Chapter 4 #2
The pale, rising light of near dawn illuminated the path to the wall, but she still tripped over a fallen branch in her haste. Before she could fall, though, Hugh was there, his hot, strong hands gripping her shoulders to keep her upright.
“Thanks,” she said breathlessly.
He merely nodded. Then he stretched an arm behind her, close enough to her back that his body heat bled through her sweater and warmed her own skin, and paused in silent question.
Gratefully, she accepted the offer of continued support. As soon as her arm slipped around his waist, his circled her shoulders like the world’s most delicious-smelling weighted blanket and guided her onward.
“The trolls don’t even need the ladder.” When she shivered in the wintry morning chill, he eased her even closer.
So close that her hip pressed firmly against his and her breath hitched in involuntary reaction.
“They can just haul themselves through the hole. And I assume you’ll teleport to the other side? ”
She’d never witnessed the phenomenon in person, but she’d learned about that particular demonic talent at school.
Their inborn ability to rearrange the atoms of living creatures, which allowed them to turn their enemies inside out, also let them easily transport themselves anywhere they wanted to go.
Transporting others, though, evidently sapped a great deal of their power, so she wasn’t expecting a ride through the wall from Hugh. Alas.
He didn’t answer her question for a few strides. “I’m a half-demon, with a human father. I can’t teleport.”
His brusque tone discouraged further inquiries, so she didn’t offer any.
As Gwen and Hugh approached the wall, the trolls leapt skyward, easily boosted themselves through the hole, and dropped down to the other side, squabbling all the while about whether Wagyu beef was an acceptable alternative to Kobe beef for less-special occasions.
During a brief break in the argument, Lorrie shouted from the other side of the wall, “We’ve got the ladder set up on this side too! And if something goes wrong, we’ll help get you down safely, oracle-bro. No worries!”
“Thanks!” Gwen called back, hopefully at a more moderate volume.
Slowly, with what seemed like reluctance, Hugh dropped his arm from around her shoulders. His gentle palm at the small of her back urged her toward the ladder.
After doffing her wig and sunglasses, she turned away from him to shove both items down inside her capacious bra for safekeeping. Took a deep breath for courage. Then, placing her feet and hands carefully, began making her way up the rungs.
“You’re doing great.” He’d positioned himself at the base of the ladder to keep her safe, and his quiet voice contained a surprising amount of warmth. “Take your time.”
The first part was easy enough. By the time her head reached the bottom of the hole, she could see the outstretched hands of both trolls, who were hovering expectantly on the other side of the thick stone wall.
But next came the hard bit: getting off the ladder and through the jagged hole, with its uneven surface and rocky crags, so high in the air. What if she miscalculated and—
“I’m holding the ladder steady, Gwen.” The utter calm of Hugh’s voice soothed the worst of her burgeoning anxiety. “Crawl through, and your companions will take care of the rest.”
She refused to humiliate herself in front of him a second time. Third time?
So she clambered off the ladder and into the hole.
—
On Gwen’s first trip through the wall, she’d somehow emerged uninjured.
This time, the jagged stone under her hands and knees promptly sliced into her already-sore palms, then ripped through her oversized cargo shorts and thin leggings to skin her knees.
But she was used to ignoring pain, and soon enough, Kip and Lorraine were half carrying, half guiding her down the next ladder and onto the narrow strip of gravel between the wide moat and the wall.
If she squinted in the right direction, Gwen could spot the lone drawbridge that allowed access across the moat.
At this distance, it looked remarkably small.
Also still horizontal. And unless something had changed in the past several hours, Lorrie’s SUV should be parked on that bridge, the front bumper almost touching the enormous access door that separated the Containment Zone from the outside world.
As she and the trolls had confirmed overnight, the breach conspirators had somehow lowered that drawbridge and every other drawbridge within the Zone, allowing free movement across the protective moats.
They’d also opened all the wall access doors…
with one key exception. The door through Wall Four had remained firmly shut for days.
The zombies wouldn’t have been able to exit the Zone even if they hadn’t all been killed.
Whether that would have remained true for long, though, no one knew. The closed door might have been a technical malfunction, soon to be corrected. Or maybe the conspirators had simply wanted the zombies to be fully fed and at maximum strength before they were unleashed on the greater populace.
Either way, leaving the Zone had required that magicked hole in Wall Four. But the rest of the journey to and from the breach site had been significantly more straightforward.
The trolls didn’t bother helping Hugh as he followed Gwen through the hole and down the ladder, although she kept an eye on him until she was certain he was safe.
And once Gwen had placed her wig and sunglasses in one of the group’s supply bags, the cousins hefted those bags with ease and turned toward the drawbridge.
Kip paused after only a single step, however. Obviously remembering their earlier trip from the SUV to the wall, he offered his elbow to Gwen.
As they’d discovered, the gravel strip ringing the moat truly did become very narrow at points, and her balance wasn’t exactly foolproof at the moment.
Not given her fatigue and occasional lightheadedness.
Last time, before Kip had begun assisting her, she’d stumbled on the gravel while putting on her warmest winter jacket and dropped it in the moat.
Lorrie had fished it out again, sure, but it wouldn’t be usable until it dried.
“I’ve got her.” Without warning, a strong leather-clad arm settled over her shoulders and tugged her close to a hot body. “Assuming that Gwen wants my assistance, that is.”
Her startled gaze swung toward the demon who’d unexpectedly appeared at her side.
Wait. Why was Hugh glaring at Kip?
Didn’t matter. They needed to get moving, and she was more than happy to cuddle up next to a sexy furnace and his too-flattering crop top.
“You’re sweet, Kip,” she told the enormous troll as she slung her left arm around Hugh’s waist once more. “Thank you for the offer of support, but I think I’m covered. Hugh will help me.”
“You sure?” He grinned down at her, his teeth startlingly white in the dim morning. “I welcome any excuse to embrace you, Gwen-my-love!”
That was bullcrap, so she shook her head at him. His grin only widened in response before he began sauntering after Lorrie.
The tension stiffening Hugh’s frame relaxed. Until, that is, she reached down to reclaim her still-sopping, frost-stiffened jacket from the spot where she’d abandoned it earlier.
Frowning, he immediately removed it from her grasp.
“I can carry my jacket,” she protested as they started walking, even though her fingers were already half-numb with cold and holding wet clothing would only compound the problem. Hugh might be plenty warm against her side, but his body heat didn’t reach her extremities.
His own leather jacket was still open in front, his abdomen bare to the blustery breeze. Between demons’ naturally higher body temperature and thicker skin, maybe he didn’t feel the cold. He certainly didn’t look cold. In fact, he looked…well…
Hot. Far too hot for her comfort.
“Your hands are bleeding.” It was a flat, factual pronouncement, and Hugh made no move to return the jacket.
Giving up, she resigned herself to her continued status as the group’s albatross.
“My hands often bleed.” She fisted those stinging, red-splotched hands. “Unavoidable hazard of the oracle job.”
Not entirely true. The strongest oracles didn’t need to cut themselves to access their abilities. That said, those oracles often experienced nosebleeds during or after their prophecies, because power always exacted a price. One way or another.
Her own nose had bled badly during her unexpected apocalyptic vision, but she was trying not to think about the implications of that development right now.
“—superior vessel for osetra caviar is clearly melba toast,” Kip declared a few yards ahead of them, far too loudly for discretion. “Not blini.”
“You might as well smear your caviar on cardboard,” Lorrie sneered over her shoulder.
Her cousin gasped. “You’re a philistine, bro!”
“Gwen…” Hugh spoke over the trolls. “Your knees are cut too.”
Well, yes, but stinging knees were the least of her problems. “Sabby will help with that at the breach site. I’ve also got a few bandages tucked away in my tote bag.”
Powerful oracles usually had enough time between visions to recover completely or had access to healing spells.
But those oracles had acquired wealthy patrons and shared visions of sufficient import to justify the wait or expense.
Gwen’s clientele often paid with goods or favors instead of money, because they had far more kindness than cash.
If she wanted to eat or pay rent, she had to prophesize every day.
Sometimes several times a day. During each session, her sliced palm would scab over, but it would still hurt—and it would keep hurting until she cut it open again.
So, yeah, she carried bandages with her. Always. Just in case she flexed her hand the wrong way and her perennial wound opened wide once more.
“And that bag is…?” The patience in the demon’s tone sounded strained.