Round Trip Fare

by Barb Taub

  “Why?” Claire was fascinated.

  He shrugged. “They thought the knowledge in Raziel’s Book should have been given to them for safekeeping. When he gave it to humans instead, they insisted that Raziel be punished. But even though Raziel spent eons in prison, he had a gatekeeper who tried to make sure that the Book was used wisely. The gatekeeper’s name was Hadriel.”

  “Harry.” Carey nodded. “But did you know what happened to Gaby? And to Connor?” Were you lying to me all these years?

  The beautiful man with the ancient eyes stood tall, separated from them by more than the space between them. “In another place, my name was Raziel.” He turned away, his face again lifted to the sky. When he turned back, Kurt Jeffers’ familiar face glared at them. “I’m not that being any more. I haven’t been him for…a very long time.”

  Seating himself next to Carey on the porch railing, Jeffers leaned forward to rest both elbows on his knees and turned his head to face her. “Here’s what I know. Your sister Gaby left with Luic on the 1890 Metro. Shortly after they arrived in early Seattle, they were killed.”

  When both Claire and Iax reached toward Carey, she held up a hand to warn them off, her eyes bleak but dry in a frozen face. “And?”

  His voice was flat, but his fury bled through. “Somebody cheated. I’m pretty sure it was Narcorial. It took every favor we had left, but another leader of the Fallen, Samyaza, and I were able to get their deaths…corrected.”

  “How do you correct dead?”

  “They were sent to the Courts in Raqia, where they became like Nephilim. Eventually, they returned to their world to finish their task. Samyaza saw Gaby in 1994 in France, just before they caught the Metro back to 1890 to try again to capture their pivot point. But there hasn’t been any trace of them since that date.”

  Kurt moved in front of Carey and squatted down until their eyes met. “Nephilim live a long time. There is every chance that both Gaby and Luic are still alive somewhere—or some when. We can keep looking.”

  Claire looked like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. Iax’s lips were pressed back into that straight line, but he also remained silent.

  Carey stood and moved to face all of them. “Actually, none of that matters right now. If Director Jeffers…” No, not Director. What was his name? Raziel? She gave a mental snort. Yeah, right. Time to be the grownup. “If Kurt is the connection, then that makes what he’s been doing the question.” She spoke slowly, as if waiting for invisible connections to ease into positions only she could see. “And as far I can tell from both Harry and Kurt, that makes protecting Null City the answer. So right now, we have to keep whoever is running the Outsiders—my money is on Narcorial—from destroying Null City.” She stared down at Claire’s lists again. “And to do that, we have to keep Raziel—Director Jeffers—safe.”

  Claire beamed at her. “Well-strategized, young padawan.”

  Carey made a rude gesture.

  »»•««

  “It all goes back to what Claire said about everything being the same problem.” Carey sat on the old porch rocking chair and eyed the rest of the group. Two other straight-backed chairs had been brought out to the porch. From one, Kurt bent over Claire’s notes. Side by side on the swing, Claire and Peter were chatting softly, while the focused intent in their eyes menaced Iax on the remaining chair. Iax looked like she’d punched him again. His eyes went from Kurt—shock—to Claire and Peter—nervous—to the cat-shaped swirl on the arm the goddess had licked—disbelief—and back to her—sorrow, regret, want, sorrow. Okay, then.

  Carey stood and began to pace. “I’ve still got a lot of what-ifs left, but here’s what I think. If the big answer is saving Null City, then all the little ones are about our pivot task. Mine and Connor’s. Narcorial—or whoever the Big Bad turns out to be—wants the task to be done by their side. He’s already somehow got Connor, but he still needs me. The truth is, he could have gotten hold of me any time starting with the attack on the St. Helens ranch. But for some reason, until now he’s just wanted to keep me separated from Connor.” She sat down again and flipped Bain’s ears. “So I say we stir some shit.” Her eyes were glaciers, her grin feral. “We let him have me.”

  The ensuing battle was epic. Kurt, Claire, and even Peter argued, fought, implored, and adamantly refused to consider using her as bait. Carey rubbed Bain’s belly, and waited. She retrieved her water bottle from her backpack, took a long swig, and wondered how long it would take her to drive back to the city. Preferably on Peter’s bike.

  “Stop.” At Iax’s growl, she looked up in surprise. His words were for the group, but he was standing in front of Carey, staring into her eyes. “We’ve already tried making her do what we thought would keep her safe. For once, I’m going to listen to the only one here who has the right to make this decision. I’m going to do my best to make sure she’s okay. And—” He looked at the pink leash in disgust. “—I’m even going to take on her pretend dog.”

  She looked back into his eyes—sorrow, regret, and something so warm she was almost afraid to see it. Her hand—the damn traitor—reached out to cup the faded bruise on his chin.

  “Carey.” His hand covered hers, and he nodded. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  The plan, in the end, was simple. Since the Outsiders clearly knew how to find her in Seattle, she’d go back to her regular life and wait for them there. Iax, Kurt, and Peter would be her hidden bodyguards, staying well back so they wouldn’t be obviously connected. Carey knew the Outsiders could have killed her almost any time during or after the attack on the St. Helens Ranch. So odds were, they wanted her alive. Probably.

  Kurt floated the idea of waiting for Outsiders to grab her and then seizing their assault team, but to her surprise, it was Peter who objected. “You know they just take poison. All that would do is give them a heads up, and they might even decide she’s less trouble dead than captured. It’s better if we wait for them to show themselves, and then follow them back to whatever rock they’ve crawled under.”

  Her drive back to Seattle was quiet. Bain settled sadly into the back once Hell was loaded into Kurt’s car with Iax. They pulled out in front of her and soon were out of sight.

  Kurt, Peter, and Iax had agreed to rotate guarding her at nights, and Iax had drawn the first watch. Back in her darkened office, she stood by the windows wondering where he was and if he was warm enough. Annoyed with herself for even caring, she checked locks and alarms, then deliberately added another blanket to her bed.

  The clock on her iPad said it was after two when he slid in beside her. Bain, of course, made no sound.

  “How did you…?”

  “Came over the roof.”

  “Iax, I’m not going to be your booty call.”

  “Shh… We’ll sleep. I just need to know you’re safe.”

  He pulled her back against his chest. Both knew she could hurt him, and she suspected he wouldn’t defend himself. But when his hand reached across to cover hers, and he pressed so warm against her back, she just lay stiffly, arms folded across her front. His cheek was against her curls, his even breathing sounding in her ears as her eyes closed.

  She was alone when she woke up and reached over to where he’d been. She looked down to see Bain at her feet, watching her, his nose resting on crossed paws. “Don’t judge me, Wigglebutts.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  July 2011: Seattle

  The fourth night after their dinner at Claire’s house, Carey was almost asleep when she felt the other side of the inflated mattress dip. Iax was lying fully dressed across the far side of the bed. She stayed awake for hours, but neither spoke. When she woke the next morning, he was gone.

  Three nights later, he had toed off his shoes and was reaching for the blankets when she spoke. “Keep going.” Sitting up, she pulled off the T-shirt she was sleeping in. She reached over and pulled his shirt over his head before her hands went to the buttons of his jeans.

  “Carey?�
�

  “Don’t talk.” Her arms went around his neck and pulled him to her. “This doesn’t mean I trust you. It doesn’t mean…”

  “I know. Shh.” His arms were around her and their tongues and lips were eating at each other, a hot and ugly fight for mastery, noses bumping and teeth scraping, as he took her down to the bed. He groaned her name as he came to her, but she never said his.

  He was breathing hard as he rolled away to take care of the condom. When he came back, she was curled up, her back to him. “I’m sorry. I know I started it tonight, but I can’t keep doing this. It’s just too hard. You have to stay away.”

  He was silent for a moment. “You said you love me.”

  “I said I love Yosh.” Her voice was very soft. “But I don’t know who you are.” Wait for it. “Iax.”

  “What if I told you I love you?”

  She sucked air through clenched teeth. “Too little, too late. You had your chance to tell me that when it would have meant everything in the world. Now I don’t trust you, and I need you to stay away.”

  He sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, his arms braced on his knees, head down. Finally he pulled on his clothes and was gone without a sound.

  Bain sighed, and stretched out next to her on the bed. Luckily, he didn’t mind tears on his fur.

  »»•««

  Carey glared at Marley’s accounting program. Over the past three weeks, she’d closed several ARC searches and the checks were piling up. But the accounting program might as well have been coded by Martians. With a sigh, she opened a simple spreadsheet, typed a list of checks and their amounts, and piled them into a deposit envelope. Marley would not be pleased if she ever—Carey took that thought and shoved it back to the dark corners of her mind. When she returned.

  “Hey, Bain. Want to go for a run? We can drop these at the bank on the way, and then head into Accords to see your girlfriend.” Hell spent most of her time being passed around the Accords office from one adoring puppy lover to the next while Iax, now with an Adjunct Warden appointment like hers, carried out assignments for Director Jeffers. Carey suspected there were whole days where Hell’s little paws never touched the ground. Most spoiled hellhound ever. Carey tried to get to Accords at least once a day to take both dogs to nearby Gas Works Park. Claire usually joined her, and they exchanged news as they watched the dogs play.

  On the way to the park, she detoured to watch tourists climbing the massive head and hands of the Fremont Troll statue under the Aurora Bridge. A girl sat curled up in one gigantic cement hand. She was frowning at a ledger book.

  Carey quietly stepped next to her and poured out the pile of coins she kept in one pocket of her backpack. “Hey, Fey.”

  “Now what?” Feyala’s gravel-on-rocks voice was always a surprise coming from the skinny teen in a tie-dyed T-shirt and jeans, her long blonde dreadlocks tied back in a bandanna. She swept the coins up and added a notation to her ledger.

  “You know this would be a lot easier if you took debit cards. Get with the times and all…”

  “Yeah, tell that to Stanley.” Feyala jerked her head at the statue. “Damn traditionalist.” Behind her, the giant hubcap that served as the statue’s only eye flashed briefly. It was probably just a stray camera flash, but it looked like a wink.

  “Hey, Stan.” Carey waved at the immobile stone troll and turned back to the girl in front of her. “Have you or one of your brothers heard anything about a really tall seer named Rian? He usually has an Irish accent.”

  The young troll frowned. “Come on, Carey, you know that’s not how it works.

  “Right. Sorry. Okay, I paid the toll. So ask the question.”

  Feyala closed her eyes briefly. When she spoke, her suddenly-deeper voice was rocks grinding into gravel. “Will you find what you seek at the fork in your path, only to risk losing all in your righteous wrath?”

  Carey groaned. “No, really, Fey. That’s just awful.”

  “Hey, I’m a troll. You want better poetry, try Shakespeare.” She hesitated. “If you have any answer to the question, I can let you go on. Otherwise, you’re going to have to go back around the long way.”

  “I don’t have a clue what it means. Fork in my path? So my answer is…green.” She flipped a middle finger back over her shoulder as a strong wind pushed her away from the bridge.

  “Sorry.” A gravelly laugh sounded behind her. “I don’t make the rules.”

  While she waited for Claire at Gas Works Park, Carey could have enjoyed the view of Lake Union filled with sailboats, or the shapes and colors of kites being flown by everyone from little kids to seniors. She could have thought about the latest ARC searches, her pivot task, or at the very least about Connor, Marley, or Harry. She could, in fact, have been doing almost anything other than obsessing over an ex-warden who should have a Surgeon General’s warning label tattooed across his forehead: May pose serious heart risk.

  Disgusted with herself, she forced her thoughts back to the problem at hand. What does Fey’s question mean? Where did my path fork? And most of all, what is my righteous wrath risking? She could think of plenty of targets for her bottled-up mad, some of them even people who weren’t devious, underhanded, lying, insanely sexy, ex-warden bastards. Stupid thoughts. Back to him again. She was blinking moisture from her eyes when Claire sat beside her on the grassy hillside. It was just that damn wind off Lake Union. It could make anyone’s eyes water.

  Those eyes of Claire’s that noticed everything lingered on Carey’s face, but she didn’t comment. “Any news?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Okay, then. I have a little assignment for you. Remember Leigh Ann, our favorite Leannán Sí?”

  Carey groaned.

  “Her sentence was reduced for good behavior.” Ignoring Carey’s look of disbelief, she continued, “Four months probation and eight months Community Service at Accords, so she’s ready to leave Null City. Director Jeffers wants her to have an escort back here, someone who can make it very clear to her what will happen if she starts taking an unhealthy interest in boy poets. Someone like you.”

  Carey moaned again.

  “I knew you’d agree. Here’s the Accords pass for the Metro and a couple boxes of Fran’s Chocolate for the imps. You can leave this afternoon.”

  »»•««

  Carey had helped Zach with the trolley run, and they were in the kitchen car of the Metro cleaning up. He watched her sideways as he stacked cups and plates. “How is Iax?”

  “I didn’t kill him.” She smiled, ignoring the way he flinched. “Yet.”

  “He wasn’t doing too well after you left the train.”

  “That was the idea.”

  Zach stared down at the towel he’d been using to wipe the counter, as if the words he wanted would magically appear on the pink cloth. “Here’s the thing.” He spread it flat on the counter. “Iax helped me when one of my family’s…ventures…wasn’t going so well for me.” He brought one long side of the towel to the middle and smoothed it with meticulous care. “He got me out of there, patched me up, and brought me back to Null City.” The other long side was folded over the first, and he frowned down at his big hands pressing it flat. “He saw what was going down in a dream, only in his dream I didn’t make it back.” The folded towel was doubled, patted flat, and doubled again. It was now smaller than his hand, and he stared as if he wasn’t sure what to do with it next, before his hand fisted around it.

  Zach peered up through sun-blond hair that could have used a comb. “Poppy says we’re cousins. Don’t you think you could do…”

  “Could I do what? What would make you feel better here, Cuz? Should I forget about what he did to me, what I want, or all the people depending on me? Maybe I should just go back to Null City, throw away my guns, marry Iax, and start knocking out those 2.4 children? Hell, Zach, if we’re goddamn family, then I’m the one you should care about.”

  “It’s just that…” He hunched big shoulders over the counter and shook his
head. “I screw up all the time. If people didn’t give me second chances, I’d have no chances at all.”

  She was saved from answering him by the Metro’s bells-voice announcing that the next stop was Null City. As they pulled in, Carey thought at first there was some kind of event being held at the station. The platform was crowded, people yelling and imps throwing things. Wait. Throwing things… She groaned, remembering the last time imps had been throwing things.

  Turning on her heel, she marched back to the kitchen, took a deep breath, and punched the red Emergency button Zach had warned her about in his original list of Metro notes. A train whistle sounded, earsplitting decibels louder than usual, and the already-slowing train came to a brake-screaming dead stop. Before her, a panel slid open in the wall to reveal two axes and a shelf of stacked fire extinguishers. All righty.

  With a regretful sigh for the axes, she handed two extinguishers to an unhappy Zach, picked up another one, and stepped onto the platform. As she expected, Poppy was waiting for her, frowning at the chaos.

  “I’m supposed to represent the Accords Agency.” Carey handed Poppy the spare fire extinguisher, smiling as her cousin’s frown morphed to unholy glee. “But nobody’s ever accused me of being diplomatic just because I occasionally throw a please in front of my shut the hell up.”

  Carey channeled an Academy lecture on firefighting from the day they discussed dragon retrievals. “These things only spray for about ten to fifteen seconds. Aim for their feet and sweep from side to side.” Carey nodded to her cousins, told Bain to stay, and began spraying in front of her. As the three streams of powder swept up in a cloud before them, the crowd’s yells died off to a moment of stunned silence, only to be replaced by screams and the sound of feet pounding toward exits.