My skull rang with the impact from the heavy blow, and I felt my face slam into the tile hard enough to make me bite my tongue. A coppery rush flooded my mouth and as I turned, groaning, there stood a woman, brunette, pretty, and somewhere between angry and amused, looking at me quizzically, a small bronze statue in her hand. She smiled in the darkness, and I got the impression she was stifling a laugh.
“I don’t recall ordering out, but I’m glad you’re here just the same.” She knelt over me as I spat onto the tile to clear my mouth, watching her grimace in distaste at my lack of manners. Well, she had brained me, and I felt justified in soiling the floor with my blood.
“Stacia? A pleasure,” I mumbled, seeing her eyes narrow at the use of her name.
She raised the statue again before bringing it down on my temple. “Likewise.”
I couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but the light in the bedroom was bright enough to make me seriously consider cutting off my own head, if only I could find a butter knife with which to do it. As concussions go, this was rare breed, causing me to squint, clench my stomach, shed tears, and wish for a modest coma, all in the span of a few seconds. Even with my resilience, I knew that I wasn’t going anywhere, and I could only hope that the girls could get word to Achilles, or Patroclus, or anyone, really, as long as they came in a mass and bludgeoned Stacia into submission. As for me, the floor was just fine for the next few hours, I surmised, if I was allowed to live that long. I detected the faint glow of dawn from a window right overhead, and concluded, after some very fuzzy math, that I’d been out for nearly six hours. A minuscule groan wheezed from my lips and a pair of shoes appeared in front of me. I braced myself until I concluded that only one woman could wear shoes that small, and then, she bent down to speak to me in a gentle voice.
“Don’t move, unless you think you can without getting sick. Okay?” Risa said, her face lined with concern and something more primal. “Suma is here, too. She just gave you a shot, painkiller, and I think you’re coming out of the worst of it. You were in really rough shape.”
I pulled myself weakly to sit against the bed and the room spun, then stabilized, but not before I had a moment of ghastly vertigo. “Okay. I’m, well, I’m alive. Where is she?”
Risa jerked her thumb at the door. “Stacia? Other room. Wally’s with her.”
I gripped her forearm tightly and realized that I was beginning to float from the medicine, unless my brain was simply crushed, in which case, I would at the very least not be expected to do complex math anymore. It wasn’t a complete loss if that were the case. “How?” One word, and a whole story needed to answer. Risa practiced brevity and helped me to my feet.
“After a few minutes, we came in the back. She was on you, feeding, and she didn’t hear a thing when Wally noticed the statue of the horse, saw some blood on the tile, and added it up. We both knocked her stupid while she her messenger tendril was inside you and your resistance was giving her a lot of trouble. She couldn’t figure out why you weren’t just folding up, and her concentration was her undoing. Two statues, two knocks on the noggin, down goes Stacia. Wally really enjoyed it, I think.” She smiled widely at the memory.
I shuffled across the hallway like a tottering kitten, and there stood Wally, glaring at a very angry Stacia, who was bound to a chair with rope, handcuffs, and some sort of scarf. Wally was quite the enthusiast, it seemed, and the immortal woman hissed at me when I walked in.
“You should be dead,” she stated, flatly. She had been a pretty woman, beautiful, really, but just then she was a disheveled mess. It appeared that Wally had been busy.
“I’m a bit different from your other marks,” I said, but gently, not wanting to set the room in motion again. I eased to the bed and looked around the room. “Actually, we’re all a bit different, but I’m sure you’ll see that soon enough.” I felt incrementally better with each passing second, and I knew that we needed Stacia to talk, and sooner was better than later.
Wally pulled my knife from its hiding place and placed it gently in my hand. She dragged a heavy chair closer to Stacia and motioned to Suma, who had walked into the room, and Risa, to help me to it. I shuffled over, not entirely unsteady, but definitely not at my best, and looked back at Wally with a quizzical expression. She had something in mind, and I wanted to let her play the scene out as she saw fit. I knew I wasn’t in any condition to take the lead, and was grateful for her natural aggression when it came to revenge. Her mean streak isn’t wide or shallow, it’s an ocean, and I suspected Stacia was about to go for a swim.
Risa tapped me on the shoulder as the three women began to file out. She brushed her lips past my ear and whispered, “Just keep quiet. Watch her. You’ll see what’s happening.” I gave a tiny nod, for stealth and the sake of balance, and leaned forward on my elbows with the edge of my blade placed casually along Stacia’s thigh. Her eyes burned into mine with unmitigated hatred. I shrugged. I’ve seen meaner.
After a long moment, Suma entered and wordlessly, delicately began unpacking her medical kit. She made a great show of selecting two syringes, a bandage, and gauze, and then left without a backward glance. I watched Stacia, who was interested but attempting to feign boredom and failing miserably. An undercurrent of curious dread seeped past her façade, and whatever was happening had only started. I didn’t see her lasting long under whatever this was.
Risa bustled in next, also silent, as she reached past me and spread a plastic sheet around the base of Stacia’s chair. She smiled cheekily at the trussed up Undying, and then put her fingers to her lips indicating silence. Risa left with enough alacrity that her victim didn’t have time to speak.
In came Wally. She sauntered like Caesar returning to Rome, a pair of wicked looking scissors in one hand, and a shaving kit in the other. She too began distributing the contents of the bag alongside the medical supplies, finishing with a resounding snap of rubber bands that circled her wrist. Stacia finally had enough, because she began to laugh.
“The silent treatment isn’t exactly working, girls, if you think that I’m planning my own funeral. You’re amateurs. If you rectify this little error in judgment, I’ll go my way, and none will be the wiser. But”—she exhaled mournfully—“I can’t promise my family won’t take action if anything were to happen to me.” She finished with a patronizing smile.
Wally looked confused. “Your family? You mean . . . Carolina? Petra? Perhaps even that unholy monster you knew as Elizabeth?” She shook her head sadly, and then Risa and Suma came in the room, both with their mouths set in grim lines. “Didn’t you know, Stacia? They’re all dead. Poof. We killed them, but of course you know that.”
Risa interjected, “Or you wouldn’t be here taking a victory lap and trying to salvage what you can from the family jewels, so to speak. It’s really quite sad.” She nodded sagely. “Ring, honey, could you step outside for a moment? I don’t want you to see this in your weakened condition.” She turned to Stacia, whose eyes were narrowed in anger. “His stomach is always so touchy after being attacked. I wouldn’t want him to ruin the floor here in our new home. I think you can agree, it’s rather nice, and it simply won’t do to treat it like a rental.”
“Your new home?” Stacia spat. “I don’t think you quite grasp what’s happening.” She straightened as much as possible given her restraints, and when she opened her mouth to speak again, Wally put a finger over her lips with a sad shake of her head.
Risa gave a wan smile, regretful that she had to explain further, but some immortals were obstinate to the very end. “Suma, scissors, please.” She held a hand back and accepted the heavy shears from Suma, while Wally took a rubber band and pulled Stacia’s hair back with a delicacy that was at odds with the tension in the room. She wrapped the band three times around Stacia’s long hair, and in one smooth motion, cut the heavy bundle free.
Stacia didn’t flinch. “Seriously? That’s your plan? Donate my hair for a wig, and you’ll get . . . what? Good will? Amateurs.” She
snickered, a haughty noise, and then resumed her glaring at everyone in the room.
Suma took me by the elbow and said, “I’ll walk Ring to the living room for a rest. You girls go ahead and get started, and then I’ll be in directly.”
I heard Wally laugh and say, “It is not for a wig, silly girl. It is just for fun. I know you like men, so I thought it would be fun to take the things that make you beautiful to men. At least, until Ring comes back in and kills you.” Her voice was playful and light. It was disturbingly upbeat given the tools lying about in neat rows, ready for some purpose that could not possibly end well for Stacia. “We will start with the hair, and then we will move on.”
“Yesss,” Risa purred. “We’re going to give you our honest opinion about your best qualities. Think of us as three old friends paying you compliments for each and every facet of your unique beauty.” I heard Stacia gasp, and then Risa said, “Wally, be a dear. Hand me that scalpel.”
It was full morning when I was called back into the bedroom, and Risa simply pointed at Stacia’s ribs and said, “Take her.”
Averting my eyes from what was under the plastic sheet, I shot my hand forward and buried the blade in Stacia, where I sensed her heart would be. While Risa and Suma put their things away, the being that had killed for centuries, sublimed and collapsed under a piece of plastic that glistened with the very last evidence she had ever existed. I looked intently at the faces of all three women who were tired but otherwise unharmed. On second thought, Suma looked slightly stricken, but that was to be expected since she took the Hippocratic oath quite seriously.
“Is everyone okay?” I asked, feeling stupid even as the words left my mouth. “Did you get what we needed?” I hoped we had. The air in that room had been foul with fear and other things.
Only Wally answered, “Stacia was lucky I got hungry. Take me to the deli.”
We closed the door and left without another thought. Stacia, you got off easy.
57
Texas
“Jesus, it’s hot here.” Boots unwound his backpack and slumped against the bench in an air of utter defeat.
The heat sapped everything from them; Ella was too gassed to muster a decent complaint, and had spent the last hours in relative silence, which was, for her, akin to a coma. She nodded weakly, her skin flushed with the sun, and they grew quiet again. It had taken three days of careful hitching and one brief, glorious ride on a train with air conditioning, but they had arrived at the Mexican border without leaving much, if any, evidence of their passing. They used cash only, avoiding all large, modern facilities and they slept in shifts while riding with truckers, who hauled them south, then west, and then south again across the expanse of Texas.
Now they sat in the punishing sun under a transparent awning that warbled in the relentless hot breeze, waiting for a particular kind of ride. Their location wasn’t entirely random, as they had a general direction in which to go and no particular time frame to get there, but they emailed ahead to their contact who had offered them a place to lie low years ago in case things became uncomfortable. According to both Tolsons, this period in their lives could most accurately be described as uncomfortable at the very least, and dangerous if they gave it a long moment of thought.
“How far is it once we cross?” he asked, and she squinted, trying to remember. The heat really was brutal if it made Ella forgetful. They had ditched their phones long ago, so she pulled out a small, well-worn paper map and began to trace their route with a fingertip.
“Once we cross to Reynosa, as the crow flies, it’s a little over five hundred miles, but we’ll be taking a less direct route.” She grimaced in anticipation at what awaited them. “Call it seven hundred, seven-fifty, maybe.”
His hand passed over his face once more, but only succeeded in moving the perspiration from one place to another. “Right. Well, it’s the best we’ve got on short notice, without using our passports to get to Europe.” They sat in commiseration, watching the sun finally begin to ease closer to the horizon.
“You’re ready, then?” A male voice, British, older, carried to their ears from over the din of the crossing. Looking back, they saw a ruddy-faced man, stick thin and driving an older Toyota Landcruiser that had faded to a bleached, pale yellow. He smiled and waved them over. “You’d be the Tolsons, right? Time for a bit of a break in the hinterlands of Mexico?” Despite the bite of his comment, Boots approached the window quickly, grateful for progress of any type in their journey to anonymity.
“And you are?” Boots prompted, still careful despite his discomfort. Ella hung back slightly, eyes reduced to slits in the hot breeze.
The driver put his hand out genially. “Burbage. Clive Burbage, and I do believe I’m your ride. Care to hop aboard? Bloody hot out there.” Boots shook it and nodded to Ella, who wasted no time in pulling the door open and dropping their small bags in the cavernous back seat. Boots went around to the front and got in, and then a long beat later, Ella got in. They were still careful, and although Clive seemed to be genuine, Ella had a knife discreetly primed in case anything seemed amiss.
“Thanks,” the Tolsons said in unison, then Ella went on, “We’re glad to see you. I don’t know how anyone lives in this heat year ‘round. We’re mountain people, it rarely gets like this, and even then, you can always go higher where it’s cool.”
Clive laughed as he pulled out into the line of traffic crowding the crossing. “Oh, it cools off here a couple months a year, but it’s actually rather lovely where we’re going. Quite nice there, it has a distinct cool season, some mountains. More than a few first-rate waterfalls in my opinion, but I’m rather biased. I think you’ll find it to your liking.”
That was good news indeed. Ella looked at Clive in the mirror, deciding if he seemed trustworthy enough for her to put the knife away. She decided to wait before deeming him no threat, but asked, “Why are you biased, Clive? Is it because you’ve lived there for a while?” She tried to sound friendly, but to her ears, it came out as peevish and suspicious.
“Oh, you might say that.” He laughed easily as they neared the crossing. “My family has been around the area for a fair bit more than a while. In fact, you might say we were the founding family, of sorts.”
“Really?” Boots asked, dubiously. “I thought the Spaniards were the first Europeans here? Or, rather, there?” He pointed south.
“Oh, quite. But a distant ancestor of mine was hard on their heels, so to speak, and we’ve settled rather nicely into a sort of limbo, where we live between our estate in the Cotswolds and the main house we keep here.”
“Oh, that sounds nice,” Ella enthused, as the air conditioned vehicle began to alleviate her mood. “How long ago was that ancestor first visiting here, if I may ask?”
“Oh, glad to share. We Burbages do love to chat about ourselves; it’s one of our greatest faults, I’ve been told, if I would only let a guest get a word in edgewise.” He laughed uproariously at his joke, and then tapped a finger on the steering wheel. “Let’s see, our first foray into these lands was right around 1585 or thereabouts.”
Boots choked. Ella looked, wide-eyed, and a slow smile spread on her face. She asked, “May . . . may I ask how your ancestors came to be in—what city are we going to, again?”
“Uruapan, quite a lovely place, even after all these years. I find it to my liking, and I’m certain you will, too. But as to my ancestor, that’s a long, interesting story, and we’re nearing the crossing. Let’s save it for the ride, shall we?”
Mollified, Boots smiled and settled into the seat, too tired to be nervous about the border and all that their less than legal movement entailed. Ella’s curiosity was still piqued, so she asked one final question as they rolled to a stop before two stern looking policemen. “Why, of all places, did your family choose Uruapan?”
As he rolled down his window, Clive directed a broad smile into the rearview mirror. “Because, dear. Nothing ever happens there.”
58
&n
bsp; Florida
“Strata, this is Angela. How may I assist you this evening?” The hostess had been with Blue since the planning stages of the restaurant, and was an unflappable presence in a high pressure position. The aggressive nature of a general public being told that, “Sorry, there are no tables, under any circumstance,” was a force that needed to be dealt with in kind. Angela, a soft-voiced southern girl with a quiet mean streak and a disarming smile, was perfect for the job. When she held the phone away from her as if it was on fire and grabbed Blue’s sleeve, it became apparent that something about the caller had flustered the usually stolid hostess.
Blue spoke confidently, as it was in fact her restaurant. “This is the owner, Blue. May I help you?” She was crisp and direct. Angela stood nearby, poised as if expecting the phone to bite.
“Yes, you may . . . Blue. What a descriptive name.” There was a rattling chuckle on the other end of the connection as the caller enjoyed amusing himself for a moment, then he went on. “A reservation for this evening, if you please.”
His voice set her teeth on edge. A subsonic hum accompanied his unwelcome familiarity with her name. The hackles on Blue’s neck went up as something within her was alerted, even from an unknown distance, that the person on the other end of the call was something far from human. “We have no tables available. I do apologize.” She hoped to end the call then and there, but to no avail, he tripped over her last word and interrupted with a short bark of laughter.
“Oh, I think that there is a place for me, you simply aren’t looking hard enough. Your partners? The catamite and his rutting hog? Tell them that Nectanebo is come, and I expect their hospitality tonight.” His tone was oily and vile, brooking no argument, but Blue wasn’t going to cave to a mere voice, no matter how persistent.
Box Set: The Fearless 1-3 Page 71