Wild Ride

by Jennifer Cruisie

  She curled against him, tentatively at first and then closer - he was putting out heat like a furnace, which made sense since he'd been a dragonand he put his arms around her as she snuggled against his nice hard chest and buried her face in his shirt. It smelled of soap and heat and him, something indefinably pleasant and right, something that sent a primordial tingle down her spine. This is good, she thought, knowing her brain was addled from exhaustion and cold. This is really good.

  He rubbed her back. “Go to sleep, you're all right now.”

  He was taking care of her. Mab felt the tears start again. She was turning into a needy watering pot. Pull yourself together. Act normal. She sniffed and said, “So you're Weaver's partner?”

  He reached behind him to the bedside table and got her a Kleenex. “Here. Yes, I'm Weaver's partner. Go to sleep.”

  That sounded like a good idea. She blew her nose and then stuffed the Kleenex under her pillow and snuggled deeper into the bed, closer to him, sucking up his heat, relaxing in his arms until she was practically boneless. She was dry and warm and sleeping with a dragon. “You were a great dragon.”

  “What?”

  There was something she was forgetting, something that nagged at her as sleep fogged her brain. Something important. Then she remembered and woke up a little, pulling her head back to look up at him. “You should call your wife.”

  He frowned down at her. “I'm not married.” He put his hand on her forehead. “Are you delirious?”

  “No. Who's Ursula?”

  “My boss.”

  “Oh.”

  His cool gray eyes were warm on her now, his face so close. He had a great mouth. A great, unmarried mouth.

  “Good,” she said, and snuggled up against him again and sighed with exhaustion, safe in his arms.

  His unmarried mouth quirked a little. “Why is that good?”

  “Because I don't sleep with married men,” Mab said, and fell asleep.

  When Ethan and Weaver got to Hank's trailer, Ethan hesitated, “I'll just go sleep in the woods.”

  “Right,” Weaver said, and opened the door and he followed her in and down the short hall to the bedroom, where she took off her coat, and he stopped, staring at the bed, now neatly covered with a plain black comforter and thirty inches of green-and-purple stuffed dragon with gold on its wings and chest.

  “What?” Weaver said, stripping off her turtleneck.

  “You brought the dragon.”

  “Beemer? Of course, I brought Beemer.” Weaver took off her jeans.

  “He lies 'under the shadows, in the covert of the reeds and the swamp,' don't you, baby? This is his kind of place.”

  “Oh,” Ethan said, still staring at the dragon. “Is he going to watch?”

  Weaver took off her underwear and got into bed, patting Beemer, her breasts bouncing a little as she scooted over to give him room. “Sure. I usually talk to him at night, but since you're here, he can just -”

  “No," Ethan said, and put the dragon outside the bedroom door.

  “Probably just as well.” Weaver pulled the covers up to her chin. “We wouldn't want to traumatize him.”

  “We're going to do something that would traumatize him?” Ethan said, growing more cheerful as he stripped off his clothes and body armor.

  “Oh, yeah,” Weaver said, and Ethan sighed and got into a warm bed for the first time in a long time.

  Civilization had its perks.

  Kharos waited for Ray to show up by recalling the various torments he could inflict on a soul once it was in his possession. There were a lot, and they were all extremely satisfying.

  “Sorry, I'm late,” Ray said as he slumped down on the bench. “There's a government agent in the park. The boss of the woman with the gun that kills demons. I gotta tell you, this is turning into a real clusterfuck. I'm thinking it's better to wait until next Halloween. Maybe the one after that.”

  WHAT DOES SHE WANT?

  “Ethan. Says there's something weird about him. I got the impression she thought he was a demon or something.”

  GLENDA'S SON? THE NEW HUNTER?

  “Yeah.” Kharos considered that. GLENDA'S SON. Ray fidgeted. “I'm going to need more minim is for the attack on Friday. The good news is Tura's chalice is in the Keep. Ethan took it over there.”

  WHY DO YOU NEED MORE MINIONS?

  “Some of them attacked Mab. It didn't work out for them.”

  WHY DID YOU SEND THEM TO ATTACK YOUR NIECE?

  “I want the park,” Ray said, sounding impatient.

  I SAID THE PARK WOULD BE YOURS.

  “Well, it's not, and I'm running out of time.” Ray stood up. “I've got people talking back to me, threatening me, taking my gun ... it's not right. It's taking too long. I need the park now -” More of his hair fell out. “Oh, come on.”

  GIVE ETHAN TO THE GOVERNMENT AGENT.

  “But -”

  TELL HER TO KILL HIM. THEN SEND ME YOUNG FRED.

  “You know, he's not a big supporter of hurting the Guardia,” Ray said, his face flushing red. “He just wants the whole thing to end so he can retire. He has no idea of what you're up to. So if you're thinking he's going to replace me -”

  THAT IS NOT YOUR CONCERN.

  “Great,” Ray muttered. “You know, I've done everything you've told me to. I deserve better than -”

  SOON YOU WILL HAVE EVERYTHING YOU DESERVE.

  “Oh,” Ray said, looking nervous this time. “I'll, uh, get on that government agent thing.”

  He walked away faster than usual, looking back over his shoulder once.

  Not as dumb as Kharos had thought.

  But still dumb enough.

  Kharos returned to the new problem.

  Glenda's son was part demon.

  THAT CANNOT BE, Kharos thought, but if it was true.

  Women. A problem for 2,500 years.

  He thought of Vanth pressing against him, Glenda hot under his hands ....

  Women. Worth the problems they caused.

  But not worth losing everything for.

  Glenda and her son were going to die.

  Mab woke up alone on Sunday morning, which was par for her course and which usually she preferred. But today.

  Of course he didn't stay, she told herself He doesn't even know you.

  She crawled out of bed, found her clothes had been unpacked and put away, and got dressed in her jeans and a blue long-sleeved Dreamland thermal T-shirt. Then she put a zip-front sweatshirt on over that.

  She'd been cold enough last night to last her the rest of her life.

  She opened the door and looked down the short hallway to see Oliver sitting at her malachite table, his fair hair gleaming in the sunlight through the trailer window and his shirtsleeves rolled up, going through her research while Frankie sat on the malachite table and supervised.

  He's still here, she thought, her heart lifting, and then kicked herself. He was going through her work. The fact that he looked really good going through her work was no reason for her not to be furious. Or something.

  “Hello?” she said, and meant to add, What the hell are you doing? but he looked up and said, “There's coffee, but not for you. Tea on the counter, hot water on the stove.” Then he went back to his reading.

  Mab padded down the short hall and found a note pinned to a box of peppermint tea bags on the counter, something she'd missed in her hurry to get into the shower the night before. The note said, “Welcome home, Mab. Love, Glenda,” and she almost started to cry again, except Oliver was sitting right there, because Glenda had unpacked everything for her to welcome her home.

  So she got one of Delpha's good, thick, white china mugs down from the cupboard and put one of Glenda's tea bags in it, and poured in the water Oliver had heated for her, and thought, People. There were people everywhere in her life now.

  She picked up her mug and turned to look at Oliver, his gray eyes serious on her work.

  People. It wasn't so bad.

  She sat d
own in the wide ebony chair across from him, and Frankie picked his way over the papers to butt his head against her hand. “Hey, baby,” she said, rubbing his head with her finger, and then she looked back at Oliver. “What are you doing?”

  “Finding out what you've been up to,” he said, not looking up from the papers. “Apparently, you're as pure as the driven snow."

  “Pure?” Mab said.

  “I'm not seeing anything in here except research for restoring the park.”

  “That's because I was restoring the park,” Mab said, confused. “What did you think I was doing?”

  “We didn't know.” Oliver put the papers neatly back into her bindermore neatly than she'd put them in there - and closed it, and then looked at her, his gaze steady and a little disconcerting without the big blackrimmed glasses. She could see his cheekbones clearly now. He had great cheekbones. “You're Ray Brannigan's niece, and you have a strong francium trace. So I watched you.”

  “That's creepy.” Mab sipped her tea. It was wonderful. Then it hit bottom and her stomach said, Hello? but she sat very still until the urge to return the tea passed.

  “Morning sickness?” he said.

  “Can't anybody around here keep a secret?” Mab said, putting down her mug, annoyed. “Who told you?”

  He picked up his coat and reached into the pocket and handed her his glasses. She took them and put them on, not sure what he wanted. The world looked odd through them, a little watery, but nothing really surprising until she put up her hand to take them off.

  Her hand had a faint blue glow around it.

  “Oh,” she said.

  “They pick up francium,” Oliver said.

  Mab looked down at her stomach. There was a tiny dot of green light there, barely visible, but there.

  She took off the glasses and handed them back. “I'm scared,” she told him.

  “What of?”

  “What this baby is. What I am.” It was such a relief to say it that she sighed and picked up her tea.

  “You're a human being,” Oliver said. “You just have some mutant genes.”

  “Mutant,” Mab said. “We talking X-Men mutant here?”

  “It's well known that a fetus can be altered by radiation or environmental hazards,” Oliver said, sounding like a PBS documentary. “At the moment of your conception, according to your mother's frequent statements, she was possessed by a demon. Therefore, you were exposed to francium. As was your baby since the man who fathered it was possessed by a demon.”

  Drunk Dave. “Oh, god,” Mab said, gripping her mug tighter.

  “Still a human baby, created by two human beings,” Oliver said. “You have nothing to worry about. She'll just be like you. Different.”

  “I don't want to be different,” Mab said, feeling her gorge rise. “I don't want her to be different -”

  “Why?” Oliver said. “Why choose to be like everybody else when you can be -”

  “A demon?”

  “Gifted,” Oliver said. “I have great admiration for you, Mary Alice. You've made beautiful things in your life, recovered things that would have been lost forever. Imagine what your son will do.”

  “Daughter,” Mab said. “Delphie.”

  He nodded. “Let's go get breakfast at the Dream Cream. Delphie needs waffles.”

  Mab laughed, surprising herself, and got her coat while he made sure the stove was off and the coffeemaker was unplugged, and then she followed him out the door, Frankie flying in advance, catching updrafts with enthusiasm. “So you've been watching me? Why?” she said as they headed for the midway, and he said, “Mostly so Weaver wouldn't shoot you,” and she laughed again and felt glad to be alive.

  Ethan woke in comfort with Weaver in his arms, which was startling enough all by itself. Then he remembered that his bullet was gone, and after that, that Mab was going to have a baby, and that Glenda had almost died and was free of the Guardia now -

  Weaver stirred and cuddled closer.

  - and Weaver had slept in his arms all night. His life had changed. He was going to have to change to keep up with it.

  He left Weaver sleeping, putting Beemer in his place in bed beside her, and crossed the path to Glenda's trailer just as Mab and Oliver walked by, Mab calling out to Glenda, “Thank you for unpacking for me, that was lovely, and so was the tea.”

  Glenda waved at her from her lawn chair, swathed in blankets, her eyes covered with big sunglasses, an umbrella drink in her hand and a novel in her lap.

  All she needed was a cabana boy, and Ethan really didn't want to take that thought any further, so he said, “Good morning. I have news.”

  “You're engaged to Army Barbie.” Glenda nodded. “I'm for it. She'll give me very sturdy grandchildren who will be able to lay down cover fire as I get older.”

  “The bullet's out.”

  Glenda pulled her sunglasses down so that her sharp eyes peered over them. “What?”

  “You were right, about the Guardia, about me not dying. The bullet worked its way out.” He fished it out of his pocket and handed it to her. “I'm not going to die.”

  “Well, of course not, I told you that,” Glenda said, but her voice quavered as she looked at the bullet and she swallowed hard before she went on. “But thank you for telling me.” Her face crumpled. “Oh, Ethan, I'm so glad.”

  “Me too, Mom,” Ethan said before she dissolved completely. “Do you still have that concoction?”

  Glenda blinked back tears. “What concoction?”

  “The one you tried to kill me with the other night.”

  She shoved the glasses back in place. “Stop being so paranoid. I wasn't trying to kill you; I was trying to save you. You're on your own now, feel free to deny reality as much as you -”

  “Cut the crap, Mom. It's forty degrees out here and you're acting like you're retired in Miami.”

  “I am retired,” Glenda said airily. “I am enjoying my golden years. With my son. Who's not dying.” She smiled and picked up her drink and then spoiled the picture by sniffing back teats.

  “And I want to keep things safe so you can,” Ethan said.

  Glenda put the umbrella drink down and removed the sunglasses. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes.” He took a deep breath. “I'm taking this seriously. I've got a lot of life ahead of me. It's time I did it right.”

  Glenda put her sunglasses back on, picked up the umbrella drink, and held it out. “Get me a refill, would you?”

  “Glenda, I need -”

  “The big plastic jug I used to make lemonade for you is full of daiquiris. Next to the fridge is your flask. It's got the -” She waved her hand. “- concoction in it.”

  Ethan was surprised. “You already did that?”

  “I'm your mother.”

  “Right.” Ethan went and refilled Glenda's margarita glass and took the flask. He came back out and handed the drink to her. “You stay here.”

  “Absolutely,” Glenda said.

  Ethan paused. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Your eyes ever flash?”

  Glenda went still. “What do you mean?”

  “I thought eyes flashing was a demon thing,” Ethan said. “Is it also a Guardia thing?”

  “No. Try to get out of earshot when you drink that, will you?”

  Ethan left Glenda to her retirement and went into the woods, out of earshot. He pulled out the flask, unscrewed the lid, hesitated for a moment, then took a swallow.

  He was on his knees vomiting in a few seconds. He stayed on his knees and took a second swallow, forcing the liquid down. It felt like fire racing through his veins and like acid coming back to his stomach and up his throat. He drank until he finished every drop in the flask and purged every iota of alcohol from his system, steam rising from the sweat on his skin.

  Then, hands shaking, Ethan screwed the top back on and stood up. There, A new life.

  Now all he had to do was make it demon-free.

 
All right,“ Ethan said at noon, standing behind his chair at the pentagonal table on the top floor of the Keep as Mab, Cindy, Gus, and Young Fred took seats before him. ”Let's get going."

  He glanced at Oliver and Weaver against the wall, Weaver reading the Guardia weapons book, leaning over to show Oliver a word he needed to translate for her, and Oliver sitting silent and watchful. Glenda sat beside them on the floor, smiling at Ethan with pride. Her son, the Guardia captain.