Kaitlin’s head canted. “Wait, how did she—”
Jared knelt at Banch’s side. “I mentioned your place was nearby, before she passed out.”
“I see. Well, I guess her memory is still fine. Uh, I’m Kaitlin Daning.” She put her hand out, all her bracelets noisily clacking together at her wrist. Banch groggily regarded her hand before shaking it.
“Banch.”
“Banch what?”
“Like a pop star,” the banshee said lowly. “One name only.”
Kaitlin chuckled. “Okay, Gaga, do you need pain meds or water or apple juice?”
“You’re sweet, but I’d just like a wet towel to clean off this blood. Jared can go fetch it.”
Lifting her brow, Kaitlin said, “He won’t know which towels to use and he’ll just freak out. I’m used to the son-of-a-gun.” Kaitlin turned around but Banch caught her arm.
She carefully released Kaitlin and shrugged. “He might surprise you.”
Jared hurried off before anything else could be said. If his mind wasn’t so occupied on the Assembly he’d have been more annoyed with both women; he wasn’t a puppy that needed training. He supposed he brought that kind of treatment on himself, but when it came to him and Kaitlin, there’d never been any discord. She was helpful and he was helpless. It was perfect, although too comfortable to ever get beyond his incapacitating indecision.
He found a red terry cloth wash rag and ran it under the sink with warm water. When he came back out Kaitlin sat in the rocking lounger across from the couch. Banch had straightened from a prone position now. Each woman had intense expressions and for a heartbeat Jared thought maybe Banch had told her everything.
“Why do I need an accent?” Banch asked her.
“Because you aren’t American, from all I hear.”
“That’s correct. I’m not.” Banch folded her hands behind her head. She still looked disoriented from the effects of the Swell.
“You speak like anyone who lives in the valley or the hills.”
“Well I don’t kno’ abou’ tha,’” Banch replied in a Scottish accent.
Kaitlin smirked. “I can speak with several accents myself.”
“That’s fortunate.” Banch’s eyes centered on Kaitlin for a moment before moving to Jared. “Gonna let that thing dry?”
“Oh, sorry.” He handed her the towel.
Banch cleaned herself up in a systematic pattern from forehead to nose to cheeks to jaw and neck and then breast plate. The towel was more than spent after she was done.
“Did you deposit my paycheck?” Jared asked Kaitlin, trying to bring some normalcy back into the room.
“Not yet, the audition took all my time today.”
“That’s okay,” he said. “You think you’ll get a call back?”
“If I blow the casting agent, and we both know how unlikely that is.”
“How bad do you want the part?”
“You’re an asshole.” Kaitlin snorted and tossed a throw pillow from the lounger at him. Jared caught it with a smile, which faded as she saw Banch carefully watching them.
“Time to go?” he asked. “Do you—”
Banch neatly folded the towel and handed it to Kaitlin. “My thanks.”
“Anytime.”
“So, are you able to walk?” Jared prodded.
The banshee lifted a hand. “They are far off yet. We have probably another twenty minutes before I can walk well enough. That’ll give us time still to keep ahead.”
Kaitlin gave a suspicious look and let the towel drop on the end-table. “Where are you off to? Or may I not ask?”
“The beach,” Banch blurted.
Jared needed to sit down.
And did.
“Which beach?”
“Seal,” he replied.
Kaitlin pressed her lips together and nodded, as though vaguely interested, but Jared knew for a fact she was very interested. “Oh okay, well, that’s not far.”
He let a single chuckle escape on accident and coughed into his fist.
The news changed to footage of the Assembly storming through an outdoor mall. The camera jerked around and the movement of the mall goers was chaotic and disorienting. Jared recognized the grim bloodstained faces and his insides went to ice.
“Can we turn off the TV? It’s unsettling.”
“I agree there.” Kaitlin grabbed the remote and the red wild devil faces vanished from the screen. “You know, you both are welcome to stay over. I don’t think it’s safe with all that craziness going on out there.”
Jared opened his mouth but Banch cut him off.
“You’re probably right, but we only have today before I go home… my flight is 5 am tomorrow morning.”
“Oh no? You aren’t staying?” Kaitlin looked quickly at Jared, concern in her eyes.
“Afraid not, no,” said Banch.
“That’s too bad, but hey,” Kaitlin slapped Jared’s knee, “you’re both young and if this boy can get his ass on a plane, there’s plenty of opportunities to visit.”
Jared squeezed the ache forming at the bridge of his nose.
“Right?” Kaitlin cued.
“Right,” he said with a faint smile.
“Can I ask a weird question?” Banch said to Kaitlin.
Kaitlin threw her head back and laughed, which she cut off with her hand. “Oh my, please do. I’m OD-ing on normal already here. Bring on the weirder.”
“Do you have a full box of washing detergent?”
Kaitlin smirked. “That’s the best you can do?”
“Yes.”
“I did one load. Only used a single scoop.”
“Can we take it?”
“Is it therefore weird to want to know why?” asked Kaitlin.
“It isn’t, but I can’t answer that,” explained Banch. “Sorry.”
“Then no.”
“Come on Kait,” Jared said.
“No, Jared, really. I don’t have a bunch of disposable income and I got this European—maybe sometimes Scottish—wonder-woman character asking to take my detergent? I have a shit ton of laundry to do. I was going to spend tomorrow evening going at it.”
Banch turned to Jared and tugged her shirt slightly down, deepening her cleavage. “Think it would convince her?”
He waved her off. “Let me handle this.”
“Oh, you’re handling things, eh?” Kaitlin gave a bewildered half-grin. “Well hell Jared, I tell you what, if you let me in on why you need to run off to the beach, I’ll give up the detergent. How’s that sound?”
“That’s more than fair.”
Kaitlin nodded. “So why then?”
Jared stared at Banch a moment and then said, softly, “We want to say goodbye.”
Kaitlin’s face, a face Jared knew well, didn’t betray her true feelings. She wasn’t buying everything and yet at the same time she had another layer there. Pride. Pride in him. She was happy for her friend, for whatever he’d found, if only as brief as it seemed.
“It’s yours,” she said.
Jared stood and gave her a hug. “Love you.”
“Back at you,” she replied, and broke away from him. “Let me go get your box of soap, weirdos.”
It was quiet a few beats after Kaitlin left and suddenly Banch said, “Why do you think she isn’t seeing anyone?”
“She’s busy. But she did have a girlfriend once.”
“That was just a fling, Jared.”
“Look, you don’t know everything about our lives. You just don’t.”
“I do,” snapped Banch. “So shut up.”
“Fair enough,” he grumbled.
Kaitlin came back with a box of Tide. “You really going to carry this with you?”
“Look at those chicken arms, he needs it, am I right?” Banch offered a contagious smile that captured them both.
Jared patted his bicep. “I’m not that scrawny.”
“You’re perfect, just teasing,” said Banch, before pressing her lips into his
neck and instantly setting his blood on fire.
“Get a room,” Kaitlin groaned.
Banch smiled crookedly at him. “If there were only time.”
He blushed and turned away.
“Speaking of rooms. I need to find the restroom,” announced the banshee.
Kaitlin pointed down the hall. Banch nodded and hurried away.
When she was out of sight, Kaitlin asked him, “So what-is-up? Really?”
“Ah, I don’t know, Kait. Just trying to figure it out too.”
Kaitlin’s lips thinned and twitched back and forth. She always did that while considering something meaningful. “I’d be afraid she’d hurt you, only that I guess she’s leaving too soon for that.”
He nodded.
“She might come back though.”
He nodded again.
Banch returned with something in her fist. She approached Kaitlin and opened her hand. There were six spheres of green opalescent there.
“Pearls?” asked Kaitlin.
“These are immature bulbs of a lobe-fern.”
“Where are they from?”
“Transylvania,” said Banch slowly with a smile.
Kaitlin snorted. “Wait a minute, you were supposed to be unconscious when I said—”
“Place them on the ground if you’re ever in real danger,” Banch continued. “But don’t move. Do you understand? Never, ever move, once you’ve put them down. That would be dangerous, so stay absolutely still.”
“Uh, I don’t get it. They’re beautiful, but I don’t get it.” Kaitlin accepted the orbs into her palm.
“She’s superstitious,” Jared offered.
“Ah,” said Kaitlin. “Well thanks.”
“Promise you’ll lay the bulbs down if you are in trouble,” said Banch.
“I promise.” Kaitlin saluted her and looked back down at the lobe-fern bulbs.
Banch gave her a hug that Kaitlin clearly wasn’t ready for. “We need to leave now.”
Jared gave Kaitlin another hug as well. Then they headed to the door.
“You mean the world to him, you know,” he heard Banch say.
Kaitlin laughed. “No idea why.”
Jared stepped onto the porch and glanced into the apartment. Banch delicately patted his old friend’s shoulder. “Because you’ve been his strength, Kaitlin Daning. For a long time, it’s only been you.”
Kaitlin’s face flushed and she looked down at her feet.
As they said goodbyes, Jared hurt inside. He’d never imagined facing a final farewell with Kaitlin. But it felt that way.
Horribly so.
Chapter 9
The Assembly
Things were not as bleak as they could be. We were madly happy the banshee resorted to a Swelling Scream. Yes, the Gift was once more out of our hands, but their course placed them farther from the Paled Ocean. Worse would have been if the banshee used a Swell near the ocean, giving her a tremendous advantage—that, fortunately for us, could not happen now—not unless the banshee wished to almost completely incapacitate herself, becoming worthless to protect the Gift or herself. The dimensional damage she would sustain through a second Swell would require too much recovery and she would fail, no question. And she would not choose this path because of her feelings for our prize. That was our assumption at least. For what else would be the point? Other than to keep our Gift for her own pleasure?
Of course, there were many more tools in that sparkling voice box of hers, but after a Swell most other screams would lose power or potency. So yes, as it was, we still hadn’t gained the Gift, and had been damnably so close, and yet we did rejoice that the banshee had just severely narrowed her options and her effectiveness against us.
We had less excuse for failure now.
After smelling and tasting the scorched layers of space-time, we discovered the stream of sonic material containing our Gift had gone in a southwest direction. From our recall of this city’s streets, we needed to reach the intersection of Caballero and Valley View to use the most effective location to slim escape routes for our Gift and his harlot. A Lung Spike would be ideal for creating an enclosure. Neither of them would be able to get far without falling prone to its effects. We hadn’t had the time to ask the Silent Kings to grant us a Spike before our last encounter, but things were different now, and once again, the Swell was more fortuitous than detrimental; with them farther from the Paled Ocean, we indeed had time now.
Our second grant… we hoped we would not have to ask for the final.
The corridor shadow that could supply access to our arsenal measured by our calculation at a mile’s run. No time was lost. We sprinted, shoulder to shoulder, the ten of us a flying wall of strength raging through the city streets. Cars jerked out of our way as we faced traffic head-on. The Ninth and Tenth smashed a bicyclist out of our path—the helmeted man and bike slid over a parked yellow sports car and out of sight.
There was no flaw in our love. We wanted you, Jared. We wanted you like no other possibly ever could. As soon as the flavor of our last Gift had worn off, something like sixty years ago, we started dreaming about who would be the next, our tongues watering, our muscles perspiring, each of our hairs prickling, the hunger in our souls spreading in volcanic contagion. The thought of boring ten holes through your spine to suck out the sweet fluid there, all of us slurping through thin hoses, sharing expressions of deep content, orgasm-eyes fluttering open and shut, open and shut. It was enough for us to groan in splendor and forget all the torturous burdens of stabilizing the dimensions. All the sadness, all the hurt, made sense because you made our hearts feel warmth again—isolated in a universe of ice, a cabin with a handsome woodstove burning bright, and we would open the door and that’s your power over us. The ice would melt off our souls… for a time.
We could not be denied our reprieve from the madness of our bodies and the torn fibers of our minds. We deserved this. We earned this. Our pleasure out of shrieking doom.
The shadow came into view: a wilting star stationed just left of a convenience store doorway, above newspaper machines. We went to it immediately. The Third, Sixth and Fifth worked together to pull the Lung Spike through the red shimmer. Two more of our number helped with the device, a sturdy marshwood make with Beyond-Age design wrought into its golden stress bands at the head, center, and stalk.
An older man of African descent appeared around the building. He stopped short of buying a newspaper, coins poised in hand. He watched us, transfixed. He had not known what to expect turning that corner so quickly and in a few moments fled in terror. This was a lesson to reap here.
Turning corners…
We expected this was part of the larger problem with the banshee. She continued to consider what was around the corner. That’s where our failure began. We weren’t ready and she always was. As with our plan now, it was likely she anticipated us to use such technology as a Lung Spike, and would try to find a way to deactivate it—such a move would prove risky but would be the only way to get Jared to safety. Then, of course, thinking ahead, the bitchwhore would know we expected her to try something like that.
A better plan must be conceived now, not later. Some of us scratched our chins and those hefting the lengthy Lung Spike mentally did the same.
If we tricked the banshee into believing we had become distracted with something else, it might give her the confidence to make a move. Perhaps we faced difficulties with the Spike itself? A failure of some kind? Once our guard was down, she might think it safe to approach. That’s when we could turn the tables.
The banshee knew extremely little about Beyond-Age technology. We could use that to our advantage. By removing a stress band from the spike’s shaft, there would be a deal of elemental spillage and sparks, putting on a great, showy display—the centermost band was placed there for redundancy. Removing it would be strident and bright, but wouldn’t keep the Lung Spike from functioning at maximum potential.
She would come to deactivate the Spike but w
ould immediately suspect something if some of us were not in view. She’d know it was a trap, that some of us were hiding somewhere, waiting to capture her. It would need to appear that all ten of us labored at repairing the Spike. So in that case, how could we get one of our number to overtake her and get the upper hand?
Tricky, this.
This scene had to be set carefully. We could not flinch. The act had to look genuine. We hoped the cunning tramp would not see around this particular corner. It would be rewarding to see her bones disconnect at each joint and we prayed there would be enough of that voice box of hers to serve ten mouths.
But our fantasies faded as we arrived. The intersection, we found, was not free of cars. We waited, chests heaving, hearts firing with anticipation, and eyes dripping with starving lover’s tears. We ventured into the street. Several horns sounded from cars, while others slammed to a halt and departed their vehicles at the sight of us. We paid these things no mind and continued to the middlemost of the intersection.
The sound of sirens from authority vehicles grew louder in the distance. We grunted and lifted the Lung Spike as high over our heads as possible. The sharpness through time-space dimpled the concrete below without it even contacting the spike yet. With a shared roar of power, we plunged the Spike into the ground, sending dirt, rock, and concrete out in an earthen blossom. The Spike traveled down about half its length. The Tenth reached forward with his scabbed fingers and ripped the middle stress band off. Firestars and blue-red-green spurts of light drew forth from the exposed energy seam. It seared off one of the Tenth’s fingers, but we only flexed our nostrils in rejoinder to such basic pain. Our hearts calmed.
Down the street, people fell from their opened car doors and clutched their throats. The Lung Spike worked well, as expected, with the superficial wound. Pride fluxed through our Ten. Smiles here, there, there, and there.
“Everyone up against the wall!” an angry voice shouted from behind us. “Now assholes! Right now!”
We turned.
One of the blue uniformed law enforcers had come up the street. His vehicle had two tires up on a sidewalk about fifteen feet down the road. A wiry red-haired man, not fat but paunchy in the stomach, he had his firearm leveled at us. So sweet he was; we cooed at him. He had no concept of what we were. Our bodies had been pressed through collapsing axis hinges—dimensional rivets had passed through our abdomens in endless succession for decades to keep the dimensions from ripping. We shook our head at the silly man, a squirrel trying to intimidate Gods with his tiny acorns? We might have laughed, but recalling the hinges and rivets, we were inclined to a different mood.
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