Immortal enough, p.10
Immortal Enough, page 10
When her body had relaxed somewhat, I moved to position my legs between hers. I braced my elbows on either side of her head and stared down into her eyes.
Her pupils were wide, her lips parted. She was breathing hard. She reached and dug her fingers into the sides of my butt. “Keep going.”
I laughed slightly, dipped my head to kiss her then thrust into the ready heat of her body. Dayum… a couple of seconds and I was fighting the urge to come right then. I forced myself to go slower. I know my hands scrunched the fabric of the sofa, riding that exquisite burning edge. Her legs wrapped around my hips, heightening the friction of our bodies. And the crest of climax hit me. Ecstasy. Pleasure, sliding on down to drowsy bliss. We rolled sideways just a little, toward the back of the sofa, still joined, kissing, sated.
She snuggled to my chest, one leg over my hip, and we just caught our breath, hands wandering.
Reality began to creep in again. “What are you going to do with the box… and the bracelet?” I asked. I traced my thumb along the sinuous line of the dragon’s tail that snaked down her thigh.
She curled a lock of my hair around her index finger. “Put it in my safe. I really never had a plan past that point.”
Chapter 21
Sophie
After horizontal and not so horizontal adventures Friday evening. I spent Saturday helping him move some preliminary boxes and items into the apartment on the second floor of my building. Saturday night started with a discussion about events of the night I had gotten stabbed, evolved into me giving him a lesson in defensive moves on the dojo mat in the other portion of my floor and ended with sex on that mat.
Going back to work on Monday felt a little surreal. Add in the fact this was going to be a three-day week because of Thanksgiving.
Carolyn plopped in a chair in a neighboring cubicle. “Is everything okay? Why the days of personal time?”
“Family from out of town, combined with an injury and a crisis… It’s complicated,” I said, staying intentionally vague. Did Dama really count as family? Okay, maybe it made her “family by choice.”
“Have you seen any more of the hot guy from Siracha?”
“A couple of times. His name is Fitz.”
“Drinks or a hookup?”
I smirked. I had to tell her a little something to appease her curiosity. “Both.”
“Is he good? Is he even more ripped under that t-shirt?”
“Mmm, yes.”
“Oh jeez, you’re killing me. Details?”
I gave her a few sketchy bits of info, the kind of information that didn’t involve the getting stabbed or magick events.
“This sounds like it could be serious,” Carolyn said.
“I don’t know. It’s probably too early to tell.”
~
Tuesday and Wednesday rolled along fairly smoothly. Thursday, Thanksgiving, I tinkered in the kitchen, watched a movie, and spent a couple of hours basically just staring at the bracelet the box had created. I examined every nook and cranny of the carvings on it with a magnifying glass. I made sketches in my composition book and notes about possible ways the magick might work.
Late in the evening, I got text from Fitz.
I told my parents I’m seeing someone.
I know I made a face. It was probably a good thing Fitz couldn’t see it. It wasn’t that specifically didn’t want to meet his family, it was just the depth of the complications it came with. I hesitated for a minute trying to come up with a reasonable reply. Meeting me might put them in danger. This neglected the concept that the cabal might trace his family from Fitz on backward anyway.
My mom grilled me, and I suck at lying.
That made me smile. His personality definitely didn’t run toward deception.
Glad you have a good relationship.
Gawd, that made me dredge all the way back to my relatively dysfunctional early years. My father had died when I was four. My mother had worked a menial scullery job for a merchant’s house. Her goal had been to get me a better job than hers. Finding me employment at age eleven with the wealthier Fitzgerald household had made her happy. She died two years later.
If I had been born in the era of current Fitz’ childhood, would my parents have been the kind that worked multiple jobs and still been on food stamps? Or would there have been a way to bootstrap themselves out of poverty? I would never know. Maybe that was why a couple of decades after my “death” I spent so much energy amassing some money and then later learning enough to hopefully never be that level of poor again. Erg, what did that say about my personality? Greedy, avaricious, manipulative, and no longer human… One hundred and thirty-two was nearly two average lifetimes.
I sat there staring at the ceiling above the table that currently held the box, bracelet, and all the books I had dragged out for research.
Can I come by? I was gifted a pumpkin pie. And if I don’t share it, I’ll be tempted to eat the whole thing.
As if the man who could probably bench press a Volkswagen wouldn’t find a way to burn off the calories. Sure.
I packed up the bracelet and box and put them in the safe while I waited.
There was a knock at the door a little later. I opened it to find Fitz, holding a foil covered pie plate and a bottle of white wine. “I take it you had a nice day with your parents.”
“Yeah, and Eli.” He crossed to the kitchen area and set down the pie.
“Who’s Eli?”
“My younger brother.”
“I didn’t know you had a sibling.”
“Four years younger. Lives in San Diego.”
I pulled a couple of wine glasses and plates from the cupboard. “Is he a physics guy too?”
Fitz grinned. “No. He’s an aviation boatswain’s mate on the USS Carl Vinson. That’s an aircraft carrier.”
“Um, what exactly does that mean?”
“He’s one of the one’s out there with the lighted sticks directing aircraft traffic in the hanger and on the flight deck. He doesn’t make it back to the east coast for holidays very often.” He picked a knife out of the cutting block and gestured toward the pie. “Big? Small?”
“Something kind of normal sized.”
“Do you, or did you have brothers and sisters?” He asked somewhat awkwardly.
“No, not that survived past childhood. My mother told me I had a sister a few years older. She died when she was three.”
Fitz looked embarrassed to have asked. “I’m sorry.”
“I never met her. She died before I was born.” I opened the wine bottle and poured some in each glass. “Tell me something funny about you and your brother.”
“I have always been the bookish one. I used to like to look at the pictures in a set of old encyclopedias my parents had. I was five. Eli was one, and in the playpen. He wouldn’t look at the picture of the giraffe. I threw the encyclopedia at him. Luckily, I had really bad aim.”
I laughed. “Geez, the impatience of preschoolers.” I ate a forkful of the pie. “This is very good.”
“Hence why I said I’d be tempted to eat the whole thing.”
Chapter 22
Fitz
Saturday was moving day. Noah agreed to help, and I bribed Milo with the promise of pizza and beer. Sophie lent a hand too. A rental truck and four hours of loading and unloading got most of the contents of my previous apartment to the new one in Sophie’s building. Noah knew the whole story behind that. Milo, I told a tale about a sublet that had come available due to the owner being out of the country and wanting the place occupied for the next year. The new apartment was enough bigger that my possessions left the place looking a little sparse except for the large stack of boxes of books. Maybe I’d buy some additional shelves.
Sunday, I slept late, unpacked some, and actually spent a couple of hours pulling citations out of journal articles for the discussion part of my dissertation. Not having to add in extra hours working at the club was something of a relief. I hadn’t quit per se, just told them I was going to be unavailable for a few weeks here near the end of the semester.
Sophie came down late in the evening and brought back the remnants of the pie, which we split. I had the feeling she was trying to tread the line between giving me space to adjust and letting me know she was still interested in our evolving relationship.
Monday night my world went to hell.
~
I left campus, cutting through a familiar street on my way to the metro station. I had money in the bank now, but I wanted to dip into it as little as possible over the next few months. A man walked toward me, headed in the opposite direction. He was somewhat bundled up, with good reason. The temperature had dropped into the thirties almost as soon as the sun set. He bumped into my shoulder, and I reflexively thought he just wasn’t watching where he was going. He grabbed my upper arm and something hard shoved against my rib cage.
“What you feel is a gun. Just keep walking and when you get to the end of the block, turn right.” His voice was a low guttural order.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I obeyed. Mostly because given all the shit of the previous weeks, I suspected he wouldn’t have too many qualms about shooting me. My brain rifled through the sparring maneuvers that Sophie and I had practiced that one night. Was there any chance in hell I could pull one of those off? We rounded the corner. I tried to walk a little slower.
He rammed the gun against my body again. I did manage to sneak a glance, just in case this was a bluff. Shit. It very definitely looked like a real gun. He pushed me in the direction of a dark four door car. In the light of streetlamps, I wasn’t sure if it was dark blue or dark gray. Was there any chance I’d even live long enough to describe it to someone?
“Stop.”
Something crashed into the base of my skull and my knees buckled as the searing pain disoriented me. I was shoved into the car… I think. It hurt so bad. My vision was a starry nauseating mess. My face hit a wall, or something. My legs were jammed into a tight space.
I tried to focus on just breathing. There was a vibration and my brain cells finally pieced together the car must be moving. I needed to… the thought slipped away. Breathe. Control the pain. One of my hands was against my gut. The thing… that thing Sophie had given me was in my pocket, wasn’t it? The faceted rock. I didn’t dare try to reach inside my pocket, but I slid my hand down a few inches and gripped the solid lump of it through the fabric of my jeans. Did I have to do anything else? Did it even work at all? The car swayed and I gagged, still dizzy, my head pounding.
Chapter 23
Sophie
I was walking out of the metro station, heading toward home when the spell I had set to keep tabs on Fitz flared like air raid siren in my skull. I stopped, almost mid-stride and stumbled my way out of the flood of people also leaving the station. I groped in my bag for my phone. Dragging it out, I hastily dialed Fitz’ number. It rang five times and flipped to voice mail. I switched over to text.
Call me ASAP.
I stood there like an idiot for two or three minutes. There was no reply. Jesus fucking Christ, what had happened. It couldn’t be good. I started walking again, slowly. An email notification popped up. Fuck. It was from Dama, not Fitz. I opened it.
D.K. may be in DC. Hints dropped from a cabal tied contact.
My heart and stomach instantly tied themselves into some sort of impossible knot of panic. No, no, no, please no. Could I actually find Fitz with the spell? And fucking hell, weapons would be helpful.
I hurried in the direction of my building, not quite breaking into an outright run.
~
Glock, extra ammo, tactical knife… I was moving in the direction of the bathroom to grab my medic bag when my phone rang with a video call. The screen said – Fitz. I swiped it open … and the face I saw made me want to vomit.
Djual Kuhl smirked on the screen. “Ah, Emma, or should I call you by your more recent name of Sophie?”
“What the fuck do you want? Where’s Fitz?”
“The man who this phone belongs to?” Djual twisted the phone around. I could see Fitz. He lay on a metal table, rope tied his arms over his head, and his ankles to the table. His shirt had been torn open and a narrow gash along each side of his ribs dripped blood. His eyes were open, but he looked confused and in pain.
“I will tear your balls off and feed them to you,” I said.
“Enh, unlikely. Being that you have been seen with this man, I will presume you know where he keeps the box, the Shēngmìng zhī hé.”
Okay, one point in my favor and Fitz.’ Kuhl didn’t seem to be aware that I was now in possession. “Yes.”
“Very good. You will bring it to a place of my choice.”
“And if I don’t?”
“I will continue my amusement with your… lover.”
“And if I do, you’ll set him free.”
“An equitable trade, for you anyway I would suppose.”
There had to be a catch, probably more than one, because if I even managed to catch sight of this monster in the flesh, I would draw down the power of all storms and fry his ass into a cinder. I heard the low rumble of thunder outside. Shit. I needed to control my anger until I got close to this bastard. “Where?”
“I will text you the address. I expect to see you in say… three hours?”
“I’ll be there.”
“Alone. Or I will kill him, in a manner I find pleasurable.” His face bore a sneer.
“Fuck you.”
“Ah, perhaps. Eventually.” And he ended the call.
The text with the address showed up a few seconds later. And the spell on the quartz crystal I’d given to Fitz went dead. Of course. It had been a calculated gamble for an advantage. Kuhl had likely detected it when he got within twenty feet of Fitz. I just had to plow onward.
~
Just before I got in my car, I forwarded the address text to Dama along with a message.
Bastard is here. At addy. Has Fitz. Attempting to trade box for Fitz. I expect this to be a cluster fuck. Help if you can.
I wasn’t even sure where Dama was at the moment. She could be on the west coast, or still in Chicago or not even in the U.S. anymore. Still, if help was available, it probably had to be from her.
I pulled my car into the decrepit looking parking lot of an industrial building. One streetlight was still functional and cast a dim shadowy glow on the pavement. It was a big building and I wondered if I was supposed to search the whole damn place. Scanning the length of the building, I saw light through a single window at the far left-hand end. I guess I should assume Kuhl and his buds wouldn’t necessarily be standing around in the dark waiting on me.
I had put the box in a plastic food storage container. My intention, maybe my hope, was I could toss it to him without getting super close. The box, the magick box, the Shēngmìng zhī hé, was empty. Kuhl presumably had zero idea that Fitz and I created the second bracelet.
That bracelet was currently wrapped in a sock and stuffed in the left cargo pocket of my pants. Just in case. And in hopes I didn’t need a second layer of leverage. I reached under my jacket and made sure my gun was available as a quick grab from my shoulder holster. Inside a building, my ability for a full-on lightning bolt was likely to be blunted, although considering my anger … who knew.
I opened the external door closest to the window where I saw light. It made a Godawful screech. It didn’t actually matter. Whoever was waiting had probably seen my car. This was never destined to be a sneak attack.
I was in a long dingy hallway. Light spilled from an open door about fifty feet down the corridor. I walked in that direction, fingers of my right hand curling, reaching for the power of storm. I stepped through the doorway. Two men holding guns waited. Two men I didn’t recognize. One held a tablet in his hand, and I realized that Kuhl’s face was on the tablet screen. I should have known he would take maximum precautions and minimum risk.
“You are prompt. This is good. Show me the box,” said Kuhl from the tablet.
They hadn’t shot me on sight. Not that that had any lasting repercussions on my part, but it would slow this whole process down. I opened the plastic container and held up the box. “Where’s Fitz?”
“Close,” Kuhl answered. “Please slide the box across the floor.”
“Not until I see Fitz.”
The image on the screen changed. Either a webcam or some sort of relay system showed Fitz. He lay on his side, wrists and ankles bound, a pool of blood surrounded him on the floor.
“You have a finite amount of time,” Kuhl said. “Relinquish the box and you will be told where he is.”
Was he even still alive? I had to play along, else Fitz had no chance at all. I put the box back in the plastic container and shoved it skittering across the floor. The guy not holding the tablet picked it up and took the box out. He held it in front of the tablet.
“Does it resonate?” Kuhl asked the minion.
I guess that was as good a verification question from him as any. It also led me to assume both the men had at least some magic skill.
“Yes. I believe it to be the actual item,” the man said.
“Good. You may give her the location.” The screen on the tablet went dark.
“Opposite end of the building, second floor,” the man said.
I sprinted from the room, back down the hallway toward the far end of the building. It took more seconds than I wanted to find the stairwell door. I ran up them and began searching the empty dirty rooms. There. A room with a light. I practically skidded through the door. The flickering of a single fluorescent bulb lit the room.
Fitz lay in the pool of blood. I dropped to my knees, caring nothing for the mess. I yanked out my knife and cut the ropes binding his wrist and ankles. Gashes had been cut along his rib cage, and both wrists were slit. God, oh God, there was so much blood. I dragged his head and shoulders into my lap, feeling for a pulse. It was barely there, fast and erratic.
I’d seen enough people die in my very very long life. He had minutes, maybe less. Even if I called 911 right now. The chances of them making it in time were negligible.
