"What? Oh, you're joking. Of course, but two stops from here, it goes into a transfer shelter."
"So?"
"Paying customers only. Another streetcar line, several busses, and a subway station."
Ishtar nodded. "So maybe we can lose them."
As the streetcar pulled to a stop in the shelter, the cab pulled up on the street, just outside the entrance. The gladiator twins and Caleb jumped out and ran in, right past the "Busses and Streetcars Only" Sign. The Transit Commission employees all looked the other way.
"Down the stairs!" Sian shouted. And then another flight. To the subway. If they got lucky, there'd be a train. Of course not. Up the opposite flight of stairs. Up another, back to the shelter.
"I'm tired of running," Ishtar said. She didn't even sound winded. Sian was puffing too hard to reply. "Oh well, off we go." Ishtar grabbed Sian's hand and pulled. Where? Oh, right--out the way the twins and Caleb had come in.
The cab was gone. Turn left. Run down the sidewalk. Couldn't go much further. Donut shop--no police cars outside. Damn--so much for stereotypes. Where now?
"I'm very tired of running." Ishtar sounded annoyed. Annoyed? Pissed! "Let's turn and face them."
"Can't..." Gasp. Wheeze. Can't talk. Can't defeat three big men, not two small women.
"Can too," Ishtar said.
Brad and Vlad looked in worse shape than she was, almost at the end of their endurance. Caleb, the werewolf, appeared far more fit but even his face was flushed red.
So was Ishtar's, but her flush was anger. "Quit fucking chasing us!" she shouted. "Or else."
"Or else fucking what?" Caleb shouted back. He was the only one with the breath to respond.
"Or fucking this!" Beside them a newspaper vending box lifted off the ground. Its chain pulled taut. "Shit," Ishtar swore under her breath. "Didn't see that."
Her telekinesis. Sian had forgotten about it, but if Ishtar could keep a five hundred pound chandelier from crashing, she could probably throw a fifty-pound box a fair distance... assuming it wasn't chained.
"Green one," Sian managed to get out. It was the only one loose. Big fine if anyone complained. She wasn't about to.
"Thanks." The green box lifted off the ground and sped towards Caleb. He dodged to the right. The box followed, smacked into him and sent him flying.
One of the twins ducked behind a lamppost. The other jumped into a doorway. The paper box slowly rose from where it'd fallen. "Can't do much with it from here." Now Ishtar's voice sounded strained. "Maybe..." The box floated towards the doorway, picked up a bit of speed and smacked into the window, shattering it. An alarm started screaming.
"Shall we be on our way?" Down the street Caleb stood and stalked away, back the way he'd came. The twins followed him, slowly.
Susan spotted the werewolf when the girl came out of a "Ladies" just ahead of them in the mall. She was hard to miss; her red hair was so striking against the lovely green top. "There's your ambush. I feel the need for an ambush myself."
A long look... at her. "I don't get it. We're almost shot. She's obviously the spotter. And you're making jokes. For the last time... she's dangerous. Just wait until we get back to street level. You'll see then."
Just ahead, the girl's head was cocked to the side like she was listening in. Her eyes narrowed. Susan's nerves started to jangle. Okay, Feldspar might be right. She was the one with combat experience. The only fights Susan'd ever been in were ones she'd lost to her father and her ex. And after hitting on the wrong person's boyfriend, a scratching, hair-pulling fiasco that'd got her booted out of high school for two weeks. She felt a tear start to leak, not from those memories but from the disgusted expression on Feldspar's face.
"Feldspar, I really need to use the washroom."
"And isn't that just the non sequitur. Go ahead. I'll stay outside the door and keep an eye on her. Then you can admire her while I go."
When Susan came out, the girl was where she'd been before but the moment Feldspar went in to the washroom, she moved... toward Susan. All of a sudden Susan felt like she hadn't gone at all. Should she call for Feldspar? Or could she handle the girl on her own? Maybe, but no... why risk it? She put her hand on the washroom door.
The girl froze in her tracks and shook her head frantically. Okay, what was this? Slowly, the girl reached into her purse... for a gun? No, for a cell phone. She took it out, crouched, put it on the floor, stood again and backed away. A cell phone?
She had been a spotter, but wasn't any more... that's why she'd abandoned her phone. Susan took a step towards it and the girl moved further back. Slowly, Susan advanced and the other retreated. Eyes fixed on the redhead, Susan bent to pick up the phone.
And straightened. What if it wasn't a phone? She'd read plastic explosives could be moulded into any shape. She looked the werewolf, the girl, up and down and up... paused on her creamy breasts... met her eyes. And saw her own fear, reflected. Feldspar would be out of the washroom any moment. She had to make up her mind, now. The girl mouthed a word, one word. "Please."
Susan snatched the phone from the floor and rapidly backed away. As she arrived beside the washroom door it opened and Feldspar came out. "Any problems?" she asked.
"None." Thank her god and Feldspar's that's how she asked the question. If she'd asked if anything had happened... Susan would have had to lie.
The girl turned and started down the mall. "Might as well follow her," Susan said. "She's going the right way."
"You're joking."
"She is too."
"I like her ass as much as you do, but she'll lead us into a trap."
"She won't." Susan put her hand on Feldspar's arm. "Look at me. She's not evil. She's not going to cause us any harm. I've trusted you a whole lot the past day. Now it's time for you to trust me, to trust my judgment."
To her credit, it didn't take Feldspar more than a heartbeat to decide. "I can't trust you with the fate of two worlds. Sorry, you may be right, but I can't take the chance."
What now? Susan looked from Feldspar to the girl, met her eyes and flicked her hand in a motion she hoped would relay the message... get lost, disappear. The girl spun on her heel and in an instant, was gone.
"Damn, she's fast!" Feldspar said. "She could have been on top of us any time she wanted. I'm sorry, Susan."
"Apology accepted." She said it with as much grace as she could manage.
When they emerged on the street just across from the Bent-Arm, Susan expected to see the girl waiting, but didn't. She knew that didn't mean she wasn't around.
* * * * *
Maxine Albright's house was set about twenty feet in from the street. The front lawn was immaculate with putting-green quality grass, close-cropped and lush. A globular rosebush sat on either side of the walkway and others, trimmed square, were hard against the side of the house. It suited her--Roger had always found her writing overly precise and largely artificial. Wildness wasn't permitted in Albright's world... nothing she couldn't control. Watching her and Rabid together would be interesting.
"Ms. Albright is a feminist." Might as well stir the pot.
"I've read her crap." Rabid hiked his pants and started towards the house. "She's popular in some circles on Diluvia."
"You're not going to hurt her, are you?" All they were supposed to do was get Albright to the Westshire to put pressure on Belinda, a.k.a. Linda Bedarova.
"Only if she enjoys being hurt." Rabid's smile showed canines. "I'm a man, not an animal." He pressed the door-buzzer, then knocked loudly.
Albright opened the door. Her tight, flower-print dress displayed a figure that hadn't decayed with age. Roger did some quick math--she had to be in her early sixties. She looked twenty years younger, even younger than she had at the Westshire. She smiled and fingered her dark, curled hair--dyed, it had to be--and glanced down at Rabid's endowment. "Ms. Bedarova said I should expect you. Come in. Please come in." She extended a hand to Rabid. Roger felt invisible until Albright swung her smile to him. "Ms Be
darova tells me you're an actor. You'd be perfect for Rory in 'Invisible Priests'. Has she asked you?"
"Ah... no..." As Albright's male characters went, Rory was one of the strongest. For an unknown... why was he daydreaming? And how had Feldspar known what book Bedarova and Albright were considering for a film? She couldn't have, could she now? Rabid was already inside the house. Albright was by the door, waiting for him to enter. "If I may ask, what else did Ms. Bedarova say when she called?"
"Which time? Do come in, please. Don't tell me you're frightened."
"Of course I am. Rabid," he shouted. "It's a trap."
Rabid turned. His expression was one of surprise, not alarm. Maxine Albright smiled. "Young man, I assure you, you're in no danger from me. Stay or leave as you will, but please close the door. All that filthy air from the street is getting in." She turned and walked towards Rabid. "I've been promised a treat, and I intend to have it." Her arms went around Rabid. She kissed him, wiggling her hips as she ground her body against the elf.
Roger stood in the doorway, transfixed. This was the staid and proper Maxine Albright, the grande dame of Canadian fiction? One of Rabid's hands slipped down her back, under her dress and hiked it. That wasn't a sixty-year-old rear waggling under the touch of probing fingers. Roger stepped inside and closed the door.
Albright broke off the kiss and looked back over her shoulder. "You can wait in the parlour. First door on your right. This won't take long." She returned to the kiss and pulled Rabid so he had her pressed against the wall.
Roger flattened himself as he slipped past. He glanced back. Albright's legs were wrapped around Rabid, her head resting on his shoulder. Her eyes met Roger's. Wide with pleasure, one winked at him before both closed. A deep moan started, low in her throat. Roger went into the living room. A pot of tea with four cups sat steaming on a low table--classic Willow design. From the sounds, what was brewing in the hall was every bit as classic, and hotter. A scream... hers... a thud of a body hitting the floor... whose? Should he go and look? Probably... he supposed... somehow it didn't seem right that he would... but he had to.
Albright stood over Rabid, straddling him like the Colossus of Rhodes, a trail of semen oozing down one leg. The elf lay still on his back, eyes closed, pants unzipped, exposed... flaccid. "This above all else; to thine own self be true..." Albright's glowing eyes met Roger's in a challenge. He'd thought she looked a youthful sixty? Heck, she would be a youthful thirty.
"And it must follow, as night does the day, thou canst not then be false to any man," he said, completing her quotation.
"Very good." A mischievous teenager's smile. She stepped off Rabid, towards Roger. "Sloppy seconds?"
"I don't think so." He backed away.
She laughed. "Don't worry. As I said, you're in no danger. Him?" She shrugged. "An elf can afford to give me a few dozen years. He'll live... if no one else finishes him off before he recovers."
Roger kept backing. "What happened? How did you do that? Whose side are you on?"
She stopped, just inside the door. "Whose side? Weren't you listening to yourself? I'm on my side. Don't you understand the wisdom of the Bard? In the vernacular, 'fuck 'em all.' And now I think I'd like a cup of tea. You?" She moved past, to the tray. Roger felt a wave of heat as she passed.
"What did you do to Rabid?"
Albright sat and mopped her leg with a napkin. She crumpled it. "I'll be mother." She started pouring tea, two cups... four? The door buzzer sounded. "Would you get that, please?"
* * * * *
The Bent-Arm Bistro was on the main floor of the office tower next to Crimson Tower, home to Crimson Throne Holding and its entertainment wing, Crimson Throne Productions. While the redheaded werewolf wasn't in sight, there were a lot of people hanging around at street level--afternoon coffee break in a Noronto skyscraper sent all the smokers scuttling to the street to light up. Susan stopped half a block away, still on the other side of the street, to scan the crowd.
"Some of them might be here to keep us from getting into the bar."
"Would they do anything with all those other people around?" Feldspar asked.
"If they hadn't tried a drive-by shooting earlier, I'd say 'no' but after that, I wouldn't bet against it."
"And they'll be expecting us even if you're right about your flame-topped friend. We should duck in somewhere so I can become Skythane. That might at least confuse them."
"You changed on the street earlier, several times."
"I know I did." Feldspar turned from examining the street outside the Bent-Arm to face Susan. "And that was foolish. My only excuse is, I was upset... at you. Which is foolish too. You are what you are; some of my best friends are into racking up sexual conquests. It's just, I'm not." Her words were clear enough. Her face expressed the same as her words... friendship but only friendship... affection but no desire. The pull between them had been sexual, nothing more.
"I suppose you're right," Susan heard herself answer. "I do want you, but I don't want you."
"It's a good thing the gods imposed chastity on me for this quest. If it wasn't for that I'd have been added to your tally by now."
Susan started to shiver. She still wanted Feldspar, very much. It might still be possible. "Maybe we can talk about this later." Then again, probably not. She took a half-step back. "Maybe we can find another route to the Bent-Arm. If we go up a few streets we can approach it from the back."
"If they're watching here, they'll have that covered too. I..." Feldspar reached out a hand, then let it drop before Susan could take it. "No, you're right. We've said all we need to say to each other."
They went inside a bank so Feldspar could find a quiet corner to change into Skythane. The tight clothing was as perfect on him as on her, especially the jeans. It was a wonder they could fit all that was in them. She wanted... no... yes, to her shame, she did.
"So, are we ready to do this?" Susan asked.
"As ready as we're going to be. I wish we hadn't let Sian and Ishtar split the party up this way though. We could use our allies right now." They went out a side door into an alley and to the next light, waiting for it to change, and going across. As they neared the Bent-Arm, a clutch of smokers dropped their cigarettes and started their way. Five... no six of them... too many....
"Retreat," Feldspar said quietly as she turned.
Susan glanced back when they reached the corner. The smokers hadn't followed but had again lit up and were leaning against a nearer wall. "What now?" she asked.
"I don't know for sure, but those men look like Terrans to me. If I distract them with an illusion we should be able to dash past. Let's see what they have here." The store on the corner sold stationery and business supplies. Susan followed Feldspar in. "Something light, approximately the size of a cake," Feldspar continued. She picked up a cheap, plastic-coated briefcase. "Perfect."
Susan paid and followed Feldspar back out onto the street. "I don't get it."
"Neither will they, I hope."
As they approached, the smokers peeled off the wall again. Feldspar swung the briefcase back, then forward, and tossed it in a soft arc at the man in the middle. As it left her hand, Feldspar switched from Skythane to herself--and the briefcase became a small dragon, belching fire. The smokers scattered. Out of the corner of her eye, Susan saw Feldspar catch the dragon by its tail. The dragon became the briefcase and Feldspar, Skythane.
"Why was it important they be Terrans?" Susan asked as they reached the door of the Bent-Arm. "Diluvians aren't frightened by dragons? Or just ones that are full-grown?"
"That's far bigger than dragons ever get, other than in Terran fiction," came the answer... but from Feldspar. The redheaded werewolf was leaning in the Bent-Arm's doorway, in a tense casual stance. "Neat trick. I thought I was going to have to provide the distraction but, damn it, you're good."
"You," Feldspar said, dropping the briefcase and tensing for a fight.
"Me," the girl stayed relaxed, with an effort only noticeab
le around her eyes. "You might want to pick that up. Never know when you're going to need a dragon." She smiled at Susan. "Real dragons don't get bigger than a child's fist. They can breathe fire, mind you. From what I remember, running afoul of them can be painful. But they eat flying insects, not humans. Think of them as flying frogs."
"What about their hoard?" Susan asked. Feldspar was listening but seemed frozen in shock and Susan was curious... in stories, dragons always had treasure.
"Pure fiction," the girl answered. She looked past Susan towards the smokers. "Maybe we should go inside."
Susan glanced back. The smokers had lit up again. One waved as if to say 'see you later.'
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