I looked at her trying not to laugh at her I smirked. “Oggity boggity shit?” I noted her arms were still bleeding, we had to do something about that.
She shook her head and said in a flat tone that had a tinge of humor underpinning it, “Just shut up and turn on your reaver detector or whatever it is you do.”
I had to smile again. “Reaver detector.”
She quipped back, “Don't make me stop this car.”
I almost shoved her arm, but stopped myself from touching her wounds. “Fine, whatever.” I shook my head and muttered, “Reaver detector.” Then I looked at her as I smushed my lips to one side of my face as I absently scratched at the heat coming off my wrists I hadn't noticed had not dissipated since we left Atta behind. “I'm still not entirely sure how I...” There were five lesser hunters following us. I was certain of it.
Their unnatural threads were tainted and knotted together, hard to pick out of the fabric. Hard for even us fates to kill. It was the way the Adumbrates pulled the shadows from the light, the shadows of the people living around them, and imbued the hunters with them. So many knotted paths to follow.
I looked back again, I was surprised I had more anger than fear as I spat out, “Five reavers are back there somewhere.”
She nodded and said knowingly, “They'll shadow us until we stop. So once we hit Seattle, we better lose them and meet up with your, umm... your family? Before anyone gets hurt.”
I nodded and exhaled. I could feel the buzz of adrenaline just under my skin, pulsating with the shifting ink as it formed and reformed while we made our way south.
Chapter 6 – Evasion
An hour later, we pulled off the freeway into the Emerald City. She flicked on her lights and siren for a few seconds to get us through the red light at the busy intersection at the bottom of the exit ramp. I glanced back and then grinned at her when I saw and felt our shadows falling behind as they were stopped by the dense traffic.
After a few calculated turns, weaving us deep into downtown Seattle she visibly relaxed. She looked at the missed calls from her station which were piling up. She shook her head and slid her phone back into her pocket without calling in.
I asked, “Shouldn't you call in? You don't need to put your job in jeopardy for me.”
She looked at me like I was being daft and asked, “What kind of a cop would I be if I let someone under my protection run off and get herself killed?” Then she shrugged and added. “Besides, if I did, what would I say. 'Oh hi captain, no, everything's ok, just fighting off supernatural hitmen who are trying to get to the woman I'm protecting who has been dead almost thirty years. You know, the usual.'”
She gave me a sardonic look, arching an eyebrow in challenge.
I exhaled loudly and conceded, “I see your point.” Then I offered brightly, “But it's the truth.” I gave her an overacted cheesy grin.
She smiled back and rolled her eyes. “Yeah. I'm going to be given a whole ration of shit when this is all over. But I am following protocol. If a witness is in danger, we are supposed to fall back, call for backup, and get the witness to safety.” Then she said, “Hi witness.”
I squinted one eye. “Witness to what?”
She rolled one hand in the air. “Do try to keep up, Sloan, the altercation at the library.” Then she hesitated and added, her tone unsure, “Or do I call you Hannah now?”
I didn't even think as I shook my head and said almost sadly, “Hannah is dead. I'm Sloan now.” Then I furrowed my brow. “But I was part of the altercation.”
She nodded knowingly. “Front row seats to witness it all. Now shut up, the grownups are driving.”
I smiled incredulously at her and shoved her shoulder. “I'm older than you, woman.” Then I added as I realized the actual scope of it... I vaguely remembered the impression of watching eons pass. “Much older.” I really was a Fate... wasn't I? Either that or I was stark raving mad and was bringing Drey along with the ride. I smiled a little as I looked at her profile.
She smirked a little without looking. “What?”
I shrugged and said nebulously, “Eh, at least I'd be in good company.”
She countered, “Priorities, woman. Monsters chasing us, remember?” Then she chanced a playful glance over to me, and I marveled at how well she was taking the fact that the world wasn't how she had always believed, and she could joke about it. A defense mechanism?
Then she asked, “What does your juju tell you now?”
I gave her a look as I rolled my eyes, “Juju? Really?”
She bantered back like a pro, “Fine whatever. You said you were a Fate? So that weave-y, stringy shit you do.”
I said primly, “That's better.” Then found I was already rubbing my wrists like I was itching to touch the threads again. They flowed under my skin to my touch, swimming around like lovers begging to be caressed. The extreme heat, the burning fire, was not there, just an uncomfortable warmth.
I closed my eyes and listened. It was like I could hear the whispers of all the life around me, as people went about their business. It was so foreign to me yet so very familiar. I absently thought it was better this way because of the awe and wonder it filled every corner of my being with. It struck me when I realized I knew things about all those same lives I felt around me.
And then there were the unnatural knots and imperfections in the weave, shadows cast by the threads that were twisting through threads they ought not to. And the underlying burning of something else which shouldn't be here, slowly approaching, threads as thick as ropes.
I opened my eyes and said, “You've lost them, they are blocks away. But there are others searching other parts of the city for something. No, they are hunters, so, someone.”
Then I swallowed. “There is something else coming. Something big,” I admitted. “I think the Adumbrates may be coming. If I understood Atta, then they are coming for us.” And I knew. “The time of the Adumbrates is ending, and they want to destroy us and set the Threads of Life free. It would be a world of chaos and death. All so that we won't cut their threads when the time comes.”
She nodded in understanding and supplied, “They're afraid to die.”
Huh. When it came right down to it, that was really it. They were afraid of dying after living almost eternal lives. Even us Fates died to be reborn. Soon, the Crone's cycle would be ended, and I would bear a child, becoming the Mother as the Mother became the Crone. A new Maiden would be born to take my place, and it would be the old Atropos, as I would be Lachesis. I have held the duties of each of the three of us a few times.
I absently wondered if our own threads would ever fray and break. Everything had its time, so I don't believe us Fates would be any different. I wondered what the world would be like if the Fates weren't there to organize the chaos. Maybe some other beings would step in to ensure the Fabric of Life stayed intact.
Then I paled, what if this was our time at long last. We've never been able to find our own threads in the never-ending weave, so we could never measure our time. The only thing we could ever see were the lifelines of the mortal shells we wore when we visited the mortal world.
Oddly, I didn't fear it. If it was time, it was time. That same calm that passed over me when I fell to my death as Hannah filled me, and I realized that I was content with whatever higher powers deemed proper. And I smirked at the thought that I would still bring down a hell-storm of pain on anyone who tried to end me since I didn't know.
I heard a hiss from Andreya, and I glanced at her bloody arms for the umpteenth time on the drive down. I said, “We're safe now. We need to stop so we can look after your wounds. Then we have to figure out how to find Atta and Lach.”
She muttered to me petulantly, “I'm fine.” And I could imagine the headstrong child she had been, which made me smile broadly.
I reached over and placed a hand lightly on her forearm on a row of angry red slashes left by the claws of the reaver. She hissed again, sucking in a sharp breath and I cocked an eyebro
w in challenge. She turned my own favorite chastisement on me, “Brat.”
I grinned smugly at her as she muttered, “Fine.” We did need to clean and wrap the cuts, they weren't deep, Drey was fast and avoided much of the strikes. They had stopped bleeding on the drive down.
She pulled into a side alley and stopped the vehicle. She checked her cell again then slipped out the driver's door. I hopped out too and followed her to the back of the vehicle. She opened the hatchback and started digging around in one of the two duffel bags in the cargo area.
She unbuttoned her blouse and winced as she tried pulling her arms out of the sleeves. I tried not to look at the tone muscles of her torso as I helped her pull the bloodstained shirt off. I diligently schooled my gaze from dwelling on the sports bra and what they held underneath. I swear I thought like a man at times.
Then I helped her with the well stocked first aid kit. I squinted at it when I pulled out bottles of sterile water and rubbing alcohol. She caught my interest and said, “It's the same kit EMT's carry, minus the fun drugs. Standard issue for cruisers.”
I was about to mention this wasn't a cruiser and she per-emptivley said, “I try to be prepared for any contingency.”
I smiled and teased, “Anal, got it.” Then I motioned her to lift an arm, and I went about cleaning and bandaging up her forearms, to her protestations and grunts of pain.
I couldn't help myself as I said, “Hold still, you big baby. They're just superficial. You'd think you were cut to the bone with all the fuss you're making.”
She growled. “Well, they sting, ok?”
I had to chuckle as I pictured her as a kid again. I bet she was all skinned knees and scratched up arms from climbing through bushes and over fences. I paused at the last cut, it was deeper than the others, and I worried at how open it was. I mentioned, “This one will need stitches.”
I dug around for some butterfly bandages to hold it closed until she could get proper medical attention. She reached over my shoulder, her chest pressed against my back a moment as she grabbed something from the kit. I tried to keep the heat down.
I looked at her, and she was holding a suture kit. I shook my head. “Oh no. I'm not going to mess you up worse than you are.”
She said with a touch of vindication, “Oh shut up and just sew me up. You're supposed to know how to do that stuff, working on a loom and shit, right?”
I squinted an eye at her and snatched the kit from her and opened the sealed, sterile bag. I chastised her again, “You should really be nicer to your nurse.” She looked up to the sky, and I asked, “What?”
She looked down with a smirk. “Just imagining you in a nurse's uniform.”
I blinked and blushed and muttered, “By the stitch and nap, you're such a guy sometimes.” Said the pot to the kettle.
She looked smugly at me and then my hand. I glanced over at my hand and saw I had somehow already absently threaded the hooked needle. I blinked. Then I turned my attention to her arm. She looked aside and squeezed her eyes shut. I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and then began.
I glanced up at her when I slid the needle through her flesh. She kept opening one eye to peek, and I had to smile at her. Was the big bad police detective a little squeamish? It wasn't until I cut off the spare suture thread after I tied it off, that I realized I had been stitching her up while I was amused by her antics. I hadn't paid any attention to what my hands were doing as they were literally born to stitch.
I blinked at the extremely even row of stitches pulling her flesh back together, each one was indistinguishable from the last. I pushed aside the shock before she noticed and then said to her, “There, done.” Then for good measure, I leaned down and kissed the wound and blew hot breath on it as I added smugly, “All better,” as I placed a breathable bandage over the stitches.
She was just silent for a long moment before staring up at the sky. “How have you stayed single for nine months?”
I couldn't stop smiling. My detective was flirting! And it was cute as hell.
Then she looked at her blouse, the sleeves stained with blood. “Not very conspicuous.” Then she looked at some body armor, and the blue jacket with “Police” stenciled on the back. That wasn't too conspicuous either.
I hesitated a moment, then shrugged out of my light jacket and handed it to her, and felt exposed as I rubbed at my arms. She looked distracted a moment as she stared at me, then she pulled on the jacket and zipped it partially to cover her midriff, leaving the sports bra partially exposed. It was a good look for her, and I was glad we were close to the same size, or it could have gotten a little too hot in that alley.
Her eyes strayed to my arms again, and I looked down, among some twisting vines were some decidedly feminine lips with glossy highlights. Knotted threads! Even my ink was making fun of my obsession with her lips, as I recognized them right away.
She arched an eyebrow at me and then looked a little mesmerized when she glanced back at my arms. I could feel the threads moving and reforming under my very skin. A knife, a phone, and a clockwork vehicle formed.
She reached out tentatively and stopped her fingers just shy of my skin then looked up at me for silent permission. I nodded, and she placed her slightly calloused fingers on my skin and gently traced the new tattoos, driving me crazy with the feel of her skin on mine.
I realized I was holding my breath when she looked up again and asked, “What do they mean?”
I shrugged, though I was pretty sure I did know feeling the people passing by. I hedged, “I don't know, just art reflecting life. They mean something to people nearby. Now let's get me a long sleeve or another jacket and see if we can't find the others.”
She nodded, and we stowed the gear, tossed her blouse in a dumpster and then headed out again.
Chapter 7 – Lily
Before long we were situated. Andreya ran into a store and brought me another jacket. I smiled inwardly at the fact she gave me the new one and still wore mine over a new tight black tee she had picked up.
Then we fueled ourselves up at a drive through before we started moving again. She had noted, “We need to keep our strength up, we don't know when the next chance to eat will arise.”
We had lost another hour and a half, tending to her wounds and getting the supplies we needed to continue on. Atta would surely be in the city already if she had escaped the reavers.
I knew she had because I could feel a familiar tug just north of us. Two tugs to be exact. She had found Mother. I said, “They're north of us.”
My blonde companion nodded and started driving us toward the Aurora Bridge, as I wondered if I could really find them with just that vague sense of direction.
And if we did find them... then what? I knew what hunters were capable of, would my new life be a life on the run? And why was I in this... deceased mortal form instead of... of... wherever the loom was? I should know these things, and it was so frustrating not to remember. I remembered more and more, but the important stuff apparently, unless I was stressed or made a point to not think about it. The more I tried to force myself to remember, the more things would drift from my fingertips, like intangible smoke.
I was knocked out of my thoughts when Lisbon reached a hand over to push the mass of my dark hair back over my shoulder. She glanced between the road and me as she said, “Don't try so hard.”
I chuckled. “I'm that transparent?” I caught the scent of soap and gun oil as she pulled her hand back. Who knew two diametrically opposed smells could be so arousing. It's all in the weave I guess.
She was chuckling without looking at me as she shook her head. “Your motor goes from zero to sixty in nothing flat.”
I muttered, “Brat.”
Just before we passed the Woodland Park Zoo, I instructed her to, “Turn here, I think.” After we had passed under I5, she seemed to be getting uncomfortable, and I could tell she was purposefully not looking over at me as she gripped the wheel more determinedly and stared blankly at the roa
d. She knew something.
I turned just as purposefully toward her and asked, “I don't have a clue where to find them precisely, since I can't find their threads in my thoughts.”
She said slowly and reluctantly, “I think I know where they are waiting. It makes a morbid kind of sense.”
My eyebrows winged up in question.
Then she narrowed her eyes at me and asked, “Don't you have Mrs. Ramos' phone number?”
I blinked dumbly at her and pulled my cell out and pulled up Atta's contact info and shook my head. “No, it's just her office number.”
She nodded and said, “That would have been too easy.”
I narrowed my eyes at the woman as I realized, “Hey, you're changing the subject. You can't just make a statement like it being morbid and not fill me in. Why would it be...” I trailed off as she turned without me telling her, toward that vague tug.
I pursed my lips tightly as she parked us in the parking lot of the Calvary Cemetery. I got a cold chill down my spine as I started to get a clue. I'm not sure I really wanted to know. Andreya saved me from asking by just saying with a touch of apology in her tone, “This is where Hannah Graham was put to rest. It is in that article I showed you.”
I started rubbing my palms on my pants, they were damp with a cold sweat, then she again took my mind off of things by asking, “You can see things about people?”
I shrugged, “Well I can feel things about them and know them to be true when I have their thread in hand, or in this case, under my skin now.”
That statement made me flash on the utter destruction of the loom where Lachesis and Atropos were pulling the sheets upon sheets of glistening life from the crumbling loom and infusing me with it all. I was screaming from the sheer and utter pain of it, but was desperate for them to finish. We had to get away.
We heard the lesser and greater hunters warbling, the Adumbrates in their shadow, when there was a deafening crack. One of the timbers of the loom, made from the heart of one of the Trees of Ages, as big around as a house, snapped under the strain, taking up the weight of the structure from the smaller supports which had already burned through.
Fate: No Strings Attached Page 6
