by Hilari Bell
Couldn't she see how this creep was pushing Kelsa? The woman's expression held only professional concern.
"No." Kelsa was too frightened to care about looking like an idiot. "I want to speak to the manager. Now."
"Excellent," said the waitress. "That'll be eleven eighty-five." She pushed the scanner forward.
"I want the manager."
The waitress smiled politely, waiting for Kelsa to swipe her account card.
Kelsa looked around. The two retired couples chatted with each other, oblivious. One of the bikers was still eating, but he was watching her. The other two had staked out the door.
The second waitress set a plate in front of the trucker—though he'd been there when Kelsa came in. He picked up a small carafe of syrup, unscrewed the lid, and dumped the entire contents over his pancakes.
Then he looked up at Kelsa. His eyes were deep brown and had no whites around them. The eyes of an animal.
He was one of them.
Adrenaline slammed through her. This was the trap Raven had warned her about. But how? Never mind. Try!
Kelsa drew in a breath and screamed at the top of her lungs.
The biker behind her fell back several steps, but the woman in front of her didn't even blink. The elderly couples continued their conversations without missing a beat. The other waitress glanced out the window for a moment, before going to clear Kelsa's table.
The trucker stared at her with indifferent eyes and shoveled a forkful of pancakes into his mouth.
The red-haired biker had been looking around too and seen the same thing she had. Now he looked back at Kelsa and grinned.
She leaped past the register, past the oblivious waitress, and dashed through the open doorway into the steamy, onion-smelling kitchen.
The redheaded biker strode after her.
Kelsa looked for a weapon. Not a knife. There were too many enemies, all stronger than she was. She headed for the stove, past a pudgy, white-clad chef who didn't even look at her, snatched up the nearest pan and cast the contents into the biker's face.
It was in the air before the deadly reality of hot grease and frying onion registered on either of them.
The biker flung up a hand, his leather sleeve intercepting most of the grease, but not all of it. He cried out when it splattered his skin, then screamed in earnest as the pain bit.
The two who'd blocked the door had followed more slowly; now they rushed down the narrow kitchen.
Kelsa had a second to choose her next weapon, a big pot of steaming chowder that drenched them both. They shrieked and swiped at their faces.
The red-haired biker staggered toward the sink, emitting groaning pants of pain.
Kelsa whirled and ran for the back door. There was a back door, thank God. She raced outside and looked frantically for help, for a place to hide.
Her bike came skidding around the corner, with Raven riding it, though he took the turn so clumsily he almost tipped over.
"On the back. Get back," Kelsa cried, running toward him.
He stopped the bike, spreading his feet to keep it upright as he slid back on the saddle.
Then she was there, mounting, the handle grips firm and comforting under her palms. Her right hand stung with a burn she'd picked up without realizing it, but she paid it no heed, spinning gravel from under the tires as she slammed down the accelerator.
She raced down the road as fast as the dirt bike would run—the big hogs the bikers rode would be much faster.
She was hoping to trip a speed sensor—s he wanted the police!
Although ... What had happened to those people? It was as if she was invisible. Except for the trucker, or whatever he really was.
She shuddered at the memory of the indifference in those round, animal eyes.
***
She passed four side roads before turning onto the fifth, and she rode down it for several miles before pulling off into a thick glade where she should be safe—if the bikers were all she had to fear.
"You said they couldn't attack me!"
Raven's grip on her waist changed to a comforting embrace as the bike slowed to a stop, but Kelsa was too tense, too terrified for comfort. She knocked down the stand and leaped off the bike, out of his arms. She took off her helmet and threw it at him.
"Where the hell were you? You said they couldn't attack me. And why ... What in the..."
She was crying. She'd been crying for some time. She pulled out a tissue and wiped away the snot and tears.
"I'm sorry," Raven said. "I didn't think they could get here, and get anything set up so quickly. But that's no excuse."
His shirt was fastened with two buttons, and he hadn't taken the time to put on his shoes. He hadn't had time to put on his shoes.
A wave of shivering swept over her, and her stomach began to churn. Kelsa wrapped her arms around herself.
"One of them was a shapeshifter. At least one. Were they all your enemies, in that restaurant?"
"No," Raven told her. "The bikers who went after you had to be human, according to the rules, and I'd bet most of the others were human as well. Describe the shapeshifter you saw."
"He was big." She could see him clearly in her memory, see more details than she'd noticed at the time. "Big, with shaggy brown hair, and hair on his arms and hands. His eyes were all dark, like a pig's or a dog's. Like brown marbles. He ... he poured a whole pot of syrup over his pancakes."
It sounded silly, but somehow that seemed more alien than all the rest. She shivered again and began to pace.
"That was Bear," Raven said. "He's not an enemy, he's one of the neutrals. He was probably there to observe, to make sure no one on either side broke the rules."
"Killing me isn't against the rules?" Or had they intended to rape her? Or both? Kelsa shuddered.
"No." Raven's voice was gentle. "Not if they use the tools of this world to do it."
The need to think, to understand what he was saying, slowed her racing heart. Her furious pacing slowed too.
"So the bikers, they were human?"
"Yes."
"And the rest of those people ... What was the matter with them? It was like I wasn't even there!"
That had been one of the most terrifying parts of it. Not the most terrifying.
Raven sighed. "It takes power. It takes power, concentration, and skill, but it's not impossible to cloud human minds. To make them see what they expect to see. Hear what they expect to hear." He snorted. "You sometimes do that without any help from us."
"And those bikers? They were just doing something expected?"
"Ah, that's a bit different. With them the ... molder, call it, found a spark of desire to act that way and fanned it. Suppressed their inhibitions, the fear of the consequences that would ordinarily have stopped them."
"So anyone I meet could suddenly attack me?"
"Not really. Not unless it's something they might do anyway. It's all but impossible to force something to go against its nature, against its own will. It's only if the will to act is already there that you can use it."
The thought that dawned then was so horrible it froze Kelsa in her tracks.
"Have you been manipulating me that way?"
"No," Raven told her. "I haven't. Even if I could, it would be against the rules. And the healing of the ley wouldn't work without your uncorrupted will behind it. Of course, you only have my word that those things are true."
He said nothing more, watching her with wary dark eyes. Human-looking eyes. He had lied to her, by omission at least, many times. And she'd certainly been acting strangely this last week! But the decisions she'd made felt like her decisions. He was using her for his own ends. But he'd never made any pretense of anything else, not from the start.
And she had her own world to save.
Kelsa took a deep breath and let it out. "OK. So how do I protect myself between here and Alaska?"
CHAPTER 7
"THAT DEPENDS," SAID RAVEN SLOWLY, "on what those bikers are
capable of."
"Anything." Kelsa tried to suppress a shudder and failed.
"No, I mean ... There aren't many humans like them, which is good! If all humans were like that I'd be working with my enemies. Would it be possible for the others to convince those bikers to chase you? Or would that be unthinkable, something they'd never do?"
"Not unthinkable. The biker gangs ... When security in the cities became intense, when the camera net was finally connected, it became pretty much impossible to deal in illegal drugs anywhere on the grid. And in cities and towns, that's everywhere. So the gangs who made their living that way moved into the countryside. They have regular routes, and fight with rival gangs when someone tries to cut into their trade. And they're big on both revenge and pride. I don't think it would be hard to convince them that I'd dissed them and they have to punish me."
Terror rose again at the thought. She'd have welcomed his embrace now, but he merely nodded. "If the bikers are that apt for their purpose, the others aren't likely to abandon them. But that means they'll have to work through those bikers. They'll be limited by what the bikers themselves can do, in this world, when it comes to tracking you. I think some scouting is in order."
He stood and began unbuttoning his shirt.
"You're going to leave me here? Alone?"
"If they're anywhere near, I'll come back at once. But we need to know what they're doing if we're going to elude them."
"What happens if they find me before you get back?" At this point, she didn't have much faith in his airy assurances. "Wait a minute. If your enemies can control people, can they control animals too?"
This was bear country.
"No. Well, to a limited extent. You can sometimes convince an animal that you're not a threat to it, for a short time. Some other things like that. But it's harder to confuse a simple mind than a complex one. Animals have no expectations, so they see what's really there. And if they're under any stress instinct takes over, and they do what they'd usually do. Which is run, for the most part."
"But couldn't they ... I don't know, use birds to spy on me or something?"
Raven snorted. "Birds, the smaller ones, can't tell one human from another. And their attention span is about two minutes. The larger ones are a bit brighter, but you don't have to worry about that. Really."
She averted her eyes as he shucked off his pants, and kept them firmly averted till the sound of flapping wings told her it was safe to look as he back-winged out of the trees and swooped away.
Leaving his partner to have hysterics, all by herself. Kelsa had noticed before that he didn't pay much attention to human emotions, but still!
On the other hand, if his enemies could only work through their human accomplices she should be safe here.
That knowledge did nothing to stop the spurt of tears.
***
Raven was gone long enough that she'd gotten past the crying jag and reached a state of near calm—though the thought of ever setting eyes on those bikers again made her heart pound.
It was hard even to remember being angry with Raven that morning. Being rescued from death, or other horrible fates, made the fact that he'd told a few lies look amazingly trivial. And it seemed he'd been telling the truth about his enemies.
Her enemies, now.
Kelsa shuddered. It didn't matter if he'd lied or not. If she was going to go on, to try to heal the rest of the leys, she needed his protection as well as his guidance.
When Raven finally returned, Kelsa watched him land on the bike's handlebars with undeniable fascination. His wingspan had to be over four feet; the wind from his landing fanned her face, even though she was seated on a rock several yards away. What other shapes could he assume? Could he become even larger? Turn into a mouse? Surely the laws of physics had to apply somehow.
She tried to watch him change, but her nerves were still unsteady and her gaze slid aside.
"If you went across the border into Canada without anyone knowing, with no official record of it, would the bikers know that too? And keep looking for you here?"
"I'm not sure," Kelsa admitted. "Most of what I know about biker gangs comes from the news. And d-vid. But I've heard that they can tap into police and security nets. The parts that aren't supersecret, anyway. Of course, the government denies that. But I can't get into Canada, with or without a report. I don't have permission to cross the border. And I don't dare get out on the highway, where they could find me."
Her stomach curdled at the thought.
"You don't need to worry about that. Not for a while, anyway. They're heading back to the clinic at Whitefish to get their burns treated. And the red-haired one is riding behind one of the others with a cold compress over his face."
Raven was smiling, fiercely, but Kelsa shuddered.
"Lord, they'll be eager to track me down and kill me. Your friends won't have to do a thing to encourage them."
"So if you sneaked over the border with no one knowing, they'd probably waste a lot of time looking for you around here." Raven sounded disgustingly cheerful. "That's what took me so long. I've found a way to get you across."
***
The arena was about ten miles down the highway. According to the running sign, which no one had bothered to reprogram, the horse show had ended June ninth. Yesterday.
"It's over," said Kelsa, stopping her bike. "What's so exciting about that? Everyone will be gone."
"Not everyone." She couldn't see Raven's face, with him perched behind her, but his voice sounded smug. "There are a dozen horse trailers still there, though most of them are packing up now. And three of them have Canadian labels!"
"Lab—Do you mean license plates?"
"Whatever it is, it means they live in Canada, right?"
"Yes, but—"
"So once they've loaded their horses they'll drive right over the border. If you were hidden in one of those trailers, no one would know you were there!"
"Except for the inspectors," said Kelsa, "who look into the back of trucks and horse trailers to prevent that kind of thing."
"I've watched them do that," Raven said. "They look, but they don't look hard. If you were tucked behind something I don't think they'd find you."
Kelsa had watched the inspectors too, waiting in line at border stations. If the driver didn't act nervous, they didn't look hard.
Of course, they didn't have to.
"The scanner would spot me," she said. "It's mostly set to look for chemicals and chemical weapons. Drugs, nuclear reactives, all sorts of things. But it would pick up a human's biomass and heat source with no trouble. So that won't work."
She was torn between relief—she didn't really want to run the border—and worry. Would the next idea he came up with be even worse?
"I thought about that too," Raven told her. "Would it pick up your presence, your biomass, as you call it, if you were lying on top of a horse?"
***
He switched back into Raven form to scout ahead, while Kelsa waited in a thicket of trees watching people move casually around the distant trailers.
Several people loaded their horses and left. One of the departing trailers had Canadian plates, which made Kelsa wonder what Raven was waiting for. But soon after that he flapped onto his favorite perch, let out a croak, then swooped away toward the trailers.
There was no one visible now.
Kelsa punched in the start code, deeply grateful for the electric motor's quiet hum. The tires rolling over the asphalt made more noise than the motor did.
The trailer on which Raven had perched had a horse in one of the two stalls, with nothing but a net across the back to hold it in. Kelsa rode her bike into the other stall, bumping gently over the low sill. If someone was watching the yard's security cameras and came dashing out to stop her, Kelsa would probably have time to back out and ride away. Her helmet would conceal her face, and the tape still disguised the real number on her license plate.
One of the disadvantages of computer security
was that only the places they really needed to keep secure had human guards, who actually watched the monitors. Arenas like this hosted all sorts of events; their security computers were almost certainly programmed to accept a bike being loaded into a trailer as a normal event.
"But the driver will have to close up the back before he leaves," Kelsa told the huge bird as it hopped awkwardly inside. "He'll see the bike."
She looked over at the horse, a big bay who didn't seem to be disturbed by her presence or the bike. It pranced and rolled its eyes when Raven began to shift, but that was all.
"Suppose he has another horse to put in here?" Kelsa added. "And that's why they haven't left yet."
Several long moments passed. Kelsa was beginning to get impatient when Raven finally said, "See those hay bales? Whoever owns this trailer only uses this side for storage."
When she looked at the end of the compartment, it was clear that Raven was right. The stall next door, where the horse now stood quietly, had smooth wooden walls. The walls on this side of the central divider were studded with hooks and nails, from which hung all the mysterious paraphernalia Kelsa assumed was necessary for horses. The only hay in the horse's stall was a few wisps in the raised manger, and under that manger was an enclosed space that might be big enough to conceal her bike.
Kelsa and Raven hauled out a half-full sack of grain and several chests and bags containing who-knows-what, but they managed to make enough space for her bike and wheeled it in.
They were tucking a plastic tarp over the protruding curve of the back wheel when Raven froze, listening. Once the plastic stopped rustling Kelsa heard it too: footsteps on the asphalt, coming nearer.
Raven pushed her down into the narrow space behind the bales, then struggled in beside her.
"What about the chests?" Kelsa whispered urgently. "Won't he see—"
She felt the tension in the warm muscular body lying so close to hers. Could Raven control the mind of whoever owned this trailer? Make him see what he expected to see?
Raven had said it took concentration as well as power, so Kelsa kept quiet and still.
The footsteps stopped, very near. A long rattle vibrated through the floor beneath her and the light dimmed. A couple of clanks latched the back of the trailer closed, but Kelsa didn't let herself relax till the trailer levitated off the pavement.
