by Sonya Clark
He closed his eyes. It didn’t take much work to imagine her next to him, above him, surrounding him. The music became a faraway accompaniment to the soft sighs of her breath against his cheek. The weight of her pressed him deeper into the mattress, and he sank into a dark nothingness where it was just the two of them.
The phone beeped, jarring him awake. Gasping for breath, he struggled to sit up, pulling on the edge of the mattress with one hand while the other kept a tight grip on the phone.
Get moving. He had to get moving. If it took crawling on his hands and knees, he had to get out of this place. He shook his head to clear his vision. It didn’t work, but the movement did help focus his thoughts. Using the wall for support, he stood while the floor undulated. He stumbled toward the door hangings, nearly pulling them down as he fought his way past them.
The hall was dark, blue lights strung close to the ceiling instead of red. The left was a dead end so he swerved right, shoulder hitting the wall. One foot in front of the other, he thought over and over, the words becoming a mantra as he made his way down the hall. Sweat slid from his hairline, making it even harder to see. He had to keep wiping his face and switching the phone from one hand to the other to dry his palms on his trousers. Occasionally someone passed, keeping their eyes on the floor or straight ahead. Too busy trying to keep from falling, Nate couldn’t make out faces.
The music grew louder. Soon the hall emptied into a large room full of people, with a small band on the far side. Instead of tables and chairs people sat on cushions on the floor. Heavy smoke hung in the air, a mix of cigarettes, pot and nightshade. A woman with dreadlocks, her nut-brown face heavily lined, approached.
“You want a pipe, boy? Ten dollars get you started.”
Nate blinked, trying to force just one of her to appear in his vision. For seconds at a time it worked, and then the double and triple thing would happen again.
“Outside.” He coughed, his throat dry as cotton.
“What, boy?” She stepped closer.
“Outside, please,” he rasped. “I need to leave.”
“Nah, you don’t need to leave, boy. You stay right here.” She turned, speaking to someone else in a language he didn’t recognize.
“I do. I need to leave.” He stepped farther into the room, looking for anything that might be an exit.
Hands grabbed him, hauling him back into the hall. Panic cut through the fog in his brain. With clumsy moves he fought back, barely able to see his attacker in the gloom. His fist connected with a hard surface, and the pain in his hand sharpened his perception. A blow he took to the side of the head immediately ruined it and left him slumped against the wall. The phone might have beeped again, but he couldn’t be sure over the din of the music and the ringing in his ears.
Whoever the hands belonged to stood over him, little more than a shadow. Nate kicked out, catching a knee and bringing the man down hard. Nate cursed, pain radiating from his foot all the way up his leg. He figured he had at least a few seconds before the guy was able to fight. It might not be enough. He dragged himself up and pushed past the dreadlocked woman in the doorway. Bony fingers tried to snag the back of his shirt, raking his back as he slipped free.
Colliding with someone seated on the floor, he barely managed to stay upright. He ignored the angry shouts behind him and plowed ahead straight into the middle of the band. With his free hand he grabbed the guitar player, a much smaller man. Nate wanted to laugh, thinking that he might not be able to stay on his feet much longer but at least he still had his size advantage.
Shaking the musician, he said, “Where’s the door?”
“Man, what the fuck is your problem?”
Really missing his gun, he shouted, “Where’s the goddamn door?”
“That way, fucker.” The guitarist pointed toward the left. “Now get the hell off me.”
Nate shoved him aside. The dreadlocked woman stood in the center of the room, speaking rapidly into a phone. Paid off, he thought, and worried if he got away they’d take it out of her hide.
He really hoped they would.
Finally feeling a little more in charge of himself, he strode to the door as fast as he could.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Calla hurried into the store, ducking under the barrier to get behind the counter. “Got it, Shilpa,” she called out to the owner as she picked up the phone.
“If you’re going to be a while I’ll need you to lock up.” Shilpa moved away to give her privacy.
Calla nodded then turned her attention to the phone. “Hello?”
Several seconds of heavy breathing were the only sound at first. “Calla. I need help.”
Icy fear dripped into her veins. “Nate? What’s wrong?”
“Somebody spiked me—I think with nightshade. I’m not doing so good.”
“Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.”
Another long pause. “Uh, somewhere in Riverside. I can see the transit station. I’m in an alley.”
“Are you hidden?”
“Best as I can.”
“Stay that way. I’m coming. Just stay out of sight and don’t go to sleep.”
“I’m feeling really bad.” His voice shook. The tremors had started, which meant the hallucinations wouldn’t be far behind.
“Whatever you do just keep yourself awake. I’m coming, baby. Okay? I’m on my way.”
“Please hurry.”
“Keep your phone in your hands. The protection spell will work better if you’re touching the phone.”
“I will. Just get here.”
“Be there before you know it.” She hung up, wishing she had her own cell phone so they could stay in contact.
She ran back upstairs, shoving the tablet in the pocket of her cargo pants and securing the glass drive in one of her hiding spots. Before closing it, she grabbed a handful of cash, just in case. The gate by Sinsuality was closer and it was just early enough in the evening it wouldn’t be too crowded, so she went that way, breaking into a run for the station as soon as she badged out. It would take nearly twenty minutes for the train to take her to Riverside, and that’s if it was running on time.
It took over half an hour. The Saturday night crowd filled the train, too much chaotic energy pressing against her nerves. Under cover of a simple glamour that whispered ignore me to anyone who might happen to glance her way, she reached into her pocket and into the tablet. It took only moments to find the police band, another minute to scroll through the updates and find the “Be on the lookout” bulletin for Nate.
Calla opened her eyes, the blue and white lines of cyberspace briefly superimposed over the weekend partiers packed on the train. It didn’t make any sense that someone would try to kill Nate with an overdose and not make sure the job was done, so he must have gotten away somehow. Beckwith would have people searching for him—cops, DMS, his own private security who were probably responsible for this in the first place. She couldn’t take Nate to his apartment. Her place was out too, because he’d have to badge into the zone. Plus their connection was known. She’d likely be brought in for questioning if Beckwith wanted the cop bad enough.
And having him pumped full of nightshade sounded like the senator wanted him dead pretty damn bad.
That left her with only one option. One really bad option. Vadim would lose his shit when he found out.
The train finally creaked into Riverside station. Calla ducked into a women’s restroom, appalled at the filth and the stench. Searching out an empty stall in the back, she slipped into the tablet and searched for any connection it might have to his phone. What she found was so perfect she almost wept in gratitude: GPS. Nate had a program to help find a lost phone, and she used it to pinpoint his location.
Once outside she took a deep breath of what passed for clean air
in this part of town and examined the streets to get herself oriented. Finding the right alley was easy. Making sure no one else was looking for Nate, not so much. Uniformed cops milled with the crowd. Dealers, gangbangers, partiers, addicts—she hated this part of town. Poverty was one thing, something she was used to, but there was a meanness to Riverside that rattled even her tough core. She put on her best hardass bitch face and took a circuitous route to the alley.
Nate sat at the far end of it, obscured by a Dumpster on its side and a pile of trash. Calla rushed to his side. Too pale, sweating profusely, his pupils pinned, he needed either a hospital or a healer. She placed her hand over the one that clutched the phone to his chest. Her other hand she placed on the concrete, gathering the solid energy he needed to have the strength to move and begin healing. Using herself as a conduit, she pushed the energy from one hand to the other, something bright and shining from deep within her adding to the mix. The charge hit the phone, then Nate. He gasped, eyes opening wider and a weak smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“My witch,” he murmured. “Working her magic on me.”
“I’m not through yet,” she said. “I have to cover us with a really strong glamour.”
“Good.” He sat up a little straighter. “I think they’ll be looking for me. They dumped me in a nightshade den, and I think paid someone to make sure I stayed there until I died.”
“There’s a BOLO out on you. I need you to hush for a minute.”
Rather than suppress the cocktail of fury and overriding need to protect Nate, she used the windmill of emotion churning inside, channeling the energy into a glamour spell that would make them invisible. Stitch by stitch she weaved a tight curtain around them, drawing more energy from concrete still warm from the heat of the day. With a few whispered words, she locked the spell in place and took Nate’s hand.
“We need to stay close to each other, and quiet. I mean, we can talk but not too loud.” Looking over his poor condition, she added, “I hope to hell you can walk.”
“I made it this far.” Using the brick wall as leverage, he stood. “I don’t know where to go that would be safe. If they’re looking for me I’m screwed.”
Calla licked her lips, taking a moment to come to terms with what she was about to do. “Do you trust me?”
He squeezed her hand. “With my life. I wouldn’t have called you if I didn’t.”
They needed to get off the street, a fact that also made for a handy excuse to put off this conversation a little longer. “Then come with me. I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
After a few wobbly steps it became obvious he needed to lean on her. She drew his arm around her shoulders and did her best to support him, his weight not insignificant. She guided him to the mouth of the alley, and they stepped into the street with care. “If somebody bumps into us they’ll feel us,” she said.
“It’s too crowded.” The strain in his voice worried her.
“I know. We just have to be careful.”
She led him slowly through the crowd, keeping to the edges and hoping people were too drunk or stoned to notice if they did accidently touch anyone. That happened too often for Calla’s comfort. Nate swayed, increasingly unsteady as the nightshade worked itself deeper into his system. After what felt like hours, they reached a side street with fewer people.
“I need to rest for a minute,” Nate said. His shirt was soaked with sweat and his face too pale.
They leaned against a wall for a few minutes, Calla listening to his ragged breathing. Shouts from the main drag made her start. “We gotta go.”
“How far?”
They started walking again. “I think it’s about a mile before we’ll be underground.” She didn’t elaborate.
Nate swore softly but kept going. The farther they traveled, the fewer people they encountered. The acrid smell of the former industrial area of the river burned her sinuses. Streetlights became rare, the darkness an unsettling cloak heavy around them. Nate gradually slowed, pain spreading through Calla’s body from his weight. He faltered, forcing her to catch him before he hit the ground. Ignoring her screaming back, she maneuvered to give him something to balance against, arms tight around his waist.
“Don’t give up on me now, asshole,” she bit out. “Just a little ways to go and you can rest for a few minutes.”
He hugged her to him, resting his chin on the top of her head. They swayed as if dancing. It might have been romantic, if not for the trash blowing in the street, an unholy stench coming from the river, the raucous shouts of junkies fighting in the distance. Nate’s sweat-drenched shirt stuck to her cheek, and the sickly sweet odor of nightshade clung to him.
“I love you,” he whispered.
“Nate!” She looked up to see his hazel eyes dark and swimming in sweat and tears.
“I don’t know how I’m gonna get out of this and I wanted to say it one more time.”
Standing on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his. “I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll get you through this.”
He kissed her, cupping the back of her head and curling his fingers in her hair. There was a desperate urgency in the pressure of his lips, a wish in every stroke of his tongue, an unbearable hopelessness when he finally pulled away. Her heart fractured into pieces and reformed around his, a shield against anyone who would hurt him.
“I love you,” she said, voice husky with unshed tears. “And I will get you through this.” Their arms might have been the only circle, no ritual observed and no unearthly patrons called upon, but her vow had the weight of magic to it. Her vow and their declarations. The words sealed them together as surely as any spell or rite.
“I believe you,” he said, managing a weak smile. “I’m just scared of what you’ll have to do to get me out of this.”
All her fear turned to ice, and she made another vow. “You’re not the one who should be scared.”
They held each other for another long moment, and then Calla guided him onward. It took another fifteen minutes to reach the tunnel entrance. Heavily concealed by a powerful spell to make it look and smell like a mound of steaming refuse, it was hard even for her to find. Standing before it, she moved in front of him so he could lean on her shoulders.
He asked, “What now?”
“I say open sesame.” She withdrew her wand and flicked the power button. With the red beam she made a shallow cut across her palm, just bad enough to get a little blood. Whispering the words of the spell Vadim taught her, she flung red droplets at the shielded entrance. The air around it shimmered, then peeled back to reveal the barred gate of a decades-old sewer tunnel entrance. Smearing more blood across one of the bars, Calla heaved it open and rushed Nate inside. It shut with a muffled, faraway clang, enchanted to stay quiet and return to its false appearance as soon as it closed.
“We’ve still got some ground to cover.” She took Nate’s wrist to check his pulse. “Can you handle it?” Leaving him to go for help was too scary to contemplate. He needed a healer sooner rather than later.
He waved off her concern. “Two tours in the Congo, remember? This is a cakewalk.”
Now in addition to river stench, they had antique sewer stench to contend with. “That is truly special,” she murmured.
“What’s that?” Nate leaned against the crumbling, moldy wall.
“The smell. It’s going to take a scouring spell to get this out of my hair.”
He laughed, the sound weak but somehow solid. “Just another hot Saturday night for you and me, huh?”
“Sexy times, babe. Sexy, sexy times.” She tore a strip from the bottom of her shirt to wrap up the cut on her palm.
She let him rest for several minutes before gesturing at the interior of the tunnel. Using her wand as a light, she led the way, his hand on her shoulder. The route was long and circuitous and took over
an hour, as slow as they had to walk. Neither of them spoke much, Calla concentrating on their surroundings and Nate focused on not collapsing. They encountered nothing in the tunnel except a few rats as big as lapdogs, but she still kept up the glamour until they reached what looked like a dead end: a concrete wall covered in ripples of black and green mold. Letting the glamour drop, the magic sliding off her skin like a feathery silk, Calla performed a spell similar to the previous one. The mold shimmered, black and green melting into a doorway framed with thin blue lines of magic. They passed through the FreakTown gate in silence.
The faint glow of witchlight lit the rest of the way. Calla wrapped Nate’s arm around her shoulders again, alarmed at the sight of his face. He’d gone from pale to gray, his eyes bloodshot, and he’d said nothing since they’d entered the first tunnel. The struggle to put one foot in front of the other had taken its toll, and now he could barely walk. He needed a healer, fast.
The door to the railway dorms was just ahead. It glowed with a crisscross of faint lines, the magic used to ward it from intruders. Nate lost his footing, almost pulling them both down. He no longer seemed aware of much of anything. Bones protesting against his weight, Calla struggled to cross the last few feet. Nate tripped over something, and this time they did go down. Nate’s big body sprawled on the ground, and somehow in the tangle of limbs Calla wound up going in the opposite direction, her back slamming into the curved wall with a sickening thud that knocked the wind out of her lungs.
The door opened. Vadim stood over them, staring in horror at the cop at his feet.