Cravings (23 page)

I've hunted, and I've been hunted. I didn't cloud the silence with questions
but, like a hare in the bush, went still myself, straining to sort the night
sounds. Cars continued to whoosh past on the highway. The breeze ruffled the
leaves in the trees. Grass rustled…

Michael sprang to his feet, yanking me up with him. "Run!"

They came at us out of the darkness. Four, five—I don't know how many there
were. They seemed splinters of darkness themselves, clothed as they were in
black, their faces smeared with black. We were in full flight when we saw them,
our hands clasped, bare feet slapping on the asphalt. They raced out of the
trees—from in front of us. Between us and the RV.

Moonlight gleamed on metal. A gun barrel, raised—the shot cracked out even as
Michael jerked me to the left. The highway—yes, they might not want to shoot us
where so many witnesses streamed by. There were trees between us and the
interstate, too. Cover.

There were also two more of them, rising from the brush like shadows. One
with a rifle, one with something large and ominous held to his shoulder and
pointed, oddly, off to the right.

But the rifle was pointed at me.

I felt the power jump into Michael. He bellowed something. A word. It slid
through my brain like melted butter—hot, ungraspable. And the one with the rifle
burst into flame.

And so, with an explosion that rocked the earth, did my Winnebago.

Michael jerked. Stumbled. Threw his arms around me, hugging so hard that all
the air whooshed out of me. And the universe tilted in an impossible, sideways
slide, and burst into bits—into motion—then stillness.

I was lying on my back on something hard and rough. It was hard to draw
breath. Something heavy and warm pinned me, covered me, all but smothered me.
Heavy and warm and… "Michael," I breathed, and ran my hands over him. He was
unconscious, but alive. My questing hands found a dart in his back.

Anesthetic? I blinked, gathering thoughts with care and piecing them together
much more slowly than the universe had re-formed itself around me. As gently as
I could—he was very heavy—I eased Michael off me, sat up, and looked around.

And began to laugh. I couldn't help it. We were back in the Village, plopped
down naked on top of the node where Michael had first appeared.

"IT'S certainly different," Erin said, dabbing at the graze on my cheek. "Not
that you don't look great. You do. But it will take some getting used to."

"Mmm." I was sitting on the closed toilet in the downstairs bathroom of
Erin's house, a cozy two-story in Galveston's historical section. I knew the
house well, though it has been through a lot of changes. A little over a hundred
years ago, the debris from the storm surge had mounded two stories high only a
block from here.

I glanced at the mirror over the sink… which had showed me a face I hadn't
seen for some time. A face ten or fifteen years younger than the one I'd seen
the last time I looked in a mirror. A face surrounded by red hair, not white.

Sex with Michael hadn't just made
me feel
young again.

All that power… apparently a glut could undo what starvation had wrought.

"Ouch! Be careful. I might need some of that skin."

"Hold still."

"I don't know why you're doing this. I'm perfectly capable of cleaning up a
couple scratches."

"Maybe I need to."

That silenced me. She slid my robe—well, it was hers, but I was wearing
it—off my shoulder so she could clean the scrape there. I don't know where the
abrasions had come from. Maybe I'd skidded a bit when Michael brought us back to
the one spot he knew well enough to aim for, even as the drug took him under.

I'd used Theresa Farnhope's phone to call Erin, which would have amazed
Theresa, had she known. But she takes out her hearing aids to sleep, which was
why I'd chosen her trailer for my entering-without-breaking. I'd gone fuzzy, of
course; walls aren't a problem when I'm like that. Erin's husband Pete had
arrived with her and helped us load a bleary Michael into her Toyota, where he'd
passed out again.

He was awake now, though still dopey. I'd left him in the kitchen drinking
coffee. Pete, bless him, had made a pot, walked Michael around until he wasn't
staggering so much, then left to try to find us some clothes. "Your husband is a
miracle," I told Erin.

"True. Are you sure this lawyer of yours can be trusted?"

"For this, yes." I'd called NMN's only employee, an attorney with interesting
connections. He was sending cash and another credit card by courier. I expected
them in a couple hours. He'd get us identification, too, but that would take a
little longer. I'd sent him digital photos of both Michael and me after
borrowing Pete's camera and computer.

It takes a good deal of money to acquire such things after midnight, as well
as those connections I mentioned. But NMN has a good deal of money. Around
twenty-six million, last time I checked. Almost anyone can get rich if they live
long enough.

"Getting fake ID for a client isn't part of most attorneys' job
descriptions," Erin said, capping the peroxide. "So either this guy is a sleaze,
or he works for sleaze. So how can you trust him?"

"The sleazes he works for—aside from me, that is—don't encourage questions.
And they value loyalty. I imagine he'll tell them, but he won't tell the FBI or
the Azá." I shrugged. "I don't plan to use the IDs he sends for long."

"Good grief. You're talking about the Mob."

"I didn't say that." I stood and studied myself in the mirror. I could pass
for thirty-five, which was unsettling, but useful. They'd be looking for the
fifty-year-old me, not this one. I touched my cheek.

"I liked your old face," Michael said from the doorway. "But this one is
pretty, too."

I turned. His face hadn't changed. It was still beautiful enough to break
hearts. He wore a pair of Pete's jeans, rolled up at the ankles. They were too
big at the waist, too. "How wobbly are you?"

"I can walk," he said grimly. "I had better not try to run or work magic.
They knew what they were doing. Sedating me was the best way to render me
useless."

"They went to a lot of trouble not to damage you. Just as you suspected they
would." Either the Azá knew who and what he was, or they had pretty clear
instructions from their goddess.

"Instead they destroyed your home."

I wanted to tell him it didn't matter, but my throat closed up. My pot, my
little yellow pot, the one thing I still had from Ginny…

"It's my fault," he said bitterly, pushing away from the door. "My fault that
you lost everything."

"Not everything." Just the things that mattered. I still had heaps of money.

Erin was worried, but trying to be matter-of-fact. "You couldn't have known
what would happen. Probably couldn't have stopped Molly, either, even if you had
known."

"Perhaps not. But I should have realized… they traced me through the nodes
and ley lines. Through my use of them. They must have."

I thought with dismay of my own use of node energy—through Michael. "Is that
possible?"

"Theoretically, maybe." Erin was frowning. "Michael's energy is so
distinctive, even I could pick it up when I studied the node. But I don't see
how anyone could trace his location that way."

"It's possible," Michael said grimly. "Probably not humanly possible, but it
can be done."

"The goddess, you mean." Dismay ripened to fear. "But she isn't here. She
can't cross. I don't know why, but she can't. But if she's found an avatar
here—"

"I don't think so," he said, a frown creasing his brow. "No, if she had an
avatar she would have taken me herself. If only I could remember more!" He ran a
hand over his face as if he could rub away the weariness. "I think, if she could
reach a world heavily congruent to yours, or plant an avatar in one… Dis or
Faerie are the closest."

Much too close, I thought.

"Dis, probably," Michael went on. "Faerie doesn't care for outsiders, and
they have strong defenses. Dis is more chaotic. She might have made a deal with
someone there."

Erin's eyes widened. "My children. God, Michael, my children are asleep
upstairs—"

"They're safe," he said quickly. "I haven't used magic since I brought us
here. I have a low-level connection to whichever node is nearest, yes. I can't
sever it. It—it isn't possible. But even an Old One would have trouble finding
me this quickly when I'm not drawing power."

I felt cold. "But she could find you? Even if you don't use magic?"

"I don't know. I think… eventually. If I stay in motion…" He shrugged,
helpless to offer certainties when so much was unclear. "It would take
tremendous power to locate me when I'm not using a node. A goddess has great
power, but if she is in Dis, either personally or through an avatar, she must
reserve some of that for defense. They are not friendly in Dis."

The sheer understatement of that made me strangle on a laugh.

Erin didn't see anything funny in the situation. She was looking at Michael
with something close to fear. "Who are you, that a goddess would go to such
lengths to capture you?"

"It's not who I am, but what I know. Or am supposed to know." He grimaced.

I sighed. "I need coffee. And then, I think, Michael and I had better leave.
Just to be sure."

There were no lines around Michael's eyes, but when they met mine just then
they looked old. Old and terribly sad. "No, Molly," he said gently. "I must
leave. Not you."

 

WE adjourned to the kitchen. It's possible to break a heart in the bathroom,
but a good argument demands a better setting. "You're limping," I told him
severely as we headed down the short hall.

"It's nothing. An ache where she wounded me."

Apparently even Michael couldn't mend perfectly what a goddess had ripped up.
"If you think that hurt," I muttered, "wait till you see what I can do."

"Molly." He stepped a pace into the kitchen and put his hands on my
shoulders. "I do not want to part. You know that, don't you? But my presence has
already cost you too much. Your home, your belongings—"

"Things. Just things," I said fiercely. "And they're gone now, so it's too
late to worry about them. Some of them did matter, yes. Sometimes I hold too
tightly to things. That's because I can't hold on to people." They died, they
left, and now Michael wanted to leave. It was too soon. I wasn't ready.

"I understand your fear," he said quietly. "But I am more of a coward. I
don't think I could stand it if I cost you your life."

I closed my eyes for a second. "Michael. You're forgetting something." I
looked at him again and held out my hand… and made it go fuzzy.

He stared. "I didn't… God. I didn't have to do it, did I? I forgot. All I
could think was that he was going to kill you." Abruptly he pulled away.

Erin tapped me on the shoulder. "Here. Want to tell me what you're talking
about?"

She held out a mug of coffee. I took it and watched Michael pace. "They
herded us," I said. "Kept us away from the RV. I think they used a bazooka on
that, but heaven knows I'm no expert. Maybe it was one of those one-man rocket
launchers."

"They blew it up so you couldn't escape," Erin said impatiently. "You told
me that. What did Michael do that has him upset?"

"Saved my life."

"How?"

"I'll fill you in later," I said, though I wouldn't. Not about everything.
Words of power are a myth, a legend, like the alchemist's stone—a tantalizing
shortcut people have dreamed over for centuries. They don't exist. All the
experts agree on that.

I wasn't about to try to change anyone's mind.

I was beginning to think Michael was something of a walking myth, himself—but
a confused, unhappy myth-man at present. I gave Erin back the coffee mug and
went to him.

He stood with his back to me. "It's forbidden, what I did," he said very low.
"Except in the last extremity of self-defense. I wasn't in danger, but you… I
didn't think. Perhaps the one I burned had knockout darts, too. Even if you
hadn't dematerialized, he might not have killed you."

"And the others?" I put my hands on his shoulders, which were tight and
tense. "Do you think they would have left me alive to tell the authorities what
they'd done?"

"They couldn't have hurt you if you'd stayed immaterial."

"Their goddess could. She cursed me. She could remove the curse, or just
ignore it. I don't know how much knowledge and power she's invested in her
followers, but I wouldn't want to bet my life on the chance that they couldn't
touch me."

"They came for us with guns, not magic."

"Because you could have stood off any magic they were likely to possess. You
were their target, so they used what would work against you. If we'd hung
around, we would have found out what they could do to me."

After a moment his breath sighed out. He turned his head to look at me. "All
the more reason you shouldn't come with me. They may be the only ones who could
truly harm you."

"Define 'harm.'" My hands wanted to tighten on him, to clutch at him and hold
him. My voice wanted to plead. I wouldn't. Not for the sake of my pride—a costly
indulgence, pride. Sometimes worth the price, but not this time.

But tears and pleading have a price, too. One Michael would have to pay,
along with me. "I've granted you the dignity of making your own decisions," I
said levelly. "Even when I disagreed, or didn't think you knew what you were
getting into. What gives you the right to take this choice from me?"

He said nothing, just looked at me. I tried to stay with my breath the way
the Buddhists say, but my chest was squeezed so tight with waiting that every
breath hurt. If he understood, even a little, what mattered, what had kept me
sane all these years—

All at once his mouth quirked up. "Do you ever lose an argument?"

I laughed—or meant to; it came out more like a sob. Then my eyes were shut
tight against the tears and his arms were tight around me. He rubbed his cheek
against my hair. "We'll go to your sorcerer, Molly. And pray he knows how to fix
things, because I don't."