Paranormal Realities Box Set (29 page)

“That plant,” I said, pointing. “I need
some of its leaves for a poultice.”

Comprehension dawned on her.

“Was one of you bitten by a ghoul?”

“It is I,” Rom answered her.

“Let me see the bite.” Sergeant Amy
approached him.

Rom pulled back the sleeve of his shirt and
unwrapped the bandage. The redness now extended over his entire forearm and
traveled up over the elbow to the shoulder.

“This bite is very advanced.” Amy placed
a finger against his skin. “You’re hot to the touch. I think it's too late for
the cure.” Her tone was nonchalant and she moved as if to continue taking us
out of the conservatory.

“No.” I refused to budge.

“A cure would require a poultice once a
day for three days." She cast the comment over her shoulder. “I’m not
wasting three of our plants on a hopeless cause.”

“Tell the general if she expects our help
with weapons, I expect help with a cure for Rom,” I shouted. “In fact, it’s a
condition of any cooperation on our part.”

Sergeant Amy’s stopped and turned. Her
eyes glared at me but she said, “I’ll tell the general.”

Rom and I were taken to a bedroom and
padlocked inside. The bars prevented a quick exit out the window. Rom sat
relatively calmly on the bed while I paced impatiently.

“Kizzy.” Rom patted the bed beside him.
“Sit. You wear yourself away.”

Before I could answer there was a knock
and the sound of key in the lock. The door swung open and the general stood at
the threshold flanked by her armed guards. Sergeant Amy hovered at her back.

“I have given due consideration to your
request for assistance,” the general advised. "I’m afraid an assault on
the palace to rescue your friends cannot be authorized.”

“Fine,” I said. “We’ll go alone. Just
give us our things back.”

“That won’t be possible either. We have
need of those weapons.” The general waved her hand as if saying goodbye to my
request.

And Petra thought I was a bitch? This
woman was an iron bitch if there ever was one.

“You do not realize how depleted our
forces are,” she continued. “Sending fighters with you would be a fool’s
errand.”

I’d been going on a lot of those lately.

“All right.” I shot a glance at Rom.
“We’ll go without our things.”

“No.” The general shook her head. “You’ve
both been drafted. You are in the Resistance now. We mount a major operation in
thirty-six hours.”

“Thirty-six hours." I cringed.
“That’ll be too late. The portal—”

Rom jumped up and put a hand on my arm.
“Our friends will not survive that long.”

“If our friends aren’t rescued the portal
won’t reopen,” I warned.

The general considered me for a few
moments before she said, “That is just not logical. I believe you can open the
portal when you choose.”

“Well, you’re wrong.” I tried to bluff.

The general’s jaw clenched and she turned
on her heel to leave.

“Rest. You’ll need your strength for the
assault," she called walking out of the room.

“I want that Downy Woundwort,” I yelled
after her as the door was closing. “Or the next person who comes in here won’t
live to tell about it.”

The securing of the lock clanged.

“What the hell are we going to do?” I
rounded to face Rom. “They're going to hold us here for thirty-six freakin'
hours. The portal—”

Rom put a finger to his lips and inclined
his head toward the door. Just then a four-foot by four-foot portion of the bottom
of the door lifted. A silver tray slid into the room and the trap door snapped
shut.

On the tray sat a teapot with two cups
and a china plate of finger sandwiches and cream-colored linen napkins. How
very civilized. Also on the tray sat a mortar and pestle, a pile of Downy
Woundwort leaves, a vial of oil, and a handwritten note on how to prepare the
healing poultice.

Eighteen hours, nineteen minutes, nine
seconds until the portal sealed.

Waiting sucked. We had nothing to do or say
after we’d treated Rom’s arm, eaten the sandwiches and drunk the tea.

Jump out of my skin? I was ready to jump
out of my bones.

“Let us talk about something,” Rom said.
“The silence increases the volume of my thoughts.”

“Mine too.” My fingers tapped against my
thighs. “But what should we talk about?”

“Any topic.” Rom covered my fingers to
stop their movement.

“My last trip to London was before my
parents divorced." I gazed at my lap. "Even though Adam was only a
couple of years old, he came along. It was our last vacation as a family
together.”

“A happy topic not one of sadness."
Rom squeezed my hand.

“That’s going to be hard to think of
under the circumstances.”

“How did you and Petra meet?” he asked.

“Oh, that is a funny story." I
smiled. "Fourth grade. My family had just moved to Savannah and on my
first day of school this little girl came up to me and said, ‘Your hair looks
crazy, like you’re schizophrenic or something.' She started chanting 'Skizzy
Kizzy' at me.”

“And Petra beat up this mean girl?"

“No, silly. Petra was the mean girl.”
Chuckling, I twisted one of my electrocuted locks between two fingers. “Anyway,
I hauled off and bopped her one in the nose when she wouldn’t stop teasing me.”

“You struck her?” Rom's eyebrows arched.

“Yes and after I hit her, Petra held her
damaged nose, broke into a smile and said, ‘Feisty. I approve. We’re going to
be good friends.’”

“And you are.”

“Yes. The best of friends.”

The sound of a key in the lock brought
Rom and me up from where we perched on the edge of the bed to a standing
position. When it opened, Amy, with our duffels slung over her shoulder, stood
on the threshold holding bandaging materials. She walked in and handed the
duffels and the bandages to me. Our weapons were gone from the bags of course.
At least the bandages were usable.

“Very good,” she said, examining Rom’s
arm and the green poultice goop packed in the wound.

As I re-bandaged over the poultice, Amy
inspected the remnants of the plant and then handed each of us half.

"You should eat the rest of the
leaves," she suggested. "We think they might ward off infection from
the ghoul venom if you get bitten.”

I gulped down my half. They tasted a
little like mustard greens.

Amy walked to the bed and plopped down.
“So,” she said, “You two have to get back to Tower Bridge in about seventeen
hours or you're buggered.”

“We know not—“ Rom started.

"Please." She held up a hand to
halt him. “I heard you talking at the bridge before the colonel appeared. You said
the portal will seal and you can’t get back to your world.”

Glancing at Rom, I could see he was as
upset as I at her words. If she knew about our deadline, Amy knew she only had
to delay us to stop us from returning to our world.

“Don’t worry. I haven’t told the
general.” She crossed her skinny trouser clad legs. “And I’m willing to help
you get out of here.” The way she kicked her top leg reminded me of Petra. “But
I have a price.”

“Okay, I’ll bite,” I asked. “What price?”

“When you go back to your world, I want
to go with you.” When neither Rom nor I answered, she continued. “You don’t
realize how hellish this place is.”

Oh I think I did realize.

“So I want to immigrate.” Amy grinned. “I
want to go to your world.”

Rom’s expression said “No freakin' way”
and I agreed.

“Sure,” I said, facing Amy. “You bet.
Just get us out of here and to the palace. We have to rescue our friends. Once
that's done, you can be first who goes through the portal.”

Sergeant Amy didn’t seem to notice any
deception. My poker face must have become really awesome.

She rose and crossed to the door. After
opening it, she spoke to the guard outside.

"Get the general. The off-worlders
have information for her.”

“But Sergeant—"

“Don’t argue, private. I’ll guard the
visitors.”

When he’d gone, she motioned us out the
door. We abandoned the duffels but I grabbed my messenger bag from inside one
of them before we slipped out.

Sergeant Amy closed and locked the cell.
She picked up a rifle from where it leaned against the wall and we crept down
the hall to a back stairwell. In less than five minutes we made it out of the
building and into an alley.

Once outside, Amy broke into a run. Rom
and I kept pace with her. Our feet pounded on the cobblestones and the rifle
slung over Amy’s shoulder slapped against her side. Three blocks away, we
slowed to a walk.

Heavy acrid smoke wafted over us causing
me to cough. I spotted a fire in the building on the corner that had obviously
been burning for some time.

“Doesn’t anyone put out a fire here?” I
asked, choking again.

“Nobody around to do it,” Amy replied.

The buildings for the most part were in a
terrible state of disrepair with rotting stinking rubbish everywhere.
Strangely, even though there was garbage, no one seemed to be around. When I
mentioned this, Amy said that most of the inhabitants of the area were
nocturnal.

“But keep alert,” she said. “We’re in
enemy territory here. However, this is the most direct way back to the river.”

We approached a shop with household pots,
pans and other junk hanging in the window and also sitting atop a table
outside. As we neared, a short, stocky man appeared. Closer up, I saw from his
sharp nose, pointed chin and red glowing eyes that this was no man. However, he
also wore white face and clown make-up and so where the make-up ended and the
creature began, who could have known for certain.

“Amy,” the thing called out. “Have you
anything to sell today?” He eyed Rom and me. Clearly, we were the commodities
that interested him.

“Not today, Fenwick.” Amy stopped. “These
are for the prince.”

Fenwick frowned and he spat on the
ground. It sparked a tiny flame when it hit.

“I’ll give you two hundred fifty for
each,” he offered.

Amy shook her head.

He spat again, this time toward Amy’s feet.
She stood her ground even though, again, a spark ignited from the thing's
saliva.

Five hundred apiece,” Fenwick said.

She shook her head. “I’m not selling them
to you." With a stony gaze on him, she fingered the end of the rifle.

“I know I have something in my shop you
want.”

“I just said no," she stated through
gritted teeth, lifting the rifle to point it at the thing.

“You will regret cheating me of these
humans.” Fenwick whirled and stalked into his shop.

“Demon,” Amy sneered. “A scummy little
wretch. They're all liars.”

“I always suspected clowns were
inherently demonic,” I tried to joke. This failed to draw a laugh from anyone.

“He’s supposed to be dressed as a mime,”
Amy noted.

Ugh that was worse. “Aren’t mimes
supposed to be silent?”

Amy acted as if she had no interest in
what I was talking about and obviously Rom had not heard of mimes.

“Never mind.” I rolled my eyes. “It's
completely unimportant.”

Eventually, we came to another bridge
over the Thames, this one not as recognizable to a tourist as Tower Bridge.
Built on five stone arches, this bridge, thankfully, was low and flat. I’d had
enough of suspension bridges and heights. At least from here we'd survive if we
hit the water.

Amy stopped before stepping onto the
length of the bridge and peered around to the underside of first on side. She
walked to the other side of the path and examined the underside there too.
Smiling, she waved Rom and I forward and we began to cross.

At first, Amy’s steps were tentative but
soon her stride grew confident. About two-thirds of the way across a low growl
emanated from beneath the bridge followed by a loud belch. The stench of beer
drenched vomit wafted up to us.

“Ugh,” I groaned. “What is that?”

“Oh no,” Amy yelled. “Run for it.”

We broke into a sprint and had almost
reached the opposite bank when a grayish green slug-like creature slithered
from the muck under the bridge at the shoreline. The creature pulled itself
onto the bridge, rearing up on two legs and waving stubby arms. The thing stood
about ten feet tall and, at a width of about five feet, it blocked our way. Its
face was part of the blob-like body with a few sprouts of kinky hair on top of
its head

“Grrrrrrrrrrooooowwwwwww,” it growled.