by Livia Quinn
“Very, but their lives are priority 1.”
“Got it.” He waved an arm and turned, “Let’s go.” In less than a minute there was no sign of Ridge and his men.
“I assume I’m not needed for the transfer,” I said turning to Conor and Montana. “I have to get over to Fritz’, check the scene out and hand my package over to the ME.”
Montana nodded and said, “We’ll start the ritual with Dylan as soon as the swamp is clear. We haven’t seen any further sign of the other dark fae. You must have scared it off.”
The first thing I saw when I walked into Fritz’s home was the excessively large… person standing stiffly against the foyer wall. Because it was Fritz’s place, it was too pretentious to call the area a foyer but nevertheless the giant soldier took up that space. He was over 7 feet tall, his helmet covered head almost brushing the low ceiling. The uniform was made of molded plastic, probably some kind of snazzy titanium polycarbonate. He was a dead ringer for Robocop.
His head turned mechanically and in an unusually smooth voice, he said, “Sheriff Lang. I’m Tom Heppard, you can call me RC. I won’t be offended.”
There was something about the voice. It sounded…computer generated. I remembered Ridge telling me about some of his bionic advances—internal human systems, processes like sight, blood vessels and the replacement of the voice box and lungs. Though I couldn’t see his eyes, I realized RC was waiting for a response from me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”
“It’s okay, sir. I’m used to it and I believe the old cliché—‘it beats the alternative’—applies. If Ridge hadn’t created this awesome structure for me, I’d be worse than dead. There are many improvements over the movie version. I heard the smile in his voice, though his mask was unable to create the effect.
“What… is… that?” The authoritative voice behind me caused two things to happen at once. RC’s arm came up so fast it was a blur, and Ryan yelled, “Don’t shoot, RC!”
Dan Thorpe, the ME from Amity, froze in the doorway, staring wide-eyed. So much for RC being slower to react.
A deep hoarse chuckle welled up from inside me coming from a place full of fatigue, continual shocks and the sheer absurdity of how my life had changed. Faced with dragons, Vouivres, goofus, and Robocop, I could no longer be surprised—to the extent that I’d neglected to warn Tom or the medical examiner. RC lowered his gun into its hide-y-hole and I turned to Thorpe.
I reflected on how that warning conversation might have gone. Hi, Dan, I just wanted to warn you that you might run into Robocop at the crime scene. Don’t be alarmed. Right.
Ridge had learned a few things in the studio production business about using visual effects to enhance these already deadly mercenaries. While they didn’t work for him per se, he had given them the ability to move on with their lives after injury and continue their Special Forces work. They were undoubtedly as grateful as Tom.
“It’s okay, Dan. RC is a visiting er… law enforcement specialist who is going to be assisting me this week.” It was difficult not to roll my eyes, but surprisingly, he bought it.
RC said, “Nice to meet you, sir,” and extended his huge gloved hand.
On autopilot, our wide-eyed doctor shook the hand, then his inquisitive scientist mind kicked in. Dan was in his early sixties and whatever reluctance the younger ME might have had in a situation like this, the older version was not limited at all. “Son, what happened to you? I assume this is the newest bionic management system between your body and the recovery unit, correct? How do you feel—are the bionics—”
Inquiries rolled off the ME’s tongue faster than I could keep track. RC’s head turned toward me briefly then back to Dan. RC answered, “Suicide bomb. It’s called a BORS, bionic organ restructure system. I feel better than I ever have. Thank you for asking.” I suspected Tom had some kind of readout on the inside of his visor, and he just went down the list and rattled off answers.
“Okay, now that you and RC have bonded, can we get to the crime scene, doc?”
The ME nodded, quickly pulled his camera from his kit and took a series of pictures from every angle. Then he knelt on the protective plastic Ryan had laid by the major bloodstain. He pointed to the mutilated eyeball and examined it. “You can see by the tearing—here—that weapon one, the fork, left marks in the tissue where the prongs were inserted. The blood around the blood vessels and ligaments suggest the victim was alive when it was removed.”
“What about the blood, Doctor? Could the victim still be alive?”
“I doubt it, Sheriff. If he is, he isn’t walking. The blood loss, the shock…no, he’s probably dead.” He pulled out his evidence bag, then leaned over sniffing the blood and retrieving several samples. “Have you figured out how he left here?” he asked, obviously remembering our previous debacle with the murder victim from the clubhouse. Dan didn’t know about his Nucklevee-ism.
“No, and the perp I have in mind would need an accomplice to transport the body out of here without trailing blood to the doorway.”
“Hmm.” The ME pondered that as he scraped the area for DNA, hair fibers and anything else, then marked and packed the samples. He rose to leave.
“Doc, I have a favor to ask. Can you follow me to my cruiser?”
Outside, I opened my hatch and took the sample Montana had harvested from me, and the vial of Jordie’s blood out of my little refrigerator and handed them to Dan. His eyebrow lifted when he saw Jordie’s name on the package. “To say I need a RUSH job on these, including anything you find from the scene, would be a drastic understatement. I need it yesterday.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Relationships…” How do you say tell me what kind of creature my ex is? “…and anything unusual like you did with the victim from the clubhouse a couple weeks ago.”
That shot his brows up into his hairline. He looked down again, separated the two packets. “And this one, ‘G’?”
“My ex,” I said as evenly as I could.
He nodded. “I’ll get right back to the lab. I can get you some preliminary blood results fairly quickly but you know DNA takes—”
“Just do what you can, Dan, and fast.”
Chapter 21
Tempe
How were we going to explain this to the locals?
To say I was feeling normal would suggest I knew what my new normal was. For twenty-eight years I’d lived like a mere-mortal—the only ability that even pointed to any Tempestaerie heritage—my zapper. I’d specialized in car door locks because, especially in older models it was just fun to hear and see the result. I sent the impulse through menori and there was a solid clunk when the locks engaged.
The first time I’d done anything more than just send menori—my wind sense—exploring for information was when I zapped old Mr. Jackson and jumpstarted his heart, as slick as a car mechanic jumping off a dead battery. I wondered, did he still have that little image of me on his chest? I’d ask Inez next time I saw her. Which might be tomorrow, or never…it all depended on how things went today.
I looked at Dylan, lying so still and pale on the couch. Mystiq and Phoebe had been applying warm compresses to his skin in an attempt to keep him from slipping away until we could get him into the Forge.
I blinked tears away. Memories of Dylan and I together didn’t spring to my mind for some reason. Though I’d been very irritated with him over his part in the big scheme—the one where everyone but me knew my father was really alive and my mother hadn’t really abandoned us—but I cared deeply about Dylan. It turned out he’d been tasked with the job of mentoring my brother as Aurora had with me. And I’d been clueless.
My mother looked over her shoulder at me. “Tempest, are you feeling stronger?” I nodded and she went back to her task, running the warm cloth over Dylan’s powerful legs. It just didn’t seem right that someone as intimidatingly strong as Dylan would be lying there, so weak, so near death. Were we making the right decision?
My ches
t tightened as I asked myself if we should allow him to…I couldn’t even think that, but would he wish we’d let him die if he had to give up his finrir? Knowing the macho Dylan, my guess was that he’d feel emasculated. Of course, that wouldn’t be true. Dylan’s human form was one of the most fierce and intimidating I’d ever known, even more than Jack.
“I’m okay. How’s Dylan?”
Aurora was seated across from Phoebe performing the same task, as the aroma of rosemary and lavender wafted through my living room. “Is that some kind of special ritual herb?”
Mystiq answered as she lit a white candle near Dylan’s head and placed crystals along the length of his legs and at his groin. “Arbutus and cattails to exorcize the finrir while protecting his manhood.”
I stifled a groan and saw my mother grit her teeth at the word “exorcism”.
Mystiq continued, “Hawthorne berries over his heart to bolster his Qi and dandelion for stamina. Like Yin and Yang we must treat the body and the spirit so I’m adding gardenia for his emotional healing. And just for good measure…” she smiled mischievously and held up a sprig “… edelweiss.”
“What’s that for?” I asked when I saw the knowing look pass between Aurora and Phoebe.
Aurora said, “Edelweiss can lend the subject invisibility and bulletproofing, though probably not in the literal sense.”
Mystiq nodded. “In Dylan’s case, we want to strengthen his macrocosm…his spiritual and emotional state.”
I could only imagine what Dylan would do if he’d been awake, watching her light another candle between his legs. Right now I’d welcome a fiery reaction from him. I had confidence in Mystiq and Aurora and even in my mother. They had both known and loved Dylan for years. They would do everything possible.
“So what are we waiting for?” I asked.
“Watch the roof,” someone shouted from below. Montana’s voice.
“There,” said Aurora, pointing to the big window. None of us had to move from our seat to see the wide glass window fill with Conor in his dragon form, his wings barely missing the eaves as they flapped once, twice, and then the Vouivre came into view. It was not what I’d expected.
Long yellow tendrils of hair floated down for yards, tangling around Conor’s giant claws. The last time I’d seen her eyes they’d been seductive and blazing a bright green. Now the eyes that stared out through her hair and through the window had gone wide with fear, and nearly white. Her arm gripped the cradle made from sticks and moss, like a lifeline.
“She’s afraid of flying,” I said. As the dragon flapped again bringing her into full view we saw her long olive tail swaying with Conor’s movements. His body sank once again as his wings rose and she wailed. It was a heart wrenching sound of fear and… longing? It made sense to me. Freddie had told Conor and Jack that Vivie merely wanted to go home to the bottom of the Gulf—deep in the tectonic plates from which she’d been ejected several years ago.
She whimpered and cried, her moans of distress lasting until Conor was well out of sight. “How will we explain that to the locals?”
Mystiq sniffed, and I saw there were tears in her eyes. “Mystiq—”
“She’s so scared. You could tell…”
“But you can feel it, can’t you?” When I laid my hand on her shoulder I was swamped with a feeling of despair and fear. I knew it wasn’t from within me. I wasn’t feeling particularly afraid of anything right now—I’d actually been pretty apathetic due to the Para-moon. Was this a good sign?
Her eyes met mine and I wasn’t sure it was her emotions, or those of Vivie that I felt. Her aura looked like deep blue swirls with magenta at the edges. I gasped. “I can see your aura.” I felt the smile spread across my face. Relief flooded me as I realized for the first time, power felt at home inside me. Except for the aura reading…
I’d always been able to see a visual of how someone was feeling, and I could even feel the ambient emotion in a dwelling, like the first time I’d seen Jack’s house. I’d been wrong about the inhabitants, but dead-on about the emotions of the owner the house was projecting. I wonder what I’d see now. But this was different. “I can actually feel your emotion,” I said, surprised.
Mystiq squeezed my hand and said, “Good. You’re definitely on the mend. But that was probably Vivie’s emotions. I hate to think Conor has to endure that whining all the way to the Gulf. The important thing now is that you and Aurora are gaining ground, and we can get started with Dylan’s healing.” Her strident tone reflected the need for quick action.
A wail from the bathroom had all of us turning. Jordie entered, tears streaming down her face.
Tempe
The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, but which tree…
“He wants me to have a blood test,” Jordie wailed. “Why would he do that to me? I told him I didn’t get a tattoo.”
I looked over at Aurora. Jordie had yet to find out about the reason for the ‘rash’ on her leg. In the first place, it had just happened and with everything else that had been going on at the time, I guess it had slipped our minds.
No, that was a lie. We were all avoiding the task until it was necessary. The fact that we had a crisis going on, which would make her situation moot, was a factor.
What Jack had recently discovered on his precious baby girl’s leg was not a tattoo. It was the mark of a new Paramortal, a deremelei, and the news had nearly sent him into cardiac arrest. Thankfully, Jordie hadn’t sprouted wings or red eyes—yet— and we had a bit of a reprieve since she wouldn’t be showing or manifesting any power until after the coincidence was over. And just because the deremelei had appeared on her thigh didn’t mean the changes would happen overnight, or even be obvious. She might be something as simple as a watcher.
It did mean that the blood in her veins was bound by the Paramortal pact and, sooner or later, she’d be one of us and would take on those responsibilities.
Jordie was light years ahead of where I’d been at her age. In the first place she had a strong parental figure—yeah, well, I didn’t want to bring up her other parent. That was the real reason Jack was insisting on the blood test. He wanted to know what his ex was, what kind of “creature” she was. There was a time when he’d applied that word to me, so he was light years ahead of where he’d been just a month ago as well.
I sighed, knowing Jack was worried about his own blood ties to Jordie.
She looked very unsure of herself suddenly, an expression so unlike my Jordie’s. Yes, I was beginning to think of her as mine. I’d practically raised River by myself—I could adopt her—wait. Where did that come from? I was pulled back by her words, “What did you say?”
Jordie glared. “He’s being so unfair. She’s my mother! He acts as if she has no right to see me. He wouldn’t even let me go with her when she came to the door. And he…” she hiccuped, “hinted that she might not be my mother. That’s just…” hic “… mean.” She was getting herself all worked up defending someone she’d vowed hatred for just yesterday.
“Tempe,” Aurora spoke calmly, but her tone meant something was amiss.
I patted Jordie’s knee. “Hold that thought a sec, Jordie. Would you do me a favor and help Phoebe with Dylan?” It was a lame attempt to get a word with Aurora but it worked, though when Jordie sat down she seemed anything but enthused to be helping Mystiq and Phoebe.
Aurora rose stiffly and met me at the big picture window. “That child has been spelled. I’m not back to myself fully, but even if I were human, I could sense it. “Mystiq”, she waved at the empathy, who got up after showing Jordie what to do.
I addressed the healer, my voice low. “Mysti, Aurora thinks Jordie’s got some kind of spell on her. Can you feel it?”
We glanced at Jordie who was using some not-so soothing slaps with the washcloth to attend Dylan. Mystiq took less than three seconds to affirm our suspicion, “But I don’t think it’s an elaborate spell, more like a simple hypnotic suggestion.”
“Which would mean?�
� I coaxed.
“That it wasn’t placed there by anyone of significant power. They might have used residual magic left around somewhere, like at Aurora Borealis,” Aurora said, easing down on the back of the couch. Her strength was not coming back that quickly. She looked at Mysti. “Can you take care of it? I’ll admit, I’m still very weak.”
Mystiq smiled and patted Aurora’s shoulder. “I can and rather quickly.” Mystiq tapped Phoebe on the shoulder and they exchanged places. Then she asked Jordie to pick up the crystal at Dylan’s head and handed her some of the chili pepper from the small table where she’d put her supplies. “Hold these for me, please. Can you feel any warmth in that crystal, Jordie?”
Jordie concentrated on the stone, frowning. “No, ma’am, it’s cold.” She glanced down at her palm where the chili pepper was starting to smoke. “Wait. These herbs are warm.” Her surprised green eyes rose to meet Mystiq’s. Mystiq nodded, took the crystal and placed it on the herbs in Jordie’s hand. Then she said, “Burn and turn and Null e’ the charm.” Plus some other Latin sounding phrases. What Mystiq had just done was like a magician’s slight of hand getting Jordie to take part in her own de-hexing.
Jordie’s pretty green gaze locked with mine. There was an immediate difference—like day and night. Her expression was at once, one of concern. “It’s warm again. Should I put it back now? That’s what it’s for, right, to give him warmth?”
“Yes, you can put it back now. You’re very smart, Jordie. Your father is very lucky to have such a smart sensitive young lady for a daughter.”
“No,” Jordie’s voice got thick. “I’m the lucky one. He’s the best dad any kid could have. I’m so scared.” She looked at me, and her face crumpled. Hiccuping again, she cried, “Wh—” hic…”what if we find out he’s not my real…” hic “…f-father?”
Three different sympathetic responses went up immediately. I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and said, “Aw, sweetie, that is so not going to happen. The only way you could be more like Jack Lang is if you were a boy. “Well, the good traits, anyway. I don’t think you’re near as stubborn as he is.”