Embrace The Night (37 page)

Yet…it just didn’t fit. It didn’t feel right to her…meshing with the Simon
she
knew. Not the Simon he’d
been
. Fifty years ago, in a completely different world.

None of us are the same men we were when we went into those caves in Sedona.

Even Simon.

Especially Simon. She had to believ—

Suddenly, a strong hand clamped around her mouth, and an arm around her waist, and Sage was being dragged back into the shadows. She kicked and fought, but he was too strong. Something heavy and dark whuffed over her head and she was wrapped up in it, bound and roped and completely stifled.

She couldn’t breathe well through the heavy material, and the world around her grew murky as she was lifted and carried…and then she felt her consciousness slide away, leaving her in darkness.

No blood on his hands.

Not this time.

Simon’s head ached from the high slamming down, his body hurt from being cranked out of his mind. But at least he had a clean conscience.

In the end, he hadn’t needed to slice into Florita’s skin, hacking the crystal out of her body, smashing its fiberopticlike tendrils that snaked into her muscles and tendons, embedding it in place. The Xbox junkies had done it for him.

Florita had tried to pull to her feet, but she was out of it and in pain. Apparently Strangers could be slowed down, but not permanently eliminated without taking their crystal. Simon, still trying to clear his own mind, ignored her, invisible and
free
, and did a quick search.

He’d left the waterfall home in Rita’s humvee, after hunting down the four humans and two Strangers left over. The
SIG
Sauer 229 he had in his hand, one he’d found after searching Florita’s room, felt horribly familiar, comforting even, had set the mortals scuttling into the corners. He casually waved the gun, then left them to piss their pants.

And the other two Strangers…Florita’s “pets”—Simon had spared the Xbox junkies too.

No wonder Florita had been bored with them. At one time, they might have been handsome, interesting young men, probably in the prime of early twenties when she crystaled them. But after thirty lazy years of Xbox, iPod, and an infinite collection of DVDs—after growing up in a post-Change world where those things didn’t exist in such wealth—and knowing they had an infinite life of such monotony, they had become soft and slow.

Yet, they hadn’t been part of the cult, and in his mind, they needed to take no responsibility for their actions. He warned them that the crystal guard must remain in place over Falling Creek and when they learned that Tatiana was incapacitated, and that they needed to fear nothing from Simon, they raced up to her.

As he left, Simon heard her screams for mercy and realized that Tatiana’s pets had revolted. Too much Mortal Kombat, apparently.

His arm still burned and tingled from the grit, and his mouth watered for the heat of Scotch. He found himself rubbing his wrist, as if trying to score any last crystal dust into his skin.

Was he on his way back? Or could he wade through it?

Was he strong enough?

Simon started the truck and drove away, back down the cliff in the dark, checking to be certain that the crystal guard was still glowing blue. From what he’d learned from the Xbox junkies, the guard was more or less permanent—the earlier threat of it being removed had simply been a trick by Tatiana, and implemented by the junkies in order to catch Simon.

Probably the first time they’d done anything interesting for a decade. Besides kill their mistress.

So, Simon could believe that Falling Creek would be safe…although he was going to stop in and warn the settlement leaders to keep watch on the blue glow.

And then…what would he do?

Sage’s face flashed into his mind once again, and he settled on it for a moment. Just a moment. His fingers tightened over the steering wheel. Then he pushed the thought away. Tempting, oh, so damned tempting. What would it be like to wake up next to her every morning?

To have a normal, solid life?

Simon shook his head. “No.” He said it aloud, to himself. Though the Sedona cave had given him a new chance, he still couldn’t erase his bloody past. He could make amends for it, but he couldn’t eradicate it. How could someone like Sage be with someone who’d done the things he’d done?

Never.

And he’d have to tell her. To show her, so she’d understand who he was. He could imagine the expression, the crumpled expression on her face, the shock and fear that would come into her eyes. The blank look on her face.

No. Not a fucking chance.

Simon sat in the vehicle, the engine rumbling low and sleek, its headlights cutting into the darkness. Not a sign of orange
ganga
eyes anywhere, although he had seen the golden glitter of some feral predator slinking into the dark. Falling Creek lay ahead, glowing in its warm, comfortable lights. Creepy and unsettling though the place was, he couldn’t and wouldn’t judge its residents.

Because he, of all people, wouldn’t stand up to anyone’s judgment.

Yet, as he looked at the small village, he couldn’t quite ignore the large house that sat, dark and empty, at the north side of the settlement. Where he and Sage had been together.

He gritted his teeth. No sense reliving that.

No sense wondering what she was doing now…if she and Theo were back in Envy, or if they’d stopped for the night somewhere.

And that, he definitely didn’t want to think about.

So he considered his other options…and tried to sleep.

Quent knew it was too soon, but he walked outside anyway. They were leaving for Redlow in the morning, and would be gone who knew how long.

And, just in case…
well, fuck.
He didn’t know when he’d be back.

The night air still carried a bit of the day’s humidity, and, as was his habit…as he’d learned to do…he walked away from the well-traveled paths most people took. Sticking to the shadows, he tried not to spend all his time looking up for slender shadows that moved about with great daring and agility. And that had quivers of arrows that slid and clunked over their shoulders.

But he did.

Bugger it, he was one fucked-up knobber.

He walked for maybe fifteen minutes, concentrating on keeping his mind blank from those horrible memories belonging to Remington Truth. One could almost feel sorry for the man.

If he hadn’t been the architect of the Change.

And that was one thing that Quent had sensed from the memories. That the man they sought—the one the Strangers and the
gangas
and now he and his friends were moving mountains to find—that man had been instrumental in the catastrophic events.

Something whooshed silently in front of him and Quent froze, his heard pounding. He didn’t look up; instead, he followed the sound, and found an arrow embedded in the ground just in front of him. From its angle it looked as if it hadn’t come from too high…maybe one story above. Possibly two, at the outside.

“Watch it,” he said up into the darkness. “You almost shot me.”

Her snort wafted down. “If I wanted to shoot you, I fucking would have.”

He smiled, his heart suddenly considerably lighter. “Why don’t you come down here and retrieve your arrow.” He put a whole lot of meaning into that suggestion.

There was a faint shift above, barely audible, and something like a pebble or clump of dirt dropped from wherever she was sitting. “I thought you’d want to know…the woman. The Corrigan woman. Someone took her.”

Quent peered up, squinting in the darkness, all thoughts—well, most thoughts—of coaxing her down here evaporating. “What?”

“I saw it. I was too far away to get there in time. He was fast, and he’s got her. I’m pretty sure they left Envy, in one of those machines.”

“Machine?”

“You know, those damn driving things.”

“Which direction? Any idea where they were going?”

“Northeast.”

“What did he look like? The man who took her?”

“I recognized him. It was Ian Marck.”

The son of a bitch.

“How do you know Ian Marck?” he asked, wishing like hell she would step into what little bit of moonlight there was. So he could see her.

“I know who he is.” A pause. “And his father.”

Then it hit him. “Was that who you wanted to talk to the other night, at the party? The reason you disappeared?”

“Nosy bastard, aren’t you?”

“Zoë…” His neck was hurting from craning back so hard. “Come down here.”

Her raspy little laugh trickled down. “You’ve got work to do.” More sounds of movement above, and another little tumble of dirt. Then, “Make damn sure you wear a bandanna when you go after her. Don’t need any fucking
gangas
grabbing you, ’cause I won’t be around to rescue your ass this time.”

Quent couldn’t help but smile. “You could come with me.”

“Get the hell out of here.”

“Thank you for telling me about Sage.”

“You can thank me later.”

“Is that a promise?”

She snorted again, but it sounded farther away. “Can’t you come up with any original lines?”

“The sound of your voice makes me crazy. How’s that?”

Nothing. He smiled again, though, because he heard a little choked sound that might have been a surprised gasp. In a good way.

Just wait till he got his hands on her again. And it would happen soon…because she’d be coming after her arrow again.

He knew it for a fact. “Just so you know,” he called up into the darkness, “I’m taking the arrow
with
me. So you’ll have to wait till I get back to get it.”

“Wear a fucking bandanna.”

At last, the darkness lifted and Sage dragged her eyes open amid renewed pounding in her head.

About that time, she realized her arms were bound in front of her. And that she was half slumped, half sitting on a seat that rumbled beneath her.

In a vehicle? Yes. The terrain whizzed by beyond the window. Her cheek rested on the edge of the door, jolting with every little—or big—bump.

It was daylight and she closed her eyes, head throbbing and body bouncing in its seat.
Oh, God, I hope I’m not going to be sick.

When she was brave enough to open her eyes again, she looked to the left and saw the man who’d talked to her the night of the festival—Ian Marck. He glanced over at her briefly, then he turned his attention back to his driving.

“I need to stop,” she said, her stomach pitching violently. Between the knock on the head, the motion sickness, and her fear, she wasn’t going to make it much farther. “Or I’m going to make a mess.”

He looked back at her and must have seen the alarm in her face, for he stopped the truck quickly—and the jerking halt was almost as bad as if he’d kept going. Sage closed her eyes, gulping air, trying to regain control of herself. She did not want to puke in front of this guy. That would sort of ruin her whole idea of being strong and fearless.

When she opened her eyes again, she found herself looking into the barrel of a gun. Her stomach dropped and her mouth dried, and, amazingly, all of her nausea evaporated.

“This is as good a place as any,” he said.

“For what?”

“What did you find out in Falling Creek? About Remington Truth?”

She opened her mouth, then closed it. Falling Creek. He knew she’d gone there…because he’d sent her there. Conveniently gave her the clue. And used her Corrigan blood. Jerk.

Although “jerk” was a pretty weak word for a guy who had a gun on her. And who looked ready to use it. Asshole.

“You think you and your friends are the only people looking for Truth?” he said, his blue-gray eyes cold. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to find a way into Falling Creek? Now tell me what the hell you found out.”

“Are you going to kill me?” she asked, her heart beating so fast she could hardly form the words. She might have thoughts filled with bravado, but she wasn’t brave enough to talk that way.
I need to find Simon first, asshole.

He didn’t reply, just brandished the gun a little more threateningly. Closer to her face. She swore she could smell the cold metal. “I’m not a very patient man. What did you find out?”

“Truth’s not there,” she said. “Is that where you’re taking me? To Falling Creek?”

Once again, he said nothing, but she suspected that a trip to FC had been his plan. “What else? I know there’s something there. Tell me what you know.” He wasn’t asking nicely.

“There’s nothing else.”

A loud click sounded. Ominous. And though she’d never been around a real gun before, Sage had seen enough movies to know what that noise portended.

“I have no patience for lies,” he told her. “I’m going to count to three. And then I’m going to lose my patience. One…”

“Someone who knew Remington Truth was going to a place called Redlow.”

His chilly eyes scraped over her. The man might be considered handsome if those eyes weren’t so empty and cold. And he weren’t holding a gun in his hand. “What do you know about this someone?”

She shook her head. “A woman. With dark hair. That’s it. That’s all I know.”

“It seems like every time you say ‘that’s all’ there’s something more,” he said in an unfriendly tone. “I know where Redlow is. You can come with me. That way you’ll be able to help find this woman. Or…not.”

Sage swallowed hard, feeling the motion sickness return with full force. The “or…not” part was very clear: she had to help him find the woman, or she was going to be hurting.

Probably even dead.

Asshole.

Simon might have laughed when he reached the settlement of Redlow and realized how it had gotten its name…if he weren’t so weary and sick at heart.

As it was, when he saw the familiar letters still hanging from a building that had once said
RED
LOBSTER
, complete with the iconic red creature, he couldn’t contain a brief roll of the eyes.
RED
LO was all that was left.

He’d awakened this morning cramped in the front seat of the humvee, sun streaming down, magnified by the window glass so that he was hot and sweaty by the time he awoke. He’d left the windows closed and doors locked overnight in case of curious
gangas
.