"Is that what you wanted to know?" he asked, a rough, low question.
"Yes," she whispered. And he stepped back, deliberately released her arms, gave Mark a hard stare, and left them there.
She watched him go, barely feeling the pat Mark gave her arm. Through the haze of her emotions, she heard him say, "It's all right, Jess," but it wasn't—for she suddenly knew that if she followed her newly discovered, very human heart, it would take her to Camolen with Carey—where she would lose it to an equine form.
* * *
"My, you certainly do devour these books," the young librarian said, smiling at Jess. "You haven't been reading very long, if I remember right."
"Not long," Jess agreed, fingering the spine of The Magician's Nephew. She could still feel Carey's embrace; it was so real to her that she had to remind herself—often—that there was no outward sign broadcasting the encounter to others. It was that encounter that had driven her to ride into town with Mark, where he dropped her off at the library. Jess knew she could lose herself—and the emotional anguish that plagued her—in the next installment of the Narnia series, for there were so many things in the tales that she could utterly believe in—even though the books were called fantasy. She saw nothing strange with traveling between worlds and talking to animals.
She retrieved her library card from the woman and smiled her thanks, then took her treasure to the comfortable stuffed chairs in the reading section, where she would linger as long as she could, wrapped up in the adventures of Digory and Polly.
At nine o'clock, one of the librarians apologetically ushered her to the door and locked it behind her. Jaime wouldn't be here until after her last lesson, another 45 minutes. Jess stood in the slight chill of the night air, a warm day gone drizzly, and heaved a sigh for the loss of her refuge. There was nothing to keep her mind away from the new strength in her need to be with Carey, an odd sweet twist she had never felt before. Perhaps because it was nothing a horse could feel. What was the point, then, in returning with him, if she would only lose that feeling which had driven her to be with him? Except—if she didn't, she would be stuck with it, without him, and she had a hunch it would be a hundred times worse than the pain she'd felt when she'd been first separated from him on this world.
There was only a scuff of warning, enough time for her to straighten in alarm, raising her head to cast futilely for scent in the slight breeze—and then he was behind her, grabbing her arm in a tight grip that did less to stop her reaction than the cold, hard feel of metal at her neck—because where instinct screamed for her to duck her head and throw this attacker off, the biting, newly familiar scent of gunpowder made her freeze instead.
"It's been a long wait," Derrick said in her ear, "but I think my luck has changed."
* * *
"You leave Carey alone!" Jess demanded, sitting on a torn, dusty couch in an old house behind something Derrick had called the whyemceeay.
Derrick exchanged an amused glance with Ernie. "It's you that we've got," he said.
"To try to get him," she insisted. She was angry and hard put to sit still, but she was very aware of the gun Derrick now held casually in his lap. At the same time, she had the strangest feeling that although Derrick was not one who could be trusted, she was, in some strange way, safe here—as long as she followed their rules. They'd made it plain enough that the current rule was sit still.
"No," Derrick corrected. "To get the spell."
She frowned at him, trying to figure out this bizarre human game, finally shaking her head in exasperation.
"You really were his horse, weren't you," Derrick mused, another turn of mood Jess couldn't quite follow. He left the gun on the seat of his shabby chair and approached her, leaning over her, one hand reaching out to control the tilt of her head—though he hesitated at the warning that flashed in her dark eyes.
"Be professional, Derrick," Ernie said, bored amusement in his voice. "This is business, not playtime."
Derrick shot him a dark look. "I'm not paying you for preaching. If you believed what I've told you, you'd be a lot more interested in this woman."
"I'm interested in the money you've promised me," Ernie said, bitingly candid. "Although I admit you've provided a little amusement as well. And here I thought my forced little interlude away from Columbus heat was going to be boring."
Derrick didn't bother to answer; he might not even have been listening as he stared thoughtfully at Jess. Then, watching for her reaction, he said, "I'll call your master in a few minutes. I think he'll trade the spell for you, don't you?"
Would he? For a woman he considered to still be a horse? Jess shook her head, feeling stubborn and glad that the true answer was one that could confound him—which it did.
"No?" Derrick said in surprise. "I saw the way he looked at you at the park. Very protective, he is. It's going to occur to him that there's no point in holding on to the spell when he can't get it back to Camolen, anyway."
"Neither can you," Jess pointed out, perplexed and a little suspicious that that obvious fact had escaped him.
"Can't I?" Derrick asked, his expression turning truly smug, and making what should have been an attractive face detestable. "Just because I'm adept with the physical aspects of my role, little mare, doesn't mean I don't have other skills. It's true I could never come up with this spell everyone wants, but I think I can eventually use it to return home—although, as I told Carey, by that time, Calandre will have accomplished her goals through other means."
"If you can not make the spell yourself, you will never get home," Jess said, willing to do almost anything to wipe that look off his face. She well remembered it, through different eyes, from the moment when Derrick had stood in his stirrups and released an arrow at Carey. "The spell is gone."
He laughed. "You have learned a lot from your time here. Nice try, but I don't believe you."
She wanted to kick him. "I tell the truth! Carey tried to use it and it blew up!"
His amusement died away, his eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'it blew up'?" Then, as the greater significance hit him, he grabbed her shoulders and asked, "You mean he accessed magic from this world?"
She was too startled, too angry, to do anything but fight his touch. She instantly kicked out at him, and would have squirmed from his grasp if he hadn't snatched the hair at the back of her head with an iron grip, forcing her head back, forcing her to stare at him.
"None of that," he hissed. "I can handle a woman as well as a horse, missy—and it can hurt a whole lot more than this."
She stared back through the involuntary tears that smeared her vision and allowed herself to be a horse again. For that one moment, she let herself feel the acquiescence to rules, to the hold on her head that wasn't so different from her training halter, albeit a more painful one.
Slowly, he released her, never removing his gaze from hers. When she did nothing but sit, not even so much as a toss of the head, he relaxed. Let him take it as submissiveness, instead of the subterfuge she was practicing for the first time. Let him think of her as too much the horse—just as Carey did—while she waited for the right moment to act. With effort, she kept her eyes from shifting to the gun on the chair behind him. Let him forget he had Jess instead of Lady, while he carried a gun that she, too, knew how to use.
And would use, with the fierce protectiveness of a mare guarding her own, unhindered by any veneer of civilization she'd acquired in her short time here.
* * *
Jaime followed the movement of horse and rider around the ring, nodding in approval, a slight smile on her face. "Good job, Kate! You feel the difference in him when you push him up into the bridle?"
"It's hard work!" her student replied, but there was no complaint in her voice as she rode by the gate to the aisle.
Jaime's smile abruptly faded. When Kate and her mount cleared the gate, Carey was on the other side, unhooking it and slipping through. Jaime felt a growl of annoyance fighting to come out; he knew the rules
about interrupting lessons.
But the growl, too, faded, as he walked through the soft footing with long, hurried strides, and stopped before her, his face broadcasting a message of trouble while his mouth seemed unable to manage it.
"What on earth has happened?" Jaime asked, trying to keep an eye on Kate, whose light lovely trot was disintegrating into a rein-tugging match between horse and rider.
"Lady," Carey said.
"She's at the library," Jaime said, annoyance creeping up again. "I want you to do some walk-trot transitions, Kate. Twenty strides each." Then, to Carey, "She wouldn't tell me what upset her today, but I know you were part of it—she only gets that look on her face when it has to do with you. She's run away from it—and you—and I'll be leaving to get her in fifteen minutes, when this lesson is over." She pointedly turned back to her student, but Carey didn't take the hint.
"Derrick has her," he said.
"What?"
"He got her when she left the library. He wants to trade her for the spell."
"But—" Jaime started, and couldn't go any further with it. The spell was gone, and they'd never fool Derrick with a fake, not in this world of printer paper and ball point pens. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, and then called, "Kate, something's come up. I'm very sorry, but I'm going to have to leave. There won't be any charge for the lesson."
"Is everything all right?"
Jaime shook her head, too worried to stick with the facade of reassurance. "No, but it's a long story. Can you get Turner loaded up okay without help?"
"No problem," Kate said. "I hope everything turns out okay, Jaime."
Not much chance of that. "Thanks. I'll see you next week, then." She looked at Carey, who preceded her out of the ring with the same ground-eating strides with which he'd entered; Jaime had to jog a few steps before she adjusted to his gait. "What are you going to do?" she asked, as they walked out into the night. Then she'd wished she'd waited, for she couldn't see his face when he stopped and answered, and the ragged quality of his voice was not what she'd expected.
"He's calling back in a few minutes. I'm going to agree to the trade, and then I'm going to go get her. I've already talked to Mark—he wants to go with me."
"So do I," Jaime blurted, her fear for Jess outweighing all sensible factors.
"We've only got two guns," Carey said, his blunt response driving home the danger. "Derrick is sure to be armed, and I wouldn't be surprised if he has his friend with him."
"Give me one of the guns," she said, unswayed. "I may not be very good with it, but the only other thing we've got is Derrick's bow, and I know I can't do anything with that."
"That's what Mark said." Carey's voice held a hint of dry humor. "He said you'd want to come. That's the reason I almost didn't tell you—"
"But you needed a ride into town," Jaime supplied.
"Yes." He didn't sound the least bit apologetic. "And I couldn't talk him out of calling Eric, either. He thinks we're going to want someone there waiting with a car. For a fast retreat, which we'll probably need." He started walking again, leading her into the house. "Put a dark shirt on. If things work out right, I'd like you to stay out of sight—surprise reinforcement."
"You knew I'd come, too," Jaime said, almost an accusation.
They'd made it to the kitchen; he stopped and looked at her. "I was pretty sure," he said. "You've meant a lot to Jess. I think she means a lot to you, too."
She didn't answer; she didn't think she needed to. But she thought again that she'd missed something significant earlier in the day, because Carey's expression wasn't quite the cool, matter-of-fact determination she'd come to expect from him. It wasn't cool at all.
* * *
At the LK, Mark left the desk in the hands of a sleepy, curious coworker, and slid into the suddenly crowded front seat of Jaime's pickup, holding out his hand. Carey placed one of Derrick's appropriated guns into it, and then dumped a generous fistful of ammunition into the other hand.
"Dayna's coming, too," Mark announced, and Jaime stopped in mid U-turn to lean over the steering wheel and aim a questioning look past Carey to her brother. He shrugged. "I was surprised, too. But she was over at Eric's place when I called, and she refused to stay behind. Didn't even mention calling the cops."
"No," Carey murmured. "We can't do that."
"We know," Jaime said grimly. "You think if we didn't, we'd be doing this dumb-ass hero act? Good lord, look at us. We put Clint Eastwood to shame."
"No choice, Jay," Mark said simply, and for a brief moment, she was swept by affection for her brother. And then it faded, and she pulled out of the U-turn and straight into the sparse traffic.
"The YMCA," she muttered. "What a place for a showdown."
"It's as good as any," Mark shrugged.
"He said he'd be in the lower parking lot," Carey told them. "It doesn't mean anything to me."
"Easy," Mark said. "Two lots behind the building, and one's about eight feet lower than the other, has a short drive connecting the two. The lower one's the furthest from the Y, so that gives us a good chance at sneaking Jaime in against the building. Eric's meeting us out front, but I think he should kill his lights and roll down into place between the two parking lot entrances. Once we pull in, Derrick's not likely to notice a car coasting dark."
"I still don't know how you think you're going to get Jess safely away from him," Jaime said, shaking her head as she stopped at the light in front of the courthouse, an impatient foot riding the clutch while she waited out the red.
Carey's voice was full of confidence. "The fake'll throw him for a minute. He never saw the real thing, and Mark said the parking lots aren't well lit. All I need is that minute."
"I don't think," Jaime said quietly, "that Jess will be very happy if you get killed doing this." Despite the silence, she felt some kind of communication pass between Mark and Carey, and she suddenly realized that Mark knew whatever it was that had happened earlier in the day.
As if to confirm her thought, Carey said, "I'm not sure she's too happy with me right now, anyway. It doesn't matter. What's important is getting her out of this. I'd give Derrick that damn manuscript, if I had it."
To her surprise, she believed him. But she didn't have any more time to think about it, because the light was green and they were one turn away from the YMCA.
"Dayna can take the car. I want to be out there with you," were Eric's abrupt words of greeting as Jaime double-parked the pickup beside his little hatchback.
Carey's response was immediate. "No. There'll already be too many people in that parking lot, considering Derrick expects only me."
"Then let me be one of them," Eric insisted.
No, Jaime pleaded silently. Not Eric, whose soul was too gentle to mar with the guilt of shooting someone. "Carey—" she started in protest, but he was ahead of her.
"Can you shoot better than Jaime?" he asked.
Eric looked away. "No."
"Then drive for us."
A sigh. "What exactly do you want me to do?"
Jaime's attention wandered as Mark relayed their half-formed plan; her hand drifted down to the automatic that lay on the seat beside her leg, glad for it but dreading the fact that she might actually have to use it. Lost in thought, she was surprised to find Mark standing outside her door.
"Hey, Jay, you out in the ozone or what? I'll take the truck from here. You follow the building around and wait next to it until you've spotted Derrick. Then get as close as you can without being seen—that gun won't be accurate from any distance—and keep an eye out for Derrick's pal. He may be pulling the same trick you are."
"Great," Jaime said without enthusiasm.
Mark propped his elbows on the truck door and leaned in the open window. "You don't have to do this," he said quietly. "Eric can handle it, if that's what you want."
Jaime took a deep breath. "No. I'm fine. Just wish I'd thought to change out of my breeches—Derrick'll probably smell me coming."
&
nbsp; Mark snorted, punched her softly on the shoulder. "Keep your head down."
"Yeah," Jaime acknowledged, climbing out of the truck, hesitating on the running board where she was, for once, taller than Mark. "Be careful." She gave him a rare, sisterly kiss on the cheek and, hefting the gun, left the pickup behind.
The brick YMCA was bordered by shrubs and small trees, tempting her to hide and wait while she listened for signs of company. But she was too driven by the fear that the guys would get into trouble before she even made it around to the back, so she moved quickly from shrub to tree, and finally to the back corner of the building, where she had a clear view of both parking lots. The only light came from two floodlights on the back of the Y and a few sporadic yard lights in the run-down housing that pushed up against the parking lot, but it was easy enough to spot Derrick. He stood boldly in the center of the lower lot, visible to her from only the chest up. Next to him was Jess, a gun shoved against the bottom of her jaw. She stood quietly, and Jaime hoped she had the resources to continue doing so—and then to move when the time was right.
She heard the truck doors slam, one after another, and Mark and Carey walked into the upper lot, almost casually. To her left, Jaime heard the soft tire noise of Eric's car; it stopped at the entrance to the upper lot, unnoticed by the others.
"I told you to come alone," Derrick called to Carey. "Alone and unarmed. You didn't do either—is that all that you care about this pretty little thing?"
Jess twitched in his grip, managed to turn her head enough against the pressure of the gun to look at Derrick; Jaime could well imagine the glare. She took advantage of the confrontation and, going down to a crouch from which she could no longer see Derrick—and hoped he couldn't see her—she crept forward, angling left toward the street, intending to get a clear line of fire.
Carey lifted the strung bow in a shrug. "The problem is, I don't trust you. I want Lady, all right, so I'll give you the spell. It doesn't really matter. You can't get home."
Changespell 01 Dunn Lady's Jess Page 15