Emma clutched the robe tighter. “What do you mean, what have I done?”
He just stared at her. She could read nothing in the midnight blue of his eyes, nor the arrogant set of his jaw, nor the full mouth that held so many thick, white teeth.
What was she supposed to have done now? What the hell?
Seshua moved a split second before the shrill ring of a telephone shattered the moment. He was already reaching for it, striding towards the head of the big bed where a low bedside table sat almost out of sight beneath curtains and throw pillows. The king snatched a cordless receiver from the pile and held it to his face as Emma was still coming to terms with hearing a phone ring. I will never feel normal again , she thought suddenly, and had to stifle the urge to laugh hysterically.
“What?” Seshua snapped into the phone. Emma could hear the low hum of noise from the phone, but couldn’t make out the words.
Seshua swore in a language she didn’t understand. He glanced at her, then turned away. “I will come,” he said harshly. Then he hung up.
He turned and stalked across the room, into one of the adjoining chambers, the one with the big desk. Suddenly he was all business. He bent down behind the desk and came up with a bundle of leather straps.
“Seshua?” Emma had a bad feeling she was about to be locked in his room, alone, indefinitely. He ignored her and shrugged the leather over his shoulders. A gun holster.
He strode to the bed and snatched a belt from the floor beside it, threading it through the loops on his jeans and the straps on the holster. The leather of the holster hugged his skin, a strange matte black against all those smoky cobalt hues. With swift purpose, Seshua crossed the room again and knelt by a carved antique chest which happened to have a very modern looking electronic keypad where the lock should be. The king punched a series of numbers into it, and the chest opened with a smooth hydraulic hiss. Its insides were sleek steel and black padding, and it held guns. Big guns.
Emma sighed and crossed her arms over her chest, watching him load several guns and arm himself with them. “Won’t that holster chafe?”
Seshua straightened, pushing down the lid of the chest. The lock engaged automatically. He looked at her, distracted. “It’s a custom fit,” he replied flatly. Then he snatched up a loose white shirt and shrugged into it. “I will return. You will not be locked up forever, as you seem so terrified of, but you cannot get out. And you will find nothing here in my chambers of any use to you, in any way, should you decide to try to escape. My secrets guard themselves.” He turned and went for the entranceway to the chambers, now closed, seemingly a blank expanse of stone wall.
He stopped in front of it, one hand frozen where she assumed the secret button or panel or whatever was situated. Her eyes were glued to that spot, but it just looked like plain old stone wall to her.
“There is food and water in the living room,” he said with a jerk of his chin towards the chamber with the table and jug of water. Emma’s eyes flicked to the room for only a second, but when she glanced back, the stone panel door was sliding away to reveal a narrow strip of blackness beyond it.
“No! You can’t —” She rushed forwards, but Seshua angled his huge frame through the gap, and then the panel slammed shut again.
28
Seshua’s bulk filled the entrance to security HQ, and a rage as stormy as his skin swept ahead of him.
“What the fuck is going on here?” He took in the sight of the wide, overcrowded room, his gaze raking the banks of CCTV monitors and finally coming to rest on the leader of his guard. “Marco,” he growled. “Tell me.”
Marco closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them his face was stony, prepared for the onslaught. “Donnie’s confirmed there are enemies in the Roadhouse, and they plan an attack.”
Seshua’s eyes sparked. “Enemies?”
Marco swallowed. “The Aneshtevannir, my lord. Soul-eaters. The enemies of all our kind.”
Seshua just stared, gaze flicking from Marco, to Anton and Ricky and the walking god where the three of them stood towards the back of the room, to the rest of the guard assembled. Silence bled out like a smothering blanket over them all. Even the whir of technical equipment seemed muffled.
They might have stayed that way, enthralled by the weight of the king’s fury, but a voice like icy water broke the spell. “How does Donnie know?” Alexi stepped through the doorway, gracefully avoiding contact with Seshua, whose skin shifted hues like smoke and marble.
Marco looked relieved, yet he hesitated. “We have an informant.” Marco cleared his throat. “And he appears to have taken matters into his own hands. If you’ll take a look at the security feed, you’ll notice patron numbers have thinned out. A lot.”
Seshua glanced distractedly at the screens. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying he’s evacuating the bar, and using mind tricks to do it. The young, the weak, the humans — he’s pushing them out. He’s anticipating a whole lot of shit going down, to borrow a phrase, and soon.”
“And who is he?”
Marco glanced from Seshua to Alexi and back again. “He is Red Sun.”
Alexi swore and stalked into the middle of the room, turning to pin Seshua with a glare the king returned. “He’s Telly’s man, you know that, don’t you?” He turned to Telly, eyes burning with challenge. “This could just as well be a fucking smokescreen. Draw us out, get in, take the girl. He’s working with Telly, and Telly’s already on the inside.” Alexi shoved a hand through his hair, further destroying his braid, fingers flexing like talons. Telly just watched him, a mocking arch to one sandy eyebrow.
Marco shook his head. “Perhaps, but that’s also exactly what the soul-eaters plan to do, and there are a hell of a lot more of them than there are Telly’s people topside.”
Seshua grunted. “How do they plan to breach the stairs?”
“We don’t know,” Marco said. “Red Sun says he doesn’t know. Donnie doesn’t believe him and neither do I, but there’s nothing we can do about it. They have a way. They must, or they wouldn’t bother with an attack.”
Seshua shook his head, black mane bristling. “Marco, where are the rest of our guards?”
“Searching for the maidens, my lord.”
“Recall them and send them to the antechamber. Now.” Seshua paced as Marco patched the order through, then stopped mere inches from the leader of the guard. “What do they want with her?”
Marco seemed lost for a moment. “We don’t know that this has anything to do with the caller of the blood.” As Seshua’s breath came out on a growl, Marco straightened, standing his ground. “I don’t know why else they would attack, but it doesn’t make any sense. What could they want with her?”
Seshua opened his mouth to tell the leader of his guard that he’d just asked the same goddamn question of him, but Telly spoke first. “There was a time when your race and theirs were not so different.”
Every head turned to him. Telly crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the computer desk behind him, Anton and Ricky looking suddenly nervous at all the attention. But Telly had no such qualms.
“You’re young,” he said, ignoring the way Seshua’s lip curled. “Too young to believe that once it was the same force of spirit that burned in all your blood. The same magic that forged you both.” Casually, Telly crouched next to the mutt at his side, put his lips to one long ear and murmured in a language dead to all but him.
“Our race has nothing in common with theirs,” Marco said hotly. “We are nothing alike.”
“No?” Telly glanced up at the leader of the guard and laughed. “We are all beasts.” His gaze slid to Alexi, then Seshua. “Even your poor human cousins have their beasts inside. If nothing else, the girl you think to tame should have taught you as much tonight.” Telly stood, glanced past Seshua as Fern paused in the doorway, his black brows knit with focus. Telly smiled to himself. The dog slunk away.
“I don’t see what —” Marco’s protes
ts died as static burst from a radio console, garbled voices and unintelligible noise. Marco’s hand went to the portable at his belt. “Donnie?” He rushed to the console, mashing the call button. “Donnie, we’ve lost — Donnie, talk. Over.” Static spewed out of the radio again. Donnie’s voice was in there somewhere, but before they could make out a word, the signal squealed and died.
“What the fuck was that?” Seshua’s gaze lifted to the screens. “What’s going on up there, Marco?”
“My lord, I don’t — it looks like — the exits by the stage —”
“Oh, my god.” Ricky stepped forward, ignoring the stares of Seshua and the guards, eyes plastered to the moving figures on the CCTV monitors.
“What is it?” Anton moved to stand by him.
Ricky pointed to the screen, shock written all over his face. “I know who it is.”
29
Emma discovered there wasn’t just food and water in Seshua’s living room chamber, there was a feast. Fruit, fried chicken, chocolate mud cake, spaghetti and meatballs. An enormous jug of orange juice that made her mouth water just looking at it. She hadn’t eaten in at least a day, probably a day and a night, and she’d expended enormous amounts of energy. Just because the wound from Fern’s bite had been miraculously healed, didn’t mean her body wasn’t still recovering from the shock. And if she was stuck in Seshua’s bedchambers, she may as well eat.
She washed down her second piece of mud cake with a third glass of orange juice before she even thought to pick up the phone and try to get a line out. She really was losing her mind — cake before phone? She hit all the buttons but couldn’t get a line. Of course Seshua wouldn’t leave her with a way of contacting the outside world — he was big, but he wasn’t stupid. Well, not that stupid.
Thankfully, she could now think about the episode with Seshua earlier without her skin wanting to crawl off her bones and melt into a large puddle of shame.
The worst part… The worst part was, it felt so good, and part of her had wanted it. Not the sex. The other stuff. The other feelings. Safety, security, rightness. That sense of being cherished. It was magic, a spell, hadn’t been real — right? Nobody could make you feel like that. Nobody.
Even if Seshua could make her feel like that — which he couldn’t, not for real — she still didn’t want to stick around and wait for him. But even if the phone had worked, who would she call? She had nobody. She didn’t even know Alan’s number by heart, couldn’t call him and tell him she was okay, and the police couldn’t help her. If she somehow managed to call them, then what? They’d show up at the Roadhouse, probably never get past the bar, and even if they did they’d be eaten alive by shapechangers. Literally. And if she warned them they’d be facing a nest of preternatural creatures? Either they’d think she was cranking them, or they’d send SWAT. Emma wanted out, but she didn’t want it bad enough to kill a bunch of innocents and risk their existence being revealed to the entire world; after all, Ricky was one of them.
There was only one person she could call, and she didn’t need a phone to do it.
She moved away from the room sized bed where she’d been searching for a cell phone or anything else useful, and settled herself in the living room chamber with its low table and plump cushions. The brocade was softer than it looked. She sank into the pile and plucked a banana from the fruit bowl on the table.
Peeling it, she took a steadying breath and reached out along the mental path that already felt too familiar, as though she’d been doing it all her life. She tried not to think about that too much as she sent, tentatively: Fern, where are you?
The answering touch was instantaneous. Are you hurt? I’ll come to you . Fern’s mental voice felt urgent, but not panicked; he’d been waiting to hear from her. She almost felt him change direction, as though the sensation of movement carried with his thoughts.
No, I’m fine. Honest. Just wanted to know where you were. Seshua left, somebody called him . As soon as she recalled the one sided conversation she’d witnessed, Fern picked it out of her mind; she felt it. The strangest sensation, knowing things without being told. Like she was a shadow in Fern’s mind when she spoke to him, and he to her. Magical, like being psychic, or being able to predict the future. Or so she assumed, since she couldn’t actually do either of those things, and wouldn’t have believed anyone could until today.
Now? Anything was possible.
I was on my way towards security headquarters , Fern sent. She sensed his indecision, his mind working it over. If you’re okay, I should continue that way. Seshua left you, you said. It’s got to be a security issue.
Is that a good idea? She refrained from reminding him that she’d asked him to behave. It felt too much like ordering him around. Seshua had called Fern her pet, but the idea made her feel icky — human beings weren’t pets, no matter what other shapes they could take. Besides, she knew just how much of a hold Fern had on her, the compulsion she felt to keep him safe. Control went both ways. She didn’t much like that either, but she couldn’t change it, and she was a big believer in accepting the things you couldn’t change — before denying them got you into trouble.
All of which Fern picked up from her mind, even if the thoughts were brief and incoherent. Emotion traveled just as well as words. He flooded her mind with restrained warmth, wanting to comfort her but understanding her need for space. A kind of space he could no longer give her. The words I’m sorry never formed in his mind, but she recognized them anyway.
He spoke before she could think of what to say to make him feel better. I am behaving, I’ve been at the communal chambers with all the other guards since Seshua took you away. His mental voice held a sneer just as eloquently as a physical voice could. And now I’m just going for a walk. Nobody told me I couldn’t. I think they’re all too concerned with what’s going on above ground anyhow. Alarm flooded his thoughts suddenly, then subsided, and Emma received the vague impression of bodies crowding close to him and then moving away.
Fern?
Just passed a pack of guards in the passageway, that’s all. They were in a hurry, barely looked at me. Something must be going on.
How long ‘til you reach security HQ? Emma remembered the banana in her hands and took a bite. Chewing, she remembered she didn’t actually like bananas. That’d teach her for picking a piece of fruit on an empty stomach. Well, not exactly empty. But she was still hungry.
Laughter brushed at her mind before Fern could stifle it. She could almost feel him smothering a smile. Uh, a few minutes ‘til I’m there, why?
She ignored him, pointedly. She had questions she wanted answers to. She felt him sober an instant before she spoke. Am I always going to be able to talk to you like this? Feel you in my mind? She tried to keep her mental voice neutral, because she didn’t want him thinking it was an accusation. She just needed to know.
Fern’s emotions flooded her mind, seemed to pour down her throat and fill the space behind her breastbone — regret and guilt. Regret and guilt over what he’d done; guilt at not regretting it enough. Deep down there was relief. Hope. All of it tentative and colored by anxiety, but it was there nonetheless. He didn’t need to say any of it; it was like a frickin’ download, straight into her brain. She put her banana down and swallowed noisily, praying for the mouthful of gluggy fruit to stay in her stomach, because she felt a little ill all of a sudden. She tried to stay staunch in the face of all Fern’s raw emotion confronting her with no verbal buffer, but it was hard. For a moment it was almost too hard.
She gathered herself. Fern stayed silent, fearing her reproach. I’m not freaking out. Emma breathed out slowly. It’s just really tough. I’ve always had trouble even getting close to people, intimate relationships, trusting people. This is so far beyond that it isn’t even in the same universe and up until tonight I had no idea anything like this was even possible. And her best friend of four years was a werejaguar, so she’d had time to get used to a few impossible ideas.
Fern brushed her
mind hesitantly. Finally he spoke. The Enam-Vesh — the venom bond, it binds our minds together as well as our… Emma tried to catch the thought he censored, but fear made him quick. He went on. It links our minds, but you can block me if you choose. I don’t know how good you are at that yet —
She interrupted gently. Neither am I, since I haven’t tried it.
But you’ll be able to eventually, be able to initiate and withdraw contact at will. I won’t have that power, ever. I can always call to you, but whether you let me in when you hear it… She sensed him shrug.
She blinked, frowning. You won’t have that power. You don’t have a choice. I can invade your mind at will, but you won’t always be able to do the same to me. A bonus. But… You said ‘ever’. And ‘ever’ sounded pretty permanent.
Fern brushed her mind, sorrow and anxiety in a wordless touch. I have never heard of the bond being severed by anything but death.
She read the unspoken thought in his mind. And it’s death for both parties, right? Fern winced inwardly. Okay , she said, don’t answer that. So what’s to stop me from blocking you from my mind forever, if I have the power? There had to be something, otherwise none of it made sense. There was always a catch.
You’re right, Fern sighed. A catch.
Just hit me. I can take it. She wasn’t entirely sure about that, but what the fuck.
The Enam-Vesh makes it difficult to be separated for any considerable span of time or space.
Emma was quiet a moment, trying to let that sink in. It wouldn’t. Her mind seized on the next question. I still have no idea how you were able to do this.
His thoughts turned to quicksilver, sliding away, but Emma still felt his emotions at full volume: guilt, hot and dark like an infection, fear like amphetamines surging in his bloodstream. Emma pressed both hands to her mouth, afraid of being sick to her stomach. Fern, calm down, okay? I’m just trying to understand. I thought — maybe if we could figure out a way to undo this —
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