“It’s unusually generous for him to give you so much time off,” said James. “His lordship is of course a wise man.” I kept a straight face at that. “But he usually works you quite hard.”
“I suppose he’s busy,” I said. “Well, when he wants to find me, he…uh, he has my cell phone number.” Of course, Morvilind had never once used a cell phone to summon me. I glanced at Russell. “Ready to go.”
“Almost,” said Russell. There wasn’t a crumb of food remaining on his plate. “Are there seconds?”
###
Lucy had discouraged Russell from riding with me on my motorcycle, but she hadn’t outright forbidden it.
So of course we took my motorcycle.
The bike was black with orange highlights, so I had a leather jacket with orange stripes on the sleeves and chest to match. I had a black helmet with a mirrored visor, and both helmet and padded jacket were uncomfortable in the summer, but were still better than wiping out and leaving half my skin on the asphalt. As the weather got cooler, the jacket and helmet got more comfortable, until it got too cold and too snowy to use a bike.
I had bought Russell a helmet, but I wasn’t going to get him a jacket until I was sure he wouldn’t outgrow the damn thing in six weeks. Of course, by then maybe he would be living on his own and could afford his own bike. I was pretty sure he had acquired a taste for motorcycles. And maybe the motorcycle would impress a girl.
Russell with a girl. Now there was a thought I wasn’t ready to process.
“Ready?” I said, swinging my leg over the side of the bike and pulling the helmet over my head.
“Yep,” said Russell, climbing on the back of the bike. His thin limbs and the helmet made him look a little like a shiny black lollipop.
I grunted, reached back, and pulled his arms around my waist. “Arms there. If you fall off the back, I’ll never hear the end of it from Lucy.”
“True.” He got a good grip around my middle. “Too bad you aren’t a real girl.”
I looked back at him. He couldn’t see my expression through the visor, but he had to know how I would react to that. “A real girl? What does that mean? Last time I checked, I was pretty sure that I was a girl.”
“Well, you know,” said Russell. “A girl who isn’t my sister.”
“Ah,” I said. “You’ve hit adolescence. Did James and Lucy have the talk with you?”
“Er…they did,” said Russell. He was getting embarrassed. “It was…pretty frank. Of course, he’s a doctor and she’s a nurse, so they don’t mind being…candid. Then they gave me a book to read. It had a lot of diagrams.”
I grinned behind my visor. “And then they explained that Jesus disapproves of sex before marriage?”
“Well, he does,” said Russell with perfect earnestness.
I wasn’t sure what I thought of the Marneys raising Russell in their church. My attitude toward God was basically embittered cynicism – if he loved humanity, why did the Elves rule over us? Still, I wanted Russell to grow up with a sense of right and wrong, and raising him to believe in God was the most efficient way to do that. I wanted Russell to have a good life, a better life than me…
Basically, I didn’t want Russell to become anything like me.
“Good for him,” I said, putting my keys into the bike’s ignition.
“What about you?” said Russell.
“Did James and Lucy have the talk with me, you mean?” I said. They had not. When I had hit puberty, one of Morvilind’s tutors had given me a prescription for birth control pills, followed by a lecture from Morvilind about how I would become useless to him if I was pregnant. “I think I would have preferred that, actually.”
“So you do have a boyfriend, then?” said Russell.
My startled twitch knocked my hand off the keys. “Um. What?”
“Well,” said Russell, and I could hear the smirk in his voice, “if you can ask if I had the talk with James and Lucy, I can ask if you have a boyfriend.”
“I don’t have a boyfriend,” I said.
“Have you ever had a boyfriend?” said Russell.
I hesitated. There had been on serious boyfriend, one man for whom I had fallen head over heels in love. His name had been Nicholas Connor, and he had been brilliant and strong and handsome.
He had also been the leader of a Rebel cell, planning to set off a bomb that would have killed tens of thousands of people in Los Angeles…and he had set me up to take the blame. I had defused the plot, wrecked his Rebel cell, and escaped scot-free back to Milwaukee, much sadder, but much wiser.
“I don’t have time for that kind of nonsense,” I said.
Russell laughed. “Do you know what I think?”
“I think,” I said, turning the key, “that we should shut up and ride.”
The engine roared to life and I fed the throttle, drowning out Russell’s answer. He whooped, his arms tightening around my waist, and I grinned and gunned the bike into motion. We took off down the streets, going a good twenty miles over the speed limit, but there wasn’t much traffic on a Saturday morning and the Homeland Security traffic patrollers kept to the main streets and the freeways.
I whooped in turn, and I heard Russell laughing. I had to admit that I loved motorcycles. I loved the speed, the sense of power and freedom as I gunned the throttle. Of course, that sense of freedom was an illusion. Morvilind only had to crook his finger and I would come running, since the consequences of ignoring his summons would be dire. I wasn’t free, and I didn’t have anything remotely like the power I needed to free myself.
Not yet, anyway.
Today, though, I would enjoy myself.
Russell wasn’t that heavy, but his weight did affect the motorcycle’s handling, so I kept off the freeways and stayed to the surface streets. We left Milwaukee, made our way across Wauwatosa, and ended up in Brookfield. Most of Milwaukee’s super-rich lived in mansions along the lakefront or in high-rise condominiums downtown. Those who were merely rich lived in Brookfield, in new houses with big lawns and two-car garages. So there were a lot of shops selling fancy electronics and skis and tennis rackets whatever other expensive crap rich people needed.
The Ducal Mall had a lot of stores like that.
From what I understood, there had been a shopping center there centuries ago, but it had been destroyed during the Conquest. Later Duke Tamirlas of Milwaukee had given his approval to build a new mall there, so the county and city governments made it happen. Over the centuries it had grown into a four-story monstrosity of glass and steel and concrete, with concourses and walkways and restaurants and even a little amusement park with a couple of roller coasters. It had its own dedicated off-ramp from Interstate 94, which I avoided, circling instead to the eastern side of the Ducal Mall and using the back entrance.
“Why are we parking so far from the doors?” said Russell as I brought the bike to a halt in the outer reaches of the parking lot.
“Because,” I said, putting the kickstand in place, “walking is a healthy activity. That, and if anyone gets a scratch on my bike, I’m going to get mad.”
“And because there is no place to park near the doors?” said Russell, squinting at the sea of cars gleaming in the morning sun.
“Yep,” I said, climbing off the motorcycle and stretching my legs. Motorcycles are a lot of fun and often useful, but they sure aren’t comfortable. “Also, seriously. If anyone scratches my bike, I’m going to be pissed.” We set our helmets on the seat.
“You don’t mind all the dents in your Duluth Motors sedan,” said Russell as we walked to the mall doors.
“That car is older than I am,” I said. Plus, I used it for my various jobs. A Royal Motors NX-9 sportbike with orange highlights drew attention. No one paid attention to an old four-door sedan.
“Let’s have lunch first,” said Russell. “Can we get burgers?”
“We just had breakfast,” I said.
“Yeah, like two and a half hours ago,” said Russell.
I
laughed. “You’re part locust. Come on.”
We went through the Ducal Mall’s side doors and into the crowds. It was Saturday, so the place was packed. Most of the elderly and the veterans did their shopping on weekdays, so on the weekend working men and women with young children filled the mall, and constant cacophony of children’s voices echoed off the glassy storefronts. I watched the shoppers with a mixture of bemusement and annoyance. Their lives were so different than mine that I could barely understand them. In some ways I had pitied them. I had magic and they did not (well, except for the veterans of the Wizards’ Legion), and I understood more of how the world really worked than they did. In a way, they were a lot like sheep. They went through their lives believing that the High Queen and the nobles were wise and benevolent, watching the Punishment Day videos and the addresses from the nobles, and doing what they were told. They had been shaped from childhood to revere the Elves, and so they revered the Elves.
And yet…
I saw a toddler wobble to her mother, a woman a few years older than me. The woman picked up the child, and an expression of pure delight went over the little girl’s face. That woman didn’t have to worry about the capricious demands of an Elven noble. That woman didn’t have to fear that her brother would die if she did not obey. Maybe she had a husband that loved her and a home of her own…
For a moment I was so sad that I stopped walking.
“Nadia?” said Russell.
Then a scowl went over the little girl’s face, and even from several yards away I detected the odor as she filled her diaper.
Well. No one’s life is perfect.
“You okay?” said Russell.
“I was just reflecting,” I said, “that every life has its thorns.”
“You’re weird.”
“You have no idea,” I said. “Let’s eat.”
We found a burger place in the Ducal Mall’s food court and had lunch. As Russell and James liked to point out, I was a bit of a fanatic about healthful eating, with Lucy’s full support. I had my reasons. Given the kind of things Morvilind had me do, I needed to be in the best shape I could manage. So I had a chicken sandwich while Russell wolfed down a double bacon cheeseburger and a mega-sized carton of fries. I would like to say that only through heroic willpower I resisted the temptation to stuff myself with fried food, but truth be told I didn’t like the stuff very much and wished I could have a salad instead. Of course, Russell’s body needed a lot more energy to fight off the frostfever.
I suppose a double bacon cheeseburger was one way to get that energy. But, God, all that grease!
“Bookstore next?” Russell said, once I dumped our wrappers in the bin.
“Yup,” I said. “Let’s…”
I froze.
A tall, gaunt man in a dark suit, white shirt, and black silken tie walked across the food court, his eyes fixed on me. A ribbon of icy fear shot through my mind. I had seen men like him before. He was a disguised anthrophage, a creature from the Shadowlands and a servant of the Dark Ones, and the anthrophages wanted me dead. I started to reach into my jacket for the little revolver I had concealed in the interior pocket, clearing my mind to work a spell as I did so…
“Nadia?” said Russell, alarmed.
My brain caught up with my reflexes.
The man wasn’t a disguised anthrophage. He was just an old man in a suit. He wasn’t staring at me, but at the menu for a taco place behind me. Even as I watched, he stepped around me and approached the counter. I looked at him, trying not to shake. He looked a lot like a disguised anthrophage, and the anthrophages had almost killed me in the Shadowlands. I still remembered the weight and the wiry strength as the anthrophage drove me to the ground, its vile breath washing over my skin as its mouth yawned wide to bite my face off…
“Nadia?” said Russell again, tugging at my sleeve. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I heard myself say. That was a lie. James was right. I was definitely not okay. “Just thought I saw someone I recognized. Let’s go to the bookstore. Get you some books. Get me some coffee. God, I could use some coffee.”
“You seem too jittery for coffee,” said Russell. He still hadn’t let go of my sleeve. He knew me well enough to realize that something was wrong.
Fortunately, I am a very good liar.
“Thought it was a guy who gave me some trouble,” I said in a quiet voice. “But I was wrong. I’m fine, really.”
Russell gave me one more concerned look, but nodded at last, and we set off for the bookstore on the mall’s fourth level. It was a big place, full of rows of shiny paperbacks and a large section of games and toys. Russell made a beeline for the historical fiction section. He loved books about the Crusades. At his urging, I had read a few of them, and had been amused how the books compared a Crusader knight’s loyalty to his lord to the fealty of a modern man-at-arms to his Elven liege. The Department of Education and the Inquisition made sure of that. You couldn’t read a book or watch a video or go on the Internet without seeing a message, sometimes blatant, sometimes subtle, about how the Elves had benefited humanity and how the highest duty in life was to serve the High Queen and her nobles.
I wondered if people ever realized just how profoundly they had been programmed. Sometimes I felt like I was the only one who saw the truth. Well, the Rebels did, but the Rebels were psychotic assholes. For once the Department of Education’s propaganda did not overstate the truth.
I had seen the dead children left behind from Rebel bombs, which was yet another memory I could have done without.
I went to the bookstore’s café for some coffee. A coltish-looking teenage girl of about Russell’s age took my order. Of course, she was already taller than I was, with long blond hair and bright blue eyes, and would likely grow into a six-foot swimsuit model. I managed to convince her that I wanted a straight black coffee without any cream, any sugar, any whipped cream or God knows what other nonsense. At last the nervous girl produced my coffee, and I paid for it and took a sip, only to discover that she had in fact added sugar to it. A wave of irritated exasperation went through me. I’m not usually one of those jerks who yells at cashiers, but I was still rattled after my mini panic attack in the food court, and the coffee girl was about to get the brunt of my bad mood. Then my brain caught up with my irritation, announcing that taking out my startled fear on the poor girl wouldn’t accomplish anything, and that a woman who had committed as many illegal acts as I had should not draw attention to herself with a tantrum over a damn cup of coffee.
It took a few seconds for all of this to work its way through my head, and I can only imagine what my expression looked like.
The girl stared at me as if I was a bomb about to go off.
“Ma’am?” said the girl. “Is…everything all right?”
Ha. Now there was a profound question.
I opened my mouth to answer, and Russell bumped into my elbow.
“There you are,” he said. “I was looking all over for you.”
I started to say that I had told him I was getting coffee, but then the girl behind the counter squealed. I kid you not. She actually squealed.
“Russell!” she said. “Oh my God! What are you doing here?”
“Hey, Lydia,” said Russell with an easy smile. “I didn’t know you were working today.”
“I wasn’t going to,” said the girl, “but rifle club got canceled for the weekend, and the manager said I could have the hours if I wanted, so here I am. What are you doing here?”
“Making trouble and acting disorderly,” said Russell.
The girl laughed. “Is she your girlfriend? You took her out for coffee?”
Russell put his arm around my shoulders and nodded solemnly. “Yes. I like older women now.”
The girl laughed at that, and I gaped at Russell, two facts taking hold in my brain.
One. My brother had set this all up. He had wanted those books, and he had four paperbacks in his hand…but the entire point of
this trip had been so he could hit on the coffee girl.
The devious little stinker! I wasn’t sure if I should be annoyed or proud.
Two. The girl was into him. Her eyes sparkled when she laughed, and she pushed her hair away from her forehead when she looked at him.
Russell Moran, my baby brother, was a nascent ladies’ man.
“Don’t be gross,” I told him, taking his arm off my shoulders. “I’m Nadia, Russell’s sister.”
“Oh my God!” said the girl. “I’m Lydia. Russell and I go to the same high school. We’re both in rifle club. He’s a really good shot, did you know that?”
“It’s easy when the targets don’t move,” said Russell.
He was more right than he knew.
“I wish I was that good of a shot,” said Lydia. “I take ten shots, and I’ll be lucky if three of them hit the target. I wish someone would show me a few tricks so I could do it better, you know?”
There was a golden opening if I had ever heard one, and Russell seized it without hesitation.
“I’d be happy to show you,” said Russell. “The high school range is open tomorrow night. Meet me there at about seven.”
“It’s a date!” said Lydia, and then she turned red. “I mean, it’s…”
Russell gave her an easy smile. “We’ll just be practicing for rifle club. Nothing to get excited about.”
Lydia smiled back. “I’ll see you then. Oh! I’d better look busy. Mr. Loman is coming.” I glanced over my shoulder and saw a balding middle-aged man in a tie and a blazer wandering towards the coffee counter, the MANAGER badge prominently displayed upon his lapel.
“I don’t want you to get in trouble,” said Russell. “See you tomorrow, then.”
“See you tomorrow,” said Lydia, and she smiled in my direction. “It was nice meeting you, Natalie.”
I very carefully did not roll my eyes.
Russell walked into the bookstore proper, and I followed him, the cardboard cup of coffee in my right hand.
“What was that about?” I said.
Russell shrugged, but his grin belied the gesture. “What was what? We’re just going shooting, that’s all. If you can get the competency badge in rifle club, it counts for a lot of extra credit points.”
Cloak Games: Rebel Fist Page 2