Solatium (Emanations, an urban fantasy series Book 2)

by Becca Mills

  “Why don’t you leave Free?” I said.

  She shrugged. “I have a lot of commitments here. But like I said, I can tell you everything you need to know. It’ll be as good as having me there.”

  Williams held his hand out.

  Mizzy glanced at it. “Didn’t think you were the dancing type, sugar.”

  “He wants to check your capacity,” I said.

  She grinned up at me in the mirror, her eyes dancing. “Well, that’s disappointing. Here I was, getting hopeful.”

  Williams’s hand didn’t move.

  For just a moment, fear ghosted across Mizzy’s face. Then she shrugged and touched Williams’s hand. And ran the tips of her fingers up his forearm. And licked her lips.

  Oh my god. She did not just do that.

  He didn’t react to the flirting. “What’s this working around you?”

  “Oh, just a little tweak. My eyes aren’t really green.” She ran her hands slowly over her chest and looked at him, pouting. “And I’m really only a C cup.”

  Good lord.

  He stepped back and regarded her silently for several long seconds.

  She smiled up at him and waggled her eyebrows.

  Her teasing made me anxious. It was like watching someone poke a big old rattlesnake to see if it was dead.

  She sure had the goods to back it up, though. The woman was gorgeous: heart-shaped face; full lips; high cheekbones; and knowing, sensual eyes. I wondered why she’d even bothered with the thick foundation she’d been wearing. Her skin was pale without being pasty, and her complexion was flawless. She was a good bit older than I was, but she carried her age beautifully. She looked like Marilyn Monroe, if Marilyn had lived another ten years.

  Williams turned away. “You’re in.”

  Mizzy’s flirtatious manner cracked. “I can’t go. Really.”

  Williams was already heading for the door. “Then you can explain yourself to Cordus.”

  She watched him go. Then she turned to me. For a moment, I saw fear there. Then she rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation.

  “Where was that guy when we staged Beauty and the Beast?”

  The Garden Gate had a big crowd for lunch. Kite and Cata were rushing around serving people, and Ida was making a tremendous din in the kitchen.

  Williams guided me through the dining area to the staff common room we’d sat in earlier. Most of Mr. Gates’s people were there, assembling piles of stuff for the trip.

  Jobah stood and nodded to Williams. “My friend who’s up from the plains — he can see us now, if you’re ready.”

  Williams nodded. “Take Miss Ryder to her room. She needs to rest.”

  I bit my lip. It was infuriating to be packed off like some delicate flower, but in truth, I needed alone-time to think things through. My ability to distract myself was wearing thin.

  He pinned me with a stare. “Don’t leave the inn for any reason.”

  “She’ll be safe here,” Jimena said.

  “See that she is. Lock her in.”

  He sent me a parting glower and stalked out. Jobah gave Terry and Kevin some rapid-fire directions, then headed out after Williams.

  A weight seemed to lift from the room. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who found the man distressing.

  “Is Mizzy coming with?” Terry asked.

  “I’m not sure.”

  He looked disappointed.

  “She’s a good traveling companion?”

  “Oh yeah,” he said. “She knows all the best stories.”

  Jimena touched my shoulder. “I’ll take you to your room.”

  I nodded and followed her up the stairs to a private bedroom. It was small and simple, but immaculate.

  “Will this do?” Jimena asked.

  “Of course. It looks great.”

  “All right, then.” She went to the door, then paused, nodding at an old-fashioned pull-chain near the door. “I’m sorry. I have to lock the door. But just ring if you need anything.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  She smiled and then left, closing the door softly behind her. The lock turned and her steps retreated down the hallway.

  I settled on the edge of the bed.

  Gingerly, I let the question of my mission surface in my mind.

  I’d expected the dam to break — panic and bawling and the whole nine yards — but the calm I’d forced on myself was sort of sticky. No tears came, and I was able to think clearly.

  So, either I was being given to the ice men for thirteen years, and Cordus had fed me a line of bull to make it all go down smoother, or I really was going to the ice mothers’ library to research Eye of the Heavens, and Cordus had fed Chasca — and perhaps others — a made-up story about Hera Hanson, the solatium, to keep Limu from getting wind of things.

  I thought about it.

  If I really were headed to the library, a cover story would probably be essential. A Nolander randomly traipsing through the S-Em would stand out. I’d need a good reason to be here.

  Though some of Mr. Gates’s Nolanders seem to live here.

  If, on the other hand, I really was a solatium, would Cordus have bothered with the whole “researching Eye of the Heavens” thing? He could’ve just ordered me to go. What choice would I have had? No more than any other Nolander being sent anywhere else. Heck, he could’ve even made me want to go.

  Over the course of a few seconds, all the various wheels turning in my head ground to a halt.

  He could’ve made me want to go.

  Had he?

  No. Not that.

  Sending me off on a fake mission was one thing. Dishonest and cowardly, but normal. Crappy people did that kind of thing to spare themselves trouble. It sucked, but it wasn’t … I don’t know. It wasn’t beyond the pale.

  But messing with my mind would be something else. Making one person into someone else because you didn’t like them the way they were … it was like erasing someone, replacing them with a copy you’ve “fixed.” Cordus wouldn’t do that to me.

  Why not?

  I struggled to find a reason. Everything I came up with sounded like bullshit.

  I thought back to the meeting in his office. If he’d messed with my mind, there should’ve been a moment where I changed. Right?

  But there wasn’t. He’d convinced me. That was all.

  How? How did he convince me?

  I remembered being appalled when I first realized what he had in mind. I’d told him I was clueless, powerless, broken. He’d said I was female, had the necessary interests and knowledge, and was useless for anything else.

  In the cold light of day, my side of the scale seemed a lot heavier. Don’t clueless and powerless pretty much trump everything? If I had to choose between “speaks Baasha, utterly helpless” and “only speaks English, knows what she’s doing and can kick your ass,” I’d go with the latter. The ass-kicker could study Baasha on the way. Besides, Williams spoke Baasha. Bill Gates’s people probably did too.

  Then again, he’d also said he had no one else to send. Given the level of defections he’d suffered, that could be plausible.

  So maybe he really did need me.

  Or maybe I was fooling myself. I wanted him to need me, didn’t I? Hell, I’d been dreaming about him for months. It was hard to believe a being like him truly needed someone like me to do this job.

  The more I thought about it, the less sense it made. He was a power. He could make whatever sort of body he wanted for himself. If he needed to enter the ice mothers’ library, he could make his body female and do it himself. Er, herself.

  Why hadn’t I thought of that at the time?

  Actually, I hadn’t thought much at all during that conversation. I’d been too busy drinking in his admiration.

  The hairs on my arms rose.

  He had no cause to admire me. He was a 1,700-year-old being of immeasurable power — a god, basically.

  He’d been buttering me up.

  Once I realized it, the obviousnes
s of it was painful.

  But why? Why not just order me to go?

  He likes consent, the let’s-be-brutally-honest part of my mind whispered. That’s why he doesn’t just rape Kara. That’s why he makes her want it when it’s happening. And he likes what knowing about it does to you. That’s why he lets her remember afterwards that she really didn’t consent at all.

  Shame engulfed me.

  I had been dreaming about this guy. Wanting him. Why? Why would I desire a man who did that to my friend? I bet Kara’d been dreaming about him these last few months too, but her dreams would be different. I thought of her sitting on my paisley couch the night before, distraught and furious because … because …

  I ducked my head and dug my fingers into my thighs, struggling to understand, and with a sudden rush, the world snapped into agonizing clarity.

  … because she knew he’d meddled with my mind, and there was nothing she could do about it.

  My stomach lurched as my recent past rewrote itself, inserting me as I truly was into every scene as a silent watcher. I saw myself in Cordus’s office having my critical faculty magically replaced with the absurd idea that everything would be okay because he believed in me. I saw myself merrily packing for a jaunt in the S-Em, never sparing a thought for what I valued most in the world — my family and friends. I saw myself in my room, surrounded by my friends, perplexed and frustrated by their inexplicable grief. With wiser eyes, I watched them struggle to accept that their friend’s mind was no longer her own, and that the person they knew was gone, perhaps forever. I watched my interaction with Koji and saw it pass over my face — the thought that Cordus’s treatment of his staff was okay.

  I slid down onto the floor, shuddering.

  I’m not that person he made me into. One person’s belief in me will never solve all my problems. I don’t walk thoughtlessly away from my friends. I don’t leave my family for months without a phone call. I don’t justify evil as regrettable but necessary.

  I’m not that person.

  The tears came.

  I’d thought Cordus wouldn’t touch my mind. He’d never taken advantage of me, physically. Somehow, I’d thought that meant I was special, immune. Or at least being saved for later. But I was no different from the others. He’d gotten in there and changed what I thought, who I was, just like he did with everyone else.

  I struggled not to throw up.

  I should’ve loathed him all along. The rape, the murder, the way he took our freedom away and then played us against each other … how had I let a pretty face balance against all that?

  God, I must’ve been crazy.

  Or maybe he’d been fiddling with me all along — planting the attraction in my mind, making me not think of everything else he was. Just because I hadn’t noticed it didn’t mean he hadn’t done it.

  That’s right — give yourself an out. Way to go.

  I sat there, slumped against the side of the bed, furious, revolted, and filled with regret. Not that I was here — if Cordus wanted me here, I’d be here, one way or another. No, my regret was for the way I’d left my family. And my friends.

  Thank god Andy came to say goodbye.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and remembered him, standing in the driveway, waving.

  The image faded.

  Thirteen years. I would probably never see him again. Or any of the others. Nolanders didn’t live that long — not the ones who did the dangerous work my friends did. If I were there to share power, I could help. But I wouldn’t be.

  Some minutes passed.

  Then, shakily, I crawled up onto the bed and lay down. I was exhausted. The room was sweltering, but I fell asleep almost immediately.

  I woke in the late afternoon.

  There was no slow emerging from sleep to awareness. As soon as my eyes opened, it was all right there, clear in my mind.

  The solatium thing was true.

  Cordus hadn’t hesitated to replace the person I really was with someone more confident and tractable, so why would the thought of giving me away bother him? It wouldn’t. I was disposable.

  So I was being sent to the arctic, where I would spend the rest of my youth as payment for a crime in which I’d played only an unintentional and incidental role.

  Maybe Cordus was being held responsible, and he’d decided to make me the scapegoat. Not Graham, who put out the order. Not Williams, who did the actual killing. Me — because Williams was useful, and Graham was unavailable.

  That sounded about right.

  I lay there, looking at the sliver of gray sky I could see through the window.

  A year ago, I’d been living a certain kind of life. It was all about finding some happiness and satisfaction in the midst of limitations, disappointment, and failure. I was the small town girl who wanted to do bigger things but couldn’t because my panic attacks made it impossible to live a normal life, much less be a high-achiever.

  Then I’d taken a couple weird photos, and my life had turned upside down. When the dust settled, a new story emerged: the seemingly lost girl who, against the odds, had found some strengths and made a decent, meaningful life for herself in a radically different world.

  I liked that second story. Yeah, parts of it had scared me. Mainly I’d been afraid of what I might become and what Cordus might make me do when my abilities finally emerged. And I’d been afraid for my nieces. And I was afraid of dying young. And I missed the things I’d lost.

  Okay, there were quite a few downsides.

  But there was no denying that my day-to-day life on Cordus’s estate had been a lot more interesting and less lonely than the one I’d led in Dorf. When it came right down to it, I was willing to trade a frustrating, lonely, long life for a shorter one that was higher quality.

  Maybe I only felt that way because I was still young — I don’t know.

  At any rate, all of those calculations had gone out the window. Cordus had pressed the “reset” button on my life for the second time. I really didn’t know what I was looking at, now, but I had a feeling it might be the worst of all previous worlds: lonely, dangerous, and boring.

  And I wouldn’t be around to protect my friends and family the next time a monster showed up. In my mind’s eye, I saw Andy lying dead on some street somewhere. I saw Gwen, the recognition of her own death in her eyes, as some terrible danger finally overwhelmed caution, smarts, and preparation. I saw almost-thirteen-year-old Tiffany being ushered into Cordus’s office, and the door closing behind her.

  I stared out the window, watching the movement of the clouds and feeling like a cliché: older and wiser.

  No, not wiser. Just more aware of my lack of wisdom.

  I wished like heck someone besides Williams had been assigned to take me to the ice men, someone I could talk to. I wanted to vent, to be told there was a bright side, to admit to someone that I’d thought Cordus would treat me better.

  That last thing was weighing on me especially — the realization of how much of an idiot I’d been. I felt the urge to confess it to someone, but there was no one.

  I rolled out of bed, stripped off my sweaty clothes, and used the large bowl of water sitting on the wash-basin to clean up. Once I had on clean, dry clothes, I sat down to figure out what to do.

  I didn’t come up with much.

  If I ran away from Williams, Kevin or some other tracker would find me. If I somehow eluded them or managed to kill them, I’d still be trapped in the S-Em, penniless and alone, with no skills I could use to earn a living.

  Having allies might help. Just the right person — powerful, well placed — might be able to get me out of the solatium thing.

  But even that was problematic. If I went back to the F-Em, Cordus would find me, and I’d be back in the same situation. The best I could probably do was service to a power who wasn’t as awful as Cordus and was strong enough not to be afraid of him. But that would mean never seeing my family or friends again, since they were all in Cordus’s territory.

  I’d me
t some of the other powers who held territory in the F-Em. None of them struck me as a clear trade-up from Cordus. Sort of the reverse, actually.

  I picked up one of the hiking boots I’d worn earlier. It was thoroughly damp.

  Just because I can’t see a way out now doesn’t mean something won’t come along.

  I’d just have to keep my eyes open and look for opportunities. Carefully.

  And not despair. Not despairing was key. If I gave up, I’d isolate myself. I wouldn’t create opportunities and wouldn’t recognize the ones that came along.

  I took a deep breath and pulled on my boots.

  Time to start making friends.

  What else was there to do?

  I went to the door and pulled the bell cord. Faintly, somewhere downstairs, a chime sounded.

  There were big piles of stuff scattered around the room where we’d sat with the Garden Gate’s staff just a few hours earlier. Everyone had been busy while I slept.

  Jimena sat down at the table. She looked to be in the middle of packing dried meat. “Let me just finish this up. Then I can get you some lunch.”

  “Looks like there’s lots to do,” I said. “How can I help?”

  She weighed me with a skeptical look. “What can you do?”

  “Lots of stuff. Wash clothes. Pack things. Get horses ready. Clean guns. Polish shoes. Whatever you need.”

  Fifteen minutes later I was sitting on the kitchen floor, cleaning tack. Jimena had fired up the wood-burning stove before she left. The fire transformed the room from steam bath to sauna. It was miserable, but probably necessary — leather molded fast in humid climates. It’d need to be pretty dry before I oiled it.

  By the time I started on the third saddle, I was thanking the stars I’d put on shorts.

  “Mind if I use the table?”

  I looked up. It was the scruffy undershirt-and-camo guy, Terry.

  “Are you going to be playing with grenades?”

  He grinned. “Nope. Just these.” He patted the long guns he had slung over his shoulder — a military-grade rifle and a couple shotguns.

  “Okay, then. Feel free.”

  He came in, stepping over my piles of tack.

  “Nice of you to help with that,” he said. “Cleaning tack sucks.”