“Dragons won’t break oaths bound by their true names. Too much power and value is bound in a true name, to sully it by breaking oaths is the height of dishonor. I won’t need to track him down if he breaks his word. His own kind will kill him as an oath breaker.” He recited all this information as coolly as though he were giving directions to a stranger.
“How, um, how would they know?”
“Some sort of mark.” Mathias looked around the room, appearing a million miles away, tapping a finger against the hilt of the sword.
I found the entire thing disconcerting. I placed my hands in my lap and prayed he wouldn’t notice my shaking. With this strange coldness over him, my own sense of self-preservation rebelled at the thought of showing too much weakness. I wanted to keep him talking too if I could. “What kind of mark?”
“It curls along the neck and jaw. Six heads spreading in different directions, but at least three always mark the face.” Mathias still didn’t make eye contact as he continued the unemotional and chilly recitation, “The six-headed hydra was a potent enemy of the dragons and to be marked with it is a death sentence. So the elders turned it into the most feared punishment and bound it to the magic of true names.”
“But you don’t know that man’s true name,” I pointed out.
“It is of no matter. He swore the oath and it is binding.”
“Mathias, are you certain that—” I cut myself off suddenly afraid to voice my doubts. Not because I feared he would do something to me. Rather I was very concerned that he might decide to change his mind and go after the dragon shifter, who would certainly be more on his guard now and not so easily surprised by Mathias’ fighting prowess. Mathias was looking at me now, and I quickly offered a faint smile. “I am glad you had a different solution to killing him. It was a good thing, you know.”
Mathias didn’t respond to my statement as he strode around the table and hung the sword on a hook tucked between the shelves of the pantry and the corner. When he was done, he turned around once more, and stopped to frown at my remaining food. His gaze drifted up to mine, and it seemed torn between cool aloofness and the warmth that used to be there. His voice was still cooler than normal, but it wasn’t quite as frozen when he broke his silence. “Finish eating. You need your strength.”
He didn’t wait for a response or say another word. He strode toward the door pausing only long enough to pull on a heavy woolen coat and grab a flat cap tugging its brim low on his forehead, before vanishing out of the door.
I sat there staring after him for too long. The remnants of my meal were cold by the time I was able to focus again. I closed the box with trembling hands. That wasn’t Mathias. Not the Mathias I had grown to know in Olympia, not the man I had grown to . . . to care for despite common sense. This change in him . . . I didn’t understand it. And to be perfectly honest, it was a change that scared me.
* * *
Chapter Four
Lauren
Mathias was gone for hours. Stuck with my foot in a cast and no crutches to help me get out of the safe house, all I could do was wait for him to come back. The safe house’s position in the underground vaults beneath Old Town meant I could hardly make out any noise from the levels above. But, it didn’t stop me from jumping in my seat any time I imagined I heard something. Eventually, I hopped from the seat at the table over to the lumpy couch.
It certainly wasn’t the most comfortable couch in the world, but I was grateful it was in one piece and not precariously balanced on only three legs. The safe house was small and lacked any windows, but at least it had the most basic amenities. I had certainly stayed in worse apartments like the one in Phoenix, Arizona that had nothing except an air mattress and three scorpions or the one that I had to abandon immediately because an angry jackalope decided I was trespassing. Those creatures were meaner than they looked. Eventually, I curled up on the couch noting that the lumps were still better padded than the leaky air mattress. The space heater was running on batteries so I was spared the problem of trying not to trip over a cord. I couldn’t hear anyone coming and the heater made the air warm, so I dozed off.
A crick in my neck woke me up. I squinted at my watch, which claimed it was only half past ten. Every inch of my body ached. I got up only to nearly fall on my face when I tried to put weight on my cast encased foot. I caught myself on the arm of the couch, which gave a little groan, or perhaps it was me as a dull shooting pain emanated from my ankle. I somehow hobbled and hopped my way to my bedroom where I promptly collapsed face first on the bed. Exhaustion was already dragging me back into sleep, but I still managed to hope Mathias hadn’t gotten himself thrown in jail. I didn’t have any bail money.
It was after midnight when I was awakened by the sound of the door closing. I raised my head, not quite awake, wondering if I had just imagined everything . . . again. There was another noise. Footsteps? I rolled onto my side, listening. Definitely footsteps. A yawn escaped me then I called, “Mathias?”
After his name slipped out, my brain caught up enough to realize I probably shouldn’t have announced I was in the back of the safe house. What if it wasn’t Mathias?
The steps in the front room slowed and I had just sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, when he appeared in the doorway. He didn’t look like he had been attacked or tossed in jail until he charmed the warden into letting him out. Unless the wardens in Scotland didn’t worry as much about the security of their holding facilities as in the States . . . Although that seemed unlikely. Perhaps he had landed in a norm prison . . .
Mathias gave a low sigh and annoyance tinged his voice as he suddenly asked, “Did you need something, Hope? Or are you talking in your sleep?”
Of all the things to say! As though he hadn’t done anything at all to cause me to be stuck in this safe house fretting that he had done something to get himself in worse trouble! Worry immediately gave way to irritation and I glared at him. “Where have you been?”
“Hunting.”
The cold word sapped my anger and replaced it with a dread that sent panic’s wings beating hard against my ribs. Hunting as in hunting the other hunters sent out by Weard? He couldn’t be serious, but even in the shadowy doorway I could make out his impassive expression. Merciful God in heaven, he wasn’t making some poor attempt at a joke. The dread beat harder against my ribs. “Mathias,” I choked, “what have you done?”
“I am eliminating the problem of the hunters,” he stated as though we were discussing vacation plans and not killing people. “It will protect our trail.”
“How does leaving bodies around Old Town protect us?” I hissed through clenched teeth. My arms were shaking as my hands curled into fists scrunching the covers beneath me. How could I be having this conversation?
“I did not hunt in Old Town,” Mathias stated with cold precision. “I ensured the hunters followed me to different parts of the city before I eliminated them from the hunt.”
“By killing them,” I spat.
“When necessary.”
“What is wrong with you?” The words escaped me in a whisper as my throat tightened too much to shout them as I originally wished. Moisture burned my eyes and I stubbornly blinked it away. I shook my head as I whispered another strained question, “Why are you doing this?”
“Because it must be done,” he stated with such simplicity it was terrifying. I couldn’t even respond, but my silence didn’t deter him. He offered a slight one shouldered shrug as he added calmly, “And, it is just.”
“Just?” I stared at him. “Who are you to decide what is and is not just? You are not God’s executioner, Mathias!” He didn’t react. That lack of reaction only drove me to hiss, “But perhaps you are Weard’s. Although that would require you revealing the truth of who and what you are for me to know if that is what happened to make you this way. I can only pray that you will think long and hard on why you feel you can sit in judgment on others and whether you really want to continue acting as Weard’s exec
utioner.”
“You accuse me of judgment, of a lack of justice, but what have you done with your life, Lauren Hope?” Mathias’ tone was frozen to a point that it was a wonder I didn’t get frostbite as he continued, “You have spent your life hiding instead of using your ability to help others. Some would say that makes you guilty of negligence. Why would I trust you with my secrets? You would only run away. Isn’t that how you survive? By running first and never fighting? You see threats. Do you know what I see? The failings, the faults, and the threats that your numbers cannot always reveal. You grieve for the hunters, but you don’t know how they have abandoned honor and justice in favor of power and wealth. They do not deserve mercy.”
“It is not our place to make those decisions, Mathias. That is why we have laws and it is why we were given empathy, to understand mercy even when the law ignores the grey areas in life. Because the world does not exist in black and white where everything falls neatly into right or wrong. Empathy is what separates us from the true monsters in our world because it allows us to feel for others even when we haven’t shared their same experiences.” I caught my breath, panting slightly, and then added softly, “I cannot believe that you don’t know all of this yourself. Because I have seen it in you. And, you need to bring that man back, not this cold shell who cannot even pretend he l— cares for . . . for anyone.”
When Mathias didn’t respond, I caught my breath and dropped my head staring at the tip of my cast where it poked out from beneath my skirt. I still didn’t understand how we came to this point. It wasn’t like Mathias. This wasn’t like me either. I wasn’t accustomed to confrontation. I didn’t normally stay around long enough to even get caught in a true argument with a man, much less one I cared about. My voice shook as I continued in a strained whisper, “If you do not know this, Mathias, why did you help me run?”
There was no response.
When I looked up, he was gone. Only an empty doorway greeted my searching gaze, and I wasn’t even certain that he hadn’t left the safe house again. My heart squeezed a little at the realization. Only one thing was clear after this conversation for lack of a better name. The man I had spoken to just now was not the Mathias I knew. It wasn’t him. This man was cold and distant . . . and scary. A stranger. I hated it.
Part of me still clung to the hope that the real Mathias would come back. It was what drove me to get off the bed and hobble back into the front room. I looked around, but I didn’t see Mathias. For a moment I considered calling for him in hopes he was in his bedroom or maybe the washroom, then I shied away from the idea.
I didn’t want him to go off on his own again, but neither was I ready for another confrontation. Just the thought of trying to face Mathias again made me tremble. He was still a 10 after all. And with his odd behavior . . .
After reaching the lumpy couch, I eased down and curled up on my right side. If Mathias had gone out, I didn’t want to miss his return. Even if I wasn’t ready for another conversation, I still wanted to know that he was all right. Or at least as okay as he apparently could be with his current behavior.
I rested my cheek on my arm as I tried to resist sleep’s call. I wasn’t willing to give up hope that Mathias was still there beneath the cold. However, there was still another part of me . . . The little voice that had kept me alive for so long. For all the time I had been on my own, thirteen years, I had listened to that cautious little voice. It had kept me alive. Now it was whispering that I should start planning to go my own way as soon as possible. That maybe Mathias couldn’t be trusted after all . . .
* * *
Mathias
I gulped down a pill and dropped the empty bottle in the trash. The man in the mirror gazed back with a haunted expression. Yes, I was haunted. Lauren’s words still chased me even though I had slipped away from the conversation hours ago. Pacing the tiny length of my room provided no relief. I braced my hands against the washroom wall, waiting for some relief but it was barely detectable. All I felt was the cold rage filling me, flooding each vein, and chilling my perception of the world.
Every threat. Every injustice. All of it was detected and assessed with cold precision that permitted no room for weakness, for mercy. It had been difficult to return to the safe house without acting on those injustices, correcting them.
The only reason I succeeded in resisting the desire to establish the cold unyielding justice was the same as what had drawn me to return to the safe house. It was all because of the only one who still mattered beyond the ice. The one who pulled me back. Lauren.
I swiped my sleeve across my brow, but I wasn’t sweating. Taking a deep breath, I resisted the pull that urged me to seek Lauren out. To tell her what the vow of protection meant, of what it demanded . . . But that I couldn’t do. Not to Lauren. Following through on the urge, on the draw to Lauren, would be the height of stupidity and utter lunacy. I wouldn’t permit it.
There was only one option left to me with that decision, however. I left the washroom as I considered it. I had one chance to bring this coldness to heel and regain my now suffering control. Only one chance to bury the rage once more before it brought down the same fate that had befallen too many of my kind. I must put as much distance between Lauren and myself as I could, and do so as soon as possible.
I only killed two of the four hunters I found lurking in Old Town. The other two I incapacitated after fighting back against the cold to avoid falling into an icy rampage. It would be risky to go hunting again, and I would have to leave Old Town untouched. Otherwise, I might as well paint a giant sign pointing out that the fugitive Spotter Weard was so desperate to capture was hiding somewhere in Old Town. But if I sent a direct message to Weard by dropping more hunters down on the beach or near the docks, perhaps I would be able to lure them away from Lauren before I went underground once more. If I could get across the Channel and perhaps hunt down a few more hunters in Belgium or the Netherlands, it would further distract Weard’s efforts to locate Lauren. They might not plan—
I blinked as I realized I was standing in the front room and not in my tiny bedroom. All thoughts of parting ways with Lauren faded when my gaze fell on her. She was curled up on the couch, apparently waiting for me.
I glanced at my watch. It was five in the morning. I hesitated only a moment before I carefully lifted Lauren into my arms being mindful of her cast. Carrying her back into her bedroom, I set her down on the bed and then started covering her with the blankets. As I laid the last blanket on top of her, I realized the greatest flaw in the plan I had considered.
Leaving to protect myself and save myself from this coldness would require me to abandon an injured and inexperienced Spotter to the nonexistent mercies of Weard’s new management. And, the hunters had already indicated her life might be considered forfeit now. I smoothed the blanket over her shoulder and then straightened, but I didn’t leave right away. As I watched her sleeping face, I realized I would rather fall to the cold than abandon her. It would go against my morals and my honor.
No, I could not put my own comfort above Lauren’s life. I would have to make a different plan. A better plan.
When I finally left the safe house, it was not to hunt down more hunters. Or to send a message to Weard. It was to find another way. I had an idea on how to do it, but I would need to set all of it up before returning to Lauren if it was going to be a success. And, it had to succeed. Too much was at stake for the plan to fail.
* * *
Chapter Five
Lauren
When I woke, my watch said it was still about a half hour before six. I wasn’t completely certain if that was six in the morning or six in the evening. I hobbled to the washroom to try and work out the crick in my neck. It took a full ten minutes, filled with covering up the cast to keep it dry and the shower running, for me to wake up enough to realize that I hadn’t been in the front room. Mathias must have moved me at some point, which gave me a little hope that he was back to being himself.
But
when I emerged from the washroom, there was no answer when I called for him. I knocked on the door to his room and then dared to push it open. The narrow room was empty save for the neatly made bed. Actually, it looked like it hadn’t been slept in at all. Worry started eating at me as I made my way into the front room. The lanterns balanced on the table and a pantry shelf cast a ring of light through the room. Empty. Not even a note left on the table.
I couldn’t remember if I had seen Mathias’ go bag. The thought scared me more than I wanted to admit and sent me scrambling back to his room. I shoved open the door and hobbled inside. The bed was made up and when I crouched down, I didn’t see the large duffle bag. It was larger than my own, and I should have been able to find it. But, it wasn’t in his room. I hobbled back into the front room hoping against hope that it would be there. Nothing.
I dropped down onto the lumpy couch, feeling as though someone had slapped me across the face. Mathias was gone along with his go bag. A chill ran down my spine at the thought of Mathias leaving, abandoning me. Maybe I should have expected it. Everyone else in my life abandoned me, left me behind when I needed them. Why should I have expected Mathias to be any different?
Closing my eyes against a fresh wave of hurt, I reached up out of habit to touch the sapphire teardrop hanging from a fine silver chain around my neck. The only thing remaining of my parents, my mother, from the time they abandoned me as a small child. The feel of the stone beneath my sweater grounded me. I took a shaky breath and then opened my eyes. I had been too complacent, wanting to believe that Mathias was different from everyone else I encountered in my life. And, that was what got me into trouble in the first place. By not running the first time he appeared with a golden 10 floating above his head, and then trusting him.
Foolish. Reckless. And so very, very, stupid. Now, he was gone without so much as a goodbye or an explanation. The only saving grace in this mess was that we hadn’t been intimate even though we had traveled as husband and wife since fleeing Olympia. I was too attached to him as it was without adding the binding ties of intimacy.
Flight by Numbers Page 4
