Finn staggered a few steps, his gait uneven and unsteady. Damn. Dropping twenty feet surely hadn’t done his leg any favors. But he didn’t seem to be in pain, or at least to notice it. His gaze was locked on the body of the other Boreal.
“Kona,” he muttered, and the word rang a bell.
“A woman?” Ella didn’t know why she should be surprised. They hadn’t talked about gender politics of Aelfheim — hell, they’d hardly talked about anything at all — but their queen was a woman, so why wouldn’t the dragon riders be women, too?
The woman’s head was in an awkward position — the neck was broken. The body was more slender than Finn’s, though not shorter, the shoulders slightly less bulky.
It occurred to her she was looking at her first elven woman — in the flesh, that was, cold and dead as it was. Seeing Finn’s mother and the queen in the mirror of the Gate didn’t count, she decided. That hadn’t seemed real, whereas this...
Finn leaned over, supporting himself on the piece of machinery, his glow flickering.
From up close, the woman’s face was both beautiful and scary — the eyes were closed, thank god for small mercies, but her skin was papery and translucent like old parchment, her cheekbones jutting out like blades. Her brows and lashes were white like ice and her eyes looked larger. Her jaw was slender, less angled than Finn’s.
Had she fallen off her dragon as it had gone through the Gate? It must have been disorienting, and Ella was glad Finn had been on foot when he’d crossed over.
Finn grimaced and closed his eyes. Was it because of the headache or the shock of seeing one of his own race in this world?
A data device, he’d said. That was why they were there.
This woman had to have one somewhere on her person, so Ella gritted her teeth and set to work, her hands hovering over the metal armor — or was it clothes? The metal seemed molded to the woman’s slight frame, following a faint curve over her chest and down her hips. Something glinted there — a tube, like the one Finn had held in his dream-memory, but much smaller. A weapon?
Finn reached for it before she did, pressing his fingers on small hollows in the Boreal’s belt and unhooking it.
“That what we need?” Ella whispered and glanced over her shoulder, making sure the dragonets weren’t right behind them, about to burn them both to crisp. They’d stayed at the nest, staring at them with glowing yellow eyes.
Finn shook his head and reached under the corpse, jostling it. He pulled out another tube, flatter and duller in hue, lines of symbols spiraling around it.
More spirals. Figured.
“We can go now,” Finn said, his voice colorless. So yeah, maybe he was in a bit of a shock — who wouldn’t be?
Ella nodded and looked up, at the open hatch. Way, way up. Right. The only problem now was — how would they get out?
***
“This won’t work,” Ella said.
Finn stood, arms crossed over his chest, head bowed. He’d tied up the tubes with a piece of rope he’d found in the hold and had slung them at his hip.
“You can’t climb that wall,” Ella whispered. It was sheer at least half-way up, and even if he reached that high, with his leg hurting so much...
Finn lifted a brow.
Okay, fine. She sighed, gave him the rope she’d found coiled close to the corpse. There was no question of her climbing that wall. “Just don’t leave me down here, okay?” She eyed the dragonets, who eyed her back with equal measures of distrust. “The situation might get explosive.”
Finn turned, walked to the hold wall and examined its smooth expanse. Then, finding invisible holds, he started to climb.
Ella stood, gaping. It occurred to her this was another first. She’d never had the opportunity to watch him crawl up a wall like a spider, although she knew he’d done it plenty of times, one of them being when he’d been shot and bleeding out.
Still, it was so cool, the way his every movement spoke of strength and balance, every tiny motion slow and thought out.
It took one tiny slip for the awe to give way to fear. Shouting and screaming wouldn’t help him concentrate, right? So she slapped a hand over her mouth and fought to breathe as he hung with one hand for a long moment, then swung himself sideways and found another grip.
Goddammit.
Now she remembered; she’d seen him do this before — in a memory as he’d climbed a cliff face where star flowers bloomed to reach a dragon’s nest. It was part and parcel of his job. He was a hunter. A tracker. A rock climber.
Ella wondered if any other of his kind, any other Boreal, had such skills. They had magic and probably had no need for anything more.
Finn crawled up the wall like a spider, long limbs spread, finding purchase where there appeared to be none. The tubes in his belt glinted as he approached the top and the broken hatch.
She watched, her breath snagging in her throat, as he found handholds and hang from the hatch, swinging himself until he reached the hole and lifted his legs. He swung them up, disappearing through the hole.
Ella gaped. Jeez, that had been worthy of an Olympic champion. It really was time to get serious about exercising again, if only to keep up with Finn.
The rope dropped from the opening, lower and lower, until she could reach it. With one last look at the hissing dragonets and the silent corpse, she grabbed it and let Finn haul her out of the hold.
Back to the freezing wind, the sound of the sea, the empty pier and the illusion of normality.
***
Finn’s body glowed softly under the shower, the water plastering his hair to his face. He pushed the soaked strands back. His eyes glimmered under his wet lashes as she washed off the blood, ichor and grime from his skin. His fingertips played on her shoulders, slipped down her arms, and she stilled, hyperaware of his strong body pressed against hers.
His mouth brushed her cheek, warm and soft, and he tugged the sponge out of her hand. “My turn,” he whispered and ran it up and down her back, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine.
She could’ve stayed there forever, but Finn stopped and cocked his head to the side, as if listening.
“What is it?” she whispered.
“A sound.” He frowned. “I can’t hear it anymore.”
She listened. “Can’t hear anything. Is it the Veil?”
He shook his head, sending droplets flying. “It was a scratching noise. It’s gone.”
“Maybe it was coming from Mike’s apartment. Hey, I’ll go make some tea and coffee.”
With some reluctance, she left Finn to finish washing and hurried out, wrapping her head in a towel.
And halted. There was a faint, high-pitched sound that put her teeth on edge. What the hell was it?
She stalked down the corridor, crept into the living room and then the kitchen, listening for the strange whine.
The apartment seemed empty, though, and the noise stopped.
Just your imagination, she told herself as she boiled water and set the coffee maker going. Finn liked dark roast and she heaped enough spoonfuls into the filter to wake a slumbering elephant. She shuddered, thinking how bitter it would turn out.
There really was no accounting for people’s tastes.
She grabbed a teabag and reached for her favorite mug, remembering after a long moment that Finn had broken it, and chose instead a random cup to drop it into. She poured the hot water, watched the bag float in it.
The pallid, gaunt face of the dead Boreal kept flashing in front of her eyes.
The silver, carved tube Finn had retrieved from the corpse sat on the counter, drawing her gaze. Mug in hand, she stepped closer and stared.
The artifact sat there, cool and alien, somehow sinister. She ran her fingertips over its relief designs, the ever-present spirals, the circles and hash lines, the rectangles inside rectangles and the abstract lines.
No buttons to press. No seam to open it. How did it work?
In fact, now she recalled, Finn had retrieved an
other tube, as well — a smaller one. What had he done with it?
A sound from behind the door stopped her breath. A light scuffling and scratching. She whirled around and the mug crashed to the floor, shattering to pieces.
The hell? Ella’s heart banged as she pushed the door wider, aware she had no weapon on her or even nearby. Shit.
Then came a tiny meow and a small dark head appeared around the door.
“Missy.” Ella clapped a hand over her mouth, hysterical laughter bubbling up her throat. She knelt. “What are you doing here, baby?”
The kitten purred and butted her tiny head against Ella’s knee until she stroked the velvety head and tufted ears. Miss Meow had grown and Mike fed her well because she’d lost that half-starved look she’d had ever since Ella had gathered her from the streets. Her fur shone.
“I missed you, kitten.” Ella lifted the furball into her lap. Missy radiated warmth like a hot water bottle. “You escaped Mike and Scott, huh? Bet you’re feeling real proud of yourself right now.”
Missy clearly agreed, purring like a truck engine.
A knock came on the door and Ella stepped outside the kitchen and crossed the living room to check through the peephole, Missy hanging like a wet rag on her arm. “Hey, Mike.”
He entered, a frown on his face. “Hey. I can’t find—” He snorted. “Missy, you naughty girl. I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”
“How did she sneak in?” Ella absently stroked the kitten’s head.
“Cats move in mysterious ways,” said a woman’s voice.
Mike spun around, stiffening.
Ella scowled.
Sarah stood at the door, dressed in black leggings, tall boots and a long red sweater. She winked and stepped inside.
Uninvited, again. Damn!
“Where’s cutie pie?” she asked silkily.
“Having a shower.” Ella put Missy down. “Maybe I can help you?”
“Not really. I’ll wait for Finn.” And just like that, Sarah slunk over to the sofa and lowered herself on it, crossing her legs. “Some tea would be nice.”
“I’m sure it would,” Ella said through gritted teeth. “So would a one-way trip to the moon.”
Mike grinned, arms folded over his chest.
“Don’t be like that. I report to John Grey and I want to hear about his progress.” Sarah brushed dark hair from her forehead. Diamond studs twinkled on her ears. She lifted a penciled brow. “What happened to you?”
What? Oh. Ella touched the scorch marks on her jaw from the Ettin attack. “Nothing.” The ichor had reddened the skin on her arms. Her wet hair hung limp on her shoulders, soaking her t-shirt. She probably looked like a half-drowned rat. Dammit. In the face of Sarah’s perfection, Ella made a strategic decision. “I’ll make you tea.”
To her annoyance, Missy bounded over and rubbed herself on Sarah’s legs. Why the stupid kitten liked Sarah but not Finn was beyond Ella.
Or maybe Missy had gotten over her dislike for Ella’s favorite elf?
A hiss made her halt on her way to the kitchen. She turned. The kitten arched her back and flattened her ears, turning sideways in a show of intimidation.
Nah, seemed not. The enemy was a slim figure dressed in draw-string pants and a grey t-shirt. Finn. Of course. He’d frozen in the act of pushing his wet hair off his face, taking in the scene.
The kitten danced backward, her black fur rippling.
“Stop it, Missy,” Ella hissed between her teeth. “Why don’t you go bite Sarah, huh?”
“Glad you could join us,” Sarah said, running an appreciative gaze over Finn, which made Ella want to punch her so badly her arms cramped.
God, Finn looked bad — pale and in pain, holding himself stiffly.
“I’ll take Missy back,” Mike muttered and scooped the kitten up, wincing when she dug her claws into his arm. “Call me if you need help with anything.”
Like throwing Sarah out the window. “Thanks, Mike.” She turned back toward the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”
Through the open door she could hear Sarah asking Finn questions about the Veil, about the Gates, about the magic, and Finn’s silence, just as eloquent.
When she returned five minutes later with their hot beverages and painkillers, Finn still stood at the far end of the room, leaning against the wall, hair dripping all over the floor, his feet bare.
“We had a deal,” Sarah was whispering, her face a crimson. She jabbed a manicured finger at him, the nail blood red. “You said if I give you info you’ll help me. I don’t take kindly to being lied to, elf.”
Why was he so quiet?
“Finn, are you okay?” Ella put the tray on the table and straightened. “What’s going on?”
“I’m fine,” Finn said.
Right. She rounded on Sarah. “What did you tell him?”
“Nothing. Just that I keep hearing this word from the Veil — a name? I think I’ve heard it before. Isthelfinn.”
Oh crap. Ella’s gaze snapped back to Finn, the stillness of his features, the paleness of his lips. She hadn’t told him, but now he knew.
He’d suspected it, but only now he knew for sure: the attacks from the Veil weren’t random; the Shades had a name for John Grey.
His.
***
“The headaches have started again,” Sarah said, blowing on her tea.
Finn nodded, perched on the old armchair. He’d taken the painkillers without a comment. Whatever Sarah and Mike felt, he seemed to feel it tenfold.
Yet it was odd, seeing the two of them sharing the same woes, their heads bent over their mugs.
The room was bathed in low light from the two standing lamps on either side of the couch. The heavy curtains were drawn, keeping the day out.
“But you still haven’t found a way to fix the problem,” Sarah muttered. “To repair the threads, and the music.”
Finn shook his head. His pale hair fell forward, hiding his eyes. “Tell me about Jotunnheim.”
“What for?”
“I have a feeling,” Finn said, “that another seal will break soon.”
“The seal of Jotunnheim?” Ella muttered. “How bad will that be?”
Finn pressed his lips together.
Aha. That good.
“Do you know anything about the Divine Frenzy?” Finn whispered.
Ella froze, images from his dream hitting her. Corpses. Blood. A gun.
“You talking about the Aesir and their supposed talent?” Sarah scrunched up her nose. “What about it?”
“What is the Divine Frenzy?” Ella mumbled. “What can they do with it?”
Sarah shrugged. “Make you crazy? I haven’t looked into it.”
“Can you find out?”
Sarah huffed and leaned back, uncrossing and re-crossing her long legs. “I can’t see how this is helping,” she said, giving Finn a suspicious look. “I keep feeding you intel but you don’t seem to be doing anything.”
Finn said nothing, gripping his mug.
“Don’t be a bitch,” Ella said conversationally. “It’s magic, not home delivery. It’s not easy.”
“And what would you know about magic?” Sarah purred, pulling a packet of cigarettes from her bag. “You’re just Finn’s sidekick, making him his coffee and warming his bed.”
“Jealous, are we?” Ella tried for light but anger was burning inside her chest like a wildfire. “I bet you’d love to make his coffee and warm his bed. And you pretended to love Simon. He’s not even in a grave yet, and you’re all over Finn as if—”
“Me, all over Finn? You’re delusional.”
Ella found herself on her feet, red misting her vision. “Am I, now?”
Something shifted around her, snagging on her hands, threading through her fingers. Pain started behind her eyes, her pulse racing. She closed her fists and a whine went through the room.
“Ella!” Finn shot to his feet, his eyes wide. “Helgrind. Don’t pull!”
Sarah jumped up, teete
ring on her heels, flailing. “What the hell?”
The golden threads criss-crossed the room, vibrating, a bright line caught on her hand. She moved her fingers, half-blinded, and felt every bone in her body hum in response.
Finn grunted and stumbled. “Slow.”
Okay what the hell had just happened and what did he mean? She stepped back, the thread tightening, the tension in the room rising to a screech.
“Don’t pull,” Finn breathed. He’d landed on one knee. He shook his head, silver hair dancing. “Untangle yourself.”
“How?” Panic swelled in Ella’s chest. “What do I do?”
“What the hell...” Sarah was inching toward the door, her face pale. “My head is about to burst. Stop!”
“Can you see them?” Ella called to her. “Can you see the threads?”
“I can hear it. The screeching.”
“Ella,” Finn whispered, grimacing. “Let go of the thread.”
“I don’t know how.”
He got back to his feet and staggered over to her. He caught her arm. He had that deathly pallor that told her he was struggling with something — the threads, trying to fix whatever it was she was damaging. His hand inched down her arm, clasped her fingers, and some of the pressure left.
Light was rising from his skin, like steam, and his eyes closed. He swayed and when he looked up again, his eyes were silver. The thread twanged and trembled, lifting off her finger.
A hush went through the room — a release of tension.
Her head hammered. She stepped back, dropping onto the sofa, dragging Finn down with her. She wiped a hand over her nose and grimaced at the smear of blood. Okay, weird, but she had more pressing matters to consider when Finn bent over, his face twisted in pain.
“Hey.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “Finn?”
“I’m okay,” he whispered.
Yeah, right.
“It’s quiet now.” Sarah approached, hands held up. “Is it over?”
Hopefully, yes. Whatever it had been. Had the magic in the Veil changed again? It somehow didn’t seem impressive enough, not compared to last time a seal had broken.
Boreal and John Grey Season 2 Page 20
