The Strange Path

by D. Jordan Redhawk

  “Yeah? Fuck off yourself, bitch!” he called after her, not following.

  ***

  Whiskey decided to head to the U District. The verbal sparring with the old-timer had reminded her that after midnight wasn’t the best time for a street kid to be downtown. She had a few dollars left in her pocket, but didn’t want to waste it on bus fare. Food was more important. Should have accepted those bus tickets and food vouchers from the padre. She could call Dorst, but she still wasn’t ready to see him. Besides, he’d acted pretty weird when she’d admitted to remembering him. She needed the time to process his response.

  Though she’d come this way a few nights before, she paid more attention to her surroundings, playing with her new senses. She wondered if Paul and his friends had recuperated enough from Fiona’s attack to consider retaliation. Whiskey hadn’t had anything to do with them getting their asses kicked, but she’d be the one to pay the price if they found her. Some other homeless kid might run into him first, and receive the beating reserved for her. School was still in session. Maybe they’d had a three-day weekend from school. Tonight was Sunday. They couldn’t be out cruising for trouble at this hour. Yeah, you thought that on Thursday when they grabbed you. Better hope it isn’t a four-day weekend.

  She made certain to use her newfound senses as she walked.

  Finding a fast-food restaurant, she ordered and paid for something to eat. Rather than sit in a brightly lit dining room where anyone passing by could see her, she left and ate on foot. As she walked, she drifted through the business district and into an industrial region. Quieter here, her sharpened ears picked up the sound of vagrants and occasional cars on the nearby streets. Crushing the wrapper of her burrito, she tossed it in the general direction of a Dumpster. She heard the paper bounce off the rim, and scuttle down the side. A rat scrabbled away from the sound, dashing down the gutter. She smelled water, Lake Union only a half mile away. Boat launches and fishing businesses loomed ahead, with a smattering of nice waterfront homes interspersed between them. Once she crossed the bridge, she’d be in the U District and home. Her shoulders relaxed at the thought.

  Whiskey heard the motorcycles before she saw them. Several smooth engines drifted in her direction. They’d started ahead, and to her right where the residential area began. She dismissed the sound, knowing that Paul and his friends had borrowed a parent’s car. If they’d had their own wheels before, they wouldn’t have been in a sedan when they attacked her. When the cycles were a couple of blocks away and nearing her position, she focused more attention upon them. Headlights rounded a corner ahead, five of them. Two bikes had double occupants, each with a scantily clad man and woman. The rest held a single rider each. Most had face-covering helmets, except for two riders with spiky mohawks. She barely registered long red hair beneath the helmet of one as that motorcycle pulled to the side of the street beside her. Shit.

  All of the vehicles came to a stop. Whiskey recognized Manuel and Bronwyn by their tattoos, and Zebediah and Alphonse from their hairstyles. Seconds later, they took off again, leaving Fiona, Cora and Daniel behind.

  Fiona swept off the helmet. “My little lamma. What a surprise to see you here.” She put down the kickstand on her vehicle.

  “Whiskey!” Cora jumped from the back of Daniel’s Triumph. She removed her helmet, setting it on the motorcycle seat before rushing toward her. “Where have you been? I’ve missed you so.” She slipped into Whiskey’s arms, and gave her a long welcoming kiss.

  When Whiskey could breathe again, she said, “I’ve been a little busy.”

  “Yes, you have.” Fiona had left the motorcycle. She circled Whiskey. “Your Baruñal has begun guiding you along the path of the Ñíri Kurám.” She completed her circuit, smile wide as she regarded her. “And how is Sañur Gasum Dorst?”

  Did something reveal she’d begun the meditations? No way. She brought Reynhard to me for this purpose. She can smell him on me. “He’s good.” She quelled Cora’s wandering hands with her own, not wanting the distraction. “I was just heading to the U District to meet him. We’re going to work on the next chant.”

  Fiona had a knowing smile. “I doubt that. Not enough time has passed. You cannot hurry the Ñíri Kurám any more than our ensi’ummai have already succeeded in doing. Your body needs to recuperate from the taxing sensations you’ve generated.” She slid one hand up Whiskey’s tattooed arm, her smile widening as the skin pebbled beneath her touch. “They are wonderful sensations, are they not?”

  Calling attention to the changes in Whiskey’s senses magnified them. Before she could answer, Cora leaned in for another long, protracted kiss that left nothing to the imagination. Cora’s body squirmed against hers, and a rush of lust made Whiskey moan. She easily caught a whiff of her arousal, delighted to realize she also detected Cora’s.

  “Oh, yes,” Fiona whispered. “Sumptious.”

  Whiskey broke off the kiss, blood flushing her face. Despite her embarrassment, she met Fiona’s eyes, tucking her chin.

  Fiona’s eyes glittered. “Have you ever driven a motorcycle, my little lamma?”

  Whiskey almost expected the change of topic; it appeared to be a standard technique of Fiona’s, used to derail her opponent’s train of thought. Forcing down her libido, no easy task, she cleared her throat. “I’ve ridden them a couple of times, but never driven one myself.”

  “Then it’s time you learned.” Fiona turned to Daniel, who still straddled his bike, his helmet in his lap as he watched the proceedings. “Whiskey will take my Ducati. If you’d be so kind—” She gestured to her bike.

  Daniel nodded, and pulled his bike onto its stand, shutting down the engine.

  Cora freed herself from Whiskey’s hold, and helped her out of her shoulder straps. Whiskey debated the wisdom of letting Fiona run roughshod over her again. The lure of learning this new skill seduced her away from her common sense. Take more than you can give.

  Soon Whiskey eased down the empty street with Daniel riding behind her. She easily picked up the mechanics of gears and balance, gas and brakes. Most of her difficulty came in keeping the heavy bike upright when she stopped. Daniel assured her that her upper body strength would improve with experience. Exhilarated, she sped along with the wind in her hair, almost forgetting the sensation of Daniel’s hands at her waist. She was half tempted to dump him, take off and not come back. Would Fiona call the cops to report a stolen bike? Whiskey doubted it; at least it wouldn’t be reported to conventional authorities. Are there Sanguire cops?

  After a spin around the industrial area, she returned to their starting point. Fiona lounged against Daniel’s bike with arms crossed beneath her breasts. Cora stood guard over Whiskey’s belongings on the sidewalk. As Whiskey pulled to a halt, they both approached. Daniel clambered off the back, and Whiskey fumbled with the kickstand.

  “No, dear Whiskey.” Fiona held up her hand to forestall her. “You’ll ride this one tonight.”

  Whiskey shook her head, preparing to get off the motorcycle. “I really should—”

  “Be still, little lamma.” Fiona placed a hand on Whiskey’s shoulder, halting her attempt to fully stand. She leaned close, her tone softening to a whisper. “You have nothing to fear from me, child. We do not kill our young.”

  Whiskey didn’t know which shocked her more, the erotic touch of Fiona’s breath along her ear and neck, or the revelation of her underlying fear that Fiona would rip out her throat. She stuttered a moment, unable to think of what to say.

  Fiona stepped back, and located the second helmet strapped to her bike. “Here you go, dear Whiskey. As much as we prefer to ride without, it’s best not to taunt local law enforcement any more than is prudent. Besides, I sincerely doubt you have a license to operate a motor vehicle.”

  Unable to do more than nod in response, Whiskey took the proffered gear. The motorcycle shifted beneath her, and she glanced back to see Cora attaching her pack to the backrest. She then retrieved her helmet from Daniel and put it on, eagerly
climbing onto the back of the bike with Whiskey.

  Fiona had already donned her helmet, and regally joined Daniel on his bike. “Shall we go then? The night is young.”

  Daniel started his engine, and gunned it once.

  Whiskey felt Cora’s hands slide seductively about her waist. Take more than you can give, she reminded herself. But how long before Fiona demands too much? She swallowed and hit the ignition button.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Whiskey waved at the intermittent buzzing noise for the third time. She sensed it had been going on for a while. Her mind sluggish, she tried to figure out how long, unable to come up with an answer. It buzzed again, loud and obnoxious, too loud to be an insect. Maybe. With her sharper hearing, it could be a simple mosquito, not the jumbo 747 that rocked her aching skull.

  The bed shifted, sheets sliding along her sensitive skin. Naked flesh brushed hers, and she sighed and groaned with both pleasure and annoyance. The unknown person climbed across her, reaching for whatever made that sound. Whiskey’s breathing became labored at the extra weight across her chest.

  “Hello?” a sleep-furred voice said. “Yes, Sañur Gasum, she’s right here. Please hold.”

  Whiskey opened her eyes as Cora slid back to her side of the bed. Her head pounded, and her mouth tasted of shit. She squinted at the cell phone Cora brandished at her.

  “It’s for you.”

  Groaning, Whiskey took the phone, and cradled it to her chest. She closed her eyes. They seemed full of glass slivers, and her head pounded with her heartbeat. “Reynhard?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Cora caressed Whiskey’s abdomen and hip, waking other more pleasant sensations. “Yes, Ninsumgal.”

  Whiskey nodded. She remained prone on the wrought iron bed, not willing to try sitting up at the moment. Cora slipped from the linens. Whiskey opened her aching eyes to watch Cora swagger to the bathroom, the faint remains of a bite mark marring her otherwise delicious ass. Licking dry lips with an equally arid tongue, Whiskey brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

  Dorst’s musical tones greeted her ears. “My dearest Whiskey, how do you fare this afternoon?”

  “Afternoon?” She tried to remember when they’d gotten back to Fiona’s house. The sun had already been up when she’d driven the Ducati into the garage. Driving without a license and while intoxicated? Jesus. Talk about living dangerously.

  “Yes, afternoon. I trust you had an enjoyable interlude with that seductive blonde on your arm?”

  Whiskey swallowed, casting around in her mind. They’d been at Malice again, staying long after the place had closed, drinking and dancing until dawn. “You were there?”

  Dorst laughed. “No, dear Whiskey. But Fiona’s tactics have remained unchanged for forty years or more. Your interest in Cora has been noted, and steps have been taken to ensure every opportunity for you to be entertained by her charms.”

  Light footsteps approached, and Whiskey looked up to see a smiling Cora. She held out a tall glass of water and two pills. “Your moisture-deprived tissues need nourishment,” she whispered.

  Whiskey forced herself to sit up, biting back another groan of pain. At least her stomach wasn’t upset; just her head beating against her nerve endings. “Hold on, Reynhard.” She dropped the phone on the bed. Taking the pills, she downed them. Ambrosia against her parched tongue, she drained the entire glass. “Thank you.”

  Cora took the empty glass, and bowed before turning away.

  Whiskey watched her go, puzzled. It reminded her of her memory of the long-haired Dorst, bowing and backing away. She picked up the phone. “I’m back.”

  “When you failed to call from the hotel, I took the liberty of searching for you. I’m glad you found your way to the safety of Fiona’s care.”

  The water had helped to wake her a bit more. In the bathroom, she heard the shower running. “Safety?”

  Dorst made a noise. It sounded suspiciously like a snort of amusement. “I’m calling to arrange a meeting with you this evening. It’s time to translate the next chant.”

  A sliver of dread and excitement shivered through Whiskey’s chest. “Where and when?”

  “Since I’ve awakened you, I’ll give you time to collect yourself. Two hours from now at a coffee shop in the University District? There’s one located in an alley near University and Lincoln Way.”

  She looked at the nightstand clock. Nearly five now. That would leave her time to clean up and get away from here. If she caught a bus within the next hour, she’d be there before seven. “All right, I know the place. I’ll be there.”

  “Excellent. I look forward to seeing you again, my Gasan. Until then.”

  Whiskey stared at the cell phone. “Great. Another fucking word to learn.”

  ***

  Cora did her level best to distract Whiskey from her purpose. Whiskey resorted to making her request a command, tucking her chin and glaring at Cora before the minx would leave her alone. She worried Cora would take umbrage at the treatment, not certain why it mattered. Relief and dismay surged through her when Cora winked coquettishly, leaving the suite with a decided slink in her step. Forty-five minutes later, Whiskey entered the kitchen showered and clothed.

  Bronwyn stood at the stove, flipping pancakes on a griddle. Whiskey guessed that cooking duties were rotated among Fiona’s followers. She set her pack in a corner of the dining room, intent on a cup of coffee. Bronwyn ignored her, but the corner of her lip lifted in a slight sneer. Whatever problems Manuel had with Whiskey were mirrored in his girlfriend. He sat at the table next to Fiona, focused on his breakfast. More than happy to return the favor to both of them, Whiskey sat at the opposite side of the table from Fiona with a vague sense of déjà vu.

  “Did you sleep well, dear lamma?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Whiskey glanced at the wineglass, wondering if it were a juvenile affectation, a way for Fiona to appear more adult than the rest of her pack. She sampled the air, smelling the alcohol content of the red liquid, coupled with something more metallic and intriguing. The faint copper smell of blood caused her mouth to water, and she quickly dampened the smell.

  Fiona smiled at her, lifting the glass in toast before taking a drink.

  Cora sauntered in from the living room. She paused to give Whiskey a thorough kiss. The ever-present arousal, coupled with the strange effect the aroma of blood had given her, fired Whiskey’s lust. She broke off the kiss with some effort, pushing Cora away. Her lover blithely smiled, and went into the kitchen. Whiskey glanced at her table companions, face reddening. Manuel’s dark eyes glittered with malicious humor before he returned to his meal.

  “I can imagine you did.” Fiona smirked at Manuel. “I’m so glad I installed that soundproofing, aren’t you?”

  He grunted a reply. In the kitchen, Bronwyn snickered. Whiskey licked her lips. It wouldn’t do her any favors to get into a pissing contest with Fiona, but she’d be damned if she’d act contrite over the jibes. She made a determined effort to appear nonchalant, leaning back to slouch in her chair.

  Fiona smiled in amusement, conceding the point. She gestured with her glass to the corner where Whiskey’s pack lay. “Going somewhere?”

  Cora returned to the table. Placing a plate of pancakes in front of Whiskey, she ran a proprietary hand through Whiskey’s hair, then sat down with her own breakfast. “The Sañur Gasum called. He wishes to meet with our Gasan to begin her next lesson.”

  Whiskey muffled her surprise. Of course, Cora had overheard every word of the phone conversation with her superior senses. “We meet at seven in the U District.” She availed herself of the butter and syrup on the table.

  “That’s hardly a reason to take your worldly belongings, is it?” Fiona raised an eyebrow. “You’ll be safer going through the Ñíri Kurám here. We can protect you.”

  Like I feel safe here. Whiskey didn’t respond, digging into her food instead.

  When she failed to answer, Fiona pouted. “At least take
the Ducati. I’d feel better knowing you had transportation.”

  Whiskey stared at her. “What?”

  “You’d prefer the Lexus or the Porsche?”

  “No!” Whiskey shook her head, peeved that Fiona’s change of conversation had disrupted her intentions again.

  “Then take the bike. The keys are in the ignition.”

  Whiskey’s mind turned, wondering how she could get out of accepting the offer without appearing rude and ungrateful. “That’s really not necessary. I can catch the—”

  “Take the Ducati,” Fiona intoned, glaring at her.

  Manuel watched the proceedings, eagerness apparent in the strength of his gaze. Whiskey wondered what he thought would happen if she refused Fiona’s order. Oddly, she felt the attention of both Bronwyn and Cora without looking at them. No doubt, Bronwyn’s expression mirrored Manuel’s, half feral as she waited to witness a fight.

  Whiskey’s mantra whispered in her mind. Take more than you can give. Having the bike would make it easier to get around, at least for a day or two. I don’t have to come right back with it. She decided to play it coy. It wouldn’t do to give in at Fiona’s initial command. Whiskey’s future compliance would come to be expected. “I don’t have a license. What do I do if I get pulled over?”

  Fiona’s countenance softened as she sensed capitulation. “You have my phone number. Give me a call, and we’ll take care of things.”

  “You’ll pay bail?”

  “Certainly.” Fiona glanced fondly at Manuel. “It’s not like I haven’t done so in the past.”

  His lips twisted into a frown.

  After a long moment’s consideration, Whiskey raised her chin. “Okay, I will. Thank you.”

  The tension eased. Manuel snorted, and returned to his breakfast. Bronwyn cursed; the pancakes had burned during the minor power struggle. Cora reached under the table, and stroked Whiskey’s leg.