Swordfall (The Fall Trilogy, #2)

by Devaux, Olivette

  “I did! A beautiful buck. The meat was all put up in the freezer. Too bad it burned down with the rest of our stuff. But I still have a doe permit and it’s doe season. There’s still time to fill the freezer. Just wait, come summer, you’ll thank me. You’ll just be lovin’ those venison burgers!”

  SEAN TASTED THE SILENCE of Adrian next to him, and Don across from him. His head listed to the side with his eyes wide and mouth tight as he took in Asbjorn’s announcement. “Can I come?”

  “Sure. Next year, after you take your Hunter’s Safety Course. And we don’t have enough cold-weather gear for three. Sorry, Sean.” He smiled at his boyfriend. “It’ll be fun to go out and hunt together, but this is my last chance this season, before school gets rolling.”

  Sean threw him a dubious expression.

  “Tell you what, though.” Asbjorn went on as though Sean didn’t radiate suspicion and mistrust. “I spoke with Jeff – he is in sword class, you met him at the Warehouse, he’s one of the bikers – and he’s appalled that our stuff’s gone. Jeff sews. He makes some awesome stuff. He offered to make us new hakama – they are so expensive otherwise. And he can take you shopping for clothes. I’ll give you my size and a list. You know what I like.”

  Sean glared at him. “That’s a girl job.” Asbjorn had never mentioned going hunting this time of the year. His desire to go and become one with nature was rather sudden, especially in the light of their current situation.

  “Sean, sunshine.” Asbjorn walked over, knelt down on one knee, and cupped Sean’s chin in one hand, which made Sean extremely aware of the way Adrian and Don were studiously not looking their way. He kept still and let Asbjorn place a dry, sweet kiss on his lips. “I need your help here. You know how I hate stores. Please.” Another kiss. “And remember my promise from before. From the plane. About making all the tension go away?”

  Sean turned crimson.

  He still didn’t know where Asbjorn got all that cheer from all of a sudden, and he sure as hell didn’t know what to make of it, but he relented. “Whatever. It’s not like you need my permission. Just be careful out there, Bjorn. It’s pretty cold.”

  Asbjorn ran his finger up the braided leather thong around his neck, adjusting the silver triskelion Sean gave him in Ireland. The gesture had quickly become a habit.

  “Okay. Although it’s just hunting, and we won’t be far from here. It’s not like there is that much to be careful about.”

  ASBJORN BORROWED DON’S SUV to go hunting, which left Adrian’s Porsche. Don bitched a bit about that, saying how tall he was and how Adrian’s car was just for smaller people, but Adrian beamed an indulgent smile in his direction. It was a nice smile, warm and soft, with dark and beguiling eyes, and Sean looked elsewhere real quick because it was laden with promise, and those promises were intended just for Don. He felt their presence keenly and realized he was alone with them for the first time. The air felt off-balance, as though Asbjorn had left a tangible void and their constellation was incomplete.

  Sean felt the silence, felt the tension build in his neck and shoulders, and when he lifted his head, it was obvious to him that the other men felt it too. Their eye contact was careful, and the motions of their casual routine forced.

  “More coffee?” Adrian asked.

  “Yeah, thanks.” Sean tried not to look too grateful.

  “Milk?”

  “No, only cream, or soy,” Sean said with an apologetic pout. “If I had too much dairy anything, I’ll regret it later.”

  “I’ll put it on the list,” Adrian said and added two items to the running shopping list on his cell phone. Once he got their coffee, Adrian crossed the kitchen and settled by Don’s side. He glanced at Sean with unveiled curiosity. “So how was the trip? We didn’t even have a chance to hear about your adventures!”

  Sean sweetened the strong brew with brown sugar. “It was good. Great, actually. Ireland was awesome, with my Aunt Iveragh and the cousins. We went kayaking in the sea. It was pretty wild.” He smiled at the memory. “I e-mailed her, giving her a rundown of our adventures. I copied Asbjorn’s family on it too. They’d like each other.”

  Don cleared his throat. “How did they handle your relationship with Asbjorn?”

  “His mom wanted me to be a girl for awhile, but I think she started to adjust once she found out about Frank Pettel and all that. My aunt was fine with it. She loved Bjorn. She helped me pick his necklace.” Sean fingered his amber sun-disc in the hollow of his throat.

  “I noticed you have acquired some jewelry,” Adrian said. “So... it seems like both you and Asbjorn are in it for the long haul, yeah?”

  Sean blushed. They already did say their mutual “I love you,” but he didn’t see how that was anyone business but theirs.

  “The reason I mention it,” Adrian said, “is because the two of you have experienced more in the last two months than most couples experience in years. This sort of a thing – it creates stress, and how people react to it tends to form the relationship. It will either make you or break you, and I don’t see you bending yet.”

  Adrian spoke with a level of respect and detachment that Sean had not seen in him yet. It might have been the man’s professional mode – he didn’t know him well enough just yet – but if so, his tone was compelling, and he felt his unease melt away.

  “I sure don’t intend to break. And, yeah. We stick together better now. He knows when not to push. I know when not to do stupid things on my own.”

  Sean rotated the warm cup in his fingers. His back was cramped, he was jetlagged, and breakfast sat heavy in his stomach. He felt restless. He wanted a good, hard, sweaty aikido practice, or maybe just an hour at the gym. Instead, he had spent the last two weeks sitting around, talking, and getting used to extreme caffeine levels. He was just about to suggest he’d like to go and shake his kinks out when Don cleared his throat again.

  “We need to talk.” Don surprised him with his all-business tone of voice. “As an attorney, I feel obliged to point out that both of you are in a very vulnerable position right now.”

  “How so?” Sean eyed the other man, taking in his stern. He straightened his broad shoulders just so, bringing Sean’s attention to the angles and planes that he could only imagine under his corduroy shirt. And the line of his neck was strong, similar to Bjorn’s....

  He shook the thought off, uneasy with the observation.

  “Both of you are in harm’s way. There’s bad guys around. If something happened to one of you, the other would have no rights to act on the injured party’s behalf unless you’re their next of kin, or unless you file the right paperwork.”

  Sean processed the information. “So suppose Asbjorn had been in bed when that firebombing happened. Suppose he got hurt. Then what would have happened?”

  “Then you would have been forced to move out of his place, you wouldn’t have been able to learn anything about his medical condition, the hospital might give you trouble about you visiting him in the ICU – and if he died, you would have had no say about his funeral arrangements. You two don’t own any property together – yet – but if you’re serious enough to make this work long-term, you will. You have to think about the implications of being a gay couple.”

  Sean scowled. “So what am I supposed to do? What do you guys do?”

  Adrian leaned over with a secretive smile. “We got married. You can do that, here in Massachusetts. You two should talk about it if you’re serious about each another. Even if it’s a marriage of convenience just for now, until this blows over, it would give you all kinds of legal protection. Only in states and countries that recognize same-sex civil union, though.”

  “Countries?” Sean’s eyebrows shot up in amazement.

  “Sure. Several European countries have civil unions only. Their Church and State is a lot more separated than we have it here in America.”

  Sean sipped his tepid coffee. “How long have you guys been married?”

  “Legally, ever since the law was sign
ed. Mentally, many years.”

  “I never noticed.”

  “It’s nobody’s business. I’d have kept it quiet if it hadn’t been for your adventurous lifestyle.” Don’s eyes locked with Sean’s, and Sean felt himself being assessed.

  He straightened, refusing to blush. He was good enough to be Asbjorn’s partner, no matter what arbitrary standard Don decided to apply to him.

  “Actually,” Adrian chimed in, “we keep it on the down-low so I’m not pulled into the media circus when Don’s handling a high-profile case. He’s worried I could become a target.”

  “Oh?” Sean perked up. “And you don’t mind?”

  “Sure I mind,” Adrian said darkly. “But sometimes these arrangements make sense. And when Don’s law practice takes a more civilized turn, we’ll go public.”

  Don intertwined his fingers with Adrian’s, careful not to spill the coffee in his way. “And that’s a promise.”

  KEN’S GRAVEL DRIVEWAY had been shoveled only on top, giving the tires just enough grip with all the snow that painted the neighborhood in shades of blue and gray. The branches of old spruces and pines hung low with the snow, like outlines of trees from an old wood cut.

  “Did the guys seriously rope Sean into going shopping?” Asbjorn asked, watching Ken pull an oversize woodland camouflage jacket over his Thinsulate winter parka. He was tall and broad in the shoulders but didn’t have much extra padding. The extra layers were a necessity when sitting out in the woods.

  “Yeah.” Ken grinned. “Jeff took Sean to the Burlington Mall. George’s cooking for them and there is wine in the works. They should be busy all day long.”

  The older man opened a green plastic case. He tightened the razor-sharp, screw-on hunting arrowheads onto their fiberglass shafts and clicked them into their holders attached to the inside of the bow case’s green lid. “Check yours. When was the last time you shot a bow, anyway?”

  “Last fall,” Asbjorn answered as he checked Tiger’s gear over. He had done it at Nell’s already, but checking gear before heading out was a time-honored ritual. They hoisted the cases into the back of the truck, where it joined a climbing tree stand, a pop-up blind in a winter woodland camouflage pattern, a safety harness, water, hot tea, pee jars, a charged phone on a lanyard, a copious supply of HotHands heating pads, rope, rubber gloves, resealable plastic bags, and yet another knife. He was good to go.

  Ken raised his face to Asbjorn, his leathered face widening into a grin. “You ready for your hunt, kid?”

  “Yeah.” Bjorn’s jaw was tight. “And don’t call me that.”

  “Okay.”

  They had said good-bye to Ken’s wife, Margaret, and young Heather earlier.

  “But I always hunt with Daddy,” the teen girl had whined. “Always. This is just so not fair!”

  “Dad needs to keep Asbjorn company so he learns the area, Heather. Just this once. Don’t worry, you’ll get to go with him next time.” Her mother leaned in and added with a conspiratorial whisper. “And it will help Asbjorn not be sad.”

  Heather wiped her manipulative tears. “Why? What happened?”

  “Sometimes bad things happen to good people. We can help by not causing a fuss.” Margaret then put on a happy smile and waved good-bye.

  ASBJORN GOT INTO DON’S SUV and followed Ken’s truck, taking Rt. 90 West that bisected the two beltways which circled Boston like a bull’s-eye. They drove through vast swathes of suburban sprawl and shopping malls and brand-new corporate headquarters between Rt. 95 and Rt. 495. It was as though the city exploded, a huge amoeba that disgorged its extra organelles, finding them cheaper real estate and more trees to cut down.

  The year Asbjorn enlisted, civilization had more or less stopped at the inner circle of Rt. 95. Now, they had to drive for a good hour before Ken took a turn and navigated a network of forest access roads.

  They found just the right spot on a forested road. The barely plowed snow surface on the macadam was the only sign of human civilization.

  They pulled over.

  Asbjorn got out of Don’s SUV and stretched his arms up, leaning back and working the kinks out of his body. The air smelled fresh, untouched by exhaust or house heat. A light wind stirred, cooling his cheek, knocking a clump of snow off the thinner branches that overhung the road. The snow clumps fell like in a silent file. There was nothing around them, and nobody to disturb their hunt.

  Ken nodded at him, and Asbjorn transferred his gear into Ken’s truck. He zipped up the hunting jacket that used to be Tiger’s and closed the snaps against the bitter wind.

  “You got my other stuff?” he asked Ken.

  “In the backseat.”

  Asbjorn nodded and beeped Don’s SUV shut. Then he slid into the passenger seat of Ken’s truck. They left Don’s SUV pulled onto the side of the snowy woodland access road. Asbjorn looked at his friend and sword teacher. He wished there was something to say, something to make what was coming easier. They both knew the score, though, and discussing it any further would be just a waste of hot air.

  “The lot?” he asked instead.

  “The lot,” Ken nodded. He made his way back to Rt. 495 and took the highway farther south on Rt. 495. The exit where he pulled off had a sign that was partially obscured by blown snow.

  “This area’s more built up than I remember it,” Asbjorn said, eyeing yet another new mall and the new roads flanked by plain, cookie-cutter houses. There were no large trees, just an undulating expanse of snow, with pitiful sticks poking out.

  “Fucking urban sprawl. I used to hunt the woods that used to be here,” Ken bit off. “Okay. It’s coming up. You hop out and I’ll meet you on the other side of town.”

  Asbjorn nodded, snapped on his thin leather gloves, handed Ken his cell phone and his wallet, grabbed his case, and bailed out of the truck.

  There were no good-byes.

  No wishes of good luck.

  No ceremony.

  Asbjorn walked up what felt like plowed gravel underfoot. He inhaled, getting his bearings. There was wood smoke in the air and a hint of sulfur from oil-burning furnaces. The smell of overheated oil carried on the eddies of falling snow – a fast-food place must be nearby. The street was deserted, just like the used car dealership’s parking lot.

  Nobody was waiting for the random shopper – not in weather like this, and not in a run-down little town on a Sunday afternoon.

  Freezing wind whistled past his reddened ears. That and blowing snow kept people inside. The weather also lowered visibility.

  Asbjorn liked that. It made his job easier.

  He walked up to a nondescript brown Buick. The car was a midsize sedan, pretty old. It was the sort of a car a working-class family used to drive ten years ago, and there was absolutely nothing special about it. He removed a slim jim from under his coat and slid the thin metal strip between the glass and the door.

  The lock popped open.

  So far, so good.

  He got in the driver’s seat, reached under the steering wheel, and knocked off a snap-in plastic panel. After a bit of tugging and searching, he felt a familiar tangle of wires.

  There. This one, and... this one? No wait. It’d been so long.

  He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He used to do this blindfolded, on a bet. That was a long time ago, though. Bit by bit, he struggled to remember.

  The ten minutes it took to hotwire the car and exit the used car lot in the stolen vehicle felt like forever. Not stolen – borrowed. Commandeered for a good cause.

  He drove through the deserted streets of the small town, obeying the speed limit. Everything looked white and gray through the haze of blowing snow, and he was grateful for it. Not just for the concealment – also because the lowered visibility made his surroundings less despondent. Prettier. The snow managed to accomplish what a new coat of paint would fail to do.

  Asbjorn focused on the snow, breathing in and out, trying to become one with it. The snow was his friend, his ephemeral and cleansing ally.
It cleared his mind. Its bright whiteness helped him focus on the task ahead and empty his mind of everything else. Back in Japan, white was the color of mourning.

  How appropriate.

  Asbjorn made his way out of town and pulled off the shoulder of the road behind Ken’s truck at the place they had agreed upon. No houses were in their line of sight; only the edges of the forest whispered around them, tree limbs creaking in the cold, icy wind.

  Ken jumped out of his truck with a license plate.

  “Got this off an abandoned wreck in Jamaica Plains,” he said as he attached the plate to Asbjorn’s new ride.

  Asbjorn transferred a long black plastic case into the car. He shrugged out of Tiger’s old hunting gear, tossed it in the back of Ken’s truck, and slipped into a black pleather duster instead.

  “You look badass,” Ken said.

  “You got my phone, right?” Asbjorn said, doing his last equipment check.

  “Yeah. No sense having you tracked by your phone’s GPS chip.”

  “Text Sean while you’re at it.”

  “Yeah, while I freeze my ass off.” Ken measured Asbjorn with a cold, pregnant gaze. “I’d go with you if it made strategic sense.”

  “I know.”

  “You better come back and tell me all about it.”

  “Shut up.”

  Asbjorn stepped over and grabbed Ken’s shoulder, meeting his eyes. He squeezed it, nodding once.

  Then he left.

  CHAPTER 8

  Asbjorn drove to Braintree only to backtrack north a little, making sure he didn’t have anyone on his tail. He entered a mixed neighborhood of run-down residential and light industrial establishments, with the obligatory pizza shop on almost every block. The side of the road was littered with snow piles and parked cars. Only the fire hydrant spot was free. He took it, hoping his errand won’t take long, and got out.

  The wind had died down somewhat but the bright white snow reflected light into his eyes even harder than before. He was grateful for his sunglasses. Not only did they disguise his eye color without hindering his vision, but they cut through the snow-glare as well.