Drew shook her head convulsively. Tears spilled onto her cheeks. “Don’t know.”
“Odd that he went crazy just after he’d spent an afternoon with you.” Her eyes got wide. “You told him his future.”
Drew looked up at her, but couldn’t manage to say anything. Rhiannon apparently took that as a “yes.”
“What did you see?” She took Drew by the shoulder and shook her. “What did you see?”
She couldn’t tell the truth. “I saw you kill him with the sword.”
Rhiannon seemed to notice the bowl of water on the table for the first time. She straightened. “Well, that vision was sure accurate.” She paused to consider. “So that’s what he meant. He was trying to kill me first. Which led to the vision coming true.... Interesting.”
She was about to continue, when Drew stopped her, swallowing her tears. “If you want to know whether the vision caused itself to come true, I can’t say.” She took a deep breath. She had to get control of herself. She couldn’t look like a sniveling weakling. Rhiannon was like a shark. The last thing Drew wanted to be was chum. “What I can say is that I’m about to get gangrene in several limbs if these ropes aren’t loosened, which would be very bad for my ability to have visions for this Morgan person.”
In the background, a couple of the guys were shoving St. Claire’s body into a plastic bag. How would they dispose of a body in the middle of downtown Chicago? Drew pulled her gaze back to Rhiannon and managed to lift her brows in an imitation of the old, supercilious Drew.
“Oh, all right,” Rhiannon huffed. “Lev, you’re in charge of our guest here.”
Apparently Mossad-guy really was Israeli, or at least that’s how his name sounded. He looked a little exasperated at his assignment, but he motioned the men out the door with the sack and came to kneel behind Drew and untie her. “Sailor or not, St. Claire couldn’t tie a knot for shit.” He had her loose in a moment.
Blood rushed into her hands and feet. The tingling actually hurt. She rubbed her wrists gingerly and looked up at Rhiannon. The tight little black leather skirt and candy-cane striped top left nothing to the imagination. Her boobs were practically spilling out the low-scooped neck.
“So, ready for a few visions, Seer?” Rhiannon asked, hands on hips.
Can’t look like chum. “I wish it worked like that. It comes when it wants to, not when I call.” That was true enough. “And ... and it takes a while to recharge my batteries.” That’s what she’d told St. Claire, and it still sounded plausible.
“How long?” Rhiannon asked through gritted teeth.
“I don’t know.” Drew did her best shrug. “Depends on how rested I am, how hungry....” How long could she drag this thing out?
“The restaurant downstairs will send up take-out.” Rhiannon headed for one of the bedrooms off the large main room.
“Not safe,” Lev said. “Don’t you cook?”
Rhiannon just turned around and stared at him. Whoo. Guess she didn’t cook.
“Okay. We’ll breach our security to order in food,” Lev said sarcastically, like he thought she’d back down.
“Damn straight,” Rhiannon called over her shoulder. “She’s got to be in shape by the time we get Morgan here.”
Drew wondered how long she could keep Rhiannon at bay. Could she get a vision on command? If she did, she might not want to tell Rhiannon what she saw. Or she might not see anything useful. And the minute she quit being useful, she’d be following St. Claire into a plastic garbage bag.
CHAPTER TWENTY
“Just get them on the plane,” Michael heard Brian Tremaine say, from somewhere far away. “We’ll get treatment in Chicago.”
“I don’t know, sir. That one looks pretty bad....”
Tris’s voice. “Our lookout, dude.”
Michael knew he’d never make it back to the States. That was okay. Her family was going after Drew. He could count on Brian Tremaine.
“It isn’t ‘your lookout,’ sir. This man needs immediate treatment. The medical officer on The Splendid Seas ordered transfer directly to a hospital.”
Michael opened his eyes. Blurry figures moved around him. He was in some kind of big space, floating along above the ground. It smelled like metal and gasoline. A tall pole clattered along beside him. One of the figures waved a clipboard.
“Brian,” he managed. His voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.
Two of the blurry figures came over to him. One resolved itself into Brian Tremaine, and one was a guy with a clipboard.
“What is it, son?” Brian said. He wasn’t hoarse anymore. He had cleaned up, too. When had that happened?
“I’ll sign AMA. I want to go.”
Did Brian look grim? “Give me the clipboard,” he barked at the other figure. Up close the man was some kind of official, in uniform. His face was a mass of wrinkles that said he frowned a lot. When the man hesitated, Brian said, “Look, if he signs, you’re off the hook.”
The frowning official handed over the clipboard. Brian held it up for Michael, along with a pen he’d fished out of some pocket. Michael barely had the strength to grasp it. Ah. The clattering stand had an IV bag on it, and when he moved, he saw that it was connected to a needle in his arm. All the antibiotics in the world probably wouldn’t save him. He scribbled something on the paper he hoped they’d take for his name and let his arm fall back.
Brian scribbled his own signature and handed over the clipboard. “Now I’m responsible.”
“You sure are,” the official said. His voice was receding.
“Don’t worry, Dowser. Brina’s waiting on board.”
Michael closed his eyes. He was only sorry he’d never see Drew again ... never hold her ... never get to tell her exactly how much she’d come to mean to him....
*****
Michael became aware that someone was calling him. The pain was pretty much gone. That was good, wasn’t it? But his brain was still fuzzy. There was a lot of noise. Vibration, too. A pungent smell of rot hung in the air. Someone’s very cool hand was stroking his cheek. He opened his eyes and his heart started skipping beats it couldn’t afford to lose.
“Drew?” he whispered.
“No. I’m Brina, Drew’s mother.”
Yeah. Now he saw it. Not Drew. Maybe how Drew would look when she was older. Beautiful. The blackness started eating at his vision again. Drew’s mother began to recede....
“Stay with me,” Drew’s mother called, from farther away. “It works better if you help.”
What? His head lolled to the side but she lifted it back so he had to look at her.
“Leave me alone.” Sleep called to him, now that he wasn’t in pain anymore.
“Dowser, Dowser!” The voice that was Drew’s voice, but not, was sharper now.
His eyes blinked open. “Sleep,” he explained. He wanted to recede into that black, comforting cocoon that beckoned to him at the edge of his vision.
“I know,” she soothed. “Maybe later, but not right now.” She smoothed his hair off his forehead. It was sticky and wet. “Is Dowser really your name?”
Couldn’t she leave him alone? “Yeah.” All the name he deserved, anyway.
The woman who looked so much like Drew frowned. “I bet Drew doesn’t call you that.”
Silly woman. Of course she didn’t. Drew knew all the bad about him, and still she thought he deserved more of a name than Dowser. She wouldn’t make love to him until he told her his real name. Drew.... A longing came over him that hurt almost as much as the physical pain that had racked him before. He might have moaned.
“Yes, Drew,” she said. Had he said Drew’s name out loud? “What does she call you?”
“Drew.” The room swam. The darkness beckoned.
Someone else said, “We know what she calls him.”
“Shush,” the woman said to whoever was speaking. “What does Drew call you?” she asked more urgently. Nothing was urgent. Except finding Drew. And he was beyond that now.
/> “Focus,” the woman said, taking his chin firmly. “Tell me what she calls you.”
She was just not going to leave him alone, was she? “Michael.”
“Good. Well, Michael, my husband says you’re a Finder and therefore you are my best chance to get my daughter back. So I’m not going to let you die on me. Do you understand?”
She wanted him to find Drew. He tried to focus on her face.
“That’s good, Michael. She needs you. So you’re going to help me here.”
“Too late,” he said. Now that he’d been dragged back from the peaceful blackness, he knew exactly what having no pain meant for someone with multiple wounds infected by who knew what jungle bugs. And he recognized the smell.
She smiled at him. He knew that smile. Soft and reassuring, like she believed in him. It made his heart break. “You may be a Finder but I’m a Healer, so it’s not too late.”
Could this woman heal him, though death was in the air? Drew needed him.
“Get ready to help me. Can you do that?”
Like he was going to be any use here. But he had to try. For Drew. “Yeah,” he breathed.
“Good. Your job is to keep yourself open to me, okay?” What was she talking about? “People with power can keep me out,” she continued. “And I’m going to need to go deep.”
He didn’t understand what she meant. Movement at the edge of his vision caught his eye. Tris and Brian Tremaine hovered in the background. Brian looked worried. “Slumming?” he asked, proud that he could sound nonchalant. Sort of.
“Get back up with Kemble,” Brina ordered them. “You’re distracting him.”
Brian looked mutinous. “You’ll hurt yourself.”
“And the choices are...?” she asked, exasperated. “You do want your daughter back, don’t you? Besides the fact that if we do find Drew she’d never forgive me if I let him die. I’m sure not going to ruin her only chance of happiness.”
“Right,” Tris snorted.
“You, Tristram, can pull him up.”
She pulled back the sheet that covered Michael. Tris lifted him by the shoulders until he slumped in a sitting position. After some fumbling at his back, Brina pulled off a kind of a hospital gown. He was naked. His thigh was huge and black with soft greenish goo around the original wound. Ditto for his hip. The blackness seemed to be merging between the two sites. Red streaks radiated from his hip up into his abdomen. Not good. Michael was surprised this didn’t shock him. He seemed beyond shock. Tris let him gently down.
“Now, scoot, both of you.”
Tris moved out of his line of sight and after a moment of grimly tight lips, so did Brian.
“You got your work cut out,” he breathed to Brina.
She gave him a surprisingly impish grin. “I surely do. Let’s get started. And you had better not check out on me, Michael.” She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and just went still. When she opened her eyes, they were different. Not a different color. They were still a kind of turquoise. It wasn’t an expression, either. It was as if he was looking at really deep water, translucent, moving. “Look at me, Michael.” He couldn’t help but look.
She put her hand on his thigh—her whole palm. Michael felt her forcing herself inside that horrible rotting sore. Pain shot through him. His body arched and he groaned, or he might have yelled. He wanted to push her back out. That could stop the pain, he was sure.
“Keep yourself open,” she said, and her voice was like many voices, all echoey and strange. “For Drew.”
For Drew. Michael writhed beneath that terrible touch. But he didn’t try to push back against the pain. For Drew. He was shouting now. Every muscle tensed. Tense but not closed, he thought.
“Open more,” the voice echoed.
So he gritted his teeth to keep himself from screaming, took a breath, and pictured himself diving off a cliff into open air. He just let it all go. Take me, he thought to the wind rushing past. The sun through crystal air blinded him. Take all I am.
The pain pierced him like the sunlight in his mind, but he didn’t care. It slit his belly and his soul poured out into the air. Then he was light, floating on the wind, drifting....
*****
“You okay?” Kemble asked, hovering over his mother. She was trembling, her face gray.
She managed a small smile and nodded. “He was pretty far gone,” she said. Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat. “But he’ll be fine now.”
Kemble glanced to the naked guy with whom his sister was hopelessly in love. He seemed to be sleeping now, his body loose as a rag doll on the gurney they’d wedged in the aisle at the back of the plane. The scary black and suppurating green mess that had been his thigh was pink and new, just like the marks all over Kemble’s own body. “Four in one day is too much.”
“How is she?” his father yelled from the cockpit.
“Fine,” Kemble yelled back.
“Get up here, and take the stick, can you?”
Kemble expected that. His father was crazy protective about his mother using her powers, since it cost her so much. “Jackson, can you spell him?” he asked the grizzled pilot who’d flown the plane out from California. The man looked exhausted, but he nodded crisply and started forward. Kemble lifted his mother gently away from Dowser and sat her in the nearest seat. “Thanks for bringing the plane. It will save us time.”
She sighed. “I hated to ask Jackson, since he’d just gotten in from Argentina, but he was so good. He got it refueled in record time.”
“I see an impressive Christmas bonus in his future. I’ll spell him in a minute. Let me get you some brandy.”
“Just water, thanks,” she said.
When he turned back, she was staring at Dowser. He handed her the water. Her quick smile was steadier than the last one.
“So,” she said, “this is the man who brought out Drew’s powers....”
“Don’t get your hopes up.” Kemble frowned. “Apparently his dead wife raised his powers, and he’s still violently in love with her.”
“Doesn’t matter,” his father said, striding down the aisle sparing only a glance for Dowser. His whole attention was focused on his wife. “He’ll marry Drew.”
“Poor Drew,” his mother sighed. “The cards said she was having a difficult time.”
Neither Kemble nor his father rolled their eyes, after what Drew had discovered about the tarot. His father cleared his throat and poured a brandy from the little bar. “I’m sure they’ll soon show a bright future. Path of true love ... etc., etc.” He handed the brandy to his wife. “No ifs, ands, or buts,” he said when she hesitated. “One gulp.”
His mother took a breath and downed the brandy, or most of it, choking and gasping a little in the aftermath. But the color came back to her cheeks. She gazed over at the sleeping Dowser. “How horrible,” she mused, “to live with a man you love completely, but who loves another. Maybe it’s better if she moves on.”
“You don’t move on from the one who raises your powers, Brina,” his father said firmly. “And … well, I won’t say anything just yet. But I think things will be fine if we just get him to marry her.”
“Maggie moved on,” Kemble said, not wanting to disagree with his father, but looking for some way Drew could be happy. “A boyfriend in high school raised her power before she met Tris.”
“A tiny piece,” his father scoffed. “Nothing compared to what she got when she found Tristram. And Drew’s visions are so precise she could give us the coordinates Dowser had divined for the location of the sword. She’s got a helluva power.” He sat down beside his wife. “Thank you for healing them,” he whispered as he moved his lips softly across her hair.
“It’s what I do,” she smiled. “And now we’re going after Drew.”
“We’re going after Drew,” Kemble’s father said. “You’re going to get us a suite at the best hotel we can find, and order room service.”
His mother got a mutinous look in her eyes.
His father’s expression softened. “If we don’t get out of this, I want our children to have a parent to care for them,” he said. “So I need you to do this for them, Brina.”
Her eyes got big, but she nodded.
“Miles will set up security for you, and run the business. And you’ll follow his orders.”
Miles was the new lawyer for Tremaine Enterprises. He couldn’t replace Victor, who had been practically a member of the family before he’d been killed, but apparently his father trusted the new man with his most precious possession, his family.
“We’re not going to ... fail, Mother.” Kemble couldn’t actually say the word “die,” even though his father apparently thought the odds weren’t in their favor.
“No, we’re not.” His father stood up briskly. “When will he be able to use his powers?” He gestured to Dowser.
“He needs sleep.” She smiled, shaking her head. “He’ll be good as new in a few hours.” She got a thoughtful look. “Better actually. He’s had some pretty nasty injuries at some time in his life. All those scars.…”
“Delta Force,” Kemble said. “He saved his unit in Afghanistan, but was captured. Spent over a year as a guest of the Taliban. I did the research.”
She shook her head slowly. “I’ve never had anyone open so completely to the process. I wonder what that means....” She looked like she had an opinion, which she obviously wasn’t sharing with the men in her family. Both parents seemed to be keeping their opinions to themselves. “So I was able to repair at least the old injury to his knee too. Just needed new ligaments.”
Kemble stood. “Time for me to spell Jackson before he falls asleep at the wheel.”
“Thanks, son.” His father had been expressing appreciation more often since he’d made up with Tris, even if it was an uneasy truce sometimes. He sat down again next to Kemble’s mother and put his arm around her shoulders. “I shouldn’t let you tax yourself so,” he was whispering as Kemble headed for the cockpit.
He's A Magic Man (The Children of Merlin) Page 26
