Riot Girls: Seven Books With Girls Who Don't Need A Hero
Page 26
"Sorry I can't help out with the driving," Lizbet said, as they walked along.
"Nah, it's okay. I just need to chill. I'd say that if we have an accident just a day out from the end of this thing, the Universe hates us." He laughed.
"I hope the Universe didn't hear that. Because we are so jinxed if it did." Lizbet laughed her sweet laugh. Her hand brushed his. It could have been an accident. She could have been off balance from laughing and looking over at him as they walked.
No. He wasn't buying it. He looked at her. She was looking back at him. He took her hand and led her to the sheltered doorway of a bookstore with a prominent "Closed" sign. He pulled her to him, bent his head down to her, and let Myrddin take a good long look. Then he pushed back at the extra thoughts inside his head. When the whispers subsided and he knew that the feelings and thoughts motivating him were only his, he pulled her even closer and kissed her.
~*~
When they stopped in a parking lot just outside of Aberdeen, Eamon advised he would be assisting Thomas with his "necessaries" which involved a large pickle jar Eamon had found in one of the boxes in the back of the van. James suggested to Lizbet that it would be a good opportunity to stretch their legs once again.
Afterwards, sitting cross-legged in the back of the van, they ate sandwiches and soda they'd picked up earlier in the day. Eamon had eaten a large number of pickles before they returned but managed to tuck into his sandwich with gusto just the same.
After they ate, James drove the van out of town to a secluded area where he found a good-sized pull-off surrounded by a stand of trees. He hoped that, with luck, they would be able to spend the night without being disturbed.
First, James cautioned Thomas against noise. Then he ripped the tape off the monk's mouth with one swift yank. It didn't give him as much pleasure as he'd thought it would. In fact, it brought him no pleasure at all. Apparently, even though he had to work hard to control his temper, he wasn't much of a sadist.
Thomas's eyes misted up involuntarily but his expression stayed hard: James figured Thomas was smart enough to know that the only possible outcome of calling out would be no dinner and having James slap the tape back on as quickly as it had been removed.
As Thomas awkwardly ate his dinner with his wrists still bound together, James caught Lizbet's eye and motioned his head toward the back van door. She slid toward the door and opened it.
"Eamon, do you mind if we go out again for a while?" James said. "It's cramped in here."
"Go on, go…Faolan and I will be just fine. So good to catch up with an old friend after so long. Aye, Thomas?" Eamon winked at the bound monk, who glowered back.
James watched Lizbet roll her eyes slightly as she slipped out the back of the van.
"You know, the next time we kidnap somebody, maybe we shouldn't," said James, as he slid out of the van to stand beside her.
"I'm right there with you. I keep thinking we should just let him go and go home. What I really want right now is a bubble bath and my own bed." Lizbet took careful aim and kicked out at a small stone as they walked along the dirt footpath they followed through the trees. It flew straight and hard, landing with a splash in a small puddle left over from the morning's rain. "I focus on trying to make sense of what the tablets want me to do, and every time it comes out terrible. I call on all those memories I have floating around in my head for a way around it, and…nothing. 'Destroy him utterly.' It doesn't say I have to kill him, but what else can it mean?"
"Are you sure you translated it right?"
"I double-checked it with Eamon, you heard me, didn’t you? Or were you too focused on your driving? He says it's a good translation and that there aren't any other meanings that he's aware of, although it could be 'extinguish' and 'completely' instead of 'destroy' and 'utterly'. So, you know, much less final. Then, there's the whole blood, bone, and cup recipe. It's definitely clear what kind of cocktail I'm supposed to mix while I call on the 'force of fire" to heat the whole thing up. There's a really boffo chant for that." Lizbet shoved her hands deeper into her pockets and kicked out aggressively at another stone.
James could feel Myrddin's memories whirring in the back of his head. They were focused around the words "utterly", "destroy", and "extinguish". He wanted to put his arm around Lizbet but resisted it because the old man in his head was watching. Let Myrddin puzzle out the problem if he wanted to, but he wasn't getting anywhere near Lizbet.
"Look, Lizbet—there's this feeling I get coming really strong off ol' Myrddin that says Morgan wasn't like that. She wouldn't do what Faolan did…so there must be an answer. I don't really accept having Myrddin hanging out in my head, but I do trust him about this."
"You should. He was quite a wise man. You would have liked him. I just hope he's right." James noticed the vague tinge of an unusual accent to Lizbet's words as she talked. Was it really Lizbet responding or one of the others? And did he care? Yes. He did. He cared about Lizbet, the feisty neighbor girl who was too young for him, and he hoped when all of this was over, Myrddin and Morgan would leave the two of them alone so they had a chance to know each other without the burden of musty old memories.
~*~
"So, Granny, when will you be disposing of me?" Thomas asked Lizbet as she leaned into the back of the van to grab her sleeping bag.
Eamon bolted up, grabbed the roll of tape, and started toward Thomas.
Lizbet raised her hand to stop him. "Don't, Eamon. It's too cruel. Just don't. Not unless we have to."
"It's not who we are," added James. "And it's not who Morgan and Myrddin were."
"Aye, you're right, laddie. But I'll stay alert just the same, if you don't mind." He shot a glare at Thomas, who glared back in turn.
Lizbet gave a weary smile. "Thank you."
As she gathered the sleeping bags and backpacks, she looked closely at Thomas for the first time, taking in the details of the man she was expected to annihilate. She had images in her head of him as a youth—he had been a quiet baby and a serious child. When the other children were making mischief, Faolan was at his studies. His only goal was to enter the monastery and serve the church. It was a fine post for the son of a minor official who'd cast away druidic ways to curry favor with the Romans.
What was he? Early to mid twenties? If he didn't look so angry, he'd be really good looking—curly black hair, blue eyes, and one of those clefty chins that a lot of girls seem to go for. None of it mattered. It was all blotted out by the memory of a staff striking hard at the back of Myrddin's head.
Lizbet's eyes were drawn to Thomas's amulet. When Morgan had first given it to Faolan, it hung on a broad, silver chain around the neck of a child just becoming a man. Now, the amulet hung on a braided leather cord around Thomas's neck.
Lizbet scrunched her forehead in concentration. Morgan is the only one who could have replaced the chain. When did she do that?
"Eamon, why did Morgan replace Thomas's silver chain with a leather one?"
"I don't know the why of it, but she's replaced the cord several times now. Although I take good care of the leather when it's with me, it doesn't hold up so well in the grave. Why do you ask?"
"I'm not sure. I looked at it just now, and I thought, 'that means something'." Lizbet tapped her forehead with a forefinger, "but whatever it is, it's not in here. I've got a head full of noise and all I get is vague, vague, vague, and memories of this guy as a kid." She waved the back of her hand at Thomas. "Not helpful. So completely not helpful."
She handed a sleeping bag and backpack out to James. "You okay for tonight, Eamon?"
"Aye, things will stay under control just fine. Dinnae worry yourself about me. Good night, lassie."
~*~
They didn't build a fire that night. With Eamon and Thomas inside, Lizbet and James lay their bags down outside in the open air at the side of the van. Lizbet hoped the morning's rain would be all the rain to fall that day. The night was cool, but her sleeping bag was warm enough.
As
Lizbet lay quietly on her back, looking up at the clear night sky and limitless field of stars, she happily lost herself to the awe she sometimes felt when she was alone with nature. For the briefest moment, it was almost the feeling she got on the down side of The Hill: she forgot the hundreds of years of life she'd inherited. She forgot that there was something about Thomas's chain she needed to remember. She forgot that she was a runaway and a kidnapper and soon to be a destroyer.
What she did remember was that love, family, friendship, loyalty, and just plain being decent were things that truly mattered in any generation in any world. She thought about Bobby and her parents and how much she missed them. She thought about Tanji's mischievous smile, sweet little Louis and his father, her friends at school, even her favorite teacher. She was so glad to have all of them.
Then, she thought about Eamon and his people, his friends and loved ones, stuck outside the world that belonged to them as much as it belonged to her, trapped in a place that was soon to disappear and take them with it.
She scooched over in her bag, closer to James, and reached out to take his hand in hers. Too soon, she remembered all the things she'd briefly forgotten. But it was okay now.
James squeezed her hand gently and held it even as they slept.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
How Many Miles To Babylon
THEY LEFT THEIR bikes and walked toward the gate where the protesters were beginning to gather for the morning. On the way, Lizbet told James what she needed him to do if the plan was going to work. Once there, Lizbet struck up a conversation with a group of middle-aged women while James headed toward a tall, weathered looking man in a Greek fisherman's cap. The crowd thickened as the day went on. Between them, they talked to at least seventy people, feeling them out to see how far they would go to protect their dunes. There were many who were not only concerned about the ruin of the natural space but also about the way the corporation had bullied the local landowners.
By noon, they had 15 names. The two Americans had just joined up together again when a car came barreling down the road toward the gate. The crowd parted hastily to let it through. The passenger shouted out the window, "You might as well go home now. We've won. The crew will be on site tomorrow."
Some in the crowd turned and put their arms around their friends, comforting each other. Some looked stunned, unbelieving, trying to understand how the months of protest had led to nothing. But some searched the crowd for James or Lizbet. As the car went through the gate that was again chained securely behind it, they converged off to the side of the crowd where James and Lizbet stood.
Lizbet pointed toward the spot where they’d left the bikes. "Once it gets toward sunset, meet us outside of the fence there. There's a dip between the dunes that can't be seen from the gates. Dark clothing. No pick axes or obvious implements of destruction, you know what I mean? Small tools—wrenches to remove spark plugs or a thermos with water for the gas tank. Nothing big, nothing super serious—this is still a protest, a little vandalism, not massive property destruction. Just enough to keep them losing money and keep them from getting started. Nothing that could get you arrested as you walk along the dunes. Because taking a walk isn't illegal, is it? "
"Not yet," an angry, young voice replied, followed by a chorus of agreement.
~*~
"It sounds like the two of you have fomented a fine rebellion," said Eamon, as he threaded a plastic tie-down through an opening in a metal strut on the side of the van and around one of Thomas's arms. Then he swiftly removed the tape holding Thomas's wrists together, yanking away some hair and skin in the process. Eamon thought Thomas might have protested if he hadn't already taped his mouth over again. Tape was once again necessary, and Eamon didn't have the same qualms about Thomas's treatment that James had.
"She's more devious than I would have given her credit for," James replied as he slid the sleeve of a black hoodie over Thomas's free arm.
"Aye, she'd make a fine fae."
"Something tells me that may not be a compliment."
"I can tell Myrddin is with you, lad. You had a much more positive attitude when we first met."
"You hadn't tricked me so many times when we first met." James threaded another plastic tie-down through the van's side strut, and Eamon pressed Thomas's arm back so that James could secure it. James moved around Thomas and Eamon and pulled the sweatshirt around Thomas's back to slip the second sleeve over his other arm.
"Would you have left the lass to fend for herself if you had known about the tricks ahead of time?"
"No."
"Then I don't see the point of the discussion. My tricks were only to make sure you did what you were bound to do anyway. Harmless."
"Really? What about the rest of the fae? Also harmless?"
"Not all of them. What about the rest of the humans? Harmless?"
"Not all of them," James admitted. He zipped up Thomas's hoodie and pushed the monk's arms together again with each hand overlapping the opposite wrist. James pulled the hoodie sleeves across to hide the plastic bonds. Then, he pulled a black ski-mask, the style that only has an opening for the eyes, down over Thomas's head. When they brought Thomas through the fence he would be a silent protester with his hands clasped together as he walked. "Well, then…this member of the 'not all of them' is ready to go tonight."
~*~
Eamon turned to Lizbet, looking intently into her eyes for a long moment before he spoke. "Anyone want to back out? Last chance."
"No," said Lizbet. "I'm ready for this."
James nodded. "Let's do it.
James assisted as Thomas slid out of the van. Then Lizbet placed her hand with the knife up the back of his shirt to rest with the naked blade against his skin. When she pressed it lightly against him, Thomas walked forward cautiously.
Lizbet hoped that no one noticed anything unusual about Thomas in the dimming light of dusk. Eamon walked on the other side of Thomas to provide additional muscle if needed. James took the lead, walking directly in front of Thomas to further camouflage that Thomas's hands weren't free.
A few of the protesters they had recruited were already milling around at the meeting point. Within half an hour, fourteen of the fifteen were waiting, ready for a night of sabotage. The developers might have won in court, but the fight on the dunes wasn't over yet. Eamon moved quietly from each small conclave of men and women, assessing tools and assigning tasks.
The weight of the backpack Lizbet wore under her black sweatshirt pulled her down, but she kept her knife hand snugged up close to Thomas's lower back. She didn't know if he believed that he was in danger or if he just thought that she might completely lose it out of fear if he tried anything. Still, he was docile, and without that, she would never be able to shepherd him to the spot close to the tree.
James used the wire-cutters to open a hole in the chain link fence while the others huddled low on the sands, watchful for any sign they had been discovered. Once he had cut a large enough hole, he beckoned, and the rebels slipped through single file while he held the freed section of fence aside for them. Lizbet, Thomas, and Eamon were the last ones through.
When Lizbet next looked up, she was looking up at herself. And two versions of James. One of those had his arm around the other Lizbet.
Eamon's voice issued quietly from the other Lizbet's mouth, "If they look back, they'll see the two of you following right behind. And mind you, there are few gruagach who can even manage a glamour this complex, much less hold it for very long. Get where you're going quickly. I'll catch you up once the others are well occupied."
Eamon took off to the right to follow the others as James and Lizbet each grasped one of Thomas's arms. They walked him to the left across the dunes, which were dotted here and there with clumps of low grass, small obstacles in the path that were difficult to see in the dark.
Lizbet hoped that the protesters they'd tricked into being a distraction had paid attention and not brought anything that would get them into trouble
when security began to round them up. She hoped there wouldn't be consequences for them: if she succeeded in what she planned to do that night, a small group of local protesters would not be the focus of anyone's attention. Who would care about a little vandalism when the site was so clearly no longer suitable for development?
~*~
Eamon returned to the fence as swiftly as a gruagach can once the quiet mayhem at the machinery began. On the way, he suddenly became taller and more human in appearance. He ducked back under the fence and peered out across the dunes. He headed toward the orange glow of a cigarette.
Eamon sized up the humans who stood before him. They had large, expensive leather bags slung across their shoulders. Excellent, he thought, who needs legends, myths, or rumors when you've got the modern media and their ever-present cameras?
"Are you ready, then? We'll have to move quickly or you'll miss the lot of it," said Eamon.
The taller one nodded. "Get us there. This protest is news. If it's going to heat up, we're the ones who want to be reporting on it."
Eamon led them quickly back to the break in the fence and held it aside as they entered. After he scuttled through, he led them swiftly to the left, tracking three sets of footprints across the sand.
As soon as he'd situated the reporters, he'd return to wipe out those tracks and leave only the ones leading to the right.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Outsidious Looking Insidious
THE GUARD DROVE slowly along the fence, his headlights lighting it up the same as they did every night. It never changed: his job was the very definition of monotony. Sometimes there were young ones drinking on the dunes just beyond the fence, and every so often, a group of protesters sitting around a small fire for warmth before the sun raised itself over the horizon.