Miss Brandymoon's Device: a novel of sex, nanotech, and a sentient lava lamp (Divided Man Book 1)

by Skelley, Rune

  “It’s you,” the man said in a surprised voice. Raven kicked him in the groin.

  The man folded and dropped the light, which she grabbed. It was a hefty truncheon-style thing. She raked the beam over him and stopped, looking stunned. He wore a green sweater, not the black commando suit Marcus expected. Marcus could almost hear whatever snapped inside her. The blows she delivered were inefficient, but the man couldn’t ward them off. Once he was sprawled on the pavement she paused, breathing heavily.

  Marcus still held Fin over his shoulder and hadn’t moved since the light appeared. He put his free hand on her shoulder. A calculated risk.

  She almost hit him. She stopped herself and took a steadying breath.

  “I think he came from the van right here. Come on.” Marcus headed over toward the vehicle before he finished speaking and Raven tagged along. The side door was open, revealing a satellite dish aimed at the building.

  “Let’s take it and get out of here,” Marcus dictated, heading around to the driver’s side.

  “Wait, I don’t think that’s smart. Too conspicuous.”

  “So we ditch it and improvise later.”

  “There are plenty of cars over there that would draw far less attention.” She gestured toward the fence. “We should check them out first.”

  “No time. Let’s roll!”

  Raven gritted her teeth. “Marcus, look at what’s here. Don’t you think they’ll track it? These are the guys causing all the chaos in there. When we escape, I want it to last more than ten minutes.”

  He scowled at the twinkling lights and humming electronics crammed into the van, and rolled his eyes toward Raven.

  “Please stay with me right now.” Her voice, desperate and pleading, was impossible for Marcus to ignore. Raven needed him.

  By the third car tension was building again. The attackers had been thorough in disabling the vehicles parked outside. Marcus was on the verge of demanding they take the van when the garage door began opening. The black sedan squealed out when there was barely room for it under the door, its engine roaring as it sped by Raven and Marcus and out through the mangled gate. He caught a glimpse of Kyle in the driver’s seat.

  Without a word or a look, Raven ran into the garage. Marcus said, “Fuck,” under his breath and waited to see what she was planning. She climbed into the cab of the truck and backed out. Marcus chuckled.

  While she cut the wheels and fished around for low gear, he tossed Fin into the back and jumped up after.

  Chapter Twelve

  SANCTUARY

  Down South there is a movement to endorse a so-called ‘Covenant Marriage,’ that would require counseling before marriage and make divorces harder to get. This proves marriage is useless. If it were worthwhile and desirable, would so many people plan for its demise? Covenant Marriage is just the flip side of prenuptial agreements. Both plan for the end, one financially, one emotionally. If you trust your partner, there is no need to plan for the day he or she will stab you in the back.

  from Useless Artifacts opinion column by Brandy Moon, CTP, 08-25-2000

  Marcus sat with his back against the wall of the truck and regarded his companion and rival. Surely he’d never get a better chance to dispose of Fin, and, just as surely would regret it if he passed it up. At the same time it would be unclean to move against his opponent now. Fin’s present vulnerability was some other’s doing. Besides, he was broken, and might die on his own.

  Marcus thought about his last conversation with Fin, right here in this truck. The little shit had been cocky and defiant. He’d also been right. The place did come under attack, allowing the three prisoners to escape, but ironically helping Fin the least.

  All of this created a fog around Marcus, rather than helping him see what to do. He could feel the full symptoms of the day’s beatings, druggings and other mistreatments. The fatigue and the motion of the truck were pulling him into a physical fog as well.

  He drew a deep breath, stretched, and willed himself to sharp attention to call for his spirit guide. He needed a vision. Pushing doubt from his thoughts, he concentrated on the enigma of Fin.

  Was he an idiot, like he seemed? Had the clairvoyance been only a weird piece of luck? Or did Fin have powerful medicine and act foolish only so people wouldn’t guess? Chaos surrounded him, but did he control it, or it him? Marcus couldn’t write him off. There was a chance this was a genuine god, a trickster-god, helpless before him. What kind of trickster would Marcus be if he didn’t steal a little of that medicine?

  Interrogation at the hands of Shaw accounted for Fin’s broken condition. Fin must have resisted, too. Marcus steadied his resolve as he reflexively recoiled from the memory of his own session. The pain was necessary, like the agonizing pangs of the fast while on a vision quest. Push through.

  Marcus recalled the way his will had been bent aside and another’s reached within his mind. Push. Live in the remembered pain. He bent his own defenses aside, making himself more receptive, listening for the hints to these tricks of the mind. In this state he didn’t need to make excuses for being awed by Fin, could hate and admire him simultaneously. He rolled the strange sheath back a bit further, opening up even more than Shaw forced him to, and waited.

  Things started slipping wrongward. A new pain terrified Marcus. He considered pushing through it, but only for a millisecond. Stretched like taffy, dizzy, he fell toward some seething gulf, a rip in space. He roused himself from his trance but the pain didn’t stop.

  Fin was a black hole. His vessel, now emptied, hungrily tried to refill itself. Marcus had reached too close and fallen within the influence of this psychic gravity.

  Convulsions wracked Marcus’s body, but he remained alert and aware of everything. The attenuation increased, his mind and spirit distorted and unspooling into the void.

  Stopping the pull proved impossible. Marcus fought to keep from disappearing into the pit. He lurched to his feet and stared wild-eyed at Fin. He could shove him out of the truck. Maybe that would help.

  Doubt froze him. Killing Fin now might be suicide.

  Marcus wasn’t accustomed to being assailed by fear and doubt. A warrior doesn’t feel fear, only anger. A trickster doesn’t doubt himself. He was Coyote, creator of the next world. He could not allow himself to falter. No unclean mongrel could sabotage his destiny! A blast of rage surged through him and along the tendril of himself dwindling away into Fin. It made the pain worse, further stoking his anger. Marcus felt on the verge of aneurysm when Fin let go.

  Marcus slumped back against the wall, semi-conscious. He had burned off a portion of his mental taffy, but he was free.

  The truck slowed and stopped. Marcus looked out and saw a quiet street. The driver’s door shut and Raven appeared at the rear gate a moment later. She regarded the men warily. Not his fearless Raven, then. Rook.

  “I think I wiped off all my prints up there.”

  Marcus blinked but didn’t move. Rook tilted her head to the left a bit, and said, “How was the ride back here? Nobody fell out, I see.”

  Marcus let out a heavy breath and climbed down from the truck. Rook hoisted herself up and began wiping the interior surfaces with a balled-up newspaper while Marcus tugged one of Fin’s legs. She speeded up her efforts, in order to get over to Fin in time to assist Marcus with lowering him.

  They moved down the street, supporting Fin between them. Here in the fraternity district this was unlikely to attract any notice, especially at three in the morning. The cool air helped Marcus clear his head.

  They paused to rest after five blocks, and Marcus asked where they were taking Fin.

  “I think his place would be dangerous. So, what I had in mind,” she gave Marcus a searching look, “was Talisman.”

  Marcus scowled.

  She added quickly, “Just until I find some other place.”

  “Why don’t we dump him on a well-lit corner and call an ambulance?”

  “He doesn’t need an ambulance,” she said.
<
br />   “Fine. Even simpler.”

  “Asshole.” Rook pushed up her sleeves. “Fine. Go. I’ll manage.”

  “Manage what?”

  “You could try to pay attention. I’ll get him someplace safe. Go away.” Rook tried to take Fin, who had one arm draped around Marcus. As she struggled, Marcus pitched on turbulent waves of indecision. He could almost think that if he let Rook go now, called her bluff, she’d give up dragging her inert fling after two blocks and run right into his arms. Then again, she might not. He also didn’t feel right about leaving her to fall into the gaping void in Fin’s head, which she was certain to do.

  There was no probability Rook could be persuaded to leave Fin, not right now. To her he was like a helpless lost kitten or something. Maybe the best thing would be to drown it, but if he did she would hate him for it. If she didn’t kill him outright to prevent it.

  Rook tugged on Fin’s left arm, while Marcus listlessly held on to his right. Fin represented the power balance here, and all Marcus could do was stall and hope for some kind of insight. Letting Rook go was bad news. To hold on to her, he had to hold on to Fin.

  With a dry mouth Marcus said, “You’re right, this time you’re right. Besides, he’s too heavy for you to get far.”

  *** *** ***

  Rook knew it was impossible for Marcus to give up control for more than a short time. Whatever inspired this sudden concession would grate on him until he snapped.

  “There’s a pay phone about two blocks from here. I’ll call one of his friends to come pick him up.”

  “So you know his friends.” Marcus sounded surly. “Are you fucking them, too?” He set off down the street, hauling Fin along. Rook hustled to match his longer stride and support her side.

  “Well?” Marcus prodded.

  “Oh, please Marcus. Not now. I’ve had a helluva day.”

  “I’ll bet you have. Fucking is hard work, when you do it right. Which you do. I’ll give you that.”

  “Fuck you!” She wanted to stop and give him an indignant look, but didn’t want him getting away with Fin. It was dark anyway.

  “Oh, Little Raven. Don’t lie to me. Don’t try to trick me. You know you can’t.”

  “I’m—”

  “You’re my Raven,” he interrupted, “You’re my blessing and my curse. The gods sent you to me.”

  “No —”

  Marcus didn’t look at her as he said, “You’re an untrustworthy little slut, but you are mine.”

  “Fuck you!” This was worse than his usual bullshit.

  “No matter how many times you stray, you will always come back to me. You belong to me.”

  “Marcus!” She tried to plant her feet and stop, to get him to look at her, but he didn’t even slow. “I don’t belong to anyone! I choose who I want to be with.”

  “And?”

  “And I choose Fin.”

  Marcus snapped his glare to her, but kept walking. “He’s a trickster, Raven! Can’t you see?”

  “No one here is a trickster! He’s —”

  “He stole my shotgun,” Marcus said, as if that closed the matter.

  “What?” Rook groped for relevancy.

  “He stole my gun from Talisman. He blew up those buildings downtown. To frame me.”

  “Oh, fuck off.” Paranoia was a new wrinkle for Marcus.

  “It’s the truth. You know I don’t lie. Not to you.”

  “I don’t know any such thing.” They were nearing a convenience store with a pay phone. Rook hoped she could get Fin there before Marcus lost it completely. With other people around, he would be less likely to toss Fin into traffic. She thought it best to keep him talking, but didn’t have the energy to pretend she agreed with him, to participate in his role playing fantasy. “This is real life,” she said. “You are not the embodiment of Coyote Old Man, or anyone else. Neither am I. Neither is Fin.”

  “He’s blinded you! He’s tricking you, Rook! You must see it. Don’t let him fool you. He’s a trickster.” Marcus was nearly apoplectic.

  “No.” Rook shook her head.

  “Rook, listen to me.”

  They reached the phone and Marcus dumped Fin against the wall. Fin’s head fell forward onto his chest.

  “No, Marcus.” Rook sighed. “It’s over. I’m moving in with Fin.” She steeled herself for his angry reply.

  Marcus glared at her, shaking his head. “Really. Well, tell me one thing before you go live your perfect life with this shitbag,” he prodded Fin with his boot. “If Fin’s so fuckin’ great, why’d I catch you kissing his brother?”

  Rook glanced guiltily at Fin.

  “You know,” Marcus continued, “when I tell him about that he’s not going to want you anymore. No man could forgive that.”

  “Fuck you.” Rook’s voice quivered. Marcus would make it sound much worse than it was.

  “Come home,” Marcus said. “With me.”

  If only it were so simple. Marcus stared at her. If she could forget about Fin, and the televangelist, and the sweaterguys, and Kyle... Had she really thought he’d shoot her if she didn’t kiss him?

  Rook couldn’t stand Marcus’s black eyes penetrating her flimsy defenses. She closed her eyes, squeezing out tears. Maybe Marcus was right. Fin wouldn’t want her, not anymore. The fact that Kyle was his brother made it much worse.

  Marcus understood all of that, but how? “How did you know Kyle is Fin’s brother? And what the hell were you doing there anyway?”

  “Trying to rescue you, bitch.”

  Rook was stunned.

  “Now, call whoever you need to call and let’s get the fuck out of here. I want you, but first we need a cleansing ritual.”

  Rook had mental whiplash from trying to follow Marcus’s moods. Even if Fin wouldn’t want her, she had to get away from Marcus. He was toxic and slowly poisoning her. If she spent more time with him, he would start to make sense. This was her last chance to escape and purge the poison from her psyche.

  Whatever Fin would think of her later, she couldn’t abandon him now, not in this vulnerable state. She decided to speak Marcus’s language. She opened her eyes and looked steadily at him.

  “Yeah. Okay. Why don’t you go start without me. Get things ready and I’ll come right after Fin gets picked up.”

  “Now,” Marcus growled.

  “Marcus, I can’t leave him. He could die.”

  “So?”

  “I can’t.”

  They stared at each other, waiting to see who would break first. Rook decided to cheat, although she knew it would come at the price of encouraging Marcus. He would listen if she played his stupid game.

  “Coyote,” she rasped. “We must do things in the proper way.” She watched Marcus for signs he was buying this. He looked dubious. “You know without the full ceremony you might never rid me of his bad medicine.”

  Marcus glanced furtively to each side. He craned his neck forward and said softly, “Raven?”

  Rook gave him a sultry smile. “It’s me. But if he dies,” she tilted her head toward Fin, “you’ll lose me. Forever.” This wasn’t technically lying.

  He straightened up. “Leave him. Come with me.”

  Rook scowled. She almost exploded at him again, but caught herself. Breaking character would lose her the game, and she needed to keep Marcus playing. Letting her annoyance come through in her voice, she said, “Your pride will cost you.” More demurely, “I’m fading.”

  “Tell me what to do, Raven!”

  “Go. Cleanse the lodge. I’ll return this one to his people.” She had to tell one lie. “Then, I’ll come to you.”

  *** *** ***

  Bishop heard the phone ringing, looked at the clock, and winced. 3:13 a.m. He must have been half awake if he was hearing it, two floors below. Worry-induced insomnia.

  He bolted to the stairs. This call was about Fin. He didn’t at all care for the swarming premonitions of tragedy, but was determined to reach the phone.

  Downstairs, Booth hu
ddled at the stereo with his back to the room, wearing headphones. Bishop came off the bottom step in an arcing leap and had the handset off the cradle before he hit the floor.

  “Hello?” he said, skidding and fetching up against an armchair.

  Silence.

  “Hello!” he reiterated, louder.

  “This is Rook. Do you remember me?”

  “Are you all right? Fin’s worried about you.”

  She emitted a strangled laugh. “No. He’s not...” She trailed off.

  “I took him to the hospital —” Bishop started to explain.

  “I have him. He’s... he’s not all here right now. We need a place to go before Marcus comes back.”

  “Rook, where are you?”

  “On... the corner. Across from Bombay Take Out.”

  “I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  “Vesuvius.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Bring his lamp. The lava lamp. He might help.”

  The line went dead. She’d hung up. Bishop sighed and replaced the receiver. No reason not to grab the lamp. It might keep her calm.

  “Hey Bish,” Booth said over his shoulder, “I think the phone’s ringing.”

  Fifteen minutes later Bishop was hoisting an unconscious Fin off the sidewalk.

  Rook quick-timed it around Bishop and opened the rear driver-side door of the idling station wagon. Bishop placed Fin on the back seat, reminded of previous rescues, always saving Fin from himself. Rook clambered in with him and Bishop shut the door. With a furtive look around the dark alleyway he slid behind the wheel and put the car in gear.

  “The lava lamp’s in your backpack. Your computer too. We’ll be at the hospital soon,” he said to the dark backseat.

  “The hospital can’t help him. This is something else,” Rook said. She sounded tired.

  “Did he O.D.?”

  “No.” She sighed. “I don’t think I can explain, but we just need someplace safe. Not the hospital. They might look there.”

  Whoever ‘they’ were. Who else had Fin pissed off?

  Bishop drove toward the one place he was sure Fin would feel safe, gritting his teeth and recounting all the trouble Fin had caused. He reviewed his own participation over the years, especially the past couple of days, with clenching guilt. Over time he’d become conditioned to apply a different standard to Fin. With nobody else could he have been pulled along so far against common sense and his better judgment. Yet even unconscious Fin exerted his anarchic influence. Bishop was powerless not to see things through.