by Ursula Bauer
“There are thousands. From fairy tales to grimoires.”
“Nothing abridged.”
“The mythic world likes to keep things sketchy.”
“Figures.” Meg picked her way around the worst of the blood, grabbed some clothes, and changed in the bathroom. When she emerged, Gideon had the rest of their belongings packed and stood waiting at the door.
“Let’s go, Doc. Mammett will be here in a few minutes.”
The cleaners. No matter what the trouble, they were always one phone call away. So neat, it was maddening. “Do you always have someone to clean up your mess?”
His jaw tightened, and he slipped on his shades. “I try to run a clean operation. No strings.”
“Oh.” She followed him to the car, leaving the horrific scene behind her. “Am I a string?”
He threw the bags in the back of the SUV and shut the door. “Meg, listen to me very carefully. I want you. So bad it makes me crazy, so bad it’s all I can do to keep my hands to myself. Every second I’m fighting myself to keep off of you. Trust me, you’re not a string.”
She liked the sound of her name from him. “Then why hold back? Don’t give me that nonsense about needing to protect me. You do a decent job of that no matter the circumstance.”
He leaned in close, kept his voice very soft, but it carried a strange edge. “You came for me, Meg. How’d that make you feel this morning, when you woke up and remembered? What were you thinking?”
A lot of things, all jumbled, none making sense. Her mind cleared as an irrational anger swirled inside of her. He was twisting things, just like a regular man. She wouldn’t be played, not like that.
She closed the miniscule distance between them and stabbed an accusatory finger at his broad chest. “Don’t put this on me, Gideon. You’re afraid of me. Admit it. Me, mere mortal, Doctor Meg, I scare you and you don’t like that.”
He jammed his hands in his pockets. “Maybe I’m afraid of me. Of what I can do. Of what I’ve done. Maybe I don’t want you hurt like I’ve hurt others.”
His voice was raw now, laced with a palpable pain.
She stopped pointing, pulled back her hand and considered his words. She could swear she felt his ache, deep inside herself. It was a curious, unsettling sensation, but she didn’t shy from it. Or from him. “I’m not afraid of you, Gideon. You shouldn’t be either.”
“You’ve known me two nights, Doc. You don’t get to decide that. If you had any idea…”
“Tell me, Gideon. Tell me what you’re running from. What you’re afraid of. Is it what you dreamed of last night? What made you cry out in your sleep?”
Silence stretched between them. He appeared ready to say something when the howl of a lone wolf pierced the quiet morning. Several more answered the call in an eerie chorus that echoed off the surrounding hills.
Fear pricked her spine, raised the hairs on the nape of her neck.
He glanced over his shoulder, and pulled out a nasty looking pistol from his holster. “We need to hustle, Doc. It’s not safe here anymore.”
———
Monte Carlo
Salazar gave the keys to his Mercedes to the valet and buttoned up his favorite Armani blazer. The Hotel Solei was bustling, even though it was still early evening by continental standards. He ascended the carpeted stairs and emerged in the sumptuous lobby. Beautiful people, members of the elite European jet set, as well as moneyed sheiks, mixed with nuevo riche and even a few Americans. For a moment he stood still, soaking it all in: the costal air, the cosmopolitan feel, the thrum of excitement and energy that flowed like strong ocean currents through the swarming crowd. Venice was a provincial cousin compared to this glittering socialite city.
The last time he’d visited Monte Carlo he’d come to bring an operative in from the cold. In the end, there was no salvaging the woman. He’d followed protocol, taken her out of play, called the cleaners, and moved on. Ramon straightened his cuffs and jacket. The woman had been close. A lover. But she’d got caught up in playing the game. Surprisingly, he still felt the same tightness in his chest, the same sense of absence and longing as clear and sharp as he did the night he was forced to end their liaison. And her life.
He shrugged off the unpleasant memory and moved deeper into the casino. Ian was here, at a blackjack table, drinking champagne and losing obscenely large sums of money. Ramon stayed near a fluted column, ordered a Limoncella, and observed. He blended well with the crowd and surroundings, and was hard to pick out standing amongst the other olive-skinned, dark-haired, well-dressed males of a certain age that congregated in places such as these. And Ian’s senses were deadened due to the void that was Monte Carlo. Ramon wasn’t sure what he expected to find. Even knowing what he did. Perhaps he hoped the truth would not be proved out. The last truth proved out in Monte Carlo killed him, as well as the woman he thought he loved. He sipped the soothing aperitif as Ian accepted another card from the dealer.
From the throng, a woman of distinction separated herself. She moved like a billion-dollar yacht amongst freighters and barges, slipping easily through the traffic, seeming so far above the cut. She was polished to a shine, her golden blonde hair pulled back into an elegant bun, her white, haute couture gown a sleek cloud wrapped around her statuesque, heavenly body. Ramon’s muscles went rigid, like a cat ready to spring into battle. He’d not seen this one’s like in two thousand years. Not since their kind was locked down by the Aesir into a sealed realm. And this one in particular, she’d been a casualty of that war and peace accord. She should be dead. But here she was, alive, in someone else’s skin. Wonderful. His day was getting better and better by the moment. Thank providence Bast had put Gideon on this job. Ramon couldn’t imagine what would have happened if the champion’s instincts had not brought conspiracy and ruin to light.
Ramon finished his drink and set it down on a nearby table as he moved closer to observe. Skathi, as he had known her then, laid a milky, elegant arm around Ian’s broad shoulders and whispered something in his ear that made the drunken mystic smile devilishly. It wasn’t hard to guess what she offered. Certainly something better than the losing streak at the table.
Ah, Ian, you’re safer playing odds against the house than mixing with her kind. Frost Giants were a dangerous, shifty lot. They thrived on chaos, and held grudges to the end of time and beyond. And this one, an Enchantress, she was the most dangerous of the lot. They were not evil, not in the true sense, and they were not good either, which made them even more problematic.
Ian finished his hand and his drink and departed with the creature. Ramon sighed softly to himself. How unfortunate that his information was correct. More unfortunate was Ian’s choice. Better to lose at the table, than to play this loser’s game. Either the enchantress would kill him, or Ramon would be forced to do the same. A compromised mystic was not tolerated. Ever.
He trailed them at a safe distance as the couple went out into the early night. They kissed on the stairs, a gauche, frantic affair, and called for a vehicle. It was hers, a sleek, ice white Lamborghini. How she fit her tall frame inside, Ramon had no clue. He considered summoning his Mercedes, then changed his mind. Instead he ducked into a corner and let one of his forms assert itself. Moments later, he was Raven, spreading dark black wings and taking flight. Below, the Lamborghini raced through the twists and turns of the treacherous Monte Carlo streets, driving far out into the costal hillside.
The car finally stopped in the manicured courtyard of a secluded, modern styled villa that cut back into the rocks and overlooked the ocean. Ramon crested down upon the ground for a moment to get his bearings. Then he flew round the house, peering into the windows, seeking the couple. The place was well furnished, expensively decorated, and exclusively white, relieved only by silver, chrome and the diamond iridescence of highly polished glass.
He found a suitable balcony to gain entry but realized it was alarmed: both magically and mundanely. They were now beyond the barriers of Monte Carlo’s magic de
ad zone, so he needed to apply more caution. Ramon flew to the rear by the alarm junction box, returned to human form, and pulled out a small kit from the inside blazer pocket. His talent for burglary came in handy every now and again, allowing him to bypass the alarm with ease. The modern ages had such helpful devices to assist the well-schooled thief. In raven form, he returned to the balcony, shifted back shifted to man, and finessed entry into the unused bedroom with a mixture of modern technology and ancient sorcery. It was almost too easy, he thought, and that put him on edge.
Ian and Skathi were downstairs, mixing drinks, and talking. Her laughter reminded him of the splitting of icebergs. He used the time to wander the second floor, exploring, testing the boundaries of the magic, discerning the energy’s origin and make. As well as the maker. As he reached out with his honed senses, he learned that the make was ancient indeed, and intricate. It was all protective, more to keep energy seekers out and contain the truth of the creature that dwelled here than to provide offensive action.
He found several mage marks but they were obscure to him, just as the strings of sigils he found in an upstairs office, carved beneath the desk that held a computer and fax. It put him in mind of demonic magic, which was at odds with the Frost Giantess downstairs. He also found it strange for an Enchantress to shop out her magical protections. Perhaps it wasn’t her home? That would make more sense.
As Ian and Skathi came up the stairs now, he blended into the shadows. They passed him without notice, went into one of the rooms at the end of the hall, and as soon as the door was shut, he went to listen. He’d not taken three steps when the distinct sound of gunshots rang out. Salazar forgot caution, assumed human form, threw open the door. Ian and Skathi were on the bed. Each had a thick dart protruding from the neck and sightless eyes that stared into the oblivion of unconsciousness.
Two men in black tactical gear and balaclavas turned to face him, each holding the signature modified immortal suppression rifles issued to the troops that served the Covenant. A sudden jolt of pain ripped through his side as electricity fried his nerves. Enraged, he spun on his attacker, and was hit point blank with a deadly dart loaded with just the right amount of titrated vampiric acid to take a creature like him down. His vision clouded, his body seized, and he collapsed into the darkness.
———
Gideon swore to himself as the phone line continued to ring. “Where the hell are you, Ramon?” After another ten rings he hung up and sat for a moment as a bad feeling spread like fast-acting poison through his blood.
He’d tried all the numbers the Spaniard had when the dedicated line wasn’t answered. He left cryptic messages on each, except this last. This was the final resort number, and didn’t have a machine. It was Salazar’s special line, and other than Gideon, only a handful of beings knew of its existence.
This was bad. Very bad. Gideon swore again and dialed another number. After two rings, a woman’s rich voice purred across the line.
“Gideon, I wondered when you’d check in.”
“Salazar’s in trouble, Bast. I can’t reach him.”
She chuckled, a low, deceptively sweet sound. “Salazar is always into some kind of trouble. How goes the job, Champion?”
Gideon paused, confused by the subtle humor in her voice. If he didn’t know better he’d think she was baiting him. “I’ve changed the op.”
“I gathered.”
“I thought something felt wrong.”
“And?”
“And I was right.” He took a moment and caught up his boss, careful to leave out the part about Meg manifesting healing powers.
“You were right to check in with me, Gideon. I need to be very careful in how I handle this, you understand. You’ve gone rogue, and while your reasons are good, you still don’t have enough proof to buy your way out of this. If someone calls for censure, I won’t be able to bend the rules far enough to prevent dispatch of a rogue hunter.”
That was Bast. She knew how to walk the line, and she knew enough never to cross. “I’m working on the proof.”
“Work faster.”
Meg passed by the closed booth, on her way back to the SUV from the ladies’ room of the rest stop. She neared the front window where the brilliant afternoon sun turned her hair to fire and surrounded her in a lustrous halo of light. Gideon’s chest tightened. “Don’t worry, I’m on it. You need to worry about the Spaniard. He was working in deep with me. Last contact I had was yesterday. He was on his way to Monte Carlo.”
Bast cursed. “Ian Campbell was sent there on mandatory holiday after a breakdown.”
“So I hear.”
“Don’t worry about Salazar, I’ll take care of him. You find the mage, and fix the difficulties at your end.”
Gideon hung up and considered placing a call in to Jack. They’d be arriving early. After this morning, he didn’t want to risk traveling any more than necessary. That meant cutting through the mists, using the nebulous passages that shifted somewhere between time and space. To do that safely and reach Jack’s, he’d have to hire a guide from one of the motor clans. He made a few more calls, finally called in a marker, and set up a meeting with a local rider, but he didn’t feel any better. Traveling the mists, particularly the shifting mists, was dicey. Passages were always in motion, and today’s road could easily turn into eternity’s grave if you took a wrong turn, or, if the road’s temporal position began to drift.
He tried the emergency number one last time, then left the booth. Salazar was a tough bastard. For him to drop out of sight meant big trouble. Conspiracy at the Warden’s Council was a bad scene. If one vision of convergence was compromised, there could be more. Bad intel led to wrong actions which completely compromised the timeline. And if that wasn’t enough to keep him on edge, that damn dream replayed again and again in his head on some kind of horrific loop. It was as if his past kept smacking him in the head, telling him to wise up and watch his step, or he’d be responsible for yet another colossal failure.
The burning pain in his chest started up again, kind of like a cross between indigestion and what he felt when he stabbed himself there a few nights back. Maybe he still had some internal trauma to his heart? Yeah, that was it. Sure, he healed fast, and the doc’s touch helped, but some wounds had a way of lingering no matter what you did to patch them up.
He met up with Meg out by the SUV. She’d taken a seat at a picnic table, and was munching on chips and drinking a soda. She had a serene air about her today, a thoughtful look, and to all the world, appeared no different from any of the other travelers stopping at the rest facility.
“I got you a soda.” She motioned for him to join her.
“Thanks.” Gideon sat on the edge of the seat and opened the plastic bottle. “We’re going to take a short cut to Jack’s. I don’t want to risk another night in this realm, even in a safe house.”
Meg arched a fine brow. “This realm? You make it sound like Jack lives in never-never land. I thought you said he had a place in Vegas.”
“Jack lives in what he calls his fortress of solitude. It borders on the mortal realm in the desert outside of Las Vegas, but it’s about half a step behind the normal reality stream. It kind of sits on the edge of the line in the between space. He can merge with this realm, but usually keeps to himself.”
“He sounds like a fairy prince, complete with his own castle.”
Gideon laughed, surprising himself. “His mother was a fey witch. I suppose in one sense he could be considered royalty.”
“You keep interesting company.” She pulled a ridged chip from the bag, popped it into her mouth and followed with a sip of soda.
Her lips glistened with salt crystals, shining like diamond chips in the light. He wanted to lick them clean. He wanted to lick all of her, he thought, remembering how good she tasted last night. “Jack cooks up some serious magic. The place really is a fortress. He has this thing about feeling safe. He has a lot of things that need protecting, including himself.”
“Couldn’t we just stay there until this is all over?”
“You might be able to. I still need to do some outside work.”
She played with the soda bottle, tearing at the edge of the wrapper. “I feel safer staying with you.”
Gideon went warm all over. It was foolish, he knew, but a part of him liked being her protector, her champion. He really had it bad for this one. He stood and jammed his hands into his pockets. “We need to meet a guide. She’ll take us through the passage to reach Jack’s.”
She finished off the last chip, crumpled the bag, and tossed it into the nearby can. The light summer breeze teased her curls as she stood. “Passage?”
He swallowed hard, his throat hot and dry. “I’ll explain on the way.”
Meg peppered him with questions for the twenty or so miles it took to reach the meeting point. He was constantly surprised at her ability to take in the information. Each question built on the last, drawing facts out in a nice, linear procession until they formed a cohesive picture. Normally he didn’t care for interrogations, but the sound of her voice enchanted him and her natural curiosity was good-natured and enjoyable. It made him feel like a regular guy, talking with her as the miles rolled by, even if they were discussing topics from the theater bizarre.
“That’s our guide?” Meg stared at the lanky, leather clad blonde woman standing beside the silver Harley-Davidson. “She’s an Amazon.”
“No, she’s a North American werewolf.” Gideon pulled up along side, and rolled down the window. “Hey, Kara. Good to see you again.”
“I was surprised to get your call, Gid. Thought you’d be dead by now for sure.” Kara’s voice was dark and husky, and once was able to stir his blood to a fast and wicked boil. Now he found himself immune to her, and all else, except Meg. “I wired you the usual fee.”
“I know. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.” She came close to the car, rested her arms on the edge of the open window and leaned in. “I’m Kara Blake, with Clan Stormshadow.”