by Linda Welch
A big black panel van arrived a few minutes later. Royal and one of the Gelpha ferried my stretcher in the back. The Gelpha sat in front with his partner. Bel sat on one of the bench-style seats inside. Royal stood with the gurney. Chris came in and Royal gave him a furious look. “We talked about this. You cannot come, Chris.”
Chris hushed him with a wave. He bent to lay a soft kiss on my brow, smirked at Royal and backed from the van. “Be off with you now.”
“If we return, we will use The Station to go directly to Clarion and no doubt Bel will return to San Francisco,” Royal said. “Do not wait for us.”
“If? You mean when. We will see each other again, old chum.”
Chris lifted one hand in farewell as Royal shut the back doors. The van took off but stopped a few minutes later. One of the Gelpha opened the back and an airport official climbed in. He looked through a wad of paperwork the Gelpha handed him, ran his gaze over me and left with a nod. I suppose, with a patient on life support, we got to avoid the usual going through security routine.
From the way the vehicle swayed, we went full speed ahead, not slowing much for corners. Bel kept his feet firmly planted on the floor and leaned his forearms on his knees with his hands clasped between them. Royal braced his spine on the side wall as he held the stretcher.
The van decelerated and stopped smoothly. Royal and Bel stood. The doors opened and the two Gelpha maneuvered the gurney out with Royal warning them to be careful. He hopped out after it, followed by Bel.
The rear doors closed and the van drove away, leaving Royal, Bel, my body on the gurney, and me curled around Royal. The small monitors still beeped steadily.
Bel shook out his coat, which turned out to be a cloak. When he flung it over his shoulders it covered him from neck to ankles. He pulled the hood up to hide his head and face.
“Are you ready?” Royal asked.
The hood nodded.
This time we faced not an alley but a dirt lane in a run-down part of San Francisco. Small backyards with worn picket fencing lined it, and ahead, the darkness beneath trees turned pitch-black. Pushing the gurney, Royal led the way, along the lane far longer than it should be, into the midnight shadow and onward.
Chapter Twenty-Five
The tiny orange light glowed in the distance. Bel stopped walking. “Go ahead. I will join you Downside.”
In Carmel, he explained he must enter Downside unseen but getting through The Station unnoticed seemed a bit of a stretch.
Royal nodded and continued. He didn’t look back when, near the light, the great wooden door opened, followed by the iron door. As before, guards with cutlasses awaited us in The Station.
Royal stood over my body for a long minute. “Well, my love, this is it. I hope Arthemy was right when he said your body will survive Downside without artificial stimuli.”
God, I hoped so. I reminded myself Angelina said Arthemy could do as he promised. Shan wanted Royal to bring Lawrence to him and he would not if my body died mid-journey.
Royal waited another minute before disconnecting me from life support. He did it quickly, carefully pulling out the tubes and the IV and other stuff hidden under the blankets. As quickly, he wrapped me in a blanket, swept me into his arms and stepped through the doors.
I anxiously ran my eyes over the body in Royal’s arms as we stood in The Station. The chest rose and fell, the face remained peaceful. Royal held me to his chest one-armed as he pressed his fingers to my neck to feel my pulse.
The Station Master sat behind his grill. He lifted one hand to Royal. Royal nodded, and walked on. The guards seemed tense, edgy, as if in fear of some sensed but unseen threat. They gripped their swords and their eyes darted.
I thought I saw movement from the corner of my eye, a flicker, but when I looked there was nothing.
Royal stopped outside The Station. His gaze panned over the street and buildings.
His voice held a touch of awe. “I remember this. I remember . . . everything.”
He walked down the steps and along the sidewalk. Seeing Downside again made me dizzy. The red sky, towering old buildings, not to mention the citizens. How odd that nobody looked at Royal twice. You’d think a man carrying an unconscious woman warranted some curiosity. Apparently not.
The shadows moved and pooled, and Baelfleur stepped from them. “Follow me. Shan may have people watching for you.”
My heart sank. If Shan watched for us, did he have us followed before? Did he see us go to Angelina, Rain and River? Maybe he watched them, also. Maybe he had an inkling of our plan.
Did the same thoughts crash through Royal’s head?
Bel swerved into a restaurant and through the kitchen to a rear exit. Not one patron looked up from their meal and a lone waiter turned the other way. We exited among overflowing garbage cans and headed along a narrow alley with walls rising so high either side, the red sky was a mere slit way above us. From there, we kept to lanes and alleys, not once emerging into a wider thoroughfare. We encountered few inhabitants, who ignored us as they hurried along. Shivers of foreboding swept me in places which appeared to be dark and deserted yet movement wavered on my peripheral vision. Royal kept his eyes ahead, his pace didn’t falter. Bel moved at Royal’s side, the hem of his brown cloak swirling around his ankles and soft brown ankle boots.
I clung to Royal. Perhaps I could walk these streets as I did before, but I didn’t dare try. Royal would not know if he left me, stranded in Gettaholt. And Arthemy said I needed to be with my body when he worked his magic?
Half an hour after leaving The Station, Bel stopped near the end of yet another dirty alley. “Wait. I will find River and Rain and bring them.” He looked toward the end of the alley. “You are safe here. This place is taboo, no one comes this way.”
Were Maggie here, she would ask why, but Royal only said, “Are we in danger?”
“Not if you stay here. Do not venture beyond.”
With a nod of farewell, Baelfleur walked back the way we came.
I peered but the space ahead lacked the lamps and neon common in other parts of Gettaholt. I had a shadowy impression of an open space and a large building with a tall steeple.
Royal leaned on the wall with my body cradled in his arms.
After a minute, he said, “I feel blind, Tiff. In our world, I can sense human beings and other Gelpha near. Here, nothing. Our plans may be for nothing if we were followed.”
He didn’t see me but talked to me anyway; it buoyed my spirits.
“Don’t worry. This is Bel’s world, he knows what he’s doing,” I said as much to reassure myself as Royal. Not that he heard me.
An hour is a long time to stand in a dark alley holding a woman in your arms. Royal looked into my face; sometimes he held me closer to him. An hour is too long to wait, fearing the enemy will arrive on the scene. I think I intimately knew every crumbling brick near where Royal stood, the puddle at his feet, and the damn raindrops soaking his hair and wetting his face. He pulled the blanket over my body’s head and face to shield it but it quickly soaked through.
I didn’t hear their footsteps, but suddenly Bel, River and Rain stood a few feet from us. Royal’s entire body went rigid, then relaxed, but not completely.
“We’ve been all over this area,” River said. “If anyone had you in their sights, we’d’ve seen them. If they managed to hide from us, they can’t from Castle.”
Castle, the invisible partner. I should be glad of his help, but every mention of him made me wonder if I would become a dead partner. But unlike Castle, I’d be no help to Royal.
Like now.
Bel’s voice jerked me out of my unpleasant reverie. “Show me the photo.”
He dropped his hood to reveal an eerily different countenance, a subtly different Baelfleur. Deep-set blue eyes like bruises in his flawless, creamy skin, and cheekbones sharp enough to cut paper. His hair feathered around his face, soft and fine as white goose down. A tall, lean, sinewy, wingless fairy.
Ro
yal took the picture of Lawrence from his jacket. This was it, a pivotal part of the plan. If Bel couldn’t do as he claimed, we might as well go home.
“I have invented the guise of a man many times, never the likeness of an actual person.” Bel studied the photo. “You must guide me.”
What followed floored me. I bet I couldn’t say a word were I able to.
Familiar with auras now, I didn’t notice them as much. I saw them, and dismissed them from my mind. But Bel’s aura changed, it shifted and slid around him like shadows and slivers of colored glass, spinning and merging.
And Lawrence stood in the alley with us, the Lawrence of six years ago, a beautiful boy with glossy brown, shoulder-length hair and a pointed face, wearing a Saint Mary Frances school uniform.
In Carmel, Bel said he used light and shadow to change his appearance, but we stood in near-darkness in a narrow alley, the red sky casting a feeble light incapable of lifting the shadows. Where did the gleaming brown of Lawrence’s hair come from, his dusky skin, the emerald-green of his school uniform? Did Bel draw on the colors of his aura?
Did he know?
Rain peered at the photo in Bel’s hand. “Excellent.”
“He is six years older,” Royal said. “Taller now, and mature for his age.”
Then began a fascinating process as Royal described Lawrence. Bel’s face and body didn’t warp and change, it happened instantly between one breath and the next. His hair darkened to burnished copper and chestnut, his face lost a child’s softness and became firm, his nose bigger and high-bridged, his chin square. Taller now, he was a miniature version of his father Gryphon.
I stared at the new Lawrence who stood with River. Not spot on, but near enough.
Royal thought so, too. “Yes. I think you will pass for Lawrence.”
“Awesome,” said River.
“Now, the clothes,” Royal said. “Something impressive, suitable for a High Lord. Can you manage leggings and a long tunic in rich fabrics?”
Lawrence favored jeans, T-shirts and sneakers but did put on formal togs for council meetings. Before my eyes, his school outfit changed to a soft, long-sleeved, butter-yellow tunic with an embroidered metallic copper pattern on neck and hem, tan leggings and brown slippers. Perhaps not what a Gelpha High Lord wore, perhaps something to suit a sióga prince. But it was beautifully cut from rich materials.
Rain nodded. “Good. Come on now. I arranged transportation.”
Royal followed them through a network of alleys until we emerged in a wide street of tall buildings with ramps leading to big double doors, perhaps warehouses or the rear entrances to stores where they received goods. A long black car with tinted windows idled near one such building. Rain opened the rear door and got in. Royal followed, folding his big body to ease mine inside. He settled on the leather seat with me on his knees and held to his chest, pushed the blanket aside and stroked my damp hair. Bel joined us and River got in front with the driver.
A big blond-headed guy, the driver turned in his seat and grinned hugely, and I did a minor freak out. Fangs. Not slightly pointed teeth like Gelpha, fangs long enough to dent his lower lip.
“Stop it, Clide,” Rain chided with laughter in her voice. “You did that intentionally.”
He tossed his head with a deep, rumbling chuckle and faced the road again.
As the car moved off, Rain reached to the floor and came up holding a long belt with a sheath attached. She partly drew a long black sword from it to show Royal, and slid it back in.
I have seen swords in a number of styles, but nothing like this. All of one piece, smooth, black and glossy, the double edge on the slim blade looked paper thin. Cord wound the hilt to provide grip.
Royal arranged my body on the seat and removed his long leather coat so he could don the sword and belt. The belt went crosswise over one shoulder and his chest. With his coat back on, it was hidden.
River passed his big pistol. “Take care of her. She’s one of a kind.”
“Oh, so it’s female now?” Rain asked.
“She’s female. Ornery and unpredictable.”
“Castle said it wasn’t female when he owned it,” Rain explained.
Royal tucked the gun in his pocket. It made an ugly bulge in his coat. He pulled my body to his lap again and arranged it so the weapons didn’t dig in me.
The car stopped down the street from Arthemy’s house. We were here less than twenty-four hours ago but it felt longer, and at the same time too soon to return.
River reached over the seat to open the back door but Royal didn’t immediately move. He stroked my hair and cheek, and held one limp hand.
My heart hurt for him, for all he’d suffered on my behalf. Again, my helplessness made me want to tear my hair out.
“You’re running out of time,” Rain said.
“Yes,” Royal agreed, eyes not leaving my sleeping face. A sigh breathed between his lips before he gathered me in his arms and got out of the car.
Bel followed him. The car drove away and we set off to Arthemy’s house.
Bel lagged as Royal climbed the steps. “Nervous?” Royal asked.
“Terrified.”
“You risk a lot. Thank you for helping us when you need not.”
“I am indebted to Rain and River.” Bel brought his shoulders up. “When the debt is paid, I need never set foot in Downside again.”
The front door swung open.
The doorway was empty and chills trickled over my spine. No one waited to admit us and guide us through the house.
Royal didn’t hesitate. He went inside, hugging me to him with one arm, his other hand on Bel’s shoulder as if steering him. I expected the door to shut behind us with an eerie creak but it remained open after we walked on.
Shan waited for us in the gloomy chamber in front of the tables. Hair bound in a topknot, he wore a long-sleeved, floor-length red robe. Jewels dazzled in his midnight hair, his ears, on fingers and wrists.
On the stone table on our right, a bucket the size of a child’s sand pail held a white substance, and a keen-edged knife and large round copper bowl lay near it.
Arthemy stood near the black circle.
“Welcome, Ryel.” Shan swept a deep bow and spoke mockingly. “And my Lord Lawrence. What a fine young man. You have the look of your father about you. I am glad you chose to join us. Our party is assembled.”
With his chin up, Bel eyed Shan haughtily but didn’t reply. To speak might give the game away for he sounded nothing like a twelve-year-old. If it seemed Bel must speak, Royal would run interference.
“I admit,” Shan said to Royal, “I doubted you would bring the young lordling. The woman means so much to you? Now I see where your true loyalties lie.
“Put her there, Morté Tescién.” He pointed a long-nailed finger at the table on the left.
Royal laid my body on the table and arranged my arms and legs.
To me, those tables looked too much like altars. I shuddered.
Shan touched a dangling earring. “Ryel, you come into my presence armed.” His hand moved to lay flat on his heart. “Your distrust wounds me.”
When Royal said nothing, Shan dropped his theatrics. Though his features might have been carved of ivory for all the expression they showed, his voice turned cold and hard. He slapped a palm on the table on the right. “Put your weapons here.”
Royal dragged the heavy, ugly revolver from his pocket. He reached under his coat and in one smooth motion drew forth the sword. Stepping to the stone table, he placed them side by side.
Shan looked at the weapons. “Where did you get these, Morté Tescién? They are not the style of weapons I expect you to carry.”
“I found them Downside,” Royal said woodenly.
“You must have grasped I would ask you to disarm?”
“One can always hope.”
Shan’s chuckle lacked any trace of humor. “Hope is an emotion you should discard.”
He snapped his fingers.
&n
bsp; Chapter Twenty-Six
Two huge man-shaped things materialized out of thin air. Literally. One minute Royal, Shan, Baelfleur and the blood mage Arthemy stood in the room, in the next two hulking beasts each grabbed Royal and Bel by the upper arms. Eight feet tall and blocky with snub noses, flat lips and small dark eyes, their gray skin looked rough, like granite.
Scared witless, I let go of Royal’s aura and skittered away from the hulking beast holding him.
The monster restraining Lawrence grunted and looked down on the boy’s head. What he felt didn’t match what he saw, but he said nothing.
Royal’s entire body strained, his mouth twisted in a snarl and muscles popped out all over the place, the veins in his temples bulged. Royal is strong, but he couldn’t move an inch. Baelfleur didn’t try. The horror in his eyes was unmistakable.
“A cloaking spell,” Arthemy said with a hint of a smile. “I’m rather proud of it.”
Helpless, scared almost out of my mind, I dug my nails in my palms but didn’t feel the sting I expected.
Where were River and Rain? Castle’s ghost was supposed to be here, to call them in at the first opportune moment.
I drew my Ruger. The Station Master said guns didn’t work properly but River said his did, and this was Downside, a place made of magic. Maybe my gun would work.
It didn’t.
“Agh!” I threw the gun at Shan with all the power of my arm. I lost sight of it as it left my hand, and felt its weight return to the holster snugged into my side.
“I lied. I have no interest in discussing terms with Lord Lawrence.” Shan walked to the circle and stood with his back to us. “What an interesting place is Downside, where magic is not human tomfoolery but the stuff which gives this world life. Essence, drawn from the ether and manipulated by those with the talent to do so. Did I mention Arthemy is also a soul shaper? I believe I did.” Shan walked along the table, fingertips of one hand brushing the black blade. “My friend can do more than steal spirits from living bodies. He will switch mine and Lawrence's souls.” He turned his face to the mage. “Tell them, Arthemy.”