by VK Fox
“You are going to laugh like a madman when you see the gun range.” Everest chuckled and gave him a squeeze, “See? You jumped in anticipation just hearing the words ‘gun range.’ We should go test things out—make sure it’s up to snuff.”
“Set a practice schedule.” Dahl rubbed his hands together.
“Of course. I’ll see if Billy can give us a tour.”
Dahl was grinning. “I’m guessing the bad news is zero privacy.” The room didn’t even have dividing curtains.
“That’s not news.” Everest smelled like black tea and lavender.
“One bathroom? One shower? Single beds?”
“All things you’ve deduced for yourself.”
“Go on then.”
“Instant coffee.”
Dahl choked. “No. Don’t lie.”
“I’m sorry. I know how strong you are, how much you’ve survived.” Everest’s voice was gentle, even tender. “You can endure this. I’m here for you.”
“There has to be another way. What kind of psycho doesn’t bring a coffee maker? What do we even know about Billy Davis?” They were quiet for a few minutes. Fitz lifted his penny flute and played a simple three-note tune. He was getting better— the notes clear and sweet without novice squeaking. His mismatched eyes watched them through the dim light.
“I’m not going to make it without coffee.”
“You could drink tea.” Everest’s smile pressed against his neck.
“Shut your mouth. You kiss me with that mouth, Everest, for fuck’s sake.”
“I can ask Blue if she brought a coffee-maker golem.”
“Could you make one if she doesn’t have it premade?”
Everest laughed again, gorgeously unrestrained. “I believe that’s solidly beyond my skill set.”
“Come on.” Dahl pulled him along. “Let’s go say hi and see if she’s holding out.”
“Fitz! Baby!” Blue squeaked out her greeting and swept him into a hug that Fitz tolerated like a champ. “He looks great! You look great!” She checked herself before throwing her arms around Everest. “And you’re still not craving hugs: it’s cool, it’s cool. Let me see this.” She took Dahl’s golem arm by wrist and elbow, giving it a quick inspection. “How’s it treating you?”
“Good. It’s only been back on for a week. I had to wait for my shoulder fracture to heal, but we’re bonding. Actually, I owe it big time. When we’re rested and have a minute, I’d like to talk to you more about the magic you used. My arm is… intelligent, in a way, and it has a protective streak.”
“Oh? Intriguing. Do tell.” Blue was manhandling Fitz again, who was frantically signing “down.” Everest wrested him from Blue’s arms with an apologetic smile.
“Fitz was helping me make dinner and he leaned too close to the gas range. I didn’t even realize he was in danger until I puzzled it out afterwards, but my arm pulled him back before his shirt caught on the propane flame. The fabric was scorched. If it hadn’t moved so fast, he might have been burned.”
“Wow, that is so cool!” Blue was bubbling over. “Not the almost getting burned part, glad he’s okay, but the behavior you’re describing is remarkably advanced. All golems will do basic things to protect themselves, and I was wondering if that would extend to you since it’s a part of your body, but I never dreamed it would work to safeguard friends and family. Sweet! You’ll have to keep me updated on all similar occurrences of familial preservation.”
“Speaking of basic preservation.” Dahl glanced around Blue’s room. A huge air mattress on the floor as well as a baby play area indicated Ian and Jane were bunking here as well. “I don’t suppose you have a coffee maker?”
Blue laughed. “I’m sorry, I’m suffering too! Even if I did have one, I don’t have coffee.”
Desperation wiggled aching claws into Dahl’s heart. “I think I’m not conveying how little sleep we get.”
“Ha! Six-month-old at home. I get it. Jane and Ian are going to have twins. I’m not sure why coffee wasn’t the first seven items on the survival supplies list.”
“Fine. How do we fix this?” There must be a way to fix it. Everest was watching him through heavy lashes, eyes shining. His ring showed as a tiny lump under Everest’s shirt, but no answer yet… “I’ll drive to the nearest store? If I leave now, surely I can be back before tomorrow morning.”
Blue giggled. “Sorry, luv, even without impending snow, we are on total lockdown until Jane gets her magical obscurement thingamagummy in place. So, until after she delivers at the earliest.”
“Can we do that this afternoon and I’ll go after?”
“No, Dahl. Jane is not going to have her babies this afternoon because you want coffee.”
“There has to be another way. We have a high concentration of magically linked, genius, resourceful people on this compound. There must be a way to get coffee. What hope do we have of defending reality if we can’t even get coffee because it was left off the packing list?”
Everest gave a small smile. “Brainstorming session. Let’s hear ideas. I’ll start. Ian could bribe an animal helper.”
“It’s too long distance.” Having been Ian’s partner for four years, Dahl was familiar with the unreliability of animals. In the Sana Baba tradition, he offered the next idea as he had nixed the previous one. “There are plants that are natural sources of caffeine and I’ve heard they taste like coffee. Chicory and yaupon holly. We could gather those and try to brew our own.”
“Wrong time of year.” Blue frowned. “The ground’s frozen. You guys could just drink the instant coffee.”
“Blue, I understand that you weren’t trained as an agent, but in the brainstorming session we only offer potentially viable solutions.” Dahl tried to effect the perfect level of encouraging condescension. “Try again.”
Blue glared at him but ruined it by giggling. “Fine! Everest’s a wiz at impossible bindings. He could write ‘caffeinated’ directly on your skin and it would act as a magical infusion.”
Dahl snatched a pen from Blue’s desk and thrust it in Everest’s direction. “Yes. Do it. Blue, tell your protege to stop wasting his talents. He won’t even give me back the tattoo template that got scrubbed off in the hospital.”
“What’s this?” Blue was wiping a tissue under her eyes, trying to keep several ounces of mascara from running down her cheeks.
“The Survivor binding that saved my fucking life.” Dahl studied Everest, who had sobered rapidly. “He won’t rewrite it for me. I wanted to get it inked.”
“You can still ink Survivor on your arm, but I’m not going to bind magic directly to your skin with no knowledge of the risks involved.” Everest always hid his fear under logic. It had taken seeing him at his most undone to be able to recognize it. Knowing what he looked like terrified cast so many things in a different light. Dahl smothered the urge to hug him and murmur reassurances. He wouldn’t appreciate that.
Blue cut in. “What happened when you did the binding? I must have missed this.”
Everest broke eye contact and responded with his cool, commander’s voice. “Dahl lost consciousness for about ten seconds. When recovered, he reported vertigo and feeling unwell. At the time I suspected a panic attack—we were discussing a difficult topic.” Dahl worked to mirror Everest’s composure. The Neon. They had been discussing the utter shitshow at the Neon when Mordred was riding high and everyone else paid in blood. “I didn’t intend to write a binding. I was being sentimental.”
“Interesting. Did you experience anything else from your side, Dahl?”
“It was painful. Like a combination of a hot brand and the injection of an irritant. It made me feel clammy and weak for about a minute, but it cleared and I didn’t experience anything else adverse beyond the initial discomfort. The word itself had a reactive quality on my skin: fizzy or sparking, but the sensation was subtle enough that I chalked it up to numbness from old scar tissue.”
“Hmmm. Welp, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to
study this further.” Blue’s eyebrows were raised and her mouth quirked.
Dahl shrugged. “I am absolutely game. Break out the Sharpies. Caffeinate me.”
“No.” Everest was the picture of calm finality except the tiny shift in his eyes, his folded hands.
Dahl pushed forward. “It saved my life, Everest. Write the same thing and we’ll be on familiar ground. If we can figure this out—”
“It’s an incredible resource.” Blue couldn’t contain herself any longer. “There’s so much potential here, and we need everything we can muster. You guys are talking about reality coming apart. Shouldn’t we explore every tool we have to try and save it?”
Fitz was stacking blocks, rattling the silence when they went over. Everest smothered a flinch.
Dahl took a half step forward. “I’m sorry, Blue. Can you excuse us for a moment?”
Blue glanced back and forth before standing. “Don’t do anything awesome and magical while I’m out of the room, you hear?” She slipped into a heavy fur coat.
“Sorry, not possible. We’re always awesome and magical.”
Blue let out an articulated laugh as she opened the door. “Come on, Fitz, let’s get a snack! We’ll be in the Grit Room.” Fitz scurried after her, and the door closed on the bright winter sun.
Everest let his shoulders droop a fraction as Dahl took his hand. “Hey, it’s going to be alright. We can do this, just like last time.”
Everest shook his head. “Dahl, these are forces we have no data on. Maybe someday, when we know more, but you’re seeing a safety net when it could be a noose. My creations don’t last long.” His voice caught on the last word. “They always fall apart. We don’t know what effects a botched binding could have on a human. Would your arm turn necrotic? Would the magic disrupt your cells until cancer flourishes? Or maybe the effect would be more mystical and it might slowly shear the life from your body. We might have been lucky last time. I could have killed you. I know you’re in command here.” Everest swallowed. “I accept your authority. Anything else, I will follow orders and defer to your leadership, but not this.”
“Are you sure?” Dahl had been going for even and his voice came out scratchy.
“It’s a risk that we—”
“No, are you sure you can accept my authority?” Dahl clenched his jaw. “You’ve questioned my decision to spring Zack multiple times. Now you’re refusing to explore the resource of bindings. This mission is going to be risky, Everest. Riskier if we have a faulty chain of command. I can do this, but I need you to back me.”
Everest smoothed his expression and carefully folded trembling hands. “I will. You have my full confidence. You’ve heard my recommendation; now I wait for your order.”
Dahl closed his eyes. When the tables were turned Everest was a cautious officer and always had been—prudence the better part of valor. Was his conservatism why he never lost an agent? Could they now afford the same luxurious carefulness? Dahl smothered his excitement at the possibilities of magical bindings until the feeling inside of him stopped kicking. Then he opened his eyes.
“Let’s table it for now. If our needs are more pressing in the future, can you agree to research it at that point?”
Everest nodded once. They strolled outside to the Grit Room holding hands.
“What, exactly, is that?” Dahl peered at the dead animal in the snow-dusted dirt. Megan must have been driving fast: the front end of the hot-pink Ferrari was going to need bodywork. One headlight dangled out of its warped socket, and the hood was buckled in a small, lopsided peak. The animal came away with the worst of it, though. Roughly the dimensions of a German Shepherd, the creature’s brown-furred legs curled against its belly in death—bloody fluff hiding bulging muscle and wicked claws. A thick trunk supported a neck and head similar to a wild boar: snouty nose, dopey ears, and brutal tusks. Although its dimensions weren’t astounding, Dahl pegged it just shy of two hundred pounds after an experimental drag. A meaty hyena-pig hybrid laying in the frozen dirt.
“It came out of nowhere.” Megan shrugged. Everest glanced left and right across the perfectly flat, coverless ground. Megan stuck her tongue out. “Don’t give me that, Bunny Boy, it absolutely did. I was pulling in and I didn’t even see it—just felt the bump.” Megan glanced at the Ferrari and stage whispered. “Zack’s freaking out about his baby.”
Zack was agape in the passenger seat while Megan re-slotted the headlight to the tune of squealing metal on metal. It bungee-jumped back out as soon as she let go and Zack buried his face in his hands.
Everest stooped over the roadkill and darted a glance to Megan. “I’ve asked you not to call me that name.” He trailed his fingers in the dark blood, white eye flickering.
Dahl took out a pack of cigarettes, but put it away again when Fitz signed “Up.”
Learning sign language was a happy accident. A few months ago, Mordred had beaten the ever-loving shit out of him. Learning a few signs was a temporary way to communicate with Everest when his dislocated jaw and bruised windpipe made speaking agony. Fitz picked it right up, memorizing everything they taught him and inventing his own signs to fill in vocabulary gaps.
Dahl lifted the kid, ignoring protests from his aching shoulder. Repeated breaks took a stupid amount of time to heal. It’s never going to be good as new again. Cripple. Dahl shoved the fear aside as Fitz’s mismatched eyes tracked Zack with solemn attention, a tremble in his limbs. Dahl bit his lip stud and tried to stymie the wave of emotions.
Balance was a lost cause around Zack Slaughter. Dahl’s prior encounters with him involved inhaling a lot of funny gas while frantically trying to keep Megan and a theater full of civilians alive. Debriefing a few days ago was his first chance to watch the man in a calmer setting. Swings in tone, restlessness, and an oversaturated exterior all worked to dazzle and confuse, but underneath his theatrics the real problem peeked through: he was fascinatingly pretty. He was also terrified. Like a unicorn in a foam dinosaur suit: vital, fragile innocence in ridiculous armor.
It didn’t help that Mordred would have lost his shit over this guy. Bright, damaged, and sensitive—he was exactly Mordred’s type. Mordred was such a fucked up egotist: aching to despoil a more innocent version of himself. The attraction without Mordred’s presence to blame felt like picking at a scab. It hurt and Dahl wished it wasn’t there, but he kept fingering it.
Dahl refocused on Everest, stooped over the roadkill. “Any insight?”
Everest went still for a few heartbeats before shivering. “It’s not natural, but I can’t get anything specific.”
“Thank God, Ace. What would we have done without you?” Zack unfolded himself from the Ferrari and prowled around to the damaged side, dropping to a crouch, speaking to the car in soothing tones. “Did you get hurt, baby? Was it bad?”
Dahl handed Fitz off to a placid Everest and peered more closely at the dead beast. There was nothing overtly sinister about a wild animal, even if the species didn’t technically exist. The idea of it coming from somewhere else was unsettling, but what did that mean in an actionable sense?
Dahl shook his head and allowed himself a glance at the Ferrari’s damage. An ugly bruise, but he’d put bigger dents in his Mustang, and it all came out. Dahl clapped Zack on the shoulder. “I think she’s going to make it.”
“He.” Zack leaned against Dahl sorrowfully. “Surely you didn’t miss the stick.”
Fitz made a growling noise and Dahl glanced up and then hopped to his feet, patting his son on the back while he clung to Everest like a vise. Zack was still crouching. A brief, poignant expression of loss, entirely inappropriate to a fender bender, was abruptly obliterated with a wide grin. What was going through his head?
Dahl shoved his hands in his pockets and toed the creature, taking care not to get blood on his favorite multi-colored, paint-splattered boots. “Well, we know the barrier’s thinning. Some extranatural creatures crossing over fits the ticket. We should make a plan for when something more da
ngerous wanders into camp. Good job taking care of this one, Megan.” Dahl gave her a light punch on the shoulder.
Megan grinned from where she was anchoring the headlight back in with chewing gum. “No problemo.”
Chapter Five
“Jane Elizabeth Libby Davis Sendak, come here and put your hands out like so.” Zack Slaughter snapped to attention the instant Jane waddled into the Grit Room, thrusting his creamy pale hands palm up in front of him. Jane huffed and panted as she shuffled across the room and slumped into a chair.
The inside of the Grit Room was the same windowless concrete as the other three buildings, but this shelter had been outfitted for extended comfort. All the posh survivalist luxury of a working kitchen and a real bathroom must have taken time and money to install. Whoever’s dream this was before Jane’s dad snapped it up had planned for long-term off-the-grid living. Thank God for smart people.
“Like this?” Crap, her fingers were so puffy. When was this going to end?
Zack positioned his hands six inches above hers and lowered them with slow exaggeration. Jane watched him watching her as a nasty, jagged bit of panic lodged solidly in her stomach. Stupid—she was being so stupid about this. He wasn’t contagious from holding hands. Jane had already seen through his ruined cheek to blackened teeth, sinew and flesh weakly leaking puss. She’d already touched him skin to skin, since her magic didn’t transfer through latex gloves. He’d been sedated when they flew him into the Sana Baba hospital where Jane was working and had been identified by a number instead of a name, but as soon as he arrived she’d recognized him across the yard.
A fraction above her hands he paused, raised an eyebrow and then settled his warm palms onto hers. Intense pride at not flinching was washed out under drowning shame that she’d taken the moment to congratulate herself. Her cheeks flushed hot and her palms grew damp. Hopefully that would read as exertion from walking into the building and taking a seat.
