Remedy Maker

by Sheri Fredricks

  “That’s an awesome prayer. So . . . who are you?”

  Rhycious jumped to his feet in one powerful move. He whirled around to face a female who tossed him the question like a bone to a dog.

  The statuesque blonde stood with a smile on her face and a hand on her hip. In her other hand, she carried remnants of a broken plate. Her tropical print skirt swayed, the uneven hem fluttering to rest above her knees. Even with flat ballet shoes, she was taller than Patience by several inches. A white short-sleeved sweater rode up on her slim midriff and a diamond winked from her pierced navel.

  He eyed the shards with unease. “Where’d you find that?”

  “Outside on the ground.” She flipped her braid over her shoulder. “Client or friend?”

  “Huh?”

  The Nymph strode to the kitchen and tossed the dish pieces into the trash. She turned to face him, leaning back against the butcher-block island.

  “Hello. My name is Daisy.” Her wide grin teased and she spoke slowly, as if he were a child. “Are you a friend or client? And where is she, anyway?”

  Rhycious couldn’t concentrate on anything beyond Patience, let alone answer unimportant questions from a Nymph with bad comedic timing. He tunneled his fingers through his unbound hair for what must have been the thousandth time.

  “I don’t know where she is.” He wasn’t in the mood for games and his words broke out in short bursts. “She shimmered me in here. We were going to have dinner. She never came back after going outside.”

  He took a turn around the coffee table like a NASCAR driver. When he stopped in front of the kitchen and glanced into Daisy’s face, lines etched her brow and her bright smile had disappeared. She looked him over and studied the designs on his armband.

  “She shim—who are you?”

  Exactly. Who did he think he was? Not someone who could protect her, because Patience was obviously missing. Neither was he capable of tracking down a simple faction looking to dethrone his queen. A mere twenty-four hours after receiving his orders, and he’d made no progress whatsoever.

  Who was he?

  Fuck, he was the wrong man for the job. That’s who he was.

  Aggravation boiled and he blew a hard breath out. “Who am I?” he growled. “Hell, I don’t know any more.” Rhy planted his ass on the couch he’d fantasized enjoying with Patience. The leather chilled him through his jeans, feeling impersonal without her warmth. He leaped up and paced to the kitchen.

  Daisy crossed her ankles and leaned against the island, her blue eyes studied him while he paced like a caged . . . Centaur. When she spoke, her voice was soft. “So, who are you? Patience doesn’t invite males into her home.”

  Rhy shoved his fists deep into the front pockets of his jeans. He had to, because if he didn’t, he’d start ripping those magazines on the table in half. Or punch the damn wall. The information that Patience didn’t entertain men scratched his possessive surface, but he needed control over his other rapidly slipping emotions or Patience’s friend, Daisy, would blink and be gone.

  He took a deep breath, clenched his teeth, and met her eyes. “I’m Rhycious, her remedy maker.” No lies, just hope.

  “I see.” Clearly she didn’t, because her hip pushed off the butcher block and she took his measure. “You’re not Nymph. What are you?”

  Her arms were relaxed at her sides, indicating she wasn’t leery of him, though his face must be scowling a black wrath. At any rate, she could pop out of there before he could touch her.

  “I’m Centaur, Miss Daisy.”

  She barked a short laugh and waved a hand at him. “Please, don’t call me that. Makes me sound like a little old lady.” She moved out of the kitchen and came toward him. “So, Patience is feeling like crap again and you need out of here, if I’m not mistaken.”

  Rhycious turned his head to look at the stair that he’d knelt on a few moments ago, the hard bite of the wood a reminder on his knees. His eyelids drifted down, and he sighed in relief. Negative energy leeched from him, muscles uncoiling their rigid twist. The sick turmoil circling his stomach like a hurricane slowed its nauseating spin.

  The gods heard his plea and delivered in record time.

  “If you would be so kind.” He raised his right fist to his chest and presented a courtly bow.

  “Come on.” Daisy grabbed him by the crook of the arm and dragged him to the coffee table. “Let’s shimmer!”

  * * *

  Aleksander’s mind rested easier.

  He hadn’t been able to oust the vivid memory of two violet eyes, filled with tears of anguish, as he’d walked away. An overpowering desire to make things right with Pennelope vanquished his hunger, thirst, and lack of sleep.

  There had been no living with his guilt after seeing her weep again. Moments after Rhycious and Patience shimmered into the tree, Alek made up his mind to journey the distance to her rock. He’d sat on the ground next to his hit-and-run bag for all of ten minutes before jumping to his feet and kicking heels to ass for Pennelope.

  Alek had never forgotten their early mornings together. The way he’d wake her up with soft kisses. Their languid time spent making love in the sun, or in her nest deep under the rock. His first blush of love deserved more than another brusque leave taking.

  In the least, he’d owed Pennelope an explanation, if not more.

  If he had anymore, that is.

  Which, unfortunately, he didn’t.

  Streaks of pink and orange tinged the eastern sky, lighting the few clouds from beneath in a celestial spotlight. Alek galloped along the game trail, gazing up at the wide array of ever-changing colors, jumping deadfall and small boulders that lay strewn about. Fox, bobcats, and other morning hunters scattered out of his way, sensing the urgency in his ground eating strides.

  He had planned to be back at Patience’s sycamore tree hours ago, but as always, time sped away while in the company of his favorite Troll. Ducking his head under a low hanging branch, Aleksander swished his tail and increased his speed. After two hours of reconciliation with Pennelope, the smile and wave she’d sent him off with was worth the invested time.

  Not to mention her gut-filling turnip stew was the best this side of the southern hemisphere. It amazed him to think she’d remained single all these years, and no other males had marked her for his own.

  Good thing for him, too. He’d never poach on another male’s territory; there were plenty of doves in the woods.

  Before he arrived at the narrow creek flowing near Patience’s tree, he intercepted patrolling Centaur guards, led by the youthful Sergeant Dryas in full battle rattle.

  “Sergeant. How goes your patrol?”

  “Human hunters were reported in our sector last night, sir. We’re attempting to locate them.”

  “Have their rat lines been discovered?” Aleksander stroked his goatee while catching his breath and observed the sergeant’s inability to stand four hooves still. The young were full of energy.

  “Negative. We’re backtracking to where the hunters were initially spotted, just west of here, near the Boronda Creek.”

  The pound of galloping hooves brought Alek’s head around. A sorrel bodied newcomer slowed his gait and trotted up, eyeing him with narrowed suspicion. He swung his equine body toward Dryas, keeping his sword arm next to Alek.

  “We’re through here.” The Centaur’s thick beard stirred with his words. “It’s time to move on.”

  “Sir,” Alek said. He bristled at the lack of deportment shown to Dryas, the man’s CO.

  “What’s that?” The reddish mane of hair whipped the man’s face as he turned his attention to Alek. Loose swords and knives jangled from various straps and ties, nothing in code to Centaur military standards. He crossed his huge arms, forcing softball-sized biceps to bulge out further.

  No insignia of Queen Savella banded the man’s arm or sword hilt. Alek stepped back and set his hooves in a defensive position, swishing his tail in agitation. “Sergeant Dryas. Why is this shitbird grunt no
t addressing you properly?” He kept an eye on the bear of a Centaur while Dryas answered his question.

  The sergeant’s dark blue eyes stared somewhere over the vicinity of Alek’s left shoulder, and he had a terrible urge to turn and look.

  “I’ve allowed the men to be informal while on routine patrol, sir. It will be rectified immediately,” then he tacked on with haste, “Sir.”

  “See that it is. Dismissed, Sergeant.” Aleksander narrowed his eyes at Dryas as he spun a one-eighty on a rear hoof with military precision. The other man ambled away, hooves heavy, looking back repeatedly at Alek. When he inclined his head to speak, the sergeant shook his head, keeping his back ramrod straight.

  Both hands on his hips, Aleksander studied at the ground and pawed a furrow. He’d have to speak with the Master Sergeant at the palace about improper dress codes and report the incident. He hitched the shoulder strap of his travel bag off his neck where the band crossed over his chest.

  It wasn’t until he leaped over the creek and cantered a few strides before the words of Dryas hit him with the full force of Rhy’s iron skillet. His hind hooves skidded parallel lines beneath him to a stop.

  Dryas reported the human hunters were seen west of him, near the Boronda Creek.

  Near Patience’s home.

  Alek’s heart banged hard against his ribs and a very bad feeling crept an icy path down the back of his neck. Rhycious.

  He hoped to hell that they were safe, hidden inside her damn tree. Craning his neck, he searched for the Centaur patrol, but they’d already left the area or blended into the surrounding foliage.

  Not wanting to waste a moment, Alek dug his hooves deep into the soil and took off in a full-out run. Brambles and twigs stung his bare arms as he forged his own trail, cutting across the switchbacks. He leaned his torso forward, streamlining his body. Behind him, his tail poured out, waving in the air wake his speed produced.

  Eleven

  In the diffused morning light, Rhycious and Daisy followed a trail of footprints and trampled ferns leading southward from the sycamore tree. Waffle-weave boot tracks confirmed the direction a trio of humans had taken.

  “How was Patience feeling last night?” Daisy asked.

  “Tired and hungry, but better once she got inside her tree.” Patience hadn’t eaten before she disappeared, and this gnawed at Rhy’s remedy maker conscious like a pack of voracious rats.

  He hitched his backpack higher on his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. The hunters’ overconfidence made the simplicity of tracking easier. His medical bag was along for the ride, but he hoped he wouldn’t need it.

  Daisy matched him stride for stride. “Patience thought hunters took Serenity. Do you suppose these are the same ones?”

  “How about I ask them when I introduce myself?”

  Her lips pressed together and she gave a tense nod of agreement. He had a hunch she’d be a force to be reckoned with when her ire was up.

  Outward, he was cool, his face expressionless. Quick steps and a pounding heart kept his body moving in a fast and furious motion. Inward, a volcanic turbulence of molten lava rolled and boiled. For one excruciating second, he had a clear mental picture of Patience tied down, her face twisted in pain, tears streaming down her face, and screams tearing from her throat. He forced back the images and the terrible rush of fear accompanying it with his palms pressed to his temples.

  Rhycious heaved a great outward breath and pulled himself together, then knelt down to take a closer look at a footprint. If it weren’t for the difference in an arrival imprint depth of one pair of X pattern prints, and the deeper imprint made after departing her tree, Rhycious wouldn’t have known someone carried extra weight.

  Approximately one hundred and twenty pounds extra.

  His unsettled mind flew with images of the unknown, each torturous picture more visceral than the last. His neck muscles bunched under his stretched t-shirt, tensing, his imagination growing.

  He looked forward to hurting those assholes, hospital-bad, when he got his hands on them.

  “The direction they’re traveling is toward the southern outskirts of Willow Bay.” Rhycious held a branch he’d pushed aside so it wouldn’t backslap Daisy in the face. “They’ve had a seven hour head start.”

  Before releasing the limb, he broke off a small twig and sniffed the scent. Cedar. The aroma held properties for anxiety and fear relief. He inhaled deeply.

  Daisy stepped aside, pulling her skirt out of his way, and let him lead once again. “You’ll have to tell me later where Patience found you.”

  She found me locked inside myself, and just happened to have the right key.

  “I’ll let Patience tell the story,” Rhy replied, keeping positive and confident of their outcome. “Those ass-wipes better not have hurt one hair on that pretty head of hers.”

  His temper rose along with the ascending sun. He had to believe she was all right, though other mythical creatures captured in the past hadn’t faired so well. Human enslavement, for both sexual and forced labor, was prevalent throughout their species histories.

  Rhy wouldn’t begin to broach the experimentation issue.

  The hunters’ undisguised trail trampled up a steep wooded knoll and disappeared around a rock bend. Green vegetation blanketed the uneven ground, making the trail slippery. Daisy lost her footing and fell down behind him.

  Her squeak of alarm wheeled him around in time to catch a blur of shadow moving between the trees in the distance, following them.

  “Daisy, get up,” Rhy ordered quietly. He caught her upper arm and helped her to her feet. “You all right?” His eyes darted to her face, and then swept the forest floor below them. At her nod, he pushed her ahead of him with a gentle nudge. “Someone’s following us. Get up the hill and hide behind those boulders. And for the love of Bacchus, keep your head down.”

  Daisy scrambled up the slope, pulling at the dirt with her hands. The leafy-green pattern of her full skirt would help to camouflage her lower body. Until she was hidden, Rhy made certain to keep himself between her and their unknown stalker.

  An endangered northern goshawk floated in the updrafts and keened a sharp cry. Its speckled black and white underbelly dangled stark against an azure sky, wings spread wide. Rhycious took heed of the bird’s counsel and hurried to take cover behind a giant hemlock tree. Directly across from where he hunkered down, Daisy crouched behind a sun-dappled rock.

  He pressed a finger to his lips, signaling to stay quiet. Her blue eyes were huge in her ashen face, and her fingers gripped the rock so tight her knuckles showed white.

  Without a sound, he slipped the pack off his shoulders and lowered it to the ground. Steady cadence of footsteps drew closer. A strike against hard packed dirt thumped an accompaniment to the double-time beat of his heart. Sweat popped out along his neckline and attracted insects that buzzed around his ears. The familiar feel of an advancing enemy drew unwanted memories.

  Closer. Deliberate. Tentative.

  Rhy worked to regulate his breathing and glanced at Daisy. He’d have chosen a better location to conceal her if he had the time. When their pursuers rounded the boulder, she’d be a textbook illustration of how not to take cover. Gods! Why hadn’t he taken a more thorough precaution for them?

  He glanced at her again and she cocked her head, brows drawn together. “Don’t move,” he mouthed, and slid the Bowie knife free from its sheath. He rolled his shoulders, loosening up for the coming confrontation.

  Tension thrummed, his unblinking eyes dried out. The lives of he and Daisy demanded he be at the top of his game. Should anything happen to them, who would know to go after Patience?

  Before his mind could drift down another dark path, fern leaves scraped as a body passed a few yards from their hiding places. The feathery stalks returned to their resting place with a swish. Rhycious fell further back into the shadow of the tree. He maneuvered around the massive trunk to surprise their pursuer from behind.

  He didn’t have any
plans to become someone’s knife or bullet sponge today. He wouldn’t take any chances. No, today he would deliver his message with lethal aim.

  Blood rushed in his head louder than the continuous crash of the Boronda Falls, drowning out calls of jays and pine warblers. Violence from two hundred years ago mixed with his memory of the past twenty-four hours. The edges of reality blurred, no matter how hard he fought the coagulation.

  Which is reality? Could he keep the past separated from the present?

  Please . . . gods! Not now.

  Daisy sucked in a gasp and her squeal of surprise launched Rhycious into action. Time to sort his confused thoughts had just run out. Adrenaline flushed into his system as if a faucet blasted on, pumping his heart into a maddening beat.

  With a wild paladin roar, he leaped out, his blade glinting and egging him on. Rhycious longed to sink his knifepoint deep into the neck of the enemy who appeared before him. He jumped the tango from behind, surprise in his favor, and wrapped his left arm around the man’s neck. Pulling hard, he cranked the Nymph’s head to the side and thrust his knife downward.

  At the last second, the lithe body beneath him twisted and seized Rhy’s wrist in a steely grip, holding the knife at bay.

  “Rhycious!”

  Surprised the enemy knew his name, Rhy fought the hands holding his wrist. Held securely, he twisted his arm, trying to break free, slicing the air with his shiv. His other hand punched, catching the warrior under the chin.

  Through his berserk mind, Rhy recognized the writhing body shape was irregular for a Wood Nymph.

  Too elongated. A tan and black hide.

  Ghostly cries of the fallen assailed his ears. Everywhere around him, the height of the battle raged. Transparent outlines of Centaur warriors surged past, swords drawn, shields up.

  “Advance, Centaur clans.” Rhy shouted encouragement. “Long live Queen Savella!”

  Fallen comrades writhed in agony. Illusory arrows flew, striking the cranium of the apparitional man ahead of him, protruding completely through. The warrior’s translucent body floated to the ground in death, dispersing as if it were nothing more than mist.