He took a lion’s portion of pizza and snagged two beers. Acacia joined him at his bedroll and leaned back, propping her plate between knees and stomach. She munched noisily, totally unashamed.
Alex managed to talk around a mouthful of pizza. “I’m not sure, but I think that this is my favorite part of this whole nutty business.” His hunger had teeth in it, and the cold brew tasted unbelievably good. Acacia mumbled something that sounded like agreement, and that was good enough for him. He watched Margie and S. J. finish setting up the campfire, and let the warmth sink into his bones. He was happy. He had found that untouched spot.
Some of the conversation around them showed nerves frayed by fatigue, but the air of grateful relaxation was contagious. Lady Janet seemed to be enjoying passing around the garlic bread. Alex wondered if it was an excuse to check out the eligible men, now that Leigh had been killed out. She curtsied saucily in front of him, smile a touch too predatory for his taste. “Hot bread, m’lord,” she said in her sexiest voice. “Sweeter than a virgin’s kiss.”
“That’s what I like. Service with a simile.” He couldn’t help but notice that Acacia had moved an inch closer to him as Janet made her play. “I’ll go for the bread, and I’ll take the kiss on faith—” But she had served Acacia and passed on.
Desert stars shone in clusters, sharp and bright on the black dome of Gaming Area A. The night was windless. A full belly moved him even further into an intoxicatingly mellow mood.
Acacia nudged him. “You know, I can’t put my finger on it, but you’re both more uptight, and more relaxed than you were yesterday.”
He flared at her. “Will you stop analyzing me for just a little while? You make me feel like a bug in biology class. Where’s your dissecting needle?”
“I’ve got sharp teeth, if that would help.”
The anger had flared and vanished with no trace remaining. Alex chewed the inside of his mouth and tried not to smile. “Now you, young lady, are what is properly known as a tease. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“And has anyone ever told you that you’ve got beautiful green eyes? I mean, talk about character. They damn near match the green peppers on my pizza.”
Stifling a guffaw, he tried to edge away from her. “Whew. Just what is into you tonight?”
She ran a finger down his arm, her face deadpan. “Do you mean right now, or what am I hoping for later . . .?”
Alex fell back on the sleeping bag, laughing helplessly. “Punchy,” he gasped. “Fatigue toxins. I think I like it.”
The Gamers ate like starved wolves. Many had already finished. Holly and Gwen were swapping lines from songs on the far side of the fire.
Without a wind to stir it up, the fire burned slowly and steadily, only an occasional pop from an exploding green branch stirring up the ashes. Alex slipped his boots off and moved his feet closer to the flame. He looked around, noting that a few people were missing from the circle. Henderson, Gina, McWhirter, Eames, and Lady Janet. Ah-ha. What kind of little party was going on out there?
Holly dragged Gwen up to the fireside, and broke the air with a loud cough. “Hey, listen, people. How many of you know that we have a celebrity in our midst?” A few boozy cheers egged her on. “This young lady actually has a couple of Nashville albums, and I want to get her singing for us.” Mary-em in particular led the shouting approval.
Gwen looked terrified. “Uh . . . I only sang backup on a few tracks. Ollie?” She swallowed hard, eyes begging him to get her out of this.
Ollie didn’t notice; he waved her on. “Go on, Gwen! Hey, people, she’s really good!”
There was something in Gwen’s eyes that Alex didn’t like at all, a touch of genuine fear that touched him deeply. part of him wanted to tell everyone to leave her to hell alone. He restrained himself. Don’t be conspicuous, O Griffin. Don’t make waves. Wishing he were someone else.
Mary-em jumped up, grinning ear-to-ear. “Oh, come on, honey. Holly an’ I’ll help you through it. Do you know ‘The Fighter’s Lament’?” The Gamers roared their approval, and Mary-em linked arms with Gwen, Holly on the other side, and began to croak out a tune, Gwen’s high, sweet contralto finally wavering from an unwilling throat:
“I once had a sword, or should I say, it once had me.
I just picked it up, oh what a sword, it was plus three.
Its Ego was twelve, a fact of which I wasn’t aware;
Then I tried to leave and I found that the sword didn’t care; oh . . .”
Gwen’s voice faltered, but the Gamers, most of them roaring along to the tune of an obscure 20th century ballad, didn’t notice at all.
“I walked through the halls, wasting my time, nothing to find.
Then I turned a corner, and then I said, ‘Oh no! Undead!’
The thirty-two Wights saw me coming and started to laugh;
And I closed my eyes as my sword started hewing a path; oh—”
Gwen abruptly tore herself away from the other women and ran from the firelit circle with her hands covering her face. Ollie gaped in astonishment. He rose and ran after her.
Holly and Mary-em were shocked, and Mary-em started to follow the sobbing girl, but Holly linked arms with her tightly, holding her, forcing her to sing on.
“And when I awoke, I was alone, that sword had flown.
Now I use a club; isn’t it good . . . no-ego wood.”
Mary-em disengaged herself from Holly and looked up at her. At first she didn’t say anything. Then, I’m really not sure that this was a good idea, Holly.”
Frost laughed. “Oh, come off it, Mary. Who could have known the little thing would be so skittish?”
“I could have. You could have. We could have listened. She said she doesn’t sing in front of an audience—”
Holly stepped back and regarded her uncertainly. “Well aren’t we being a little goody-good this evening? I didn’t notice you defending her.” The two stared at each other for a tense moment, then Holly turned on her heel and walked away.
Oddly, the other Gamers had noticed little. One clump was singing. Another surrounded Owen and Margie, who were speaking of older, wilder, looser Games. “—Doors that could open anywhere in space and time. One afternoon we were running the Khronal Dungeon, and we opened a door and found ourselves looking out into the living room where we were playing. One of the characters shot the Game Master with a crossbow bolt, and the whole Dungeon disappeared!”
More beer was being consumed, the last of the pizza was gone. Couples were breaking away from the fireside to find privacy. But Mary-em seemed, for the first time that Griffin had seen her, totally unnerved.
Eames wobbled out of the woods, a beer in his hand, plastic smile stretched tight across his face. He leered at Mary-em and she folded her arms, tucking her hands in her armpits. “What are you staring at, Eames?”
He laughed. When he spoke it was in the ingratiating tones usually reserved for idiots and children. “What’s a matter, huh? Isn’t she feeling himself tonight?”
The other voices died. Griffin felt danger tightening in the air. Are we all going crazy? He wanted to scream a warning. Then Acacia’s hand was on his neck, stroking him. It felt very nice, very comfortable, and suddenly he could do nothing but watch.
Let it happen, he thought. He’s an asshole anyway . . . He shook his head like a drunk going down for the third time and wondered what the hell was in that beer?
Eames said, “You know, Mary-em, I don’t like you at all. You are one of the homeliest, most ridiculous little witches I have ever laid eyes on, and I wish—”
Mary-em’s fist shot out like a piston, almost level, catching Eames squarely in the groin. He whoofed air and doubled over, swinging a wild reflexive haymaker. Mary-em went under it and came up, snatched two handfuls of. Eames’s hair. Both of her feet left the ground as she rammed her knees into his face.
Eames shot upright and stumbled back with his face covered in blood. Back into a corner of the fire. He did a ragged hop, tryi
ng to stay clear. Then his mind gave up trying to guide his body, and he did a slow spiral to the ground, onto his knees, then flat on his bloody face.
Mary-em looked at him, and tears began to stream down her eyes. She wiped at the streaks with a chubby hand, then walked unsteadily to her bedroll and collapsed into a ball, sobbing.
Everyone stared, then, embarrassed, turned back to their own little groups and couplets. Griffin felt a vague urge to get up and do something, but once again Acacia’s hand dissuaded him.
“Don’t worry,” she said, her mouth close enough to his ear for him to feel the heat in her breath. “They’ll both be all right.”
He tried to find surprise, indignation, any emotion more appropriate than the one that was starting to stir. “All right then. What’s on the agenda, more songs?”
She took his face in her hands and brushed his lips with hers. “Se algunos juegos para mayores, hombre.” she whispered.
Griffin spoke little Spanish, but the message in her eyes needed no translation at all. He had trouble finding his voice. “Let’s go play Pathfinder, shall we?”
Her smile was hot enough to scorch. She rose, then bent and demurely collected her bedroll. She glanced up and said with half-lidded eyes: I think we may need this.”
He felt giddy, dizzy, and not totally sure of what he was doing as he nodded, gathering his own bag under his arm. Together, the two of them walked into the darkness and kept walking until the campfire and its noises were far behind them.
Acacia kissed him gently, almost shyly. “Here?”
He spread his sleeping bag down in silent agreement. They linked the inside edges together and sat next to each other, eyes locked wonderingly. “I didn’t . . . I really didn’t think that this was going to happen, Gary.” She shied away an inch, and he reached out his hand.
He knew what he should be saying, and he forced his thickened tongue to say it. “it doesn’t have to if you don’t want it.” He tried to mean it.
“We both know better than that.. .” She seemed to want to say something, but he stopped her by leaning forward.
The kiss seemed to go on forever, and what logic was left in Alex’s head dissolved together. His blood seemed to fizz. She held him, and he could feel her nervousness.
“Help me, Gary. I don’t understand it. I don’t. I want you, but I don’t know what’s happening to me.” There was no strength in her voice. She sounded like a little girl . . . but her skin was smooth and hot, and he couldn’t stop touching her. Excitement and wonder burned in her eyes as he helped her off with her clothes and she clung to him, fingers digging into the muscle of his shoulders. When at last he pulled the bag over them both and took her in his arms, she closed her eyes, murmuring only “Please, please, Gary. . .”
Gary. Not Alex. He paused, unsure, gazing into eyes that were afraid. He felt the fire that roared in his mind and body and from somewhere gathered the strength to pull away. Something’s wrong here. She’s not—The crazy way the others were—Lopez wouldn’t drug us, but—
Then she rolled hard against him, and the questions I were wiped away as they began to move together. The same fear, the same wonder he felt was in her eyes too, but there was something more now, something that began to build until at last it clouded his vision. And for a while, in that moment without time, there were no longer two people who strove and sought, there was only one body with four limbs that found a rhythm of its own.
When the everlasting moment was over, when he held her and she buried her face against his chest and cried, he stroked her hair and looked into the darkness surrounding them both and doubted his sanity. I can’t be feeling this, he thought I can’t. But the words rang hollow even to him.
Presently the force took them again, with equal power, as if the whole universe were moving in them, irresistably. Afterward he held her, and she held him, and together, without words, they waited for morning.
Chapter Twenty-Three
BLACK FIRE
Birdsong woke him. Real or recorded? Alex opened gummy eyelids and looked into the face of the woman sleeping in his arms. He watched her for a bit, almost holding his breath. Her breathing was slow and even, and she wore a slight smile. A smug smile?
Unbidden, his brain called up vivid tactile images of last night. My God, he thought, disbelieving. That was one hell of a powerful experience! He watched her face, tenderly, and wondered when she would wake up. Then more memories intruded.
Eames’ malice, Gwen’s fright, Mary-em’s tears. They fell into a pattern.
Neutral scent.
Why didn’t I see it?
Because my brain was running on neutral scent. And it activates emotions already there . . . omygod.
He shook Acacia until she stirred and clung to him, making baby sounds her lips curled in a satisfied smile. Her eyes opened. They seemed huge to him, and it was all he could do to merely smile in return.
“Morning, handsome,” she yawned. She snuggled closer to him in the bag. “You certainly know how to treat a lady.”
“Wish we had time for thirds.”
“Well?”
“I’m starting to remember things. We’d better get back to the others. We could be facing a disaster.”
He wriggled out from between the bags and stretched, the cool windless morning air sweeping away the remaining cobwebs
Acacia watched, the bag pulled up to her neck, as he pulled on his pants. “Are you sure we have to get back?” She still seemed half-asleep.
Alex nodded and pulled his sleeping bag from atop her. She shivered and yelped, scrambling for her clothes. She was saying something to him, but he wasn’t listening
Why? Why would a thief waste something so valuable on a vicious practical joke?
Not until she threw her arms around his neck did he snap alert. “Hey there, you. You’re strange. I mean really odd, but I like you anyway.” She bunched up her sleeping bag and tucked it under an arm.
She had to run to keep up with him, and some part of him felt sorry that he didn’t have more to share with her. But sorry or not, he had to deal with something far more urgent: the thief knew who he was. He must have used some of his stolen flask of “neutral scent” to put The Griffin out of action while . . . while what? What was the thief doing last night?
The campground was a mess. Gamers, littered the ground. S. J. had gotten sick on himself. Mary-em lay on her side beneath a twisted old tree, far from her sleeping bag. Dried tears streaked her face. Owen and Margie lay close to the ashes of last night’s fire, half out of their zipped-together bags, both naked, their clothes piled untidily about them.
Adrenalin-doped blood pounded in Alex’s throat. Too few. Where are the rest?
Eames? Alex spotted the Warrior curled up with Captured Princess. Check.
Chester? Stumped sitting up, with his face between his knees. And Tony was splayed out near the Lore Master’s feet, snoring loudly. His twisted sleeping bag must be half strangling him. Red scratches laced his cheeks.
S. J. Waters: in his bag, sleeping like a baby. Gina: missing. Now what was Gina doing away from Chester?
Maibang and Kibugonai: missing, maybe getting breakfast. What tendencies in an actor might be accented by it neutral scent?
Gwen? Ollie? “Cass, do you see Ollie or Gwen? Or Maibang?”
“Maibang left when the Game broke off last night. Gwen and Ollie generally go off in the bushes anyway . . .” But she looked worried now. “I’ll go after them.”
“Good. Anyone else you find, too.”
Acacia pushed off into the Brazilian plant life, calling.
Chester Henderson’s head jerked upright. He wiped his eyes clear with the back of his hand and looked about him. The sense of something seriously wrong came home to him, and when he saw Alex he frowned. The Lore Master pulled himself up and paused a moment to balance. “All right, Tegner. What do you know about this?”
“I don’t know much. I know we were all crazy last night, and I don’t think it
was the beer.”
Henderson still seemed woozy. He jumped up and down a few times to get his circulation going, and surveyed his Gaming party. “What a mess. If Lopez spiked those pizzas—” He shook his head. “That’s too crazy.”
He reached down to shake Mary-em’s shoulder. Griffin took his cue and woke up Eames, checking the big man’s face for damage. There didn’t seem to be much more than a badly split lip. Eames winced the first time he tried to move; then got up, moving like an old man, and went over to Mary-em. They sat down together and spoke in low voices.
By now most of the Gamers were awake and moving. Neutral scent didn’t leave a hangover . . . not a physical hangover, anyway. Gina came wobbling in out of the woods, and Griffin cocked a curious ear when Chester went to meet her. The Lore Master reached a hand out to her, stroking her red hair, and she huddled at his chest. “Are you all right, Gina?” She nodded wordlessly.
“I really don’t remember much. After you got into logic puzzles with S. J. I just wandered off.” She could tell that her answer seemed to bother him. “Really, Ches. I wasn’t with anyone. I just wanted to be alone.”
Chester nodded, stiffly, and moved away to wake S. J.
Ollie and Gwen and Acacia emerged from the woods. All three seemed subdued. Acacia moved up next to Alex to whisper, “You were right. Bad vibes. Could have been something in the pizza?”
“I doubt it.”
“Or the bread,” she said, looking toward the Captured Princess. But Janet too had that bewildered look: Was it really me doing that? Acacia shrugged. “Just this once, I wish the cameras stayed on at night.”
“Damn right,” Alex said. It would have nailed the bastard early, saved me this trip . . . Did he really want that? It would have saved Rice, he thought, sidestepping.
Even the Braddons were stirring now. Owen’s eyes popped wide, and he disappeared into the bag like a snail into its shell. He must have signalled Margie from down there; she blinked, looked down into the bag, then looked around her. Her eyes rolled—it looked like self-mockery—and she was sliding down to join her husband when Gina took pity on them, threw somebody’s sleeping bag over them, and began shoving clothes in under the edge.
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