"Yeah, well, I don't trust you either. Especially not since the mare is so insistent the spell's been destroyed by some foolishness on your part."
"You are the foolish one," Jess said, her voice barely audible to Jaime. "You come after him again and again. I will kill you when I can."
A chill ran through Jaime as she recognized the utter intent in Jess' voice. She no longer worried if Jess would move when she had to—she worried that she wouldn't wait, wouldn't realize there was more to this than just Mark and Carey. She stretched up, just enough to get her bearings before she crept forward again. The sound of her own movement nearly obscured Derrick's laugh. Good. He thinks he's already won.
"She's spunky. I can see why you used her on that run. Too bad I didn't get the chance to ride her myself." Then his voice changed. "The spell, Carey. First put that bow down—no, give it to your friend there. It'll keep his hands full. Then bring the spell here—slowly. As soon as I'm satisfied, I'll let your little filly go."
Jaime could see the man now, and got down to her hands and knees, sinking to the pavement each time Derrick seemed to glance her way. Then she was at the edge of the two lots, on her stomach, and not ready to go any further.
Carey took the quiver off his shoulder, held it and the bow up so Derrick could see them clearly, and handed them to Mark.
"Hold them out," Derrick said as Mark's hands fell to his sides and, reluctantly, Mark did so. He and Carey exchanged a quick look before the courier stepped out away from him, holding out their hastily concocted fake, the other hand palm up in placation. He slid down the short, steep bank between the lots without seeming to notice it was there, and stopped a few feet away from Derrick and Jess.
"C'mon, c'mon, let's see it," Derrick said impatiently, snaking his gun arm around Jess' neck to keep that threat alive while he reached for the paper. Jaime held her breath, waiting for Carey to pick his moment—but it was Jess who moved. As Derrick snatched the bogus spell, Jess twisted her head and sunk her teeth into his hand, exploding into offensive elbows and feet.
Derrick yelped as Jess ducked out of his weakened grip and whirled around, but not to run—to attack. Carey was there first, grabbing at the gun. Seconds passed in a scuffle too close for Jaime to identify either man, and she jumped to her feet and slid down the bank, stopping with the gun held out in both almost steady hands. "Derrick!" she screamed, trying to startle him, succeeding only in startling Carey and giving Derrick the opening to slap his gun across Carey's face.
Carey staggered back, stumbled, fell to his knees. Appalled, Jaime tightened her grip on the gun and shouted in best TV cop fashion, "Drop it!"
It didn't work; he didn't even seem to hear her as he brought his gun to bear on Carey, who was still stunned, wobbly, and trying to get to his feet. Oh my God I'm going to have to kill him—but suddenly she didn't think she could.
She never found out. Jess was there, wresting the automatic from her grasp, shoving it against Derrick's chest and pulling the trigger not once but three times, creating an oddly muffled noise that matched the jerking of Derrick's body. He fell with the peculiar wet thud of dead meat; Jess stared at the gun in her hand, holding it away from her as if it was a week-old road kill, then deliberately dropping it to the pavement.
Jaime snatched it up and handed it off to Mark as he ran up; he took it almost absently as he knelt to check Derrick's body. It was only a moment more before both Eric and Dayna were there, too, gaping at the man Jess had killed, but Jess seemed oblivious to all of it as she crouched by Carey, touching his face where the blood ran freely. When he finally responded to her, dazed but reaching out a reassuring arm, she dropped her head into the hollow of his shoulder and kept it there, shivering but silent.
Dayna didn't gape long. Ever practical, she said, "We've got to get out of here. The porch lights just came on all the way down the street."
Carey didn't seem to hear her. He gently disengaged from Jess and made it to Derrick's body without ever making it to his feet, feeling around the man's neck. With a small satisfied sound, he pulled out a chain strung with small stones and crystals. As he sat back, his fingers closing around the gems in possessive relief, he glanced up at Jaime and said, "We can go home now."
"Not if the police get here first," Dayna warned.
"She's right, Carey," Jaime said, reaching for Jess, who was still curled up into a shoulder that was no longer there.
"Not even the police can stop me if I invoke this," Carey said, but he drew himself together and stood, wiping the back of his hand across his face, where the blood from his split and puffy brow still ran. He took a deep breath, bent and touched Jess, and drew her upright. "I'll take Derrick," he said almost absently as he carefully brushed a hand over Jess' cheek, clearing away the parking lot grit that had stuck to her tears, but leaving traces of his own blood. "That way no one here can get in trouble over him."
Dayna was gathering the guns, wiping them thoroughly on the tail of her shirt. "You won't want these going back with you," she said. "We'll dump 'em in the reservoir. Carey, I don't want to sound heartless, but if you're going to go, dammit, go."
"No," Jaime protested without thinking. "All his gear is at my place, and the gold—"
Carey shook his head. "She's right—"
"We can't stand around arguing about it," Mark said abruptly. "Eric, take this guy's hands; I'll get his feet. We'll throw him in the back of the pickup and talk about this somewhere else."
Eric complied with a swiftness that bespoke his worry, although Jaime decided they'd already been too long, that the police would have been here if they'd been called. The shots were muffled . . . she picked up the bow and quiver Mark had dropped, and they all moved in procession, led by Eric at the head of Derrick's body. While Mark and Eric manhandled Derrick's body into the truck—thank goodness they could just hose the bed out—Carey removed his arm from Jess' shoulders and swung her around to face him. "I think you should stay here, Jess," he said softly.
"Here?" Jess repeated, bewildered. "You don't want me?"
"You called her 'Jess,' " Jaime said in a low voice. Not Lady. Jess.
Carey spared her only a glance. "Once I told you that you would always be Lady—that magic couldn't change the nature of who you were." He stared into her eyes, used his thumb to wipe away the last traces of grit beneath her eye, and then lightly kissed the spot where it'd been. "Maybe magic couldn't—but you did. There's more to you than there ever was to Lady, and if you come back with me, you're going to lose it all."
"I don't want to leave you," Jess said, her low and occasionally husky voice now thick with new tears. "There is no rule that can make me leave you."
"But, Jess," Carey said, and to Jaime's ears he sounded stunned, "if you come, you're going to lose you."
"Now that is just too sweet."
The voice startled them all, and Mark quickly slammed the truck cap door closed, while the rest of them searched for the new participant in their little drama. Jaime closed her eyes when she recognized Derrick's pal Ernie. He was leaning casually against a tree that bordered the parking lot, but there was nothing casual about the silenced gun he had trained on them. "Figured I was out of a payroll when she nailed Derrick," he said, nodding at Jess. "And then I heard you say something about gold. I'm interested. Real interested. In fact, I think I'll want to keep a couple of these ladies with me until one of you gents brings that gold back to me."
"Whatever he was paying you, it was too much," Carey said. "It didn't go too far toward keeping him alive, did it?"
Ernie shrugged, unoffended. "I was watching her," he said, tipping the gun at Jaime. "He said he could handle the trade. I guess he was wrong."
"No more wrong than you, if you think we're going to trot off and bring you back gold." Carey's voice was hard, and it suddenly made Jaime consider how different his life must have been from hers, and that his past must hold the experience that hardened that voice. And though she wanted to protest his reaction, fearful i
t would simply set Ernie off, a small voice told her to let him handle it.
"Oh, I think you will," Ernie said easily. "You know, it's not true what they say about silencers. They don't really silence the gun. It's a popping kind of noise—about the same kind of noise it makes when a bullet hits a kneecap."
Jaime couldn't believe her ears. Where had Derrick found this guy in little Marion, Ohio?
"That one, I think," Ernie said, pointing the gun at Jess. "Everyone seems to be so concerned about her. And she's such a pretty thing. Be a shame to see her hobbling around on a leg that doesn't bend anymore, don't you think?"
Jess made a sound in her throat that both Jaime and Carey recognized as the threat it was; Carey stepped in front of her. It was meant to restrain and not protect her, but Ernie's false affability vanished. The gun bucked slightly, and Eric yelped as the glass door of the truck cap shattered, spraying him with shards.
"Even if the police aren't coming, I don't want to hang around here all night," Ernie said in annoyance. "I want the women to move back into the parking lot, and I want you to go get that gold." His voice rose to an abrupt shout that startled them all. "Now!"
Jaime wasn't sure just what happened next, as Dayna took a first hesitant step toward the parking lot. Suddenly they were all moving, and Jess flashed past her, but she jerked up short as someone swung her around, trading places—the gun popped, there was a cry of pain—and then Jaime was caught in a crushing grip, unable to even call out to the freeze frame of her friends around her. She was yanked and twisted and wrung out like dirty laundry, then dumped, gasping, onto ground that in no way resembled the parking lot of the YMCA.
* * *
The ground was damp and bare, covered with prickly stemmed, low growing plants. It smelled . . . spicy. Jaime dared to open her eyes and quickly closed them against bright sunlight. But . . . she couldn't hide forever. She rolled over and pushed herself to her knees, opening her eyes once and for all.
The area was littered with bodies in various states of disarray; only Carey was, like Jaime, slowly climbing to his feet; he pulled himself up on the tailgate of the pickup, a vehicle that was totally, almost hilariously out of place. Jaime stumbled over to him, trying to voice some coherent question, when suddenly she thought, Jess. She whirled, a move turned clumsy with her yet-uncoordinated limbs, and searched the prone figures for one that matched Jess. Instead, off to the side, she found a dun mare, stretched flat on her side and adorned with the rags of what used to be clothes.
"Jess," she whispered, horrified, and turned to Carey. His eyes were closed, but the pain on his face left no question that he'd seen the mare.
The others were stirring, and Carey's eyes opened, hard again, the pain safely tucked away. He walked, almost steadily, to Ernie, pulling the gun out of the other's loose grip, then wobbled a few steps backward so he could take in the whole group at the same time. The surprise and dismay on his face was Jaime's first clue that there was something else going on here, something she'd missed. Dayna's cry of alarm drew her attention to Eric's still form, and she felt something deep within her twitch in horror.
"Eric!" Dayna wailed, crawling closer to her friend, trying to turn him over. Carey took a few impotent steps forward and then stopped, looking away from the scene that Jaime had not . . . quite . . . The gunshot. She remembered the gunshot, and the cry of pain, and she dove for Eric, helping Dayna turn him.
There was really very little blood. It was Eric's blank eyes and slackly hanging jaw that looked so terribly dead, the way his arm flopped to the ground as they turned him. Dayna tentatively touched his face, and her brief moment of disbelief turned to a flood of grief as she threw herself over him and wailed.
When Jaime looked up, still too stunned to feel anything but the initial dread, she found Mark crawling, horrified, to join them. He reached a trembling hand out to confirm that what he saw was real, but didn't quite—couldn't seem to—touch Eric's body. Jaime finally did what no one else seemed capable of, and closed Eric's wide-open eyes.
"Just stay right there on the ground," Carey said harshly, a voice out of synch with their grief, and close enough to the edge of reason that Jaime turned to see what he was talking about. She found Ernie, flat on his back on the bare, rocky ground and carefully compliant. But then his mouth opened, and once started, he couldn't seem to stop the words that poured out.
"Where the hell are we, huh? Take me back, man, take me back! I won't give you any more trouble, I don't even know you and your damn gold exist. Derrick wasn't anything to me—take me back, and I'll make sure nobody ever bothers you, and I mean nobody. I've got connections—"
"None of 'em will do you any good from here," Carey said coldly, cutting off the panicked rush of words. He absently wiped the slowing trickle of blood from his face, trauma left over from another world. "We can't take you back. I wouldn't if I could. You've killed a friend, and now you're going to get a taste of this world's justice."
"Carey—" Jaime started, but when he looked at her, she couldn't do anything but shake her head. She suddenly felt she couldn't stomach any more violence, not even retribution. Carey watched her a moment and must have deciphered her unspoken thoughts. He lowered Ernie's gun so it was no longer a threat.
"Okay, Jaime," he said. "It doesn't matter anyway. Let him learn to survive here—that's punishment enough." To Ernie, he said, "You got questions? Figure 'em out for yourself. But I don't want to see you while you're doing it."
Ernie sat, his wild glance going from Carey to Jaime and back again; he couldn't quite believe any of it yet.
"Go," Carey said, softly dangerous. "Before I change my mind."
Ernie scrabbled to his feet and ran, stumbling, looking back more than he looked ahead.
"He'll die out there," Jaime said, more to herself than anyone else.
But Carey shook his head. "He'll survive. His kind always does." He looked at the huddle of friends, considered them, and finally turned to Jess.
Or maybe, Jaime thought, maybe now it was Lady again. She tore herself away from Eric's side, where Mark had gathered Dayna into his arms, and moved over to Carey and the dun mare, much steadier on her feet now. Carey crouched by the animal, running his hands along her side; she stirred, flipping her nose off the ground a few times before she gave a chillingly human groan.
It did what Eric's death couldn't. It drove home all the sorrows of their situation, and Jaime suddenly found that tears were running down her face, that a sob choked her throat.
"No," Carey murmured, though she wasn't sure to whom, until he took her arm and shook it. "Not now, Jaime—help me get her to her feet."
She stared blankly, pulled up the bottom of her shirt to wipe her face, and blinked at him.
"Remember Sabre after the magic?" he asked, short, clipped words in a strained voice; he snatched a remnant of Jess' jeans and threw them aside. "Remember the other horses? They didn't understand, and it was more than they could take."
Shock can kill a horse. Her fears from that day echoed in her mind, and her tears miraculously vanished. Hands and knees, she moved to Jess and joined Carey in freeing her from the leftover clothes. Then, with Carey pushing from behind, she moved to the mare's head and urged her to get up, starting with pleas and quickly deteriorating into an absurd tug-of-war, her hands entwined in the dark, thick mane behind black-tipped ears.
"Maybe this isn't such a good idea," Jaime panted, pausing to readjust her grip. "Maybe we should just give her some quiet, some time to adjust—" She broke off at Carey's unyielding expression.
"No," he said firmly, a denial touched with anger. "I know her. She's got to get up, get moving . . . get distracted." He stared down at the muscled rump before him and gave it a sudden kick.
"Carey!" Jaime gasped, although he'd turned his foot so he was not digging her with his booted toe.
He ignored her. "Get up, Lady, burn you! Get up!" He punctuated each command with another kick, and the dun stirred; Jaime danced back out of t
he way and back behind the horse, bending over to add her own, less violent incentive—thumbs over sensitive ribs. Lady gave a grunt of pure annoyance and in one quick heave, was on her feet. She shook herself off and then stood dully, her head down so far her nose almost touched the ground. Carey quickly moved to her head, crouching down and touching her forehead with his. "Don't you dare," he whispered to her. "Don't you dare give up, Jess. I know you're in there somewhere. You've got to be." He stood and gently tugged her head up with her forelock. "You got anything in the back of the truck I can use as a halter?" he asked Jaime, never looking away from his . . . horse.
"Maybe," she sighed, a noise of fatigue—and the realization that they had only begun to tackle their problems. "I'll check."
She was rooting around in the truck, trying not to touch Derrick's body, when Dayna's first shriek rent the air. What now? Turning awkwardly in the confined space, she discovered Mark holding the small woman back, while Dayna, in the strength of her anger, was proving almost impossible to restrain.
"You bastard!" Dayna screamed across the hard, scrubby ground, looking after Ernie. Jaime scooted her bottom across the tailgate and hopped to the ground, only then able to see that Ernie lingered at the fringes of a small patch of brushy woods. She ran to Mark's side, grabbing at Dayna's twisted shirt, interposing herself between Ernie and Dayna's fiery wrath—with no effect on Dayna. "You bastard!" she repeated, jerking herself out of Jaime's grasp at the expense of several buttons. "I'll kill you! You're going to die for this!"
Suddenly Jaime felt a pressure, as though a transparent force field had traveled through her body and left her behind; she jerked around to look and saw nothing . . . except Ernie, staggering out of the woods and falling to the ground.
"Stop her!" Carey shouted. "Stop her, Mark!" He left Lady and sprinted toward them, not slowing as he tackled Mark and Dayna together and brought them all to the ground. All except Jaime, who stared first at the tangled mess of her friends and then at Ernie, who had struggled to his feet and disappeared into the woods with no time wasted.
Changespell 01 Dunn Lady's Jess Page 16
