could perhaps reassure her.
A fusillade, witnessing and perhaps feeling the murder of her travel companions, being whisked away by two heavily armed scarecrows, and now this?
Add her vulnerability, untrained and at the mercy of her own considerable gifts—they were indeed lucky she wasn’t struggling.
But this apathy was even more troubling.
“Ma’am? Ma’am, please listen. You’re hungry and tired, but we can’t separate for supplies or it will lead the…
lead our enemy to us. You’re keeping him out of our heads, and we’ll keep you safe. Nod if you understand me.”
He waited, but only gained a tiny headshake, rippling hair brushing her thin shoulders.
Bloodshot eyes vacant, possibly on the edge of shock, her lips moving slightly as if she sought to whisper.
Even acute, enhanced hearing couldn’t pick up more than her pulse and a faint sough of breathing, chopped into ragged bits by her tremors.
“Let’s get this done,” Edward said, quietly, and Nigel unbuckled the seatbelt.
They didn’t quite have to carry her—their new lirai cooperated with slumberous slowness, each brush of physical contact sending a jolt all the way down to his bones.
It was an honour every Son longed to gain, the closeness providing aching relief; he could have wished for better circumstances, but that was overwhelmingly selfish even for one of Nigel’s kind.
The room was small, its cleanliness no more than barely adequate, but at least there was little difficulty in getting her through the door and she made no demur at standing under a crackle of cleansing sorcery.
Dirt fled, the heavy smoke-musk scent brushing down her with exquisite care; Edward turned from making certain the flimsy door and window were as secure as could be hoped for.
“We ought to seal her,” he said, flatly. “Tonight, if not right now.”
I know. It was one thing to understand the necessity—with both of them fully inoculated against the god’s voice, they stood a much better chance and could certainly care for her more effectively. Nigel shook his hand out, flicking away stray energy, and looked down at her bowed head.
The lirai hugged herself, rocking back and forth on battered trainers. Her shoulders were sharp points, and though she was now clean, the small rips and holes in her T-shirt from harsh gravel. She looked very small, entirely exhausted, and utterly terrified.
At the very least we can offer a cup of coffee. Her voice, soft with amusement, the solicitude with which the soldiers had treated her—of course, who would not want to be near such a gorgeous creature?
“I know,” he said. “But she needs rest. Let’s count ammo and get cleaned up.”