He jiggled her shoulder. “Danii?”
“Maybe. I don’t know.” Though she whispered, her voice caught. “Sometimes I see so much awfulness in people’s faces, and I’ve not even spoken to them. Sometimes it’s like I’m at the center of a dirty world, clogged up in every pore and orifice with more dirt—stinking, heaving dirt. I can’t get free of it, and I know I never will, because I’m just another piece of that same filth.” She put her head back to bump against him and nestle between his shoulder and chin.
“Oh, dear heart.” The harshness in his tone, as if it tore him inside to say the words, both horrified her, to think she’d hurt him, and rang a note of joy that she’d touched him in some way. He did care. “You’re not dirt. Never think that. I think perhaps you’re just too fragile for what you do.”
“Too fragile.” She laughed bitterly. “But what I do is part of me.” She couldn’t conceive of not being a cop. At least, not here, in the real world. And Heketoro’s world would never be real to her, unless she somehow miraculously found herself there. It was an irrelevance that only existed while Heketoro existed. Once he was gone, she wouldn’t believe. How could she? He’d become another of her dreams. And a promise to him would then mean nothing.
So she said it. “I promise. There. I promise I won’t drink too much.” She said it as clearly as she could, not wanting him doubting her. Even if she knew it was a false promise. She had to cope somehow, and if he wasn’t here, he wouldn’t ever know.
He squeezed her shoulder but said nothing.
She put her fist to her mouth, rested her lips atop it, and stood there trying to decide where she wanted to go, what she wanted to do. Even why she’d abruptly asked Heketoro if she could return with him. She hadn’t thought that through at all, and impulsiveness was so not what she was about. Logic was the backbone of everything she did. Or it had been, until now.
If she could somehow go with him, there’d be no more need to pull on her uniform every day and go out on the streets to keep the average schmuck safe from the idiots, the evil, and the mad. Imagine that. Just thinking of work made her muscles tense. She’d be in an utterly strange land, and until she worked out which way was up or down, she’d be the one needing protection. Yet…the notion of needing Heketoro to protect her was curiously pleasing.
Ack! Who was she fooling? Though there were some people in this world she would regret leaving behind, her parents and her brother were dead, and her sister might as well be living on the moon. If she lost Heketoro, she would be devastated.
He’d declared his world too dangerous for her. He knew her weaknesses, had said he’d watched her for years. She was going at this the wrong way. She didn’t want to give him up, and like he said, she could be strong. It was her weakness holding her back. She mustn’t let that be the thing defining her. To change Heketoro’s mind, she must only show her strengths. That must be her aim—to convince him of her strength. She only had one day to accomplish this. Impossible seemed too mild a word to use.
The water sparkled with the reflections of the red embers in her hair.
She stayed there, entranced, staring down at the strange woman in the water until at last she felt Heketoro’s hands leave her shoulders, and he spoke the quietest of words as if from a distance.
“I must go.”
* * *
Though Heketoro no longer held her, his hands remembered the soft feel of Danii’s flesh. He longed to embrace her just a few seconds longer, to smell the fresh scent of her hair. Unaware of his struggle, she remained mesmerized by her reflection. But the curse dragged at him, calling to him. As if turning into stone, his limbs refused to move toward her, and he took another shuddering step back. The glamour melted over his body like a shroud of cool mist.
He doubted the sincerity of the promise she’d just made. He’d been tempted to challenge her on it, but there was little he could do to reinforce his wish. Then he’d realized the best solution would be to wait until after the ritual. If they succeeded, the toah would be fully charged and he could use the excess magic to craft a more useful change in Danii—something that might allow her to distance herself temporarily from the painful things in her life. It was a poor and artificial solution perhaps, but the best he could do. The very empathy for others’ problems that gave her the insight to do her job effectively was wearing down her soul.
If only he was certain magic would work effectively. If her empathy linked to her fae ancestry, something that was more than possible, his chance of success dropped a great deal. To a fae with empathy, humans were like panes of glass—their emotions on display and raw. In which case, the best answer would be for her to not be a law enforcement officer, but he felt sure she wouldn’t change occupation on his insistence.
If she came back to Rarohenga, her problem would be gone and they could be together. How that temptation ate at him. He mustn’t give in to it. This was her world, not Rarohenga. He wouldn’t cast her into the unknown dangers of his world to save her from a known one here. She was resilient and intelligent. She’d coped without him for her whole life and would surely manage without him again.
There was another, more immediate problem, in any case.
Would she even remember to come to the island?
The curse grew stronger with each day. It tugged at memories, twisting them, fading them until by the third day the memories of ordinary humans were blown away like butterflies in a hurricane. For the first time, the implacable nature of the curse dismayed him. The fault of Emana Tatu, she’d crafted it—her way of stopping him from returning.
There was no point in telling Danii—it would have added to her worries, and if it affected her, she would forget he had told her.
He could only trust her faerie blood would help her resist the loss of her memories.
Chapter Ten
In the mirror-water before her, Heketoro’s reflection thinned and vanished. Danii spun around, but he was gone.
The curse, or some other magic? She had no idea. Tomorrow would be the last day. Reality settled on her like a heavy cloak. She glanced at her watch. Late. The shops would be closed, and besides, she needed to shower. A can of soup would have to be dinner.
Walking back along the section of boardwalk at that time of night was generally very safe. The crime rate in the area so low that if she wanted to have an uneventful shift, she finagled a patrol out this way. It was partly why the neighborhood was so attractive to her and why she’d been thrilled when her house had come up for sale all those years ago.
Which made it all the more surprising when a man stepped onto the boardwalk five yards ahead and held his arms out wide in a way that immediately told her he didn’t mean to let her pass. Six feet two. Caucasian—so pale, he looked like he’d lived in a cave. Crew cut. Wide as a door and, hell, big. Some sort of long weapon, perhaps a sword, perhaps a baton, hung from his belt. Thick shrubs and young, low-branching trees to either side made the path her only means of escape. Sounds behind her told her another—probably only one person—was blocking the other end of the boardwalk. She needed to do the unexpected. You didn’t stop and give muggers time to get comfortable. Jan and Frank Tissot’s house was only twenty yards straight ahead, and they were nearly always home on Saturday evenings.
The loud music and laughter from David and Trina’s barbecue would block some noise but—
Screaming at the top of her lungs, she ran at the man in front, then took a breath. Exhaling, she bounded into the air, launching into a flying kick at his chest.
The man was so solid it only knocked him half skidding against the side of a shrub. He scrambled to get balanced again, snatching for the weapon at his side as he did so.
She grabbed his hand, twisting. God! As skin touched skin, a familiar tingle shot all the way to her womb. Ignore it, girl! She executed a finger lock takedown, forced him to the boards. Finger locks worked on the big boys too. A crunch as his pinkie finger fractured, then she was off and running again. No yelp of pain
—she’d expected him to wake the rest of the neighbors who hadn’t heard her yell. No scream. Nothing. Just run! she told herself. Run!
Even in a sari she could easily beat the other one to the nearest house.
Until something hit the back of her neck and wrapped around her, so tight…and getting tighter. She choked, tried to cough, but barely a wheeze came out. Oxygen deprivation hit the body fast after sprinting. The world went spotty and blurred. Tearing at the thing—she bumped into something hard. The ground, her knees told her.
A boot thumped into her shoulder, kicking her onto her face. But the thing at her neck loosened. A little. She sucked in air. Great huge lungfuls of it.
“You used a snake collar on her, Pahua? Why? It’s just a damn human girl.”
“She broke my finger.” Pahua. This one was angry, she thought, despite the near monotone of his voice. “Get that exit open. Fast.”
“Then you bring her. Is she the right one?”
A heavy sack dropped over her head, blocking out the night. Someone yanked it closed around her neck. A bare palm slapped onto her naked backside. In one fleeting instant, she knew the sari had flipped up in the struggle, and the juddering shock hit her—felt like it lit her up from the inside, so close were the egg and the man’s hand.
Pahua chuckled. “Yeah, this is her all right.”
Fuck. That egg was getting to be a liability.
Crackling sounded behind her.
A hand closed on the sack and her hair, twisting them tightly together, then hauling her to her feet and shoving her backward. She stumbled and fell into nothing. Something frizzed across her skin.
Moments later the sack was loosened and pulled from her head. She blinked.
Night had changed into day. No…it was merely a small well-lit room. How? How was this possible? She sprawled on her stomach on a carpet, quietly checking out the mess she was in. Outnumbered and God knew where she was.
An odd square room—burnished gold walls, two plate-sized translucent red domes in a corner on the floor, a single chair with armrests and what looked like straps to tie down any occupant, and a man-size metal cross on a stand. Nothing else. She hadn’t blacked out, had she? Where in hell was she? Some sort of kink club?
A woman stood before Danii. A ruffled mass of black hair fell past her waist, and she was garbed in a long-sleeved plum organza gown of ragged hemline. Dark leggings ended at her ankle. She had her boot propped on the chair’s seat, and her deep blue eyes were fixed on Danii’s—calculating eyes. A tattoo wove along one side of her forehead like an intricate and beautiful fringe. One loop of it made its sinuous way across her right eyebrow.
That tattoo gave Danii pause. A fae—has to be.
“Goodness, what have you found, Pahua?” she said wryly. There was an echo, a resonance behind her words.
“Heketoro’s conquest, Justice Emana Tatu. As you requested.” said Pahua, growling deep and doglike. “Take care. She bites, a little. Hence the snake collar.” He planted a foot on Danii’s back, forcing her flat and jabbing her chin into the carpet.
Emana Tatu—she knew that name from somewhere. Heketoro had said it.
“A collar? She’s no slave, Pahua. But…I see the need. Strip her and make her stand.”
At that Danii tried to wriggle out from under the man’s foot, but to no avail. The man was as solid as a tank.
“Wait.” Looking up from under her brows, Danii saw the woman raise her index finger. “Leave us. Go get that finger fixed. Both of you, go.”
The foot removed from her back, Danii climbed shakily to her feet. “Thank you.”
The woman, Emana Tatu, gestured, and the snake collar tightened a second. Danii jerked her hands up to grab hold, only to find it already loosening. They’d called her a human girl. Are they all fae? Where am I? Is this even Earth?
“Just so that you understand exactly what I can do,” Emana said, as lightly as if she’d merely suggested a way to button a shirt. “Oh, and welcome to Rarohenga. Not many humans have ever come here.”
Rarohenga, a strange name. Danii craned her head back and realized why there was an odd resonance in her voice. No ceiling. This room was surrounded by a vast series of empty terraces. How far back they went, she was unsure, as the bright white lights at four corners of the room burned white blotches into her retinas. A door shut behind her. Pahua and company were gone. She lowered her gaze, staring at Emana. The numbers had improved substantially.
A morsel of hope blossomed into existence and she strove to keep that hope from showing, kept her face unmoved. But—she fingered the snake collar—there is this. And truly, its surface felt like interlocking scales. She swallowed, wondering if it was possible to tear it off before it strangled her.
The woman smiled at Danii, as if she read her thoughts. “Take care you don’t make me angry. Oh, yes. Dresk!” She’d shouted as if somewhere out there past the lights, someone listened. “In case I get distracted, do watch this one for me!”
Like Heketoro, this woman gave off a different aura to humans. Yet with him, she’d still sensed something of his true self, perhaps because he’d let her. With Emana, nothing showed. Humans, compared to the fae, forever roiled with emotions, and the most obvious of them, the rawest ones, flailed about on the surface and tortured her as much as them. Emana was unreadable. With Heketoro, the difference enhanced his attractiveness and her need for him, but with Emana, she felt adrift.
She’d not allowed herself to follow the facts to their conclusion. But now it burst on her like a tidal wave. Rarohenga must be Heketoro’s world. She stood in the very place he would return to after the curse was defeated. If she stayed, he’d never get here. If she went back home, he’d come here without her. And this woman, Emana Tatu, was she friend or enemy to her, and to Heketoro?
“Of course I’ll watch her,” drawled a man hidden beyond the lights. “Please continue, Emana, I’m quite looking forward to this.”
“Ignore him, for now. Master Dresk just likes seeing naked women. I’m Emana Tatu. A Justice. And your name is?”
What possible harm in a name? “Danii.” Yet she realized she’d instinctively set her feet shoulder-width apart, with knees flexed, lightly balanced, and ready to react to any attack from any direction—a basic martial arts posture. Emana bothered her. The woman was like a coiled reptile waiting to strike.
“Danii?” She rested her chin on her fist. “I have a proposal for you. We need to take some measurements, and you need to get back to where you came from. Do as I ask, and I guarantee you’ll be back very, very fast.”
“And you need me naked? But we’ve only just met. I’m sure in other circumstances…but here?”
“You mock me? Because, of course,” Emana continued, frowning. “If you don’t do this, we can make you, and…I’d rather not do that.”
Danii shut her eyes, half expecting everything to vanish when she opened them. But no, Emana was still there, confident, like she knew she would win, eventually.
“You’ll send me back to where I came from? And here is? You do know I’m a police officer.” The blank stare she got in return unnerved her more than anything else had. She didn’t know what a police officer was? The world jarred askew on its axis before she caught herself and made it settle back where it should be. Damn, damn and damn. Looking bad.
“Whoever you are there, right now you’re here.” The frown intensified. “Come, it’s not that hard. Strip. Stand against that”—she indicated the cross—“and we’ll have this done in seconds.”
A measurement. What could they possibly want to measure? Sweat stood out on her brow. This was so impossible, she didn’t know where to start being logical. Slowly she raised her hands and untied the sari and let it fall. The cloth whispered against her skin. She resisted the impulse to cover her crotch and breasts with her hands.
“Ah.” Emana smiled. “Good.” She took her boot off the chair. “Now the cross. Would you like me to help you?”
“I can fig
ure it out,” snapped Danii. Well, maybe I can. Damned if I’m asking this woman. Slowly, she walked to the cross and pressed her breasts to it and raised her hands to each side, along the horizontal strut. Something hummed as she touched each of her wrists to it.
Footsteps behind her—she recognized the click of Emana’s boots. “Correct, but you need to press against it more. Here.” And she put the flats of her hands to Danii’s bottom and pushed.
“Oh.” That shock again. It isn’t…just…men. She panted through her clenched teeth. As her pubic mound flattened against the cross, it was as if something had abruptly suctioned her onto the steel, all along where her bare flesh contacted the frigid metal.
In front of her, one of the iridescent domes on the floor extended multiple legs, then, like a mechanical spider, it crawled stealthily in her direction. Every muscle in her body knotted with cold and tensed. She couldn’t do a thing to stop the creepy thing. Her eyes nearly revolved in their sockets as she tried to keep it in view. Skittering, scratching noises behind…and it climbed her right leg, across her buttocks, to the small of her back. She shuddered. Something tiny and sharp lanced into her. Pain flared, and she stiffened.
“Very, very well done,” Emana whispered in her ear. “Such a nice bottom, and, my my, look at that.”
“What’s the reading?” yelled the hidden man.
Danii heard Emana step back. “She’s almost off the scale. A little powerhouse. Heketoro has definitely found someone who may be able to break the curse. If she survives. If we let her go.”
Face squeezed against the cold metal of the cross, though alarmed, Danii could only manage to breathe. There was no part of her she could move.
“So what’s your opinion on this matter?” asked Dresk. “If he succeeds, we’ll have him returning within, oh, a day or two? We could remove the egg instead. If it’s almost charged, it would offset the power we’ve used today. An excellent conservation of energy!”
“And then again, there is the law. My opinion? We have to let him do this.”
Three Days of Dominance Page 12
