by Lynn Lorenz
"Aye, you need to do well as a patroller. You're very far past the age of marriage, miss!" Tandy's green curls bobbed up and down in agreement. The addler felt it was part of her service to remind Sarah at every chance that she should have been married by now.
She supposed Tandy was right. But marriage meant trusting a man not to hurt you, and Sarah's ability to trust had been burned out of her long ago.
"That's not what I meant, Tandy." Sarah sighed. "I meant having my life mean something, to contribute to this world, to count and make a difference!" She almost spilled her tea as she gestured with her teacup to make the point.
Tandy's eyes narrowed. She leaned closer and lowered her voice as if she were imparting a secret. "And you're almost too old for babies."
That was the other part of Tandy's duty, it seemed.
Sarah groaned. "Is that all you think I'm capable of--finding a man, getting married and having babies? Don't you think I can do more, be more, here as a patroller instead of some man's chattel?"
Tandy tensed and then smiled. "Aye, miss, being a patroller is a great honor, and is much needed in these dark times. You will certainly do well here."
The little creature was just telling Sarah what she wanted to hear, but she hoped Tandy was right about doing well. More than anything, Sarah wanted to fit in and be successful in this world. She almost didn't get this chance.
What would I've done then? Go back?
To return was unthinkable. There was no future for her off-world, only the past. She belonged here; her destiny lay on this side of the portal. No more hiding her majik, no more strained self-control, and no more soul-deadening self-denial. No matter what, she would never go back.
Sarah closed her eyes, and her fist made the sacred sign of mind, heart, strength, and faith; touching first forehead, then chest, then her right shoulder and lastly, her left shoulder. She sent a prayer to the One God she would not disappoint Chief Thatcher, the only man she'd given her fragile trust to in twenty years.
After the long coach ride, Sarah wanted nothing more than to relax in a tub of hot water. She'd hoped for a private bath like the inspectors, but it wouldn't surprise her if she had to share with the person in the next room.
"What's the bathroom like, Tandy?"
"The bath is private, miss, with a large soaking tub, sink, and toilet, and a small mirror," Tandy told her. "Very small." She frowned.
"Didn't think I was so vain." Sarah's lack of feminine pursuits, like fussing for hours over her hair and clothing, was a sore spot for Tandy, who had previously served only well-dressed and well-coifed ladies.
The little addler gave a rude snort. "Not vain enough, if you ask me. How will you catch a man?" She sighed. "The mirror at the dressing table will have to do."
"I'm not here to catch a man, so just get that idea out of your head. I have a few hours before I'm to meet with Chief Thatcher, so please draw a hot bath."
"Aye, Miss Sarah." Tandy went into the bathroom, and Sarah heard the sound of water running. The addler came out and helped her undress, taking great care with her clothes.
"Shall I brush and curl your hair, after your bath?" Tandy asked.
"No, just a braid will do."
"But your hair is so beautiful, miss." Disappointment showed in her deep green eyes, but the last thing Sarah wanted was to look beautiful and attract unwanted attention or give the impression she couldn't do the job because she was a woman. She'd battled that enough over two lifetimes.
"Just a simple braid." She sat on a chair so Tandy could reach her.
"Aye, miss." Gathering Sarah's waist-length, thick, black hair, Tandy twisted it, wound the coil on top of Sarah's head, and pinned it in place with several copper hairpins. Soft tendrils of hair curled against the nape of her neck.
The armoire mirror reflected Tandy's grimace at the old scar that marred the smooth, ivory skin of Sarah's shoulder blade. As always, Sarah pretended not to notice. She undressed as Tandy disappeared into the bathroom.
Sarah watched from the doorway of the bathroom as Tandy swirled in the bath salts. The room filled with the scent of lavender.
"After I see the chief, it'll be time to go down to dinner and meet the others. Then, a visit to the chapel, I think, to light a candle and pray. But first, a little more tea while I soak."
Sarah stepped into the tub and sank into its warm depths. Tandy refilled her cup from the teapot. As she took a sip, the patroller closed her eyes. Her body began to relax and its powerful response to the man with the unusual dark eyes resurfaced. What had happened in that hall? She'd practically raced to his side. Then she'd followed him into his room, unasked, and had just taken over, as if he were hers.
Forget about him. It meant nothing. She had been tired. His appearance took her off-guard. And he had been wounded. The list of excuses for her behavior grew. Besides, he was an inspector. First class, he'd said. That meant he was second-in-command at the station. She was a mere patroller, even if she had the title of trainer. Surely, there were rules about fraternizing with ranking officers and she usually tried to adhere to the rules. When they didn't get in her way, that is.
Yet, she'd never felt such intensity with any man, on or off-world. If she had been more experienced, worldlier, perhaps she might indulge her body's wants with him. However, if her heart became caught up in that firestorm, it wouldn't survive and her career would go up in passion's flames, too.
No, she was determined to avoid another betrayal, whether by her own body or a man. She'd come here with goals and a plan for her life, and they didn't include tall, hazel-eyed inspectors.
Still, she couldn't help but wonder if he'd had a similar reaction to her. Deep inside, where she held her secrets, she ached to feel his intense gaze travel over her and the touch of his skin. He'd smelled of moldy forest, sweat and the sharp iron tang of blood. It should have repulsed her, yet she'd inhaled as if his body were fresh from the bath. Fine black hair had covered his muscled thigh, making her wonder if the same hair covered his chest. And when her hand had been trapped between his large hand and the warmth of his leg, she'd had to escape to keep from melting into him.
It was insane. She needed to get hold of herself, remember her goals, and gather her determination around her like a wall, to keep him out and her heart safe.
Had she kept herself away from the dangers of men her whole life only to fall victim to some dirty, smelly, unshaven man met in a dim hallway?
"Not bloody likely," she muttered.
Tandy stuck her head in the doorway. "Did you say something, miss?"
"No, nothing." Sarah sank lower in the tub and tried to push thoughts of the inspector from her mind. Her nipples peaked. Staying away from Bane wasn't going to be easy.
* * * *
Crouched in the bushes, Marcus Adams watched the girl hurry about her early morning chores, her full skirt swishing around her ankles as she walked to the barn. She carried a wooden bucket to milk the cows. His hand, in steady strokes, passed over his full red moustache, as if he were petting some family dog. There was no time for shaky nerves; everything depended on keeping his head and sticking to his plan.
If she followed her pattern, one he'd learned by watching her each morning for a week, after milking she fed the chickens and ducks and then walked down to the lower pasture to check on the sheep.
He knew the path through the forest was where he would capture her.
Adams watched her with sweet anticipation of what was to come. As she tossed out the last of the corn and grain for the farm birds, he 'ported away.
After arriving on the path to the pasture, he took his place behind the fallen tree.
She was the youngest he'd kidnapped yet. He couldn't believe how excited that made him. She was at the age when girls hovered at the brink of womanhood and that held great power.
So pristine.
He felt for the knife in his pocket, careful not to cut himself. There was no need for the blade at first; his newly learned majik
would handle her. The Sorcerer had taught him all he'd need. One blast to render her unconscious, then he could deal with her safely. He'd merely teleport the unconscious girl deep in the woods to the deadfall lair he'd used previously. With its cloaking spells in place, no one would see or hear anything.
Then, he'd wait until she awakened, her arms and legs bound by strips of cloth to the trees. He looked forward to showing her the many pleasures he wished her to experience, then he'd use her to bring the dark majik and bind it to himself.
The Sorcerer had taught him how to make the unholy signs, using just enough pressure on the knife to break the skin and draw blood, but not be overrun by the sacred fluid. You had to stay clean, the Sorcerer stressed, so it was best to do the cutting and the ceremony naked. The Sorcerer had even shown him how to drop the blood mixed with his seed on the ground to give thanks to the Dark God.
Once he'd gathered the power of the dark majik that built stronger inside him with each of his victims, he'd prove he was a man to fear. After this one, he only needed one more and then he'd show them all, especially that blonde bitch at the Sorcerer's side. One way or the other, he'd be sitting at the Sorcerer's right, not her.
When he was done with this girl, he'd use a simple memory charm just as he did with the others. She wouldn't remember him or be able to explain what had happened to her, but he would be able to call the power it gave him whenever he needed it.
So delicious.
He tensed.
She approached.
Adams heard a tune floating on the air and her feet scuffing through the leaves. He peeked over the trunk as she stopped to kick a pile into the air and giggled in her high, sweet voice. He tracked her as she approached.
The girl passed the tree.
Standing up, he savored the moment, watching her slender back with a sort of fondness. Her skirt swung with her steps, her long blonde hair looked like corn silk. What would it feel like as that golden hair ran between his fingers?
Adams took aim, drew on his power, and fired the stunning bolt.
With a soft moan, the young girl collapsed to the ground.
Chapter 3
The door to Rolf's office flew open and slammed into the wall. He jumped in his chair, his hand flying to his wand.
"Where the hell were you?" Stefan stood in his door, fists clenched.
"Stefan, what are you talking about?" Rolf laid down his pen, opened the drawer, and slipped the paper he was working on inside.
"I'm talking about being at Chester, damn it. I called for you and your men. You didn't answer." Stefan stepped into the small office and towered over the desk, filling the room with his power.
A prickle of warning danced across Rolf's skin. He pushed back in his chair as the fine blond hair on his arms stood on end. "My men were ready. I waited for your call, but it never came, so I dismissed them." Rolf gathered his own power, but kept it in check. It wouldn't be the first time they'd tested each other with power or fists.
"Of course I called." Stefan's oddly colored eyes widened.
"Did you use the mirror?" Rolf reached into his pocket and pulled out his service mirror. Opening it, he saw only his own reflection. He held it close to his face, his blue eyes inspecting its polished surface.
"Aye, but before I could contact the castle, the bastards were on me."
"Damn! Here's the problem. There's a hairline crack. How the hell did that happen?" Rolf passed the mirror to Stefan. "By the One God, I'm sorry. I'll get a replacement from Gustav."
"Damn right you will!" Stefan didn't bother to look for himself, but tossed it on the desk.
"Look, I don't know what to say. It was working the last time I used it." He looked into the air as he thought. "Two days ago."
Stefan remained silent, but dropped into a chair against the wall.
"How bad was it?" Rolf sat back.
His guts twisted as he listened to Stefan give a brief description of the encounter with Blackmoor's men. When he finished, Stefan sat back and swiped his hand through his long hair to push it back.
"Damn! This has to stop, Stefan. Why do they have to shed blood? Majik is more than enough. I thought we'd left those days behind us with the Great Sundering."
"Between this new bloodletting and the Sorcerer's tainted dark majik, it will be a miracle if our world isn't torn apart." Stefan looked down. "Hell's demons." His voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "This is the third man I've had to kill." He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and laid his face in his hands.
"You're sure you're fine?" Rolf had never killed another man and wondered if he'd take it as hard as Stefan did. He knew Stefan would spend time at the chapel over this death. For his part, Rolf had long since given up praying for the One God's mercy.
Stefan raised his head. "Aye. I saw the healer. There will be only a small scar." He waved his hand, tossing off the physical injury. "Just get that damned thing replaced." Stefan's eyebrows gathered in a furrow and he took a deep breath. "I have to ask. You didn't tell anyone about our plan, did you?"
Rolf's head snapped up. "What do you mean? Of course not!"
"Perhaps you let it slip unknowingly?"
"To who, Stefan?" Rolf's fists clenched, but he kept them resting on the arms of his chair.
"I don't know. The only people who knew were you, I, and Thatcher and he's above question." Stefan gave a wave of his hand.
"Are you accusing me of betraying you to Blackmoor?" Rolf rose to his feet as the bile rose in his throat. Careless, he may be, but a traitor? No matter how little Stefan thought of him, he couldn't possibly believe he was a traitor.
"No." Stefan let out his breath. "We are blood oath sworn to protect each other. I trust you with my life." He stood to leave. "I have to write my report." He looked into Rolf's eyes. "I have to put it in the report, about the communications mirror, you understand."
Rolf nodded. "I understand. Do you think Thatcher will take any action?"
Stefan didn't answer.
"As senior man, you have the option of asking for sanctions. I should've checked my mirror today and caught it." Rolf knew Stefan held honor above all, but felt no true friendship for anyone except Damon Thatcher. "You were counting on me."
"I still do." Stefan turned and left.
Rolf sat back in his chair. Would Stefan ask for sanctions and would Thatcher agree? How much of his time and meager pay would be affected? Stefan could take this opportunity and push for his demotion.
"Gustav!"
In a moment, the addler appeared in the doorway. "Sir?"
He tossed the mirror at the addler, who caught it in his hand.
"Get me a replacement right away. It's cracked. Stefan couldn't reach me." Rolf massaged his temples with thumbs.
"And you didn't notice until now? Inspector Bane was injured." Gustav opened it, checked the mirror, and then snapped the case shut with force. "Each officer is responsible for his equipment, to assure it is functioning each day before duty," Gustav quoted the procedure to Rolf.
"Just get the replacement, Gustav." Rolf leaned back in his chair, balancing on the rear legs.
Gustav disappeared. Rolf let the chair drop and put his head in his hands.
He'd been negligent, and it almost cost Stefan his life.
Raising his head, his back straightened and his eyes narrowed. He would have sworn that mirror was working.
Sliding open the drawer, he pulled out the parchment, picked up his pen, dipped it into the ink, and went back to his work.
One more debt I owe Stefan Bane.
* * * *
Chief Inspector Damon Thatcher regarded his second-in-command over his half-glasses. As usual, Stefan sat astride the wooden chair, long legs stretched out on either side, his arms resting on its high back. He'd given his oral report and then slid the written report across the desk.
"What do you recommend, Stefan?"
"He failed to check his equipment, that's by the book, so no getting around it." He thumped his hand
against his leg and seemed reluctant to go on. "I can't in good conscience let this go, Damon. However, we're short-handed, and a suspension would put us in even worse shape."
"There is demotion." Thatcher offered the worse to see what Stefan would do.
"No." Stefan's answer was firm and swift.
"Dock his pay." Thatcher knew there would be harder decisions for the younger man to face if Stefan were to take over when he retired. He watched Stefan mull over his decision.
"One week's pay then."
"Going easy, are you?" Thatcher wondered if Stefan was coming to understand leadership or if this was some display of feeling toward Rolf.
"The mirror could've broken after he checked it this morning."
Thatcher looked over the report. After twenty years in the patrol, Stefan knew what to put in a report and what to leave out. There was no mention of when the mirror broke.
Was he protecting Rolf? Even after almost ten years working side by side, the two men had never warmed to each other, despite relying on each other often to stay alive. Thatcher, of all people, knew Stefan found it hard to let down the emotional walls he'd built as a child.
"Right. One week. You know, if you'd been killed, Rolf would have lost his commission over that mistake." Thatcher leaned forward.
"You'd have stripped him then?" Stefan looked up.
"It would be very hard for me to separate my personal feelings from my duty, but, aye, I'd do it. That is something a man in my position must be prepared to do." Thatcher pushed his glasses up to the bridge of his nose. He was relieved it hadn't come to that. Stefan dead and Rolf dismissed in shame would have been more than he could bear.
"Personal feelings, sir?"
When it came to feelings, he knew Stefan found it very easy to separate personal from professional. He made sure there were few personal feelings to get in the way. Thatcher sighed and rubbed his eyes under his glasses. Stefan was like a son to him, a difficult son, but a son nonetheless. Sometimes, he wanted to reach out, box the man's ears, and knock some sense into him.