Dark mind, p.14
Dark Mind, page 14
With a resigned sigh, Medea removed her hip pouch and placed it on her nightstand. She frowned at the floral dress lying on the bed. It had taken nearly a month to find something marginally more comfortable than a burlap bag, but she still had her misgivings. True, it had felt okay in the shop, but who knew how it would hold up once she had to wear it continuously? She probably should have taken a day or two to wear it about the island, just to make sure. Too late now.
Medea stripped her enchanted red dress and donned the Mundane replacement. The skirt and sleeves were too short for her taste—the former extending just below her knees and the latter leaving her arms bare below the shoulder. There had been “jackets” available to wear over the top of the dress, but these proved to be stiff and unyielding. Her red dress felt like a second skin. This dress, while not unbearable, was alien enough to continually tug at her attention. Given what she still had to do, perhaps the distraction would be welcome.
She rubbed her arms and sank onto the bed, pulling a notebook close. Her personal enchantments would have to be removed. Teleporting was the quickest way, but she told herself teleportation sickness wasn’t worth the time she would have saved, and anyhow she was overdue to update her list of spells.
It was like staring at an ice-cold pond she couldn’t bring herself to dive into. As though easing into frigid water and hoping to acclimate, she undid her enchantments a spell at a time.
Gone were the reminders to eat and links to her wards. This week she’d be sleeping away from home, away from the protective enchantments she’d placed on the island.
Gone were Magic Sight, Poison Protection, Mind Warding. She’d be completely unguarded, cooped up with a male who once wanted her dead, and still might.
Gone were the Servitus aut Mors compulsion and hostile intent proximity detection—that last had activated during her own recent encounter with witch hunters. Someone could slit her throat in her sleep now. She’d probably wake in time to heal herself, but that meant contaminating the test site.
Gone were the rest of her protection spells. She bled spells onto the page, diminishing more with each scribbled notation. It was less like stepping into water and more like drowning. There was no acclimating to this.
When she rose from the bed, she was more naked than when she’d bared her skin to don the new dress. She gathered her things and paused at the bedroom door, taking one last breath of sanctuary before descending.
Nikolai tested the gateway room door and found it locked. Seemed Medea didn’t trust him not to go against her orders and retrieve the pouch. He’d considered it, but she probably would have cursed him with something even more annoying than what he had now. His best bet was to get her to make a new gateway at their destination or, if that proved impossible, expedite whatever she wanted him to do.
Several loud thumps reverberated on the floor behind him—duffel bags. She wasn’t kidding about not using magic. From the sound of the thumps, they probably contained a good number of books. How much crap was she bringing? If she expected him to carry all that stuff for her—
A slender Mundane woman appeared at the top of the stairs. Who the—?
The woman turned and Medea’s face appeared. She wore something else! And not just anything—something modern, something that showed skin.
He drank in her new look as she descended the spiral staircase. Always she’d worn the same medieval-style red dress, long sleeved with a skirt that covered all but her feet. This dress was yellow with white flowers. If she were trying to fit in, she hadn’t quite succeeded. The cap sleeves were more suitable for summer than fall. Her hair was all wrong and she wore no makeup, hat, or shoes. In a way, her usual wear made her other differences stand out less. Once people heard her accent, they generally chalked up her oddness to being a foreigner. This felt like watching a penguin attempt flight. Something else was different too, but he couldn’t put his finger on what.
At the bottom of the stairs Medea glanced up, saw his face, and blushed. One hand tugged downward on the skirt of her dress, as though willing it to lengthen, while the other vainly attempted to cover a bit of her arm.
“Stop gawking.”
“Sorry, I’ve never seen you in anything else. You seem to have forgotten something.”
She twisted in place, examining her dress. “What?”
“Shoes. If we’re not using magic, you won’t be able to use an illusion to conceal your feet.”
“Illusion? Oh!” She stuck out a foot and pointed to a leather anklet. “This is enchanted. See?” The leather sprang to life, splitting in two and extending in opposing directions. Each piece wound around her foot, crisscrossing and finally flattening under her sole to create a makeshift sandal.
“Handy.”
“Footy,” she mumbled. “Unfortunately, I can’t use them on our trip. I bought shoes. They’re in here somewhere . . .”
She took off the anklets and tossed them haphazardly onto the closest armchair. One rebounded and fell to the ground. She took no note and proceeded to rummage through her bags. He sighed internally and levitated the anklets onto the nearest table. Someone had to keep this place in order.
“Here we go,” she exclaimed, pulling out a pair of work boots.
“Medea, those aren’t even regular shoes. And they’re for men.”
“Technically, they’re for adolescents. I had difficulty finding adult shoes in my size.” She sat on the floor and started pulling on socks, oblivious to how her shorter dress crept up, exposing more and more leg.
“You wouldn’t have had any trouble if you’d looked for women’s shoes.”
“Have you seen what passes for women’s shoes these days? So uncomfortable.” She finished lacing the boots and bounded upright, turning to admire her feet. “These aren’t so bad.”
“Not bad at all.” The dress-and-boots combination was oddly erotic, drawing attention to her legs. He imagined running a hand along the pale, cool skin. “Can I get your bags?” He started forward, but she shooed him away.
“I can get them myself!” She shouldered them one by one—four duffel bags and a smaller satchel. How she didn’t crumple was beyond him, until he realized she was using Levitate to lift the bulk of the weight.
“It’s not realistic for you to carry all that. People are going to stare—I mean, more than usual. Plus I’m going to look like an asshole walking next to you.”
She frowned. “You’re probably right. I’ll give you some later. We won’t be going too far yet.”
She brushed past him and entered the gateway room. In the close proximity, he felt it—the thing that was different—or rather, the lack of it. He cast Magic Sight. Sure enough, the morass of spells normally adorning her body was absent. The instinct to kill a weakened Competitor bubbled to the surface. He brushed it aside. Medea was an Ally now, or would be by the time he was through with her. In either case, she was still Useful. And now, she was vulnerable.
“You’ve stripped off all your enchantments,” he said with a grin.
Medea jerked as if poked and spun to face him. A bag slid off her shoulder. She maneuvered it irritably back into place and shot him death glare #3 mixed with something else. Fear?
“Don’t think for a second I can’t defend myself without my passive spells.”
“I’m well aware of your capabilities.” He tapped his scars and offered a smile.
The glare didn’t falter. He reached past her to open the gateway door and her body tensed, though she remained stoically in place. Interesting. She could kill him instantly, yet she feared him. He didn’t know whether to be impressed that he caused such an effect or annoyed at the display of weakness. She was better than that.
“You’ll have to dispel that illusion on your face when we get to our destination.”
She was punishing him for the momentary discomfort he’d made her feel. No—that was something he’d do. Medea didn’t make power moves like that. The timing was coincidental, though it didn’t make her demand any less annoying. He looked down, locking eyes with her.
“No magic,” she continued, as if he needed the clarification.
“I don’t like—”
“I don’t care what you like. It will just be me and you out there. I’m not even sure why you bother to maintain it here on the island.” She strode through the gateway.
He spared a glance at the map. Omaha, Nebraska. Great.
The gateway exited in a brick alleyway. She pointed at the ground. “Put the bags here. I’ll conceal them. We have work to do and I don’t want to be encumbered.”
“Why don’t we just leave them inside the gateway?”
“Because then we’d have to go back through to get them,” she said in a patronizing tone.
“And?”
“And we might be tempted to linger.” Her face said she was serious.
He bit back the impulse to argue. Medea never budged on her eccentricities. He did as instructed, then moved to the mouth of the alley to get his bearings while she enchanted the area around the bags. Such an odd woman.
“What are we doing?” he asked when she finally met him on the street.
“First, we have to visit a few shops. Then we need to secure transport to the countryside.” She fiddled with a small stone in her hands—one of those she’d enchanted to measure ambient magic.
“Why not get a car first?”
“Because the drive is far enough without asking someone to chauffeur us around all day.”
“Medea, I can ‘ask’ someone to give us their car.”
She looked scandalized. “That’s like stealing someone’s horse!”
Good thing he’d never told her about the Jaguar. “It’s not like we plan to keep the car. We’d only be borrowing—”
“Absolutely not.”
No wonder she’d budgeted a week for the trip. This was going to take forever.
He changed his posture and tone to mimic her on the day they’d first met. “When you do things in the most ethical manner possible, anything that increases your morality decreases your performance.”
“What are you doing there?” she asked, unknowingly crossing her arms in the same manner he affected. “I have a feeling you’re quoting me at me, but I would never say something so absurd. What do you care if I’m behaving ethically or not?”
“Because you’re keeping me hostage on this trip, and the longer you keep me here, the greater the chances my pouch will be gone.”
“Hostage!” She flung her hands out. People on the sidewalk swiveled their heads at the commotion. “You volunteered for this!”
“I didn’t realize signing up would keep me from getting back my antidote!”
“You mean treatment. Antidotes are for poison, not chronic curses. And you wouldn’t need treatment if you hadn’t been so rash!”
“Thank you for that clarification. I couldn’t possibly go another day without knowing the proper definition of ‘antidote.’”
Two men guffawed as they walked by. One spun and hollered, “Just kiss her!” Medea turned crimson and clenched her fist, magic brewing within.
Nikolai sidestepped to block her view of the man. “Now who’s being rash? We have work to do. I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to. So where are we going, Miss We Can’t Use Magic on This Trip but I’m Going to Blast a Guy in the Street?”
“Find us a taxi,” she said through clenched teeth. Medea crossed her arms and propped herself against the building. She waited in silence, periodically plucking at her dress until he flagged down a cab.
“Where to?” asked the cabbie.
“Downtown. Somewhere with a lot of shops,” said Medea.
The cabbie looked at Nikolai, who offered an apologetic shrug.
A few blocks from the gateway, Medea discreetly dropped her enchanted stone out the window. They sat in silence, Medea staring out the window and Nikolai pretending to stare out the window while stealing periodic glances at her bare legs. She continued to pluck at the dress, forever tugging at the hem or sleeves.
“You’re not going to make it any longer by doing that.”
She pierced him with glare #1.
He smirked. “That doesn’t work on me anymore. I know your looks.”
She rolled her eyes and went back to staring out the window. Her hand crept to the hem of the dress, then halted and balled into a fist. She shifted in her seat, wincing like she’d sat on a tack.
He passed the time chatting with the driver, a chronically single man who had lived in Omaha his whole life and was curious to hear the stories of strangers.
“Stop here!” Medea called, pounding the seat to grab the driver’s attention. The cab hadn’t even come to a full stop before she bolted out the door, making a beeline for a clothes shop, from which a good number of women were coming and going.
“Must be a sale,” chuckled the driver.
“You’ll have to forgive my sister,” said Nikolai. “She has no manners. Please wait for us.”
“You’re a brave man,” said the cabbie, nodding at the store, “going in there with all those dollies.”
“Nonsense.” Nikolai leaned over the front seat. “Here’s a tip: if you want to meet women, go to where they congregate.” He winked and exited the cab.
Medea was nowhere to be seen—probably in the dressing rooms. Nikolai perused the racks, pretending to shop for his mother while chatting up attractive patrons. Far quicker than he would have expected, Medea reappeared wearing a new dress. No, not new—it was the same dress, though now turned inside out.
“Let’s go,” she said.
He debated whether to tell her. So many people looked askance at Medea’s typical dated dress that she probably wouldn’t notice the stares. The satisfaction of pointing out her mistake proved too good to pass up.
“I know you’re not used to Mundane clothes, but I’m pretty sure you put your dress on inside out.”
“I’m aware.” Medea indicated he should move, as he was blocking the aisle leading to the door. When he didn’t budge, she said, “The seams were bothering me.”
“Then get a new dress. Surely we have time for that.”
“There’s nothing here for me.”
He gestured at the numerous clothing racks with exaggerated astonishment. “How can there be nothing here for you?”
Her mouth pinched shut, and he found himself sliding backward, nudged by the force of her will. He leaned into it.
“You look ridiculous, you know that?” The nudge became a shove, and Nikolai stumbled into the next aisle.
The cabbie raised his eyebrows at Medea’s inverted dress but said nothing as they drove on. A few blocks away, Medea demanded they stop again and turned to Nikolai.
“Your job is to ensure the employees are compliant,” she said.
In the rearview mirror, the driver frowned. Visions of bank robberies and mafia movies danced in his head.
We’re two law-abiding citizens. Pay no mind to what we say.
The driver picked up a newspaper lying on the seat next to him. Nikolai turned his attention to the storefront. They sold appliances—refrigerators, washing machines, and the like. “How are we going to haul anything without enchanted bags?”
“I’m going to ask them to deliver. Can you convince them to do that, even if it’s out of their way?”
“I think I’ll manage,” said Nikolai. Then, to the driver: “Please wait for us.”
As soon as they’d reached the entrance to the store, the cab pulled away.
“What the hell? I told him to wait!”
“He didn’t seem to be paying much attention. Maybe he didn’t hear you.”
“Of course he—” And then it dawned on him that he’d telepathically commanded the driver not to pay any mind to what they said. Shit. He’d have to be more careful about his wording. “Never mind. Let’s go.”
The shop door tinkled, and a clerk bustled to greet them. “What can I do for you today?” he said cheerfully, directing his question at Nikolai, who shook his head and pointed at Medea.
She walked past the clerk and gazed around the shop. “I’d like one of everything.”
“One of everything?” The man’s eyes darted questioningly between them, then traveled the length of Medea, taking in her odd attire.
Medea opened something with a pronged rack inside. “One of each type of . . . whatever you call them.” She glanced at Nikolai, as if hoping he would supply the word.
“Appliances,” he offered. Did she expect him to be familiar with all this stuff? He’d left Soviet Russia at the age of twelve, spent time at the Academy and Haven—both of which banned electricity—then moved to Medea’s island where he was lucky to have a modern toilet. What little he knew of appliances was from American films, and they didn’t typically center around the inner workings of the Mundane kitchen. Would Medea expect him to know how to operate all these things?
“That’s a dishwasher,” said the clerk. “Is that what you’re looking for?”
“Yes,” said Medea. “One dishwasher, one of those, one of whatever that is . . .” She gestured to a refrigerator, a television, then vaguely to the rest of the shop.
The clerk, who had been eying Medea’s dress with consternation, perked up when he realized the scope of the sale. Money was money. “Certainly! We can start with the refrigerators. This model has many features—”
Medea waved her hand dismissively. “I don’t care about features. Actually . . .” She paused, considering. “More is probably better. Give me the newest . . .”
“Models?” said the clerk.
“Yes. Whatever models have the most features. Do you deliver?”
“Absolutely!” The man practically vibrated with joy. Christmas had come early this year.
Medea brought out a hand-drawn map and passed it to the clerk. “This is the place. Can you have them there by tomorrow afternoon?”
The man’s face crumpled. “This is two hundred miles away . . .”
Nikolai peered into his mind. Despite the length of the drive, a sale of this size would be worth it. But the place was so remote it might not have electricity yet. Did they have a generator? The woman seemed screwy. What if they arrived, and she got angry when they couldn’t hook anything up?
