Mid-Arc

by David Gosnell

  “Damn, Z.”

  “Yes, damn indeed, Arthur.” Znuul tips the bottle again. “So, the real answer to your question is that I am broken, defective, and readily admit I not only enjoy, but crave, the company of others. Self before all? My well-being is so tied into the need to be in the company of others. It doesn’t matter if it's Hunter, or whoever. I have fear now, Arthur. Fear of small enclosed spaces, fear of being alone. The fear of being alone is the worst. And that is why I care. I care because if I don’t care...I will be alone, and that is unacceptable to me.”

  What do you say to something like that? I manage something with, “You got a friend in me, Ahtsag Znuul.”

  Looking at the huge, purple/black beast across from me, I feel a kinship I hadn’t before. This being hasn’t just given me an answer to the question, he’s bared his own inner demons.

  The door opens and Kitten has a platter of yummy, great-smelling goodies. Not only has sleep been lacking but so has food. She lays the tray on the desk between us and goes over to Znuul and sits on his lap. She looks so tiny there.

  My eyes turn to something really beautiful. That snack tray is going to turn into my meal.

  “What’s wrong, master?”

  Huge dark fingers work their way through her hair. “Just going over memories.”

  “Well, go over the good ones then!” Kitten exclaims.

  Good idea. Good food too.

  Chapter 42

  Unlike Znuul, I never make it past halfway to the bottom my bottle. For the last couple of hours, I’ve been drinking only water and focusing on the TVs. There has been no news of nuclear explosion or discovery of nuclear devices. That’s not surprising. What government would want its people to know they were almost erased from existence? Talk about panic.

  In addition to getting my fill of how many atrocities man is willing to commit against his fellow man in the name of his God, I also learn a little more about why the balance is so important.

  As Znuul explains it, the energies around our particular dimension of existence can make it easier, or more difficult, to allow transit to and from other dimensions. In the case of his home dimension, Helterzen, as they call it, the balance swinging to the negative allows gates to open easier and allow more traffic through. Enough of a swing in the balance, and portals that would have maybe let in one being of magnitude could now allow in ten. As he puts it, the potential for invasion could present itself.

  He explains that there are, luckily, particular “locks” on our dimension from Helterzen, put in place by the Fae long ago when they cast out the Dzemond from their own realm. These locks require that for a gate to be opened that would allow a being such as Znuul to walk through as flesh and blood, human blood must be spilled, and that life given willingly and without coercion.

  Znuul told me the cost of his entry was five lives. Things must have been pretty bad back in the day for that deal to make sense.

  We also talk a bit about the status of the Protectorate in all of this, which is pretty dim, in Znuul’s view. He really, really does not care for Alistair Burningwood in the least. I try to bring up the subject of Karen’s “protective custody” and do not get very far, other than realizing that is a very sensitive nerve.

  “Arthur, it’s been thirty-six hours since we phoned in the nuke. They must have it. You need rest.”

  That’s the truth. I stand up, walk over to Z, and hold my arms out for a hug. “We need to talk like this more often.”

  The offer gets a roll of those red serpentine eyes, but he stands anyway and I get engulfed. “It’s good talking with you. And how you got me to hug you is a mystery. Go get your rest. We’ll pick it up tomorrow.”

  I leave the office, noting that it is dark outside. I have no clue of time. Truth is, at this point it doesn’t matter. I wobble to my room and collapse on the bed.

  Pillow nice. Bed good. I don’t feel like getting up to turn off the lights, so they’ll have to stay on.

  I close my eyes and begin to drift away. Then I shoot up as I feel a shiver of pain coming from one of my crew. Terrible pain. Emotional pain. Anguish.

  The last time I felt something like that was when Shey was forced to recount her capture and the death of her sister. It shoots through me again.

  Guess I won’t be getting to sleep anytime soon.

  Chapter 43

  I roll to the edge of the bed and run my fingers through my hair. The wave passes through me again and I try to get a better grip on it. Unfortunately, I’m not at the top of my game. Who is it? Shey recalling bad times? Probably not. She just refuses to acknowledge them. Pffif? Naah.

  Damn, it’s the succubus. Has to be. Kitten’s been saying she’s acting strange. Now this. Has she figured a way to fake this level of stress or pain? If anyone, the mistress of manipulation could.

  Another wave of shrieking pain. Being a little more alert, I pick up on what I think is a tinge of rage at the tail end.

  Not faking. Rage is not calling for help. Rage is not someone saying, “Oh, I hurt so bad. Make me feel better.” Rage is what makes things like her hurt other things so very badly.

  I kneel down and invoke a wave of blessed healing though myself. Not that I need to be pure to be around Sil, but I did just drink half a bottle of Stoli. Running a little extra of that poison out of the system can’t be bad.

  I set up my basic mental defenses as Karen and Grey taught me. Then I step out of my room and head for the stairs across the way to Sil’s room. I get to the door and find myself needing to take a breath. Not for the stairs, but for the drama I am sure to be marching into.

  I knock on the door.

  “Go away!”

  I knock again.

  “Are you deaf?”

  I check the knob and it’s unlocked. So, here I go. I enter and see the black tufts of Sil’s bedhead and her wings poking out over the side of the bed.

  “I told you to go away.”

  “Just had to check on you.”

  “I’m here. Go away.”

  Okay. This is going nowhere. So I walk around her bed to at least make eye contact.

  She’s sitting with her arms around her legs, with obvious tracks of grayish tears down her cheeks. She looks at me venomously and wipes them away.

  “What?”

  “Like I said, just checking on you. Had this feeling you might not be okay.”

  The green alligator eyes turn to me accusingly.

  “I’m fine. You can go.”

  This is a new seduction technique: ”Buzz off and get lost.” Strangely enough, it’s working, as now I want to stay. Something is going on here, and it's more than just a “so I got caught.” I stand my ground, meeting her accusing glare but saying nothing. Finally, she looks away. I win the staring contest.

  “You’re going to send me away, aren’t you? I know you are.” Her eyes return to me. “You’re going to toss me into that big white garbage pail like he did and leave me there to rot forever. I didn’t lie to you.” She looks down. “I didn’t lie. Not sharing is not a lie. I’m not garbage. I have value.”

  The sarcastic and hurtful thing to say would be something to the effect of “You just keep telling yourself that.” But that would also be the wrong thing to say. I note that she’s trembling. Anger? I try to sort through my memory of the wave of emotion I felt. Fear.

  And rage.

  I plop myself down cross-legged. “You’re trembling,” I say in my calmest voice.

  “I’m losing my mind,” she says quietly, not looking up. “Everything I had hoped for—gone. Now, I’m being sent away as worthless, again. He did that to me after I...I...I dominated him. Sent to the white, compelled to know my own worthlessness. Tossed away, forever.. like trash."

  She closes her eyes and more of her grayish tears run down across her alabaster white cheeks.

  I am startled as Sil pops up scary fast and paces over to the other side of the room and stands facing the corner. Moments of awkward silence. I guess all my summonlin
gs carry the scars of their time with Maldgorath. Why would Silithes be any different?

  “Nobody is sending you away forever,” I say to break the tension.

  “Thank you,” she whispers. After a few more moments of silence, she turns around, wiping her cheeks and coming over to sit on the edge of the bed. She is avoiding eye contact, which is very unlike her. “So, looks like I’ll never have you.”

  Have me. Just the sound of that rubs me wrong—like I’m some thing to be taken. Still, I put a check on those feelings for her sake. Instead I give a small chuckle. “It’s always about the sex with you, isn’t it? I understand the feeding thing, and I understand the whole really good time for Sil part too. But do you understand that I don’t think of myself as a buffet with benefits? And truth is, if you haven’t figured it out already, I’m not all that driven for gratification anyhow. I like to think there’s some greater connection other that just ooo baby yeah.”

  She is doing a good job of regaining her composure. That is, until I said what I said. It’s almost like I slapped her—physically. She turns away again—I think so I can’t see the waterworks. After a few quiet moments, she meets my eyes ever so briefly.

  “No connection. Almost eighty years.”

  “Yeah, seventy-five-plus years, and I’m finding out I don’t know who you are. Try to see it through my eyes.”

  That gets a quiet nod. “Try to see it through mine,” she says. “A slutty sexpot is a lot less scary than a trained operative of death, manipulation, and corruption. And it’s a more fun role to play.”

  There it is. Agent of death, manipulation, and corruption—what Znuul called a special forces succubus. Corruption and manipulation I know. Death, I’ve done and seen that being dealt out. Now she’s telling me the whole persona I know as Sil is role-playing. Part of me wants to be pissed.

  Part of me is thinking it’s good to get this all out in the open.

  Another part of me is wondering when the next shoe will drop.

  Chapter 44

  It feels like we are sitting in silence for minutes—Sil playing with the pleats of her leather skirt in one of those nervous habits of hers, apparently deep in her own thoughts. Me, just wondering what the hell.

  She looks up at me, finally. “I need to show you two things. I can do more than be a...a...pleasant distraction. Will you let me come close and touch you?”

  It is something in her eyes. I am not being propositioned, not being enticed. It is more like something very important.

  “Sure, Sil.”

  “Thank you,” she says. Her face changes to something I can only categorize as worry. She moves from the bed to the floor and crawls over to me, sitting up on her knees. She’s looking at me curiously, studying me. “Okay, the first thing.” She takes my face in her powerful, slightly oversized hands.

  I meet her eyes, wondering what all this is about, until I feel it—like a charge through my whole body. Every nerve more sensitive, arousal coursing through me. I’m being succubused! My mind races and I reach to my will to compel her to stop. “Sil...”

  Her mouth on mine silences my voice and any thoughts I had of making her stop. The kiss is slow and soft, and I am enraptured. She breaks the kiss and I’m confused. She gently turns my head and kisses my ear. I about jump up off the floor. I try to force her to the ground, but she just gives me a demure smile and says, “No, Arthur.”

  What a beautiful voice she has. Then, very gently, she pushes me down to the floor and straddles me. She closes her eyes and begins grinding on me. I reach down to undo my belt, and her hands stop me. Her eyes are now open and she guides my hands up above my head, where she pins me to the ground.

  “Okay, promise me you won’t be angry,” she says.

  “I promise when we’re through I won’t be angry.”

  She releases my hands, sits up, and says, “Take a deep breath. There won’t be a ‘we’re through—we’re not doing this.’ This was the first thing I had to show you. I am capable of saying no, and also...just capable of taking what I want.”

  I inhale deeply. She’s broken the neuromantic connection. Anger starts to swell. Not that she’s not going to do me, but that she did what she did. A soft finger with black fingernail across my lips breaks that moment.

  “You promised not to be angry.”

  Dammit. I did. I collect myself and say what comes to mind. “Sil, would you mind not sitting on my dick anymore, please. And goddamn it!”

  “Of course. ” She unstraddles me and looks at me sympathetically. “If it makes you feel better, I'm rather worked up too.” Her eyes roll down to my waist, and I see a large wet spot on my pants—not from me. “Reflectivity, remember?”

  I do remember. What my summonlings do to me comes back to them in multiples.

  “I want to show you the second thing now. I think you’ll like it.”

  My face gives away my thoughts before my mouth can. She doesn’t let that stop her.

  “It’s another talent I have from my training at the Sisterhood. I can undo the whole arousal you’re feeling. It instills a clarity of intellect too. It’s not something I enjoy doing because it's kind of counter to my normal flow of energy. We actually barter that service with sorcerer and higher-up kinds. Trust me. Let me undo what I did. You’ll see I can be good for. . . other things.”

  “You could have just told me.” I’m still feeling the effects of her first thing. I try to shake off thoughts and rationalizations that I should lay her down to make us both feel better.

  “You needed to see,” she says again. “If I wanted you against your will, I’d be having you.”

  She has a point. “Ok, it’ll make this damn horniness go away?”

  She nods. “Take off your shirt and turn your back to me.”

  I do as I’m instructed and she basically drags me into her, and then drags us to the edge of the bed. “Something to rest my back against,” she says very calmly as her hands lightly push me downward, then move up and down my back.

  It’s driving me crazy.

  “Not helping, Sil.”

  “This technique works best with a focus point. I’m thinking of a problem for you to solve. Okay, got it. Listen up,” she says breathily in my ear, making every hair on my body stand up and something else stand up even more.

  Her hands go to my shoulders and dig in deep, like one of those Swedish massages that hurt at the time, but leave you so relaxed afterwards. She makes this little eew sound like she’s just smelled something really disgusting.

  “Arthur, think about our resources. We have you, us. We have a badass glowing holy sword you can swing. We have a guardian angel. Now, we have Ahtsag Znuul—not small things. Do you have any doubt that if we were to meet the Collector, we would prevail?”

  It seems obvious to me, crystal clear obvious. “No doubt.”

  “Good, so here’s your question—how do we find the unfindable? How do we find one who can be anywhere randomly? How do we bring our resources to the target?”

  Her hands let up on the pressure and she gently pats my shoulders. “That’s your question.”

  Holy ka-moly! That is the question. It’s right there.

  “Damn. That’s the million dollar question.”

  My head spins. First off, Sil is wrong. Nothing is unfindable. And he can’t just be anywhere randomly. For his dragon to whisk him off, it needs to have psychically created a landing at that place. I read that at Grey’s Chateau. That, and intelligent creatures are never random.

  “Talk it out, Arthur,” she says quietly, her chin resting on my shoulder. “I see your wheels are turning.”

  “He’s not random—not totally. There’s a pattern there, somehow. This is more of an issue of probability. The dragon can only go to places it’s marked. If it randomly ports out, it ends up at the place farthest from intelligent life at the plane, world, dimension, whatever. We need to understand his patterns of movement and then we can—”

  I jump. I’m stopped dead in my
tracks as one of Sil’s hands plunges into my crotch.

  “Where’d it go?” she says.

  Wow, she’s right. Boner is gone. Urges? What urges? All I feel is very in the moment and engaged.

  “Thanks, this is much better.”

  “Told you,” she says softly. Her hand leaves my private areas. “Now, you were getting somewhere on the question. Probability something.”

  “Yeah, if we can understand his patterns of movement, we can maybe predict where he might be. The Protectorate doesn’t have much. Maybe sources in the Grace have some information.”

  “Sounds risky. They don’t really care for us.”

  She’s right.

  “Damn, Arthur. If we had kept some of his blood, we might be able to do one of those tracking spells.”

  “Great thought, Sil.” Something percolates. Maybe if we had something of his. Maybe we already do.

  “Did Maldy give you that communicator coin thing?”

  “He did, but remember, I broke mine in the white.”

  I ask her to get it for me. She reaches under her skirt and produces two halves of a woodlike disc and drops them in my hand.

  I bounce them in my hand. He gave them to her. That made them his at one time. It’s a long shot. I share my thought out loud.

  “This was his. Maybe we can use it.”

  “Sounds like a stretch to me, but maybe,” Sil replies. “It would have to be a pretty specialized tracking spell.”

  “Arix,” I say aloud. I need Arix.

  “Go get him,” she says calmly

  I stand up and turn around to Sil, who hands me my shirt. My mental wheels are turning at a pace that is incredible. Then another question poses itself. “Sil, what exactly did you do to me?”