Solomon's Sieve (32 page)

For cripes’ sake, that was how she ended up maneuvering her way onto B Team to begin with – so she could watch out for guys who looked a lot bigger, stronger, faster, but were in fact, far more vulnerable physically.

Ram was supposed to be on patrol from eight to two. She’d had time to get right with the thing and get a grip on being a big girl about it and thought she had. So she kissed her husband goodbye, gave Helm a bath, put him to bed, and spent a couple of hours catching up on the baby book. Future generations were going to want to know that the king could blow bubbles with mashed carrots.

A good night’s sleep wasn’t an option. She had a baby who’d be demanding attention, a change of clothes, and breakfast – in that order – in just a few hours. If that wasn’t enough of a motivation, there was a sharp group of trainees housed in the dormitory downstairs who’d be showing up for fight school, as they liked to call it, bright eyed, rested and ready. Fitful, sleepless nights were just out of the question, but the more she stared at the ceiling talking to herself about why she needed to go to sleep, the more wide awake she became.

By midnight she was up and pacing back and forth trying not to see images of roaring vampire with long sharp fangs or the long jagged, freshly stitched path of the knife wound that cut Ram from stem to stern. If he was a normal husband with a normal job, she could just call to make sure he was okay, but Black Swan had phone silence rules for good reason. A knight couldn’t be distracted by a phone call in the middle of a vampire encounter. The results could be disastrous. For that reason, only the Sovereign could be reached by phone in the field and then, only for emergency reasons.

By the time she heard movement at the front door she had worked herself into a frenzy bordering on hysterics. Ram hadn’t even closed the door before she had grabbed him into an embrace that was punishing to a native of Loti Dimension.

“Hey, now. Ease up just a bit. I’ll no’ be able to fuck you senseless if most of my bones are pulverized.”

“Oh, sorry, sorry, sorry.” She relaxed her hold and covered his face and neck in kisses.

Ram chuckled. “Do no’ take this the wrong way, but what is this about?”

She pulled back so that she could search his face for evidence of injury. When she was satisfied there was none, she ripped his Ramones shirt right down the middle.

“Hold on! Great Paddy, woman! That shirt was a classic! Have you gone barkin’ mad?”

She stared into his eyes until he stopped speaking, then her gaze jerked down to the buttons of his jeans. Her inspection of his chest and torso had revealed nothing but beautifully whole skin. No new wounds. But she had to be sure his entire body was unmolested.

When Ram saw where her train of thought was going, he said, “Stop! I ne’er thought the day would come when I’d be sayin’ do no’ e’en think about takin’ my pants off, but do no’ e’en think about takin’ my pants off.” She reached for his waistband. He backed up a step. “Do no’ make me do somethin’ you will regret.”

She stopped. “Like what?”

“Like rubbin’ your eyebrows the wrong way.”

“You wouldn’t. I hate that.”

“Aye, I know and I would despise takin’ advantage of intimate knowledge, but I will use the tools at my disposal if you persist in this most unbecomin’ behavior.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Are you okay?”

“Indeed. Good as Irish gold.”

“If you’re lying, I will find out.”

“Aye, but findin’ out is best when ‘tis consensual.”

“Okay. You have a point.” She bit into her lower lip and tears sprang to her eyes. “I was going crazy.”

“Aye. I can see that.”

“I can’t do it, Ram. I couldn’t do it before we were us and I
really
can’t do it now.”

“Why do we no’ step away from the door? Perhaps we might share an inch of wine and discuss the matter.”

He sat her down on the living room sofa, poured two glasses of wine a little deeper than the inch that was mentioned and returned to sit next to her.

“Are you beginnin’ to feel more like yourself?”

“Yes. Do you want to tell me about your night?”

“Aye. But first I’d like to know what has your feathers flyin’ all over the house.”

Elora had been set to tell Ram exactly how worried she’d been, but seeing that he was cavalier, she quickly got her wits about her and hatched a plan. Two nights hence she would be the one going out without him. She strongly suspected that when she returned after her patrol, he would be in a much better frame of mind to understand what her problem was and why she was distraught.

“Nothing. It was silly. Probably PMS. Now that you’re here, it’s all good. So tell me everything.”

And that is what he did.

Up to a point.

He told her all about losing the pair of vamps only to learn that they’d been found by three of her trainees. At one point in the story he had to give her a minute to slow her heart rate and catch her breath. There clearly was a good reason why the kids called her “mother”.

When he reached the part of the story where Rev had proclaimed that the three trainees were bound to skip two years and go into rotation, Elora started shaking her head violently.

“No,” she said. “He can’t have them.”

Ram said nothing. He took a long drink of wine, licked his lips, set the glass down and slid closer to Elora. Softly trailing his knuckles along her jaw line he said, “You know I’m sensin’ a pattern here. Seem you do no’ like the idea of your peeps or your chickadees in situations that could prove hazardous to health.”

“I don’t,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone as she looked at her wine glass and took another drink.

“Well, ‘tis no’ a thin’ either strange or unusual about that. ‘Tis only natural.”

“Exactly.”

“Except that your peeps and chickadees are no’ automobile salesmen. There’s a good reason why the job comes with a big life insurance policy. ‘Tis dangerous. You know that. Our business is savin’ the world. Lots of perks, but there’s a downside, too.”

“Are you patronizing me, Rammel?”

“No’ at all.”

“I need to go to bed.”

“Music to my elfin ears.”

CHAPTER 17

Sozopol, Bulgaria

Mercy descended the grand staircase, reminiscent of another day in hotel pageantry. When she and her two shadows reached the elevators, she had kept walking. Glen and Gun looked at each other and followed without asking questions. After all, they were there to escort and protect. Not direct. She kept walking until she reached the staircase, which was open and not at the end of the hall behind a closed door.

“Hey. I like your kippers,” Glen called from behind.

Mercy stopped and turned around. “My what?”

“Your,” he was motioning in the direction of her lower body, “kippers”.

“Glen, I don’t have any kippers on me and you couldn’t possibly be hungry enough to hallucinate me dripping in herring.”

“Herring?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are we talking about the same thing?”

“I’m talking about the pants you’re wearing with all the pockets. Aren’t they called kippers?”

She shook her head, turned around and started back down the stairs. “They’re called pants, Glen. But thank you. I’m pleased you like them.”

Glen looked at Gunnar who couldn’t hold his laughter in another second. “Kippers?”

“Like you’re an expert on women’s clothing?”

“Well…” Gun started.

“Shut it, old man,” Glen trotted down the stairs behind Dr. Renaux.

The three joined Torn and Raif who had already commandeered a round table with two features to its credit. It was in a corner near an exit, always a favorite of Black Swan knights. And, if you were on the side of the table with your back to the room, it had a marvelous view of the morning sun rising over the Black Sea.

Mercy sat looking and sounding cheerful. “Hmmm. Nice view. So what looks good?”

“Good Bulgarian food?” mumbled Raif.

Torn smirked at him and turned his attention to Mercy. “They’ve got that thin’ where they smash bread, milk, and cheese up with sugar and butter. Looks disgustin’, but we were told before you came down that kids love it.”

“Popara,” she said.

“Forgot you’ve been ‘round this part of the world. We should be askin’ you what to get.”

“Well they’ve got these things that are sort of like grilled breakfast sandwiches. Brioche meets minced meat and eggs and cheese. In any combination you like.”

“Sold,” Glen said. “I’ll take three.”

“I’ll just have some more of that negarche cake,” Gun added. “With coffee.”

“Breakfast of champions.” Mercy smiled at him in mock approval.

“Exactly,” replied Gun. He offered Mercy a high five either not realizing that she was being sarcastic or not caring. Without missing a beat she gave him a high five and rattled her coffee cup, hoping to get the attention of a waiter.

“Hey,” she said, then followed that with something in Bulgarian.

“You have to tell us what you said. We can’t be responsible for you if we don’t know what you’re saying to people.”

“Why not?” She tipped her chin and asked the question playfully.

“Because,” Torn began, “if, for instance, you were to say, ‘in exactly ten minutes my friends will be openin’ fire on passersby on the coastline walkway below’, then we would need to prepare for bein overrun with hotel security, local police, and perhaps the Bulgarian military as well. If you said, ‘Show me the way to the Ladies’, then we could relax. Except for Glen, who will be accompanyin’ you as far as is seemly.”

“I see your point. But how would you know if I was telling the truth about what I said? What if I made up something outrageous, but told you that I requested cheese bread?”

“Because Black Swan knights are highly trained in matters of communication. We’re practically living lie detectors.”

“I see. Very well then. I said, ‘We’re not tourists, you know. And you’re burning daylight!’”

Torn thumped the table and grinned. “And that, gentlemen, is the truth.”

Raif looked down his nose at her. “You said ‘burning daylight’?”

Mercy looked around. “Did anybody hear that? It sounded like a voice coming from nearby.”

Torn chuckled softly and clapped Raif on the shoulder.

When everyone had been served some sort of morning caffeinated beverage, Mercy took a few sips of coffee, listened to the easy banter between team mates, and when it grew quiet for a minute, put voice to the question that had been on her mind.

“If you, as knights I mean, are so great at reading people, I’d like you to give me your impression of Professor Yanov and Minister Igvanotof.”

Gunnar spoke up. “Yanov is cheesy and Igahblahblah needs to get laid. Badly.”

Mercy chuckled. “Anybody else? Anything useful?”

“What’s your concern? Your reason for askin’?”

Mercy looked at Torn. “Just wanted to hear another perspective. Igvanotof…”, she looked at Gun pointedly when she said it, “might have just been having a bad day. Or a bad life. Or there might be some other reason why he was behaving cold at best and hostile at worst.”

“Look around,” Glen said. “The dining room is deserted. We might not be tourists, but that doesn’t mean they wouldn’t
love
it if we were.”

Mercy looked at Glen for a minute and slowly started to smile. “So. You’re a boy wonder, Glendennon Catch.”

“I wouldn’t say that exactly. No.” He looked over at Gun. “But I do have more than two brain cells to rub together.”

Gun gaped. “I’ll slap you down, boy.”

“Punchline perfect. Gun. Can I have a ba-DA-bump?”

Mercy cut in to steer the kiddos back on topic. “You’re saying that if The Order exercises its power to shut this down, closes the site, gag order on everybody who knows, millions of tourist dollars remain forever floating just out of reach in the Minister’s imagination. So he has good reason to be displeased with us.”

“Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”

She sat looking solemn while she considered that. “No wonder they thought I needed an ‘escort’.” She put the word ‘escort’ in air quotes. “Are you armed? Just curious.”

Torn smiled his killer Irish smile. “Beautiful lady. Black Swan knights are always armed. Even when we’re no’ carryin’ weapons.”

She wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but any related question fled her mind because their food arrived just then. When the waiter had delivered everything satisfactorily and retreated to the place where waiters go and cannot be accessed by patrons, Torn said, “There’s no’ a need to worry for your safety. Nothin’ will be happenin’ to you. Or even us for that matter. Think about it. If they wiped us all out mysteriously, there’d be fifty investigators here within hours. If they wiped us out straightforward- like, there’d be an army here within days.