Gatewright (23 page)

“
Nagayos.”

“Where
did you hear
that
?”

“Riven
called you that, right after I made that first gate.”

“Great,”
he sighed.  “
Nagayos
are
nagali
known for their ability to
actually break a mind open and root around.  It’s like the difference
between a neurologist and a brain surgeon, metaphorically speaking.”

I
opened my mouth, about to ask another question, but Jack shook his head
angrily.  “I don’t want to talk about it.  I’ve answered your
question; let that be enough.”

I
knew how that felt.  I couldn’t help but glance at my hands, fearful of
finding the telltale blue tint under my fingernails.  I’d scrubbed them
clean many days ago, but picking at them had become a nervous habit. 
Through force of will, I put my hands back at my sides and tried to focus on
something else.

Of
course, my mind immediately cycled back to Riven.  I wondered how far the
link stretched, and how much of a clear signal I could get here on Earth. 
I concentrated on the odd feeling in my chest I’d grown accustomed to
ignoring.  Certainty filled me: Riven was healthy, safe, and relatively
content.  I could get behind the whole magic-status-update ability.

The
miles sped by in dark silence.  I leaned on the window, mind dancing in
the whirlwind of the last week alone.  The helicopter ride, the protests,
DIDA, my mother, Nick, Ishmael, the new house, becoming
lianyos
. 
Being a gatewright.  I needed to get back to my normal life, or some
semblance of it, before I crashed headfirst into something I couldn’t
survive.  I’d take Jack back to his family, deal with my father, get settled
into the new place, maybe even start looking for a job again.  Was that a
light at the end of the tunnel?

My
stomach growled loudly.

Jack
growled back.

“What’s
your problem?” I snapped.  He’d had plenty of time to cool off since we
got in the car, and he seemed
more
on edge, if possible.  Was he
nervous about seeing his wife?  That, I would understand, but he needn’t
get so irritable with me.

“We
have to get gas,” he noted angrily.

It
wasn’t Sadie’s fault.  I took offense on her behalf.  “I haven’t
maxed out my credit card
yet,
Jack.  We can afford it.  And
frankly, I’m starving.”

He
just gave me a chilling glare and said nothing.

“Who
spit in his bean curd?” I asked the universe, quoting
Mulan.

He
took the next exit off 81, and we followed the road for a mile before we hit
the token rural gas station, next to the token rural bar.  Apparently no
one wanted to think about Monday morning: the parking lot was full to the brim
with trucks and motorcycles.  An aging sign caught my eye
:  “
SU DAY NIGHT FOOTB LL.”

Jack
pulled up to the pump, parked, and gestured impatiently for my wallet.  I
handed it over, and got out to stretch my legs.  The game must have ended
a short time ago, judging by the thin stream of DUI-eligible men and a few
women strolling out and wishing their buddies a good night.  One of them
peered over toward us and whistled at me.  I rolled my eyes as obviously
as possible, got my wallet back from Jack, and ambled over to the station’s
store in search of food.

Inside
the gas station was eerily quiet, except for the chime of the door and the hum
of the refrigerators.  An acne-pocked teen behind the counter watched me
from the corner of his eye and muttered something incoherent.  A welcome,
perhaps?  I troubled myself to nod in his direction before I tried to find
something edible.  Jack might be hungry too, so I grabbed a handful of
jerky, some granola bars, and a pair of chocolate bars to satisfy his sweet
tooth.

“Hey,
girl, I think you should com’ere,” the teen told me nervously from the
front.  Alarmed, I hurried to dump my findings on the checkout counter and
leaned to follow his gaze out of the station, to where Jack stood, surrounded
by a good half dozen bar patrons.

Oh,
fuck.  I’d forgotten he looked so fey right now, with his recent trip and
all.  I put my hand on the door, about to charge out, but Jack caught my
eye from twenty feet away.  {Stay there,} he commanded.  {If we need
to gate out, I’ll let you know.}

Hating
myself for it, I did as he asked.  I gripped the metal bar across the
glass door until my knuckles turned white.  The men, dressed casually, one
still in a Redskins football jersey, circled him slowly, drifting in and out of
his personal space.  Jack had returned the nozzle to its perch, and now
casually leaned against the pump with his arms crossed.  I couldn’t make
out what they were saying, but Jack seemed entirely unperturbed.  Perhaps
they would get their insults out of their system and leave?

That
was not to be the case.  Having failed to get a reaction from the fey
who’d so rudely invaded his world, Redskin Fan shoved him, more a gesture of
dominance than an attempt to injure him.  Jack was not as gentle, and like
lightning, had his assailant by the throat.  Redskin Fan’s terrified,
choked scream had me outside of the safety of the gas station in two seconds
flat.

Instead
of putting the fear of God into the other five men, his cry propelled them
toward Jack.  Two collapsed almost instantly, wailing and holding their
heads.  Jack moved fluidly, dropping Redskins Fan, easily evading the
strikes from two others.  The third found his mark in the Exile’s ribcage
before Jack broke his arm with a sickening crunch.

We
could have left then, if we hadn’t had men whimpering in the fetal position in
front of the car, and a gathering mob behind Sadie.  Redskins’ shriek had
emptied the bar, and I swallowed.

“Thirty
angry drunks
is
a bit much even for me,” Jack observed
cheerily.  Oh,
now
he was in a good mood?

“Should
we gate out?”  Fuck the implications of making a gate in the middle of a
gas station on a Sunday night.  Jack was one of mine.

A
slow chuckle started from deep within him, startling and disturbing. 
“Nope.  I think I’ll let this one play out.”  He ducked as a stone
hurtled for his head.  The crowd moved closer, shouting obscenities but
not in any hurry to get too close.

“Uhh…
Jack?”  I considered shoving him through a gate anyway.  This was
only going to get uglier.

No
sooner had his name left my lips then a bright yellow sportscar came roaring
down the road.  Black racing stripes ran down its length, all the way to
the large spoiler at its rear.  Oversized rims glinted in the harsh light
of the gas station as it screeched to a stop between us and the approaching
crowd, leaving tire marks across the old asphalt.

“Jan,
may I introduce you to the cavalry?” Jack gloated.

The
driver’s door opened, lifting up, and a sturdy brunette stormed out.  Two
things struck me: first, that she didn’t even
look
at Jack, and the second,
she was packing.  Not a suitcase.  A petite Uzi with an oversized
clip.

The
utterly fearless woman casually strolled toward them, pointing a short-barreled
semi-automatic gun at the ground.  She grasped a handle on the side of the
weapon, pulling it back and letting it ride forward with an audible snap. “Get
the fuck back in the bar, now, before I fill you all full of these little bits
of metal.  I hear they hurt.”  Her voice was throaty, low, and
slightly terrifying.

The
crowd wavered at the unexpected development.  “Devil-worshipper! 
Freak!”  A few yells went out, but the dynamic of the violence was quickly
shifting.

“Devil-worshipper? 
Oh, he only
wishes
I worshipped him.” She turned her head to wink at
Jack.  “Don’t you, dear?”

Those
at the edges of the crowd decided now was a good time to leave.  A few
left hurriedly in their cars.  Others hid behind vehicles, digging out
their own pistols.  “If you fucking even
think
about shooting my
car, I promise, I
will
kill you,” she warned, then turned back to Jack
again.  “I missed you too,” she smiled at him.  “I would have come so
much earlier if I’d realized you were in the clutches of the Apostate.”

He
only blinked at her, and her eyes narrowed.

“What? 
Then how did you
-“ 
Pause.  “Then who the
fuck is
-“ 
Pause.  “FINE.  We’ll talk
there.  Don’t bother me while I drive,” she snarled finally.  With a
few warning shots at her hostile human audience, sending the bravest of them
flat on their stomachs, he swung herself back into her low-clearance beauty.

And
as quickly as she had come, the car pelted out of the lot.  I stared after
her in wonder.  That sure as hell wasn’t Jack’s wife.

“Let’s
go before they decide she’s the only scary one around here,” Jack advised,
dragging one of the limp men out of Sadie’s way.  I carefully stepped
around another to climb into the passenger seat.

Jack
didn’t waste time getting us back on the highway.  I kept an eye on my
side mirror until I was certain we’d made a clean getaway.  I sighed and
leaned back.  I still hadn’t gotten any dinner.  I crossed my fingers
Emma had cooked and put leftovers in the new fridge.  Rose had always
raved about her culinary talents, and I was eager to see what the excitement
was all about.  Otherwise, pizza it would be.  Which wasn’t
such
a bad thing.

“Who
was that?” I asked as Sadie strained past the speed limit.

“She
goes by Cheryl here.  Her actual name is Riancil Sharal.”  He tapped
his fingers in a rapid pattern against the steering wheel.  “You’ll talk
to her soon enough.  She’s meeting us at the house.”

“You
gave the crazy lady our address?” Couldn’t they have met somewhere else?

“Crazy
lady?”  Jack laughed.  “I suppose everyone deals with Exile in their
own way.  She was just having a bit of fun.”

“
Fun
!?” 
Cheryl was clearly a bad influence on my friend.

When
we finally arrived at the house, the tricked-out sports car was already cooling
in the driveway.  I let Jack lead, but he paused before opening the front
door.  A freshly hand-painted wooden sign hung artistically askew. “Clan
Xantae” had been painstakingly stenciled in bright blue.  I made a mental
note to ask my roommates how they made up the odd name.

Emma
and Rose had been busy.  Half of the living room had transformed from a
makeshift loading dock.  A semblance of civilization was taking root, my
floral-print couch against one wall, Emma’s Persian rug and coffee table in the
center of the room.  Cheryl had kicked off her leather boots by the door,
leaving them a good three feet from each other.  I placed them carefully
together and removed my sneakers before I tread on the rug.

Cheryl
sat cross-legged in the paint-spotted recliner we’d brought from Jack’s
house.  I guessed her to be in her mid-forties, and while I’d thought she
was stocky before, now I recognized the weight as powerful muscles.  Her
black hair –
nagali?
– was tied back in a ponytail, except for a lock
that she left alone to frame her face.  Stonewashed jeans hugged her legs
and an equally tight tank showed off her rather generous cleavage.  Emma
and Rose sat close together on the couch, keeping a wary eye on the
newcomer.  I suppose I should have thought to call them, but it had been a
while since I’d had roommates, and goddammit, I was
starving.

“You
kept the name, Ashad?”  Cheryl grinned broadly at Jack, who stiffly took
up a position across the room from her.

“Yes,
I go by Jack,” he admitted reluctantly.

“I
love it.  And you lived alone all this time, and now you’ve finally
decided to move in with these ladies?” Her lips tightened.

“Yes.”
His eyes sparked as he met her intensity, not giving up anything else.

Cheryl
squinted at him, then zeroed in on me.  “Shit.  You’re Jan Leeman,
aren’t you?”

“Yup. 
That’s me.  Famous and everything.”

She
jabbed a finger at Jack without breaking eye contact with me.  “So will
you
please
explain to me how he’s been to Azry twice in the past few
weeks?”

My
mouth flapped like a fish.  Could I trust her?  How did she know
that?  Was this a
nagali-nagali
thing?  “I. Um.  What?” 
I stalled.

“He’s
been to Azry?” Rose cut in.  “How?  When?  I can’t imagine
they’d let him in, when they wouldn’t even let him on base.”

Cheryl
raised her eyebrow.  “A stroke of genius from the peanut gallery. 
Some time ago, the Apostate was trying to find a way in.  Jack, please
tell me you’re not working with him.”

Jack’s
mouth twisted with anger.  “I would
never
sink that low.”

“Goodie
for you.  Has your precious code of honor made you happy yet?”

The
anger drained from his face, something distant and sad taking its place. 
By Cheryl’s changing expression, I knew Jack had told her something private.

“Fuck
it, Jack, stop emoting!”  Cheryl told him in a choked voice.

“I
think we’ll excuse ourselves,” Emma announced carefully, clearly uncomfortable.

As
Emma rose to her feet, Rose shook her head.  “Jack, who is this woman, why
is she here, and how were you in Azry?”

“This
‘
woman’
is Riancil Sharal, Exile since ’97, and
lianyos
to your
nagali
friend Jack here.”  Cheryl offered brightly, recovered from whatever
emotion Jack had been projecting.

My
eyes about dropped out of my head.  Various conversations clicked into
place like an optical illusion that only makes sense from a certain
angle.  Stunned, I didn’t have time to analyze further.  Rose was
talking.

“…and
what’s
nagali,
anyway?”  She crossed her arms and frowned at him
with her best attempt at intimidation.

Jack
was utterly motionless, calculating as if how best to strangle Cheryl.  He
finally took a breath and replied.  “When I’m in Azry, I can read
minds.  When I have my magic back, I can also do a bit of
telepathy.”  Well, it wasn’t the whole truth, but it would keep Rose and
Emma happy for now.  How many times had he given me partial truths just
like that?  I didn’t want to know.