Silk Dragon Salsa

by Rhys Ford

  MALONE WAS drugged up to the gills when we stopped by the medics’ bay, and the desk officer barely looked up when he slid the keycard across the counter at us, motioning toward the hallway where the bunk rooms were located. Ryder was quiet throughout our walk, smiling at the people we passed, although he did murmur hello a few times to anyone staring at him long enough to notice.

  Okay, so he talked a lot, just not to me. People stared, and he went about his business, making the Sidhe look like the bright, beautiful, and peaceful creatures the telenovelas sold them as. I knew different. I’d gotten drunk more than a few times with quite a number of them now, and they were as gassy as hell after a few beers and mouthfuls of cheesy burrito. Not to mention, Ryder snored sometimes. Especially after a long day of travel or fighting off something trying to eat us.

  The room was miniscule, barely large enough to hold a cot and a duffel. Still, it smelled clean and the linens were recently washed, no sign of someone else having slept on them. Like the cafeteria, the walls were drywall and insulation screwed into steel girders and runners bolted directly into the surrounding rock. Ducts kept the air circulated but a bit chilly, enough for Dempsey to complain about the cold getting into his joints whenever we stayed there.

  I’d slept on the floor the last time we came through, using the sleeping bags from Dempsey’s truck as a bed. He’d gotten up in the middle of the night, a drunken stumble to the shared bathrooms at the end of the sleeping hall, kicking me in the ribs, then falling over my feet. It was one of the last runs we made up to New Vegas, a long-ago memory of a time when his knees were getting worse, and as much as he wanted to ignore the pain, his body couldn’t carry him any longer through rough road and hard kills.

  “You take the bunk.” I nodded to the cot fixed to the floor. “I’m going to crash in the Mustang. It’ll be more comfortable. Eat some food and then crash. I need you to lock the door behind me, though, and hold on to the key. Don’t let anyone but me in. This isn’t the safest place to be an elfin, and I don’t want to have to explain to Alexa about why I’m returning you without a nose or toes.”

  I couldn’t sleep there. In that room. Even Ryder’s presence couldn’t wash away the filthy debris of my memories flooding through my mind. I dug the card out of my pocket with every intention to hand it over, when he sat down on the cot and studied me with those soul-piercing green eyes, digging into me and ferreting out my discomfort.

  “Can I tell you something?” Ryder’s whisper dripped with concern, and he leaned back, resting his shoulders against the wall. “Well, more to talk to you. About… this is hard for me. Probably not as hard for you because I feel like this place holds ghosts for you and that’s why you’re running away from me.”

  “Truth?” I sat down next to him, echoing his pose against the white-painted wall. I picked a fried potato off of one of the plates, but I wasn’t very hungry. I nibbled at its edge, then chewed it down quickly, swallowing at the tasteless ash it left on my tongue. “Not really running away from you, just… I can’t be here right now. Too soon. Too raw. Dempsey’s the first one… I’ve lost others before. Hell, Stalkers don’t live long lives. Remember me telling you that? He died in his sleep, which is a good death for one of us. It’s just… hard to be here without him. We made a lot of runs down this corridor.”

  I opened, then dug through the duffel I’d slung onto the cot, coming up with a small silver flask of whiskey. I’d bought the bottle because it shared the same name as the magic type Cari practiced, mostly for a chuckle, but it turned out to be surprisingly good, becoming one of my favorites. After undoing the cap, I laid it down, then took a swig and passed the flask over to Ryder.

  “Am I just supposed to take a gulp?” He took it with a bit of trepidation. “Sometimes I think you give me stuff brewed in someone’s sock just to see me choke on it.”

  “Sip on this one and don’t waste any,” I warned. “And whatever you do, never wipe at the rim. Especially in front of someone who’s just given you a nip. It’s an insult.”

  “I’d never do that to you. Sometimes this is the only way I can get a kiss from you, sharing something we drink together.” He grinned foolishly at my scoffing snort. His sip was small, but a flush soon warmed his cheeks. “Oh, that’s good. I’ve had this before.”

  “That you have,” I reassured him, taking the flask back after he had another drag. “I’ll be more comfortable in the Mustang. Seats are better than the floor, but I’m serious about locking the door behind me. There’s a lot of dangerous people holed up in tight on top of one another. I don’t want any of them coming to look for you for a bit of fun.”

  Again he regarded me, tearing me apart bit by bit. I was lulled by the whiskey, but there were landmines set between us, and I wasn’t sure what he was going to step on. Sleep tugged at me, seeping through my marrow, and suddenly sleeping in the cold garage, slung into the passenger seat of my Mustang didn’t seem like such a good idea.

  “Who was that Stalker to you?” he finally asked. “A hunting companion? A brother? It seems like you knew each other well but it ended badly.”

  “Badly isn’t a strong enough word for how it ended.” Exhaling hard, I debated what to tell Ryder… or rather how much. “Samms and I were lovers for about four years. Nothing formal like a house with a picket fence but more than casual. Why?”

  “That’s what I thought. You see, today as we sat in the cafeteria, I realized I’ve never actually seen you… outside of who I had built you up as in my mind.” He inched closer, our shoulders touching, and the warmth of his body against mine was as tongue-numbing as the whiskey in my belly. “Today, I think I got my first glimpse of you as other people see you.”

  “I’m not any different around people.” I shrugged. “I am who I am. I don’t pretend to be more.”

  “No, that’s… I’ve always thought of you as very young.” He shook his head at my quick glance at him. “To me, you’re barely into adulthood. And everyone around you, from Dempsey to Jonas and even Cari, knows you as a son or a brother or something like that. It’s shaped my idea of you. In a Sidhe household, you would still be living at home, continuing your studies and just learning to make connections with the adults around you. The idea of you having sex, having relationships with others when you were younger is… incredible to me.”

  “You thought I was a virgin, maybe?” The whiskey still burned my belly, but its heat was spreading. “Dude, that cookie crumbled back when I was with Tanic.”

  “That doesn’t count,” he retorted. “You didn’t have a choice—”

  “People keep saying that, but the truth of it is, it happens. Happened. Doesn’t change if you want it or not. Your body’s not the same. Doesn’t mean that asshole or whoever did it to you owns you, and you don’t have to like it, but nothing’s the same,” I refuted softly. “Duffy just taught me how to like it and it didn’t have to hurt. I own myself and took back a bit of what Tanic carved out of me, but I’m not going to shove it all under some rock and pretend it didn’t happen.”

  “Okay, I can understand that,” he conceded. “I wish it weren’t true.”

  “If wishes were bottles of rum, Pele would be drunk all the time,” I tossed back. “But yeah, I’ve had sex, Ryder. Lots of it. Mostly with people who I didn’t see again. Other times, with people I saw a lot. I’ve killed more people than I’ve ever wanted to, and chances are, I’ll kill some more. I’ve lost count of how many black dogs I’ve brought in, but I’ve kept count of the dragons I’ve brought down. I’m a Stalker, lordling. I’ve been one for almost thirty-five years now—first as an apprentice, then as a full-fledged, badge-carrying bounty hunter. I might be young for an elfin, but for a human, I’ve got a lot under my belt.”

  “That’s what I realized today. That’s what I’m telling you.” The flask made another trip across the cot, coming back to me only slightly lighter. “Today I saw a side of you I forget exists. You talk about dangerous people being out there, but I’m probably with
the most dangerous person in this station right now. I watched Samms give you a wide berth, and for all his posturing and jabbing at you, he kept his distance. Hernandez treated you with a respect earned by actions, not just because of your status as a Stalker. And Malone, he worships you. Even as you threaten to kill him, he hangs on your every word.

  “I saw you today. Really saw you as others see you. As the humans see you.” His voice took on a huskiness I wasn’t sure I could ignore. It rolled over me, rubbing against me like velvet. “You’ve endured things I can’t even imagine and then shaped a place for yourself in a society that hates our kind. I’ve known that. But it was knowledge I didn’t truly understand until today.”

  “Does it change how you think about me?” My whisper was soft, forced out around the now-growing lump in my throat. It was already there from Dempsey and from my struggles with the others. I didn’t think about how taking Ryder on this run would introduce him to what I was. I thought he already knew I was trash—something dark and fanged the humans kept in the shadows to hunt their monsters and make the world safer for their own sake. Something in me was threatening to break, and I wasn’t even aware I had anything left inside of me that was still whole. “Because I’ve got to tell you, driving you back—”

  “It doesn’t change how I think about you. Not that way.” His hand found mine, squeezing my fingers. The rough Army-issue wool blanket we sat on scratched at my palm, but I didn’t mind. “It’s changed me. Made me realize you’ve done so many things, been so many things to so many people. You warn me about things, and I don’t—and I know this—don’t take you seriously enough sometimes. I trust you. I trust your judgment. I need to remember that you might be young in my world, but in yours, you’ve lived through—survived—so much and thrived. I have to respect that. If anything, I think I cherish you more, finally understanding this.”

  “And it took meeting one of my ex-lovers to realize this?” I tipped the flask back again, taking a final sip before pulling my hand out of Ryder’s grasp so I could fasten its cap back on. “Hell, remind me to dig up a few more. Maybe that’ll help you learn how to aim better when I tell you to shoot something.”

  “If they are all like Samms, then I will question my sanity in wanting to be with you,” Ryder said, making a face. “What did you see in him?”

  “Someone like me. Someone who hunted. A guy who didn’t fit into the world as much as I didn’t. Being a Stalker keeps you on the fringes. Not like I’m going to live in a split-level ranch and come home every day to pick the kids up from school.” I chuckled, trying to imagine myself driving a wood-paneled station wagon. “It was good until it wasn’t. And that was okay.”

  “Well, if you’re going to shoot someone, make it him and not Malone.” Ryder nudged me with his shoulder. “I wouldn’t mind using him as target practice. What drove you apart? The distance, or did he cheat on you?”

  “Can’t cheat on someone if you’re not actually with them on a permanent basis,” I pointed out. “But no, bastard tried to cut off my ears so… on that note, I’m going to go crash in the Mustang. Because right now, you might trust me more, lordling, but I just don’t trust myself.”

  Ten

  “ODIN’S TEATS, it’s freaking cold out here.” My breath turned the windshield into a frosted pane, but the tiny cell heater I’d stashed in the driver’s-side space finally kicked in, letting out a whisper of warmth. It wasn’t much, but it was safe to run inside of a closed vehicle. I was counting on the sleeping bags and the survival blankets I’d liberated from the station’s stores to keep me from losing any toes. “Okay. Warmer now. Or frostbite’s just kicking in.”

  It probably was a mistake sleeping out in the Mustang, but I felt raw inside and needed a little bit of distance from Ryder, if only to keep my brain from spinning into places I didn’t need to be.

  Sleep wasn’t coming easily. The parking shelter’s lights were dimmed, doused down to a dark blue wash over the pale stone with runner LEDs along the ground, leading to the frosted doors. One of the best upgrades I’d done to Oketsu was installing smart shield glass in its windshields and windows. I’d dialed it over to black frost, deepening the shadows of the interior, but even the dousing of the lights down to pinpricks didn’t help. I was restless, my skin too tight and my head too busy with fleeting, buzzing thoughts.

  There was also something inside of the damned car with me.

  It was something small. That much I was sure of. It scrambled about in the back seat, giving off a tiny squeak when it hit something solid. I wasn’t going to turn on the light, but damned if I was going to try to sleep in the Mustang while something was tap-dancing across the back seat. Opening the passenger-side door, I switched the overhead light on to low, guessing whatever’d gotten in would be startled by the light.

  I was right.

  Sitting on the stock of my sawed-off shotgun was a small trembling horned jerboa, its fluorescent rainbow mane glittering and mantling over its head and down its back. The puff at the end of its tail was nearly round, warning me off in a fierce display of courage, or as much fearlessness as a three-inch furball could muster up. Standing up on its kangaroo-like back legs, it extended its height to its fullest, weaving its head back and forth so its tiny stubby horns glistened in the Mustang’s soft interior light. Chirruping, it squeaked a battle cry, baring its short front teeth at me, but I could see it glancing at the open door, its tiny brain calculating if it could make its escape before I could grab it.

  There were over one hundred and twenty types of jerboa in the desert and mountains between California and its surrounding states. None were venomous, and all were driven by two things—sex and hunger. Placid to a fault, most jerboa only mantled when threatened, although I’d seen one launch itself at a hawk hunting her young, piercing its skull with her sharp teeth as it swooped down close enough to grab one. This one was cute but not something I wanted pooping all night in the back of my car.

  “Hold on,” I told it, unraveling myself from my covers and biting down a hiss when the cold air grabbed me. “Let me get you something nice.”

  Dragging a dried pineapple slice from the bag Ryder got from the automat was easy enough, especially since he’d left it tucked in one of the cupholders in the aftermarket middle console I’d put in. Either the rattling of the bag or the scent of the fruit caught the jerboa’s interest, because its tail deflated a bit and it stretched toward me again, sniffing at the air.

  Waving the ring in front of its twitching black nose, I made sure I had its full attention, then tossed it out of the open passenger door, grinning when the jerboa took off after it like it’d been shot out of a cannon. The pineapple possibly grazed the floor, but I doubted it. The desert rat snatched it up in a move that would have any raptor envious, ducking back under the Mustang to scuttle off with its prize and then darting beneath one of the station’s heavily armored trucks.

  Watching the jerboa speed hop across the parking floor must have been guidance from Pele, because I caught the station doors sliding open, illuminating a long rectangle in Oketsu’s darkened glass. I’d parked nose in, so reaching for the shotgun probably would be hard, but after closing the passenger door just enough to turn off the interior light, I gave it my best effort. I’d mounted the holster to make it easy for me to reach while driving, and I was pleasantly surprised to feel it draw out smoothly, its shortened barrel clearing the gap between the seats without a hitch.

  Even behind the shadowed glass, I could make out the silhouette of a man walking deliberately toward the Mustang, striding as close to the columns as he could to give himself some cover. Too broad for Ryder. And too short. He also moved human—more of a stomp than an elfin glide—and there was no reason for any human I knew in the station to be heading toward my car.

  Especially since only Ryder knew I’d come out here.

  While there were cameras, a quick flash of credits and a favor or two could turn them off. Hernandez wasn’t manning the desk, and he was the
only one on staff I’d trust not to take a bribe. I was going to assume whoever was darting from shadow to shadow meant either me or the Mustang harm. Either way, he wasn’t going to like what he found.

  A flash of light on steel and a crouch near my passenger back tire was all I needed to know, and I came up out of the partially open door, shotgun barking off a warning blast over the guy’s shoulders. The heat of the blast coiled over him, and he fell back, knife clenched tight in his hand and his face set into a wary stubbornness I remembered so very well, despite the years we’d spent apart.

  “Hello, Jerem.” Stepping carefully all the way out of the car, I kept my aim steadied on his chest and shoulders. “Didn’t think I could lose any more respect for you, but screwing with a man’s car, that’s low. Even for you.”

  To his credit, he dropped the knife.

  The storm raged outside, battering at the bay doors, bringing a roll of thunder into the bay from the rattling steel. As chilled as I was, the cold on my skin was nothing compared to the chunk of ice in my belly. Samms had fallen a lot further in my mind, willing to strand me at the station for reasons I couldn’t imagine.

  But I intended to find out.

  “Slashing tires?” I asked, taking a step forward to kick the knife out of his reach. “Were you going to stop there or try for the brake lines?”