“They’re worse than the one in Oregon, chere. Please be careful,” he told her.
“Roger that,” she replied. She yawned loudly and heard him laugh.
“Okay, I can take a hint. Get some sleep,” he said. “I’ll call you tomorrow night.”
“Love you,” she mumbled.
“Love you, too, babe.”
Within five minutes she was fast asleep and never heard the door to her room quietly opening.
* * * * *
“Laci!” Coulter said and knocked again. He and the Mage were standing outside her door in the cool breeze that was coming off the rain sluicing down the edge of the overhang. “Come on, girl. Get a move on!”
The Mage looked at the rental car they’d obtained at the airfield the evening before. Laci had driven them to the motel since both he and Coulter had been physically and psychically wiped out. She had the keys to the car with her. “Something isn’t right,” he said.
“Laci!” Coulter turned his hand so the side of his fist was pummeling the door. “Laci, open the damn door!”
“Hey man, give it a rest!” someone down the way called from his doorway. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”
“Break it in,” the Mage said.
Coulter didn’t need another command. He lifted his foot and slammed it against the portal though he knew the Mage could have simply opened the door with his mind.
As he could have but the purely male, violent physical act released some of the building worry invading his mind.
The door flew open, banging against the wall and would have shut again had Coulter not shouldered his way through the opening.
“Laci?”
The room was empty.
“Laci?” he called again, barging through to the bathroom, throwing that door open as well.
“She’s not here,” the Mage said needlessly.
“You think?” Coulter snarled with irritation. He went to the bed, laid his palm on the rumpled sheets and closed his eyes.
“You won’t be able to detect her whereabouts that way,” the Mage told him. “I am sensing Apollyon was here. Even one such as you will find her hidden to him.”
Coulter knew that was as close as he would come to ever having the Mage admit his powers might be stronger than the magic-sayers.
“Why would he take her?” Coulter demanded.
“Leverage,” the Mage said, calmly. “Why else?” He put the index and middle fingers of his left hand to his temple. “We’ve got a problem.”
“I know we’ve got—” Coulter stopped as he realized the Mage was speaking to the Ridge Lord.
“I have no idea. Sometime during the night is my guess. The room feels barren of her presence.”
Coulter tuned his mind into the conversation.
“Coulter is a dead man unless he finds that girl!” the Supervisor shouted into the Mage’s mind.
“My thoughts exactly,” the Mage said, turning his hard gaze on Coulter.
“Get on it. Now!” the Supervisor commanded.
“Why didn’t we feel the danger surrounding her?” Coulter asked. It wouldn’t do any good for recriminations. The Mage was as much at fault as was he but he would take the blame for it.
“Good question,” the Mage snapped. “One of us should have.”
Coulter stepped away from the bed. “We’re in the foothills,” he said.
“Aye, so what?”
Swallowing hard, Coulter did the only thing he knew to do.
He closed his eyes and called on An Fear Liath Mor for help.
At that moment, the Big Gray Man was lolling in his hammock, going over in his mind the mental images of his latest offspring. The lad had been a robust forty-five pounds of squirming, yowling fur and An Fear Liath Mor had withstood that piercing howling for as long as he could before hying himself back to Terra and the peace and quiet it afforded.
It was best to enjoy the products of his loins from a distance where diapering and feeding and regurgitation down one’s back was not on the daily agenda. His big grin attracted flies but he batted them away as he hummed the tune to Gilligan’s Island through his teeth. One of his giant feet pumped in time to the rhythm. When the call came from the Gravelord, he was not pleased.
“Go away,” he said, recognizing the voice as that of one he didn’t like.
“I need your help, Vainshtyr,” Coulter said.
“And I need my downtime,” the Big Gray Man snapped.
“A Reaper’s woman has gone missing.”
An Fear Liath Mor’s eyes opened and a snarl replaced his grin. “Whose woman?”
“Taylor Reynaud.”
“The pussy boy who is friend of the hound?” the Big Gray Man snorted, his rubbery lips flapping. He zeroed in on the speaker, took delight in sensing the man’s utter terror of him and probed deeper. At least the assling had used what little brains he had to investigate who it was of whom he was asking aid. He discovered the hybrid Superlord had spent hours learning all he could of An Fear Liath Mor and his kind.
He also flung wide his search and discovered the hound—and the hound’s fellow Reapers—did not like the assling. “You lost her. Tell me why I should help you,” he demanded.
“She is a Reaper’s woman and I am asking your help as a Reaper. There is a demon involved. Apollyon—”
“Enough said!” Throwing one giant leg from the swaying hammock, the beastly entity sat up. “Come to me with something of hers,” he said. “I will take it from there.” As silence spun out, An Fear Liath Mor cursed in his native tongue. “Come into the hills, Gravelord, and bring that pesky Mage with you.”
“Where in the hills, Vainshtyr?”
“Anywhere, you asstwit!” the Big Man Gray said. “I will hide myself from prying eyes but you will find me readily enough.”
* * * * *
“I’ve never had dealings with Vainshtyr,” the Mage said. He was nervously chewing on a thumbnail. “I had hoped never to.”
“I’m not keen on the idea, either, but if he can locate her for us, I’ll do anything he asks,” Coulter said. He, himself, was trembling at the idea of confronting the Big Gray Man. Even from a distance, just speaking to the entity had turned his bowels to water and his nerves to mush.
“I don’t know why he asked you to bring me with you,” the Mage said and it was obvious to Coulter he had found the other man’s weakness.
“Most likely he wanted to get a good look at the great Mage,” Coulter said, lips twitching.
The Mage growled and turned his head to look out the window. Coulter could smell the blood on the magic-sayers thumb where he had bitten the nail to the quick.
In the backseat of the rental car Coulter had broken into and hotwired because they couldn’t find the keys among Laci’s things, was the shirt she had worn the day before. It had been stuffed inside her laundry bag and still bore the unmistakable scent of her gardenia perfume. He’d read on the Exchange’s computer that An Fear Liath Mor could take one whiff of the blouse and pinpoint precisely where its wearer was. He thanked his lucky stars he had been curious enough to learn all he could about those who helped the Reapers with their assignments.
The drive into blue-misted Appalachian Mountains of Eastern Kentucky would have been beautiful had Coulter not been gripping the steering wheel with stiff fingers, his knuckles bled of color, his eyes tearing with terror. He gnawed on his bottom lip as he drove and he kept shifting in his seat.
As did the Mage.
The closer they got to the high rolling ridges, the deeper his fear became until he was sweating profusely and his breath was coming in pants. There was an overwhelming sense of dread bearing down on him and he knew that fear was being caused by the nearness of the Big Gray Man.
“I can smell him,” the Mage said, his nose crinkled. “By the goddess, that is a stench I won’t soon forget.”
Coulter could smell the entity too and knew it was a scent Vainshtyr was deliberately broadcasting to keep the curious away.
The scent was strong and any who took a good whiff would experience the same terror and foreboding he and the Mage were experiencing.
“Take that road up ahead.”
The booming voice made both men cry out for it had been completely unexpected and so loud Coulter nearly drove off the road and into the gully below. As it was he had to fight the wheel to keep control, cursing beneath his breath.
A narrow dirt lane was the road to which the entity referred and Coulter turned into it. So close were the branches of the laurels and pines and seedling white oaks, the sound of them scraping against the car added to the taut nerves of its passengers. The car bumped over fallen rocks and down saplings to further add to the misery Coulter and the Mage were already enduring.
“This isn’t a road,” the Mage said, his teeth clicking together. “It’s a roller coaster track.”
The road wound steadily upward until it ended in a clearing where trees had been stripped from the steep hillside.
“Clear cutting,” Coulter said with disgust.
“Greed is a better word for it,” the Mage put in. “And a lack of respect for our world.”
Coulter stopped the car and turned off the engine, sat there listening to the engine tick. The sense of foreboding was worse here and he could feel his knees growing weaker by the minute. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand when he opened the door. Beside him, the Mage was taking short, shallow gasps of breath.
“For all our powers,” the Mage said, “if he says boo to us, we’re going to shit our pants.”
“Speak for yourself,” Coulter said though he felt himself close to doing just that.
“Are you awaiting an invitation? Get out of the contraption!”
Both men jumped and scrambled to do as they were ordered. Coulter felt his cheeks burning. His self-view was rapidly deteriorating between what the goddess had set for him and now the you’re-nothing-but-a-piece-of-shit-to-me attitude of the Big Gray Man.
At least he had the presence of mind to snatch open the back door and pluck Laci’s blouse from the backseat. He clutched it to him as he looked around the clearing—wide-eyed and trembling—alongside the Mage.
The creature that rose from the nether side of the tallest hill was enough to scare the bravest of men. Large, pointed ears were crowned with spiky tufts of ragged, matted gray fur. An overhanging brow that shadowed its red eyes were deep-set above a black snout that resembled that of a bear. A black maw of a mouth revealed sharp fangs when the creature grimaced. Huge paws and extremely large feet ended in thick, yellow claws. The stench clinging to the creature brought tears to Coulter’s eyes it was so sharp and pungent.
“Puny Gravelord has wet his pants,” the Big Gray Man complained with a growl. “And what squishes in the pants of the Mage I care not to contemplate.”
“Vainshtyr, please. Could you please dial down the terror vibes?” the Mage asked.
“You call yourself a Mage,” the Guardian of the Doorway sniffed. “I have hemorrhoids more powerful than you.”
But An Fear Liath Mor reduced the frightening aspects of its personality to a mild unease then plopped down on the ground. The earth rumbled under its weight.
“Give me the garment,” he commanded, reaching out a hairy paw.
Coulter took mincing steps toward the creature and jumped back as soon as the shirt was in the Big Gray Man’s hand.
The creature took a sniff of the shirt and smiled. “The Mate of the Pussy Boy smells good,” he pronounced then closed his huge eyes. A frown wrinkled his black forehead for a moment then smoothed. He cocked one eye open. “You are in luck.” He closed his eye and curled his big toes.
Neither Coulter nor the Mage wanted to ask what the Big Gray Man meant. They looked at each another and the Mage shrugged.
“She is well, though she is very angry,” An Fear Liath Mor stated. “Not frightened even a little bit. Just angry.” He opened his eyes. “Stalwart woman is the Mate of the Pussy Boy.”
“Where is she?” Coulter asked.
“Not far from here,” was the answer. “In the mountains where I can get to her handily.”
“Tell us and we—”
“Where I can get to her handily,” the Big Gray Man stressed. He tossed the shirt to Coulter. “Where you will stay away from her.”
“But I—”
“Shush!” the Guardian of the Doorway snapped. “I am talking with her.”
Coulter closed his mouth with a click of his teeth.
An Fear Liath Mor snarled. “Traps have been set for you,” he said. “Deadly traps designed to kill even a so-called Gravelord.”
“How?” the Mage asked.
“Something she calls incendiaries.”
“Fire bombs,” Coulter said.
“That might do it,” the Mage agreed.
“I will go now and extract her and leave those who would have hurt the Mate of the Pussy Boy to their own nasty ends,” the Big Gray Man said and he tossed Laci’s shirt to Coulter then vanished in the blink of an eye.
“Assuming she’s in a cabin up here,” the Mage said. “And it’s wired with explosives, how’s he going to get her out of there without blowing the place up? My guess is she’s wired as well.”
“Fuck,” Coulter said. “He could bumble into something—”
A loud explosion ripped through the morning air with enough force to shake the ground under their feet. As the two men looked toward the sound, a huge fireball mushroomed into the sky.
“Sweet Merciful Alel,” the Mage said. “We wouldn’t have stood a chance in that.”
Coulter used his psi powers to reach out to Laci but—just as they had all morning—they fell short of finding or contacting her. He suspected she had been banded with iron to prevent him from locating her. “Get in the car!” he said.
Before they reached the vehicle, a rank smell of burning fur wafted over the clearing and they turned, looking back. There stood the Big Gray Man—his fur smoldering—and in his large, furry arms was Laci, her arms around the creature’s neck.
“Close call, Dixon,” she said with a grin.
She didn’t seem affected in the least by the uncontrollable sense of terror that washed over the two men. Each was trembling violently from the sudden, overpowering panic that had gripped them but she did not seem moved by the trepidation and anxiety they were experiencing.
“The iron,” An Fear Liath Mor said. “It keeps her from being afraid.”
Laci had a choker around her neck and a band around each wrist.
“Isn’t he the cutest thing?” she asked, smiling up at the creature.
“She has good taste in males,” the Big Gray Man said with a nod.
“She’s drugged,” the Mage said. “Her eyes are dilated.”
An Fear Liath Mor lowered her gently to the ground then clumsily patted her head with his giant paw. “The Pussy Boy chose well with this one.”
Despite the fear lancing his soul, Coulter came forward and grabbed Laci, dragging her into the safety of his arms. He heard a low growl from the creature but ignored it.
“I’m okay, Dixon,” she said. She pushed against his hold until he released her. “Really.”
“How many were in the cabin with her?” the Mage asked, shooting Coulter a nasty look.
“Two were inside. Four were outside guarding it. They ran inside to get away from me.” He made a rude sound with his big, rubbery black lips. “I barely had time to grab her and flee before their rash act turned the structure to rubble.” He batted at one arm where the fur was still smoking.
“Hopefully those who set the trap were caught in it,” the Mage said. “Laci, how many more were involved with your kidnapping?”
“Just one,” she said. “The Reverend Samuel Lansing, but there’s a dozen or so more lying in wait at their so-called cathedral in case you were able to rescue me.”
“So they’re waiting for us,” Coulter said.
“With an arsenal of assault rifles,” she said. “And
they are all banded.”
“Shit,” the Mage said. “That means they are immune to Byleth and his demons.”
“They’re worse than those fanatics up in Oregon,” she told them. “Much worse. This Rev. Lansing is certifiable and mean as a ghoret.”
“Ugh,” An Fear Liath Mor. “I hate those stinking things.”
“I assume they’ve got their children and women folk battened down in the compound,” the Mage said. “Are they banded as well?”
“I don’t know,” Laci answered. “My guess is yes.”
“So we have two choices,” Coulter said. “We leave them alone and come back to fight another day or we go after them despite the arsenal.”
“I’ve no desire to get vented,” the Mage said.
“Not high on my bucket list, either,” Coulter said.
“Or mine,” Laci admitted.
An Fear Liath Mor tapped a long claw against his chin. “I sense this compound of which you speak is in my mountains.”
“It is,” Laci told him.
“I could handle this if you like,” the Big Gray Man said quietly.
“How?” Coulter asked.
“I could transport them to another realm where they will do harm to no one save themselves,” he said.
“You can do that?” Laci asked.
An Fear Liath Mor puffed out his chest and jabbed a big, hairy thumb against his massive pectoral. “I am the Guardian of the Doorway. I can move mountains if need be.”
“The iron isn’t a problem for you?” Coulter asked.
“He found Laci despite the fact she is banded with iron,” the Mage said.
“Iron, schmiron,” the creature said. “It has no effect on me. My masters saw to that.”
“What of their bullets?” Laci queried. “We don’t want you to get hurt, Vainshtyr.”
“Call me Coim, Mate of the Pussy Boy. You are a steadfast female and have earned the honor,” he told her.
“The honor is mine,” she said.
“Bullets bounce off me, dearling,” An Fear Liath Mor told her. “Nothing can wound or kill me. I am as eternal as my beloved mountains.”
“If you will round these bastards up and get them out of our hair, we would greatly appreciate it,” the Mage said.
A Reaper's Love (WindWorld) Page 21