"Where was I?" she asked.
"I believe you were dressing me down for blatant stupidity."
"Thank you," she said in a sweet contralto, and it was obvious she meant it. Then she proceeded to chew me out in terms any drill sergeant would have been proud of.
"If you're ready to take a breather," I said when she ran down, "I've got a couple of questions and a request."
"What are they?"
"First, how did you find me?"
She paused for a moment, as though weighing her words before speaking. "Isn't it obvious? I embedded a virus in my message to you. It did a quick location scan when you downloaded it. When you went to send a reply, it hitched a ride on the carrier wave to tell me where it was."
That didn't sound feasible, but who was I to argue with success.
"The rest was easy," she continued, "since you hadn't even bothered to set up the most rudimentary wards. I'm frankly shocked that either tactic worked, but that just goes to illustrate my earlier point about your being a low-grade moron. At least you had the sense to shoot first and ask questions later when I arrived. Not that it would have helped if that was the best you could do. Oh, Ravirn." This last was said with a sort of gentle affection as she took a seat beside me on the low bed. Pulling her gauntlets off, she took my right hand between hers. "What am I going to do with you?"
"I could entertain a couple of thoughts on the subject, but they might be best discussed at a later time, as I'm currently somewhat incapacitated. Besides, I have other, more immediate concerns. For example, do you think anyone else could duplicate your performance?"
"Absolutely not," she said.
I wondered at her conviction. There are very few things one hacker can do that another can't replicate. Clearly she knew something she didn't believe anyone else did. But it would have been both rude and futile to try to get her to reveal her hole card.
She continued, "I did find a couple of watchdog programs staking out your e-mail server, but they weren't exactly grade one. I doubt they could have backtracked the link you used to access the mail queue. I tried that and got lost in a maze of subroutines. I'd really like to know how you did that."
"If you ask very sweetly, I might be willing to trade techniques," I replied. "Melchior runs a heavy-duty virus scan on all incoming mail, and I'd love to know why he didn't catch yours."
"Perhaps he wasn't looking in the right place."
"I'll have to think about that. In the meantime I still have a pending request."
"You do indeed. What is it?"
"I'd like you to take a look at my injuries and see what you can do. You're better with healing magic than I am, and I'm feeling awfully vulnerable stuck here on my back."
"I'm sorry," she said, touching the bandage on my neck. "I should have done that before I snarled at you. You do look a bit like a Rottweiler's favorite chew toy." She shook a finger admonishingly. "That doesn't mean I shouldn't have said any of that. I just should have taken care of your injuries first. Let me get a bit more comfortable, then I'll have a look."
She quickly stripped off her armor and padding. Underneath she wore scarlet tights and a very thin gold tunic, neither of which did much to conceal her form. She was tall and slender, with long legs and high, small breasts. Her eyes were a blue that was simultaneously quite pale and shockingly intense. She unbraided her hair and let it fall in a long, white cascade, almost covering ears that were slightly more finely pointed than mine. Her nose was small and straight, with just a hint of an upturn at the tip. High cheekbones and a pointed jaw framed a generous mouth and full lips.
"Gods, but I hate armor," she said, stretching lithely. It was worth watching. "It always feels like a poorly fitted underwire bra worn over the whole body." She grinned. "But that probably doesn't mean much to you, does it."
I shrugged.
"Of course not." She dropped onto the bed next to me. "I'm going to start now, don't move."
I lay very still while Cerice worked on me. A quietly whistled spell and a gentle caress that traced the line of the arrow crease on my neck sealed the wound. As Cerice leaned over me to work, it became very hard to keep my mind off the fact that she was an extremely attractive woman. After taking care of my neck, she stripped the blanket down to my waist and started to unwrap the bandages around my cracked ribs.
"Oh my," she said as she peeled the last of the tape and gauze away.
From the hips upward my skin was a mottled mix of yellow and purple. I was about to tell her it felt better than it looked when she placed her palms firmly on my chest. Her hands were very cold, and I let out a startled yip. One corner of her mouth turned up in a sort of mischievous half smile, but she didn't say a word. Instead, she started to hum. The sound came from deep in her throat and slid weirdly up and down the scale. As she hummed, she slowly slid her hands down my sides. They started out icy cold, but seemed almost painfully hot when they eventually came to rest with her thumbs pressed into the soft flesh inside the points of my hips.
"Breathe," she said, her half smile becoming a full one.
Sheepishly, I drew in a great lungful of air and with it the scent of Cerice. It was sweet with the fragrance of her lilac perfume, and sharp with perspiration brought on by her magical labors on my behalf. I was suddenly very aware that her hands were still pressed tightly against my hips. They lingered there for just a moment longer. Then she reached up to take my left hand. I felt the touch of her fingers long after they had moved on.
She kneaded my injured hand between her own, then shook her head. "What the hell did you do?"
For the first time since I'd bitten off my fingertip I really looked at my pinkie. The end of it was gone of course. That was no surprise. What was startling was the fact that the finger looked as though it had never possessed another knuckle. It ended in smooth clean flesh without a trace of scarring. Anyone who didn't know that I used to have a normal finger would have assumed it was a birth defect.
"I bit it off," I said.
"You what!?" she asked, plainly appalled.
"I had to. It was for a spell. I'd be dead if I hadn't."
"I guess it's a fair trade then."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"The injury is permanent. Open your inner eye and you'll see what I mean."
Viewed with the second sight, the missing knuckle appeared still to be on my hand, but it was completely magically dead. It looked as though it had been sorcerously cauterized, which I suppose it had.
Then I had to go back and give Cerice the whole story from the point at which I'd escaped from Atropos's bedroom. I knew she wouldn't believe a word I said if I told her my real reasons for being there, so I said it had been something of a fishing expedition. She let me get away with that, probably because of my injuries, but it was plain she wasn't really satisfied. Whether that was due to some subtle effect of the curse or just her natural skepticism, I couldn't tell. Either way, I was going to have to give her more information at some later point if I wanted to stay in her good graces, which was, I discovered, a place I very much wanted to be. After I'd brought her up to date, she took a look at my knee.
"You really got yourself torn up, didn't you, Ravirn?" she asked after a few minutes. "This knee needs the help of a good surgeon who won't ask too many awkward questions. Fortunately, I know just the fellow."
"I'm not sure I understand."
"You busted the cap into a lot of little, tiny pieces. Your anterior meniscus has multiple tears, and the rest of your cartilage looks like it went through a salad shooter. It'd take a really good orthopedist ten hours just to piece the cap back together. Combined with the other damage, you're looking at several months of recovery, years if you were human, and a lot of really vicious physical therapy."
"I can't afford that much time with restricted mobility, Cerice. There are too many people who'd like to see me dead."
"I know. That's why I said what I did. I can cast spells that'll weld the bone back into one piece, an
d seal up the various other holes you've put in the tissue. But it's all scrambled, and I'm not sure where everything belongs. My surgeon friend can put the jigsaw in the right order, after which I can fix it properly. Call it eight hours on the operating table, ninety minutes of spell work, and about a week convalescing."
"I can't do that. If Burnt Offerings worked, Atropos believes I'm dead. I need her to keep believing that at least until I'm healthy enough to run. Otherwise, I might as well hand her my head in person. Every ltp link uses the Fate servers and shows up in the routine data reports. You know that as well as I do. Even with a really clean hack to block my signature, I'd be running a risk that Atropos would spot me. If that happens, I'm dead. It's got to be here, and it's got to be you, Cerice. I don't have anybody else."
"The other Fates only agreed to one attempt on your life. You should be safe enough."
"Do you honestly believe Atropos is going to let me go after I killed Moric?"
"I don't like it," said Cerice, biting her lip. "If this isn't done right, it could cause you problems for the rest of your life."
"If Atropos finds me before I can defend myself, there won't be a rest of my life."
She glared at me and looked like she wanted to argue.
"Please," I said. Her shoulders dropped.
"Oh, all right. I'll do it, but I'm not going to take responsibility if you end up with a permanent limp."
"Thank you."
Chapter Five
After five straight days of bed rest I was starting to crack. Few things in life are as frustrating as being told you have to lie still and take it easy when you're feeling better. I can't say I felt good, more like I'd been run over by a small car. But that was so much better than I'd felt when I arrived, it seemed I should have been out running marathons. Instead, I was spending my time staring at the ceiling of Ahllan's guest room.
That was another thing I wasn't any too happy about. If I had to be in a hospital, I'd prefer it were an expensive private one with all the amenities, including attractive young women in white uniforms who will wipe my brow when I buzz for them. But instead of electric lights and adjustable beds, I had an oil lamp and a battered futon. Worse, when I needed something, I rang a bell that summoned a sweet but esthetically challenged troll matron to my bedside. Ahllan wasn't about to let me get up either. Cerice had subverted her somehow, and nothing I did or said by way of bribery or cajoling had any effect on my treatment. That only left threats, and you simply don't threaten trolls, vegetarian or not.
My encounter with the cousins and its aftermath had suggested a couple of spells to me. So I'd spent some time jacked in and coding. But once that was finished, there wasn't much to do besides computer games, and there's only so much video poker you can play. This is particularly true if your laptop makes snide remarks when you lose a hand. I suspected him of cheating, but had no way to prove it.
Such was my state of mind when a column of blue light appeared beside my bed. This time Cerice had skipped the armor. She wore a pale red blouse, a deeper red skirt, and a braided gold belt. Her hair fell in loose waves to her waist. Shara stood beside her in goblin form.
I ignored them. Cerice was the one who'd put me in Ahllan's care, and, besides, I had a card game to finish, one I was winning for a change. Suddenly my game was replaced by an error message.
The application Hold Em has unexpectedly quit. Please save and close all applications and return your computer to its webgoblin shape.
A high evil chuckle sounded in my ear. Shara had climbed up next to my pillow. I resisted an urge to stick my tongue out at her. She'd probably have bitten it. Webgoblins have a low and petty sense of humor.
"I've never seen an error message quite like that one," Cerice said, leaning over me. Cross as I was, I couldn't resist the opportunity to draw in a lungful of her lilac perfume. "I suspect your sidekick has one-upped his boss."
"Well," I replied, "he can suffer for it then. I'm going to leave him in laptop shape and see how he likes that."
"My, aren't we snippy this morning?" asked Cerice, plopping herself down on the bed. "Maybe I shouldn't spring you from this joint."
My pointed ears perked forward at that. The chance to escape from my convalescent prison sounded like a ticket to the Elysian fields. I sighed and typed the command to change Melchior back into his goblin shape. He and Shara headed off to do goblin things, and Cerice smiled at me and rang the bell. Ahllan appeared at once and, after Cerice gave the word, allowed me to pull on a loose green tunic and shorts.
Then the troll carried me out into the sunshine, setting me down on a nearby hill as gently as a mother dog putting her puppy in the den. For obvious reasons, we didn't want to be too close to the faerie ring. That's how quaint folktales and other nasty accidents happen. The crown of the hill wore a wreath of bent crab apples, one of which provided me with a backrest as I surveyed the landscape. Cerice joined me there, and for a long time we didn't move, sitting shoulder to shoulder in companionable silence.
"Odd sort of landscape," said Cerice, finally.
The trees were all low and twisted into fantastic shapes. The dominant ground cover was Creeping Charlie. Odd bits of trash were scattered everywhere, punctuated by the occasional enormous dump pile. No matter which way the wind blew it carried a faint flavor of decaying vegetation. Yet there was a strange beauty to it all. Wild grape and other creepers were waging war on the junk and winning. Near us, a colony of morning glories had converted a rusted-out Chevy Malibu into a floral topiary in a crazy quilt of emerald and pink.
"Still, there's something appealing to it," I said after a few moments.
Cerice nodded and squeezed my hand. "It must be the glamour of faerie. The air here is saturated with raw magic."
"Is it, my lady?" I asked. I'd been outside long enough for my disposition to mellow, and my court manners were returning. "I hadn't realized it was in the air. I thought the magic arose from the proximity of your most lovely person."
"My goodness. Ravirn the prince has returned at last. I had begun to believe that the reason our gracious and charming hostess was taking such good care of you was that you bore a resemblance to her long-lost offspring."
"I have been a bit of a troll these last few days, haven't I?" I replied, softly. Resolving to make amends, I rolled up onto my good knee, extending my bad leg behind me, and faced Cerice. "I must beg your forgiveness and indulgence for my behavior. My only excuse is extreme pain, compounded by a dose of awareness that eternal youth does not immortality make."
A frown chased itself across her delicate features. "You did make it down to the very banks of the Styx, didn't you? Figuratively speaking, of course."
I nodded. "I came so close I could almost have lent Moric the coins to pay the ferryman and waved him on his way." I shuddered. I didn't like Moric, and I had far rather it was him than me, but I wished our encounter could have ended in some other fashion. "Were it not for you, my lady, I might even now be wandering that far shore. I owe you everything, Cerice. I am at your service for whatever you might ask."
"I think that I shall begin with this." She leaned forward and placed her soft lips against mine.
That first contact was like white fire, and it burned all the way to my toes. I couldn't say how long we sat like that, nothing touching but our lips. In retrospect the kiss seems fleeting, but at the time it was my whole world. Some eternal moment later I felt her lips open under mine and her arms reach around my neck. I'm sure my hands were similarly engaged, but the memory is gone. We shifted, trying to get closer together without letting our lips part. It was wonderful, but it meant a good deal of twisting about, and my injured knee hit a root. I shrieked and curled into a ball.
"What happened?" she asked.
"Kiss! Wow! Knee! Root! Bad!" I lay on my side facing away from her, my hands clutching my injury.
"How articulate. I told you it wouldn't heal well if I did all the work. Let me look at it." She leaned into my field of view, and I sa
w that her blouse had somehow become partially unbuttoned, exposing an ivory breast tipped with the palest pink flower of a nipple. I lost interest in my knee.
After a few seconds, so did Cerice. I have only fragmentary impressions of what happened next, brief but incredibly vivid snapshots. Sliding my hands along her ribs to cup her breasts. Tearing the button off her skirt when I couldn't figure out how to get it unfastened. Feeling her teeth playfully nipping at the hollow of my thigh. An incredible burst of lilac as I buried my face in the triangle at the base of her belly. Kisses that came as suddenly and surprisingly as summer lightning on a dark night. Cerice's face twisted into a mask of wild emotion. The sun lighting her hair like a white waterfall as she moved atop me. A climax that started somewhere around the base of my skull and shot down my spine, arching me like a bow.
When it was over Cerice laid her length on me, still clutching me tightly with her inner muscles. She was as tall as I, and her hair cascaded down around our faces, enclosing us in curtain of privacy. Her slit-pupiled eyes shone blue fire at me from a distance of inches, and the scent of lilacs filled my nostrils. I was content in a way I had rarely been before. This was not my first time by any means, but it felt different somehow. I wasn't sure what to do or say about that, so I contented myself with silence and a careful study of Cerice's fine-boned features.
"What are you thinking?" she asked after a while.
I reached for words, and found, "I was thinking that we skipped a step."
"Huh?" She looked confused.
"Well, I think very highly of you. I like your personality, your looks, your style, your devious hacker brain; in short, everything about you. I've felt that way for some years now, and intended to ask you out on something of a formal date, and yet I've never gotten around to doing anything about it. Now, we've skipped the whole courting phase and leaped into bed."
Her laugh was rich and mellow, like fresh apple juice after a day in the sun. "How very sweet of you, Ravirn. Perhaps the courtier is the real you, and the scrappy ruffian is the mask. I was just thinking that I should have done this ages ago, knocked you over and ravished you, that is. It's been on my list of things to do practically forever. Though I must admit I like the sound of courting as much as any woman."
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