Master of None

by Sonya Bateman

  “A little shack on my property. No one lives there.”

  “And have you been through this passage recently?”

  “No. Why?”

  Ian frowned. “Taregan, give the light to the thief. You can create your own.”

  “Oh. Right.” Tory handed me the plastic tube. He held a hand out, and a shower of sparks burst above his palm in midair. In seconds, a fireball blossomed and hovered in front of him.

  Lark stared at him, enrapt. “I didn’t know you could do that.”

  “I’m limited but not completely powerless. Oh—we’ll need better ventilation.” Tory pushed his free hand at the tunnel. The cool air leaking out became a slight breeze.

  “I will lead. We do not know what to expect.” Before anyone could protest, Ian glowed and morphed into the wolf. He sniffed the air a few times, pawed the floor, and leaped through the hole.

  Tory glanced at Lark and shrugged. “His form is better suited to this. I’d just fly into the walls. Come on.” He moved the hand with the fireball to the opening, held it in place, and slowly pulled his palm back. The flame stayed put and then hovered at a consistent foot in front of him as he wedged himself into the tunnel.

  “Go,” Lark told me.

  I eased through after the djinn. The instant I’d crawled clear, Lark scooted in behind me. He executed an awkward half-turn and moved the panel back into place, leaving only the two flashlights and Tory’s floating campfire to cut through the gloom. As we started forward in single-file crawl, I was half tempted to break out whistling. “Anyone know any good mining songs?” I said.

  Tory groaned. Lark didn’t exercise similar restraint. “Shut up, Donatti. Every time you try to lighten things up, somebody falls off a roof.”

  “Not every time,” I said. “Occasionally, they get arrested. Or ditched.”

  He grunted. “Yeah, I heard about Jazz. How’s she doing these days? Still pissed at you?”

  “Probably.” At least, I hoped she was—because right now, she’d only be calm if she was dead. I crushed that idea and concentrated on more pressing matters, like the scratching, skittering sounds from the darkness ahead. Some of them were Ian. Too many weren’t.

  “Too bad,” Lark said. “Thought you two had a thing going a while back. She’s gorgeous, that girl. A living work of art.”

  “Don’t even think about it.”

  The venom behind my words surprised me, but Lark’s answering laughter replaced it with confusion. “What’s so funny?” I demanded. “Think I won’t kick your ass just because you’re a recovered cripple?”

  “You really don’t know, do you?”

  “Apparently not.”

  Lark chortled under his breath. Tory and Ian had gotten several feet ahead and didn’t seem to be paying attention to our conversation. “I’m not a ladies’ man,” he said.

  “So?”

  “Fuck’s sake, Donatti. I’m gay.”

  “Oh.” My brain processed the knowledge that he wouldn’t compete with me for Jazz and moved on. Then it stopped. And backtracked. “Oh. You and—”

  “Yes.” He cut me off forcefully. “Let’s leave it at that, all right?”

  “Okay.” I almost added sorry, but I didn’t want him to think I felt bad about his sexual preferences. Or his choice of lover. In fact, if I were gay, I’d be jealous. Not everyone got to bang a djinn.

  Silence settled between us, marked by the soft sounds of our progress in the cramped passage. After a few minutes, Lark said, “By the way . . . thank you.”

  “Huh?”

  “How much bone you got in that head? Thank you for what you did. You know. Healing me and all.”

  I grinned. “I heard you the first time. Already said you’re welcome.”

  “Yeah, I know. Sorry about that. It’s just . . . well, I’d resigned myself to never seeing or walking again. Having it all rush back like that, I couldn’t think straight. Didn’t even believe it at first.”

  “Ha. Me, neither.” My body still tingled with the aftereffects of power. I’d accepted that it came from me, but I refused to consider how it would affect my future. I didn’t want this. On top of everything else that had been piled on me in the last forty-eight hours or so, suddenly possessing magical ability tipped the weirdness scale toward insane territory.

  Lark made a strange sound—half sigh, half cough, as if he’d tried to swallow a big dose of pride. “I can’t believe you’re descended from the djinn. You’re damned lucky.”

  “I really wish people would stop saying that,” I muttered. “I’m so far from lucky, I’m kissing its ass from the other side.”

  “Come on. It’s not that bad. Like Tory said, you’re still alive.”

  “Yeah.” For now. But with Trevor actively trying to revoke my living-and-breathing status, this particular streak might not last long.

  The ground seemed colder now, and the tunnel somehow smaller, though I knew its dimensions hadn’t changed. I still had a foot or so above my head and a few inches on either side. We’d only been moving for about ten minutes, but it already felt like hours. My knees ached, and my hands approached numb.

  Unfortunately, they weren’t far enough along to spare me from feeling the thing with way too many feet trundling across the back of the left one.

  “Gah!” I stopped and shook my hand in front of me. In the faint light from Lark’s beam, I watched a four-inch-long critter made of legs and attitude cling to my pinkie like an organic grappling hook. I cringed and smacked the thing against the wall. It plopped onto the ground, and I could’ve sworn I heard it stomping away. “Oh, ugh. What kind of mutant caterpillars you got around here?”

  Lark chuffed softly. “The centipede kind. Try not to let those things bite you. They hurt.”

  “Terrific.” I tried not to moan and started forward again. If I got out of this alive, I was moving as far from nature as possible. “How long is this tunnel of yours?”

  “Half a mile or so.”

  “Is that all?” At the rate we were going, we’d be down here for an hour. “Don’t suppose you have a shower in your storage building.”

  “No, but there’s a nice freezing pond nearby.”

  “I’ll pass.”

  Conversation ceased by unspoken consent in an attempt to conserve energy. As my strength drained steadily, I wondered how babies managed to crawl around all day without collapsing. Twenty minutes in, every one of my muscles throbbed and screamed for mercy. The worst were the heels of my hands, right along my thumbs. The flesh there felt packed with burning coals. I gritted my teeth, fisted my hands and knuckled along, noting that the gap between humans and djinn had widened considerably. Ian, at least, had it easy moving on all fours.

  “Gotta stop a minute.” Lark gasped behind me.

  I froze and craned my head around. “What’s wrong?”

  “Tired. Been sitting on my ass for too long.” He rolled to one side and scrunched until he managed to sit with his back against a wall. “Tell ’em to hold up . . .”

  I hadn’t heard him over my own labored breathing. Now I caught the rattle and wheeze, the almost desperate gasps in his struggle for air. His skin looked like wax paper. He should’ve stopped before now.

  Feeling like a world-class wuss, I inched ahead and held my flashlight out as far as possible, without leaving the circle of light from Lark’s. “Ian. Tory. Would you mind joining us back here for a minute?” I called.

  No reply. Maybe they were too far ahead. I saw the faint, flickering cast of Tory’s fireball ahead and shadows that had to be them. I moved forward and tried again.

  “Anybody up there? We need a break. Lark’s beat.”

  “We heard you the first time. We’re coming.”

  Tory’s voice bounced hollow along the tunnel back to me. Aware that it would take them a minute to get turned around, I backpedaled slowly, spacing my hands wider to keep from losing my balance.

  My right palm landed on loose earth and sank a few inches. The ground came aliv
e beneath it. Within seconds, hundreds of tiny legs swarmed up my arm and into my shirt. Pinpricks of burning pain lanced me, a dozen at once. And kept coming.

  “ARRR goddamnsonofa get’emoffme!”

  Lark’s flashlight swung on me in response to my garbled litany. I brushed frantically at the ten or so centipedes milling around on my arm. A few refused to let go. So I bashed them into the wall, gagging when they popped and smeared on my skin.

  What felt like hundreds of the bastards still crawled around inside my shirt, occasionally stopping for a nibble of Donatti Delight. With a choked howl, I threw myself flat on the ground and rolled hard from side to side in the narrow space, slamming my torso against the walls until nothing moved but my own convulsing body. I stopped, flipped onto my back, and peeled my shirt off. Smears of yellow-green paste bristling with hairy black legs decorated my torso. The bug guts contrasted nicely with the angry red and purple bites dotting my flesh.

  I clenched my throat against rising bile and closed my eyes. As I lay there panting, something trundled up my side and across my stomach. I groaned, lifted a hand, and smashed it into oblivion without looking.

  A throat-clearing cough demanded my attention. I cracked an eye open to see Tory kneeling over me. “Excuse me,” he said. Without waiting for a response, he clambered across me and plunked down next to Lark. His ball of flame settled near the opposite wall. “You all right?”

  I scowled at the ceiling. Yeah, I’m fine, thanks for asking. At least I knew Tory returned Lark’s feelings for him.

  Lark nodded once. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back. “Just catching my breath. Haven’t had much exercise lately.” The corners of his mouth turned down. “They’re burning my place,” he whispered.

  “What?” I sat up and stared down the tunnel toward the house. I saw nothing but blackness. “How can you tell?”

  “The smoke. Can’t you smell it?”

  I drew a deep breath and tasted dirt, sweat, and the acrid tang of destruction by fire. “Oh, Christ. I’m sorry, man. Bastards didn’t have to do that.”

  Lark turned his face away. I suspected he was crying. “Yeah. Well, they probably think we’re still in there somewhere. Trying to flush us out like rabbits. We’d better keep moving.”

  I twisted around to grab my shirt and flinched. The space that had been empty a second ago was now full of wolf. “Shit. Ian, don’t sneak up on me like that. We have to—”

  He gave a low, menacing growl.

  “What’s wrong?” Before I realized he couldn’t possibly answer me, I figured it out for myself. The ground beneath us trembled. A heartbeat later, a muffled explosion rattled the far end of the corridor. The shaking grew more intense, and tiny showers of dirt erupted from the tunnel ceiling at irregular intervals.

  Tory’s fireball flickered and sputtered from existence.

  “It’s coming down!” Tory shouted.

  A distant rumble rolled toward us like thunder, growing louder by the second. “We can’t just sit here and die,” I said. “Isn’t there something yee ARGH! What the—”

  The agony in my arm stemmed from Ian’s teeth clamping into it.

  Instinctively, I tried to yank free. The wolf held fast and stared at me. My blood streamed from the punctures at his fangs. It dripped on the ground and ran into his mouth.

  The blood is the bond.

  “Fuck.” I snagged Tory’s wrist with my free hand and indicated Lark with a curt nod. “Hold on to him. Now.”

  Tory didn’t question me. I reminded myself to thank him later for that.

  This time, I knew exactly what I needed: to get the hell out of there. The knowledge didn’t ease the pain, but at least the energy built faster. Burning tendrils shot through my limbs almost instantly—and at once we moved up, through the dirt ceiling like soda in a straw.

  Shifting cold earth smothered my senses. Just when my lungs hovered on the verge of oxygen starvation, daylight replaced dirt. For a moment, we were air-bound. Then gravity asserted itself and brought us down in a heap on cool green grass.

  Ian pulled his fangs free. I scrambled clear of the pile, coughing and panting. After a brief glimpse of our surroundings, I decided we might have been better off buried alive.

  A black-and-white squad car perched on the edge of the sinkhole we’d created in emerging from the ground. It was the only thing blocking us from the view of the cops, who stood at a safe distance from Lark’s burning house, their backs to us, waiting for the rabbits to run.

  CHAPTER 24

  I dragged myself farther behind the car while the others sorted themselves out. “Maybe they won’t see us,” I whispered.

  A loud groan split the air. The squad car rocked a few times and slowly slipped into the edge of the loose dirt pit, where it started to sink. Puzzled shouts erupted from the direction of the cops. Running feet approached.

  “Crud. Anyone else have a brilliant idea?”

  Ian whined. He belly-crawled closer to me and nuzzled my hand. I took it as an apology. “It’s okay. I understand,” I said. Since we were ten seconds from being busted, I figured he wanted to make amends before we died.

  His lean features reflected exasperation. If wolves could roll their eyes, he would have.

  “Look, I’m tapped. I can’t even—”

  “Stay on the ground. All of you.” One of the uniforms had reached the sinking car. He drew his piece and trained it on me. “This is a police—hey! I’ve got Donatti over here!” he roared over his shoulder. The smug grin on his face faltered when he scanned us. “Who the hell are the rest of you assholes?”

  Tory pushed me aside and struggled to his feet. He muttered something in djinn. “Donatti’s over there,” he said, pointing toward the conflagration on the hill.

  Confusion flooded the cop’s eyes. “Wha . . . ?” He half turned and shouted, “I see them! Coming out the back!”

  A second cop joined the first. “You bring the dog? I thought you said he was over here, Mathers. What gives?”

  Tory whispered and gestured. The new arrival drew a sharp breath. “Shit. Move out. They’re headed for the woods.”

  “Come on,” Lark hissed in my ear. He dragged me back and helped me stand. “Whatever he’s doing, it isn’t going to last long. Just walk. And act natural.”

  “Natural. Right.” Nothing at all bizarre about three guys—one shirtless, all of them filthy and staggering—out taking their giant wolf for a stroll. On some base level, I understood Tory had somehow temporarily confused the cops. But my mind occupied itself with the more urgent matter of moving fast. Difficult, considering that my legs felt like stones and the rest of me seemed to be on fire.

  I managed five or six steps and dropped to my knees. “Can’t do it,” I mumbled. “Jus’ let ’em shoot me. Got plenty of blood left.”

  Something big and furry slid in front of me and stopped. I slumped across Ian’s back, struggling to swing one leg over. At last, I achieved a clumsy grip around his neck and lay draped over him like a worn saddle blanket. “We walk, we die.” I gasped. “See any cars we can steal?”

  Ian’s muscles bunched beneath me. I damn near slid off when he started down the incline at a slow lope. Dimly aware of Tory and Lark following, I watched the world jounce past. A dark blue blur ahead resolved into a sedan, an unmarked cop car. Ian circled the vehicle and stopped next to the driver’s-side door.

  “Great. Anything more obvious around? Ice-cream truck, hot-air balloon, Howitzer . . .” I let go and oozed to the ground, then hauled myself to my knees and fumbled with the door handle. Locked. No surprise there. “Ian, would you mind changing into something with opposable thumbs, so you can give me a hand?”

  A brief snarl escaped him, but he lit up and turned biped again. “I do not typically transform in sight of humans,” he said in a harsh whisper. “What do you want?”

  “Shut up and unlock the damned door.”

  To my shock, he actually did both.

  I pushed up to a crouch, an
d the whole world dipped and spun around me. No way I’d be conscious long enough to get us out of here. “Lark,” I said, “you here somewhere?”

  A voice sounded at my shoulder. “Yeah.”

  “You’re driving.” I eased my knife out of my pocket and clambered onto the seat. At least this was an older model. Didn’t have to worry about breaking the steering column. I popped the cover off the ignition stem, jammed the blade in, and jiggled it around until the engine caught. “Right. Let’s go.”

  I meant to step out and climb into the backseat. Instead, I found myself flat on my back with my legs still inside the car. “Ow. Pavement.”

  Someone—I couldn’t tell if it was Ian or Lark—hooked me under the arms, hauled me up, and folded me onto the backseat. A door slammed shut, then another. Everything headed sideways in a slow, smooth motion.

  Just before I passed out, I felt phantom centipedes crawling on my skin from head to toe. I didn’t bother brushing them off.

  FOR A MOMENT, I FAILED TO GRASP THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE sand coating my mouth or the rash of hot, itchy bubbles stippling my back and chest. I wrenched an eye open. Things didn’t improve. Darkness splashed across my vision like spilled oil. Was I captured? Dead?

  I groaned and tried moving. One hand twitched. I was pretty sure it was mine. Flexing my fingers, I dragged the hand inward and felt a rough, cool surface. I hoped it wasn’t Trevor’s basement floor.

  “Welcome back, thief.”

  “Mmph.” At least Ian sounded halfway normal. Maybe he wasn’t as drained as I felt. A slight breeze indicated that wherever we were, it was outside. I forced both eyes open and focused on the closest object, which happened to be a twisted wreck of a car. “Damn, Lark. Where’d you learn to drive, Jersey?”

  “What are you . . . oh. We ditched the plain wrapper a while back.”

  I blinked a few times and realized the wreck used to be a green convertible. It had company, too. Rusted hulks stretched in a row under a blazing near-full moon and terminated in a mountain of scrap metal. A junkyard. And I was sprawled on Abraham Lincoln’s refrigerator.