Master and Apprentice

by Bateman, Sonya

  “Gavyn.” Her voice was flat, her expression wooden. “There’s a dead body in my house.”

  I had to look away from her. “Actually, there’re two,” I said. “The other one’s upstairs by the bedroom.”

  “You killed two of them?”

  “No. That one popped a poison cap to keep Tory from torturing him for information.” I gestured at the feet protruding from behind the television. “But I shot the one upstairs.”

  “You actually killed someone.”

  “Jesus Christ! Yes, I did. It’s official. I’m a murderer.” I didn’t feel any better admitting it the second time. “I had to. He would’ve killed me … and then you and Cy.”

  Jazz crossed her arms as if she were cold. “What do we do now?” she whispered.

  “Now, you take Cyrus and get the hell out of here.”

  The words left my mouth before I realized my intention of saying them. She stared at me. Her eyes glittered, and her lips thinned. “And do what, exactly?” she said. “Live in the goddamn truck?”

  I refused to register the sarcasm in her voice. “Stay with Lark. Tory’s got a shitload of protection on that place, and these assholes don’t know he’s involved.”

  “Stay with Lark,” she echoed in a tone that suggested I was dumber than a dirt sandwich. “Just show up at his door and say hey, Lark, me and my kid are gonna live with you while the other guys go get themselves killed. That about right?”

  “I’ll call and tell him you’re coming.” She was being logical again. I couldn’t let myself pay attention to the facts, because djinn affairs tended to overrule the real world. Jazz always had trouble factoring that into the equation. “You need to go. I don’t know how long it’ll take them to find this place again.”

  “This is my house. I’m not letting a bunch of thugs drive me out.”

  “Damn it, Jazz, they’re not garden-variety goons!” I knew she could be just as stubborn as Ian when she wanted to, but this time I couldn’t let her win. No way in hell I was going to end up saying I told you so to her tombstone. “Being a badass doesn’t make you bulletproof. Or magic proof.”

  Her jaw twitched. “They aren’t bulletproof either. I shoot them, they die.”

  “How are you going to shoot something you can’t see? Something you don’t even know is there? What about when they cast a lockdown on you?” Desperation flattened my voice. If I thought it’d help, I would’ve gone on my knees and begged. But I knew her pride, her need for independence. She wouldn’t go just because I asked.

  I had to make her want to leave. Need to leave. If it was her decision, she’d stick to it.

  “All right, genius.” Anger sizzled through her, practically sparking along the rigid lines of her body. “Say we go to Lark’s place. Then what? We wait for you to die, and come back here, and maybe these freaks come after Cyrus? Or maybe you think you’ve actually got a shot at wiping out the whole circus, and then everything goes back to the fucked-up mess we keep pretending is normal.”

  “Hey, keeping me around was your idea, remember? I told you it wouldn’t work. This is what I do now, so deal with it.” Christ, I couldn’t believe this shit was actually coming out of my mouth. “And we’ve got a better shot without you and the kid hanging around.”

  For just an instant, her shield lowered and I caught the devastation in her eyes. I’d been expecting that—but it hurt more than I could have imagined. It would’ve been easier to withstand a week of constant torture and starvation than to take that look, the pain and the betrayal in it, knowing I’d intentionally caused it.

  And I couldn’t stop.

  “You’re just in the way.” Somehow I managed to keep my voice from shaking. “You can’t compete at this level. You’ll never be able to. All you can do is slow me down.” Every word I spoke was a knife that turned back on me and slashed a new wound. But I couldn’t let her see me bleed. I had to convince her I meant this bullshit. “You’re useless here. Get out.”

  She didn’t respond for so long, I thought I’d taken it too far. Finally, the controlled vacancy broke into fury. “Big, bad Donatti,” she said with a sneer. “You know, I expected a line about having to protect Cy. But this is shitty even for you.”

  “Since when is being honest shitty?” Damn it, just go. “You said it yourself. You don’t understand this magic stuff.”

  “No, I don’t.” She glared at me—no tears, no trace of hurt.

  No forgiveness. “You know what else I don’t understand? Why I ever …”

  My breath caught. I had to force the sharp intake into a longer draw, push my expression from anticipated pain into disgust. If she finished that sentence, I was done. Game over. I couldn’t bear to hear her say the words she always left out now, to have her take them back without even giving them to me first.

  “Forget it.” She stalked over to the couch, picked up Cy, and carried him to the door. “You and your goddamned conscience have fun. If you don’t get killed, maybe we’ll be at Lark’s when you’re done. And maybe we won’t. I’m through promising anything to you.”

  She didn’t slam the door shut.

  The soft snick of the latch felt more final than a bang. An explosive end, an exclamation point to her declaration, and there would’ve been a chance for the heat to die down. For emotions to clear and hint at the truth I hadn’t been able to give her. But this was a period. A quiet confirmation that while I’d bullshitted her, she hadn’t erected a similar front. Her good-bye was real.

  I managed to wait until the Hummer’s engine started before I dropped to the floor and wept.

  Chapter 15

  Bereft. People tossed that word around at funerals and fires and other disasters. A sense of loss, an empty ache. It didn’t begin to cover what I felt. If Jazz and Cy had died, this would’ve been easier to take. Knowing I’d improved their chances of survival was about as comforting as a drop of water on a third-degree burn.

  “You were right to drive her away.”

  The sound of Ian’s voice produced instant irritation, despite the genuine concern it contained. I kept from lashing out at him by reminding myself that his woman was gone too—and nowhere near safe. But I still didn’t feel like having a heart-to-heart with him. “Drop it,” I said without moving. “We’ve got other concerns.”

  “Very well.”

  I got up, thankful that at least I’d stopped blubbering, and turned around silently, daring either of them to make a smart-ass comment. Not a word. Ian stood more or less steady, not leaning on anything but ready to drop anyway, and Tory slouched a few paces behind him. They both looked like I felt. Worn down harder than a neighborhood football.

  And we were still going after these bastards. Brilliant strategy. It was like David and Goliath—if David had a broken leg, wore a blindfold, and hadn’t slept for a week before he went to the valley. Hell, we didn’t even have a lousy slingshot.

  “We’ve got to ditch the bodies before we take off,” I said. “The rest of this mess’ll have to wait. So I guess we bury them. Tory, can you—”

  “No need for that.” Tory crossed the room to the picture window. “I’ve got just the place to send them.” He nipped a finger and went through the bridge-opening bit. The glass shivered into a view of rusted, wrecked, and battered vehicles on a vast dark lot. It was a familiar junkyard. We’d been there a year ago, hiding out from a different threat to our lives.

  Apparently, some things never changed.

  I helped him heave Ray’s stiffening corpse through, and we headed upstairs to repeat the process with Theo. We had to drag him through the bedroom into the adjoining bath. There was blood everywhere—splashing walls, soaking carpet, smearing tile. Too much of it was mine. The flat copper smell tainted the air like the remnants of a recently burnt meal. I suspected that no matter how much this place was scrubbed and freshened, I’d always catch the scent of blood here.

  “All right,” I said when we’d sent Theo tumbling through the mirror after his buddy. “Do w
e have anything resembling a plan?”

  Ian tore his gaze from his feet. “We will go to this compound,” he said.

  “Ian, we can’t.” I hated having to say it, but somebody had to think with his head right now. “We’ll just get slaughtered. There’s too many of them, and that place is a fucking fortress.”

  I expected him to rip me a new asshole. Instead, he closed his eyes and said, “The monastery, then. Khalyn said he was returning there. He is one, and we are three. We will force him to help us retrieve Akila.”

  My shock at having him agree with me gave way to suspicion. He never gave up that easy. But right now, I’d have to trust him. It was possible that he’d actually try the approach that didn’t guarantee death, just because it was Akila’s life on the line, and not his. Or mine. I was apparently expendable in the name of killing the Morai.

  I let it go for the moment, since I had my own stake in this game. Besides, there was another concern. “You sure we’re three?” I glanced at Tory. “I don’t think anyone asked if you wanted to get involved with this shit.”

  A stricken look passed over Tory’s face. Determination replaced it. “I’ll go,” he said. “Just give me a minute to call Lark.”

  I nodded. “Do me a favor. Tell him Jazz and Cy are coming to visit.”

  “I will.” He walked out of the room reaching in a pocket.

  Ian resumed his Olympic floor staring. I had the distinct impression I’d be the only one thinking tonight. I’d done enough of that already. So much that my head wanted to split right down the middle and grant me the mercy of spilling out my hyperactive brains. There were some things I just didn’t understand—and wouldn’t no matter how hard I tried to figure them out. “Ian, I’m gonna need you here for a few minutes,” I said.

  He looked up, and his dazed expression pulled itself together a little. “Those marks on the floor,” he said. “What happened in here?”

  “No shoes, broken mirror. Long story. And thanks for the reminder.” Didn’t want to go tromping around in the woods barefoot. I slipped into the bedroom, threw on socks and an old pair of work boots. When I returned, Ian stared at me like he’d never seen me before.

  “You did attempt to stop them.”

  I gave myself a mental pat on the back for not exploding at him. “Yeah. Didn’t work out so great, though.”

  “I apologize for my reaction. I …” His eyes closed briefly. “I cannot lose Akila. I have no clan, no homeland. She is … everything.”

  “I know.” More than I cared to admit. I had no family, no place of my own. I never had until Jazz. And now I was back to square one. “So let’s make sure we get her back. All right?”

  He nodded. And offered nothing more.

  I let out a sigh. “You know, make Calvin bring her back isn’t exactly what I’d call a good plan with a high probability of success.”

  “Perhaps you have a better idea?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then we will proceed with this.”

  “Terrific. Well, this David isn’t going in without a slingshot.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’m bringing a gun.” I started for the door, stopped. “Lynus told these guys to look for the lamps. You know what that means?”

  Ian’s lip curled. “My tether.”

  “Yeah. It’s not safe to leave it. They can find this place again.”

  “It is in my apartment.” He straightened and came toward me. “You and Taregan meet me there. We must move quickly.”

  I let him go first. “Ian … any idea why they took Akila?”

  His eyes met mine. “I do not know. But they cannot wish to use her as a threat against me. If it were my life they wanted, they would have taken me as well. I could not have stopped them.” A gray pallor washed over his face. “I fear they have no use for her. If that is the case …”

  He didn’t have to finish the thought. I’d already had the same one.

  Just like the old days.

  I loaded up. Strapped on a shoulder holster and ankle blade bands, grabbed a military vest and stuffed the pockets with extra ammo, cutters, wire, picks, Maglites—anything I thought might come in handy. Probably should’ve retrieved the cuffs from Ray before we heaved him, but Jazz had a spare set in a dresser drawer. I took them, and the key, then tossed a jacket over everything. More pockets always helped.

  I headed downstairs for the Sig that Jazz had given me. Should be in the kitchen somewhere. On the way through, I heard Tory’s voice from the living room.

  “—told you before. Adjo, I can’t. I’m sworn to protect her. I want to protect her …”

  I grimaced and moved out of hearing range. Lark wasn’t taking the news well. I couldn’t blame him. At least he and Jazz would have a lot to talk about. They could swap notes on the stupidity levels of their respective lovers.

  The gun lay under the table. I snugged it into the holster and meandered back toward the living room, just in time to catch Tory terminating the call with a troubled frown. “I don’t suppose you have any idea what the hell these guys want,” he said.

  “Not a clue.” He didn’t mention Lark, I wouldn’t ask. “Ian’s waiting in the garage.”

  Tory fell into step with me. “This just doesn’t make sense. The Morai are breeding? They can’t. We’re all infertile here, except Ian. And they want Akila?” He shook his head. “They didn’t take Ian, so that leaves out the hostage possibility. Unless they’re stupid.”

  “Which they’re not.”

  “Yeah, I gathered that.” He glanced up, as if the stars might spell out a reason. “I’d say that maybe they wanted her to break the fertility bind, like she did for Ian, if they didn’t already have scions. How the fuck did they get scions?”

  “Funny,” I said. “Calvin used that word too. Scions. Never heard you say it before.”

  “The Morai we’re going after?” He shrugged. “Well, it’s a common enough term. Most of the Doma don’t use it, but that doesn’t mean … oh. You don’t know about that. The Doma are—”

  “Lower class.”

  He looked surprised. “Yeah. That’s it.”

  “Akila told me.” I had to wonder if Tory even recognized casual racism—or clanism with the djinn—when it came out of his mouth. At least the princess had the grace to blush. “So, you have any more theories?”

  “Just one.”

  “And that’d be … ?”

  “We’re fucked.”

  I stared openmouthed at him for a second. Then I laughed hard enough to crack a rib. Almost couldn’t stop, especially when Tory joined in, leaning against the side of the garage to keep from falling over. I forced myself to sober up out of respect for Ian, who might be within earshot, but the occasional snort still dislodged itself from my throat. A corner of my mouth twitched. “Damn,” I said. “You’ve been hanging around humans too long.”

  “What can I say? Your species is a bad influence.” Tory straightened and ran a hand through his hair. “Let’s get this over with.”

  We climbed the wooden plank stairs at the back of the garage. The door stood open at the top. I hadn’t been up here in a while, long enough that I’d missed the subtle but definite transformation of the place that bore Akila’s hand. There was a flow to things, a breezy note worked through fluid furnishing arrangements and draped fabric. Lush and thriving plants at the windows, candles clustered intimately in nooks and on tables. Even the air seemed cleaner and fresher than any interior space had a right to be.

  Ian stood beside the tall gilt-framed mirror. He’d stuffed the dagger—his tether—in his waistband like it was an afterthought. “Come,” he said. “I will go through first.”

  I pointed at his tether. “You probably shouldn’t carry that around. Maybe we should take a detour, conceal it somewhere.”

  “I will not delay any longer.”

  I glared at him. “How’re you going to get Akila back if you’re dead?”

  “Blasted—” He grabbed for it and he
ld it out to me handle first. “Then perhaps you will carry it for me.”

  “This is your life. You’re going to trust me with it?”

  “What choice do I have?”

  I took the dagger without a word and secured it in a zippered pocket. Ian wasn’t himself, so I’d let the caustic comments slide.

  Ian turned to the mirror. “Remember, Donatti, you must create a bridge for Taregan before yourself. He cannot reach the place alone.” He went through the motions—painted the blood symbol, spoke the spell.

  Nothing happened.

  “What …” Jaw clenched, Ian repeated the incantation. The mirror stayed unchanged, throwing back only his furious reflection. “Gods take this! Perhaps I am unable to concentrate. You try it, thief.”

  “Uh, right.” Ian’s blood was still on the mirror, so I wiped it away with a sleeve. Didn’t know if it’d work for me. Producing a switchblade from a pocket, I sliced a finger and did the blood-writing thing, then called up a memory of Calvin’s study, of the mirror there that had struck me as out of whack, and let the words fly.

  I stared at myself—unchanged, perplexed. “I’m not getting anything.”

  “Try again.”

  “Ian. It’s not gonna work.” I stepped back, folded my arms. “You think maybe he broke it after we used it or something?”

  “Perhaps. More likely, he has placed a barrier spell on the mirror to protect himself from me.”

  “Whatever. Look, the important thing is, the direct route isn’t an option anymore.” This’d probably be a bad time to remind him that I’d said we should get a helicopter. “We’ll have to get there another way. Maybe we should just drive. If we pushed it, we could make it in eight, nine hours.”

  “No,” Tory said. “That’s not fast enough. We should fly.”

  I shook my head. “Ian can’t go that far without exhausting himself, and I can’t fly at all. I know you’re good, Tory, but you can’t carry us both all the way to Virginia. We have to … wait.” I fished out my cracked cell phone and caught a glimpse of the time on the flashing screen. Just after midnight. “The hotel we stayed in wasn’t that far from the monastery. We could bridge there. And it’s a small town, so maybe the room’s still empty.”