Yellow eyes widened, stared at her. She stared back, trying vainly and desperately to think of something, anything, she could say to return this situation to normal.
Normal. Yeah. A troll. Underground. A bunch of candles. Bars full of things that shouldn’t exist. God, help me out here. I think I’m going into shock.
He beckoned again, this time very carefully and slowly. “Vakr come with,” he rumbled. “Safe with stonekin.” He nodded his broad hairless head, and Chess was suddenly struck by the fact that he resembled a very old bulldog Mrs. Flatbush down the street from her parents used to own. The dog, almost blind and with its teeth worn down to nubs, had been almost pathetically grateful for a calm voice and a gentle pat on the head. Mrs. Flatbush had run all his food through a blender, he couldn’t chew it anymore. He’d been called “Killer” in his youth, but all the neighbors had taken to calling him “Old Glory.”
Chess dropped her hands. It can’t hurt, she thought. “All right. I’ll come with you.” She pitched her voice low and soothing, as if she was talking to Old Glory again. “Just take it easy with that voice, huh? It’s a little scary.”
He backed out of the door as she stepped forward again, her boots slipping a little on the smooth stone floor. The air smelled leaden and dead down here. The troll’s bare four-toed feet spread to grip the stone. She followed cautiously, stepping out into darkness broken only by the gleams of a heavy brass candelabra held by another troll.
Outside the door was a vaulted stone passage, floored with the same fitted-together flagstones. The walls were smooth as glass, she was glad the almost-invisible seams between the stones on the floor gave her some traction or she’d be slipping all over like a cartoon character skating. Both trolls were massive, green, and watched her with disconcertingly mild, wide yellow gazes.
I am not cut out for this. She managed a smile that seemed likely to crack her face. “Okay,” she said, heard her voice fall flat in the close, choking confines of the tunnel. “I guess I’m all yours, guys. Where are we going?”
* * * *
Chess soon found out she was way underground, deeper than the sewers, and that the second troll-thing seemed unable to speak much English. It held an ancient brass candelabra in one thick, horny hand, and she saw warts marching along the back of its neck, each decked with black hair. The first troll had vanished down another corridor into the darkness, shuffling and making a deep hooming sound that even now reverberated through the air. Every once in a while they would pass arches yawning up to the left or right, some with a faint gleam of golden light far back in them, each resounding with that humming sound. It sounded like there were a whole bunch of singing trolls in this labyrinth, and the sound worked its way through her bones, shaking tension and her headache away.
It shuffled ahead of her through the fluidly-curving stone passage, its back hunched under a frayed black shirt, and she wondered if it was the one from the tavern. Her hiking boots made shushing sounds against the flagstone floor, each rock fitted together with exquisite care. She had to go carefully with one hand on the smooth cold wall or she’d slip. The tunnel began to slope sharply up, no doors on either side, and she was breathing heavily by the time they reached the end and a set of stairs through an arch carved with flowers and beautiful, strange runic lettering she wanted to examine more closely. “Excuse me,” she managed politely. “Excuse me?”
The troll stopped. “Thank you,” she began, unsure of whether that meant it was listening or if she’d just committed a grave breach of etiquette. “Look, can you take me up to Tenth Street and Argyle? That’s close to my house. I’d really appreciate it.”
The troll made a snorting sound. “Nagàth ilmesto.” Its voice was like rocks dropped into a pool, chill and plonking. “Tang vakr.”
Gesundheit, she thought. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand you. I apologize.” She deliberately made her voice soft, not almost-yelling like people sometimes did when they spoke to a foreigner.
“Following,” the troll said. “Danger for firebird.”
“Firebird?” What the hell does Stravinsky have to do with this? Have I been stuck with a troll that loves classical music? She dragged herself back into the present with an effort. The books also didn’t tell you how your mind jagged from place to place when confronted with the absurd, things your life hadn’t prepared you for, violations in the reality you grew up into, leaving behind fairy tales and sorcery.
If I wasn’t such an avid reader of speculative fiction, I might well be stark raving mad by now.
“Firebird. Knife, gold, soft, smell good.” The troll ruminated on this for a moment, then said, “Yew!”
Yew? You? Oh, my God. “Firebird? You mean I’m the firebird? Someone’s following me?” Give Chessie a prize, she catches on quick, don’t she? Ryan, you’d be proud. Why am I thinking of him?
“Drak’ul. Follow Firebird. Black smoke too.” It still didn’t turn around, but its shoulders slumped. “Take firebird secret way, no follow.”
Gee, that’s mighty swell of you. “I’d like that.” She cast a nervous glance behind her—nothing but the yawning maw of blackness that was the rest of the tunnel, the candles flickering and failing to dispel the darkness. “Thank you.” Jesus Christ, I’m in a tunnel with a troll. An actual tunnel and an actual troll. I’m getting the idea Jericho City is a lot weirder than even I suspected. I wonder if there are Others living in every city?
It certainly seemed likely. On both counts.
“Up,” the troll grunted, and set off up the steps. She began to see how its odd, awkward legs were actually perfectly suited for tunnels and stairs. He stopped every once in a while to let her catch her breath. I’m in good shape, but damn, these are killer. My ass is never going to be the same. Stairmaster, eat your heart out. He said nothing else, but she began to hear a deep thrumming, a subsonic noise that rattled her bones and made her a little less sanguine about being on a narrow set of stairs with a troll that smelled like leather and sunwarmed stone.
At least he didn’t smell like she’d always imagined trolls would smell. Though those warts were something else.
He says the Drakul are following me. Is it Ryan? Why did the lights go out? Was it them? Only it was demons . . . but he said the Drakul were part demon. She suppressed a shiver as the walls turned from stone to crumbling brick, the candleflames beginning to dance in drafts as other passages opened up on either side, galleries and halls of darkness. The pale candlelight was not at all comforting, even though the humming noise—almost definitely coming from the troll—was pleasant, kind of like a sonic massage. And there on the stairs, with a troll in front of her, Chessie had another deep urge to laugh maniacally.
Eight
He heard the sound of the key in the lock and made himself a shadow, unbreathing, almost unthinking, melding with the darkness. It was the long, dead time of early morning, right about half past two, the dark thick and absolute before false dawn began to creep up through the cracks of night. The knife was steady in his hand, and the beginnings of combat-sorcery tingled on his other fingers. Blood dripped into his eyes, warm salt stinging; his shoulders both hurt and his wrists were bracelets of agony. His knee was destroyed too. He’d taken a bad shot, and the shirt she’d given him was going to be a rag, useless, slashed, and bloody. He felt bad about that.
Another lock unlocked, the faint sound loud to his Drakul senses. He heard only one heartbeat, as familiar to him as his own by now.
The door opened, a slice of golden light from the hall outside appearing. “Hi, honey, I’m home,” she whispered, and stepped inside, closing the door and locking it. Two deadbolts, thudding home, then the lock on the knob. The smell of stonekin hung on her, stonekin and Inkani; she still smelled of the demons that had attacked the Shelaugh, the demons he’d thought had taken her.
Rage brought him to his feet, the knife thudded into the wall in the kitchen as he went through the arch into the hall. His fist slammed into the wall over her shoulder, th
e combat sorcery spending itself uselessly, his body pinning hers. He dropped his head, inhaled deeply, taking in her scent. Yes, there was the taint of the Inkani, but she hadn’t been touched. The smell of stonekin was much stronger. Under it, the smell of her shampoo and the taint of demon, his own smell, very strong; another Drakul would recognize it on her. The smell of Inkani was just a faint fading tang under the smell of the night outside. She was safe, they hadn’t gotten close to her.
And under it, the fresh golden smell starting to wear through her human camouflage. He should have noticed it first off, but he’d been confused. It was true.
Holy God, it was true.
She screamed and struggled, then he had his bloody right hand clamped over her mouth, glad he’d gotten rid of the knife. “Stay still,” he rasped. “Just fucking stay still, woman, if you know what’s good for you.” Because if you don’t I’m going to drag you into the bedroom and add another reason for you to fear me.
She went limp, leaning against the wall, and he inhaled the smell of her hair again. It calmed him as nothing else could. Mine. She’s mine, and here. Her lips moved slightly against his palm—was she praying? Gasping for air? The sharp chemical smell of fear smashed through her scent, his body tightened one last time, pressing against her. She probably couldn’t breathe, he had her pinned. She was alive.
He buried his face in her hair. Calm down. You’re scaring her. Calm down, Ryan. Come on. You’re better than this. You can calm down, you can calm her down, check to see if she’s wounded, find out where the stone took her. And above all, just fucking calm down. A deep breath, all the way down into the bottom of his lungs, a soothing, pleasant burn working into his skin as the wounds started to heal, now that he was relaxing. Now that he was sure she was still alive.
“Are you hurt? Tell me, are you hurt?” I sound just one short step away from murder. What a coincidence. I feel just one short step away from doing something very, very bad. If they hurt her . . .
One slow shake of her head, very slow, as if she was afraid to move. No. He didn’t smell any blood on her, either. That was good. If she was hurt he might become unmanageable.
Christ, she doesn’t have a clue how to manage me, either. Have to teach her, and soon.
“Good,” he murmured. “Very good. Now, were you followed?”
She shook her head, slowly. Then, deliberately, she shrugged. The movement made her breasts move, pressed against his chest, and he swallowed a hot flare of desire. You’re frightening her. Stop it. Calm the fuck down. “I’m going to take my hand away from your mouth,” he said softly. “And you’re going to be quiet. I’m on a hair-trigger right now, sweetheart. I won’t hurt you, but it could get very uncomfortable for both of us if you set me off. I am not thinking clearly right now, I was out of my fucking mind worrying over you; I’ve become very fond of you in my own little way. You don’t mind, do you?”
A hot wetness touched his right hand. Tears? Was she crying?
Christ, if she’s crying I’ve really fucked up. “Forget it. Now, you’re going to be quiet, right? No sudden moves, no screaming. All right?”
There was a long pause, she took in a small shuddering breath. She was so soft, he wanted nothing more than to touch her skin again. More of her skin, more of her. Wanted to press forward and press his mouth on hers, wanted to feel her breath against his as her lips opened, wanted all sorts of things. And he was very close to simply taking what he wanted, instead of keeping his self-control.
It’s official. I’m a danger to the Order. But she’s not just human, is she? That doesn’t make it right, won’t stop them from trying to put me down before I can explain. If they can catch me.
She nodded slowly, her chin dipping. Yes, the wetness touching his hand was tears. She was weeping.
The discovery broke the shell of rage, introduced something softer, something better, even though it broke his heart. He relaxed a little bit, his hand loosening. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to scare you. It’s been a rough night.” He tried to speak softly. He relaxed further, peeled his hand away. She sniffed, a slight hitching movement. “You okay?”
Her voice was so calm he almost missed the trembling of panic underneath. “No, I’m not okay. What the hell happened back there? I woke up underground. And there were more—more of them—”
“Inkani?” His left fist relaxed a little, fell away from the wall, but he still leaned into her. She couldn’t wriggle away. “Are you hurt?” She’s not hurt. Thank God, she’s not hurt.
“N-no. T-t-trolls.” It caught in her throat. “They l-let me go. The t-troll said I was being f-followed, that he would t-take me a safe way, without being f-followed.”
“Trolls? Oh, stonekin.” There were Inkani there; they pulled back because of a stonekin counterattack. That makes sense. A stonekin brought you Below.
“Big g-green t-trolls.” Her voice broke. “He said I was f-f-followed.”
“Maybe you were.” By who, though? And the stonekin took you Below. Bless them and their worship of the sun. “The Inkani was there at the tavern. My Malik’s gone and I haven’t reported in. I’ve been a bad boy.”
“H-he said black s-smoke.” She swallowed dryly. He heard it, and he had the sudden incomprehensible desire to bury his face against her throat and taste the salt of the sweat springing up on her skin. The trembling in her and the harsh chemical spill of her fear tore through his control, left him shaking too.
He did, did he? And so he took you down Below. I thought you were already trussed in an Inkani cell, sweetheart. “They don’t like Inkani.” He pushed himself back, away from the wall, his body aching with the need to press against hers. “They were hunted in the dark days; the Inkani put them in slave coffles to build the dark castles. There are still places underground where the blood of stonekin can be seen on the walls.”
“That’s horrible,” she whispered. “The d-d-demons . . . I thought they’d killed you, I thought you were g-gone—”
I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. “Tell me everything. Everything.” If the Inkani followed her, they’re watching this place. But I sense no other demons here, all is as it should be. Did the stonekin cover her tracks and buy me some time? That’s most likely. I owe them.
“Can I . . . can I turn the light on? And get changed?” The fear in her voice hurt him somehow. Did she think he was going to hurt her?
I might without meaning to, if I get clumsy. And I’m covered in blood and guck. “I don’t look so good. I ran across some trouble.” I went fucking insane thinking they’d taken you, sweetheart. Relief unloosed his muscles further. She was alive, she was here, and nobody else had touched her. Everything was fine, for right now at least. “I think I’ve ruined this shirt.” He reached over, flicked the light switch. She flinched, blinking up at him, and the horrified expression on her face was equally gratifying and frustrating. I know I look like hell. You don’t have to look like that.
“My God,” she whispered. “What happened to you?”
“Inkani.” He shrugged. “They attacked the tavern. The stone must have dragged you out while I slowed them down, exactly what he was supposed to do. Only I thought an Inkani had taken you. I went crazy.” He was still standing too close to her, could feel the heat from her body brushing his. He was on the fine edge. It wouldn’t take much to push him over. “The thought of them hurting you . . . ” Christ, I’m in deep.
She blinked. Her hair was mussed out of its sleek braid, but she was otherwise unharmed. There was dampness on her shoulders and her hair, from the rain that was now beginning to sweep restlessly against the window. The gold flecks in her eyes glowed as her gaze went down his body, taking in the blood and the ripped clothing, the dark stain over his smashed knee that was starting to twitch as it healed. Strangely enough, right now the pain didn’t matter as much. He tried to pull himself up straighter under her scrutiny, as if she was a Malik choosing a new Drakul. “Good God,” she whispered, her lips shaping the words, and he stared
at her mouth. “You look awful.”
“Thanks.” One corner of his mouth tilted up slightly. He stared at her lips. I’m about to do something I shouldn’t. But if I’m going to be damned, I might as well earn it.
“You said to come back here and wait for you. What were you doing sitting in the dark?” She shifted her weight, as if she wanted to slide along the wall away from him. He put out his left hand and braced it next to her shoulder, stopping her.
“Waiting. For the Inkani to come rifling through your apartment, looking for the books. I was going to trap one, make it take me to you.” I didn’t think you would come back. I thought they had you and when the red haze cleared I was standing in the middle of a bunch of dead Inkani and had to jump to get away. Never dreamed a stonekin had you. Bless them and their worship of the sun.
“They want my library too?” That sparked indignation. But she was still trembling, and her eyes were wider and darker than he liked. Shock. She was in shock. Just because she was so calm outwardly didn’t mean she was dealing well with having most of her assumptions about the nature of the universe whacked away from underneath her.
“Not anymore.” His voice hurt his throat. “If they find out exactly what you are, they’ll want you, and not just for party games. They have a use for you, sweetheart.”
“Don’t call me—” Her eyes flashed, and he lost the battle with himself.
He leaned forward. His mouth trapped hers, his tongue sliding in. She tasted like sunlight, the harsh light that hurt even as it warmed him. She also tasted soft, and of the mint toothpaste in her bathroom, still lingering in her mouth. Her breath mingled with his, the flavor of night and stonekin and some taste that was uniquely hers. Fire slid down his back, roared through his nervous system. He was damn close to dragging her into her pretty blue bedroom before he finally broke away, pulled her away from the wall, and closed her in his arms, smelling her hair again. “I can explain,” he said into her hair. “I can explain, but first I need you to tell me exactly what happened. Everything, all right?”