by Megan Hart
Jase did not, in fact, think the guy was making it up. He did, however, think Stan George was an asshole. “So, this woman ran into you while you were on your bike. She was in a car?”
“No, man, she was just jogging along!”
Jase paused. “So really, you ran into her.”
“No! She was... It was dark. She was...” Stan scowled again. “Look, I gave that other guy this whole story already. I know it sounds crazy. But it’s the truth.”
“Jase,” Reg said from the doorway. “C’mere.”
“Let yourselves out,” Stan called after Jase as he left. “Close the door behind you.”
On the front porch, Reg showed Jase the last glittering remnants of something glowing beneath the black-light wand Reg had been using. It disappeared as they watched. Reg shrugged and slipped the wand back into his bag as the glow faded. “Same as the other case.”
“Not ectoplasm.”
“No. I don’t know what it is. Lots of stuff glows under the black light,” Reg said with another shrug. “But it stays glowing—it doesn’t fade away.”
“Did you send it to the team?” Jase ran a finger along the wooden porch railing, expecting to feel something. Sticky, gooey. Something gross. All he felt was softly splintered wood.
“Yeah, I took some videos and a few pictures. So far, nothing. Eggy and Burt are working on it, but Eggy said she’d never seen anything like it, either. And if Eggy hasn’t seen it—”
Jase nodded. “Yeah, it’s not in the database.”
“So it’s something new,” Reg added. He grinned. “Great!”
Jase laughed at his partner’s enthusiasm and clapped him on the shoulder. “Yeah. Great. Let’s go grab a drink and something to eat. Did you get any info on the woman he says ran into him?”
In the car, Reg read off what Stan had told him. “Says she was about five-six, dark hair, he didn’t know her. Referred to her as ‘dumb bitch’ several times.”
Jase put the Challenger in gear and pulled out of the cul-de-sac, heading for the Cottage Cafe. It was one of the only places open in the off-season down here at this time of night, unless they wanted to head into Ocean City. Since they were staying in one of the Crew’s condos in North Bethany, he didn’t want to make the twenty-minute trip in the opposite direction.
“Yeah, he’s a real winner. Any police reports? Anything from the EMT about a woman with matching injuries?”
“Nope. If she got hurt, she hasn’t sought treatment. From how it sounds, though, that asshole really bowled her over.” Reg tucked his notebook away. “Maybe he’ll get another visit from an angry giant gorilla, teach him a lesson about riding drunk. He lost his license, you know. That’s why he was on his bike in the first place. Asshole. But I still haven’t figured out the tie between him and the guy in the closet, or any of the other cases reported in the past six months. Other than they both seemed kind of like dicks who deserved to get the crap beat out of them by imaginary monkeys.”
“Arguably,” Jase said, “nobody really deserves that.”
“No,” Reg answered with another grin. “Some people deserve worse.”
At the Cottage Cafe, they grabbed seats at the bar, ordered a couple drinks. Talked about the latest case a bit, though there wasn’t much to say about it, since nobody from the home office had gotten back to them with any idea what the glowing stuff was. Reg ordered some wings and rings, and Jase got a burger to go.
“They have great burgers,” said the woman to his left at the bar. She hadn’t taken a seat but stood waiting for her own take-out order. “I should’ve ordered one of those instead of a salad.”
“It’s never too late,” Jase said, taking in the fall of her dark hair and a flash of greenish-blue eyes. She had a great smile, though it was hard to tell what the rest of her looked like under the baggy sweatshirt and matching sweatpants.
Her smile widened. “You know what? You’re right. Hey, Mitch. I’ll also take a Cottage burger to go. Fries and slaw.”
“Much better than a salad,” Jase said as he grabbed his to-go bag and started to follow Reg out of the bar.
“Yeah, thanks!” She gave him a little wave.
Jase gave her one more look over his shoulder as he went out the front doors. Yeah, she was checking him out. For a moment, he considered heading back in to chat her up, but then Reg said something to catch his attention. When he looked back again, she’d turned away. Opportunity lost.
Not that he had time for it anyway, Jase told himself as he headed out to the car. Not while working a case. And in a month or so, less if he and Reg got themselves together and figured it all out, he’d be gone anyway.
Still, he looked back again before driving away, hoping maybe she’d be coming through the front doors, but all he saw was glass.
CHAPTER 4
Chelle woke from a dream about Grant, her heart pounding. Breath catching. She’d made a tangled mess of the sheets. Sticky with sweat, she pushed the blankets off and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. For a moment, the world tilted, and she closed her eyes, although the room was so dark it didn’t matter if she had them open or not.
She was sure she’d stumble on her way to the kitchen. End up on her knees, still stinging from her run-in with the bike. She made it into the kitchen without turning on a light, so when she opened the fridge to pull out the jug of filtered water, the brightness made her wince and shield her eyes. She poured a glass and sipped at it, hoping to settle her stomach.
She hadn’t dreamed of Grant in months, though she still thought of him almost every day. Almost. It was an accomplishment, she thought as she leaned against the counter in her dark kitchen and let the night soothe her. Making it to almost. In the beginning, she’d thought of him every second. Then minute. After a time, she’d managed to break it down to hour by hour, then day by day.
One day, she would not think of him at all; the thought of this broke her more than anything ever had and was what made her stumble more than any walk in the dark ever could. The glass slipped from her hand into the sink, where, fortunately, it did not shatter the way her heart had already done, over and over again.
Too many times she’d allowed herself to succumb to this sort of grief, but it had been a long enough time since the last that she was no longer used to how fiercely it could sting. There were choices to be made here. She could give in to it, let the sorrow sweep her away like the undertow in a storm-tossed ocean. Or she could force away the pain and refuse to let it drown her.
She could write.
Of course, this reminded her of Grant, too. After all, he’d been the one to code and design the GOLEM writing program, just for her. He’d never made more than the single copy locked into her laptop, and which she’d discovered only a short time ago while cleaning out some old folders. His big plans of making money hand over fist had never been realized. He’d gone to Arizona without her or the program. There’d been many times when she thought of erasing GOLEM—which stood for Genre Originating Laptop Entertainment Machine and had nothing to do with the famous Lord of the Rings character. Although she did think of her laptop as “the precious” sometimes, Chelle thought as she slipped into the chair at her kitchen table and opened the computer lid.
Her fingers rested on the keys as she closed her eyes, letting her mind open up to the possibilities of new words. A story. A...man?
A face flashed through her mind. The guy from the bar. He’d been pretty cute. He’d do, for inspiration.
She opened a GOLEM file.
She started typing.
* * *
The man in front of her kneels, head bowed, to accept the garland of flowers his regent is placing around his neck. Roses in shades of ivory and crimson, her colors. She has sometimes wished to dress in gold and violet, in shades of night or summer sky, but no. She wears re
d and white, because that is what is expected of her.
The scout has been gone for some long turnings; that’s what is expected of him. To go away and then come back. They both have their places in this world. He has returned to her with the treasures of a far-off planet, precious metals and gems to fill her coffers.
More important, he has brought her himself.
“Lady,” he says and looks up at her with a longing that should not be there in his eyes.
It’s not appropriate. Forbidden, in fact. She is meant for another. The fate of their two empires rests upon the union, upon the children who will issue forth to bind the warring regencies. Her wedding to Darten is set for only two turnings from now. She will wear red and white.
It’s expected of her.
She cannot think of that now. Not with her scout on his knees in front of her with that look on his face and the soft touch of her fingers on his bristled cheeks. She needs to stop touching him, now, before all she can manage to do is keep touching him. She allows herself one last brush against his face before she sits back in her chair.
“You’ve done well,” she says. “What price have you set as your reward?”
He’s entitled to a portion of what he brings her. That is custom. What he asks of her, though, is not.
“A night with you.”
A collective gasp reverberates through the greeting room. Anadais, the regent’s companion, steps forward with her sword drawn. The scout has done more than overstep.
“You’ve insulted the regent,” Anadais says in her clear, calm voice. “Punishment commencing.”
The scout does not move. He has no weapon to draw—nobody can enter the greeting room armed. Still, he could rise and go hand to hand with Anadais, who will surely still slaughter him easily. But he does not move, does not flinch.
He looks into his regent’s eyes.
“Wait!” She stands, hand raised.
Another gasp circles the room. She dares not look to see the source of the tittering, the sly glances of her ladies and lords. Those who would see her tumbled from power. She doesn’t want to see the sympathetic looks, either, from those few who do not agree with her binding to Darten.
Anadais does not wait. Her sword already raised, it is on its downward slice, primed to take the scout’s head from his shoulders. At the regent’s shout, the companion barely falters. She would’ve amputated the regent’s arm if the scout had not thrust himself between them and rolled with her onto the dais.
There is no gasp this time. No behind-the-teeth laughter. Silence, thick and severe, covers them all.
“You have touched the regent,” Anadais says in that same calm voice. She raises her sword again.
“No!”
The weight of her ceremonial gown makes it almost impossible for her to get up on her own, so the regent doesn’t struggle, doesn’t make a fool of herself. She holds up a hand for Anadais to take, and the companion lifts her to her feet as easily as if the regent were made of air. The scout gets up, too.
“Regent, he must pay for the insult he’s made upon your person.”
The regent smooths the front of her gown. “Should I not decide what the insult is, and if he’s made one?”
A rippling murmur travels the room. She looks out to her audience, but none will meet her gaze. She knows the rumors, the stories about her, the opinions that she is too headstrong for the role into which she was born.
“There are those in this room who have spoken of removing me from my place,” the regent says aloud. “I would think that far more of an insult to my person than anything this scout could ask. This man has brought more wealth to this regency than any other scout. His price is not too high.”
The regent lifts her chin, daring anyone to speak out. None will, of course. Not to her face, not here. As regent she has ultimate power. There will be whispers, rumors. Her advisors will meet and tut. She supposes she could be taken to task by her future spouse’s representatives. Perhaps there will be repercussions. Maybe the war that has been threatening since her father’s time will at last become reality, and she will be written in the histories as the most foolish regent to ever lead. She will risk it, she thinks as the scout takes her gloved hand. She will risk it all, for the chance to spend a night with him.
CHAPTER 5
The rush of a breeze swept past Jase’s face and he rolled instinctively, then landed on the balls of his feet beside the bed, already pulling his knife.
There was nothing there.
He touched the back of his neck and felt the sting there. His fingers came away sticky. Blood? But he’d been on his back, sleeping, though in the dream he’d been on his knees with a blade pressed to his skin.
And then...other things.
“You okay?” Reg asked from the doorway.
Jase stood. “Yeah. Weird freaking dream, though. I was some kind of...”
Not a knight. Something else. An explorer or something like that. There’d been a journey of some kind, he’d felt that. He’d gotten into trouble, though the reasons for it were fading, hazy, back into dreamland. There’d been a woman with beautiful, sad eyes. He’d wanted to serve her. He’d have given his life for her.
That had to be a dream, because so far in his whole life, Jase had never met a woman who’d made him feel that way. The feeling lingered even now, that sensation of wanting to protect someone so much he’d have done anything to keep her safe. Sure, he’d worked cases where he had to keep people safe, but nothing like he’d just dreamed. Nothing like...love.
He shook it off.
“Some kind of what?”
Jase shook his head. “I don’t know. It was just a dream, man.”
“Think someone was fucking with you in the Ephemeros?”
“Nah. Just a regular dream.” Though there had been a familiar face in it. The woman from the bar. That could’ve been his mind shaping her, or maybe she’d simply been dreaming in the same space he’d been.
It didn’t mean anything, really, other than maybe he’d left an impression on her, the way she had on him. He should’ve gone back, chatted her up...but then, what was the point? He’d learned the hard way that a one-or three-or six-night stand always ended up being more work than it was worth.
“You sure?” Reg gave him a curious look. “It must’ve been some dream. You hollered like you were being murdered.”
Jase laughed, stretching his arms and legs, trying to feel if there was any other damage than the now-fading scratchy feeling at the back of his neck. “Just a dream. Sorry I woke you, man.”
“Nah, I was already awake. I’ve been online, working some data. Got a few more leads on some interesting shit that’s gone down around here, things that might help us. Bunch of weird sightings, stuff like that, but I just can’t quite pinpoint a connection. There has to be one.” Reg, with all his banter and fooling around, liked to play at being the stupid one of the pair, the muscle and not the brains. It wasn’t really true. Reg, when he got hold of an idea, was apt to hold on to it until he figured out whatever puzzle needed solving.
“Any updates from home base?”
“Nah. Been feeding them data, but...” Reg shrugged. “It could take a while, you know? I’m heading to bed now, though, unless you need me to tuck you back in. Maybe sing you a lullaby?”
Reg shot him a cocky grin, then laughed at the double bird Jase flipped him. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. See you in the morning.”
Reg closed the door behind him, and Jase got back into bed. He couldn’t fall back to sleep, though. He was suddenly hard as a rock, with no real reason other than it had been kind of a dry spell over the past few months. He tried to ignore it but should’ve known better. He hadn’t been able to pretend away a hard-on since sometime in early junior high. He could wait it out or take care of it, and waiting it
out wasn’t going to get him back to sleep any faster.
Sliding a hand inside his boxers, he took his cock in his fist. Slow, up and down, he stroked. Lifting his hips, he tugged off the boxers and kicked back the covers. He’d left the window open a bit so he could hear the ocean, and he used the steady rush of the waves to time his strokes. Slick precome leaked, smoothing his grip. He thrust a little, closing his eyes.
Pleasure built, rising until it consumed him. Nothing much to it other than the steady throb of desire tightening in his balls. There’d been times in the past when Jase had edged himself to draw out ecstasy, but tonight he was intent on filling a need, nothing more. Faster, gripping for a second behind the head, then palming it. Fuck, it felt good.
Yet also, somehow, empty.
His grip faltered, until he heard the whisper of a feminine voice in his ear. The soft scent of perfume. The touch of a woman replaced his.
He went with it.
* * *
She’s had lovers, of course. Mostly courtesans, paid to give her pleasure in the absence of a partner. The regent knows well how to please a man—but she also knows exactly how she likes to be pleased.
“You risked much to be here.” She raises her glass of wine. They both drink.
The scout puts his glass aside and takes her in his arms. The suddenness of the embrace causes her to spill sweet red liquid down the front of her, but she doesn’t care if her gown is ruined. Not when his lips are on her skin, licking away the crimson fluid.
“Lady, I have loved you since the moment I entered your service,” the scout says against her throat. “You’re worth every risk.”
Her fingers thread through his hair, and she tugs until he looks into her eyes. “You entered my service when you were fourteen and I was ten. Surely you don’t mean to say you’ve—”
“I have. Every second of my apprenticeship and every moment after that. I’ve loved you.” The scout does not smile or make light with his words, though she wants to laugh and push him away.
She doesn’t want to believe him. If she does, it might kill her. She’s pledged to another, after all.
