Selene

by Lilith Saintcrow

  And she won’t use it against me. I feel safe. “When can I get up?”

  “You’ll break my heart.” The healer yawned delicately. “After lunch, maybe. Your body’s well healed, between Nikolai’s blood and my talent, but you’ll still be weak and tired. I’d counsel you not to get shot in the back again anytime soon.”

  “I’ll try to avoid it.” Raised by Nichtvren. No wonder she’s so easy with Nikolai. “What did Nikolai do to Rigel?”

  “Hit him a few times.” The healer closed her eyes. “I refused to treat you until he stopped.”

  “Why?” It’s none of my business. So why do I ask?

  “Rigel bought me free from the Prime of Altamira. He bled to do it; he almost died. And he indentured himself to Nikolai for his aid in negotiating my freedom.” The healer stroked Selene’s forehead with her free hand. A quiet warmth wrapped around Selene’s entire body, her arms and legs weighted with lead. “Now rest, Selene. You’ll be all right.”

  Selene was about to ask why Rigel had done that, but deep velvet blackness slid over her. She’s putting me to sleep. How had the healer staved off the Turn? Even an enzyme treatment only has a seventy percent chance of working once it’s reached a certain point. But she’s sedayeenen.

  There, in the healer’s arms, Selene finally slept her first true restful sleep since Danny’s death.

  ***

  “Nikolai won’t like this.” A slight English accent. Rigel’s voice.

  “It’s all right.” Marina’s husky, soothing tones. Velvet moved, rustling. Why do they all dress so weird?

  Selene opened her eyes. She still felt human.

  She lay on her side, facing the room, and was greeted with the sight of Rigel tying the front laces of Marina’s dress. He did this with a look of pained concentration that made his dark severe face a little less harsh. The healer looked up at him, smiling, her dark hair mussed and her cheeks flushed. The blue of the room echoed the blue of her dress, and both shades suited her.

  I should ask her so much, I bet she knows all sorts of little tidbits about sucktooths. Why is she not Turned? Oh, right, she’s a sedayeenen, and valuable.

  “He really won’t like this.” Rigel bit his lower lip, finishing the laces. Marina reached up and took his hands in hers. Her hands were smaller than his, and paler, but Rigel froze and stared down at her face, still biting at his lip. Color flushed his dark cheeks. She held his hands, smiling, and Selene could almost taste the Power rising through the sedayeenen, sinking into the tall dark man. Rigel was a thrall, fast and deadly, but he seemed curiously vulnerable next to the self-possessed serenity of the healer.

  “I find it very difficult to care,” the healer said.

  Selene pushed herself upright, pulled the sheet up to her chest. “What won’t Nikolai like?”

  Rigel actually flinched. Marina let go of his hands, lightly, and faced Selene. There was a fire in the fireplace, more open flame in a Nichtvren’s house.

  Selene blinked. One of the velvet drapes was pulled aside, and afternoon sun slanted down into the room, making the wood glow and bringing out chestnut highlights in Marina’s tangled hair. The sedayeenen belonged here, in the middle of antiques and rich textures, graceful and slim.

  “He won’t like that I didn’t allow you to Turn.” Marina moved away from Rigel, picked up a silver tray that lay on a table near the fireplace. “But he’ll understand. Rigel, can you find the clothes? I think Nik put them in the closet with the blue canvas bag.”

  Selene’s heart gave a painful, twisting leap. The medallion was dull and cool against her skin. “The bag. And my purse. I need them both.”

  Rigel didn’t even look at her. Instead, he looked at Marina’s tangled hair as she brought the tray to the bed. He seemed lost in thought, staring at the sedayeenen as she set it down on a pale baroque ashwood nightstand. “All right.” Marina took the cover off the tray. “The blue bag, and your purse. Meanwhile, you eat. Here, it’s broth, and good for you. The more you can eat human food, the better.”

  Selene accepted a steaming blue pottery mug from the healer’s hands. A hunger-cramp seized her, and she crouched over, smelling the steam. Chicken broth. Of course. Cure for everything. A bitter, unwilling grin pulled up one corner of her mouth.

  Marina smiled. “That’s a good girl," she said, and pushed a few stray curls of Selene’s hair back. “Drink it all.” Her blue eyes were dark and thoughtful. She half-turned, velvet sweeping the floor. Rigel still stood as if nailed to the floor, staring at her. “The bag, Rigel. If you don’t mind.” Patiently, as if she was used to his staring.

  The tall dark man blinked, seemed to suddenly remember where he was. “Right. The bag. Clothes. Right.” He’d found another long black coat, and was fully armed. Selene saw knives strapped to his waist and the butt of a gun under his armpit as he pushed his dark hair back from his forehead. His lip was whole and his eyes weren’t bruised anymore. She must have healed him. Wish I could do something that useful. Instead, I’m the paranormal equivalent of a scarlet woman.

  “Why didn’t you let me Turn?” She sipped at the broth. Her fingers felt cold and shaky, and the big muscles in her thighs felt limp as wet noodles. And the medallion—it lay under the silk of the sheet she’d wrapped around herself. It had never felt so still and cold. “He’ll be furious.”

  “Amen to that,” Rigel muttered. The healer ignored him.

  “Well, if you’d Turned, you would have been crippled. That’s my professional opinion, and I’ve seen enough Turns go wrong to know. It would have been too hard on you.” There was a restrained green porcelain teapot and two Japanese tea-bowls, Marina poured delicately. “Nik’s sensible. As long as you’re still alive and whole, he won’t be that difficult to deal with. The Prime of Altamira would be a different story.” Amazingly, the healer shuddered, a little of the color leaching out of her pretty cheeks. “Besides, you didn’t seem too enchanted with the notion. I hate to see a woman—especially a paranormal—forced into something like that.” She settled onto the bed, blue velvet pooling around her. With her long tangled hair and her cat-tilted eyes, she looked like a Pre-Raphaelite painting. Sunlight glowed through the room. “Rigel, what on earth are you doing?”

  The tall man had stopped and was simply staring at her. Selene sipped at the mug, watching this. It hurt to see, right behind her breastbone. I’ll bet he watches her sleep, too.

  Rigel blinked, for all the world as if just waking up. “Um. . .nothing much. The bag, and some clothes.”

  “And her purse,” the sedayeenen supplied helpfully. “Please?”

  He nodded. “Right-o, love.” He stalked over to a door painted with cherubs Selene hadn’t noticed before and pulled it open, revealing a closet. Marina sipped at her tea. Her eyes were on Rigel, a faint line between her dark eyebrows. Her cheeks were pale. Probably remembering Altamira.

  What would make a sedayeenen go pale and shiver? It must have been horrible.

  “Not a very good memory, that man. Mind like a sieve.” A faint smile touched her lips, a little color coming back into her cheeks. “So what are you planning, Selene?”

  “What makes you think I’m planning anything?” Selene tried for a tone of blithe innocence and failed miserably. She hunched her bare shoulders and stared into the blue pottery cup. For being shot last night, I think I’m doing really well. Her skin roughened in instinctive response. I could have died. Nikolai tried to Turn me. He probably knows who had Danny killed. “Give my regards to Nikolai.” Bastard.

  “Drink that, Selene. That bag—the blue one—stinks of darkness and Power. Something’s in there Nik either doesn’t sense or is waiting for you to tell him about.” The healer took another sip of tea and stared into her cup. “Either way, it’s trouble. I know your brother was killed, and that you’re hungry for revenge, and Nik stopped you.” Marina shrugged. “It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that you might have some sort of plan.”

  Rigel brought the blue canvas bag, and Sel
ene’s black leather purse. He also brought Marina’s little black physician’s bag and a stack of clothing.

  “I brought a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. They’re mine, so they’ll be a little big for you.” Marina’s eyes met hers. “There’s one of Rigel’s coats in the closet. I brought boots too, in the bag, I hope they fit. Don’t tell Nikolai, or both Rigel and I will be in hot water.” She set her cup down and stood up, gathering her velvet skirts. “As far as I know, I’ve tended you as best I can and left you to his thralls once you were out of danger.” The healer took a deep breath. “There’s a business card in the pocket of the jeans that marks you as a friend of mine. You might find it useful if you run across anyone who knows me, or owes me a favor. There are a few in the city—not as many as I’d like, but a few.”

  “He’ll find out.” Rigel stood with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “They always do.”

  Marina looked up at him and shrugged, combing her hair back with her fingers. “I hate to see a woman forced, Rigel.”

  He nodded, his punk haircut falling forward into his face again. “He’ll know.”

  She held her hands up, and he took them, pulling her to her feet. He didn’t step back, so she was close enough to hug him, but he simply looked down at the top of her head until she tilted her chin up, her face inches from his. Selene stared at them. Her heart twisted as if stabbed, a sharp pain in the center of her chest.

  “Whatever he guesses,” the sedayeenen said very quietly, “I’ll not tell him anything. And neither will she.” Her chin came up a little more, and Selene saw her blue eyes flash.

  “I won’t say anything,” she told them around the old familiar lump in her throat. Rigel still looked down into Marina’s face, ignoring Selene. “I promise. My word’s good.”

  The healer nodded, but she still looked up into Rigel’s eyes. “I believe you, Selene. Thank you. And now I’ll take us out of your way, and you can do what you like.” She pushed at the tall man, who backed up slightly. It was disconcerting to see him staring at her, backing up without looking until she broke eye contact and glanced at Selene. Then he watched Marina’s profile. The look on his lean dark face was startling—hungry and intent all at once.

  “Be careful, sister.” The sedayeenen looked grave and serious now. “There are things hunting now in Nikolai’s city that wouldn’t think twice about eating either of us. Be cautious.”

  Selene nodded. “I’m good at going around unnoticed” she said. Rigel kept quiet, but his eyebrows rose slightly, and she glared at him. “I am.”

  “You have three hours of daylight left.” Marina pushed at Rigel’s arm. “Come on, Limey, let’s go. You can talk us past Jorge and Tierney, I want to go get a cup of coffee at Lonbard’s.”

  “A pleasure.” Rigel moved obediently in front of her, his black coat swinging with his long-legged strides.

  At the door—it had been fixed, Selene saw, no longer splintered and jagged—Marina looked over her shoulder. The velvet of her dress glowed on the other side of the shaft of sunlight, just like a painting. Rigel was already out of sight. “Do you know what Nikolai wants?” Marina asked. “Really wants out of you?”

  “Other than a good steady lay and rights to a rare piece of ass?” Selene downed the rest of the broth and grimaced. It burned all the way down. “I haven’t a clue. He said he’s twelve centuries old.”

  “It’s more like thirteen, I guess.” Marina didn’t smile. “But he’s never, ever shown the kind of interest in anyone that he has for you. Strange, isn’t it?”

  With that, she slipped out the door and shut it quietly.

  Left alone, Selene looked down at the tray. There was a grilled-cheese sandwich—Danny, she thought, and her eyes filled with tears. She looked at it for a few minutes, left it where it was, and pushed the sheet away. The air was cool against her naked skin, and she could still smell Marina—violets and musk—in her own hair. Strangely enough, it was comforting.

  Why couldn’t I have met someone like her ages ago?

  It took only a few minutes to get dressed, and when she fetched Rigel’s black coat from the almost-empty closet she found one pocket was strangely heavy. She reached in tentatively—and her fingers touched cold metal.

  They’d left her a gun. Or Rigel had—Marina wouldn’t like guns, being sedayeenen. How had the healer talked him into that? Of course, it looked like she could talk him into just about anything. Lucky girl.

  She shrugged into the coat. It was ludicrously long on her, the cuffs falling forward over her hands like the silk dress had.

  Selene shivered. The medallion was still icy-cold. It hadn’t warmed since she’d awakened. She yanked the socks on, and the boots—they were a little too tight. Her feet must be smaller than mine, she thought, and tasted the other woman’s mouth for a moment. If she’d met Marina before she’d met Nikolai. . .

  Forget it. She looked toward the window. Nikolai’s the problem I have. He tried to Turn me, the bastard, and he probably got my brother killed too. Sunlight streamed through in a thick golden bar. She stepped into the warm light, settling Danny’s bag so the strap lay across her body and stuffing her purse inside the blue canvas. Let’s just concentrate on getting out of here. All I’ve got to do is escape his nest during daylight and figure out what to do next.

  She looked out the window. A slope of manicured lawn fell away toward a hedge. Does Nikolai have dogs? Will they bite me? She unlatched the window and swung it open, wishing she had time to take a shower or visit the bathroom. But her skin crawled with the sudden need to be away from this place. The memory of the slow, awful, creeping fire of the Turn—and the spiky ice of the enzyme treatment, fighting for control of her body, Marina’s Power a tenuous bridge to reality—made the blood drain from her cheeks and her knees go weak. She swung her legs out through the window and jumped down. It wasn’t like Nikolai to put her in a room she could escape from. Unless he’d planned on me Turning, which would mean that I couldn’t escape during the day. Fucking bastard.

  The first step was getting some money. You couldn’t run without cash.

  She was full-up on Power, so the cold tide of terror didn’t make her wet and needy. But her breath caught and her hands shook as she closed the window from the outside. Her boots were crushing a thick spiny bush, and as soon as she moved, it sprang back up.

  It was a nice sunny day, but clouds were scudding in from the west—from the sea. It’ll probably rain tonight. Crap. I’m going to have to climb a wall—and catch a cab.

  Nine

  It was a beautiful day, mostly sunny, seventy-one degrees according to the bank thermometer. She waited for a good half-hour across Cliff Street from her apartment building, safe in the shadow of a doorway. People walked the streets. She watched them carefully but none of them seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. There was no sign of the press, a police presence, or of any paranormals watching her building.

  Thank God for small favors. She closed her eyes, sending her senses through the familiar halls and corridors of her building. Nothing except the glow of her own wards on the fourth floor.

  She crossed the street, watching for cars, and ducked into the alley on the left side of the building. The dumpsters hulked here, a strong simmering smell rising from their open maws. Her boots slipped greasily against crud on the cracked pavement. No sunlight here—the buildings blocked it. Cold kissed Selene’s face, a slight breeze. There was rain on the way, the tang of it rolling in from the bay.

  She wasn’t tall enough to reach the fire-escape ladder, so she had to spend a little Power to unlock it. Physics took over, it slid down and banged on the concrete. The noise was incredible, but in the end of the day with everybody at work, her chances of being noticed were slim to none. A few schoolkids might see her, but precious few people would ask them.

  Her building was mostly refugees or kids of refugees, living in rent-controlled havens. Selene’s kind of people didn’t talk to the cops much. The word for someone who did wa
sn’t a nice word, and it meant you weren’t trustworthy enough for anything. You could run with a bad crowd, sign up with a gang in self-defense, murder and loot, even. But talking to the authorities would put you in a scarlet robe all its own, dressed up like a Gilead heretic ready for the burning or the Tangle.

  She climbed the ladder, the chill of the rusting metal making her palms ache. Her arms shook a little, and her legs hurt slightly. Marina was right—she would be weak for a while. Power couldn’t heal everything, couldn’t replace physical reserves.

  If I use too much Power, I wonder if the bullet hole will open back up? Selene shivered. She knew it was impossible. . .but still. Getting shot in the back kind of makes you wonder about all sorts of things. Her lips pulled back from her teeth. Fourth floor—and her own window.

  She touched the glass, crouching on the metal platform. Her monthly drills—an escape route was always a good idea, but useless if you didn’t practice it—had only included going out through the window, not getting back in.

  She ran her fingers along splintery wood. The window came up just enough for her to fit her fingers under, Power tingling and sparking along her hand. She heaved up, and in a trice was shimmying through, the blue canvas bag knocking against her hip.

  Her feet crunched as they landed on the floor. Selene straightened, looked around.

  Oh, no. No.

  Someone had been in her apartment, and they’d trashed it. Her collection of cheap post-War porcelain geisha figurines lay scattered and broken on the floor—that was the crunching under her borrowed boots. Her bed had been torn apart, her dresser drawers yanked out and emptied, her desk disemboweled. Her computer monitor was smashed, the hard drive tossed over on its side. Goddammit, all those grades gone. Her closet was open, everything yanked off the hangers.

  Her nostrils flared. A powerful zoolike smell assaulted them. Werecain. Well, that’s how they got through my wards. Good too, not to leave any marks. Her eyes smarted, filling with tears.