“I don’t have time for this,” I grunt, stepping forward. The brunette clenches her ring-bearing fist and a narrow filament of crackling purple energy flashes out at me from the ring. That’s unusual. Whatever magical energy the ring’s producing must be generating a natural light wavelength as a byproduct, otherwise I wouldn’t be able to see it. I’m grateful for the break, as it gives me a chance to stop her attack. I drop Claire’s phone, hold up my right hand, and simply catch the filament on my naked palm. The crackling arc sputters against my skin, then simply winks out. I look at her with tired eyes.
“Are we done yet?” I ask.
“Yes, I think so,” she answers, looking satisfied.
Behind me Claire’s song rings out. I turn to see her dueling with the second woman, sparks flashing from her ring to beat against the waves of magic in Claire’s voice. The moment I turn the magical filament lashes out again from behind me, arcing over my shoulder and encircling Claire’s mouth. Like a snake it slides down her throat and in an instant her song is cut off. Without resistance the sparks from the stone ring rushes in and beats against her lips, twining with the purple light like electric vines. Claire staggers back against me, hand clutching her throat and clawing at her mouth, eyes shot wide with panic.
I’m at her side in an instant, trying to shield her against the attacks, but whenever I move my hands to intercept the magical energy the arcs simply flow to a new route like water seeking the lowest path. In desperation I clamp my hand over her mouth but even that isn’t enough, the power seeping around my fingers as if they aren’t even there.
“Give us the Cleave and she’ll live,” the brunette says coldly.
“Or don’t,” the sandy-haired one adds, “and after she’s dead we’ll find another way to kill you. You don’t look like you’ve got too much fight left in you.”
I hold Claire’s body close to mine, feeling her chest heave for breath. Her eyes find mine, begging, imploring me to help her. To find a way. So I do.
I kiss her.
The moment our lips meet the magic is sealed out, releasing her, and she inhales deeply through her nose as her arms lock behind my neck. She presses closer, her lips soft heat against mine, and for the briefest of moments nothing else matters. The pain, the fighting, the monsters, the world. It’s all gone, all except our mouths, our bodies pressed together, everything moving ever so slightly against each other. Her tongue, small and hot, teasingly licks the insides of my lips while my hand slides down the slick curve of her naked back, feeling the muscles taut moving sensually under her skin.
It has been so long, so very long, longer than I’d allowed myself to think. Our bodies melt against each other’s, sweat and humidity sealing our skin together and we kiss harder, hungrily, and the dwindling section of my brain still managing rational thought wonders if it hadn’t been just as long for her as it had been for me. Her inner thigh rubs against mine, our hips straining together, and every spark of my pain vanishes as my fingers become lost in her strawberry hair as she holds my face tightly with her hands as if she had to keep me from pulling away from her.
Without warning she breaks the kiss and rips free of my arms, throwing her head back and her mouth wide, her throat sending a deep, throbbing note to the sky. The tone blasts out into the darkness with amazing length, her lungs pouring every ounce of oxygen into her magic. After a good twenty seconds of sustained sound the note gradually fades, and in the new silence I hear two heavy thumps as the women collapse, unconscious, small trickles of blood beginning to run from their ears.
Claire slowly steps back into my personal space and brings her face down to mine again, a quivering smile on her lips as birds around us begin to fall from the trees. My heart is pounding, harder than it had been when fighting the angel and the zombies, and my breath is short in coming. Claire’s own breath is coming in short, breathy gasps, her eyes wide as they stare into mine.
“I didn’t know you cared,” she pants, her voice shaky.
“I think we have some things to… discuss,” I stammer back, trying to will my heart rate down.
She nods. “The sooner, the better.”
We’re not embraced anymore but our bodies are as close as if we were, a position I’d be more than happy to remain in for a long time, but that was never going to happen. Over her shoulder I see two small lights rise up over the top of a large stone crucifix. Small, silver orbs that float in tandem in the darkness - eyes, shining in the moonlight. As I watch another pair opens next to them. Then a third. Without blinking I reluctantly ease myself out of her embrace and kneel down to pick up her phone but predictably it’s dead, scorched by a magical pulse of some kind. I drop the useless piece of plastic and rise.
“Come on,” I say. My hand finds hers, her fingers curl comfortably around mine, and together we run out of the cemetery.
I steal regular glances over my shoulder as we go. The eyes, silvery, unblinking holes in the night, jerkily follow suit. More of them each minute, coming from behind trees, parked cars, darkened houses. Above us I hear something swoop past, unseen in the darkness, and inspired by the growing flock of unseen creatures we come around the final corner in a dead sprint.
The Jeep is blessedly undisturbed. I wasn’t entirely sure it would still be intact, depending on whether or not the herd of ghasts had stampeded over it. I pull my keys out of my pocket and hand them to Claire as I go around to the passenger side. Her eyes pop.
“You’re letting me drive?” she gasps even as she slides behind the wheel.
“Don’t let it go to your head. I’m just not in top form.”
She fires up the engine, gunning it into a healthy roar. “I feel like I’m getting to drive the Batmobile.”
I climb swiftly but painfully into the passenger’s seat. My side is still throbbing, and my lower back feels wrenched, but I’m able to find a halfway comfortable position. Claire practically melts into the driver’s seat as she pulls into the street, her face alight.
“Where to?”
I look in the passenger side mirror. The swarm of eyes is still behind us but falling back, unable to keep pace with the Jeep but not abandoning the chase. “My place. It’s got Fort Knox level security. The Cleave will be safe there, at least until I get a chance to figure this all out.”
“You’re not going to give it to Madeline?”
“Oh, I will. I’ll call her from my house. If she wants it so damned much she can come and get it. If she wants to play it safe I’ll bring it to her in the morning, after the monsters go to bed.”
“Can’t believe I’m going to get to see the Envoy’s house,” she chuckles, her eyes shining in the green glow of a stoplight as we fly through it. “I should have kissed you months ago.”
Nineteen
We make it back to my place unmolested, though we won’t be alone for long. In the mirror we could see shapes jumping in and out of shadows, some human, some merely human shaped. Things hang in the air, wings flapping madly, and something back there is casting an eerie orange glow through the streets like a frightening sunrise. Claire drives as fast as she can manage, and when she parks the Jeep in front of my porch I guess we only have minutes before they find us. We hurry up the steps and I unlock the door. She’s about to step in when I stop her.
“Not so fast,” I say quickly. I take her hand in mine and step over the threshold with her. She looks quizzically at me.
“Death spell,” I explain. She goes a little pallid.
Once inside I let go of her hand slam the door shut, locking it tight. Nothing can cross into the house without me and live, but things can still be hurled, fired or spit from appalling distances. I hit the lights and together we sink into the couch. Jamie’s chalkboard floats into the room at speed, chalk frantically squeaking.
What the hell did you do? Did you even see what’s out there? You brought a goddamn zoo home with you!
Claire yelps at the sight of the hovering chalkboard, and at the sharp burst of sound the furn
iture in the living room jumps half an inch. Up until that moment I was never sure whether or not anyone else could see Jamie – some ghosts are visible to normal people, some aren’t – but now at least I have that answer.
“Relax,” I say. “Hey, Jamie. This is Claire.”
The chalk pauses, and I swear he’s stunned by Claire’s presence. After a moment the chalk flies over the board. Nice to meet you.
“Uh, thanks,” she says politely. “Sorry I jumped.”
It happens. Or it would, if he ever brought anyone home with him. Ian, are you hurt again? Jeez, learn to duck, will you?
“Thanks, smartass,” I mutter.
Need the tea?
“Better not. I might need it more next time. Jamie, grab Claire a shirt, would you?”
The board hangs there, as if the ghost has finally noticed that she’s only wearing a bra. Then it zips into my bedroom and returns a moment later with a blue dress shirt. She takes it with a murmur of thanks and slips it on, fastening the middle three buttons.
So, what was it this time?
I laugh. “Angels, witches, warlocks. The usual.”
So, what did that? An arrow points at my left arm.
“Ghasts,” I say after a moment. I’d honestly forgotten about the ghast bite in all the action, though to be honest the kiss alone would probably have been enough to do the trick. I hold up my arm and show him the bite. The bleeding has stopped, but it still looks, well, ghastly.
Ghasts too? Did you trip and fall into Merlin’s Ark? And there was more than one? Where the hell did ghasts come from?
“Remy has apparently heard the news that I’m not bringing him the Cleave and is not taking it very well.”
Wait, wait. You were going to let him use it and now you’re not? You had a busy day.
“Where’s the bathroom?” Claire asks. “Not that your Odd Couple routine isn’t fascinating, but we need to get you cleaned up.”
I know she’s right, but I’m not looking forward to treating the bite. Nonetheless, I let the two of them lead me to the bathroom, where I keep my first aid kit. The kit is custom, of course. All the standard stuff, bandages and triple antibiotic ointment and butterfly closures, plus some of the more exotic things I’ve found useful over the years, like dried mint, a vial of melted Arctic ice, fur clippings from a centaur. I was never a Boy Scout, but that didn’t mean I didn’t appreciate their motto.
Jamie brings a stool in from the kitchen, evidently for me. I peel off my shirt and toss it in the garbage. I’m going to have to go clothes shopping soon. I sit on the stool and situate myself so my left arm rests on the bathroom sink. Claire finds a flashlight and a roll of paper towels and immediately begins to set up shop, arranging the contents of the first aid kit to her liking. She doesn’t seem to spend any time examining her patient, or at least not the hurt part. At first I think she’s checking out my midsection, but then I realize it isn’t the muscles of my torso she’s looking at.
My body shows the signs of years of war. A jagged slash starts below the collarbone on the left side of my chest and runs straight down for seven inches, courtesy of an axe swung by a stone troll. My right shoulder had been burned by a torch-wielding lackey defending his sleeping vampire master, and the skin there looks like a topographic map of the sea floor. Most dramatic is the semicircle of two-inch slashes that loops around the left side of my body, front and back, where the head of a hydra had clamped on to me. Interspersed between them are dozens of smaller scars where claws, weapons and shrapnel have punctured my body over the years.
I usually don’t go out in public shirtless. I know full well how my scars make people react, and I don’t need that. For the most part my arms are clean, except for the bite (well, two bites, now), but that’s minor. A couple of scars aren’t cause for alarm, but more than that makes for awkward silences, particularly from women.
Claire is the first woman to see my scars in a long, long time. I feel the flame of embarrassment in my cheeks, and I’m about to stammer out some kind of poorly worded apology when her eyes meet mine.
And she smiles. Not a tolerant smile, but an understanding one. She has scars, too. They just aren’t as visible as mine.
My embarrassment doesn’t evaporate, but in that moment it certainly seems a little farther away. I dry-swallow four Advil to get ahead of the pain, grit my teeth, and let them get to work.
The ghast bite burns like fire as they clean it, but Jamie keeps scribbling increasingly nasty insults to distract me. When he draws a caricature of a baby sucking on a pacifier I actually laugh out loud, which goes a long way towards relieving the pain. No matter how much the bite hurt, though, it’s better than the alternative. To most people the bite of the undead always, without exception, brings about a prolonged, agonizing death, followed eventually by reanimation into an undead state yourself. My immunity spares me from that, thankfully, and that thought makes it much easier to bear the pain of the bite.
The ghost and the siren make a good team, passing items back and forth with care and speed. Claire is used to making hasty repairs to people from awkward angles, and being incorporeal Jamie apparently isn’t concerned with little things like physical obstacles. Soon I’m drenched with sweat from agony and not even Jamie’s cartoons are pulling my focus back.
“How long were you with the Aegis?” Claire asks, not lifting her eyes from my forearm.
“What?”
“The Aegis. You remember them. The worldwide network of monster-fighting white knights. How long did you work for them?”
My breath is coming through clenched teeth. “About seven years.”
“Why did you retire?” she continues, keeping her eyes tight on my arm. “Something big must have happened for them to let you go. What was it? Botch a job?”
“I do not botch jobs,” I reply indignantly. “Well, not the way I saw it.”
She doesn’t say anything, focusing on the exact placement of a gauze pad. I look to my right at Jamie’s board. It hangs just over the sink with a single question mark filling the slate. I know they’re just trying to keep me talking to distract me from the pain, but I can’t be mad about it. It’s a smart move. I go along.
“It was just over three years ago,” I say. The words feel funny in my mouth. I’ve never told anyone the truth about my discharge. Mr. Pale knows what really happened, of course, but I’ll bet a dollar to a doughnut he hasn’t repeated it to anyone else.
“An Envoy went missing. His name was Hollis, Keith Hollis. Good man. Had a special talent for mental magics. Someone had been telling tales of a woman in San Francisco who was using magic to manipulate people into commit bank robberies for her, so they sent Keith in to put a stop to it. He went dark a few days later. After a couple of months, they sent me in to find out what happened to him.”
“Did you?”
“Yeah, I did. He was at her house, a big thing in a posh development. He was frying bacon, looking perfectly content.”
“What did you do?”
“I snuck in and confronted him. He maintained that she did have power but that she was innocent, that someone was framing her. He said they were in love.”
“She charmed him.”
“That’s what I thought at the time, too. But then I met with her and held the crystal she used to focus her magic in my hand. He still loved her. Real love, not magically induced. So, I let them go. They packed up and were gone in an hour.”
“Your bosses must have loved that.”
“They did not. I gave them a week’s head start before I called in. They were pissed, even more so when I gave them the evidence that I’d managed to collect that proved Keith was right. She was being framed by a sorcerer she’d apparently given a cold shoulder to once.”
“Which means that you did the right thing.”
“But they didn’t want to hear that. I had deliberately tanked a mission. Even if the mission was a wrong one, it was still outright insubordination as far as they saw it. I was given my
walking papers a few days later. That’s the whole story.”
Okay, that last part isn’t a hundred percent truth. There is a story that came after that, one that I’m only now coming to understand. I keep that part to myself.
“You must have been pissed.”
“Part of me was, yeah. But the fact is that I never wanted that job. I never even liked it. I was just good at it, and that was enough.”
“You could have quit.”
I exhaled slowly, blowing the pain out with the air. “No, I couldn’t do that. I… failed someone once. I wasn’t there to help her. I couldn’t let that happen to anyone else. Not if I could help it.”
“Thanks for telling me that,” she says, tearing off a last piece of tape.
“No worries,” I say, looking over her work. The bite wound is now clean and sporting a neat white bandage, a perk of bringing home an EMT to tend to your injuries. The ghast’s teeth had torn into the meat on the inside of my forearm, forming a perfect bookend to the outside of the arm where Oliver the wendigo had bitten deep on that first night so many years ago. The oldest scar and the newest. It’s enough to make you wonder how Fate sees us. With practiced efficiency Claire secures the gauze around the bandage with a final piece of medical tape.
“That’s as good as you’re going to get outside of a hospital,” she says, looking pleased as she’s checking over her handiwork.
“It’s good enough,” I say, admiring her work. In truth, it’s better than a lot of work I’ve had done in emergency rooms in the past. I ease myself off the stool with a heavy groan and sit on the edge of bathtub. As I do something hard jabs into my hip. I shift and reach into my pocket. I pull out the razor, looking it over in the clearer light, while Jamie’s chalkboard hovers over my shoulder.
Is that it?
“Yeah, that’s it. Doesn’t seem like much, does it?”
Swim Like Hell: A Visit to Superstition Bay Page 19
