Panic.
My lungs are exploding. I take off running, hoping to blow this thing off me, and I crash into a wall.
The impact knocks the remaining breath out of me. As I inhale, I don’t feel the relief of fresh air. I taste the greasy metallic flavor of the cloud and feel the touch of death. My lungs are aflame.
My world goes blank.
Chapter 91
White. Everywhere is white. Endless and vast.
I must be dead.
“Dorothy?” I call out. “Honey?”
I sense Pffiferil. I look over and he’s standing next to me. He is disappointed. I feel it so clearly.
“Wells, I do think ye gots us killed,” he says, shaking his head.
I feel Hjuul. He’s confused. I look over to my hellhound and he at me—definitely confused.
Then I feel sadness. It’s Sheyliene.
“Oh, Arthur, no,” she says, wrapping me in a hug. Such a good hug, like one I’ve never had. I feel all her good intentions.
My head jerks as Vets appears. She too is confused. She looks down at me and I sense concern.
Behind her, I see Sil sitting there, playing with the pleats of her leather skirt in that nervous habit she has. She looks up at me with those eyes of hers. Unlike everyone else, I sense nothing from her. In fact, the feelings coming from everyone around me are getting to be a bit much.
Arix. He’s here. He’s smiling.
“So it’s true. The Wielder becomes the wielded. I think you and I are going to have some fun, former master Arthur MacInerny.”
I am scared. What I sense from him is nothing short of the most wicked intent.
The entire world shakes violently and pain runs through my chest.
I look around in panic. Everything goes dizzy and my body feels like I just sat in the electric chair.
Then, nothing.
Chapter 92
I blink my blurry eyes, trying to focus. My ears pick up a little beep. I smell something—it’s antiseptic. I feel a foreign object in my nose.
Oh, God, it’s a feeding tube. I try to sit up, but it’s too difficult. I pull the feeding tube out. I have an IV. What the hell? I try to roll over, but there’s a restraint across my waist. Must be why I can’t sit up. I reach over to pull out the IV.
Gentle hands redirect me from that. Someone, I think Christophe, is standing there.
The accent and voice tell me it is.
“Why don’t we leave that in for now? It’s good to see you back. We feared for losing you.”
I take a deep breath and squeak out “Thanks” through a very dry throat.
Christophe raises my bed to more of a sitting position and hands me a cup of water. “Here, drink slowly.”
I do and it feels wonderful, despite the rawness of my throat.
“How long?” I ask him, shakily handing back the cup.
“A little over three weeks. It was very touch and go there for a while. I think maybe if it were not for the extra power your friends flowed into you, we would not be talking now.”
Crap sticks. Three weeks. That’s three weeks in the white for my crew. The white. Was that a dream? I reach down to my arm to begin summoning up my friends and see that my arms are bandaged over.
“Strictly precautionary, Arthur,” Christophe says. “You woke once early on, very agitated, and spouting things in the Dzemond language. What you said, we do not know. No one here speaks that language, and we had no recording.”
That explains the restraints and coverings. “Did I hurt anyone?”
“No. You were just a little...unpleasant.” He reaches under the bed and I feel the restraint around my waist loosen. He does the same for my feet. I hadn’t even realized my feet were held down too.
“You stay here. I will get a kit and remove the bandages over your friend’s markings. Do not remove the IV.” He shakes his finger at me. “I can’t believe you pulled out your feeding tube. You are quite impatient.”
I might not be seeing too well, but I know there was a smile going along with that admonition. I blink and scrunch my eyes again to get some moisture going and look about the room. The small sofa across the way has a pillow and blanket on it. I see a tray with partially eaten food and an empty paper coffee cup. Christophe must have been camping out here.
Best teacher ever. . .
He returns and begins carefully removing the bandages.
“Arthur,” he says. very quietly. “You are going to come under question for your working with the beast Ahtsag Znuul. I, of course, had no idea he would be involved when Karen contacted me.”
I’m usually a little slow. And now maybe slower than usual, but I get it. I will be interrogated. This is Christophe’s story.
I say quietly, “Yeah, Karen should have told you.”
I know how Alistair likes to listen in. I also know Znuul invited Christophe directly.
“There is something you need to know,” he says, finishing up my left arm. “Ahtsag killed Hiro.”
I think I do a double take. Being totally dumbfounded by that statement, I can’t be sure.
“I guess Hiro thought it was a good time to remove another demon from our realm while he was so terribly injured. Unfortunately, there was a little more left in Monsieur Znuul than Hiro anticipated. It was brutal and quick.” Christophe, without missing a beat, looks me in the eyes, smiles, and moves on to my right arm.
“It sounds like self-defense.”
Christophe nods. “That is what I told the authorities—Protectorate authorities, of course. It seems Monsieur Znuul is still considered an enemy by the Protectorate.” He pulls the bandage from my arm. “That said, should he contact you, you should report it immediately.”
The look in his eyes doesn’t match his words. Damn my foggy head. I can’t figure out what to say, so I just say “Okay.”
That gets a pleasant, “Good,” from my teacher, now my doctor.
“Oh, and speaking of Znuul—he is now somewhat of an Internet star. He posted a video on the YouTube telling everybody of his impostor, his revenge, and gently suggesting that everyone stop killing each other, because they have been tricked. Oh, and he cast a pretty stern threat to anyone who might think to come for him too. It was a nice production. Good lighting.”
I take that in and look at the sigils on my arms. My guys are more important than a video. I run my finger along Hjuul’s and call him. He ripples into existence, his bulk taking up a good part of the smallish hospital room. Christophe says hello to him and walks over to the door, presumably to make sure nobody enters who might freak out on the strange.
Hjuul presents himself for scratching. His tail is wagging rapidly—he is happy to be here. I’m happy he is too. Sheyliene is next. I brace myself.
“You’re okay! We’re okay! I was so worried. How long? It felt like years!” she squeals.
She wants to crush me in a hug, but Hjuul is sort of in the way. Despite her best efforts, he isn’t budging. So in an inspired move, she runs to the other side of the bed, climbs up, and hugs me from there.
Pffiferil is called next. “Good to set eyes on ye! Thought we was goners there for a bit.”
“You were,” says Christophe.
“Well, good we be havin’ a right great healer nearaby’s,” says the little guy with a wink.
Vets is called next. In a show of exuberance, I not only get the chest thump, but she goes down to a knee and bows her head.
“It’s good to see you too,” I tell my Vetisghar warrior of few words.
Now Sil returns. Upon reflection, I probably should have pulled her out first. Of all my summonlings, she’s the one that detests the white the most. With a ripple, she appears, and looks around with wide eyes. Those eyes finally lock on me.
“Don’t you ever do something stupid like that again,” she snarls. “If you do, I will make your afterlife absolutely miserable.”
Shey, on her knees next to me, has to pipe up, “I’ll protect you, Arthur.”
&nb
sp; “How long?” Sil asks.
Before I can answer, Chris does. “Three and half weeks.”
That gets a big roll of some green succubus eyes, and she wraps her arms around herself as if she’s freezing.
“Guessing you thought it be a whole lot longer, eh, wench?” snickers Pffif.
“Yes,” says Sil with a nasty frown. She turns and walks over to the window, staring out at who knows what.
Last up is Arixtumin. I consider letting him wait, but that wouldn’t be right.
He appears, looks around, and says, “Well, we live.”
“Human-up Vets and wolf-size Hjuul, Arix,” I tell him. Their talismans for that purpose are who knows where, as those don’t travel to the white with them. Arix will have to craft them some new ones.
“What, no please?” teases Arix.
“Maybe he remembers something from our time together in death,” interjects Sil, still looking distantly through the window.
Death. I was dead. We were dead. Christophe pretty much said so. It just hasn’t registered until right now. That time—the white. Was it real?
Hjuul is transformed into his wolf form and the jangle of Vets armor tells me she’s human now. I look around, taking in my group. “Sorry I got us killed. I, uh, didn’t expect...that.”
Shey and Pffif tell me it’s no problem.
Hjuul does too, in his way.
Arix addresses the issue with, “All’s well that ends well, right?”
“Despite being in a bed for the last three and half weeks, Arthur still needs rest,” Christophe pipes up. “Arixtumin, Silithes, Sheyliene, please make yourselves presentable for human company, and all of you come with me. We will visit again shortly.”
Everyone complies except Sil, who is still just staring out the window.
“Madame Silithes?”
No response. So I look around at everyone and force out a smile. “Everyone with Christophe, please—except you, Sil. Obviously you have something to get off your chest.” I manage to lift myself up and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
Shey gives me a kiss on the cheek and everyone leaves the room. Christophe walks over to me. “You should rest. And have some soup. Liquid diet until we get your strength back up.”
“Won’t take a minute, Doc. She’s a succubus of few words.”
At least that gets a wiggle of her whip-like tail.
Christophe pats me on the shoulder and says loudly, for Sil’s sake, “Don’t be long. You need rest.” Then he says quietly, “I’ll be outside waiting.”
He’s right. I’m exhausted. But apparently my butt is in for some chewing, and I’d just as soon get it out of the way.
“So, spit it out,” I tell Sil.
That she responds to. She walks over to me and gets as close as can be, standing in between my legs that are dangling off the edge of the bed. Her face is not a happy one.
“You got us killed. And now we know it’s true—the Wielder becomes the wielded.”
That takes me aback. Yeah. I felt all of their emotions so vividly—everyone but Sil’s. That difference confuses me. “Sil, I...uh, felt everyone except you. Why?”
Her expression doesn’t change. “Maybe because I was blocking my emotions, the same way you hold back on your displeasure with us at times to spare us. I imagine all of us projecting our feelings had to be a bit overwhelming.”
It was.
Her expression breaks. Well, at least she looks away.
“Okay. No more stupid deaths,” I say.
That gets her to look back at me. “All I can ask for.”
Those eyes...such a deep green with little black veined lines all through them—individual, like a fingerprint. I take in all her perfect features, her nose and moist, plump lips. Sure, they’re kind of purple, but still, so full. My eyes continue down, taking in her cleavage and how it is accented by her corset. I reach up and take her breasts into my hands.
Full. Curvy. The corset’s material is hard, though. My hands and eyes run down to her waist. Such a tiny waist. I give it a squeeze. Tight muscles though. Tiny waist merges into those curvy hips as my hands and eyes continue their downward journey over her thighs to beneath her pleated leather skirt. My hands are going up her thighs now, under her skirt. Her skin is so soft, yet her legs so muscular. I feel those muscles tighten as my hands explore upwards across her buttocks—so firm, so strong. I find the small of her back and the top of the skirt. And her tail. Her tail… I gently grasp the base and run my hand down along it and out from the skirt. It’s smooth, soft to the touch, and flexible. Like a snake, the tail slinks away out of my gentle grasp.
There’s a sound somewhere, far away.
I jump when I feel a hand on my cheek. I look over and see Silithes, looking very concerned. At least it’s not the angry-at-you face.
“What’s wrong with you?” she says.
That’s a funny question. I look back at her and shrug. “I don’t know. I think I’m fine.”
“I’m not so sure you are. You just felt me up. You were looking at me like I’m some sort of freaking science project. You’re not even a little bit aroused. You didn’t hear me calling your name either.”
Oh. I do remember looking at her. Yeah, I guess maybe I was looking with my hands too. I sure don’t remember her calling out my name. “Maybe I do need some rest. Sorry about that.”
With a shake, she transforms herself into the human Silithes. “Go lie down. I’m getting Chris. You’re not right.”
She helps me get my legs back into the bed, and I relax as she heads out to the hall.
Rest. Yes, rest is needed.
Chapter 93
I’ve spent a week in rehab. Well, less than that if you include the day I spent getting interrogated. That sucked.
My interrogators consisted of the runtly little mage who is constantly following Alistair around, and none other than Gunter himself. They were quite serious. At least Runtly was. Gunter was, well, Gunter. He was happy to tell me that news of our success was shared with Svea, the wife of the Paladin I killed. I could only imagine her stoic response—that’s one hard woman. She probably still wants me dead, and I can’t blame her.
They brought the truth stone, and Runtly was relentless with leading questions designed for me to entrap myself. It really pissed me off. But I answered honestly, though not always completely. They asked me if I knew where Znuul was. I didn’t. But I didn’t offer that he might be in his bunker in Oldham County, Kentucky, or in Dubai.
Everything was fine up until the point when Runtly got in my face and asked me when I became a traitor to the human race. I clocked him pretty good, then kicked him while he was down. I grabbed that truth stone and yelled at Gunter that I was not a traitor to the human race.
True is blue, and that’s all the stone showed.
Still, my reaction was poor. I’ve never allowed words to inflame me so. And I’ve never kicked someone when they were down except in World War II, but that was war. Heck, Gunter had to step in and stop me. He even told me that my actions were without honor—except for the punch. I’m glad he did step in. That just wasn’t like me. But then, Runtly had been pushing my buttons for at least five hours straight. Wouldn’t anyone blow a gasket?
The rest of the week was routine and probably not needed. Rehab is easy when you’re surrounded by healing clerics, and your body heals itself when fueled by six spirits attached to you. Sil insisted on maintaining game time. Somehow or another she put her hands on a Uno deck and talked Pffif, Vets, and Shey into joining.
That was fun.
Today, I get to go home. We’re all congregated in my room. I’ve been provided a fetching set of warm-ups to go home in. It sure as heck beats that damn gown I woke up in. Christophe tells me they recovered my Suburban. I’m sure it’s totally GPSed and bugged now.
I tell him as much and get a resounding laugh, along with “Who would do such a thing?”
A nurse brings in a wheelchair. “May I escort you to t
he parking garage?” Christophe asks with a smile.
“Sure, as long as I don’t have to ride in the damn chair.”
He dismisses the nurse and we make our way down to the garage. He pulls the keys to my Suburban from his pocket and looks over at Vets. “Would you mind driving it back? My student and I need to spend some time alone. I’ll drive him there.”
Vets looks at him in her implacable way and says, “I would not mind, but I cannot drive.”
“Throw those keys over here,” blurts out Sil. “Houston to New Orleans is a hiccup.”
Christophe pitches them over and nods a thank you.
“Pile in, everyone,” sings Sil. “The big boys want their own space.”
Christophe beeps his rental car. We get into it and he looks at me with a grin. “Better sweep for devices—it’s been sitting here too long.” He pulls out a gadget and sets it on the dash. After a stroke and key word, he tells me, “Safe to speak now.”
Got to get me a fistful of those things.
We head out, following Sil and crew. Sil’s not much of a follower.
“Needless to say, Arthur, there are things we need to talk about,” my teacher tells me. “Not the least of which is the death curse that was set upon you. He wasn’t just trying to kill you. As best we can tell, the curse was trying to change you. We thought you got past it a few times, and it just kept coming back. We believe you are clear now. To survive such a thing alone is incredible. But best not to be arrogant. Understand?”
I do. I tell him as much with a “Yes, sir.” The sir is earned. He’s still my teacher in the healing magics.
“So. . . I expect you to cleanse yourself spiritually every day and call for healing upon yourself—every day.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sil loses us at the merge to I-10 in a daring move that cuts across three lanes. Christophe is muttering curses. Not at her—but at the crazy American drivers. He looks over at me briefly. “Is it not bad enough you cannot drive on the proper side of the road? Do they have to drive like that too?”
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