by A. L. Knorr
“You okay?”
Marcus, cradling his damaged arm, watched me with a concerned frown on his much-abused face.
“Yeah,” I replied. “Just tired.”
Marcus’s eyes narrowed just a hair, and on some unspoken level, we acknowledged that I was lying, but right then wasn’t the time to press the issue. He nodded and sank back in his seat, legs stretching out until they bumped against the back of Jackie’s seat.
“Sorry,” Marcus grunted as he adjusted his position.
“And who the hell is this beefcake?” Jackie demanded, her glance flicking to me through the rear-view mirror. “I thought we wanted the ledger, not pick up extra-large party boys.”
“I wasn’t there for the party,” Marcus rumbled.
“Then what possible reason could you have for being at the party of the criminal bourgeois? You’re not dressed as a guard or a server.”
“I … I snuck in,” he said lamely, with a shrug that drew a sharp wince. He rolled his head back and let the pain pass over him in a trembling wave.
I felt an urge to reach out, to comfort him, to cradle him in my arms. I reached for him but stopped as I realized the first thing I would touch was his wounded arm. Marcus’s eyes were still closed, but the thought of him opening them and seeing me there with my arm outstretched made me snatch my hand back.
Heat rose to my cheeks as Jackie studied me in the mirror.
“He came for me,” I said, quietly. “Marcus followed us and snuck in because he thought I was in trouble.”
Jackie’s eyes widened, and the car drifted towards the shoulder.
“Eyes on the road!” Sark snarled.
Jackie jumped and twisted the wheel hard enough that everyone rocked to the side. Marcus let out a low groan, and the stream of curses from Sark was acidic enough to scour a sidewalk. Jackie gripped the wheel in both hands. It was poor form for a getaway driver to crash in the middle of the getting away.
For several long moments, there was only the rumble of the engine and the hum of the tyres on the road. I closed my eyes, intent on a nap. The fact that I didn’t want to deal with Jackie’s darting glances, or having to see Marcus in pain, was secondary to my exhaustion.
“We are going to have to talk about this.” Jackie broke the silence. “Things were hard enough when it was just us, to bring another person into this mess …”
My eyes snapped open, and without sitting up, I turned my gaze to Jackie’s reflection.
“I didn’t bring him into this,” I replied flatly. “He brought himself in. Did you miss the part where he followed us?”
The tell-tale scrunch of Jackie’s face meant she was determined to have a fight, rationality be damned. Didn’t happen often, but it was awful timing to have one of her moods.
“And you didn’t give him any hints?” she pressed, her gaze darting between Marcus and me in the mirror. “No signs that you needed saving?”
I sat forward, grinding my response between clenched teeth.
“No. I. Didn’t.” My knuckles gave little pops as my fists clenched around the Rings. “He did all this because the poor bastard cares about me.”
“My hero,” Sark spat petulantly over his shoulder.
“Shut-up Sark!” Jackie and I snapped in unison.
Sark glared at each of us, a crackle of tension racing around the car. A hunted, angry look crossed his face, something that reminded me of him lying on our pantry floor, but it quickly slid behind a wry smile.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I suppose I should be more respectful. After all, he obtained an invitation and transport to this party ... hold on. That was me, wasn’t it?”
Jackie revved the engine a little but neither of us responded.
“It must be because he managed to spin a con on the fly when Ibby decided to bring a fake instead of the real artifact. Wait, I think that was also me.”
“She had her reasons,” Jackie muttered, but the look she shot me conveyed how little confidence she had in her answer.
Sark dismissed Jackie with a wave. “Then it is because he was the one who recognized Pierre’s phylactery for what it was. Oh wait, that was me again.”
“If I hadn’t kept the box with that philo-thing, you wouldn’t have even known it was there,” Marcus said, his voice sounding weak even as he glared at the back of Sark’s head. “So that’s one thing you owe me.”
Sark fixed Marcus with a withering glare. “Good show, petty thievery seems to be your one saving grace.”
“Better a thief than a murderer,” I shot back, the words springing from my lips sharp and hot.
Sark stared back at me in bald shock.
“You thought I forgot?” My voice quivered with barely suppressed rage. “Or are you so accustomed to murdering that you forgot about the men whose necks you broke after they were incapacitated?”
Sark’s expression hardened as everyone in the car turned a condemning glare on him.
“We are at war,” he said, his voice and face stony as flint. “What part of that don’t you understand?”
“Even war has rules of engagement,” Marcus rumbled darkly.
“Shut your mouth, you meat-headed tag-a-long,” Sark snarled. “I’ve been neck-deep in this since I was a teenager.”
Marcus’s glare sharpened into a hateful stare.
“If you want to survive this, listen up,” Sark declared, turning a sharp look to everyone in the vehicle. “In this war, the only rule is that you do what you have to when you have to do it. If you have to sleep with someone to get information, you hop into bed and give them the time of their life. If—”
Jackie made a disgusted sound. I could relate to it, but I remembered that moment with Marcel. How far would I have gone when I thought Jackie’s life hung in the balance?
Sark’s voice punched through my conflicted thoughts.
“If someone is fool enough to come after you, you end it. If they survive, it’s one more person to come after you again, only now they understand you a little better, and that makes them more dangerous. I killed those men to protect us, protect you, and if you want to live through this, then you should be ready to do the same.”
I shook my head, clenched fists pounding against my thighs. “No! If we operate like that, we’re no better than the people we are fighting.”
“Do you hear yourself?” Sark scoffed. “You sound like a child. No better than? Are you joking? We are trying to stop the resurrection of an omnicidal demi-god. That makes us better. Even if that weren’t the case, your morality is hilariously and fatally naive.”
“I’m not laughing, Sark.”
“Well, the more fool you because I am,” Sark sneered. “This is not some grand crusade. This is survival. If you don’t get with the program, you are going to get us killed.”
I bored holes in the back of his head with my eyes, but he stared steadfastly out the windscreen.
“Some things are worth more than living.” I bit off each word, my anger-flushed mind struggling to form sentences. “Some things are worth risking, worth dying for. Doing the right thing is one of them.”
“Right, wrong, good, evil … fairy tales weak people tell themselves to justify doing what is necessary,” Sark muttered. “We can’t afford to be weak.”
I heaved a sigh and sank back into the seat.
“A year ago, I would have told you that demons and demi-gods were fairy tales.” Anger settled like a pile of cinders in the pit of my stomach. “You could afford to believe in some fairy tales, too.”
Sark shifted in his seat but didn’t reply.
“We’re here.” Jackie clicked on her turn signal and slowed down.
---
Uncle Iry closed the bay door and had Jackie roll the car onto a pair of ramps, once the passengers were out, so he could set to work on the vehicle.
Sark had arranged the hideout––a small garage off the motorway––with the owner, so it had been left unlocked for our after-hour activities. The owner had acquired th
e necessary parts for our vehicular disguise, at an extra cost of course, but as Sark had said: when you were going on a suicide mission, you might as well spare no expense.
“Do you have everything you need, a’am?” I asked as Uncle Iry slid a creeper towards the elevated front of the car.
“Near enough, yes.” He turned back to pick up his bag of tools, then stopped as he saw the disarray of my dress. He looked away, placing the tools next to the creeper. “So, it did not go well?”
“We got what we went for.” I crossed my arms in a vain attempt to feel less exposed. “But things got ... complicated.”
Iry gave me a long look, keeping his eyes on my face, before sinking on to the creeper.
“I am noticing a pattern.” He flashed me a playful smile. “So complicated that I see you picked up a very strong man, though he does seem in need of a good doctor.”
I heard a sharp cry, and I peered through the window of the office to which the others had retreated. Jackie patted Marcus on the back as he sat hunched on a folding chair. The big porter’s face was bloodless, his expression pained, but he gingerly moved his injured arm around.
“I work with him, at the Museum,” I explained, still watching Marcus take big, slow breaths as he wiggled his fingers experimentally. “He followed us to the party because he thought I was in trouble. I think he had it in his head he was going to save me or something.”
“Judging by his face,” Uncle Iry grunted from beneath the car, “he was the one who ended up needing to be saved.”
“Yes.” I nodded, but then remembered Pierre’s venom and the Webley’s blast causing it to retreat. “Though, at one point, he did actually save me when I was caught off guard.”
“That young man must care a great deal for you.” Iry slid out from under the vehicle. “To have risked so much. Reminds me of another young man who’d do anything for the girl he loved.”
It took a heartbeat or two to realize that he was talking about my father, but when I turned from watching Marcus to offer a rebuttal, Uncle Iry was braced against the bumper of the vehicle.
“Stand clear.”
I stepped back as the bumper came free with a twang. He heaved it to the side. He pushed a wheeled winch bearing a different bumper towards the car. There was a difference between the old and new bumper, but I struggled to see how one part would function as a disguise.
“Just changing the bumper will be our disguise?” I asked, unable to keep the incredulity out of my voice.
“No.” Iry fetched tools out of the bag and set to work on the grille. “Not just the bumper. Grille, lights, emblem, and some paint. Trust me; it will look very different.”
“You can do all that in an hour?”
Iry looked up from where he crouched in front of the vehicle, giving me a small smile. “Not if I have to keep answering questions.”
“Right, sorry.” I took a step back and nearly tripped over the creeper. “I’ll leave you to it.”
Sark had set up the ledger and a laptop on a workbench in the other bay. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be around him, given our recent interactions, but talking with Jackie didn’t seem a much better option, so I just stood there.
“Ibby,” Uncle Iry called.
“Yes?”
“You should really talk to that boy.” Iry nodded towards the office window. “He looks a bit lost.”
Marcus was staring at me through the window. Suddenly and painfully self-conscious, I waved. He waved back.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Is your arm going to be okay?”
It sounded stupid, but it was the only thing I could think to ask.
“Well, uh, yeah,” Marcus stammered. “Your friend said she put it back in the socket, and it bloody well hurt when she did, so I imagine I’m on the mend.”
By way of demonstration, he rolled his shoulder and flexed his bicep. The amount of muscle rippling was impressive, but not so impressive that I didn’t notice him wincing with the effort.
“Steady on,” I said with a little laugh. “Don’t want to undo Jackie’s good work. Where is she anyway?”
Marcus hooked a thumb to where a small icebox sat under a countertop next to a steel door.
“She found a couple of beers and said she was going to unwind out behind the shop.”
I felt a tug on my heart to go and check on my friend, but I couldn’t avoid the explanations Marcus needed. All things considered, he was holding up remarkably well, though I was glad he’d missed the horrifying finale of my fight with Pierre.
“So,” Marcus began as the awkward silence stretched between us. “Have you always done magic?”
“No, not exactly,” I said. “Where do I start?” As the song says, the beginning is a very good place to start, so that’s what I did. I told him about the Rings, Lowe, the Inconquo, Sark, and Kezsarak. I also had a chance to let him know I hadn’t been playing a joke on him last year. After that, I told him about the past few days and the insane inversion of loyalties that we’d been trying to survive. He listened attentively, only asking a question when my worn down brain forgot to mention something. By the time I had finished, I felt even more emotionally drained, yet somehow satisfied that Marcus looked at me with concern rather than wariness.
I suppose seeing what he had seen helped, but it still touched me.
“Sorry you find yourself in the middle of this mess,” I said apologetically. “I know you meant well, but I don’t think any sane person goes looking to get caught up in conspiracies involving demons and ancient bloodlines.”
Marcus shook his head, chuckling so that his big shoulders bobbed a little.
“Nope, no sane person would.” He winked. “But my mum says I was never quite right in the head.”
I laughed at his battered, lopsided smile as I leaned against the office desk.
“Well, I guess you’ll fit right in around here.”
Marcus’s smile fell away, and his eyes took on a light I struggled to understand.
“So long as I’m with you, that’s all that matters.”
I felt my cheeks flush, and I wanted to look away, but his piercing eyes wouldn’t let me. I was embarrassed by the forthright statement, but the reality of what it meant stuck in my mind like the words now caught in my throat.
“Marcus … I …”
His expression softened as he studied my face, but the intense determination burning in his eyes didn’t waver for a second.
“I know this seems sudden, even obnoxious given the timing, but whatever happens, I just wanted you to know: I want to be with you through it all, thick and thin.”
Well, things certainly were thick, and seeing as he’d lived it first-hand, I couldn’t tell him he didn’t know what he was talking about.
“I … I don’t know what to say,” I confessed. “I never thought I’d have someone declare his interest in the middle of a covert operation to stave off the rise of a new world order.”
Marcus smiled, and something hot and skittish stirred inside me. It made me want to run. The problem was I didn’t know which direction to run: towards that feeling or away from it.
“I certainly didn’t imagine I’d be asking under these circumstances,” Marcus admitted. “But then I never imagined I’d find someone like you.”
Damn, he was good.
“Yeah?” I was unable to keep a smile from curling the corners of my lips. “You really think so, huh?”
He took a step towards me, close enough that he could reach down and scoop me up in those powerful arms. I made a conscious effort not to let this new gravity draw me into an embrace. Surrendering to that pull was the point of no return, and I needed time to think things through.
“Ibukin Bashir, you are the strongest, smartest, fiercest, and most beautiful woman I know,” Marcus declared in a voice that shook with sincerity. “And I believed that before I ever knew about all this … this other stuff. Now you’re more than just an amazing woman, you’re the most amazing woman, and th
e only one I can dare to love.”
Something strange happened at this declaration, something I never expected.
A wave of peaceful satisfaction washed over me. The fear was still there, and all the doubts, but his genuine fervency struck me as true, and I surrendered to it. This was how Marcus saw me, which was a blessed comfort given how much I’d felt like a wandering disaster area.
“Marcus,” I said pushing away from the desk. “I’m not sure what this will–”
The door to the office burst open, and Sark stood glaring at us.
“Iry’s done,” he declared roughly, juggling the laptop to point back at the Maserati. “Get our driver and load up. We’ve got work to do.”
Marcus looked ready to rip Sark’s face off, so I raised a hand to pat him on the shoulder.
I gave him my best trust me look before turning back towards Sark. “I’ll get her. You been able to get into the ledger yet?”
Sark patted his coat pocket so I could make out the outline of the hard-drive against the fabric.
“Pierre’s arrogance and age showed on what passed for encryption on this thing,” Sark remarked, somehow making every word snarl.
“That’s good, right?”
Sark cut a sharp glare towards Marcus before looking back at me. “Are you sure we should be discussing this around him?”
Marcus shifted. “I can go and get Jackie,” he offered.
“No.” I glared at Sark. “He’s part of the team now, like it or not. You can say what you need to. I trust him.”
Sark looked at Marcus again, and something remarkably like jealousy shimmered, toxic and bitter, in his dark eyes.
“Fine.” He turned to me with a look just as venomous. “Hopefully, your new ... friend can convince you to start acting sensibly.”
I felt pressure building behind my eyes as the tension thickened in the small office. “Sark,” I said forcing a neutral tone. “What are you talking about?”
“The ledger,” he growled. “It’s got everything we need, but using it is going to be … messy.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
---
