Boreal and John Grey Season 2

by Thoma, Chrystalla

  God, she wanted to kiss him so badly. She dragged herself up on the couch and smiled.

  He smiled back. Lifting a hand, he touched her mouth, her chin, her throat, leaving fire brands. She reached for him, wound her fingers in the silky hair at his nape. He leaned closer, his lips parting.

  And the door bell rang.

  Ella swore as Finn jerked back, tension returning to the lines of his body. He glanced at the door, getting ready to rise.

  “Stay here.” Ella grabbed her gun from the coffee table, her skin prickling with apprehension. She didn’t expect the sniper to pop by for a coffee, but just in case. She checked through the peephole and slumped in mixed relief and annoyance.

  She opened the door. “Mom. What a surprise.”

  Chapter Three

  Spirals

  “You what?” Ella stared at her mother’s perfectly made-up face, searching for any signs of distress, any tracks of tears. Nope, nothing.

  “I threw him out. What did you expect?” Her lips red like rubies, matching her nail polish, Linda sat straight as a rod on Ella’s worn couch, next to Finn.

  In contrast, Finn sat hunched over, staring at the table. Or a point in far space, for all Ella knew.

  “You threw him out. Just like that?” Ella asked.

  “I could have anyone I want.” Her mother fanned herself with her hand and crossed her legs. She touched Finn’s arm. “Handsome, young men.”

  Finn jolted back and slapped the offensive hand away. His eyes were confused.

  Linda stood, cradling her hand as if it was broken, her expression darkening. She turned to Ella who realized her jaw was hanging slack. “He hit me.”

  Damn. Ella got up. “Maybe you shouldn’t have invaded his personal space. Not everyone likes that.”

  Her mother sputtered. “Honestly, Ella...”

  What the hell. “Move to the armchair, Mom, and leave Finn alone.” Gently but decisively she shoved Linda toward the chair and pushed her down. “Sit.”

  “You weren’t always like this,” her mother muttered, her mouth down-turned.

  Ella sat next to Finn, careful not to touch him until she was sure he had come back from wherever he’d been, and lifted a brow. “Oh? Like what?”

  “So hard. You were kind as a child.”

  “I was many things as a child,” Ella muttered and felt Finn’s hand covering her own on the cushion. “Mostly I was ‘weird’, apparently. Seeing things. Hearing things. Having Dave hovering over me and taking notes.”

  “Dave? David Holborn?” Linda shook her head, disturbing her perfect chignon so that a bleached strand fell on her forehead. “Yeah well, that’s another matter. Everyone thought I was crazy when I told them what you were doing. Who knew he’d turn out to be your boss years later. I was referred to him, was told he was a specialist working with children who had your syndrome.”

  “Syndrome? What syndrome?” This was news to Ella.

  Her mother’s hands played on the armrests, her fingers scratching the worn cloth. “Mr. Holborn called it Mental Displacement Syndrome. Said it fell within the autism spectrum. That he could help you. And he did.” She shook her head. “It was such a relief when you stopped acting like that.”

  “Like what?” Ella mumbled. Her mother had never talked to her about it, except to complain that it had destroyed her life. “I thought autistic kids were quiet. You said I had nightmares and woke up screaming. That I saw monsters coming to take me away.”

  Finn’s hand on hers tightened, his fingers tangling with hers. His quiet support made her feel warm all over.

  “That was later, during the therapy. No, I used to find you sitting in the yard, right down in the mud, talking to yourself, and your hands...” Her mother shuddered dramatically.

  “What about them?”

  “You grabbed things in the air. At first I thought you were catching bugs and butterflies, but it was...” She grimaced. “Something else. Something glowing that left stains on your palms, and then...”

  “Then what?” Finn said, his voice quiet.

  “Things would move. Trees would bend, and the grass would twist into spirals, and the birds would fly in circles.” She laughed softly. “It seems you weren’t the only one with something wired wrong in your brain. When I told them what I saw they gave me pills, and it all stopped, thank god. I thought for sure I was going mad.” She fluttered her hands and gave herself a little shake.

  Right. If only pills could cure the Veil and close the Gates...

  “So I just sat there and things moved around me?”

  “You can’t imagine the state you were in afterward.” Her mother shuddered again. “Your clothes wet and muddy, your hair drenched and cold, your lips blue, as if you’d waded through a snow storm, and those stains in your palms. Like burns, but golden, and they faded quickly.” She glanced at Ella and sighed. “You’re not that different now, sadly. When will you do something with that hair of yours? A girl your age should dress nicely, paint her nails, have nice things.”

  ‘Nice’ being the operative word. “I don’t do ‘nice’.”

  “But your fringe!” her mother wailed, her woes and painful memories obviously laid aside in favor of far more distressing issues. “It hangs in your eyes, and your hair is so limp. Not to mention your clothes. Why don’t you come with me to buy some skirts and pretty blouses, and shoes—”

  “There we go again.” And here Ella had thought they’d have a serious conversation for a change. “No, Mom, thanks, I love my clothes. And my hair’s fine.”

  “Fine? That’s fine? Does Finn think it’s fine?”

  There, the slap on her hand was already forgotten. Thank god for small mercies.

  “I think it’s fine,” Finn said, and Ella couldn’t help a grin, because he liked her as she was, and besides, that was his favorite word - not that her mom would know.

  Her mother opened her mouth and snapped it closed again. She patted her hair as if afraid Ella’s bad hair day was catching. “Well, I should be going. I’m meeting Harris for a coffee downtown and I wouldn’t want to be late.”

  “Who’s Harris?” Ella frowned. “Wait, you dumped Alfred and already found someone else? I thought you were broken-hearted.”

  “Ah, of course not.” Linda waved a dismissive hand and stood, a feat on heels so thin and tall. “I feel better than ever. Ready to take on the world.”

  Right... “Mom, wait. About my childhood, what you saw... I just sat there? Did nothing as things moved?”

  “You mumbled words, like a song, sometimes.” Her mother walked toward the door and Ella surged to her feet.

  “I was singing?” Weirder and weirder. “I can’t sing to save my life!”

  “More like humming a tune. Nothing I could make out.”

  “And things flew?”

  “Things... spiraled around you. A three-dimensional spiral, like a cone. Like a tornado.”

  Ella stopped in her tracks and leaned against the wall. More spirals.

  Well, damn.

  ***

  Ella stirred, silky strands tickling her nose. She had it buried in Finn’s neck and she’d draped her arm over his middle, spooning against his back. The skin of his nape was like velvet, and his scent was sweet as candy.

  She could stay like that all night, feeling his heartbeat through his broad back, looking down the long line of his body to the sharp angle of a hipbone and muscled thigh, threading her fingers through his ash-blond mane.

  But something was off. Tension radiated off him. A tendon stood out in his neck, and his pulse was too rapid, his muscles coiled.

  Ella pulled back and scanned the bedroom. It should have been pitch dark, she thought, she shouldn’t have been able to see Finn at all — not the silver of his hair, or the contour of his shoulders, his grey starburst mark — but an eerie glow came from the corner of the room.

  She sat up slowly, the quilt bunching over her legs. She could see them now, faint golden threads filling the room like
a lattice. Curious, she lifted a hand and touched.

  The room seemed to waver.

  Finn shot up with a bitten-off cry and fell out of the bed. She could see him crouched on the floor, clasping the mark on his shoulder, his loud breathing the only sound.

  One, two, three heartbeats, and Ella really, really hoped she was wrong.

  But no. First came the clicking. Then the smell of burnt ozone.

  “Vaettir,” Finn bit out.

  Shades.

  The Veil tore.

  Two kobolds broke through, pausing for a moment, and damn, how had she forgotten just how ugly the bastards were? Before she could recover from the shock, they rushed right at Finn as if he had a red mark painted on his chest, and grabbed his arms, dragging him toward the rip.

  Damn.

  Ella twisted and reached for her knives on her bedside table. The lamp fell and crashed to the floor, but she barely heard it. Finn was kicking and elbowing the creatures, a whirlwind of silver hair and pale limbs, but couldn’t shake them off, their spindly arms unmovable, their claws wrapped around his arms.

  She jumped to the floor and launched herself at them. Adrenaline pumped through her veins like fire and her body moved in a well-rehearsed dance — slash and duck and turn and stab.

  The kobolds retreated, holding Finn as a shield, dragging him backward. One of malformed creatures stretched a clawed hand toward her.

  She sprang out of reach, saw Finn deliver a vicious kick to the other kobold’s kneecap, managing to turn in the creature’s hold, giving her an opening.

  Her knives flew true, one after the other, and hit kobolds in their spotted chests, sending them back to the darkness. They fizzled and Finn bent over, panting.

  “That all you got?” Ella muttered, trying to catch her breath.

  A widening of Finn’s eyes was all the warning she got that things were about to go south, right before he shouted “Ella!” and shoved past her.

  Goblins usually followed kobolds, she should’ve expected it, but it was too early for clear thinking, dammit.

  Finn rushed the huge creature, trying to shove it backward, but it swept him aside like a moth, then stepped forward and kicked him, sent him rolling against the closet.

  Then the goblin turned his yellow gaze on Ella. Even hunched over, the creature was so tall its horns touched the ceiling, and its body was like an unfinished grotesque statue, roughly hewn rock with pulsing veins of green.

  Finn rolled on his back, groaning, and Ella shook herself.

  Move it.

  In one movement, she grabbed her knives from the floor, the spilled ichor burning her fingers, and threw the first at the goblin. The blade marked its arm, but wasn’t enough to destroy it.

  It roared, reaching for her, and she drew her hand back, preparing to launch her second knife. Make it count.

  Except Finn was up on his feet once more and rushing the creature.

  “Finn, no!” Ella held back her throw not to hit him — and in that moment the goblin bent over and grabbed Finn’s ankle, lifting him to dangle like bait on a fishing line.

  Oh my god. Ella’s breath seized in her throat. Okay, plan B.

  Whatever that was.

  Finn coiled and jerked in the goblin’s hold, but the creature only lifted him higher to hang in front of a face that was pockmarked like the moon. Its muzzle wrinkled and it bared sharp teeth.

  The mountain of saggy flesh turned, carrying Finn as if he weighed nothing, and the air sizzled. Ella could actually see the threads parting, opening to let them through into the Veil.

  Fuck. “You! Leave him alone.” Ella threw her blade into the back of the goblin’s thigh.

  The creature grunted and stopped. Distracted. Good. Slitted eyes searched for her as it turned, sweeping its other paw around.

  Ella danced away. “Finn, get ready to drop.” She bowed under the goblin’s arm, grabbed the knife handle jutting out of the rocky thigh, pulled it out and stabbed it deeper, twisting.

  Time froze — her knife vibrating in the goblin’s flesh, the creature’s hand clawing at nothing and Finn suspended in mid-air, his long hair hanging like swirling flames.

  Then the goblin hissed, going in and out of focus. A wind blew inside the room, smelling of rot, and the creature wavered, flickering - and it was gone, leaving a pool of slimy ichor. Her knife clattered to the tiles and Finn fell to the floor, rolling, ending in a deep crouch, his lips peeled back.

  Sweat ran into her eyes. She wiped her face on her bare arm, trying to catch her breath. Ichor had splattered her cheek and it burned. “You okay?”

  Finn nodded, a hand clutching his shoulder where the mark was. No nosebleed this time. Looked like the Veil had knit back together on its own, as it usually happened when the Shades were sent back to the Grey.

  She reached a hand down to him, not really expecting him to take it.

  But he did, and she had to brace herself against the bed to pull him up. He was grimacing, keeping his weight off his bad leg.

  “Physiotherapy,” she said firmly as she sat him down and massaged the cramped, hard muscles in his calf, watching him try and fail to hide a wince. “No buts this time.”

  Yet he said nothing, which had to count as a ‘yes’.

  ***

  The physiotherapy center was quiet. Darla finished rolling up Finn’s pant leg, revealing the scar on his shin. The main one was thick and dark, but thinner ones radiated from the knee.

  “No migraine today?” she asked. “Did you bring your medicine?”

  “Here.” Ella patted her rucksack, pasted on a fake grin. “Brought it just in case, don’t you worry.”

  Darla nodded, not looking reassured. Finn’s fit had probably scarred her for life. She shot Finn a brief smile. “Lie down and relax.”

  Yeah, fat chance. Finn leaned back, propping himself on his elbows, watching Darla’s every movement, his body trembling with tension, as she fiddled with the ultrasound machine.

  “So, how’s the pain these days? Better or worse?” She turned back toward Finn with a metal rod in her hand and a plastic bottle filled with clear liquid.

  Finn glared at the rod as if it were a snake waiting to strike and ignored the question.

  Typical.

  “It’s getting worse,” Ella said. “He can barely walk.”

  Darla nodded at the window where rain pelted the glass. “It’s this time of the year. Change in temperature and the wet make old injuries ache. There’s a storm warning, too.”

  “Yeah.” Ella hesitated. “Yes, that must be the reason.” Although Finn’s tolerance to pain had always been off the charts, even during the freak storms caused by the Gates.

  She watched as Darla squirted gel on Finn’s leg and pressed the metal rod to it, as Finn flinched, his fingers curling on the bed. The rod glided in the clear gel, sliding over bone and muscle.

  “This will help reduce the pain,” Darla was explaining, her movements slow and circular. “Then we’ll do some massage. And you should come every day for a week or two, and then we can do this every two days until you feel better.”

  Finn’s eyes fluttered, half-closing, the tension leaching out of his frame. It made Ella’s chest tighten by contrast, sent a suspicious burn behind her eyes.

  She smiled at him and walked out, into the lobby. She sank in a chair, trying to gather her wits. Don’t fall apart over the small things, Ella. Darla would help him with the fracture, and she’d find a way to help him with the dreams, and he’d be fine.

  Not being able to discuss things with Finn was a royal pain in the ass. Was there a transmitter? Or could Dave use magic? Nowhere had she read that Duergar could. They were robots — well, granted, quite unlike any robots humans had made so far, but still. Machines. Not sorcerers.

  She wanted to find the damn transmitter and get rid of it — and then what? Would Dave simply plant another? Would he come visit and shoot Finn in the face?

  She sighed. Maybe she should confront Dave, tell him to t
ake it the hell out of Finn.

  Yeah, right. A bug she hadn’t been able to find, an accusation based on vague suspicions. Why should he? He was the one in the position of power.

  If only she could find her own power... What had her mother said? Things spiraling. The paper she’d found in Simon’s apartment right after his death, had this drawing — a spiral, and in its center a person with her name inked right next to it.

  She lifted her hand, stared at her pale fingers. Tried to imagine a spiral made of golden threads, the furniture lifting and spinning around her.

  She failed.

  ***

  “A witness reported something unusual,” Dave said over the phone, sounding tired. Then again, he usually did. “An animal, or a Shade, the description wasn’t clear. Go have a look.”

  “Aye aye, Captain,” Ella said, letting her towel fall on the floor and grabbing a shirt and pants from her closet. “We’ll boldly go where no-one has gone before.”

  “Are you high?” Dave inquired, his voice clipped. “How much coffee did you have?”

  “Didn’t have any.” She’d had to lie to him about the previous night, about the Veil tearing. Dave had felt it, he said, but that was bullshit. He’d heard everything over Finn’s transmitter, for sure. “We’ll talk later.”

  “You sound distracted.”

  “No, I don’t.” She dragged on her clothes, walked out of the bedroom and stopped. She pushed the living room door open and leaned on the doorjamb. “Talk to you later, Dave. Ella out.”

  She disconnected the call to have the last word, because she was mature that way, and besides, there was a valid reason she was so distracted. She bit on her lip.

  Finn lay on his belly on the couch, dressed only in grey draw-string pants. He was fast asleep, a newspaper lying in a heap on the carpet. His fingers trailed over it as if he’d been reading.

  He was beautiful, relaxed like that, laid out, the strong, lean lines of his body on display. He’d filled out some, so that his ribs no longer showed, and he was all smooth skin stretched over sleek muscle. With the curtains drawn shut, the only light came from a lamp overhead and it gilded his hair and lashes, the long curve of his back, the powerful shoulders.