“I—” Martin started.
“Just stop! I don’t even care.” Enrique closed his eyes a moment. “We don’t have time. Just listen to this man’s offer before it’s too late.”
The Bishop glanced to both of them. The handsome man didn’t seem to be used to being on the other side of power and it took him a moment to consider his words. “I know where they’re taking the Hearts. I’ve been there twice now to visit Cloth,” he told them steadily. “But I’m not telling you—”
Martin cocked the gun. The man didn’t flinch. “—I’m not telling you anything, until you bring her back.”
Teresa’s eyes narrowed at the passed out woman. “Back?”
The Bishop turned and put his hand on the sleeping woman’s leg that poked out from under the thin comforter. “Part of her consciousness has gone into the other world.”
“Bullshit,” spat Martin.
The Bishop shook his head. “I can’t pull her mind back from the Old Domain without your help.” His face trembled on the border of stark emotion. Martin could tell this was something new for the man because it didn’t fit his face well. “You do that for me, I’ll take you straight to the Hearts.”
“And fall into a trap? No, you’ll bring the Hearts to us,” said Teresa.
“There’ll be too many Church members and another Bishop.”
“How do we know you’ll keep your end?” Martin asked.
The blonde man nodded as though he’d thought of this. “I’ll take you there. Once you feel I’ve lived up on my end, we’ll go our separates.”
“You wouldn’t do that to your Church,” said Martin.
“Just watch me, mister.”
“This is a trick,” Teresa said. She was rubbing several bright red fingerprint burns on her arm that Bishop had left behind.
“Sorry, reflex,” the Bishop muttered, looking at the burns.
Martin lifted the gun for effect. “How about you just take us there now?”
The Bishop glanced down at the gun, not clearly intimidated. “You can hold that on me until your arm goes numb, but I’m not telling you a damn thing until she’s back. Don’t think I’ll cave just to save my own life—if the Church finds out I’m doing this, I’ll be dead before long anyway.”
Enrique rubbed his eyes. He looked like Martin felt. “I don’t see that we have time to discuss this. It’s the only chance we have now. The Church took them—they took the babies.”
Teresa glanced over to Martin and after they shared looks of doubt, she shrugged. “I can’t do what he’s asking. There’s too much relative placement and displacement of the ghost matter—the shaping is beyond me. What do you think?”
The Bishop’s face filled with panic as he waited for Martin’s answer. Truth be told, Martin understood the concept behind connected locations of ghost energies. It was entirely different than pulling ghost matter and more taxing. He wasn’t sure he had the strength left after the hospital. But this might be a chance to save the babies. He put the cold gun into his waist band. “I could give it a shot.”
The Bishop stood. His eyes grew sharp, resolute. “You won’t hurt her though—”
“Do you want me to try this or what?” He didn’t wait for an answer and looked at Teresa. “Keep your eye on him. If I manage this, we need to be sure he’ll still play.”
She turned a hawk-like pair of eyes on the Bishop.
Sidling up to the bed, a cold wash fell over Martin. He at once felt the displacement in the young woman. It stuck out in the ether, a ladder with missing rungs. He knelt beside the bed. His body quivered. The permanent mantle he’d created had caused him to pass out a few times through the night. Martin had emptied everything he had into it. But it had to be done. Now, with his energy just rebuilding, he would donate a mighty portion again. But this had to be done also.
For the Hearts. With shaking hands, Martin pressed his thumbs into the woman’s clammy temples. The energy scattered as he groped mentally at the other end of her connection and sensed the raw, misappropriated neurological power. He concentrated on tugging it across the divide. It started to move quickly and Martin relented—he didn’t want to bring it over as a mantle. This had to be done with deft mental hands. Slowly, the rungs to the ladder started to fit into place and Martin’s body hollowed with every fix. His abdominals twisted.
“Is it working?” he heard the Bishop ask.
“Just wait,” Teresa said lowly. “Something is happening.”
Pain tethered around Martin as all the pieces fell in at once. He clenched his teeth and they creaked under the stress. Then, without warning, the connection restored itself and Martin’s body flung back as though struck by a god-fist. The Bishop awkwardly caught him and hauled him to his feet.
“Thanks,” Martin muttered. The Bishop at once fell to the bedside.
“Oh shit! You’re bleeding!” Teresa grabbed three half-used tissues from the nightstand. Something warm ran from Martin’s ears and down his nostrils. He took the tissues and wiped away the bright red. Teresa hovered over him. “I’m fine,” he said. But he wasn’t fine. His mind went in and out in rapid-fire succession.
The Bishop stroked the woman’s damp face. “Her eyes opened a little—I think she’s going to be all right.”
Martin pulled the magnum out of his waistband. “Now,” he breathed. “Your end.”
The Bishop regained composure. “Let me just get her into my car—you can follow me there.”
“Not hardly,” Teresa answered. “You’re coming with us in the Jeep. Enrique will follow in your car, with your girl.”
Something dark settled over the man’s face. “Whatever you say, Nomad.”
THIRTY-FIVE
The air smelled old. Half-fascinated and half-worried sick, Cole leaned against a damp beam, watching an acolyte administer droppers of cough syrup to the Hearts. Cole wanted the babies to shut up too but questioned the method. There wasn’t time for much else though. None of his men knew anything about babies and no women members were present yet, and even if they were, most of them hadn’t started families.
The medicine dosage wasn’t the only thing that worried Cole. This place was no nursery; ragged holes in the ceiling and drafty tunnels of light through the walls, the musty barn could hardly be called shelter anymore. The whole structure was getting ready to take a shit. Carefully he removed his weight off the beam and stood back.
Jake Weins twisted the cap on the Robitussin and rubbed the stickiness away between thumb and middle finger. The babies, seeming content in their mother goose patterned pajamas, wiggled in the makeshift bassinets of spoiled grain. Aside from medicine, the babies were nice and full of formula, but Cole’s thoughts were still wild with anxiety. Was he missing anything? Three had taken a dump and been changed: asses wiped, diapers replaced. What more was there? He tried to make the babies as comfortable as possible, like giving veal calves extra slop before slaughter. They were so damned fragile. What if he did something wrong? What if one of the men dropped one during their bottle feeding? Would the fruit die in all of their little chests?
Black suits chatted in cliques inside the barn. They were all acting a little too easygoing for Cole’s liking. The Nomads had not shown yet but he couldn’t bank on them staying out of the picture forever. He cupped his jaw and squeezed his wound under its shell of scab. It had been a while since he spent an October 31st out of bed. Around this time Cole was usually dead to the world from the effects of the Heralding.
Jake Weins looked at him, askance.
“Call the two Ekkians inside,” he said to Jake. “I don’t want anything less than twenty guns in here at a time. More would be better if there were actually room in here.”
“Do you wish to pull acolyte support from the freeway posts?”
“Keep them in position. Get another limo down here from the Hotel. Sandeus can part with some more Inner Circle—hey, and ask him for five of his sentinels.”
“I believe he only has the five Ekki
ans, Bishop.”
“Well he won’t need them tonight,” Cole pointed out. “So hurry up. Tell the Archbishop to talk to me if he refuses.”
“Understood.” Jake went off quickly, dusty black suit swishing.
Melissa had arrived a few minutes ago and Cole knew she was waiting down the hill. The whole affair had been expertly extracted from his mind today. Finding the Hearts had given Cole the escape, but the illusion of solace vanished.
“Bishop? One last thing.” Weins stood in the bar of light, a dark, manicured hand lifted. His Inner Circle garb fit his slender form well. It reminded Cole that he needed to get a new suit coat. Archbishops had to look the part.
“Yes Weins?”
“Out of curiosity, will the Chaplain be dropping by? I heard someone mention he’s in the grain silo, not far from here.”
Cole couldn’t help but grin at the man’s greenness. Weins had only just made Inner Circle at the end of July. “Why do you ask?”
“Just out of curiosity, Bishop.”
“Cloth can’t leave the gateway,” Cole said, “not until tonight.”
Relief flowered in Jake Weins’ eyes.
“If you like, I can introduce you to the Chaplain.” Cole grinned.
Weins swallowed. “No Bishop... I’m sure he’s busy. Thank you though.”
As the man strayed outside Cole wanted to laugh but his sense of humor had no body today. Melissa had wiggled back into his head and power-spiked all senses. His gun dug into his armpit, nudging. The greater part of him could never hurt her and the lower, well... Just looking at her might be enough to set him up for what needed to be done.
Or looking at that video again… he wished he hadn’t deleted it, but it had been the right thing to do, for both of them.
Cole went out the back of the barn. Half a mile down the hill, Melissa stood by her Audi. She looked fantastic. Her makeup had not been overdone. The burgundy lipstick and dark eye shadow had been applied with careful consideration. Her smallish chest was reshaped with a Wonderbra, an item which she had once joked about: yeah, a guy takes it off and WONDERS where they went. Melissa knew she didn’t have to do those silly things for him. But she had.
Cole unbuttoned his coat for better access to his holster. What the hell are you doing? She’s scared shitless. What more do you want? As long as they’d been together he’d never really listened to her, never tried to abide by her wishes. Didn’t he owe her something for that? She hadn’t cheated on him. Not really. She’d just gypped him out of some barbaric notion. Did it matter that he’d found another flag on this piece of territory? No, it shouldn’t. He’d already ripped the other out and planted his own flag. So who cares?
Right?
The space between them lessened. He stopped and searched for words. She’d brought the black satin handbag for her birthday. She was clutching it like a life preserver—maybe she thought this emotional relic would put his mind at ease. Cole had seen her deal with a few dangerous situations in the past and she always took the most reasonable, logical escape route. Standing there, horrified in heart and soul, she must really love him—because being here was downright unwise. Facing him took guts.
Where would he go without her?
The weight of his gun lightened until its presence vanished under his arm. His brow unraveled, his face softened, and Cole actually wanted to kiss her slighted lips. “I don’t want to hate you. I can forgive anything... but there can be no more lies.”
“I never wanted to lie,” she said gently. Her hand dipped into her purse. “I have this for you.”
Her words became lightning fast pain. Two metal slugs cut through the side of her purse and into Cole’s stomach at different angles. One moment he’d been whole and the next the bullets hissed through the back of his coat. Misery crossed Melissa’s face before he even realized what happened. Cole questioned why she could look this miserable, even with all things considered. The gunsmoke smell was his realization and then burnt meat on the air.
His only word: “What?”
She spun off the silencer, took a quick look around and tossed it in some weeds.
“What?” he asked again, stupidly.
Her lips, hands, arms, everything quivered, even the eyes staring behind the horn-rimmed spectacles. “I loved you but I’m not dying for this, Cole. You may forgive me now, but it won’t last. I’m horrible.”
The pain quickened in the two cavities in his stomach. He’d fallen on his knees and had become very cold, but he couldn’t recall when exactly, though it must have been seconds before.
“I did love you, Cole.”
His lungs gripped to feed him more oxygen. The marrow blossoms screamed. Her slim hands fiddled inside his jacket and retrieved his gun. At first Cole thought this was the end. She would take him out with his own goddamn bullets. Put one right in the brain-box. But instead, she walked up the hill to the barn.
She was leaving? She was going back to join the others! Like nothing happened? His astonishment was only paralleled with the awful genuineness of her actions: she wouldn’t do him the honor of ending this humiliation.
Go then. The Church will find out you assassinated a Bishop and you’ll suffer worse things than I could have ever thought of—
His body went into shock. All Cole’s dreams were set afire and love ate its way out from his heart to the surface, to the truth.
~ * ~
Melissa found a place around back where the others couldn’t hear her. Questions and answers were for later. Right now she could only sit on an old blackened tree stump and rock back and forth. As many times as she’d rehearsed the scene in her head, it felt more heartbreaking. Cole was suffering down there—she should have finished him. That possibility still existed, although she couldn’t bring herself to really go back down there and end him; being the cause and being the determiner were different somehow; she could always tell herself that Cole died from blood loss, but if she blew his brains out then she would be the one fully responsible.
Her teeth clashed with her lower lip to stop the trembling. She took off her glasses and wiped her eyes. Some of the makeup came off in a streak across her wrist. It looked like a row of squashed ants. What had she done? Fool, you killed him. Don’t make silly rationalizations. He was forgiving you and you shot him. Twice.
She put her glasses back on and held her sides. Rocked faster. Thoughts of home, a warm bed, a warm hug from her mother. The hate for her old life had vanished this morning. There was no point staying in the Church of Midnight anymore. Even if they didn’t connect her with Cole’s death, she’d always be ostracized. Sandeus would find a more tractable Bishop, which was sadly ironic because aside from this foolish assassination plan, Cole had been every bit of that and more.
Then he fell in love with you, she thought cynically. Things changed. He’d set all this up for her.
Tears wobbled in her eyes, hot and fresh, and fell down her cheeks. One hooked between her lips and she tasted the saltiness. The memory of her deed lingered and the cold smell of blood saturated the air. She’d only fired shots at the Nomads in the past, but never killed anybody. So this was how it was like? The odor of death followed you wherever you went, was that it? How could the smell of blood still be so fresh in her nose?
This is what Melissa thought at first. Then she realized someone had come up without making a sound. Her victim had more grace than she’d ever given him credit for. Cole caught her around the waist and slammed a hand over her mouth. Hot breath rattled in her eardrum. He grunted for something meaningful. Nothing sensible rose to his lips. Her body tightened. The atmosphere coiled in helix strands. She could feel Cole’s mountainous form clasping tighter; pain flared in her feet and legs and midsection and chest, into the foundations. Flesh went brittle. Sound hissed out in venomous static. The cool breeze outside curdled in her nose into fat and meat-laden waste that thickened to a liquid.
Salty red liquid.
But not blood.
Before her b
ody slipped over to the Old Domain, Cole cried out orgasmically. The world went rusty and dim and suddenly the surface of a mighty ocean hung above Melissa. It was real. She was drowning. The atmospheric pressure collapsed her ribcage into a trodden tumbleweed. Black-eyed things with razor fins and serrated overbites sought her from a distance. Silky maneuvers through the water brought them to her in seconds. Swish. Swish. Briny water engulfed her mouth. She slammed her hands down at her sides, kicked her feet furiously for the surface.
She made little progress before the first set of teeth pierced her flank. Other creatures joined in and pulled on her in different directions. Bones disconnected in a succession of underwater pops. Right before the demonfish shredded her into meal-sized divisions, Melissa thought of Cole.
~ * ~
I never cease to be fascinated with the lives across the divide of Worlds. I turn my eyes there and always find a piece of truth, no matter how odd or disturbing.
I am aware that not long before the Day of Opening a group of slave children combing the shores of Olathu ocean discovered an item entwined in onyx kelp. This was all very exciting to the slaves, for their lives were comprised of only two realities: servitude and castigation. They were there to collect pina-trego shells for the new palace of the Archbishop of Morning, which was close to completion now. These slave children, holding fast to their delicate lives, couldn’t help themselves when they found this wrapped-up gift.
The spectacles were foreign, like nothing they’d ever seen anyone wear. The tips were bent like fangs and the smooth black material like hardened ice, yet with a temperate surface. The young slaves already knew their limitations for idle distraction set by their masters and quickly returned the item to the red tides. Some still wondered, however, what had been seen through such spectacles. They would never know for sure but they could always imagine. Some told stories about it in the dungeons, hypothesizing that the wearer had witnessed a great many extraordinary things, and unlike the life of a lowly slave, the wearer had probably loved deeply and had also been loved deeply, in return.
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