Garden of Dreams and Desires
Page 27
“That’s for damn sure,” Dulcinea said. “And by the time we’ve got the mercs and the senator secure, the NOPD should be ready to cart them away. Although I think we might have a little conversation with the senator first.”
“Sounds like a solid plan.” Harlow itched to get things under way. “I say we’re ready to go. Everyone knows their job. Let’s move.”
Giselle awoke with the strangest feeling of itching all over, not just her skin but somehow also beneath her skin. She stretched and sat up, running her fingers through her hair and raking her nails over her scalp. Scratching did no good. It wasn’t that she itched exactly; it was more like a full-body rash. She felt her face and neck, but her skin was just as smooth as it had always been—no bumps or welts.
Weird. She blinked, trying to get her eyes to adjust. Nothing around her looked familiar but it was hard to make out much in the dark space. Was it night? How long had she been out? Where was she? Last she remembered, she’d been on the fae plane.
Unable to see more than dim shapes, she reached out to the ground around her. There were none of the small rocks and expanses of dirt that she recalled. Instead everything was smooth. Almost polished. Like concrete maybe. She lifted her hand and called fire, but nothing happened.
Damn it. She must still be on the fae plane. That would explain the moaning of the wind she heard, although she couldn’t feel it. Was she inside a building? Again she tried to call fire and again she failed. Shoving to her feet, she grunted in frustration. Having no magic made her feel vulnerable. Naked. Angrier than she had words for.
Slowly, her eyes adjusted. She tipped her head back. Definitely a building. The ceiling of wherever she was glowed softly. Some kind of phosphorescent paint maybe. Although on the fae plane, who knew what it might be. Algae. Bugs. Anything.
She shuddered and scratched at her head again, squeezing her eyes shut. Still no relief. She opened her eyes and shuffled a few steps forward. Lines came into focus ahead of her. Behind those lines seemed to be a path. Lines? She put her hands out and continued moving forward, scuffing her feet on the ground as she walked to avoid a misstep.
Her hands connected with the lines. They were bars. What the hell? She grabbed them and shook just to be sure. They were solid under her fingers. And they didn’t budge. She was in some kind of cell. “You stupid fae!” she screamed. “Let me out of here!”
Outside the wind picked up, the howling and moaning almost deafening. Then she realized the howling and moaning wasn’t the wind. Those sounds were animal or… fae. She shivered and backed away from the bars. The noise was coming from the cells around her. “Goddess help me,” she whispered.
Grunts and cries punctuated the howling. She turned away from the bars and went farther back into the cell. She could make out the walls now. They seemed to have a slight glow to them also. Or maybe it was just the reflection of the ceiling, as the glow only lasted a few feet down the walls.
Blocks of a softly colored, translucent stone made up the rest of the cell walls. A small bench hugged one side. Judging by the thin mattress, slim pillow and blanket, it was supposed to be a bed. She swallowed and cocked her jaw to one side. She would not cry. Especially if there was a chance they were watching her.
She looked around, but saw no cameras. Nothing that remotely resembled technology. Was this whole place run by fae magic then? She knew enough about magic to know there were often loopholes. Maybe she could find a way out.
The moaning had died down a bit. She glanced at the bars. If this place had guards or wardens, she’d yet to see any. Which was fine with her. She looked at the walls again. The stone blocks didn’t look like they’d been set with any kind of mortar, just laid on top of one another until they reached the ceiling.
The idea that one might be movable intrigued her. She latched on to it like a life vest. She wasn’t a weakling. Maybe she could loosen one enough to dislodge it completely. And if she could manage that, she could certainly manage another one. And then another. Enough to make a hole to escape through.
True, she had no idea where she’d go on the fae plane, no idea what was edible and what wasn’t, but she’d figure that out when the time came. All that mattered was getting free of this place.
She studied the lines between the stone blocks, looking for one that might have a chip or a tiny gap. Her gaze snagged on one. A hairline crack ran through it from top to bottom at one end. That was something she could work with.
Kneeling beside it so her body was parallel to the wall, she clenched her hand into a fist and wrapped her other hand around it to make both hands into a battering ram. The itching was so intense she wanted to rip her clothes off and scratch until she was bloody. Instead, she made herself focus all her strength and energy into what she was about to do.
She pulled her hands back and swung with all her might. The side of her palms struck the stone hard.
The stone didn’t budge, but her skin felt like it was on fire. Painful heat shot through her from her hands, radiating such agony into her body that she almost vomited.
She dragged herself away from the wall, staring at the blocks with a fresh new hatred. No wonder there was no mortar. They weren’t made of stone after all. They were made of the one thing that could cause a witch the most harm. The thing that in great enough quantities could incapacitate a witch without any further effort.
She spat the word out, as poison on her tongue as it was to her magic and her body. “Salt.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
Harlow and the rest of the lieutenants waited in the elevator while Nekai, Dulcinea and Guz stepped out into the hall. Guz followed Dulce, his lumbering gait almost comical behind the long, leggy stride of the changeling. The trio disappeared from view, but their voices carried as they approached the guard at the door.
“I’m sorry, can you help us?” Dulcinea asked. “We seem to be lost.”
“You do not have authorization to access this floor,” the guard said, his voice gruff.
“I believe my friend Nekai has your authorization right here,” Dulcinea replied.
The faint smell of ozone, a sure sign of Nekai’s magic, reached them a moment later, while Guz’s incomprehensible grunts followed next. The guard managed half a curse. The final sound was a soft thump.
A few seconds later, Dulcinea stuck her head around the side of the elevator, her dreads swinging past her bright smile. “All clear. Let’s take the hotel room!”
Harlow and Cy went after her, with Sydra and Rat behind them. Nekai stood poised at the hotel suite’s double doors. He glanced at Harlow, leaning his head toward the door.
She nodded, stripped off one glove and quietly pressed her fingers to the lock. A moment later, the green indicator lit up. Unlocked. They only had a few seconds before the light went red again.
Dulcinea and Cy each took one door, grabbing the lever handles and watching for Nekai’s signal. He lifted his hands and nodded. They shoved the doors open. His hands began to move, weaving the spell necessary to render the weapons useless.
The thug closest to the door whipped around, hoisting his rifle. Guz charged the man. He got off a single round. The bullet sank into Guz’s thick body as he attacked but didn’t stop him. The goblin took the thug down, flattening him on the carpet. Guz followed with a massive fist to the man’s jaw, and just like that, the odds started to shift.
Two more mercs came out from another room, guns raised, but nothing happened when they pulled the triggers. Sydra and Dulcinea attacked.
Harlow took off on her own, searching for Augustine. Halfway down the hall, she found an unguarded door. She opened it and almost retched. The room stank of blood and smoke and human body odor.
One of the hired soldiers stood over Augustine’s lifeless body, a bloody iron bar raised over his head like he was about to strike again. Augie was sprawled on a tarp, his face bruised and swollen to the point of almost being unrecognizable. Both horns were broken off and blood soaked his leathers.
He stopped mid-swing to look at her. “What the hell?”
She charged him, her anger coming out in a soul-deep cry. She knocked him down but he turned on her in an instant, elbowing her across the cheek.
Adrenaline took care of the pain. She planted her bare hand over his face and squeezed, pouring as much hurt and suffering into the man as she could manage while fighting the ugliness coming off him. He lashed at her, but within a few seconds began crying out, his struggle to be free forgotten. A few seconds more and he wept softly. Finally, he went limp, the emotional overload more than his human system could bear.
She released him and crawled over the bloody tarp to Augie. It hurt just to look at him. Her strong Augustine, so brutally beaten. If he didn’t survive, she would kill Sutter herself. She touched the side of Augie’s head that seemed the least bruised. “I’m here,” she whispered. He was breathing, but it was more like a shallow wheeze. His lids twitched, maybe in response to her voice, maybe because of the pain he was in. She prayed it was her voice, prayed that he knew she was there.
“I’m going to get that iron off you now.” Even if he wasn’t hearing her, she would keep talking to him, keep letting him know he wasn’t alone anymore. She moved to his hands and the shackles. She could feel the iron at this range, her fingers stinging with the metal’s irritating power. Beneath the cuffs, raw, oozing blisters covered Augie’s skin. Angry tears clouded her vision. “It’s okay, baby,” she said. “You’re going to heal up just fine.”
She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, pulled off her other glove and went to work, grabbing hold of the first shackle. The shock of iron on her bare skin dug knives into her flesh and made her gasp. She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth and forced the metal to bend to her will. It bit back, but slowly, the tumblers aligned. The shackle fell open.
“One down.” She yanked it off Augie’s wrist and took a long, shuddering breath in an attempt to alleviate her pain. It failed. Her hand looked like she’d dipped it in hot oil. The skin on her fingertips puffed with burns and the lingering pain sparked stars at the edge of her vision. She sucked in another breath and fought the urge to cry out. Augie didn’t need to know she was in pain. He had enough to deal with.
Beside her, the merc moaned, prompting her to get the second shackle off. With her unaffected hand, she latched on to the remaining cuff and fought through the pain to unlock it as well. Once it was off Augustine’s wrist, she sat still for a moment, letting her head drop as the pain caused a swell of nausea that almost knocked her unconscious. All ten fingertips were now equally blistered. She breathed through her mouth, bending one leg to touch her knee to Augustine’s thigh. She couldn’t stand not to touch him. Couldn’t bear the idea that he might think she’d left him.
The merc moved his head to the side. His fingers stretched like he was feeling for that damned iron bar. “Cy, Dulcinea, someone help me!” Ignoring her injured hands, she dug the blade from the back of her waistband. The blood weeping from her burned fingers made the dagger’s grip slippery. She tightened her grip. Pain screamed through her. She rose to her knees, nudging Augie behind her, and aimed the weapon at the merc. The blade seemed insignificant in light of the situation.
Dulcinea came charging in, Cy behind her. “What do you need—never mind.” Dulcinea jumped on the merc, rammed her fist into his head and knocked him out. She started stripping the weapons off his prone form. Cy kicked the iron bar away and used zip ties from the man’s own utility belt to secure his wrists.
Augie moaned and tried to move.
“Stay down, Augie.” Harlow jerked the weapon toward the mercenary. “Get him out of here.” She tucked the blade away, then eased Augustine onto his back. His leathers were sticky with blood.
Dulcinea wrapped a hand in Sutter’s belt and lifted him. “We’ll add him to the rest.”
“Get Dr. Carlson here now. I’m not sure we can move Augie just yet.” Harlow glared at the downed merc. “And keep a close eye on that one. I’m pretty sure that’s Sutter, the one in charge. The one who shot Grantham.”
“You got it,” Dulcinea said. She pulled out her LMD with her free hand and used her thumb to tap at the screen. “Sent Carlson a text.” She tucked the phone away. “We’re almost done searching the suite. Five guards in total. Rat’s dragging in the one from the hall.” She glanced at Augie, her jaw popping to one side in clear anger. “We’re going to spend a little time interrogating them, if you don’t mind.”
“No, I don’t mind at all.” Harlow shook her head. “Do whatever you want.” She wasn’t sure what there was to be gained from questioning the soldiers but she certainly didn’t care if it happened.
Dulcinea’s gaze shifted to Augustine. “You think he’s going to be okay?”
“Absolutely. Although it’s going to be a long recovery.”
Dulcinea slung Sutter up and over her shoulder like he weighed fifty pounds, not two hundred, muttering something in faeish that sounded like curses. “I should get back…”
“Go ahead, I’m fine.” Harlow tipped her head toward Augie. “I’m going to stay here with him.” Even if they needed her, she wasn’t leaving Augie’s side.
“Yeah, cool. Good.” Pride shone in Dulcinea’s eyes. “You stay with him as long as you like. As long as he needs. If something changes, we’ll let you know.”
“Yeah.” Cy nodded. “We’ve got things under control. And we’ll send the doc in as soon as he gets here.”
Harlow glanced past them toward the door. “What about hotel security?”
Cy looked at Dulcinea before shrugging. “I haven’t heard anything.”
Harlow nodded, thinking. “Augustine’s in no position to be moved just yet. I mean, we can if we have to but—”
“It wouldn’t be the best thing for him,” Dulcinea finished.
“No, it wouldn’t.” Harlow tempered the ache in her heart at Augustine’s condition by focusing on the bigger picture. She needed to buy him some time. “Cy, can you mimic one of the mercenaries and stand guard at the penthouse door just in case someone comes up?”
He smiled. “That’s a great idea. Will do.” He jogged out of the room.
Dulcinea bounced once, adjusting the weight of the man on her shoulder. “I’ll let the others know what’s up. You take all the time you need. Well…” She hesitated. “Not all the time. We should get out of here as soon as reasonably possible.”
“Agreed.” Harlow rested the back of one hand on Augie’s shoulder. Her fingertips had stopped bleeding and the pain had lessened to the point that she no longer felt like passing out or throwing up. Amazing how quickly the fae body healed. An idea started to form in her head. “I might be able to speed things up.”
“I’ll leave you to it then.” Dulcinea started for the door, stopping a moment later. “One small bit of bad news I forgot to mention.”
Harlow looked up. “And that is?”
“The senator has yet to be located, so there’s a pretty good chance she left before we got here.”
“That sucks.”
Dulcinea frowned. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and she’ll return before we leave; otherwise…” She shrugged.
“We’ll figure something out.”
“Yep.” With that Dulcinea spun on her heels and took off with the merc. She closed the bedroom door behind her.
“Hi.” Augustine’s raspy whisper caught Harlow by surprise.
She glanced down at him. His left eye was swollen shut, but his right eye was open a slit. The white was bloodshot and glassy. Her heart clenched but it was good to hear his voice. “Hi. I’d ask you how you’re feeling but I think I can guess.”
He tried to smile but only got halfway before it turned into a grimace. That’s when she saw his broken tooth.
She looked toward the wall, taking a moment to rid her face of the bitter desire to kill someone on his behalf.
“Yeah,” he said, the word whistling over the jagged edge of his incisor. “I’m not great.”
She forced herself to smile. “But you will be. The iron cuffs are off, so you should be able to heal now.” That and the fact that she was about to try something she never had. “The suite is secure but we’re not ready to move you yet, so close your eyes and rest. You’re going to need your strength.”
He did as she asked. Or perhaps he’d passed out again, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she had to help him in any way she could.
Gently, she placed her damaged hands on top of his, careful not to touch his wrists where the skin still looked like it had been scrubbed with a wire brush dipped in acid. She took a breath and opened herself to him.
Pain flooded her system so hard she jerked back, breaking the contact. What she’d felt touching the iron had been nothing compared to what he was still enduring. Fighting her natural instinct to avoid pain, she put her hands on his again and with a little more control this time, allowed his pain into her body.
She closed her eyes and rocked back on her heels as it hit, but managed to hang on. Bit by bit, she took on more of his agony. New feelings layered over the pain. His fear of dying without seeing her again almost undid her. His anger at being helpless made her want to rip Sutter’s heart out. His grief at Grantham’s death tore at her. She moved her hands so she could gently curl her fingers under his as she opened her eyes and found her voice. “Augie, if you can hear me, move your fingers against mine.”
His fingers pressed against hers. She inhaled as the touch caused her new pain, but this time she was able to smile without effort. “Grantham isn’t dead. He’s in the hospital with some cracked ribs and a pretty nasty bruise, but he’s going to be just fine. He had a vest on. And Jewelia’s gris gris.”
Augie’s grief disappeared like a shot and a sense of joy spilled into her.
“Now stay still,” she reminded him. Then she went back to work, pulling as much of his pain and suffering into her as she could handle. Some she was able to disperse but the bulk of it stayed with her. Still, she continued absorbing what she could, eyes closed, head lowered in concentration, until she finally had to sit back and take a breather. The hurt was intense, but her pride at being able to help him with her gift, something she’d always considered a curse until these past few weeks, helped take the edge off her distress.