97 (Rise of the Battle Bred) (14 page)

I looked around the field. “Is my…?”  I kind of gestured around us.

He broke into a smile. “After this morning, I drove around, trying to find a place you’d never been in town. I thought I wanted to get away from you,” He shook his head no at me, when I frowned, about to complain.

“I found this spot, where a pink trail is so faint, it had to have been made a very long time ago.”

I looked around again. “Where is it?”  I asked. I was feeling curious and wonderful and alarmed and confused. I couldn’t believe I was here, with big handsome William, and that he admitted to caring about me, or at least, of having a freakish curiosity about me. I’m charmed. And what on earth was he saying about pathways and auras?  I mean, I know he’s unlike anybody ever, and I know that he wears the supernatural like a cloak, but this was all so new and strange.

He broke his grip on my hand, and made a soft gesture toward a particularly lovely spot. The meadow flowers were the most plentiful, and a grouping of tree limbs hung over creating a secluded bower.

“There is the tiniest flare, like a flower blossom, here,” He stops and looks down, and I think I know what he sees. I also think I am about to die of the most extreme mortification of humankind.

“Is this…is this where…?”  I stumble and stammer and feel embarrassed down at the molecular level. I kind of laugh, and gasp and just die a little.

He looks up and has the goofiest grin on his face. “I know, right?”  He says to me.

I catch my breath. “Why did you bring me here?”  I ask.

He stares at me hard with his dark eyes. “I guess because,” he paused. He was killing me here.

“When I was running away from you, I found you. So, it’s like I was running
to
you. I want you to be in my life always,” And as if his confession wasn’t enough to send me to my knees in awe, he walked right up to me, bent down enough to bring his face to mine, and breathed on me.

His breath was minty and cool. He brought his enormous hands up to my cheeks; they enveloped my head. He watched me lick my lips, and then he brought his own warm ones to touch my own. His kiss wasn’t anything like the sneaky one he’d sprinkled on me before.

This kiss was full of intention.

His intention was as clear as the sky after rain. He intended for me to feel that he wasn’t complete without me, that his life had no meaning without me in it, that us together, was more complete and more reality than us apart…he kissed the corner of my mouth softly, and the other corner, just as softly. And he centered his mouth on mine, and pressed so firmly that I couldn’t tell where my skin and his met.

I breathed in the same air that he did, we breathed each other’s souls, and life swirled around us, in the form of birds and insects and wind in the pines, and stirring leaves, and a tiny pink spark that revealed the moment I came into being.

As crazy as it was, it seemed right, too. It was like he was acknowledging my complete existence mattered to him, even the parts where he hadn’t known me yet. He slowly pulled away, and trailed his thumbs down my jaw and down either side of my neck. “I hope this wasn’t wildly inappropriate,” He said, brows furrowed in concern.

I had to laugh. “Kind of strange, and kind of wonderful,” I said, while nodding and laughing a little breathlessly. Oh no, there was that breathless business again. But I found I couldn’t bring myself to care at this point.

Zeko paced back and forth inside his luxuriously appointed apartment in the same building as his gleaming corner office. What was Zarastrid doing?  Why was he here?  How much control would he have to give up, and more importantly, how many perks would he have to give up?  He hadn’t come this far to be swept aside. He didn’t miss the era of chamber pots and
poxy barmaids. He liked the comforts he had surrounded himself with.

A small scratch on the door stopped his pacing with the force of a bulldozer, though it was so quiet a mouse could have made it. “Enter!” Zeko almost shouted.

His meek assistant, the one with the truly outstanding cleavage, entered the room. “You asked for the report, Mr. Zeko.”

It didn’t have the same ring as ‘my liege’, but these modern era types didn’t take to the title very easily. And they never sounded convinced when they used it, anyway. “Yes. What do you have for me?”  He let his eyes drift, and then return to her face.

“Mr. Zarastrid took the elevator to the subbasement. He had a brief interview with the Marine, and moved his room. He is in Cell 1, now. Mr. Zarastrid’s assistant gave him a set of clothing as well. And a meal.”

Zeko resumed pacing. He muttered to himself while his assistant stood calmly near the door to his apartment. She really was very lovely, but he was distracted beyond belief. Zarastrid was changing the game plan. Why?  What could it mean?  He paced another ten minutes before her discreet throat-clearing reminded him of her presence.

“You may leave, Grace. Thank you,” He said distractedly. He noted the wave of relief that rolled off her back as she left, but thought nothing of it. People often had such feelings as they left his presence. Everyone except Zarastrid, of course.

Zarastrid was going to force his hand. Zeko made thoughtless gestures with his fingers while he marched, and small objects began to tremble and lift off tables, some of them dropping and smashing on the cold granite floor. Zeko stopped pacing. He would have to abandon some of his indolence, but it would be worth it to get his autonomy back.

He paged his secretary, who rang him on his apartment phone within a minute. “Jasmina. Get Zyrick on the phone for me. I’ll hold on,” A few minutes later Zeko heard the voice of one of his compatriots. “Did you know about this?”  A pause. “Zarastrid is relocating here. He’s going to be breathing down our necks. He’s going to want better results sooner,” Zeko rubbed the back of his neck and scowled. “I know that and you know that. He probably knows it too, but you know how he is. Do something to make him happy and hold him off for a few days. I’ve got something on my end that I could keep him busy with.”

He got his secretary back on the phone. “Now I need
Zainel,” He only had to wait a moment.

“We need to talk. Zarastrid is here. In L.A.”

He hung up his phone. Rotating his shoulders, he regretted not making plans with one of the women around his office. Any of them would have been sufficient. Now he didn’t want to bother with it. He thought of the Marine, in a new cell and possibly even more comfortable than he was right now. What was Zarastrid’s plan?  Why did he deviate from the original schedule?  They were supposed to be consulting with the entire Warloch clan. Zeko began pacing again. Zarastrid must have something; something valuable, something big. He wasn’t afraid of making waves and asserting his power. Zeko felt itchy, suddenly. He decided to visit the Marine one more time.

Upon arriving, he thrust the door to Cell 1 open without knocking. The Marine was dressed and sitting ramrod straight on the pallet on the floor. He looked up at Zeko, expressionless. This irked Zeko. “Marine. I don’t recognize you with clothes on,” No response. “I see Zarastrid has made you more at ease. This is a departure isn’t it?  I seem to recall the last time you two were in the same room, you were just about broken, and he was quite in his element,” Zeko scrutinized the Marine’s face carefully, trying to detect any reaction at all. Zeko cracked his knuckles. Perhaps Zarastrid was the more powerful of the two, because he could restrain rage; Zeko himself was not capable of doing that.

“I could reduce you to ash with one phrase,” He said, barely containing his anger. Zeko knew his rage was disproportionate to the situation, but something about the man really frayed at his nerves.

“Then why don’t you?”  The Marine asked softly.

Zeko choked back a shout. He schooled his features. “You know very well why I don’t. Zarastrid would have my head on a spike. Why don’t you just do what we want you to do, and give her up?”  Zeko’s eyes grew round at his error.

The Marine looked up suddenly. “Her?  Who?”  He looked completely surprised and befuddled. Clueless, even.

Zeko entered the room, barely registering the shield Zarastrid had created in the doorway. He squatted down. “Don’t tell me you have no idea why we’ve kept you for days, tortured you, threatened your life?”  He grabbed the soldier’s chin in a fierce grip. He inspected his face, looking for deception or subterfuge. He saw only confusion. He stood and cursed and turned on his heel. He stared at the art on the wall, but saw only the likelihood that Zarastrid would have his head on a spike anyway. He’d tipped their hand. He slowly turned back around to face the Marine.

“This can all end. Just let us know everything there is to know about your wife,” He exhaled. There. Let Zarastrid clean up after his mess.

The Marine stood up slowly, as if he was an old man. Confusion clouded his features for a full minute.

“Wife?”

Zeko’s face drained of his color.  It became clear to him all of a sudden.  That spell.  The one Zainel perfected so many centuries ago…

He murmured the words that would undo the effects of the memory chant, and then watched as full recollection dawned on the Marine’s face.

“All this time. Running from your minions for the last year. These two weeks of hell. I thought you wanted State secrets or something. Details of government operations. You never believed me when I said I knew nothing,” He stared at Zeko, his brows sewn together. “I haven’t seen my wife in…” he trailed off, and a cloudy look dimmed his eyes. “Years,” he whispered so softly, Zeko could barely hear him.

The Marine sank to his knees. “So many years,” His voice breathed.

Nothing about the Marine’s demeanor suggested he knew why they wanted to know about Eliza K. Burrows. Zeko felt the slightest twinge of relief. Maybe he could still salvage this little
tête-à-tête
.

“Years?  How many years?  Perhaps there has been some sort of mistake. Perhaps you could see the light of day within 24 hours. This could end up very well for you, Marine. I’ll just go get Zarastrid right now,” He smiled at the man. That one snapped out of his reverie.

“What do you want, Zeko?  Let’s leave Zarastrid out of this. You don’t want him to know, do you?  That you told me what you’re after?  I don’t trust him. At least with you, I know what I’m getting into.”

Zeko didn’t know if he should be offended or not. It was the longest speech the Marine had ever uttered in his presence. He was a little disgusted with himself. How did some prisoner read him so well?  Zeko acknowledged to himself that he was getting lazy. He could work with this, though.

“I don’t know what Zarastrid is up to. You know as well as I do that his modus operandi is unequivocal torture. Surely you haven’t forgotten what happened last year?  Why dress you now?  Give you a comfortable place to sleep?  I’m just as in the dark on this change. He hasn’t consulted with me,” Zeko stared at the Marine. They could form an alliance of sorts.

“Zarastrid, powerful though he may be, is deluded. He believes in a certain myth of our people,” Zeko tried to ascertain just how much to divulge.

“Your people?”  The Marine asked.

Zeko let out a little laugh. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”  He was amused. “What did you think?  That we were some Italian mafia organization?  Trying to take over your silly United States government?”  Zeko started laughing.

“Russian,” The Marine said. He cracked the smallest smile. Zeko’s mercurial disposition lightened.

“You have a knack, soldier, for making me chuckle. I’ll tell you what we are. We’re wizards. Warlochs. The most powerful race of superhumans the Earth has ever known. Call us, Magi Sapiens, if you will. And Zarastrid has this notion that one of us created a Wizard-Human offspring. It’s not supposed to be possible. It
isn’t
possible,” Zeko flinched a little, but was otherwise calm.

“Then why is he convinced?  And what does this have to do with my wife?”  The Marine asked.

Zeko waved his hand airily. “Some prophecy. You know how zealots can be when they’re reading religious texts. It’s nothing.”

The Marine looked at him. “Then why are you sweating so much?”

Zeko’s anger flashed anew. He backhanded the Marine with his ring hand. He would have a purple welt on his cheekbone tomorrow. “Do you want to avoid Zarastrid’s wrath or not?”

The Marine said nothing. Zeko felt appeased. “Zarastrid has been trying to track down Jahanna Zeestros for forty years,” He watched the Marine’s face relax and deflate like a balloon. His guard had gone down. “Around twenty years ago, all records of her existence disappeared. And then Zarastrid found an obscure military reference.”

The Marine’s expression hardened then.

Finally. Zeko had discovered that when his wife was mentioned, the Marine’s usually inscrutable face was as overt as a pornographic magazine. “Yes, your hasty marriage had the Marines record department scrambling. Turns out Jahanna changed her name when she was eighteen. Wanted a fresh start after being raised in the state’s foster system. Clever girl.
She had no idea she was evading some of the keenest hunters mankind has ever known,” Zeko preened a little at the self-aggrandizement.

The Marine snorted, in spite of the bruise forming on his skin.

Zeko jerked at the noise. He narrowed his eyes, daring the soldier to speak.

“Keenest hunters,” He said with derision. “How do you explain me, then?”  The Marine grinned, but without humor.

“An aberration. Human error, of course. Many assistants lost their lives after your escape,” There, that sobered him up. He actually wasn’t sure
how
the Marine had managed, but knowing that the memory spell had been invoked was a clear indication that more than just he and Zarastrid were involved.

Zeko watched the play of remorse cross the Marine’s face. He was beginning to get him. He could be emotionless with regard to himself, but as soon as others were brought up, his façade cracked. He would remember this for further interviews. “What do you think Zarastrid will do with her once he finds her, do you suppose?”

The Marine went pale. He said nothing, though.

“I’ll tell you what I think he will do with her. I think he will,” Zeko pretended to search out the right word. “Interview her. Ask her a question or two. And if he doesn’t like the answers…” He gave the Marine a pointed look.

“What do you want, Zeko?  I already asked you once,” The Marine’s fists clenched at his sides. Zeko realized he’d placed himself in a precarious situation, but refrained from stepping back.

“Just tell me what she knows about her parentage. Tell me if she has any…talents, if you will. That’s not too difficult, is it?”  Zeko finished.

“You already know where she is, don’t you?”  The Marine said softly.

Zeko suppressed a smile. “You are a bright boy, for a, what do you call it?  Jarhead?”  He gave a low chuckle. He pretended to check his watch. “Oh, look at the time. It is wasting.”

“She doesn’t know anything. You have to believe me. You can tell I didn’t know anything, can’t you?  She’s completely innocent. She just works and,” The Marine looked pinched. “At least, she used to work. I was only with her for a short time,” The Marine backed up and leaned against a wall. The life seemed to go out of him. “Why can’t I remember…?” His voice trailed off, and consternation etched his face.

Zeko stared at his captive. “I’ll see if I can’t get Zarastrid off her scent,” He left without another word, ignoring the abject relief flowing off the Marine’s skin. See?  Almost every time he left someone’s presence.