Pia Does Hollywood

by Thea Harrison

  Dragos looked at Pia, and the frustration and self-recrimination in his darkened gaze made her want to put her arms around him so badly, she almost went and did it despite the danger of contamination. Biting her lip until it bled, she wrapped her arms around her torso and forced her feet to remain planted where she stood.

  “Actually, I had forgotten,” he bit out.

  Tatiana took a few steps toward him. Her gaze had turned fascinated, speculative. “That’s unlike you, dragon. You have always had a remarkable mind for minutiae, even centuries later, and the time you spent at the Seelie Court is no piece of minutiae.”

  Of all the things they had worried about—the baby’s safety, Pia’s fucking secret—they had forgotten to be on guard for pitfalls that might stem from Dragos’s memory loss.

  And of all their secrets that could have been betrayed, she thought this one would cause the least amount of damage, but still, Dragos would hate it. He hated the thought of exposing anything that might be seen as a weakness.

  As he had said to her before, the dragon was one of the oldest of the Elder Races, and he was not a peaceful-minded creature. He had made enemies. Dangerous, old enemies.

  Pia didn’t pause to think. Instead, she leaped into the conversation. “It is unlike him,” she said nervously. “Do you think the infection could be affecting his cognitive abilities?” Turning to face Dragos, she asked, “Dragos, do you remember anything at all about Morgan?”

  Dragos’s eyelids had lowered when she’d started speaking, and his expression had turned guarded and closed. Walking to the rear bumper of one of the Hummers, he leaned back against the car. The pose should have suggested relaxation. Instead, he looked as coiled as a king cobra about to strike out. Despite the heavy chains shackling his wrists and ankles, if it came down to a free-for-all melee against all the others, she would bet everything she had on him.

  Much as she hated to admit it, the Light Fae were right to keep their guns trained on him, even now.

  He said, “Now that you’ve mentioned him, of course I do. I don’t recall my time at Isabeau’s Court, though. And as Tatiana said, it’s unlike me to forget.”

  Tatiana tapped a manicured finger against her bottom lip. “Maybe this is what happens to every victim before they turn. They forget who they are and become like rabid beasts. Only for them it happens quickly, within fifteen minutes or so. But Dragos is changing much more slowly. I wonder what else you might have forgotten.”

  Dragos’s shuttered gaze met Pia’s again, and then he looked away. “Once I’ve been healed, it won’t matter, will it?”

  “One hopes,” Tatiana murmured. She had not lost that dangerous, speculative expression. “It would be most unfortunate if you suffer permanent memory loss from this. As long-lived as we are, it does not do to lose track of memories of dangerous things.”

  In retrospect, it had been rather miraculous that Aryal had been silent to date, but now she snapped, “Which is all the more reason for us to step up the pace of this conversation, don’t you think? I’m growing gray hair over here. Goddamn, let’s stop the useless speculation about whether or not Dragos has forgotten anything, and move along already, before he does actually have time to turn. So, Morgan might be one of the Hounds in L.A. So what?”

  For once, Pia felt overwhelmed with gratitude for Aryal’s abrasive, impatient nature.

  Thank you, she said in Aryal’s head.

  You’re welcome, the harpy said shortly. She hitched a shoulder. Also, I was just being honest.

  That, Pia believed. But she still could have kissed her.

  “So,” Shane said, “if Morgan and others of the Queen’s Hounds are here, and the contagion is sorcerous in nature, I don’t think this outbreak is some terrible random act of fate. I think it’s a planned attack on the Light Fae.”

  Bailey said suddenly, “That would explain why the outbreaks keep popping up in different places. When someone is infected, they don’t really have time to travel around before they turn. This hasn’t behaved in the way other diseases do. With some things, like the flu, the incubation period is long enough that someone who has been infected can travel across the world before they realize they’re sick. Whereas here, if someone gets bitten, they change almost immediately. The infected haven’t had time to travel to other areas.”

  “At least not yet,” Pia said.

  Silence fell over the group as everyone stared at her, absorbing the implications of that statement. Reluctantly, she continued, “This might have started with the Light Fae, but it’s now jumped to both humans and to the Wyr. What if other races react to the contagion more slowly, like Dragos has?”

  Quentin rubbed his scarred, handsome face with one hand and muttered, “If that happens, then this could go global very quickly.”

  Shane said crisply, “We can’t let it go global. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Then we need two things, as fast as we can get them,” Tatiana said. “We need to stop the Hounds from spreading this further, and we need a cure.”

  “Actually, we need three things,” Bailey said. “We not only need some kind of cure. We need an inoculation, so that further outbreaks can’t happen. That’s the only way to completely neutralize whatever this is.”

  “I know which part is my fight,” Shane said. “I need to go.”

  “Quentin and Aryal will go with you,” Dragos told him. “Because this is now our fight too.”

  Pia burst out, “Before they leave, I need to talk to all of you. Quentin, Aryal, Eva—come over here to Dragos.” She looked at Tatiana. “I’m sorry, but this is confidential. Can you and your guards give us some space?”

  The speculative expression flashed through Tatiana’s gaze again, but the Queen replied, “Of course. Everyone, fall back to the verandah.”

  “Don’t take long,” Shane told them. He had turned grim, his ready smile nowhere in evidence. “We need to stop the Hounds before they can do more damage.”

  Pia stepped directly in front of Dragos, her back to the verandah. As Eva, Quentin and Aryal gathered around her, she gestured wordlessly to Dragos to step around the end of the Hummer.

  Eyes narrowed, he tried, but the chains wouldn’t let him move all the way to the far side of the vehicle.

  So be it. She whispered to the others, “Cover what I’m doing.”

  With a smooth, liquid glide, Quentin stepped into place behind her, and Eva and Aryal crowded close. When she pulled out the pocketknife, Dragos covered his mouth with one hand and growled softly, “There are at least half a dozen guards watching us right now.”

  She whispered furiously, “We’re going to keep trying this every hour on the hour if we have to, until we find some other alternative that works. Every hour that passes means I have that much less of the drug in my system.” She looked sidelong at Aryal. “Are you guys blocking their cameras?”

  Aryal studied the area, eyes narrowed. “Yeah. I really think we are.”

  Pia told Dragos, “Now stick your damn arm out.”

  Running his sharp gaze over the tableau, he complied, and peeled back the bandage. Pia stared at the bite wound worriedly.

  Had the dark streaks grown? Did it look the same as it had before? Honestly, she just couldn’t tell.

  With a quick slice, she cut the end of her thumb and let the blood drip over the torn skin. Collectively, the five of them stared at the wound for several moments. It was such a small wound to mean so much. As Dragos said, it should have been negligible at most.

  It couldn’t take everything away from her.

  Pia wouldn’t let it.

  Chapter Eight

  Eva and Aryal’s eyes had gone wide—neither one of them had witnessed Pia heal anyone firsthand. Behind her, Quentin had stopped breathing.

  Nothing happened. The bite mark remained, the puncture wounds raw.

  Without a word, Dragos smoothed the bandage back into place.

  “Damn,” Aryal breathed.

  Snapping the knife closed,
Pia jammed it back into her pocket. She told Dragos, “This is our life now. Every hour, on the hour. I’m not even scheduled to take the injection until this evening. And we’ll count every hour past then.”

  He nodded. “We’ll figure out a way to hide it. Until we have another alternative.”

  “That’s our cue to get out of here,” Aryal said to Quentin. She paused “Just how worried should I be about coming up against this old, famous Morgan of the Fae?”

  Quentin said without hesitation, “He’s going to kick our asses.”

  The harpy barked out a short laugh. She had switched over to fighting mode, Pia saw, and looked fierce and eager. “So be it.”

  The pair strode for the verandah where Shane waited. When they left, Bailey went with them.

  “You go on too,” Pia said to Eva. “Give us a minute.”

  Eva paused with a frown. Telepathically, she said, Okay, but for the record, I don’t like leaving you so close to him right now.

  Duly noted, Pia told her. And, for the record, if he changes, I’m faster than you are.

  Yeah. Okay, you have a point, Eva said. Just—Pia, you might be faster than I am, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to react fast if Dragos changes.

  Pia reached for patience. Eva was only trying to protect her. I appreciate your point, but I’m still asking you to go.

  Emitting a soft growl, the other woman complied.

  Pia turned back to Dragos, cupping her elbows so that she didn’t forget and reach out to him. “We touch each other a lot,” she muttered. “I’m always just about to reach out to you, and then I have to catch myself up.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’m doing the same. It’s driving me insane.” With a quick, impatient flick, he snapped the heavy chain that shackled one wrist. “I’m also beginning to realize how much I pace.”

  “We’ll get you free.” She tightened her fingers, gripping herself hard. “Dragos, Eva brought up Liam. She wondered if he might be able to help you.”

  His darkened gaze flared. “No! We’re not going to bring him into this mess.”

  She jerked her head in a nod. “I had the same reaction. I could never knowingly put him in danger.” She searched his expression. “But what if we’re wrong? Your life could be at stake. Hell, mine and Stinkpot’s could be too.”

  He shook his head, stubborn determination stamped on his rugged features. “We’re not there yet. Did you notice? The wound hasn’t gotten worse.”

  Her breath left her, and she sagged. “I wasn’t sure. I didn’t dare to hope.”

  “I noted before—the ends of the streaks were just beginning to show at the edges of the bandage.” He held out his muscled forearm for her to inspect. “Look. They haven’t gotten worse. We’re holding our own.”

  She sagged. “That’s the best news I’ve gotten all day.”

  “Chin up.” Dragos’s voice had gentled. “Look at me.”

  She lifted her gaze to his. He looked so wrong, with his fierce gold eyes darkened. It was like the sky going dark in the middle of the day. The sight made the tiny hairs on the back of her neck raise.

  But his expression was all his, fierce and tender at once. Giving her a slight smile, he whispered, “I’m putting my hand to your cheek right now.”

  The stubborn strength that had kept her knees locked threatened to give way. Closing her eyes, she whispered back, “I’m putting my arms around you, and leaning my head on your shoulder.”

  “And I’m stroking your hair, and kissing you.” He took a deep breath. “And I am always, always going to hold on to you with all of my strength. Always, Pia.”

  The adamant surety in his voice steadied her like nothing else could have. Following his lead, she breathed deeply, taking in the reality of him. Then she looked up at him again. “We’ll deal with whatever may happen next.”

  His smile deepened, and she knew that he had gone back to the first time she had said it. “We always do,” he agreed. “Now, since I’m chained up here, and Quentin and Aryal have left, why don’t you go take a look at those maps and see how many areas this contagion has spread to?”

  “Okay.” She nodded. “We need to know that. If it spreads too much further, they’re going to have to go public about this. I guess I can understand why they haven’t yet, but this might have grown into something they can’t control anymore.”

  “If they continue to be reluctant to go public,” Dragos said, “then we will. I hate as much as anybody the fact that this appears to be yet another catastrophe instigated by the Elder Races, but people need to be aware of the danger. Too many lives are at stake. If there’s any political fallout from this, we’ll just have to deal with it later.”

  “Understood,” she said. She searched his expression. “Do you need anything—anything to drink or eat?”

  “I’m good.”

  “I’ll be back soon.” She smiled and whispered, “I’m kissing you right now.”

  He swore softly, frustration evident in the snap of his voice. “I’m kissing you too.”

  With that she had to be content enough to walk away.

  * * *

  WWPD was not the only question Dragos asked himself. Sometimes he asked, What Would Pia Think? (WWPT?)

  That question never failed to entertain him, because as smart as he was, and as good as he was at playing chess, he could never guess her thoughts with 100 percent accuracy. He imagined he could play the small mental game throughout the endless centuries like puzzling over an eternal Rubik’s Cube. He knew there had to be a magical combination that would unlock the entire puzzle, but he suspected he would always be doomed to failure.

  Because they were polar opposites in so many ways. He was a predator; she was an herbivore. He was intensely male, and she was all woman. Often they didn’t laugh at the same jokes. Really, it was amazing they got along as well as they did. Sexual attraction helped, but it couldn’t be the entire glue for the relationship.

  Somehow, magically, they clicked. She gave when he couldn’t—and he was honest enough to admit that she did it more often than he did. And when she couldn’t, he found a way to reach for her.

  As he watched her walk away, he knew they had just experienced another point in time where their views divided, and he wasn’t even sure if she had been aware of it.

  What he had said was true: too many lives were potentially at risk from this contagion. When she had agreed, he knew she had leaped to concern for all those who might be in danger, but he hadn’t.

  People died all the time. They always had, and he cared about almost none of them. The dragon was not generous with squandering his emotions.

  No, his concern about the increasing number of lives that might be endangered was strictly limited to two things. One was, how much danger did it mean for those few people the dragon did care about?

  The second was, the more people who died from this, the worse the political fallout would be. Last month, the human world had put the Elder Races on notice—they were watching, and they were disturbed by what they saw.

  In fifty short years, the spring massacre in the Nightkind demesne, along with all the other issues that had arisen over the last eighteen months, would become nothing more than minor footnotes in history. But right now, the massacre was too soon, too raw in people’s memories.

  This problem in the Light Fae demesne might not be Tatiana’s fault, but the humans wouldn’t see it that way. Non-magical humans might not be susceptible to catching the contagion, but they could be caught and killed by hordes of those who had turned. This was everybody’s problem, and it appeared to have been caused by the Elder Races. It wouldn’t matter to the human government that the Elder Races demesne responsible lay in Great Britain. When reacting with racial bias, people tended to get very simplistic in their thinking.

  So aside from the personal considerations, the calculator in Dragos’s head clicked on, and he looked at this whole fiasco as a numbers thing. The more people who died or were victimized, the la
rger the fallout would be, and right now, he couldn’t finish that equation, because they hadn’t succeeded in containing the hazard yet.

  He needed to step up the preliminary work with the Dark Fae engineers he had hired from Niniane, just in case. The Other land under his control from upstate New York was a massive, protected place, but it was also almost completely pristine and undeveloped. The political and social tensions from the summit in Washington D.C. had shown that co-existence might not remain a safe option for the Wyr, and he was determined that they would have a safe place to retreat to, if it ever became necessary.

  Retrieving his phone from one pocket, he sent a few texts. As he hit send on the last one, out of the corner of his eye, he watched Tatiana walk toward him.

  It was a maneuver he did not appreciate, as the Light Fae guards with their guns perpetually trained on him grew tense.

  Crossing his arms, he leaned back against the Hummer’s bumper and tried to appear relaxed. As Tatiana drew near, he said, “I’m still not thrilled with how trigger-happy your guards look, Tatiana. If you need to have a conversation, are you sure you wouldn’t rather call me on my cell?”

  Tatiana did not look over her shoulder at her guards. “They won’t shoot unless you present a clear danger to me.”

  Then they were stupid for not shooting him right away, because the dragon always presented some kind of danger.

  But so often it didn’t do to educate people out of their stupid.

  He crossed one booted foot over the other, basking in the hot sunlight, while he waited for the Light Fae Queen to get around to whatever it was she wanted to talk to him about.

  “How are you holding up?” she asked.

  That wasn’t what she wanted to talk about. He said in a brief, flat reply, “I’m fine. How are you, Tatiana?”