Flight by Numbers

by Kimberly A Rogers

  * * *

  Chapter Two

  Lauren

  “Mrs. Jones, I’m afraid that you have suffered a partial tear to your Achilles tendon,” the doctor said solemnly. His slightly pointed ears were clearly visible with his close cropped black hair, identifying him as one of the high Fae, most likely a Light Elf from the Seelie Court. His mouth turned down at the corners as he continued examining my left foot.

  Admittedly, it did look especially bad now that I was sitting in a hospital gown with my leg extended out and all the wrapping off. The back of my ankle was swollen, puffy, and a little discolored. I couldn’t help glancing over at where Mathias was standing with his back against the wall, arms folded over his chest, and head lowered. The nurse nearly fainted when he walked into the room and I knew she couldn’t see numbers, not with the diaphanous wings on her back clearly marking her as a Sprite. Of course, it could be the fact that Mathias was definitely one of the more attractive men I had known with his long lean frame, light brown hair, and piercing blue-green eyes that seemed more blue today. Or the fact that he gave off the sense of power similar to a cheetah or sphinx ready to pounce if the doctor did anything he considered wrong.

  I offered him a faint smile hoping he would relax a little. Then, I hissed and tried to pull my foot back when the doctor brushed against the side of my ankle. Mathias leaned forward slightly as the doctor muttered, “How long ago did the injury occur?”

  “Five days,” Mathias offered, his tone a little cold. Enough that the Sprite’s wings started fluttering faster, lifting her into a low hover.

  “You didn’t take your wife to a clinic right away?” the doctor didn’t bother to hide his censure, one of the flaws of the high Fae in both courts was their tendency to not pull punches when they felt strongly about something . . . it would make things interesting at my former employer, Halliman’s. Right now, I was simply praying Mathias wouldn’t take offense. The doctor was only a 4 and likely wouldn’t last even a minute in a true fight with any of the higher numbers, much less a 10.

  “There wasn’t an opportunity,” came the frosty answer.

  The doctor sniffed and then eyed me skeptically. I worked hard to keep my expression neutral. Change of prayers. Now, I just wanted him not to ask me about abuse. That would definitely get a reaction out of Mathias and it wouldn’t be good.

  I brushed strands of hair out of my eyes as I waited for the doctor to say something. My heart was starting to pound faster the longer he waited. One would think that our coming in at night would clue him in that perhaps we weren’t having the most pleasant trip. He finally dropped his questioning gaze and rolled his chair away from me. He waved to the nurse, and she fluttered her wings as her feet touched back on the floor and she readied her pen to take notes. The doctor stood and washed his hands before he turned back to me. “Given the nature of your injury, Mrs. Jones, I would normally offer two types of treatment. However, because the tear to your tendon has been neglected as well as aggravated since its occurrence, I feel there is only one option left for you. And, that is surgery.”

  Surgery. I let out a slow breath, my gaze flickering to Mathias, before I looked back at the doctor. “Okay and how long would recovery take?”

  “It’s a four to six week recovery period as a minimum before you’ll be able to start walking properly.”

  Four to six weeks. That was a long time to be off my feet when we still had hunters chasing after us. I didn’t dare to mention that particular concern to Mathias, not while the doctor was watching us with no small amount of suspicion in his eyes. Of course, I was fairly certain he was more suspicious of Mathias than me. Either way, it would be in our best interest to allay his concerns.

  I nodded slowly. “All right. If that’s the only option, then there’s not much of a choice to be made.” I glanced at Mathias for a moment and then turned back to the doctor as I asked softly, “When is the soonest the surgery can happen? I’d like to get it over with as soon as possible.”

  A vaguely annoyed expression crossed the doctor’s face. The corners of his mouth pulled down once more into a proper frown as his Scottish burr thickened. “The surgery isn’t a simple clinic job. Clinic’s not set up for major surgery, and that’s what you require. You and your husband will need to agree to come to the hospital. Or will that be a problem?”

  I didn’t want to go to the hospital. It felt like we would be walking into a trap. After spending the last three months with hunters dogging our every move, my sense of paranoia already refined by a lifetime of hiding what I was had only grown stronger. Before I could respond, however, Mathias spoke once more. “No, it won’t be a problem. When can she have the surgery?”

  “Two days from now.”

  I hesitated, almost afraid to press the doctor at all, but I still quietly asked, “It can’t be done sooner?”

  “It’s not possible,” came the rather tart reply. The doctor gestured to his nurse as he strode toward the door. “Eileen will give you the paperwork on the surgery so you’ll be familiar with it. In the meantime, stay off that foot.”

  As soon as he went out the door, the nurse smiled at me, her wings fluttering with nerves. “You may get back in your own clothes, Mrs. Jones. I’ll go get the paperwork.”

  Then, I was left alone in the room with Mathias. I closed my eyes as I blew out a breath. When I opened them, I almost fell off the exam table to find Mathias now standing in front of me. He set my pile of clothes down next to me and then glanced at me. There was concern and something more glinting in his eyes and his voice softened as he asked, “Are you all right?”

  I nodded, not quite trusting myself to speak just yet. For goodness’ sakes, Lauren, stop gawking! I blinked and then looked down, offering a little nod. “Yes. But . . .” I trailed off, darting a wary glance at the door, before leaning toward him and continuing in a low whisper, “is it safe to wait here? When the hunters could track us? I don’t want to endanger the plan.” I barely stopped myself from adding ‘or you.’

  Mathias shook his head. “Don’t worry about the plan, Lauren. We are amending it. I’m very used to making such adjustments, and Edinburgh is a rather large city in case you haven’t noticed. Even in the dead of winter when everyone in their right minds are staying indoors, there are enough people out including paranormals to keep our trail covered.” His gaze softened and he reached out to touch my cheek, brushing against my skin. It took all my self-control not to lean into his touch as he continued, “You are more important than a schedule, Lauren. I won’t let them harm you. You have my word.”

  “I believe you.” I forced myself to lean back, pulling away from his touch and the feelings it stirred in me, and offered a light smile. “Shouldn’t you leave the room now?”

  “Do you want the doctor to summon wardens to question us on whether I’ve abducted you?” he countered with a hint of amusement peppering his delicious accent. He strode to the far corner and stood with his nose nearly against the wall, hands clasped behind his back. “Better?”

  A little laugh escaped me. “I’m sure that wouldn’t raise any eyebrows at all if someone walked in.” He started to turn and I gasped, “Mathias! Behave!”

  Another low chuckle and then he murmured, “I’ll simply tell them its because you’re an odd American. They’ll believe it.”

  “How comforting,” I retorted. Still I wasted no more time in slipping on my jeans and dark green sweater. Although it was a little tricky to wriggle the rest of the way into my jeans when I had to get off the table and balance with one foot on the step stool without banging my injured foot against anything. When I finished tugging my sweater down, I said, “I’m decent now.”

  Mathias immediately returned to my side and helped me with my socks and the oversized boots he had gotten for me. Then, it was time to slip on the rest of my layers. As I shrugged into my coat, I glanced over at Mathias. “Where are we headed now?”

  “I found us a room in a little bed and breakfast tucked into
New Town. Taxi is waiting for us. Ready?”

  I offered a little nod and wasn’t surprised when Mathias opted to simply carry me. Wrapping my arms around his neck, it was easy to feel . . . safe. Even with stopping to get the paperwork from the nurse, it didn’t take much time to go from the clinic to the waiting taxi. Mathias handed the driver a tip for waiting and holding our go bags, then settled next to me. I leaned against him resting my head on his shoulder. I wished . . . Well, it didn’t really matter what I wished because I knew better. Spotters didn’t get involved with high numbers, and Mathias was as dangerous as he was trustworthy. Besides pining for what never could be would only set me up for heartbreak, especially given the way Mathias had been keeping me at a distance. I could trust him with my life . . . just not so much with my heart.

  * * *

  Mathias

  The inability to do anything was extremely annoying. I let out a huff as I continued pacing the length of the too small waiting room. Lauren’s surgery should have started by now. The doctor had estimated between thirty minutes and an hour to complete the procedure depending on how bad the tear actually turned out to be. But my veins burned with the urge to be at her side, protecting her. Why had I spoken the binding words?

  A promise to protect, to give my life for hers, that was a vow neither lightly given nor easily broken. Not for me, my heritage alone prevented it. Myrmidons were incapable of speaking such a vow without prompting the completion of the binding. And, that I could not do. It would only endanger Lauren. The cold seeping into my heart and burning its way through my veins reminded me of the other consequence, of what would happen if I continued to grow closer to Lauren yet failed to finish the binding.

  I took a deep breath, fighting instincts for control, and then shoved my hand into my coat pocket. Pulling out a pill bottle, I quickly opened it and tipped a silvery-green pill into my palm. I tossed it in my mouth and swallowed before chasing it down with a sip of the tea I had picked up while Lauren was prepped for surgery.

  Closing my eyes, I waited for the pill to take effect. The pill contained a rare herbal mix specifically meant for combating the cold fury that could sweep over my kind at any moment, but especially in times of heightened emotion. I groaned as I realized it was a sign of how far I had fallen in the last three months. Habit made me carry a stash wherever I went, but I had not needed additional aid in control since I reached adulthood. Now here I was at thirty-seven displaying almost as much control as a rampaging adolescent who hadn’t taken the pills.

  Such was the effect Lauren Hope had on me since we first crossed paths. I rubbed my forehead with two fingers as the pull from the cold rage and toward Lauren finally lessened to a more manageable level. I stopped pacing long enough to count the pills I had left . . . not enough if I failed to regain my ability to control the rage without using them on a daily basis.

  I shoved the bottle back into my pocket and turned my attention to the telly. It was tuned to a paranormal news network based out of London. They were showing footage of a banshee whose long black hair was piled atop her head with jeweled flowers holding it secure. Jewels shaped like teardrops hung from her earlobes and dripped from her throat as she flashed a smile at the camera that didn’t quite reach her purple eyes.

  One of the anchors was speaking, her voice warm. “It is an immense pleasure of course to have Deirdre Ahearn performing in the British Isles again. Born in poverty and originally from Wick, Scotland, Miss Ahearn was discovered by her now manager at the tender age of nine and immediately invited to sing with the Royal Seelie Court choir. In the twenty-three years since that discovery, Deirdre Ahearn’s career as an operatic singer has soared to unheard of heights as she performs around the world not only at operas, but also as a classical pop crossover artist gaining fans among both paranormal and norm communities. Her recent hiatus from singing at public operas this last year has done nothing to stem that rise in popularity as her now exclusive concerts sell out at more than two million pounds a night. Tonight’s concert at the Royal Opera House in London is already rumored to have earned Miss Ahearn two point five million pounds with tickets selling for more simply because it is the first public concert she’s performed since her unexpected appearance at the Yule meeting of the Seelie and Unseelie courts in Yellowstone National Park across the pond in the States.”

  The picture suddenly changed from Deirdre Ahearn, who was now looking at the stern faced man gripping her elbow and pushing her to keep moving instead of lingering to speak with people, to the anchors in the studio. Both Light Elves were looking at each other, almost perplexed, before the two women turned to the camera and nodded. The slightly older of the two spoke now. “We interrupt our scheduled program to bring breaking news from the States. Todd?”

  The camera view cut in half to include a male reporter with the bearing of a shifter and then his brown eyes gleamed gold for a flash as he cleared his throat. “Thank you, Amber. Janet. Our breaking news comes from the spokesperson for Weard Enterprises, the premiere security firm of the paranormal community based in Chicago. A few hours ago Oscar Reubens announced a surprise press release, which we will now play as the press conference has just begun.”

  His half of the screen switched to a room with Reubens poised behind a podium. I grit my teeth as I watched the man who dared to attack Lauren all those months ago. I hadn’t killed him at the time because doing so would only have aggravated Weard further. Now, I was beginning to regret not taking care of him. The Unseelie Fae’s nose was even more crooked than it had been, no doubt curtesy of my breaking it for a second time, and his cold brown eyes swept his audience as he reached up to trace a finger over the Celtic tribal tattoos stamped in blue on the left side of his scalp. And this was the man the new management at Weard had elected as their spokesperson. Fools.

  Reubens’ voice was as unfeeling as ever when he broke his silence. “Ladies and gentlemen, the people at Weard Enterprises are devoted to protecting our kind. The paranormal society as a whole can miss lurking dangers because they seem small and innocent. Tonight I’m here to inform you of a currently unfolding case. Several months ago Weard employees, including myself, were dispatched to apprehend a suspected criminal hiding in Olympia, Washington after we learned she was attempting to bring down the Yule summit by infiltrating Halliman’s.

  “Unfortunately, she was suspicious enough that any change set her off and she vanished before we could take her into custody. We have placed a number of our best people on the task of finding this woman because an attempt on the summit between the two courts as well as a number of other powerful members of the paranormal community was a threat we couldn’t ignore. So far this woman has remained hidden. Now, we are focused on turning this woman’s refuge inhospitable and so we are asking for the public’s help.”

  A picture flashed on the screen, one of Lauren smiling tentatively at the camera, as Reubens continued speaking. “This is Lauren Hope. She has been confirmed as a Spotter, which means she will not feel dangerous to those of us who sense powerful paranormals. However, make no mistake that she is in fact dangerous. Her discontent over the apparent abuse of Spotters in our history has led her to go rogue. She is of Turkish descent and is thirty years of age, five foot two inches tall, between one hundred and one hundred and ten pounds, slender build, with dark hair, and dark brown eyes. If you see her, call the tip line that will connect you directly with Weard’s hunters.”

  I didn’t stay around to hear more. A glance at my watch assured me that I still had at least twenty minutes before Lauren would move into post-op. We wouldn’t be able to stay at the bed and breakfast now. I wasn’t mentioned in the broadcast, but I didn’t want to risk our hosts suspecting Lauren. My presence could deter reports since Lauren wasn’t mentioned with an accomplice, but it was too great a risk.

  As I ran out of the hospital and flagged down a taxi, cold fury threatened to rise to the surface at the thought of Weard’s attempt to hem us in and flush us into the open. With effort
, I forced the icy blindness to everything but the desire for restoring justice away. Now was not the time for tunnel vision. I needed to think clearly if I was going to keep Lauren safe.

  * * *

  Mathias

  The safe house was cold. I turned on the portable heater and stored our go bags in the two small bedrooms. The house nestled in one of the underground vaults beneath the tail of Old Town Edinburgh was not designed to be easily found. It would be close quarters, but the separate sleeping areas would hopefully provide enough distance from Lauren that my ill advised vow wouldn’t weigh as heavily. Or so I hoped.

  I stocked the narrow pantry as fast as I could before I left the safe house again. Walking down a narrow hall and then climbing a flight of stairs to reach the entry out onto the close was easy, but it would take a touch more care when bringing Lauren down. The maze of narrow streets and underground levels created by the historic lands or tenement buildings was one of the reasons I had set up the safe house in Old Town. I pulled the hood of my coat up and ducked my head down as I emerged from the enclosed tunnel onto the tail end of the Royal Mile. The wide street was almost deserted as most locals and even the tourists had retreated indoors with the hour of sunlight already gone for the day. A wintry mix of sleet and light rain fell around me. Only when I was a good distance from the close leading to the safe house did I hail a taxi. It was probably past time to rejoin Lauren.

  By the time I returned to the waiting room, the nurse was there. Her wings fluttered nervously, not quite lifting her off the floor, as she peered up at me. “Your wife is in post-op, Mr. Jones. The doctor is waiting to speak to you. Come with me.”

  I followed her, the scent of disinfectant strong and accompanied by the sounds of various machines. When we reached the far end of the hall and turned down another, the doctor stepped out of a room in the center of the right hand wall. He nodded to me. “Mr. Jones. The surgery was successful and the cast is in place. It will keep your wife’s foot immobile. It is important that—”