Wings of Fire (34 page)

Parisa shook her head. She let Havily move into the next garden room beneath an arch bearing a vine covered with lavender flowers that were a unique shape, sort of curled in on themselves.

The next room bore white flowers on varying shrubs and smaller plants: roses, white lantana, even star jasmine that climbed a half dozen trellises at evenly spaced intervals.

“Jean-Pierre must be going mad by now,” Havily whispered, as though speaking aloud would somehow wound the absent warrior.

“I hadn’t thought of that. I’ve had my own troubles this afternoon.”

“Uh-oh. I recognize that tone of voice. So, what happened, girlfriend?”

“What do you mean, what happened?” Parisa knew her voice sounded strange, even shrill. She had never been good at lying.

“Come on. Talk to me. It doesn’t take advanced preternatural power to get a phone call from you and not know something was going on. Besides, you kind of have
break-up
written all over you, and I so get that.”

“You do?”

Havily laughed. “What did you think? That the
breh-hedden
hit me and I opened my arms wide and that was it? I fought it tooth-and-nail for a good long while.”

“I think I hurt Antony.”

Havily smiled.

“What? Why are you smiling?”

“Oh, it’s not what you think. I just love that you call him Antony. No one does, you know, except me. Alison has started doing it as well, but that’s it. Endelle calls him ‘asshole’ like she does all the warriors. Otherwise, he’s been Medichi, I think since the day he ascended. Of course, I don’t know for sure. I’ve only been here a century.”

“Wow. A century. You’ve seen a lot, then.” She took another sip. Coffee always cooled down too quickly. She preferred it so searing hot that she had to sip to keep from burning her tongue.

“I don’t intend to guilt you by saying this, but I have loved seeing Antony with you. Marcus said he’s never even had a girlfriend in all this time, all these centuries.”

At that, Parisa stopped. “What do you mean? As in
never
?”

“As in never. As in, he’s been shut down since he ascended. Oh, he gets laid plenty. All the Warriors of the Blood do. That’s what that wretched club is for, the one in south Phoenix.”

“The Blood and Bite.”

Havily shuddered.

Parisa didn’t look at her. She didn’t want to admit that she’d voyeured the club lots and lots of times, and spied on Antony when he made love to other women. She felt her cheeks heat up. She wasn’t exactly proud of this part of her, that she was by nature something of a voyeur. Although, to be fair, she never voyeured the other warriors, just Antony.

“I need to ask you something,” Parisa said.

“Anything.”

“If the
breh-hedden
didn’t exist, do you think you’d still be drawn to Marcus, still be in love with him, or have you ever thought this could just be one enormous lie?”

Havily put both hands around her mug and sipped. Her gaze flitted around then finally landed on Parisa. “You’re very analytical, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I think I am.”

Havily lifted her brows. “Truth? I’ve asked myself the same question many times, but in the end I went with my instincts. I started out loathing Marcus because he had deserted the Warriors of the Blood two centuries ago, but the more I was with him, the more I understood the whys of what he had done and I truly came to respect and value the honorable man I know him to be. I don’t think the
breh-hedden
can overcome things like poor character, cowardice, embedded personality traits we can’t respect.

“Your difficulty may lie elsewhere because if I’ve understood your voyeur gifts as you’ve explained them to me, you’ve known Antony for well over a year now. And as you probably already know, he’s a fine man, a good man, and he has a great heart.”

Parisa had to look away from the sincerity in Havily’s eyes. She took refuge in bringing her mug back up to her lips. Oh, her friend was way too right about that. Antony was a good man.

“In fact,” Havily continued, warming to her theme, “I wonder if something else is bothering you, something that has nothing at all to do with Antony.”

Yes, her friend was way too perceptive. She opened her mouth to speak, even to argue but one word slid through her mind and created way too much pain.
Inaccessible.

She squirmed. She even tossed the remaining inch of her now cool coffee into a bed of ferns and trailing white lantana.

Inaccessible.

“It’s all too much,” she said. The explanation sounded weak, but it was all she had.

“I know I’m going to sound just like Alison and all her psycho-speak, but here goes—you have every right to these feelings. Look at what you’ve been through. Hopefully, Antony will give you the time you need to sort everything out. The
breh-hedden
isn’t exactly fair. It’s like this massive hand at your back pushing you into things you’re sure you should stay well out of.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“You won’t like it.”

“Try me.”

“Enjoy the sex and let life happen.”

Parisa laughed. “Are you kidding me?”

Havily shrugged. “Well you have to admit it’s kind of amazing, isn’t it? I mean, these warriors are, well,
big,
and if you recall I was there when Medichi dropped his towel. He reminded me of Marcus. Oh, I sound just like Endelle and now I’ve made you blush.” She laughed again.

When Parisa was quiet, Havily nudged her with her elbow. “So how is it with him?”

Parisa drew in a breath. “Amazing. The connection—”

“I know. It’s instantaneous. Have you been in his mind yet?” She sounded terribly eager.

Parisa met her gaze. She didn’t want to tell her that that was the last place she wanted to be—and she certainly didn’t want Antony in her own head—but the look that overcame Havily’s face was something medicine should study. She looked in turns euphoric and
hungry.

“No, I haven’t been in Antony’s mind. I’m not sure I think it’s a good idea. And if it’s all right with you, I need to change the subject.”

Havily sighed. “Well, believe me, I do understand what you’re going through.”

“Thanks for coming, Hav. This really helped.”

“Good. I’ve missed you, you know.”

Parisa nodded. This was such a strange sensation. Havily really was her friend, had been her friend from the beginning. She’d never really had friends on Mortal Earth. She enjoyed the women she worked with but friendship was something she’d known so little of and really didn’t quite know how to embrace.

Havily reached into the pocket of her cream-colored tailored slacks. She withdrew her phone and glanced at the screen. “Oh, Lord, it’s Endelle. I have to get back. I kind of snuck out. She probably just figured out I was missing. I’m on a very short leash these days.”

“Well, you know it’s not like she’s going to fire you or anything.”

At that, Havily burst out laughing. “It’s sooo true.” She chuckled a couple of times, then said, “Well, I’d better be going. Please, call me anytime.”

“Thanks. I will.” And she meant it.

Havily lifted a hand in the air and vanished.

Parisa stared at the empty space. She was moving in the direction of the house when the air shimmered. She smiled. What had Havily forgotten to tell her? Something more about what it was to make love to a warrior?

But it wasn’t Havily.

A second more and Rith smiled at her, that easy blank smile of his that sent shards of fear slicing through her chest. She couldn’t breathe.

“Rith,” she murmured. Her heart banged out a few beats and threatened to give up completely.

He moved toward her, slow steps, his arms outstretched, always outstretched. She felt that lazy sensation in her mind, like sluggish pond water. She blinked. She felt so sleepy.

No.
No. No!

She closed her eyes, set an image in her mind, a simple location, a very familiar place, and thought the thought. She felt the vibration.

Fear held her immobile—or maybe it was the sensation of flying through nether-space without someone else to serve as a tether, something she’d only done once before. The journey ended with her bare feet on hard planked wood in Antony’s bedroom, her mug still in her hand.

She glanced at Antony, who stood in front of the shattered mirror in the bathroom, his brush poised halfway down his hair as he stared back at her. He wore jeans and, once again, no shirt. She felt the air move near her and whirled around. Rith had followed her, traced after her.

She pointed at him and cried out, “Rith!”

From her peripheral vision in the direction of the bathroom she saw a flash of steel then Antony moved with preternatural speed as he streaked by her and blurred into the bedroom. His sword cut through empty air in exactly the same space the monster had inhabited a split second before.

He turned back to her, his eyes wide.

It had all happened so fast. “Did you see him?” she cried. “You saw him, right? Rith? Right?”

He nodded, his mouth agape. He looked at the floor as though trying to make sense of what had just happened. He shook his head. “Shit!” He vanished but popped back into the bedroom. He did this a couple of times.

“Shit! This is what happened to Jean-Pierre in the Toulouse farmhouse. How the fuck does Rith block a trace like that?” He was breathing hard. He looked confused.

He glanced at his sword and folded it away.

He moved toward her. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I think so.” Then her mind reviewed the last half minute of her life, in particular that very bizarre moment of watching Rith move toward her then make a simple decision to escape. “I folded again,” she said. “I thought the thought and I folded.”

“Where were you?”

“In the Italian garden, in the room with the lantana and ferns and the ficus trees. I was standing barefoot on the lawn. Havily had just folded back to Endelle’s office.” She looked down at her feet. “See. I’m still barefoot.” Which of course made no sense in terms of what she had just done, but somehow it made it more real for her.

He stood in front of her now, his lips parted, his eyes wide. He kept searching her face. She wasn’t sure what he meant by it. “You dematerialized again,” he stated.

She nodded.

“Of course you did. Shit, Parisa, we need to practice that, too.” He reached out and touched her arm almost as though he didn’t believe she was real. “I love that you’re so fucking powerful.”

Parisa looked away from him. His hand slid down her arm. He caught her hand. She didn’t let go. “Hey, you okay?” he asked.

“I got away from him but it feels like I just got lucky. That’s all.” She squeezed his hand. “He got through a dome of mist that Endelle,
Endelle,
created. He knew where I was and he waited until Havily was gone to try to abduct me again. He almost had me again.” Her chest felt tight but there were no tears. No more tears. She needed to figure this out. “How is that even possible?”

“I don’t know,” Antony said.

She drew her hand out of his and wrapped her arms around her stomach. “How am I supposed to stay secure or even stay alive if that bastard can get in here like this?” She paced in a circle. He didn’t try to stop her.

“We need to talk this over with Endelle,” he said. “I think we’re in real trouble here. We need a plan of attack. For whatever reason, Rith is determined to get you back.”

No shit.

***

Half an hour later, Parisa stood at the railing of Madame Endelle’s favorite garden at White Lake, the place Her Supremeness had elected to take the meeting. The garden had been modeled on the Butchart Gardens on Vancouver Island, Mortal Earth, which Havily had suggested she visit many decades prior. It was hard to imagine such a difficult woman being inspired by anything, but the sunken garden had done just that.

“I love this pit,” Endelle said. “How deep do you think it is, five hundred feet? Has to be more than that.” Both her hands gripped the iron railing that overlooked what amounted to paradise. Thousands of flowers, trees, and shrubs filled every bed. In the center, just like at Butchart, a small hill rose, a sort of earthen castle, a playground to climb, savor, and be enjoyed by children.

Parisa wondered if there would ever come a time when she would stand anywhere near Madame Endelle and not want to either cringe beneath her hard gaze, or scream at her. She was the hardest woman she had ever known. The warriors both feared and loved her. And she was tall, taller even than Antony when she wore her stilettos. And she always wore stilettos.

She sported cowhide today. Not fine leather, but actual hide in squares of brown and white, alternating like a checkerboard. The skirt was short and stiff, bristly. Parisa never knew what to make of the woman’s fashion choices.

She resisted the urge to pet the hide.

The strange piece was offset with a soft brown suede vest, cut deep so that four inches of cleavage showed. She had muscular arms. Had she not been Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth, Parisa thought Endelle could have served as a Warrior of the Blood.

Looking up at the formidable woman, Parisa asked, “Have there ever been any female Warriors of the Blood?”

Endelle’s brows rose. “What do you think?”

“I suppose not, but what about Luchianne? She was the first vampire. Was she warrior status? I’m told you knew her.”

Endelle shrugged. “I’ve never thought about it, I suppose. I knew the woman nine thousand years ago.” She squinted her ancient lined eyes as she looked into the past. “She wasn’t as tall as me but she bested Alison. Maybe six foot two. She came out of Sumer, or at least that region. Marcus came out of Sumer as well but he was born millennia after Luchianne’s ascension to the Upper Dimension. So what the hell did you want, Parisa? I take it you didn’t demand an audience just to discuss ascension history?” Endelle always sounded, even in conversation, just this side of angry.

Parisa told her about Rith.

Endelle glanced at Antony. “You didn’t kill the bastard?”

Antony explained about the trace block that Rith had employed at both the Toulouse farmhouse and now his own villa.