Calabi Chronicles: Bloodstone

by Ann Vremont

  “You better be right,” Flaherty said and tossed the bags onto one of the passenger seats. He clambered into the pilot’s seat and reached for the radio.

  Aideen stopped his hand. “You don’t have to believe me.” She shoved the Bloodstone under his nose. “Believe this.”

  Flaherty swallowed hard, his eyes blinking rapidly. He gave a short nod and began flipping a series of switches on the engine panel. Aideen felt the low purr of the plane’s engines and gave brief thanks that Flaherty had somehow managed to replace his four-seater prop plane with something more modern.

  She placed her palm against the back of his neck and closed her eyes to allow him to see what the Bloodstone was showing her. Warmth spread through her arm, into her chilled fingertips and over Flaherty’s skin. The fine layering of hair on the back of his neck bristled at the sudden electricity of her touch, but then he relaxed and leaned into her hand. He closed his eyes and pulled back on the plane’s wheel. The plane climbed through the fog. Flying on faith, they both kept their eyes closed, concentrating on the images the Bloodstone brought them.

  “You know where you’re going?” Aideen asked a few minutes later when the plane broke from the fog into clear blue sky.

  Flaherty patted his flight book. “Been ready since this morning.”

  Aideen grunted and began weaving her way back to the cargo area, the Bloodstone clutched to her chest. Kean was still motionless, his body secured by cargo nets rigged to form a hammock. Aideen loosened the nets and tested them against her added weight. Satisfied, she crawled in next to Kean. Holding the stone to his temple, she lightly ran her fingertips over his bloodied face. He let out a wet sigh that twisted through her chest.

  “You’ll find a first aid kit against the back.” Flaherty’s voice squeaked over the intercom.

  Aideen looked above her, saw the kit’s box and reached out while keeping the stone pressed against Kean. She thumbed the kit open and removed some disinfectant pads. She tried to think of something soothing to hum and settled for Mockingbird while she wiped the blood from Kean’s face. His breathing came more freely, less liquid. As she wiped the last of the blood away, Kean opened his eyes. His gaze was clouded, unfocused, and she kissed his eyelids closed. She ran the stone over his forehead and along the back curve of his neck, trying not to remember how his head had snapped back from the massive blow Muscles had delivered.

  “Don’t you know another tune?” He was watching her, a half-smile warring with a grimace for supremacy.

  “Give me a break,” she growled and ran the stone down his spine and over his hips until it was nestled between their stomachs.

  Kean stretched his neck slowly, testing the range of motion. He scanned the cargo area of the plane and then relaxed against Aideen. “How is it that we’re alive and in the back of Flaherty’s plane?” he asked.

  Aideen felt a small arc of power sizzle across her stomach where the stone touched her skin. Kean’s muscles contracted against the stone as the same energy flowed into him. A frown creasing his brow, he rested his hand on Aideen’s hip and leaned into her. Lips pressed against her forehead, he sighed.

  “It would be a powerful temptation for anyone,” he said. His lips parted from her in a kiss and he tilted her chin up until their gazes met. “What are we to do with it?” he whispered the question, as if he trusted only her to hear or answer.

  “Send it back,” she answered.

  “Where?”

  She shrugged and picked up the Bloodstone. “It knows,” she answered. “We just have to listen and figure out what it’s telling us.”

  Aideen crawled out of the cargo net, taking the stone with her. She went through the curtains that separated the cargo area from the half dozen passenger seats and the open cockpit. Finding the backpack where Flaherty had dumped it, she put the stone back into its protective case, Kean’s pistol on top.

  “How long until we arrive?” she asked Flaherty.

  “On the ground in forty-five,” he answered. “Another fifteen or so getting parked after that.”

  She nodded and went back to the cargo area, the backpack slung over one shoulder.

  “You look ready to drop,” Kean said as he watched her store the bag in a side compartment.

  “I haven’t been napping the last hour,” she teased. He put his arm out and forced the cargo net open while she crawled in next to him.

  “Cold?” he asked and rubbed her arms. She nodded and he pulled her closer. Heat radiated from his groin and she found herself pressing her hips against him. “There’ll be time enough for that in England,” he said. “You need sleep.” The first full smile since the attack played across his lips and he cupped her cheek, giving her a brief brotherly kiss.

  “I’ve never done it in a plane,” Aideen protested, eyes drooping with fatigue.

  “I’ll charter us a real one,” he said and brushed his lips against hers.

  Aideen snuggled closer to him and his grip relaxed as sleep claimed them both. Her dreams were liquid warm. A golden magma laced with fiery red embraced her. She pushed into the gelatinous heat. Wrapping a leg around him, she pulled Kean into the dream with her. Their clothes fell away and he dipped his mouth down to taste the rosebud tips of her breasts. Warm bodies swam around them. A woman’s high, fine voice caressed them, pushed them closer to one another. The woman gestured across the bed of lava to where a man sculpted a divan of blue flame. We would join you, the woman said, sensually ushering them toward the divan.

  Aideen turned to Kean but he was already reclining, wrapped in blue fire, his soul burning for her, urging her to hurry. His cock—thick, solid in its erection—bulged proudly against his stomach, eager to penetrate. Wet desire unleashed itself, its waves obliterating the awkwardness she felt at the presence of the other couple. She stepped into the flame, straddling Kean. The woman followed Aideen into the fire and placed a hand on each side of Aideen’s head, cushioning Aideen between her full breasts. Aideen could feel the tickle of the woman’s pubic hair against her bottom, even as she slid her own mound along the length of Kean’s shaft. When she reached the tip, he raised it high enough for her to slide back down, its length buried inside her. Aideen arched her back and the woman moved with her, their flesh pressed so closely together that they seemed melded from the heat surrounding them. Kean sat up and captured Aideen’s breasts. He squeezed them together, suckling first one, then the other peaked nipple. His tongue flicked at the rosy tips, while his finger and thumb explored the contours of her clit, twirling them mercilessly while she rode his shaft in near orgasm.

  The woman’s companion slid behind Kean. He reached around the mortal lovers to knead the woman’s ass. Her moans joined Aideen’s as the first burst of Aideen’s orgasm exploded around Kean’s cock. Aideen bucked, the press of the woman’s mound against her back spurring her on to a second climax.

  And then the woman and her lover were gone, the blue flames disappearing in a distressed wail. Body still shuddering with sensual fulfillment, Aideen opened her eyes. Her gaze met Kean’s, which flicked from sleepy satisfaction to black obsidian in an instant.

  “We’re on the ground,” he said. Worry edged his voice and he slid from the cargo net to the side compartment in which Aideen had stowed the backpack. He opened the compartment and turned to her, his face stretched in disbelief.

  Empty! Aideen skittered out of the cargo net and pushed past the curtains. The front of the plane was empty and the side door was open, the steps laid down. She raced down the steps, Kean close behind. They were on a dirt landing strip that looked little more than a single lane road cut through an English field. Two hundred yards away, trees formed a solid line. Behind them, at the far end of the runway was a rundown shack and another line of trees.

  “Flaherty—” Aideen began.

  “Has been with the temple longer than I’ve been alive,” Kean interrupted, disbelief choking the words from his throat.

  Aideen squinted at the tree line, her stomach somersaulti
ng with dread. She clutched Kean’s arm and pointed. Emerging from the thin row of trees that served as a backdrop to the shack were two white sedans, an orange stripe running along the side of each and blue lights flashing in great swooping circles. She took a step back, ready to flee, but Kean held her steady.

  “Give them your name and address and nothing else,” Kean said and plastered on a friendly smile. “If they take us in, it will only be for a few hours as long as you tell them nothing else.”

  She squeezed his arm, her legs still telling her to run. He turned to her, his gray gaze intense. “Trust me, Aideen.”

  Aideen nodded her understanding and, to her amazement, her fear melted away. She watched Kean pull his cell phone from his jacket and dial a preset number. The pulse at his temple slowed to match the phone’s ring at the other end of the call, each ring bringing the police a car length closer.

  “Kean here.” He snapped the words into the phone. “Some of your Wadebridge boys are about to take me and a friend in.” Kean stopped short the person on the other side of the conversation. “Immediately—Claubine has orders to release the documents in two hours.”

  Kean disconnected the call and began punching more numbers in as the police pulled their vehicles to a stop three car lengths away. There were four of them and they exited their vehicles slowly, shielding themselves with the doors. The driver of the first car reached back into her car, one wary eye focused on Kean and Aideen. She pulled out a megaphone.

  “Hands on your heads!” The megaphone took her already rough bark and made it eye watering in its volume at such a close distance. “Slowly!” she added as Aideen’s hands jumped into the air. Kean moved more slowly, punching more numbers on his cell phone as he watched the fidgeting police officers.

  “Drop the phone, sir!” the woman screeched. The woman’s temper got the better of her when Kean smiled and ignored her command. She tossed the megaphone to the ground and was to the front of her patrol car before her partner caught her and pulled her back behind the safety of the car. The man was reed-thin with bright orange hair cropped close to his head, but the ease with which he pulled his stouter partner back behind the door testified to his wiry strength.

  A cop from the second patrol car picked up the megaphone and repeated the command. Kean gave them an all-finished grin and dropped the cell phone to the ground. “Hands on your head!”

  Kean complied, his face a bland expression of perplexed innocence.

  “Turn around, the both of you!” the orange-haired cop shouted.

  Kean and Aideen turned slowly, the rush of footsteps pounding behind them. The female cop reached Kean first and jerked his arms behind his back. Aideen’s wrists were roughly encircled and her arms were twisted behind her while handcuffs were cinched into place.

  “Hoy, Janet, leave off him and do the girl.” It was Janet’s partner who spoke, his voice deeper than his thin frame would suggest. Aideen had a second to read his name tag, P.C. Everett, before he bent down and plucked Kean’s cell phone from the dirt landing strip. He pressed the power button and then swore softly a few seconds later when he realized the phone’s password feature had been activated. “Think you’re brilliant, do you?” the cop inquired. His cheeks glowed a ruddy copper and he waved the phone under Kean’s nose.

  Kean’s cool gaze flicked over Everett’s face but he didn’t otherwise respond.

  “Well, genius, you’re not getting it back.” Everett shoved the phone into his navy blue windbreaker. He nodded at his partner, who was finishing her pat-down of Aideen. “Got anything?” he asked.

  Janet grunted and stepped away from Aideen.

  “Check the plane then,” Everett said with a jerk of his thumb. He studied Kean, quickly coming to the conclusion that he would more easily wring an explanation from granite. He turned to Aideen and smiled as he noted her flushed cheeks and averted eyes. “You look like too sweet a bird to be mixed up with this bloke.”

  Aideen felt her burning cheeks cool and she looked at the man. Something dangerous was coiled like a whip inside him. Her mossy green irises hardened to a blazing emerald as she tried to see beyond the human façade the cop wore.

  “You don’t want to play it that way, love,” Everett warned and stepped to within a few centimeters of Aideen. Beside them, Kean stiffened, a low growl involuntarily rising up from his chest. Everett grinned and waved one of the other officers over. It was the cop who had picked up the megaphone. The hair under his cap was a thin gray and he looked like he’d spent every night of a very long career sleeping in his uniform.

  Everett whipped his chin in Kean’s direction. “Don’t think this dog’s cuffs are tight enough. Why don’t you lock ‘em up another notch or two for me.”

  The older cop cleared his throat, still not moving to carry out the order.

  “Have you gone deaf all of a sudden?” the cop asked.

  The man gave a nervous cough and hooked a hand over Aideen’s cuffs. “Station just radioed in,” he offered and began to lightly pull Aideen in the direction of his car. “We’re to take them in now.”

  Everett grabbed Aideen’s elbow and pulled her arm tight in a silent tug of war. “Fine, then. The bird rides with me.”

  Janet stepped from the plane, her face a sour twist of disappointment. Her irritation melted as her quick gaze took in the episode of subtle confrontation between her partner and the third cop.

  “Station said they’re to ride together,” the older cop protested.

  “Then they can both ride with me ‘n Janet.”

  “Station—”

  “Bloody hell with the station!” Everett screamed. Spit began to fleck at the corner of his mouth and he released Aideen’s arm. “I told you not to call this in yet.”

  “Didn’t. The old man called…said I was to bring them back to the station in my unit,” the cop replied, confidence oozing back into his voice.

  Everett’s eyes were blazing a cold hate when his gaze returned to Kean. “Looks like you’re not without friends in Wadebridge.” His body remained tense, not yet ready to relent. He nodded at the fourth cop, who had been judiciously hanging back by the patrol cars. “Filch will ride with Janet.”

  “Hoy,” Filch protested. “I’m not riding with Janet. She smells like she’s on the rag all the time—acts like it, too.” He turned to his partner, who was impassively staring at the side of the plane. “You tell the Pumpkin King, here—”

  “None of that,” Everett growled, his thin frame puffing up.

  The light dusting of hair along the back of Aideen’s neck stood on end as Everett pulled his lips back in a half-smiling snarl. She thought of the spindly-legged scarecrow that had danced across her father’s garden. As Halloween approached, Gerald would switch out the cloth head with a carved pumpkin, candles glowing eerily in place of eyes. Now, Aideen, nothing to be afraid of with ole punkinhead guarding the house. Everett’s gaze lighted on Aideen and his smile compressed into a thin line of rage.

  “You don’t think that’s funny, do you, bird?” Everett asked. He stepped in front of Aideen, his body all but brushing against hers. Reaching out, he lifted a strand of her hair. “What kind of bird are you? Only birds hanging about Wadebridge this time of year are crows—but you’re so blonde, you’re nearly white.” He twisted the lock of hair around his finger until the knuckle of his thumb rested against her cheek.

  Everett looked past Aideen to someplace only he could see. His voice dropped lower. “Crows used to be white…before they were punished.” He looked at her, shadows obscuring his irises. “Is that it, little bird? You’re still all white because you haven’t been properly punished?”

  Kean’s voice cut through the space that still divided Aideen and Everett’s bodies. “You can uncuff us now.”

  “The hell?” Everett asked, his attention effectively diverted from Aideen. “Uncuff you, you say?” He looked to Janet to confirm that he hadn’t misheard the request. She gave an indifferent shrug.

  The older c
op slid the key into Aideen’s handcuffs, freeing her with a sharp click of the key and a momentary tightening of the cuffs before they fell away. Everett turned, gaping at the other man’s audacity.

  “You’re breaking protocol,” Everett threatened. “You damn well know prisoners can’t ride—”

  “Are we prisoners?” Kean leaned forward, reading the older cop’s nametag as Filch took Janet’s key and unlocked Kean’s cuffs. “Officer Crumpler?”

  “Supposed to give you a friendly escort back to the station house,” Crumpler mumbled, his earlier confidence waning as Everett stepped behind Aideen to loom over him.

  “I was being friendly,” Everett joked, his face freezing into a good-natured mask. “Well then, by all means, let’s provide our new friends with an escort back to the station house and the old man.”

  Everett moved to take Aideen by the elbow but Kean already stood beside her, his gray gaze unyielding. The corner of Everett’s mouth twitched and his hand played around the lapel of his jacket. “You’re not the only one with friends,” Everett warned in an undertone. “Everyone’s got a friend or two, even me.”

  Crumpler led them back to their patrol car, Everett following closer than their own shadows. Behind him, Filch, extolling the virtues of using douche, continued grousing at having to ride with Janet. The noise was an unwelcome distraction for Aideen, who was fighting with herself to keep from trembling at what she had seen in the Pumpkin King’s shadowy gaze. Even after she climbed into the back seat of the patrol car and Kean wrapped a protective arm around her shoulders, she silently cursed the Bloodstone’s lingering effects and hoped they weren’t permanent. She had never seen a soul as ulcerous with lustful hate. And in the center of each sore, she had seen her own face reflected.