Geoffrey had seen us.
I watched his head swivel, eyes falling on the shadows where we hid.
Yet he hadn’t drawn attention to us.
Maybe he got off on cat and mouse games, because that’s exactly what this was.
And he was one big, fat cat brimming with magic to boot, if his flaming arms had anything to say about it. The very fact that he was there, that he was with the Order, that he was on one side of the sidewalk and we were on the other stuck with me.
There was no trusting him.
My body moved mechanically, legs whirling and lungs pumping, while my mind scattered in the wind. At one point, I switched to my secondary vision, the metallic strands of blue somehow wildly comforting. Even better, in this mode my companions looked like flares with blurry arms and legs. I couldn’t stand to see the concern and pity etched on their faces a minute longer.
And suddenly we stopped.
My body jerked backward as Finn grabbed me around the waist, stopping my forward momentum in one heavy jerk. I flipped back to my normal vision as Ryder circled a red, souped-up Monte Carlo parked in front of a house. He’d clearly been trying to tell me something.
Okay, apparently, I couldn’t hear people as much as I couldn’t see them. Good to know.
I needed to get that fixed ASAP.
Ryder finally stopped circling the car, satisfied with his find. A slender piece of metal appeared between his hands, and he slid it between the window and the body of the car, nodding when the lock popped. He caught me staring quizzically and flashed a toothy smile.
“It pays to be ready for anything,” he said. “Why use magic you don’t have to?”
He yanked the door open and shoved the front seat as far back as he could, wedging his body between the cushion and the console in a move that felt like dé jà vu. It only took him a few minutes to link the wires that brought the engine roaring to life, but it felt like hours. My paranoia kept me spinning around on the cracked pavement, peering at windows for prying eyes.
The distant thrumming of a helicopter had stopped.
Finn pushed me into the back seat and slid in next to me. Ryder was glued to the wheel. He pulled away from the house, and I noted the address, pushing it somewhere back in the recesses of my mind. Someday I would make this right. Someday, when homicidal freaks weren’t actively trying to kill me, I’d do something to pay these people back.
“Well I’ll be. A full tank of gas. We’re really cooking now,” Ryder hooted, winding the car through the neighborhoods before spilling us onto a main thoroughfare. “Wisconsin here we come.”
I stayed silent as the boys bickered over the radio settings. Numbness wrapped tight around me, the sensation suffocating like plastic wrap. It frightened me how little I felt, but I welcomed it all the same. My gaze darted out the window into the blackness that was the sky, half-convinced a massive helicopter would swoop down and suck our vehicle into its belly.
Instead, the reds and greens of traffic lights blurred as we passed beneath; the headlights of fellow vehicles shone like beacons through the window. How could the outside world appear normal when it was so completely not? The people around us were probably heading out to dinner or meeting up with friends and family, maybe getting some shopping in before the stores closed for the evening.
In one car, I caught a flash of green skin and black, almond-shaped eyes.
Even the fey were going about their business.
Every muscle in my body tightened as we pulled onto the interstate. My skin felt too small, too hot. It was devastatingly uncomfortable. My breathing was tight and controlled, a narrow point of focus holding me together. As our car passed beneath the green, metal signs loudly proclaiming upcoming exits, I became unnervingly aware of the hollow silence that filled the small space.
The boys had never settled on a station.
A pair of eyes watched me now, Finn braced against the center console as if resisting the urge to reach out and touch me. I blinked blankly, my body swaying with the motion of the Monte as Ryder picked up speed.
I didn’t speak, barely breathed, grateful for those green, green eyes centering me.
An insane sensation of falling overcame me. The silence a physical thing pulling me down, down, down into a dark abyss.
I broke when we crossed into Iowa.
To my ears it was incredibly loud. The sharp snap of something vital, something important cracking clean in two. A trickle of foreboding silence followed by a crisp rumble, cold as ice, one that didn’t stop, one that only grew louder and louder, an avalanche of emotion shaking against the barrier of numb I’d erected, groaning until it pushed through. And then it became a roar. Grief and anger and pain cascading over me with like sharp rocks.
The sound of a soul collapsing.
Ugly sobs ripped from my chest. My arms banded around my legs like steel as if that was the only thing keeping me from blowing apart. I flinched when a hand brushed the back of my knuckles.
“Leave me alone.”
It felt like I was screaming but I came out as a whisper.
“Just leave me alone.”
I slumped to the side, pushing myself into the corner between the back of the seat and the door, my face hidden as I lost my damn mind.
“Not on your life, Z.” And suddenly Finn was there, his strong arms easily wrapping around me, knees and all, hugging me to him. He pressed his lips to the top of my head, murmuring sounds and words I didn’t understand for who knows how long. Slowly, I turned to him, folding myself into the warmth of his body, welcoming his unyielding strength. The show of selfless support permeated the too-clear bite of grief, and I pressed my nose deeper into the soft fleece covering his chest.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Repeat.
He smelled of brine and sea and sage.
The combination melted into my skin, lulling me into a false sense of complacency.
Tears still streaked down my cheeks, but they’d slowed.
Sobs still wracked my body, but the tremors were less intense.
Finn had left his hand braced on my leg and I fiddled with the dozen or so leather bracelets wrapped around his wrist. Maybe I wasn’t going to break completely. Maybe my body wouldn’t turn to dust. Maybe I didn’t have to be the only one holding myself together.
I sank into those thoughts, the comfort surrounding me in a cocoon. Time lost all meaning. I focused instead on Finn’s scent, the smell of a home I’d never known, and the hands circling me, holding me tight. I may have dozed, but it was difficult to differentiate from the black behind my eyelids and the black of blissfully dreamless sleep.
“We need to stop for the night.” Finn’s soft voice brought me back to the surface again. “Even a few hours. She needs to re-hydrate, maybe get some real sleep. She’s in no state right now to do much of anything, let alone find a God.”
Ryder rumbled something in response, and I turned back to the window, shutting them out.
30
Zara
I don’t know what woke me.
Only that it was sudden and intense.
One moment I was asleep.
And the next, I was very much awake, staring up at a white-washed ceiling.
My eyes perused the room I didn’t recognize. Though I knew plenty about low-key hotel rooms, and their beige paint and generic paintings, to know that’s what this hovel was. More importantly, I was nestled between two furnaces, the heat of Ryder at my front and Finn at my back.
In such a short period of time, these two beings had come to mean so much to me.
I lay there, letting the moment sink in. Ryder had fallen asleep with his back propped against the headboard, face angled down toward me. It was relaxed, the lines of laughter and tension smoothed over in sleep. If he were anyone other than a kick-ass incubus, I would have said he looked almost vulnerable. Finn’s breathing came low and slow as he clutched me to his chest, his arm draped over my stomach.
My
grief was still there, a dark and potent thing, but it had taken a step back, hovering in the recesses of my mind. I couldn’t ignore it, but it wasn’t overwhelming. I took stock of my body and its many aching muscles. My eyes were puffy and swollen, but everything felt intact. And that was a blessing.
I swear I didn’t move, but I must have done something because Ryder’s eyelids lifted, those gold coins of eyes glittering as they locked with mine. Concern and wariness dug fresh grooves around his lips and corners of his eyes. I offered a weak half-smile and some of the fear in his face faded. He smiled back, his hands reaching out to tangle with mine.
“Morning.” His low voice woke Finn. The kelpie’s arm tightened around me for moment before pulling away. “You’re looking a little better.”
I cleared my throat, for the first time feeling the grating ache from overuse. “I feel better,” I replied honestly.
He looked past me at the window and the purple haze of dawn filtering into the room. He ran a hand through his hair mussing it more and scrubbed at his eyes. His black, rock band shirt was remarkably unwrinkled. I shifted as Finn moved behind me and pulled me upright with him. His tongue worried the hoop in his lip, but his gaze was cool and clinical as he looked me over, searching for signs of injury. He seemed to be satisfied with what he saw because he nodded and stood up.
“I could use a shower right now.” He groaned as he bent, vertebrae cracking as he worked out the kinks in his back. “But you should probably go first.” The boys were avoiding talking about yesterday. And I was OK with that. I went to run my hands through my hair and winced when I felt the tangled mess that had been my beautiful braid.
“Probably a good idea.” I said.
A little soap and a lot of scalding water helped push the grief even farther back. However, it and I still circled one another like boxers in a ring, knowing sooner or later we could have to come to blows. It was a relief to shuck my torn and dirty clothing and tug on a new pair of dark washed boot cut jeans, black t-shirt, and salmon-colored jacket.
More clothing I didn’t recognize.
More clothing that fit me perfectly.
Another bag filled with odds and ends like rolls of tape, toenail clippers, and a matchbook.
Ryder relaxed when I emerged from the bathroom and saw me looking more or less normal. He fluttered his fingers and shut the door to take a shower of his own.
“Do you want to talk?” Despite his question, Finn was screaming signals to the contrary: crossed arms, crossed legs, lowered eyes, hunched back. Whatever guilt it was that he carried everywhere was more obvious than ever.
“Not really,” I said. “Are you OK?”
He hesitated. “I’m holding together.
I sat on the bed to tug on some black boots and started lacing them up. A terse silence hung between us. Ryder finally emerged from the shower, dressed in creased clothing snatched off some shelf at a big-box retailer, and rolled his eyes at the two of us. Finn ignored him and slipped into the bathroom.
We high-fived when he let out a long string of expletives about cold water and inconsiderate roommates. Needless to say, he was in an out pretty quick. His glower only deepened as he pushed us from the room and into the grungy parking lot. The kelpie was still grumbling as he stomped up to a bulky Yukon parked outside and slid into the driver’s seat.
I stared.
“We have to be careful. That means switching cars whenever we can,” Ryder said, and hip-checked me. When I moved toward the back, he easily redirected me to the passenger seat so he could sprawl across the middle-row of seats.
Finn’s black mood lifted as we hit the road, the large tires of the SUV easily eating up the miles and spitting them out behind us. I rifled through my bag searching for a bottle or can or something. As I pushed aside a bottle of vitamins—seriously, what were they thinking here?—my fingers closed around a long, wooden object.
The box.
I slowly pulled it out and reverently rubbed its glossy surface. I vaguely remembered dropping it on the floor when we spilled into the Monte last night.
“I found it on the seat when we were swapping out the cars,” Finn said beside me. “I didn’t look inside.”
I smoothed my hands over the polished wood, nerves high in my throat. Whatever was inside could potentially change everything. A sign advertising dollar sandwiches at some fast food joint blurred by the window. I ran a thumbnail across the crease where the base and lid met, tension tight in my shoulders.
“What’s in the box?” Ryder squawked from the back seat. “What’s in the box?”
“It’s too small to be a head,” I joked, understanding his reference. His uncanny ability to bring levity to this dark universe was deeply appreciated. But even that glimmer of humor faded when it popped open with a snap, and the lid lifted easily.
My breath caught as I examined the contents. Notched in velvet at the base rested two gorgeous silver rings. The metal was polished, the loops unbroken. Both were twisted into cresting waves of water, the tips of the waves jutting out in such a way that I wondered if they were meant to lock together.
The remaining item was wrapped in plain, oiled leather, my crest stamped in the tanned surface. What it contained was both magnificent and mysterious: a dagger with a black leather-wrapped handle stamped with a cresting wave and a shimmering turquoise blade longer than my hand. It was roughly as wide as the span of my middle and index fingers, with an edge so sharp it split one of my hairs. I knew because I tried it. The design of the blade, though, was peculiar not only for the color but for the physical design. It jutted outward in the middle of the blade at a slight angle. The outside edges were straight, but tapered at the top at a sharp forty-five degree angle.
Why this—why a weapon—had been left for me was beyond comprehension. I turned the box around in the dawn light, scouring it for writing on the wood. I ran my fingertips over the lacquer and poked at the fabric for hidden compartments, searching for anything that might help explain this mystery.
Nothing emerged.
“What is it?” Finn asked, closely watching the expressions cross my face.
“Rings and a knife,” I muttered, the simple words a disservice to the masterpieces I’m sure I held in my hands. I turned the box, giving him a look. A tiny furrow knit between his brows, but he didn’t look any more enlightened by the contents. I offered it to him as he drove one-handed, but he pushed the box back into my chest lightly.
“I think it’s probably best if I don’t touch those. Whatever they are, they’re meant for you. Until you figure out what they’re for, I don’t know how they’ll react to anyone else touching them,” he explained. “Magical talismans have a history of volatility.”
Ryder snorted and he badly tried to cover it with a cough. “That’s the understatement of the millennia.”
“Could you for once keep your fat mouth shut?” Finn twisted and smacked Ryder’s shoulder, exasperation etched on every feature. “Deal with the problem at hand?”
“It’s a little hard to forget about that mistake with that one staff that brought the fall of Andromeda.” The name rang a bell. Andromeda had been an ancient and thriving civilization in what would later become the Nordic region that simply vanished off the face of the Earth one day. Nothing but a large scorch mark remained.
“…or how about when those twins fought over that weird skeleton necklace — remember that — while out wandering the oceans and bam!” Ryder smacked his hands together loudly for emphasis. “The Bermuda Triangle was born?”
Wait. That was a real thing?
“Are you done yet?” The wry mutter from Finn.
“Oh far from it. It’s hard to forget that one time when… oh what was it… that Rethroki prince. Jarrthra? Jemmiha? Whatever. When he went messing around with the cursed crown jewels and summoned that giant with the club who carved out the Grand Canyon. Remember that? It took all day to send him back to his own dimension.” He thrust a hand sharply through his hair, sending
it into spiky disarray as if he had actually been one of those called in to banish such a beast.
Maybe he had.
Before he could truly get on a roll, I interrupted. “So what do you recommend I do with these things, then?”
“I think it’s pretty obvious they’re yours. I wouldn’t risk losing them. Keep everything on your person,” Ryder responded and turned to look out the window again.
I wasn’t quite sure what to do with the dagger so I tore a strip from a spare shirt I found in the bag and tied it around my leg beneath my jeans. I slipped the twin silver wave rings on my middle fingers. After a few tests I figured out I was right: they did lock together when I twisted the backs of my fingers together, knuckles aligning. My magic refused to stir no matter how I fiddled with the jewelry.
Part of me was afraid of pushing my magic into it, though. Especially in a moving car.
A hard and sharp object jabbed me in the shoulder. I reached out and snagged it without thinking. “Finn picked up something else for you,” Ryder said when I met his eyes in the rear view mirror. I pulled the object into my lap and stared down at an elaborate metal case.
Ornate silver scripting was engraved in the top.
“It says: The Word. But that’s all I know. Cross my heart,” Finn said, focus fixed on the road.
I gulped, my mouth suddenly dry.
The story of my origin, my history. The teachings of the Order. The rules that dictated my religion. It all was here, right here in my hands. The answers to so many questions. I peeled back the heavy lid to reveal the artistically decorated cover of the book itself, the four elements painted on the corners. I flipped through a few pages, the paper thick and textured under my fingers. It was like one of those ancient books written by hand by solitary, dedicated monks, complete with embellished letters and hand-painted stories adorning the edges. The edges of the pages were dusted in gold.
It was easily the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen.
A piece of history.
Walk on Water Page 24