Guardians of Paradise

by Jaine Fenn

  ‘I know,’ she whispered. Then she looked up, meeting his eyes. ‘If I ever hurt you, I’ll never forgive myself.’

  Even as her words set off a warm glow in his chest, his hormones cut in and he found himself saying, ‘Then let’s go to bed! ’Cause it does hurt me, us both feeling like this but not doing anything about it!’

  She looked away and said quietly, ‘I won’t sleep with you, because if I did, then I would hurt you. Or worse.’

  He couldn’t - wouldn’t - believe that. ‘Is that what happened with Elarn? Was her and you . . . was it more than her just looking after you?’

  Nual nodded. ‘She found herself attracted to me, though such emotions went against her sexuality and her religious upbringing. I was young and scared and desperately lonely, so I responded. But before things went too far she realised what I was, and she threw me out. I was surprised she left her will unchanged; I imagine she had planned to alter it as soon as the right man came along. Poor Elarn: it says a lot about how lonely she was that that never happened. ’

  ‘But that was, what, seven years ago, weren’t it? You was a lot younger.’ Seventeen: the same age Taro was now, though he wasn’t going to mention that. ‘You got more control now.’ He paused, then decided this wasn’t the time for subtlety. ‘And Medame Reen, she seemed nice enough, and we should be grateful she left you her stuff an’ all, but you said it yourself: her and you, that was a mistake. She was hardly hot for it, was she? Now me, I know what I’m doing when it comes to the grind.’

  Nual smiled. ‘So you are saying that your previous profession and experience would make you more . . . shall we say resilient to sex with a Sidhe?’ She sounded amused, but Taro was deadly serious.

  ‘Yeah, I am.’ She wanted him; it didn’t take scary mind-powers to work that out. He just needed to persuade her that she wouldn’t end up sucking his brain out through his cock.

  Nual took a sudden intense interest in the pattern of the stone floor. ‘I have no way of knowing what would happen - how far I might end up going.’

  ‘You mean you’ve never—? Oh! Shit, I didn’t . . . I mean, I assumed you’d . . . But I s’pose you wouldn’t’ve. Right.’

  She managed to get her gaze up as far as Taro’s hands, lying flat on the table. ‘No, I haven’t. I see you find that all but incomprehensible. And you may be right; my fears may be unjustified.’

  Taro said gently, ‘Then how ’bout we start with a kiss? And if my head falls off, we’ll leave it at that.’

  For a while she said nothing, then she looked at him and smiled. ‘I could use some comfort at the moment,’ she said, ‘but just a kiss, for now.’

  It was better than nothing. When she didn’t move, Taro eased his chair back and walked round to her side of the table. Nual turned to him, but she stayed sitting, as though that would stop her getting carried away. Taro crouched in front of her. Being so tall, he could look her in the eyes; he still had no name for that colour: somewhere between violet and the darkness of space. She looked worried, almost shy, an expression he’d not seen on her before.

  ‘We’ll take it slow,’ he said. He put a hand on her knee and leaned forward.

  She began to bend towards him. He could feel the heat of her. He closed his eyes.

  ‘Can you hear something?’ she whispered.

  All he could hear was the sound of the rain and his thudding heart . . . or was that a faint, insistent chime? ‘Don’t think so,’ he murmured.

  More loudly, Nual said, ‘It’s the alarm on the house com.’

  Taro scooted out of the way as she stood up. If that was the aircar saying the storm was blowing over and it would be happy to take them back to Kendall’s Wharf now, then he’d find something heavy and blunt and seriously invalidate the rental on the fucking thing.

  He followed Nual out into the hall. ‘What’s up? More bad weather?’

  Nual looked up from the screen. ‘No, visitors.’

  ‘Who?’ Taro wiped suddenly sweaty palms on his thighs. ‘Does it say?’

  ‘We’re picking them up because of Elarn’s paranoia. After I left she installed very good security, because she knew my sisters would come looking for me one day - as indeed they did. Whoever this is, they are being stealthy, and they aren’t transmitting a greeting.’

  ‘But they’re definitely headed for the house?’

  ‘There’s nothing else out here.’

  Taro took a deep breath, and found he didn’t feel as scared as he expected to. ‘I’ll get the gun,’ he said.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It occurred to Jarek as he drove at well over the local speed limit through weather bad even by Khathryn standards that even if he did catch up with the aircar flying half a klick in front of him, there wasn’t a hell of a lot he could do. His current resources consisted of this aircar - souped up by the less-than-reputable yard he’d hired it from, but hardly a performance vehicle - and his dartgun, loaded - as usual - with tranq.

  He’d think of something. He couldn’t just turn around and return to Kendall’s Wharf now: the car ahead had crossed the Ornsay Strait and was still heading south. There was only one place it could be going. He thought about calling the house again, but he’d been trying on and off ever since he’d arrived in-system two days ago. Initially he’d assumed Elarn was in - it wasn’t like she ever went anywhere - but, stubborn as ever, was refusing to take his calls. This afternoon he’d resorted to calling her agent, who’d frostily told him that she’d taken a trip out-of-system some weeks ago and was due back any day. Elarn leaving Khathryn? He wasn’t sure he believed that.

  He kept his distance over the sparse woodlands, flying low in case the larger vehicle in front was checking for a tail. He couldn’t think of any good reason for an unmarked private aircar to be coming out this way, so when his contact in traffic control had called him to report a vehicle making a sudden and unscheduled trip due south - just as he’d been bribed to do - Jarek had decided to follow up the lead. His suspicions were heightened when he discovered they weren’t broadcasting a hail . . . then again, neither was he.

  The other car slowed and landed in a clearing in the woods, fifty metres short of the bot-maintained rough parkland surrounding the house. It put down just outside the range of the house’s surveillance - or at least, just outside the range of the security package Elarn had had the last time he’d visited her, seven years ago.

  Jarek found a tree-free spot invisible from the car’s landing site. As soon as his vehicle had settled he popped the hatch, pulled up the hood on his rain-cape and leapt to the ground. His face and hands were soaked before he’d gone a dozen steps - as if he hadn’t spent quite enough time exposed to the elements over the last few months, he thought grumpily. At least now he was wearing hi-tech wet-weather gear that actually kept the rain out. He jogged through the woods, alternately watching the uneven ground and checking for activity ahead. The other aircar was a low hump amongst the trees. Figures were heading towards the open ground, running semi-crouched. The light was fading, but he reckoned there had to be at least half a dozen of them.

  He wished he had some idea who these unexpected visitors were, and, more importantly, why they were sneaking up on what might well be an empty house. He’d intended getting up to speed with what had been happening around here before he ventured out to face Elarn, but as usual, his master plan had lasted just long enough for him to regret not following it later.

  He passed as close to the other aircar as he dared. It wasn’t parked, just hovering, which probably meant they’d left someone on board. Looked like they expected to leave in a hurry. One thing was for sure: they were up to no good.

  As he skirted the edge of the woods the house came into view, a vague dark shape a couple of hundred metres off to his left. He stayed under cover until the trees petered out, keeping low as he neared the cliff-edge.

  The rain had melted back into salt-tinged mist and twilight was coming on fast now. He’d lost sight of all but one of the intruders
in the murk. They were probably trying to surround the house, or at least cover the exits. He wasn’t sure how good their information was, but he’d spent much of his childhood here and they were unlikely to know the layout of the place better than he did. The person nearest him - definitely a man, from the way he moved - was staying close to the cliff, possibly heading for the door to the conservatory, a small extension on the back of the house. Jarek thought he might be able to catch up with him there, out of sight of his friends, maybe take him by surprise and get some answers. He patted his gun, almost subconsciously.

  Now he had a plan. He followed at a distance, ducking between the ornamental shrubs, passing the occasional sculpture. The landscaped features ended about seventy metres from the house and he stopped, wary about venturing into the open. His target had already closed half the distance to the conservatory when he suddenly fell to the ground, dropping in an instant and folding in on himself.

  Shit! Jarek hunched down behind a quartzite monstrosity supposedly portraying a dolphin and a child - not one of Elarn’s most tasteful purchases, but excellent cover. From what, though, he wondered? Even if Elarn had upgraded the security, anything that incapacitated unwanted visitors had to be preceded by a broadcast warning. Of course, if whatever had downed the intruder wasn’t lethal, then it might give Jarek the opportunity for a quick interrogation - assuming it wasn’t going to go off again as soon as he got in range.

  The sound of a dull concussion from the front of the house made his mind up for him. He sprinted out from behind the statue, heading for the cliff, thankful for the repeated false alarms caused by landing skeppies during the spring migration that had made them recalibrate the house security to stop two metres back from the edge. He scurried along the cliff-top, careful not to look at the lethal drop to his right. Even after all these years, and in spite of the circumstances, he found himself tuning in to the pulsing rhythm of the waves; the long smooth rumbles meant the tide was out.

  As he drew level with the intruder he heard another crump! from the far side of the house. Before he could talk himself out of it he cut inland, running flat-out to reach the fallen man, and threw himself down to use the body as cover—

  —or rather, the upper body. Something had sliced the man clean in half just below the ribcage. The legs must have kept going for a fraction of a second, as they lay a little further on. Whatever had hit him had almost cauterised the wound, and Jarek’s nostrils were filled with the reek of charred flesh. He swallowed hard and looked away from the ooze of parboiled guts to the man’s face. His eyes were open in understandable surprise, but the rest was hidden under a half-face mask. Pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth to stop himself retching, Jarek pulled the mask off, wondering if he’d recognise the man, but he was a stranger, hardfaced under the slackness of death. He looked like typical muscle-for-hire.

  Jarek looked around, trying to spot what had taken the intruder down, but the house was dark and he could see no movement. Perhaps he’d be safest staying put, seeing how things panned out . . . except he’d be no use to Elarn out here.

  He heard a tinny squawking coming from his hand and realised that the mask was actually a rebreather, with a built-in com unit. He held it to his ear and heard a strident female voice saying, ‘—peat: Seven is down. Eight, prep for retrieval or cleansing. Six, cover Seven’s exit. Two and Five hold station.’

  If unlucky number Seven was the severed torso next to him then someone else would be heading this way soon. Well, that made his decision easier.

  He scrambled to his feet and ran for the conservatory door, zigging and zagging, half expecting to be cut down at any moment. He reached the door safely - to find it shut tight. Given the house was either empty and locked up, or Elarn had activated the security and locked everything down, this wasn’t much of a surprise. He slipped the mask over his head in time to hear, ‘—ith me. We’re going in.’

  Which was exactly what he needed to do. If Elarn was in there, she was in trouble. The conservatory wall was toughened glass and impossible to climb, but a bushy vine covered the wall of the main house at the back here. When he was ten he’d got into enormous trouble for climbing that vine, and after that little escapade his parents had cut it back, but Elarn had let it grow again. It looked strong enough to support an adult now, and if it held, he could get up onto the optimistically named sun-terrace above the conservatory. Unless Elarn had upgraded it, the forceshield that protected the terrace from inclement weather wouldn’t stop a person forcing their way through. It would leave him numb and tingling, though - something else he’d discovered when he was a boy.

  So there: he still had a plan, of sorts. He grabbed one of the thick, hairy stems and started to climb. Though he couldn’t really see what he was doing through the glossy leaves, the gnarled main trunk formed a sturdy, if irregular, ladder. There were twinges of discomfort from the ribs he’d bruised a couple of weeks back, which didn’t help, but he tried to ignore the pain and concentrated on moving slowly and carefully.

  The com squawked, ‘Target sighted - don’t approach her.’

  Jarek started, nearly losing his grip, as the female team leader concluded, ‘Let the gas do our work for us.’

  Gas? Oh shit! So that was what the rebreather was for.

  He began to climb faster, feeling for his footholds when the trunk narrowed and divided. He should be coming up to the terrace soon. He leant out slightly and looked up and across.

  He didn’t remember the weather-shield being that transparent; surely there should be a faint shimmering? It was almost as though it wasn’t there any more.

  His left foot began to slip and he tightened his grip just as part of the vine tore away from the wall. He pressed himself into the leaves, his foot flailing.

  Almost as though echoing his own panic, a voice he hadn’t heard before came over the com, asking, ‘Control? Do you read? Where are you?’

  He found a new foothold, but now the whole damn vine was beginning to pull away from the building. He had to get his weight off it, fast. He leaned across to the right, blindly reaching for the edge of the terrace.

  Over the com a male voice muttered, ‘Holy fuck!’

  His hand found a solid surface and he braced himself for the bite of the weather-shield - but there was nothing. He walked his fingers in until he found a post, part of the fence his parents had installed when they found the shield wasn’t an adequate deterrent for a small boy with an insatiable curiosity and little sense of personal danger.

  He gripped the post and pulled himself up until he could peer over the lip of the terrace. The ornate legs of the white wicker-work table were beaded with water from the misty rain; the shield was definitely off. He reached further up the fencepost and took a firm hold. With a degree of uncomfortable contortion, and after a couple of dodgy moments, he managed to get his right leg onto the lip and from there he hauled himself up onto the narrow ledge outside the fence.

  As he stood upright it occurred to him that whatever had killed the intruder could have come from up here, but other than a new lounger, the terrace was exactly as he remembered it.

  As he put his foot onto the lower cross-rail of the fence the com started up again. ‘Control’s down! Control’s down!’ The man on the com sounded like he was about to lose it. Good. Jarek wondered what could have taken their leader out, not to mention the one he’d got the mask from. Just what had Elarn done to the house security while he’d been away?

  As he braced himself on the post and swung a leg over the fence, the door from the house slid open and a figure ran out onto the sun-terrace: someone unfeasibly tall, and yet hard to focus on; he must be wearing a mirror-tech cloak. Another figure followed on his heels: smaller, female. Her cloak was thrown back, revealing indoor clothes, as well as a slender, efficient-looking black rifle slung over her shoulder. Both of them bent over and started coughing hard.

  As the door closed behind them and the woman caught sight of Jarek straddling the fence she
tensed, then straightened and stared straight at him. Though her eyes were red and streaming, they were also, suddenly, the only thing in the universe. He knew those eyes - even as he felt her presence slip into his mind, starting to freeze him in place, he used the last of his will to rip the rebreather mask off and shout, ‘Nual! It’s me! S—Jarek!’

  He felt her momentary surprise and as the pressure let up his gaze was drawn to the long, silver blade that had suddenly appeared in her companion’s hand. Nual murmured something and the blade disappeared, faster than Jarek’s eyes could follow.

  The boy - and he was a boy, Jarek saw now, no more than late teens, and irritatingly pretty in a fey, scrawny way - gave Jarek a look of naked suspicion and said, ‘Who the fuck’re you, then?’ His voice was hoarse.

  So was Nual’s, presumably a side-effect of the gas, when she said, ‘Jarek is Elarn’s brother.’

  ‘Oh.’ Something about the way the boy’s expression changed instantly from hostile to wary and apologetic made Jarek’s blood run cold.