Sitting so snug together at the bar, she only had to lean a couple of inches forward to press a kiss into his lips. "Do no' worry, husband."
Mimicking his Irish accent was the surest way to get him to worry more because he knew it was her intent to hide concern with humor. He suspected she was being brave for his benefit which made him feel ashamed about his reaction to the baby popping film. He'd resolved to try to live up to her sort of bravery and was doing his best, but he thought she set a standard so high it was almost unattainable.
His thoughts returned to the morning at hand as she was saying, "It was just three days ago that Doc Nance said Helm is really happy where he is. He hasn't even started looking around for the exit." There was a part of her that winced when she said that. "We have another week before we have to report to Edinburgh and I want to stay here a little longer."
He nodded like that was what he thought she would say. Then he went to his bureau, opened a drawer, and withdrew a sat phone.
Elora gasped in response as he walked over and put it in her hand. "Ram! That really is contraband."
He snickered. "Aye and your portaputer that you hide in the cupboard behind the peanut butter is no'?" Elora's mouth fell open. She'd been sure he didn't know about it. "Anyway," he continued, "I do no' know what would qualify as special circumstances if no' bein' big as a..."
The rest of that sentence trailed off and got muffled in the Irish cable knit sweater he was pulling over his head. When his eyes cleared the fabric, he saw that she had moved directly in front of him, standing with her hip cocked and one hand poised where her waist used to be. Great Paddy, she's fast. Even when she's carryin' a babe.
"A what?"
"Hmmm?"
She narrowed her eyes to slits. "As big as a what?"
He just blinked innocently. "Do no' know what you mean."
"Always trying to stir something up, aren't you?"
He smiled mischievously. "How'm I doin'?"
"That depends."
"On what?"
"Hmmm?"
He laughed. "Very funny." He started to pull her toward him, but she ducked out of his reach and walked the other way.
"Depends on whether your goal is to end up compromised romantically."
"Romantically?" He perked up and looked as interested as a puppy called to lick cold bacon grease. Elora was sure that if his hair was pulled back she'd be able to see his ears prick.
It was her turn to smile mischievously. "I was thinking of a way to position myself so that..."
"Stop right there. I know what you're doin' and I think 'tis cruel to expect me to ride to the village with my pleasure-giver strainin' to go on a rampage."
"A rampage?" Now she was the one to look interested.
"Great Paddy, will you stop?"
"Not if you're going to talk about your 'pleasure-giver' and use words like straining and rampage in the same sentence." She laughed. "And, I might add, 'stop' is the one word I never thought I would hear from you."
He walked toward her smiling, put one arm around her back and lovingly stroked her tummy with his other hand. "Right. Let me finish gettin' your fuckin' house ready. Then I'll be seein' to it that you're the one beggin' me to stop."
She slanted her eyes up at him. "Holding you to it."
"I'm yours to hold any way you want, but I'm no' goin' unless you promise to keep that phone with you."
She glanced down at the phone in her hand. "Okay. You really think the house is going to be ready?"
"I believe I have given each subcontractor sufficient reason to prioritize your project."
Elora took his meaning and gaped. "Rammel! You've been threatening the workmen. That's out of bounds even for you."
"Threatenin' is a harsh word."
"Out of bounds."
"Darlin' girl," he leaned in closer for just a sample whiff of wild jasmine, "out of bounds is against my religion."
"What religion?"
"Exactly."
"Great Paddy."
"He does no' count."
"What did you do? Say you would break legs?"
Ram looked offended."Give me a little credit. Do I seem like a cliché to you?"
She just shook her head. Her mate didn't always fit perfectly into a modern world or even a civilized world. That had its downside, but it definitely had advantages as well. There was a bad-boy vibe creating spikes in his aura and that would probably never change. Being totally honest with herself, she didn't want it to.
He grinned at her. "You look good in red."
She looked doubtful. "You say that about every color I wear."
"I'm thinkin' 'tis true then."
"Orrrr, it might be just a bit of charm spoken by a silver tongued elf who's way sexier than a person ought to be."
Smiling suggestively, he licked his bottom lip. "Tongue is sweet and pink. Come taste." Without waiting for an answer he grabbed her and gave her a taste surrounded by a kiss that made her whole body vibrate. Ram growled and pulled back muttering curses in Irish.
Blackie saw him to the door. Ram looked down at the dog. "She's all yours and you better be takin' good care of her. If no' for that woman some creepy bugger would be hosin' you down and tasin' you regular."
Blackie studied Ram's face and whined. One more glance at Elora. Their eyes met and communicated a thousand things words couldn't manage. "Back before dark and I'll brin' somethin' for dinner."
She nodded. "I'll be here."
"Countin' on it." ***
CHAPTER_13
Part of the good news for the team from Stagsnare Dimension was that they came through on the corner of 60th and 5th Avenue in New York just before five o'clock on a Thursday afternoon. The intersection was crowded at that time of day so no one noticed three men appear out of thin air or, if they did, they didn't flinch. Living or working on Manhattan requires nerves of steel and a mind-your-own-business attitude.
The other part of the good news was that Monq happened to be away from Jefferson Unit on a rare visit to the city to have tea at the Pierre with his niece who was visiting. Archer had calibrated the transport to search for a near-identical dimension with a life signature matching Thelonius M. Monq's.
Since Monq was rarely away from Fort Dixon, the odds were high in favor of the team appearing smack dab in the middle of Jefferson Unit surrounded by Black Swan knights, although they could not have known that when planning and programming the mission.
The bad news for the Stagsnare Team was that only three placeholders were matches for the volunteers who had embarked on a mission to assassinate the royal who'd escaped the clan's justice. The other nine were simply gone. Vanished. With nothing to be done about it.
They stepped next to a building and went into a huddle. They didn't know what it meant that only three of the twelve had arrived. No one had briefed them on that possibility because the only one outside of command was Archer and he had been forbidden to mention it.
Their first thought was that the others were somehow delayed in transport and would arrive any second. That being the case, there was nothing to do for the time being, but wait. Especially since the team leader was not among the three who now stood on a busy street corner looking at each other with uncertainty.
As the crowds began to thin more and more people gave them second looks. In identical quasi-military clothing, with identical backpacks, identical haircuts, and wearing identical expressions of confusion on their faces, they did stand out even in a city known for exceptional occupants. After three hours it was dark and they had to admit it was unlikely others would be joining them.
They decided one of them would go into the hotel and ask where they could exchange gold for currency. The desk clerk at The Pierre blinked at the man with the accent that was hard to place.
"Gold, sir?"
"Yes."
"Are you a guest of the hotel?"
"Not unless you take gold."
"No. We do not. Although we probably should." The cle
rk hesitated. "Are you saying that you would like to exchange gold for currency and then check into this hotel?"
Rystrome looked around at the lobby and the Rotunda beyond, then back at the clerk. "Yes. That is what I am saying."
The clerk picked up the phone and made a call. "In what form is your gold, sir?"
"Bars."
Again the clerk blinked as if he was having trouble processing that. "Bars."
"Yes. A rectangular prism approximately this size?" He indicated the size of a bar of gold.
The clerk looked away and spoke quietly into the phone. "How much does your gold bar weigh?"
"Standard. Just a little more than two pounds."
The clerk resumed his conversation then put down the phone. "We will not be able to assist you with that exchange tonight. However, if you would like to leave a bar of gold in the safe as a guarantee, we will check you in and facilitate the transaction in the morning."
"Alright. There are three of us."
"Very good, sir. Would you like a two bedroom suite?"
"Yes."
"May I see your I.D.?"
"I.D.?"
"Yes."
"What is I.D.?"
"Identification."
"I can tell you who I am."
"Certainly, sir, but I must also ask for a passport or a valid drivers licence."
Rystrome looked perplexed. "Let me go get my friends. I'll be back."
Rystrome went out onto the sidewalk and reported the entire conversation.
"You mean we can't use the gold to buy food or a place to sleep without this I.D.?"
"I guess," said Rystrome.
"Let's ask somebody else."
"Who?"
Blackwell looked around then stopped the next person who came by. "Excuse me." The man kept on walking. He tried again. And again. The third time he stopped a guy who was walking a bit slower wearing baggy pants, a puffy plaid shirt, and a knit cap. "Can you tell me where to trade gold for currency?"
"Yeah, man. The pawn shop."
"Where is this pawn shop? Can you direct me there?"
"Not many pawn shops open this time of night." Blackwell waited for him to continue. "I could maybe take you to one for a fee."
"Fee." The native nodded. "How much?"
The native appraised the three team members and factored in the fact that they were asking strangers on the street about trading gold after hours.
"Ten percent of what you get for it."
Blackwell's expression didn't change in the slightest except for a light narrowing of the eyes which, for the first time, made the native a little nervous. "Two percent."
"Okay. Let's go."
They followed the native a few steps to the subway entrance. The team took one look at the steps going down and balked.
"What is this?" Rystrome asked.
"Subway." The native looked surprised. "You never seen a subway?"
The three didn't confirm or deny. They just looked at him.
"Is there another way to go?"
"Yeah, but it costs money."
"And the subway does not cost money?"
The native looked at them suspiciously. "You got no money?"
"We do not have money. That is why we need to change gold for money."
"Uh-huh." The native looked around for a few seconds then said, "I might be able to get someone to come give us a ride, but I need to see me some gold. I mean, you know, folks standing around on the street with no money asking about what to do with gold don't sound quite right. You know what I'm saying?"
Blackwell, Rystrome, and Dustand looked at each other. Blackwell let his pack drop. He unzipped the top and brought a gold bar into view - enough for verification. It wasn't any accident that he opened the pack enough for the native to also get a peek at the gun. He wanted to make the point that a double cross would be a very bad idea.
"And there you have it!" said the native. He reached down to his lower thigh to pull his phone out of his pants pocket and made a call. "He'll be here in twenty."
They rode to the Bronx in the back of a beater while the native rode in the front seat with the driver. He took them to a pawn shop where they were offered half what the gold was worth, but they couldn't know what gold was worth in Loti Dimension. Also, since they needed currency to get food, beds for the night, and clothes that would help them blend in, they would have had no choice even if they'd known what a terrible deal they were making.
As they left the pawn shop, Blackwell gave the native his two percent. Rystrome stopped him from leaving.
"Before you go. Do you know somebody who can get us I.D.?"
The native looked at each of the three of them. "I might. You got more gold?"
Rystrome didn't answer that question, but asked one of his own. "What's your price?"
The native and driver dropped them off at a hotel that was a far cry from The Pierre, but they didn't really care as long as it didn't have bugs and didn't ask for I.D. and took cash.
Three days later they had clothes like everybody else and backpacks like everybody else. They were flush with cash and had brand new I.D. in the form of passports to show the charter jet operator.
They had spent part of their three days in the internet cafe. It didn't take long to figure out how to operate the computers because they were similar enough, if a bit outdated. They found a reference to a young Brit royal named Elora Laiken who had died at age twelve. Then they hit the jackpot when they found a bevy of society section references to an Elora Laiken who had married the Irish king's brother just a few months before.
Blackwell laughed softly. And darkly. "Damn Laiwynn. They always manage to land on their feet." He clicked through the online articles. "It's her. No doubt about it. She didn't waste any time getting herself a prince. An... elf prince?" Blackwell looked at the other two who were huddled behind him watching the images on the screen go by. "Elf?" He looked at the other two who shrugged.
Elves or not. They could already taste victory. She was found and it was all over but for the celebrating.
It hadn't taken them long to realize the dimension slip meant an increase in strength and speed for them. After a few times of breaking things that shouldn't break, they figured it out.
They traced her to Edinburgh and got a bio-read on her while she sat in a pub drinking ale and laughing with her long-haired, Irish husband who, by the way, did not look like an elf to them. Once the handheld reader had her in its databanks it would be able to locate her anywhere on the planet at any given moment and point the way by map or coordinates.
Back in the hotel, Blackwell said, "Alright. That's it! What exactly is your problem, Rystrome?"
"You saw the same thing I saw. My problem is that she's pregnant! It was hard enough getting past the idea of executing a woman not because of anything she's done, but because of what we're afraid she might do. Now we're supposed to add killing an unborn baby?"
"So what?"
"You don't have the slightest qualm about taking out a pregnant woman?" He emphasized the word 'pregnant' just to be perfectly clear that they were talking about the same thing.
"A pregnant Laiwynn? And a Laiken at that? Are you kidding? It's either kill it now or deal with the bloody aftermath later. You want to let that fungus live to raise an army against your children?"
Rystrome's shoulders slumped. "No."
"Well, that's what we're talking about. You know that old saying, 'History will teach us nothing'? For once, let's be smart and learn from the past. No good can come from showing mercy to a Laiwynn. Ever."
Rystrome wasn't sure he agreed. Completely. But he didn't disagree strongly enough to stop the wheels in motion.
***
CHAPTER_14
For a minute after Ram left she had stood still listening to the quiet he left behind noting how he filled the space with life and energy then took it with him when he left. The cottage suddenly felt empty. Shaking off that depressing thought, she headed to the kitchen
where she made quick work of the dishes. She dried her hands, pulled on her puffy plaid coat, and wound a red scarf around her neck. When she asked Blackie if he was ready to go, he turned in a circle, ran to the door, and pawed at it as if that would make it open faster.
On the way toward the door Ram's bow caught her eye. It was leaning against a corner near the door. She remembered the large form she had "almost" seen in the forest and decided it couldn't hurt to take the bow along. The first day she had seen the New Forest, Ram had returned to the cottage from across the stream with bow in hand. When she'd asked about it, he had said, "There are creatures in the forest that have no' got the memo that this is a civilized century." That thing out there could be one of those.
After running her hand over the smooth curve of the wood, for no reason other than its tactile appeal and the fact that it had belonged to Ram since he was pubescent, she picked it up, pulled the strap of the quiver over her head, and situated it comfortably across her swollen body. There were about eight arrows inside and, from the look of them, she suspected they were not New Forest legal. The feathers felt like silk. The shafts appeared to be titanium: strong, lightweight, practically indestructible.
Carrying a bow may have felt a little silly, but her intuition had helped her out more than once and she thought maybe there was a reason why the bow grabbed her attention on this particular morning when it had been inconspicuous every other day. That day it practically sang out to her, "Take me! Take me!"
Of course she was out of practice, but a lifetime of training in archaic weaponry would have to be good for something. She hoped that, in a pinch, if she really needed it, muscle memory would take over and it would all come back. No doubt Ram's bow was weighted differently from any she had ever used, but she discounted the difference as minor. After all, she could drive a vehicle she'd never been in before.
Stepping out and closing the door behind her, she took a deep breath. There was an extra chill in the October air that hadn't been there before and the sky was overcast. She thought about going back in for something warmer than the soft corduroy puffy, but she decided that the pace of a brisk walk would make her warmer than vodka and she liked the plaid. It reminded her of her home dimension as it was so similar to the Laiwynn hunting plaid it could almost be mistaken for the same.
A Summoner's Tale - The Vampire's Confessor (Black Swan 3) Page 13