Now the tea was gone, and the kitten, although still purring, slept on Jess’s bed. Jess, still victim of an occasional fat and unexpected tear, stared at the head of her bed. Snugged between the mattress and headboard were Carey’s saddlebags. At night she could smell the weathered, well-oiled leather; she could touch them and feel the security of the days under his care. She was very well aware that, bereft of Carey upon her arrival here, she could just as well have ended up like the chestnut.
Carey. She pulled the saddlebags out and ran a hand over the spare, tooled design, pausing over the scratches acquired on unusually rough rides. Several of the marks were still lighter than the surrounding area, testimony to their newness. Emblematic of the last moments of Jess’s old life.
Somehow, no matter how long she stared, she couldn’t recall the innocence and security of Dun Lady’s Jess. Another tear rolled down her cheek as she considered that maybe she never would—that even finding Carey would be insufficient to render her back into that bold and carefree individual.
Then, with abrupt resolve, she knew she couldn’t afford the doubts, not if she was going to function here. Not if she was to have any chance of finding—and helping—Carey. She took a deep breath, returned the saddlebags to their space, and went out past Jaime and Eric to attend to the evening stall clean-out.
~~~~~
The thing was, Dayna told herself—waiting, several days after the picnic, for Derrick to walk by the office unit—that she had already noticed his oddness, the dichotomies in his appearance and manners. Jaime’s request poked at the place in herself that was already curious, and gave her an excuse to do something she otherwise never would have allowed.
Unfortunately, the LK was a small hotel, and its twenty-four units each opened to the outdoors. Waiting for Derrick—for that was the only name he’d given, and as he’d paid each of three weeks in advance, the manager was inclined to leave it at that—wasn’t as easy as watching for him to come through a lobby. For all she knew he’d left hours ago, while she sat on the washing machine to keep it from lurching across the floor during the spin cycle, or when she slipped behind the ice maker, tightening a loose flange fitting so the casualty zone caused by its small leak would dry.
It was noon before she finally corralled Cindy, the housekeeper, to ask if the room was vacant.
“That Derrick guy’s not there, if that’s what you mean,” Cindy told her. “But I’ve been meaning to talk to you about him. He never wants me to clean his room—always has the DND sign out. He’s let me in a couple of times to do a good thorough cleaning, but I don’t like letting the room go. Besides, I know he’s registered as a single, but it sure looks to me like both beds’re being used.”
“That doesn’t go over too well with me, either,” Dayna frowned, then realized this was the ideal excuse for her excursion. Perfectly legitimate for a concerned employee to inspect the room. And the room was empty.
Dayna thanked the woman, took a deep breath, and snagged her work keys from the hook behind the counter. Then she was out the door and down the walk, her back prickling with the surety that Derrick would come up behind her, somehow knowing her intent. She looked straight ahead, not allowing herself the furtiveness of checking for him—at least, until she reached his unit. Then she couldn’t help herself, and she quickly glanced around. Not only was there no sign of Derrick on this still, bright day, but very little else stirred. The heat of the spring noon had become something to be reckoned with, and Dayna slipped out of it into the dark coolness of Derrick’s room.
Ugh. She wrinkled her nose as the full force of the room’s odor hit her. The air conditioning unit was set and running—she herself had explained the controls to Derrick upon his arrival—but she took a moment to flick the air supply from “recirculate” to “outside.” As her eyes adjusted to the low light, she realized the odor itself was nothing malignant—merely the smell of an unwashed man, well steeped. Or, she saw with a sudden sharp intake of breath, the odor of two men. And one of them was here. Sleeping.
She stood frozen until her aching lungs made her realize she wasn’t even breathing. O.K., Dayna. He slept through your arrival. Just take it easy—no reason to think he’ll be roused by a quick strategic retreat. She squeezed back between the AC unit and the cheap laminated table that graced every room. In this case the table was piled high with gear, much of which looked similar to the stuff they’d found by Jess—except for a small pile of syringes, used and new, and a half empty drug vial. You’re leaving, she reminded herself as her hand reached out, seemingly by its own volition, and touched the leather of saddlebags, and the quiver beneath. Quiver? Yes, there was the bow, unstrung, leaning into the corner.
The figure in the bed had not stirred, and, in fact, seemed unnaturally still. Come to think of it, he was stretched out in an awkward position. Biting her lower lip, Dayna took a step toward the far bed, cast an anxious glance at the door, and studied the bed from this closer vantage. Maybe because of the low light, or maybe because she simply wasn’t expecting to see such a thing, it took her several long moments to decipher the ropes that stretched from one exposed wrist to the headboard.
Without thinking, she moved the rest of the way to the bed and its captive, rounding the other side where the covers fell back and clearly showed her the figure in the bed.
He wasn’t a big man—although that still put him a foot or so taller than herself—and he was wiry, muscled but still lean. Long stubble, darker than the unkempt, oily mass of his blond hair, covered the long, clean angles of his face. A crusty mess of a bandage wrapped the bicep of the free arm, and it was tied with a tight sling that rendered it as useless as the other. His lips were dry, his eyelids gluey, and he definitely smelled.
Then the eyes were open, and looking directly at her, the light brows crinkled in disorientation. “Who—” he started, and it came out as more of a croak than a question.
“I work here,” she said quietly, as if Derrick could hear her no matter where he was. “Would you like some water?”
He closed his eyes and nodded, and she quickly filled one of the cheap plastic cups provided by the hotel. “Here,” she whispered to the eyelids. They flickered open long enough to locate the cup, as he tried to raise his head enough to meet its rim. With only the smallest of inward grimaces, she supported the back of that filthy head, until he turned away from the water to indicate he’d had enough. She was unprepared for the sudden pity she felt for this poor creature; she had the impulse to untie his bonds, to ferret him away from this room.
But no. The real Dayna took over, insisting on explanations and complete understanding. “What’s going on here?” she asked, her voice still low.
He swallowed, licked the dry lips. Didn’t bother to open his eyes again. “He’s given me something...I can’t think—” His brows lowered, his eyelids spasming, in the painful frustration of the moment. “If he finds Lady...he can’t. Can’t let him get the spells—” he opened his eyes and stared directly at her, focused for one moment of intense effort. “Help me.”
She stared back, impotent. Help him? How? Call the police? He was probably on the wrong side of the law to begin with. Untie him and muscle him out of here? Sure, when she was reincarnated as Arnold Schwarzenegger. Then his words tickled at her awareness. “Lady?”
“Lady,” he repeated wearily, his head falling back, his eyes closed again. “Sweet Lady. Ran her heart out for me...”
Oh, God, she couldn’t believe it. Didn’t believe it. But the coincidence was too much to resist. “Jess?” she whispered.
“Lady,” he murmured, drifting away from her.
All right. So she didn’t know what she’d do with him. Whatever was happening here, it wasn’t right. She had to start somewhere. She plucked at the tightly tied ropes with nerveless, fumbling fingers, breaking first one, then another of her nails, without ever getting a good hold of the cotton fibers. Another grimace, and she bent over the rope, applying her teeth, getting the first sign
of compliance, a spark of hope—
A key fumbled in the deadbolt. With a small squeak, Dayna started upright, staring at the door in panic. Then she dove to the floor and scurried under the empty bed, oh-so-thankful for her diminutive stature and her size 2 frame.
A brief burst of light sliced across her limited field of view; two worn boots passed by and the door closed with a negligent click.
“Stir your bones, Carey,” Derrick said, his voice discordantly loud after the hushed tones of Dayna’s recent conversation. “If you want something to eat you’ll show a little life. You might even get a chance to take a piss.”
Carey! The name barely registered against Dayna’s fear, but some small part of her did hear it. Heard Carey’s mumbling response as well, hoped he had enough wits about him to keep from giving her away. Clenching and unclenching her fists in an attempt to distract herself from almost unbearable terror, Dayna otherwise lay as still as she could be. She listened while Derrick dealt with the bindings that had stymied her, heard the snake of rope against rope and the moan as he hauled Carey upright. It was easy to follow their clumsy progress to the bathroom, not so easy to force her petrified muscles to respond. But she managed to scrabble to the door; trembling so hard she could barely get the doorknob turned, Dayna literally crawled from the room.
~~~~~
Jess watched from the Dancing’s tack room window as Eric, more focused than usual, escorted Dayna to the big double sliding doors at the end of the aisle, taking them out of her sight. Jess carefully hung the bridle she’d just cleaned and went to the aisle door to spot them as they entered, staring unabashed at Dayna.
The small woman was always a little stiff; it came along as part of her many rules for self and others. But today she seemed smaller, tighter. And wasn’t she supposed to be working today? Wasn’t that the reason Mark had the day off?
Jaime was in the indoor ring, doing concentrated work with her high level competition horse, Sabre. Jess knew she wouldn’t notice the arrivals, and wouldn’t want to be interrupted. She stepped out in the aisle to greet them when they drew near, about to pass without noticing her quiet presence.
“Jess,” Eric said, and his voice gave the name more significance than a greeting deserved.
“Eric,” she returned, her own voice in the low end of husky and still awkward with the syllables. She looked at Dayna, who, uncharacteristically, allowed Eric’s arm around her shoulders, plainly upset. In unthinking honesty, she sought to comfort. She moved close to Dayna, a hug without arms; it was only as an afterthought she added that human facet of the gesture.
She was taken completely by surprise when Dayna began to sob. She didn’t hear the grief and pain that usually came with her own tears, but instead a frightened, childlike quality. After only a moment, Dayna’s boyish frame ceased its shaking and she drew away from Jess, wiping her reddened eyes with the back of her hand, staring at Jess like she hadn’t quite expected to find comfort there.
Eric said quietly, “Dayna had quite a scare this morning.”
Jess heard the clop of Sabre’s powerful stride and held her questions. Jaime was coming, and she would say anything that needed to be said, would ferret out the last bit of information that mattered. For Jess had no doubt that it would matter, that it was not coincidence that Eric had brought the shaken Dayna here.
Jaime stopped just behind Jess and murmured, “Stand,” to the horse. There was a pause, conspicuous in its lack of greeting. Then, “What’s going on?”
Jess stepped away, putting her back against the wall to allow Jaime into the group. She reached to retrieve Sabre’s discarded halter and held it out as Jaime slipped the gelding’s bridle off. Jaime gave him half a granola bar and left him in cross-ties, tugging her gloves off and tucking them into her waistband as she gave them a meaningful, silent question.
“I got into Derrick’s room today.” Dayna’s voice husked into a low whisper.
“He caught you,” Jaime said, with a glower on her face that was meant for Derrick.
Dayna nodded, then changed her mind with a quick shake of her head. “I hid under the bed.”
“Dayna, why? You’re an employee—you could have told him you were checking on the plumbing, or the light bulbs, or anything.”
“I didn’t think he’d let me go, knowing what I’d seen,” Dayna said, regaining some of her natural asperity. “He had a man in his room, drugged and tied. Hurt. He called him—”
“Carey,” Jess breathed.
“Carey,” Dayna affirmed.
“Carey!” This last was Jaime, caught completely by surprise. “Did you talk to him?”
“Just a little. He wasn’t in very good shape—and what he did say didn’t make much sense. He was worried about someone getting hold of...something. I think he said spells.”
Jaime frowned. “Did you call the police?”
“I thought you two didn’t want the police in on this,” Dayna said, looking from Jaime to Eric. “So I waited.”
“No! No police,” Jess said decisively. She had not lost her equine memory, which was as formidable as any elephant’s. The uniformed men had done nothing but blunder—taking her unawares in the fountain, scaring the chestnut into his fatal run.
“Okay, okay,” Jaime said, holding a hand up for time out. She turned back to her horse and hauled up on the girth billets to free the buckles, tugged the saddle off the gelding’s towering back. “Start from the beginning, Dayna. There’s no point in arguing over what to do until we understand what’s happened.”
Jess tossed her head impatiently, but Jaime caught her eye, and she responded to the directive within that gaze. She took a deep breath, blew softly through her nose, and listened.
“I’ve told you most of it.” Dayna shrugged, nearly her usual unreachable self. “This guy was tied to one of the beds. He was dirty and smelly, and had a gross bandage around his arm. I didn’t get much from him—I’m pretty sure he was drugged. He was worried about some kind of...well, spells is what he said. And he talked about Lady.”
Jess stood straight up. “Lady,” she murmured.
Dayna scowled slightly. “He didn’t say Lady was a horse.”
Jess snorted expressively but kept her thoughts to herself.
“Well, he didn’t. Just said he was worried about someone getting hold of these spells. I was trying to untie him when Derrick came back.” A scowl. “Scum.”
“I noticed.” Jaime checked the heat of Sabre’s chest and returned him to his stall. “Jess, do you know what Carey meant when he said ‘spells?’”
Jess sifted through memories of the time before, distinct but hard to translate into human terms. She knew Carey was most likely to be concerned about that which they took from Arlen’s stable to the other stables—lately, usually Sherra’s, a woody, friendly place with the best of grain, the leafiest green hay. And she also knew Arlen could make unexpected things happen, and that Carey referred to these things under the generic name of spells. She wasn’t sure how Carey could put one of those spells into the saddlebags, but...
“Arlen did spells,” she said finally, frowning in concentration, staring at the aisle’s rubber mat floor. “He sometimes gave spells to Carey, I think. We took them from one stable to another. We were on a run when men chased us, and then I was here.”
They stared at her, offering various expressions of amazement. Finally Eric said, “I had no idea you could speak so well.”
“Of course she can,” Jaime said brusquely, responding to the uncertain look on Jess’s face. “She knows there’s no point to talking unless you have something to say.”
“What sort of spells did Arlen do?” Eric asked. Dayna stepped away from his arm and wrapped her own arms around her waist, listening without being part of it all. Without believing.
“I—” Jess started, and faltered. It was so difficult to be sure what they might consider a spell. So many of the strangenesses of this place seemed like things Arlen might have done. “He can move t
hings without touching them,” she offered tentatively. “He can make his voice come out of nowhere, when he’s at a different part of his bar—um, house. Once I saw him stop a fight across the yard. He said words and pointed and the two foals—children—stopped. Tied by hobbles you could not see, I think.”
Eric and Jaime exchanged a frown. He said, “Are you thinking—
“That sealed document. With the strange writing. I’m beginning to think there’s a reason the OSU language people couldn’t ID it.”
“I don’t like this,” Dayna said. “It’s beginning to make too much sense.” And she tightened her arms around her slight torso and shivered.
“Jess,” Eric said thoughtfully, taking obvious stock of her strong, dusky features, “why haven’t you told us any of this before?”
Jess laughed, short and sharp, almost a snort. “You call me Jess instead of Lady. You whisper that I am mad. You give me Words: Easy, Jess. It’s all right, Jess. When Carey said Words, he never lied to me. If he said, ‘easy,’ I knew I could trust him to take care of the scaring things. You—you tell me I am not Dun Lady’s Jess. You tell me easy—but you lie! You have not taken care of anything!”
Eric’s brows folded together in dismay. “Jess—” he started, and then couldn’t seem to find the words he was looking for. Jaime did better.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s easier for us to deny what we don’t understand than to try to face it.”
Jess studied them a moment, her dark-eyed gaze resting longest on Dayna, who shook her head.
“I’m sorry, too,” Dayna said. “Because I still won’t—can’t—accept all of what you say.”
Jess took a deep breath that filled the most remote areas of her lungs, and let it trickle audibly between her teeth. “At least those,” she said, “are true words.”
The Changespell Saga Page 8
