A Lunatic Fear

by B. A. Chepaitis

  He stood, began walking, still clutching the stone. He moved through a series of old dreams, none of them pleasant, and then swam in white, cold fog. He walked through thick swamps, fetid and full of sound. He walked through all the colors that would not stay attached to any living thing.

  He kept walking.

  A small part of his mind remained aloof, uninvolved in this walking. It reminded him of what Jaguar taught him about defeating locks. You focused not on the lock, but on where you wanted to be.

  What did he want? What did he want?

  Did he want to kill her? The aloof part of his mind told him he’d better find out, before it was too late.

  He breathed in deeply, his thoughts turning toward her. He remembered the feel of her lips against his. He remembered her hand clasping the back of his neck, pulling him close, her body pressed against his. She was warm and sweet as sun after summer rain. She was clear as the scent of mint.

  His legs felt weak with the memory of desire and he stopped walking. His hand began to shake, and the stone dropped onto the ground.

  He gasped as the world came back into his vision, dark and full of night sounds, none of which spoke in human tongue.

  “Jesus,” he said, looking around.

  He was standing just outside the eco-site, looking at the barren zone between it and the nearest road.

  He looked at the stone on the ground at his feet and waited for his mind to start working again.

  He’d left Brendan. Why? To kill Jaguar?

  No. Desire moved in him too strongly for Thanatos to take over completely. He wanted to see her. He wanted to go back to himself.

  He stared down at his hand, which tingled as if he’d just left the Adept space. “I sure as hell hope that’s it,” he muttered.

  He wished his brain would work more coherently. He pushed his hands through his hair, moved his feet up and down on the ground, trying to feel connected to something real again. He had to think. Brendan wanted him to kill Jaguar, poison the water supply, then die.

  Or not Brendan, so much as Miriam wanted that. Not a bad plan, if you wanted to get yourself a Planetoid. He’d take the fall for the devastation, Jaguar would be dead at his hands. She could step in and make everything better. The Mother.

  He wondered if Jaguar knew any of this. He’d been isolated here with this madman, going mad himself. But what was Jaguar doing? Did she think he was dead? Insane? Did she think he’d broken his word about staying in touch? Was she alive and well?

  He’d find out soon enough, he supposed. But there was one more thing he had to do. He took off his jacket and quickly put the stone in the inside pocket, then wrapped it in as many layers as he could, making it tight and small, with a sort of handle that he could hang onto.

  He would like to just leave it, but he had to get it to Jaguar, so she could get it to someone who would analyze it and say it was Artemis. It was their only evidence of moon mining. He had to get it to her, then leave before he did any harm.

  So far Eros beat Thanatos, but he wasn’t staking her life on whether or not that would continue.

  * * * *

  When Pasquale returned, Jaguar was still sitting at the kitchen table, silent. Waiting. Rachel had gone back to work, and Marie was outside, working in the yard. The door opened, and she picked her head up, looked at him and waited some more.

  He shook his head. “There’s interference,” he said. “I can’t get a trail going.”

  “Can’t get a trail going,” Jaguar repeated, her voice dangerously low and soft.

  “Yeah. In fact, every time I tried, it pointed me back to you.”

  “But – why?”

  He lifted a shoulder, let it fall. “Maybe you touched the piece too much. Maybe there’s too much of you in it and not enough of him. From what I hear, that’d be about right.”

  “What kind of shitty editorial comment is that?” she asked.

  “You got more ego than anybody I ever met, and it don’t leave much room for anyone else. But you already know that, and seems like you’re kinda proud of it, so I’m not telling you news.” He turned up his large, elegant hand. “If you thought about him as much as he thinks about you, I might get some luck. As is, I can’t do a thing.”

  She pushed her chair back and stood. “Can’t you?” she asked quietly.

  Pasquale glanced at her suspiciously. “That’s what I said.”

  She shoved her chair out of the way and walked to where he stood. “If you can’t find him from something I made for him that sits on his desk and has his thoughts often, either your reputation is bullshit, or you’re giving me bullshit.”

  Before he could respond, she flicked her blade out from her wrist and held it up to his face. “Which is it?” she asked. “Are you incompetent, or a liar?”

  She took a step forward. He took a step back. She took another step forward. He took another one back. She took one more step, but he could go no further, because he was against the wall.

  She noted this, and smiled. “What’s your game, asshole?” she whispered, and brought her blade up to his throat.

  The door creaked open, and Jaguar heard Marie gasp. “Mary and Joseph,” she said.

  Jaguar ignored her, kept her eyes hard on Pasquale. “What’s your game?”

  He stayed very still, like a mountain with a boulder on top. Marie took two steps back and also stood still.

  “I can’t find him,” Pasquale said calmly. “There’s no game. I just can’t get a trail on him. Maybe I need different material?”

  “Like what?” Jaguar asked, pressing the edge of the knife closer to his throat.

  “Why don’t you bring me his heart on a platter? That seems like your style.”

  Rage flashed in her eyes, moved through her body and into her legs. “Where’s my knee?” she asked him.

  Before he understood the question, she showed him, bringing it up hard enough that his eyes bulged. He lunged forward, wrapping his meaty hand around her wrist and holding her there. She didn’t struggle because she knew that was pointless. She just let him hold on, keeping her eye on his pinkie ring as his hand moved with increasing and lessening tension.

  She was aware that Marie had left the room, and figured she’d gone for her shotgun. She’d be back soon. Jaguar amused herself by staring at the black glittering eyes in his pretty little ring.

  Then, she blinked. Looked again. Cursed softly under her breath and raised her gaze to his.

  He was focused, alert to whatever move she might make.

  She showed him a smile. “Hi there,” she said. “So nice to meet you.”

  Pasquale’s heavy brows folded down hard. “What?” he asked.

  “Let her go,” Marie’s voice answered, and Jaguar turned to stare into the muzzle of a shotgun.

  “Christ,” Pasquale said. “You’re all whacked.” He released Jaguar, and she rubbed her arm.

  “It’s okay, Marie,” she said. “Just a discussion we had to conclude.”

  “Did you? Conclude it, I mean,” Marie asked.

  “Oh yeah,” Jaguar said. “I think we understand each other perfectly now. At least, I think I understand him.”

  She turned back to Pasquale. “I’ll find something else for you to track him with. Something he can’t possibly hide from.”

  She headed for the front door, kicking a lamp over just for fun on her way out.

  Chapter 17

  The Town Park offices were locked up tight with nobody around when Alex stumbled up to them. He made his way to the airvan office and found that also closed for the night. He’d forgotten that some people actually kept regular hours, went home after work and slept. He made his way to the back lot and found the airvans parked and empty, with two empty hovercabs nearby.

  “Not even a cabbie,” he muttered. “Shit.”

  He went to them and found them locked. Fatigue coursed through him, and the weight of the stone he carried didn’t help. He had to get rid of it. Had to get it to Jaguar.


  He turned back to the hovercab and focused his attention on the door. If he could get it open, he knew how to get it started, which was something Jaguar never learned since it involved overriding the computer in the ignition complex.

  She was great with locks, but hell on computers.

  When a small click told him he’d done it, he almost sobbed with relief. The door opened, and the ignition kicked in easy, and he was off. As he flew, he put the stone in the glove compartment. Whether psychological or physical, he felt his burden lift.

  Then he realized he wasn’t sure where to go. To his apartment? To Jaguar’s? He swooped past her place first, but moved on quickly when he saw the surveillance vehicle parked in front of her building. When he tried his own apartment he saw more of the same. He moved on. He turned the corner and put a few blocks between them, then brought the hovercab down on the street.

  Now what?

  He wanted a closer look to see if he could spot the team in the vehicle. They might be just as inclined to give him information as arrest him. He got out of the hovercab, stuck his hands in his pocket and walked, whistling softly as he went.

  After a block he stopped at a shop window to give himself time to look around. In his peripheral vision he caught sight of a familiar face coming toward him. He looked into the window, and as the person passed, saw their reflection in the window. At first he thought it was just one more hallucination, and waited for it to sprout wings and fly away, or dissolve into colors that poured strange energy through him. When it didn’t, he spoke to it.

  “Rachel,” he said. “How’s it going?”

  She stopped, turned, gaped. “God almighty,” she said.

  “Not yet,” Alex said, “though I may have come close a few times. I think we should walk, don’t you?” He took her arm and moved her forward, smiling at her shock.

  “Jesus - I mean, Alex - where’ve you been? And what’s that beard about? Are you okay?” she asked.

  He took her questions methodically, in order. “Camping out with lunatics, where there’s no shaving apparatus, and I’m sometimes okay. I think. My turn now. Why is there surveillance on my apartment building?”

  “Because,” Rachel said, “there’s a warrant out for your arrest. We’re waiting for one on Jaguar, too. She borrowed a prisoner. And lost her.”

  Alex stopped walking, and pressed a hand to his forehead. Not much had changed in his absence. Chaos ruled, and Jaguar helped.

  “You better start from the top,” Alex said. “What am I charged with?”

  “Murder,” Rachel said.

  Alex frowned, looked up and down the street. The woman on the bridge. They were putting that on him. “Maybe,” he said, “we better keep walking.”

  As they walked, Rachel filled in the remainder of the gaps, from the hearing that left Jaguar suspended, to current events, which included Jaguar’s return from the home planet without Fiore, and with Pasquale. About Pasquale’s failure to find him, which she’d just heard about, and Pinkie’s status as persona non gratis on the Planetoid. As Rachel spoke, Alex began to realize that his stint with Brendan was a picnic in the park compared to what Jaguar was dealing with. And he realized they were in a hell of a lot more trouble than even he’d anticipated.

  At that point, he stopped walking. “Where is she?” he asked.

  “At Marie’s. She’s staying there, in the attic room. She’s been half out of her mind trying to find you.”

  He felt the pull to see her, lunar, undeniable. You want her. She makes you want her. He took in a deep breath and released it. He would not allow himself to sink into surrealism. The feeling passed, and was quickly replaced by a hopefulness he hadn’t felt in days. He looked at Rachel’s face, filled with hope. Artemis stones, he thought, are an empathic amplifier for the emotions of those around you. With Brendan, he felt despair. With Rachel, he felt health and hope.

  “Alex?” Rachel asked. “Are you okay? And what’s that bundle you’re carrying?”

  “It’s a long story. Listen, Rachel. Do me a favor. If I sort of space out, slap me or something. I’ve been taking hits off of Brendan’s Artemis, and it’s making me strange. Where’s your car?”

  “A few blocks down. I’ve been parking and walking at night, to see if they’re still watching your place and Jaguar’s. Why?”

  “Go get it, then come get me. No. Wait. There’s a little store a block east. A drugstore. They have mints that come in tin boxes. Get me one.”

  “A craving?”

  “I want the box. And get some tissues, too.”

  She frowned, shrugged, then went. She’d done stranger things lately.

  He waited, staring at a window which he supposed was a shop window. Saw that he was staring at a display of women’s cosmetics. Thought of Brendan. Thought of Jaguar, thinking of him. All thoughts, leading back to that home. Desire, a winged creature taking flight inside him.

  Rachel pulled up to the curb, and he got inside her car. She handed him the tin and he emptied it, carefully but quickly unrolled the stone, slipped it into a bunch of tissues and from there into the tin, which he closed tightly and wrapped in the plastic bag it came in.

  He put it in the glove compartment and again felt immense relief.

  “You got your notebook with you?” he asked.

  She reached into her back seat and pulled it up, handed it to him. He opened it and stared.

  “Password?” he asked.

  “Depends,” she said. “Whose file you want?”

  He grinned, and shook his head. “You know, Rachel, I remember a time when you were reluctant to play hacking games. I don’t know that Planetoid work has been good for your morals.”

  “It’s been very good for them,” she said. “Taught me right from wrong, and when to use which one. Whose file?”

  “Miriam Whitehall,” he said. “Her private files.”

  Rachel glanced at him.

  “That’s E 5 Sam Sam control 18,” she said, punching it up, “We’ve already been through it a few times. There’s nothing on it we can use. Nothing to prove anything against her.”

  “You know about her?” he asked.

  “Jaguar’s known since right before she got suspended. She just can’t find a way to prove anything, and it’s making her crazy. You know how she is.”

  He nodded. He knew. She’d be even more crazy when she found out what Miriam’s plans were. Sabotage, to be seen as the work of a crazed empath supervisor. But he had the moonstone now. Proof positive at last. He put the computer away.

  “Okay. Then let’s go.”

  Rachel didn’t ask where. She pulled out into traffic, and pointed the car toward Marie’s.

  “I can get you through the checkpoints at the breeding complex with my pass, then I have to go pick up Gerry. I’ll bring him back to Marie’s in case you need us,” she said. She glanced his way, looked him up and down. “You can grab a shower there, too.”

  “You trying to tell me something?” Alex muttered.

  “Well,” Rachel said, “I don’t think I have to, really.”

  “No,” he said. “You don’t.”

  Alex put his head back, closed his eyes. They’d be there in ten minutes. He’d find something better to contain the stone in, and take a quick shower, wash the moon off his skin before he exposed it to anyone else. He’d wait for Rachel to come back with Gerry, and they could all go talk to Jaguar together. That would be safe.

  If he wasn’t alone with her, then he couldn’t kill her.

  * * * *

  Rachel unlocked Marie’s door for him, and left him to shower and shave, which seemed to clear away the cobwebs even more. He wrapped himself in a robe, found a cardboard box to put the tin box in and wrote an address on it. He put it in his robe pocket and sat at the kitchen table to wait for Rachel’s return

  The house was quiet. Outside, there were no sounds of the city. Only peepers making their small sounds in the dark, calling for a mate, a mate, a mate. Rachel said Jaguar was
in the attic. She was very close. He closed his eyes and searched for her thoughts, wanting the jungle of her dreams if he couldn’t have her physical presence.

  He had a clear sense of her, breathing softly, body relaxed, mind wandering through scattered images of a large man who wore a strange ring. Then his own face appeared in her dreaming. His own face next to hers, mouth on her hair, her breath against his neck.

  Do not stand up, he told himself. If you stand up, it’s all over.

  He rose and made his way to the attic.

  He opened the door to her room carefully, silently, then stood inside and looked at her. He took the box with the moonstone out of his pocket and put it on a bureau. He watched her for a moment, then took a step closer to the bed.

  Stay where you are, he told himself. Don’t get any closer.

  He walked silently to the foot of the bed and stood there, watching her sleep. He was reluctant to wake her, both as a matter of courtesy and as a matter of safety. He knew how quick her reflexes were. If he stood at her head, she’d bring her knees up. If he knelt at her side, she’d roll into him, probably with her knife drawn. He could see it, gleaming at her wrist, under the nightshirt she was wearing. She’d kicked herself loose from the covers, and her legs were naked. He resisted the urge to touch them.

  Stay here, he instructed himself. Here is close enough.

  He moved to the side of the bed.

  Even from where he stood, he could smell the moon around her and feel how it pulled him to her. Different than Brendan, though. Lively and full of fire. Alive and prepared to kick. It seemed a long time since he’d seen her last.

  Just stand here and look, he told himself. Don’t touch her.

  He saw his hand reach for her, moving against his direct command.

  But before he touched her she shot upright, grabbed his wrist, twisted and pulled.

  He rolled with the twist and was on the bed with her, making a grab for her arm as her blade shot out from the sleeve of her nightshirt. He rolled onto his back and she was over him, straddling him, her arm raised high, blade gleaming. He kept her wrist locked in a firm grasp, holding it back.