Needle Rain

by Cari Silverwood

  “Last night, a ghost took over my body and...and I nearly murdered someone. Bull, I can’t control my own actions. If this happens again I need you to follow me and stop me if you have to.”

  “A ghost?” Surprised, yet he reached over and put his broad hand atop hers. “Done. But even more...we have to figure out how to stop it from happening.”

  “Yes.” She sniffed. “We do.”

  Minutes later, Uncle marched in with Kane. For a tense moment he merely examined her. The toll of chasing after her all night showed on him also. His eyes were reddened and his face pale. He pulled off each glove slowly before he spoke

  “Are you safe and whole, Heloise?”

  A very formal phrasing. She answered him similarly, wondering what was behind his restraint. “I am.”

  Well, she was mostly whole. Her feet did feel like pin cushions.

  “Good.” He nodded several times, frowning off and on. “A report caught up to me as I rode in. I will have to assess it, then I expect to hear from you about what happened tonight.” He turned then thought better, apparently, and looked at her again. “I’m not angry at you. Would you like a doctor to see you?”

  More violation? Hell no. She shook her head.

  “Then you should rest until breakfast. I think Kane would like to talk to you.”

  On the contrary, at the suggestion, Kane looked ready to bolt.

  She heard Uncle talk to someone outside and appoint a man to stand guard on her balcony.

  “Umm. Heloise?” There was bewilderment and fear in Kane’s demeanor.

  “Yes?” When she most needed comfort, the man was acting as if she still had the ghost inside her. She couldn’t show how shattered she was to Kane. Not yet. He had something he wanted to get off his chest.

  He walked over, stopping an arm’s length from her. Every part of him seemed stiff, even the muscles of his face. “Are you hurt, or anything?”

  “I already –” She bit her lip. Maybe he was shook up? Maybe, like her, what he needed was physical reassurance? She had this bizarre certainty that if she could simply hug him everything would be normal again.

  She raised her hands then stopped.

  Words, there weren’t enough of them to say what she needed to communicate. She worked her mouth, searching for them, then gave up. “Just hold me, please. I need you to.”

  “I c-can’t. Not now. I can’t.” Kane stepped backward. “Your uncle said I should let you rest.” He blushed. Before she could recover from her confusion, he’d exited.

  A guard came in then shut the door. He marched to the balcony and stationed himself there without so much as saying please.

  “Well, well,” she murmured. Her boyfriend had run away and she had a guard in her bedroom.

  Emptiness welled up, filling her heart with coldness. That had been more than some minor desertion. Another small grief to toss into the maelstrom.

  She shot a look at Bull, who remained. He might say things to her but he wouldn’t interfere. Uncle was his boss.

  The room was quiet. She glared at the balcony. Bull held up his hands in helplessness.

  She stalked out to the guard – a young man who studiously stared at the ocean as if trying to ignore her.

  “You!” He flinched. “Leave! I have a guard at the door and I have Bull, I don’t need you as well. Leave!” She was tired, hurt, and ready to snap somebody’s head off.

  Like a mouse cornered by a cat, his eyes were wide and desperate. “I can’t, miss. Orders.”

  “Orders!” She glared. He shrugged and turned back to looking out to the sea. He wasn’t going to move. “Oh, gods. Stay there then. Just be quiet. Count the crows...or something!”

  It was his job, after all. Poor man.

  Somehow, she had to find a way to understand what was going on. She strode inside.

  “Bull, I have to talk to Uncle again, properly, this time. Someone has to give me the truth. You understand?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  C H A P T E R T H I R T E E N

  Gheist trapper – a person who traps ghosts.

  Generally the compressed ectoplasm is valued most as ammunition in gheist weapons.

  *****

  The ship had been underway all day, surging through the waves like one of the migrating whales Samos saw each year when they cruised along the coastline. He prayed they never needed to submerge like a whale. The up-and-down motion made his stomach churn as much as the sea itself. For an Immolator to throw up seemed...wrong. He had learned quickly that wind direction was important when you threw up over the side of a ship. Feeling the stream of hot liquid surge through his throat was bad enough. Having it blow back in his face had been worse.

  Through it all, Joss had watched him with apparent fascination and perhaps awe before he wandered off to examine the complexities of this ship, the Freespear. The boy intrigued Samos. He was a strange assortment of naivety, brilliance, and ignorance.

  Seawater sprayed him as the bow slammed into the ocean. Squinting from the glare of the sun, he wiped his face. Now that the seasickness had abated, being on this ship invigorated him. Life could never be boring or simple when at sea.

  “Hello.”

  Tatiana. Samos refused to turn. Already, she was a vivid entry in his memory – her languid voice, the tap of her boot heels, the exact shade of gray in her eyes. Why had she affected him so much? It wasn’t as if he loved Pela any less.

  “Why did you organize that show when I arrived? You already knew I was loyal.”

  “Oh? Did I?” she said, clearly amused.

  The mellow tone stirred him and he turned despite his resolution not to look at her. When their eyes met, he almost shuddered. Damn it, I’m being a fool, but gods be my witness, she’s beautiful.

  Tatiana leaned on the rail next to him, facing into the wind. Though her neat black hair was uncovered, she’d again concealed the cream shirt under the red leather cuirass. She reached beneath the cuirass and drew out a palm-sized tube.

  “Since our little talk, I’ve had further confirmation of your loyalty. See?” Buzzing up and down the length of the tube was a silver-and-blue homing fly, though this one had little resemblance to a fly. In a fit of exuberance some trinketologist had created a miniscule house with wings. Tatiana turned the tube, letting sunlight play on the trinketton’s wings.

  “You have?” Was she toying with him? What could be the source of such information? No one knew of his resolve except for...Pela and her family. Could it be? “How and who?”

  “You expect me to tell you? Tut, tut. I’ll only give you this. No one you care about has been harmed.”

  She was either playing with his mind, fishing for information, or it was the truth. He couldn’t tell which way to jump. Either way he’d be best saying nothing.

  “What happened before... The Imperator might have been wrong. I wanted to test your mettle and see what you did under stress. What sort of man you are.”

  “And what sort am I?” The question came out before he could stop himself.

  “Hmph. An impertinent one. You want that answered? Very well. Forthright, yet you restrain yourself from stupid gestures. True to your heart, strong, smart. Not someone I’d want as my enemy. Will that do?”

  “I haven’t always been that smart. Just look at the mess I’m in.”

  “With those needles in you?” She nodded and looked at him from under the curve of her eyebrows. “You’re smart. See these?” She put a fingertip to two round needle heads that peeked out from the hairline at each of her temples. “The same, or near enough, to two of yours. I wouldn’t be as good an investigator without them. Not all your needles have to be removed when you stop being an Immolator.”

  That floored him. He’d not understood that. He could stay this way. Thinking clearly. Making the right decisions. Threading his way, using the slightest of clues, straight to the heart of puzzles. Writing. Reading.

  “So are we friends, Samos, or are we enemies?”

  Fr
iends or enemies? Or lovers. The thought came from nowhere. He wanted to unthink it but it was done. Pela, what is happening to me? An almost palpable force drew him to Tatiana.

  “Well?” She tilted her head to the side.

  “Friends.” Ha. As if he’d say, enemies.

  “Good.” She reached over, touched him on the wrist, and threw a knowing look his way. It was as potent as a kiss. The brush of warmth sent desire pulsing in his groin. He jerked his hand back. “Good. Now, let me hear your theories on where the Sungese ship has gone.”

  Easily she changed direction. Did the touch mean as little to her as that? No. Unless he’d lost all his sense of what a woman thought, she was flirting and wanted him as much as he did her. Why? He was missing some vital thing here. For all his supposed cleverness, he had no idea what it might be.

  “Samos?”

  “Ah. My theories? Well, first of all.” And he went through his ideas – the crazy ones as well as those with facts beneath them.

  She listened closely throughout, her gray eyes soft with introspection, while every so often the jealous sea spurted water over them both. Neither of them made any moves to get away from the spray. The ship rocked under them, a faithful steed, coursing through the miles of ocean.

  They were heading north-east, Samos calculated, just the direction he wanted to go. Though anywhere this woman went would be the right way. Pela seemed a faded figure at the back of his mind. Already too far away to be important. Would the time come when she would mean little more than nothing to him? Tatiana held him in her thrall, as he seemed to hold her. The only jarring element was a touch of fear or sadness that washed over her at times.

  Whatever caused this, he would soon kiss it away, when he brought her to his bed. Soon.

  What a traitorous thought. Pela need never know.

  After she left him to handle some matters on the ship, he watched her for hours. With her more distant, his mind cleared somewhat and became his own, leaving his conscience, libido and heart to wrestle each other into a torn and bleeding knot inside him.

  The captain of the Freespear was Hujja Sadorey, a long-limbed, bearded, pale-as-milk man from a land to the south where blizzards were the favorite weather and ice bears as common as rats. Or so the crew told him when he asked. Hujja commanded the crew but Tatiana lorded over them all, and it was she who pointed out the new course she wanted them to tack to.

  Not knowing much about the layout of ships, Samos still found himself impressed. The sails of this erstwhile corsair were trimmed neatly to catch the wind, the deck planking so scrubbed it shone like deep amber in the sun, and the crew hopped to do their duties as fast as any soldier he’d ever seen.

  When Tatiana disappeared below decks at the bidding of Teo, and two others he recognized from her entourage on the docks, Samos strolled toward the ship’s wheel.

  At the base of the main mast perched a black trinketton – as large as you’d ever see a single un-meshed one. If detached, it could have fitted in his lap. Where most only hinted at the origins of their animus, this trink showed it plain as day. Bat animus. Scalloped wings flared to either side of the head, large ears rotated forward, and its fanged mouth gaped open as if in mid-scream. A bat – yet when he peered closely at its black finish, he discovered it was the surface of an endlessly moving miniature sea. Plainly much work had been put into this trinketton.

  The light footsteps of a woman in boots tapped closer.

  “Would you care to take supper with me, Immolator?” Tatiana asked huskily.

  The base sound resonated to his groin but he didn’t flinch. It was the last question he wanted to hear, yet a challenge he needed.

  “Yes.” He had to conquer these feelings and the only way to do that was to prove to himself that he could do so. “Yes.” He turned then followed her to the half deck at the stern and the door of her cabin, all the while trying not to notice the sway of her bottom.

  This time Teo was absent. A small table had been placed centrally and set with a white lace cloth, silver cutlery, and condiments, as well as platters of plain meat and vegetables. Through a half-open door to the left, Samos glimpsed a blue expanse of satin heaped with plump cushions.

  “The ship’s cook has a poor idea of the art of cooking.” Tatiana unlaced the last tie of her cuirass. She tossed it aside. “Would you like the left chair or the right?” Her smile was half-mocking. The hand she placed casually on his bare arm might as well have been molten lava. He caught his breath and stepped back so her hand slid away, not trusting himself to put his hand on hers to remove it.

  “What drug have you given me?”

  There, he’d said it. Even as he did so, his traitorous senses had embraced every part of her. Dark, sweeping eyebrows. Eyes of slate-gray, feminine jaw and shoulders. Down along those soft curves...her hips, her thighs, the grip of her flesh by those luscious red leggings. They swept up between her legs and...

  Samos wrenched away his gaze, held himself rigid.

  “Why, I’ve done...nothing.” She pursed her lips a little.

  A lie. A blatant lie. She knew.

  “I love Pela,” he rasped between his clenched teeth. “You know that. This cannot be!”

  “What cannot be?”

  Ah, what a question. It begged the answer. To step closer and say, “This.” No. He could resist her.

  Until a sultry, pregnant second later, when she took a step closer and waited. Waited for him.

  Slowly he reached out and placed his hand about her neck. Musing, with eyes wide to prevent himself missing a single moment of this adventure, he ran his thumb along the softness at her neck, let his hand trail to the opening of her shirt to undo that first button, then the next and the next. He pushed the shirt wide, baring her body, for she wore nothing beneath. A tiny button shone between her breasts, as brilliant and colorful as mosaic glass.

  It gave him pause.

  A surface sign of her trinketton heart? It was no more remarkable than a medallion.

  “How beautiful,” he whispered as he cupped her breast and circled a finger gently around the aureole.

  Her eyes darkened and her eyelids half-closed with pleasure. He lowered his head and crushed his lips to hers, nudging her shirt from her shoulders so it slipped to the floor.

  When he pulled his lips away just a fraction and waited, her ragged breaths mingled with his. He breathed on her, barely kissing, letting their lips peel apart before he bestowed another small kiss. His breath, his essence, and hers. It was the way of sex, to bring two bodies together and make them one. A natural thing. Men and women did this. Had done since forever. There was nothing to be sorry for.

  Nothing.

  He whispered again, “You want me to do this.” He kissed her throat. “And this.” Then he went lower with his kisses until his tongue and lips lapped and sucked at her nipple, teasing it erect. Tatiana moaned and wrapped her arms about him, sucking hungrily at his ear. Her leggings came off while he nibbled and sucked some more at each breast. The red cloth was trampled to the floor.

  Samos shoved plates and cutlery aside with one arm, while they sought each other’s mouths again.

  Anger surged bright in him. This shouldn’t be!

  Panting, he surveyed her, sprawled on the table for him to take. She spread her legs wide revealing the creamy moisture at the entry to her cunt.

  Samos cursed. Tatiana, lying gloriously naked among the food – she was the temptation of the century.

  He tugged at his pants and freed his phallus then leaned in, anchoring his hands on her thighs. As the tip of his cock entered her, he groaned. Such liquid warmth and that slight delicious resistance as she swallowed him. He thrust all the way in, hard as he could, and her back slid on the table. The anger had vanished leaving raw lust. He pounded into her, the rising rhythm of her gasps sending him higher and higher until at last the climax scorched through him.

  If this was wrong, it was still complete, and could no longer be subtracted from his history.<
br />
  What excuses did he have, he wondered, sucking in air and admiring how he’d stirred her – the redness of her breasts, the way she shuddered and clawed at his forearms. The final tremors of her internal muscles around his phallus added greater triumph to this act.

  Just...he didn’t understand.

  His puzzlement lingered.

  Afterward he lay beside Tatiana on the blue satin cover of her bed, looking down at her, smoothing his hand over the contours of her body. The glass button set between her breasts drew his eye.

  “May I touch it?”

  She put her hand over his and moved his finger to it then her hand moved up his arm and along the muscles. She seemed as fascinated by him as he was with her.

  The button was metal-hard but warm as flesh, the glistening dots of color swaying like oceanic seaweed. This was the only sign of the trinketton heart beating deep inside her chest, commanding the ebb and flow of her blood. Remove it and she would die. He halted his hand, pricked by a thought.

  “We’re like two cats rolling in catnip. Why is that?” At the back of his mind he knew this was wrong.

  “Why?” Her brow wrinkled. For a second some knowledge surfaced, and then was gone like a small fish flicking its tail and vanishing into the depths. She drew his hand lower, into the wetness between her thighs.

  Again, the wrongness of this awoke in him.

  He sat up and before his body could tell him otherwise, leaped from the bed, scooped up the clothes on the floor, and staggered with the roll and yaw of the ship all the way to the outer cabin door. By then fear was wallowing through him. An unfamiliar fear that made sweat beads start on his skin. He shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t have done that. He pulled and wrenched on his clothes. Tied cords, buttoned buttons.

  “You cannot escape this,” she said thickly. He could see her through the bedroom door, staring at him from where she lay on her stomach, propped on her elbows, her breasts pushed together. Even that echo of her voice tugged some invisible string.

  When the door slammed behind him, he staggered to the railing, bracing himself so he didn’t go straight over the side. Night had come, and with it a light wind that flapped the sails and jingled the rigging. Black swathes cut across the scintillating stars, showing where the clouds dwelt. As yet no moons had risen.