Incorruptible

by Lilith Saintcrow

  Many a legionnaire sometimes wished to be Incorruptible themselves. It was only natural; the next best thing was serving the Principle enfleshed, but they were few. The Principle made its own path; a legionnaire’s duty was to follow that line.

  “God.” Jenna closed her eyes. She didn’t quite sway in the chair, but it was close. The tacium didn’t flare, but that was probably close, too. “This is insane.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Sometimes the Legion let mortals stumbling across the truth go upon their merry way, knowing that the vast mass of humanity preferred not to think about the dark things. Most of the stumblers ended up being considered harmless cranks; a few did desperate things to convince the world of their sanity. The risk of a gadfly mortal endangering an Incorruptible was all too high—mortal meatsacks were free to disregard the Principle in the way a legionnaire could not even consider. “You’re doing really well, though.” He’d expected more screaming and struggling, not to mention attempts to alert the hotel staff, as if he was a common kidnapper. “The important thing is, I’m here to protect you, and once we reach the Eyrie—” He almost felt her sharp, distrustful glance.

  Fabric moved as she shifted uneasily. “What’s this Eyrie thing?”

  “It’s a Legion stronghold.” The clothes touching her now had touched his own body at least once, and the thought was powerfully distracting. “They’re built to protect Incorruptibles, they’re full of legionnaires and centurions and Celeres.”

  “Kel-ear-ees?” She had a good ear, putting the accent carefully in the right place.

  “Cavalry, I guess you’d call them. Fast, well-armored. Principalities and Dominions, too—they’re the heavy guns.” It wasn’t what he expected an Incorruptible to ask about, and he was in danger of overwhelming her fragile calm with too many details. “I mean it, you know. You’re doing really, really well with this.”

  “I don’t have a choice, Mike.” Her gaze rose and rested upon him, a thorny pleasure with so much grace filling the air and filling his marks. They would turn darker as they drank. “You got a last name?”

  “Gabon. Michael Gabon.” He offered his hand over the table, careful to move slowly. “Pleased to meet you, lumina.”

  She watched his fingers like they might bite her, but eventually put her own against his palm. A brief, careful shake, and the contact poured hot grace up his arm, detonating in his shoulder, spilling down his back in pleasant, velvet-honey rivers.

  “You’re powerful,” he said, hoping she would understand it was a compliment. “I don’t know how you’ve survived this long on your own, but I promise, you’re safe now. You won’t have to worry about anything ever again.” At least, once we reach the Eyrie.

  “That’s awful nice.” She reclaimed her hand with a faint grimace, taking that warm, forgiving flood with her. “I’ve got to tell you, though, I’m worried about a lot right now. All my friends are going to be worried, too.”

  Or they’ll think you’re dead in a fire. That wouldn’t cheer her up, though. “Once we reach the Eyrie you can contact them again. We’ll get you a new phone, pay off all your debts, everything. I just couldn’t have them tracking us while we get there.” He wanted to check her expression, but that would mean raising his gaze past that slipping, extremely distracting neckline, and it seemed like tempting fate.

  “I suppose.” She sounded so dubious he ended up looking anyway, and found her gravely regarding her plate with a thin line between her sweetly curved eyebrows. “So where is this place, anyway? The Eyrie.”

  “West Coast.” In other words, over half a continent away. There was no point in telling her the Eyries east of the Rockies were all shuttered.

  “You’re going to have to be more specific.” His Incorruptible picked up a wilting fry, nibbled at it, and a curious look came over her wan face.

  “California.” Was that specific enough? He watched her expression for clues.

  “Not San Francisco.” Her shoulders hunched, and she dropped the potato straw as if it burned her. “I won’t go there, I’m warning you.”

  “Uh, no.” Interesting, but it wasn’t his place to question. At least in this small matter, he could set her at ease. “Los Angeles. Is that okay?”

  “L.A.?” A ghost of a rare smile touched her lips, and Michael’s chest felt strange. “That’s…really funny, actually.”

  In what way? But then again, you didn’t question an Incorruptible. Not without a good, overriding, safety-related reason. “Yeah, well.” He decided he could go back to eating. “When we get there, they’ll ask you how I handled everything.” Handled you, he almost said, but she probably wouldn’t appreciate that phrase.

  No, Michael decided, his Incorruptible—and the slight possessiveness in that term was a warning, too—would not appreciate the idea of being handled at all.

  “Great.” She tried another fry, staring at the plate with either dawning realization or horror. Some color returned to her cheeks, but her slim shoulders were tense. “God. How can I be hungry?”

  “You’ve got to eat.” Incorruptibles lasted a long while after they found the Breath, but they needed nourishment just like mortals. “It’s normal.”

  Her chin lifted, and Jenna stared at him for a long moment. “Is anything about this not normal to you?” Her dark eyes flashed, and Michael suddenly found it very hard to breathe. “How many other women have you kidnapped? Or, uh, rescued? That’s what you call it, right?”

  “Extracted.” Anger was a necessary part of the process. He knew as much, but it was still uncomfortable to feel a lumina’s displeasure. It was a disciplining blow all its own, and especially stinging. “And you’re the first Incorruptible I’ve found by myself.”

  “Not the first one you’ve met?” Maybe it was the Principle within her, or maybe she was just that smart. A bright penny, this Jenna Delacroix—an old family name, and a proud one.

  “No.” Now Michael was wondering if the lumino he’d seen at his own long-ago arrival was still alive. He couldn’t even remember that Incorruptible’s name.

  He’d been away from his own kind for far too long. Which meant he was vulnerable to twisting away from the true path. Deviance was to be guarded against.

  She began to eat with feral caution, halting every so often to study him closely. Michael minded his manners, consumed the steak plate, and moved on to a chicken Caesar salad. They made the dressing onsite, he could tell, and he was almost ready to forgive them for overcooking the steak, though not for mistreating his lumina’s fries.

  “Is it any good?” he asked finally, keeping the words soft and his gaze on his own dish. “The sandwich?”

  She paused for a long moment. “Not as good as yours.”

  It could have been diplomatic, it could have been an untruth, but Michael looked up, the corners of his mouth bunching without any direction on his part. It felt good to smile. “Gonna count that as a win, then.” Along with the bigger win of getting her out of the city and relatively safe for the moment.

  “Sure,” she agreed, and the tacium subsided as she relaxed a little, and a little more.

  Many and Many

  The morning was full of cold rain edging into gray sleet, and whatever Jenna had expected, it certainly wasn’t a trip to a collection of factory outlet stores just over the state line. She’d further thought maybe they’d skip out on the hotel bill, but Mike glanced at the paper and signed it at the front desk while Jenna, bundled into a tightly-belted pair of his jeans rolled up so many times she looked like a twelve-year old playing dress-up, stood at his shoulder and attempted to look a little less ridiculous. His sweatshirt was way too big for her too, but it was all they had that might conceivably not fall off her shoulders if she shrugged too hard. She had to wear two pairs of his thick white cotton socks just so his spare sneakers didn’t fall right off her feet whenever she lifted them.

  The outlet malls were another hour away, and when they arrived Mike parked close to a luggage store. “I’m sorry there’s not mo
re options.” He cut the ignition, and a warm, ticking silence filled the cab. “There’s clothing, though, and a box store across the freeway for toiletries and anything else.”

  “This sounds expensive,” she said, cautiously. Cold rain with ice at its heart plucked at the windows, ran down the windshield in streaks.

  “Oh, money’s not the problem.” He had a black high-collared jacket over his heavy white T-shirt, both plain and functional as his jeans and boots. In fact, he looked like any other proto-jarhead or cop wannabe, a familiar type she’d served hundred of plates to in her diner days, and it was disconcerting to see how easily he blended in even with the tattoos. “Time is. We’ve got to get you what you need and move. I don’t like how the air feels.”

  “It’s just cold.” Jenna eyed the luggage store. SAMSONITE FOR FALL, a sign declared, fabric boxes for lugging things around standing in tasteful window-groups under hidden floodlights. She’d had a job doing displays once, and liked it well enough. “It’s winter.”

  She didn’t even have a spare set of panties. Jenna was used to making do with very little, but now she’d scraped bottom. The only thing worse would be…well, best not to think about that.

  Her nightmares showed her, after all.

  “They made sure firing your building was on the nightly news.” Michael kept his hands on the wheel. His profile was a statue’s, the nose too long and slightly hooked, his chin set and his gaze soft as he stared through the windshield’s glass curtain. “If that’s a signal, I don’t like what it’s saying.”

  “Oh.” Wasn’t that a cheerful thought. Jenna’s hands twisted together, her fingers aching. “Can I ask you something?”

  A slight nod, his chin dipping but his stare fixed. “Of course, lumina.”

  “It’s Jenna.” I wish he wouldn’t call me that. The word irritated her, not least because of its implications. “How many of those things have you fought?” What she meant was killed, and maybe he knew as much because he didn’t answer right away.

  “Many.” Mike looked at his hands on the steering wheel. The thin white scars stayed still, the inked lines moved. Or were they ink? Who knew what was injected under his skin? He called the hideous malformed burning things unclean, but there was another word for it.

  Demons.

  Just thinking about those implications was enough to make her want to pop the door open and run screaming into the rain. The funny blurring around her had faded by degrees. Maybe he was sure she wasn’t going to try to escape.

  If so, he was smart. Where would she go? Her entire apartment building, not to mention her job, was gone. She didn’t have any savings, barely a couple hundred in the bank. And the diner…

  Her stomach flipped, cramped, and she was almost sorry she’d ordered a decent breakfast from room service. The orange juice had even been fresh-squeezed. How could she enjoy anything, or eat, or even just sit here calmly, after all that?

  “Many and many,” he repeated, softly. “Hopefully we won’t see any more of them.”

  That would be good. Still, a nagging sense that maybe, just maybe, she would believe this more easily if more monsters did show up. It was the same urge that made a cat paw-push something off a dresser while staring directly at you, maybe.

  Thank God she hadn’t had a pet for years. She wouldn’t have put it past Eddie to harm an animal, though he claimed to love dogs, and leaving a cat or dog behind would have been impossible. “How likely is it?” she heard herself say, numbly. Without the steady heat from the engine, the windshield was filming with fog, the cold creeping in. “That we won’t see more of them?”

  “Not very,” Mike admitted. He kept staring straight ahead. “Don’t worry so much. You’re with me now.”

  It would have been nice to hear, except it came too awfully late to be any good. Besides, Eddie had said something similar many times.

  You’re with me now… stay on the straight and narrow, honey.

  Jenna shivered.

  “You want to shop for clothes first?” Did Mike sound, of all things, tentative? His eyes were very blue. Freshly shaven, his cheeks were roughened from the cold. He must have had his bags packed all the way back in his warehouse home, ready to leave at a moment’s notice. Was he just that organized, or was he planning something like this?

  Jenna suppressed a shrug. “I don’t know that it makes much difference.”

  “It does to me.” Quiet and earnest, he watched her like a puppy waiting for a treat.

  You want your hostage to be comfortable, huh? Jenna swallowed the sarcasm. She wasn’t a hostage; nobody would pay for her. Her nightmares had shown up in living color, and now she was trapped in them. “Okay.” She reached for the door handle.

  “Let me, okay?” He hurried to unclip his seatbelt and open his door, insisting on opening hers whenever they stopped.

  Left alone for a few brief seconds while he came around, Jenna shut her eyes and took a deep breath. It was old-fashioned, and maybe another woman would have been charmed. Eddie, however, had done the same thing, unwilling to let her escape his control even in that small way. She shivered again, cold dread sliding down her back, and waited.

  Mortal Concerns

  A few hours gained them a reasonable amount of jeans, T-shirts, undergarments, socks, a parka, slippers, two pairs of sneakers and a pair of boots in her size, pajamas that weren’t his workout gear, and toiletries from the giant blue-and-yellow box store, all placed with solicitous care in a rolling suitcase and a smaller go-bag. She even consented to lunch at a small chain Mexican restaurant, though she didn’t eat much.

  He was hoping hunger would assert itself soon. You couldn’t force a lumina to eat, but you could certainly encourage, and he intended to. Michael even had her pick out snacks and a cooler, since the box store had a grocery section. She kept glancing at him during checkout, as if she expected them to run out of cash.

  It almost stung. Money was easy; did she think him so incapable?

  The best on offer near Cedar Springs was a Golden Inn, but the shabbiness seemed, oddly, to put Jenna more at ease. At least, she waited in the truck when he got the room key, and didn’t make a move to slip away even though there was no tacium. Keeping such a thing upon an Incorruptible for more than twenty-four hours was not advisable. Or acceptable.

  Maybe he’d earned a fraction or two of trust. He certainly hoped so. And at least the towels in this tiny place were fresh.

  Jenna curled up gingerly on the twin bed against the bathroom wall while he took the one near the window. He kept the television on for some short while after she fell asleep, watching images play in blue glow, checking local news for any hint of the unclean or their tricks.

  He’d chosen the northern route even though it had tolls, and tomorrow they would be over yet another state border. The plains would steadily rise, and if they got to Denver without running across many more of the unclean, he could consider a flight to L.A. It would take less than three hours in the air. He could even charter a damn plane, but the thought made him nervous. Not because of having to justify the expense to a centurion or a Celeres accountant—any cost was acceptable where an Incorruptible was concerned—but because the diaboli, having found her apartment, probably had an electronic tattletale on her ID, including a previous picture to add to flagging software.

  He had passport blanks, of course, all he had to do was get her photo on one and perform a minor work of grace to give her a whole new identity. He just wished he could figure out if such a move was safer or more dangerous for the Incorruptible breathing so softly across the room, scarcely audible even to a legionnaire’s amped-up senses.

  This was far above his grade. Michael wasn’t even a centurion, just a grunt staring at a cheap popcorn ceiling in the dark after he turned the TV off, wondering and second-guessing his plans. A legionnaire didn’t need much sleep, but he would have welcomed it tonight, even with the infrequent, vivid dreams.

  Go over it again, Michael.

  An Incor
ruptible. A powerful one, who had the Breath. Eking out a living in the margins, thin and nervous, avoiding notice with singleminded intensity. And the diaboli—had they found her by mere chance?

  “There it is,” one of them had said. So they had been sensible of her existence, but hadn’t known enough of her location to collect her, perhaps. Who would think to look for a piece of the Principle in a shoddy little greasy-spoon diner?

  Perhaps she’d survived by sheer chance and stubbornness. Just look at how thin and tired she was, how much grace she carried. Anyone might well bow under that burden, especially a lumina who hadn’t been taught to control the welling within her.

  take it from the top, Michael. The Eyrie closest to him, closed. All the Eyries east of the Rockies and all but one on the West Coast, closed. No backup, even a recon team, in range. Incorruptibles were always rare, but if the Legion had ceded half the continent or more to the unclean… well, it didn’t look good.

  Nobody had told him he was an outpost in hostile territory instead of a patroller in a city big enough to warrant at least five legionnaires and an Eyrie within range. Knowing your task and your place was paramount in war, each small cog within the whole working smoothly together.

  This was not like the Legion at all. It bothered him more and more. He hadn’t spent much of his stipend for years; the warehouse’s property taxes were paid by one of the many shell corporations the Legion used. The money just sat there, piling up and earning interest, and that was not the way a business, even a multibillion-dollar one, was run. His account should have been drained once it got to a particular point, but he hadn’t thought of that. No, he’d just assumed the Legion knew what it was doing and if he needed an opinion about how the officers ran their various affairs, they would issue him one.