Unlikely

by Frances Pauli

They stepped out of the pocket and into company. The two trees that marked the rift squeezed them closer together, and beyond, a ring of Starlights lounged to all sides. Vane stood up slowly, as if he’d been waiting a long time and still saw no reason to rush. His smile had a dagger behind it. She could almost taste his malice.

  “Goodmother,” he said. Cheerily, a neighbor’s greeting. “There you are.”

  “Vane.” She nodded as curtly as she could manage. Some part of her relaxed at the sight of the gang. She had accounts to settle with the man before she left this town behind her. “Good afternoon.”

  “I’ve been so hoping for a chance to talk with you.” The rest of his gang held perfectly still. Not one hand touched a weapon, but the swords existed, the potential for violence thrummed through the moment.

  “How nice that you caught us then,” she picked careful words. “Marten was just heading back to town. He has a shop to tend, but I’m perfectly free to chat now.”

  She saw a flicker of indecision on the gang-leader’s face. If he’d meant to detain them both, he’d have to argue outright. Not the best way to start a conversation if he meant to gain anything from it. Of course, if he only meant them harm, her parry would just be ignored. She held her breath and waited.

  “I could use some help at the shop,” Marten said. His voice had less conviction. His shoulders already hunched into his customary submission. This was what he wanted her to learn, how to hide, how to make herself small and stay out of harm’s way.

  “I believe Vane and I have some things to discuss alone.” She didn’t look at him, kept her eyes riveted on Vane’s. This time, his smile held more than malice. He recognized her ploy and he respected it. Marten had been wrong about that much.

  “Of course,” Vane agreed. “The imp should return to tend his shop.” He looked over his shoulder, made some face for his men’s benefit while he waved Marten off. “Let him go.”

  “Satina.” Marten’s hand was on her sleeve. His voice pleaded with her, even just her name on his lips, but she shook her head and didn’t budge.

  “Don’t worry about me, Marten,” she said. “I’m no hero, remember?”

  His hand dropped away. He stepped back, put physical distance between them to match the rift they’d already dug with their words. She didn’t dare look his way, didn’t have that luxury with Vane’s gaze fixed upon her. Marten walked away, back to his ruined shop, and she was left to face the man who’d done the damage.

  “I’m so glad we caught up with you at last,” he said.

  “I didn’t realize I was that difficult to catch.”

  “Oh no,” he smiled and stepped closer, looking past her now to the space between the trees. “Not at all. I only meant that the town is not large, and I’d assumed we’d have run into one another by now.”

  “Well, you have only been here a few days.” Satina kept her voice sweet, sugary even, but she let the implications hint that she’d been here longer. In truth, they’d arrived on the shadow of her own steps.

  “It’s right here,” he said. It took her a moment to catch his meaning. Something had him distracted. He moved past her and circled the trees and, she realized, the pocket. “Isn’t it? I can’t see it. Can’t touch it.” He stuck his arm out, straight through the shimmer that would be invisible to his eyes. Nothing happened. “Can’t even touch it, and yet, you two stepped out right here, from thin air.”

  He waved his arm and frowned at the pocket that eluded him. For a moment, she suspected he’d forgotten her, that he’d lost himself in his frustration. The gang members shifted position nervously, and Satina began to sweat her decision to stay behind. She was vulnerable, surrounded, and Vane was clearly out of his head.

  “No matter!” He snapped to attention, voice too loud and eyes still dancing between her and the trees where the pocket hid. “But we do have business to discuss, don’t we?”

  “Do we?” She couldn’t imagine what business they had at all, except her burning desire to instruct him to stay miles away from the girl, Maera. Still, standing here with him now, Satina knew a man like Vane wouldn’t even see the blacksmith’s daughter. She’d be as invisible to him as the pocket he so desperately wanted.

  “Yes.” He feigned surprise, shock that she’d even question such a thing. “Of course. We have so much to offer one another, should we come to an understanding. I do hope we can come to an understanding.”

  And if they couldn’t, he left no doubt that she would not be walking away from this encounter.

  “I’m here listening.” Her mouth had gone dry, and the words came out less smoothly than she’d have liked. “What exactly is it that you want, Vane?”

  “I want us to help one another, goodmother. I want a partnership to benefit us both.”

  She very much doubted that, but she nodded and let him elaborate.

  “You’ve been to the ruins near town, I assume?”

  “Yes.” She saw no point in lying, the whole town would know this, and she trusted none of them to have kept her secrets.

  “Then you know there is power there…old power.”

  She did, but how he knew she couldn’t guess. She pictured the menhir again, the stairway and the fiend falling toward a suspended pocket. “Yes.”

  “Don’t you want to know how I know?”

  “I did wonder.”

  “See this?” He closed the distance between them so rapidly that she had to grind her teeth together to keep from leaping away. Vane didn’t notice. His eyes lit with a new excitement, and he thrust his Starlight symbol in her direction, as if the pendant would hold some special meaning to her. In truth, she only felt like leaning away, like putting as much distance between her body and the metal as possible. Why?

  Satina blinked and looked at the symbol again. She’d seen gang leaders wearing their tags before, and never once felt this, this physical aversion to the thing.

  “You feel it?” Vane’s voice hissed between his teeth. Whatever he’d done to the necklace had him all a tither. “The heat? You feel it don’t you?”

  “I feel something.” She doubted confessing exactly what would help her under the circumstances. “What is it?”

  “This.” He flipped the medallion over. A second necklace had been affixed to the symbol, completely hidden by the Starlight tag. This one had sigils carved into the bronze surface, it glowed with power she immediately recognized. “It finds magic.” He stated it simply, with the authority of a man who is never questioned.

  He had it all wrong, of course.

  The bit of metal on his symbol had originally been created to repel magic. Satina recognized the sigils as if she’d drawn them herself. She could see his confusion, however, and even the use he’d put it to. Certainly, if he were in the proximity of power, the necklace would warm. Maybe it even grew hotter the closer he got, so that he could use the power in reverse to locate stationary magic.

  Therein lay the problem, however. Anything, or for that matter, anyone, who had the ability to move freely, would never get close enough for him to find. His tool for locating power would push away the very thing he sought nine times out of ten.

  “Amazing.” She suspected awe was the correct response. Vane’s smile lit up, his first genuine expression of the day. “I can see how you might use this to your advantage.”

  “I thought you might.” He let the metal drop back to his chest, but winced visibly when it landed against his shirt, hot, screaming in defiance of Satina’s power. “It has opened doors to me that otherwise would have been impossibly beyond my reach. And, as I benefit from it, so do my friends.”

  His doodad had him all fired up for sure, but it hadn’t done enough for him. Satina could see that in his eyes. Vane wanted more than the necklace had brought him. She knew exactly where this conversation was leading, but could grasp no loophole through which to vanish. Except the pocket. If she could reach the pocket, Vane could never follow her.

  “You’ll have to fo
rgive me, but with that,” she gestured toward the necklace at the same time she stepped sideways, one pace closer to the pocket. “I’m not sure what value I could possibly add.”

  “Oh, don’t tease me, Satina.” His eyes hardened to glass. “I think you could be immensely helpful. This device might alert me to the proximity of power, but it can’t make me see what human eyes cannot. It can’t decipher for me. It can’t teach.”

  “You want me to teach you?”

  “I’m no fool, goodmother.” He stated it blandly, but she might have argued just the opposite. “I know a human has limitations. I’m not asking you to make me what I am not, only to serve as whatever senses I might lack. I assure you, the honor would not be without its rewards. This is my primary project, and my right arm would answer only to me.”

  “Your right arm?”

  The men around them shifted again. Satina was sure this was news to them, but Vane didn’t care one whit. He’d offered her a position at the top of their little order, and she doubted it would have occurred to him that some might object. The pocket lay at her back now. If she was quick enough, she could get away. The more Vane talked the more that option seemed like her best choice. If he wanted her in his gang, Westwood would do just fine without her—maybe better.

  Marten would certainly be better off without her. He’d made that more than clear.

  As if reading her mind, Vane continued. Either he sensed her unwillingness, or just expected it, but he didn’t hesitate to pull out his best weapon. “Your Skinner friend would have been the obvious choice, but he’s bent on resisting. I feel bad for the poor guy.” He winced visibly, exaggerating the gesture and adding a grimace. “I’d hate to have to revisit that argument, but if I must, I’m sure the boys could think of some way to persuade him.”

  This time their blue-booted audience chuckled. The shifting was less of nerves and more of sport, and it had a nasty edge to it. She’d seen what the first round had done to Marten, and she didn’t want to imagine the second. So, Vane had wanted him first. She was second choice, and if she didn’t comply, they’d have another crack at her Skinner.

  Just like that it didn’t matter if she had a pocket at her back. Marten wouldn’t be safe if she fled, nor would Maera or Hadja or any of the idiotic children playing their naïve games in the square. Maybe she had put their kind in danger by taking a human into the pockets, blindfolded or not, but she wouldn’t put this town in danger, wouldn’t leave Marten to the gang’s mercy. She wouldn’t curl up and do nothing.

  If that made her a traitor to her blood, what did she care?

  She smiled and saw Vane’s eyes widen. He expected her to fight as well. He expected resistance, and maybe she could use that to her advantage. “I think we just might be able to help each other after all,” she said.

  “I thought you’d see things my way.” But he hadn’t. She could read that all over his face.

  Vane would get his way for now, but he’d given away too much to get it. He knew Marten was a weak spot, and he could use that against her, sure. But she knew a bit about him now as well. She knew how he’d risen to his position, how he’d used that little trinket round his neck to look more talented than he actually was. She might be able to use that right back.

  Hadja would help her. Whatever Marten thought of Satina, even if Hadja agreed, the woman would still help. She wanted to fight, and now, Satina had the seed of a plan. Vane had given her the last piece to the puzzle. He wanted magic. The gang leader was fascinated by their powers, and that, they could certainly use.

  If she was right about the things in Hadja’s cellar, if she was right about her dream and of its hinting about the pockets, they might be able to use it to rid the town of Starlights—or Shades—for good. If she was wrong, well, then she was as good as dead.

  Vane stuck out his hand, and grinned. She took it, her own trembling in his harsh grip. You didn’t make deals with gangs. Not if you meant to ever get away from them. You didn’t smile calmly and shake hands when you had ideas in your head like she did. Not if you meant to get out alive. Satina might not know what she should about her blood or her kind, but she damn sure knew enough about gangs to be scared.

  When Vane reached into his pocket and pulled out a nice, blue kerchief, when he held it out for her to take, scared didn’t even begin to cover it. Her fingers took the cloth, but her heart resisted. The still voice in her mind whimpered as she tied the Starlight colors over her hair.

  The first thing he wanted was a look at the pocket. She should have expected that. She steeled herself against the wave of guilt and led him to the rift. This time, she didn’t even suggest a blindfold. She didn’t need to guess at Vane’s answer, and she worked for him now.

  He kept one hand on her sleeve, twisted in like a screw in case she tried to slip from his grasp. His voice shivered when he barked out orders, and Satina chewed on that fact and tried to put it to her use. He was scared of it, this pocket, and as dumb as she was by her kind’s standards, Vane knew far less than she did. She could use that too.

  “I only have the strength to take one of you at a time across.” Her first lie would save her a crowded pocket and a whole lot of grief. “And this pocket is very small. We could try a different one—”

  “This one.” Vane tightened his claws. “Just us, but keep in mind my men have orders to march straight to your friend’s shop if I don’t step back out of this thing.”

  “Of course.” So much for feeding him to Henry. “Just hold on tight. I don’t want to lose you in the membrane.” She didn’t know where that one came from, but it made his eyes widen enough that she was glad she’d thought of it—even though his fingers dug into her arm now.

  She reached a hand out and stroked the boundary.

  “What does it feel like?” Vane’s voice oozed envy. “Can you feel it?”

  “Silky,” that part was true. “A bit of a tingle.” She’d feed him the real stuff when it was good. His face gave everything away. He wanted to feel it, and she knew what that kind of wanting did—wanting what you’d never have. Greed. It would make him vulnerable.

  “What do you do to open it?”

  “I have to focus.” True to a point. After traveling the pockets regularly for any amount of time, the focus happened so fast you didn’t notice. After living from one to the other, you just walked right in. She knew that wouldn’t impress him, however, and she needed him very impressed. “Then I tear a little doorway.” That part was just plain silly, but he ate it up.

  “Is it difficult?”

  “You get used to it.” She made her face look stern, pretended to concentrate on the place where her hand rested, and then sighed and let her shoulders slump a little. “There. Now we can just slip through.”

  “Will it hurt?” He stood very tall and said it as if it didn’t matter, as if it were only a point of curiosity.

  “No.” Lying about that would be quickly disproved. Her story had twisted into a complexity that she’d have to keep close track of. It would be far too easy to stumble now. “Just stay close to me.”

  She stepped through the pocket. Vane’s hand pulled at her sleeve, but only for a second. Then the man followed, pulled into the pocket by her passage. That much she hadn’t needed to lie about. He wouldn’t be able to cross without her. No human could. Only a handful had ever seen inside, had ever shared the Gentry and the blooded’s understanding of what once was. Here in the pockets, one could gaze upon the kingdoms gone before. Here, the Old Magic tinted the whole world with gold.

  Even Vane, self important, violent, arrogant Vane, looked around the pocket with awe and understanding on his face. They’d lost this somehow. Depending on whom you believed, through acts very similar to the Shade and Starlight conflict. Even with the glimmer of tears on his eyelids, Satina doubted Vane would make that connection. She doubted this view, this exposure, would do anything aside from strengthen his resolve.

  She knew about gangs, if nothing e
lse.

  “Don’t move much,” she felt compelled to warn him, didn’t care to be bumping against one another in the tiny space. “This one is teeny. I’ll move us somewhere else.”

  “Wait.” He clutched at her arm, but this time his fingers didn’t dig. “Where are we going?”

  “A bigger pocket.” She saw her mistake in his eyes. Here was one lie she should have woven. Vane hadn’t understood the way they moved at all. He’d thought this was it, before she’d slipped. “Maybe we should pop back out. Your men—”

  “Will wait a bit more.” He nodded and pushed at her arm. “Go on.”

  Satina made no show of it the second time and she picked a pocket that she knew he’d already been made aware of. She snagged the image of the menhir and pulled the bubble walls tight. With no more than a look for Vane, she dragged him through to the spot where the fiend woman had probably gasped her last breath at one of his men’s hands.

  The caravan had moved on. She’d known it would have, but even so a tiny part of her sagged in disappointment. The Gentry could have torn Vane limb from limb, might have agreed to help her save Marten. But only an empty courtyard waited for her now. The standing stone glowed and twisted, but she doubted Vane could see that. He dropped his grip on her arm and stepped in the pillar’s direction just the same.

  “The ruins.”

  Satina sighed. This too, had been a mistake. He’d never let the place go now. She doubted he would have anyway, and to give him another pocket, a new place, seemed an even worse alternative. The Gentry band had left their wagon behind, or perhaps, the straw-filled cart had been there before they came. Now it sat off below the stairway, and she could only imagine the blood stains.

  She wouldn’t go near the spot.

  “We should go back.” She startled him out of a trance. He’d closed in on the stone, but now he turned reluctantly and nodded.

  “You could move this way, between pockets, and we’d never know where you were.”

  “Your men.”

  “Yes.” He brushed his hands against the side of his tunic and marched straight to her. This time, he held out his arm, bent and courtly, for her to take. Much worse, she felt, than his vise-like clawing at her arm. The man intended to play the escort now, to step out as if he were the one in command of their travels.

  She slipped her hand only onto his arm, keeping distant without overtly refusing the gesture. When she pulled the bubbles tight, she imagined, just for a moment, letting him slip away at random. He’d pop out perhaps in some Shade city, or over the deep sea. And that would leave Marten at his goons’ mercy. She sighed, and led him back to the twin trees and swiftly out into normal space before he could object.

  The gang applauded. Vane took a little bow, and then, with much fanfare, he stepped away from her and threw out an arm, dipping into a phony conciliatory indication that they should honor her in turn. They did, but hesitantly. Satina refused to bow, though she saw in Vane’s eyes that he wanted her to accept the homage. She tried to smile and hoped it would satisfy him.

  It did not, but he maintained the act just the same. He snapped upright and grinned at his gang, at her, at the trees and the empty road. “Gentlemen!” He bellowed to the sky, to the whole world of secret places that would now fall into his self-claimed domain. “We have succeeded beyond my greatest hope!”

  We have succeeded. She knew what that meant. A chill crept into her spine. It climbed slowly, like a snake, winding up to the base of her skull. When Vane threw a heavy arm across her shoulders, when he pulled her in to his side and his gang cheered for them, the cold exploded into her brain. She turned to ice.

  Marten, she thought, Marten would be safe now. But from the look of things, she was officially a Starlight.

  Chapter Thirteen