Spires of Spirit (27 page)

Nothing. Not even an echo. Lifting a hand, she knocked softly. Then, damning all, she pounded.

A minute or two went by before she heard a stirring. A white face, streaked with grime and blood, peered out at her from between the blinds. Lauri had a feeling that it belonged to Amy, but she could not be sure, and when the door finally opened and she got a good look at the woman who stood before her in a torn nightshirt, she was no more certain. In truth, it had to be Amy, but the blood, the bruises, and, more than either, the dull, lightless eyes made Lauri hesitate.

“Hello . . . Lauri . . .” The woman's voice was mechanical, flat. It was as though a corpse spoke. The shimmer, the glow, the health . . . everything was gone.

“Amy . . .”

Amy went back into the room, leaving the door open. “You might as well come in,” she said over her shoulder.

Lauri entered and pushed the door closed behind her. The apartment was a wreck: papers, dishes, and furniture scattered as if tossed by a storm. “Where's Rob?”

“Out.” Amy did not turn around. Her voice was listless, empty.

“What the hell did he do to you?” Physically, it was obvious, but at present the physical was of incidental concern to Lauri.

Amy turned around. Lauri might as well have looked into empty sockets for all the life that was in her eyes. “I got sick,” Amy said simply. “I was seeing stars. Rob got mad.”

Trembling, Lauri reached out and took her gently by the shoulders. “So what did he do, Amy?” she whispered. “Try to beat it out of you?”

“I'm better now . . .”

Lauri felt like screaming. Blood was still seeping from a cut in Amy's forehead, and most of her face was bruised and swollen. But her eyes were pits of emptiness, and oppression radiated from her.

Lauri's stars wavered, and she saw, in the distance, the abyss that had taken Amy away from herself. Amy started to shake, and she pulled away. “You better go. Rob'll be back any time now. He went to get some beer.”

“So he can come back and finish you off? Over my—”

“He's got a gun, Lauri. You better go.” Amy was leaning on the kitchen counter, the Formica top stained with coffee and the dregs of an overturned catsup bottle. She was still shaking. “I . . . I . . . wanna . . . I . . . I can't . . . uh . . . uh . . .”

The abyss yawned. Lauri suddenly realized that, not content with sucking down Amy's stars, it was going to take the rest of her, too. Even physically, though, Amy was collapsing, and before Lauri could move, she lost her grip on the counter and dropped to the floor, banging her head on an overturned table. Lauri was beside her in a moment, cradling her head, calling her.

The abyss widened. Elf and woman. Healing and comfort.

She sensed that Amy was far ahead, well into the pit that had opened within her. But though it was dark in there, dark and cold, and though she shuddered at the thought of following, she had to follow, and so she was already reaching out among the stars, reaching out to the hot blue primary she had seen before—looking for energy, looking for power, perhaps looking only for a simple glimpse of light that she could take with her into the darkness—as she plunged after Amy, saw through Amy's eyes, lived with her through that last, soul-killing beating.

Cold, darkness.
Amy!
The blue star fed her, strengthened her. Blazing far above her like a distant electric arc, it nonetheless blasted down into the endless night below, splitting the darkness as the high beams of her truck had split the pitch of the mountain roads.

Amy!

Faintly, a whisper in the void. It was unintelligible, perhaps it was not even a word. A sigh, maybe. But it was something, and Lauri, well into the abyss now, the darkness all around, her stars infinitely far away, searched for whatever intangible thing it was that was Amy.

Again the whisper, but fainter now. Lauri searched. Somewhere . . . she had to be somewhere/

The blue star was barely a glimmer on the edge of sight when she felt something, knew it to be Amy, grabbed it.

Amy! Hold on to me!

It was as though arms were thrown around her neck then, a head pressed to hers.
Lauri . . . I'm scared.

Lauri nearly laughed. Amy's fear could not have equaled one tenth the sheer, unadulterated panic that she herself felt. The blue star was nearly eclipsed by distance, the abyss seemed both infinite and absolute, and she was somewhere inside and yet outside of herself. She had no idea what to do, and now the life of another was in her hands.

I'm scared
: the words were not even fractionally adequate to the situation.

She tried to rise, got nowhere, redoubled her grip on the stars, and tried again. Nothing. Her terror was like a hand about her throat, and Amy's trust was all that allowed her to fight it down.

Hadden! Ash!

Movement. Presence. The blue star flickered, and then she saw another night sky around her. It was not hers—she knew that she was still in the abyss—but she understood that Hadden and Ash were with her now, and the stellar fire of immense suns shone on her, yellow, blue, gold, green. The incandescence coursed through her, expanded to encompass Amy, grew in intensity . . .

. . . and then they were rising.

Amy was still clinging to her, and Lauri let the light flow into the emptiness that was there. Amy drank it in.
Lauri . . .

You're OK. Really. Just breathe the light.

Amy was like an abyss herself. There was a hunger there, a void, a passionate yearning for something feared lost. Lauri felt as though she were spooning meat into the mouth of a starving child.

Rising . . .

Breathe, Amy.

More light. Lauri's own stars shone about them now. She recognized them, was sure of them. Below, the abyss closed, webs of light tightening over it, sealing it. Amy gasped then, and, with a whisper as of a breath of wind, Lauri's stars were joined by others, and they shone mightily.

For several minutes, they drifted together, holding one another in mind and in body, Lauri resting, Amy, she could tell, changing, making up for lost time.

“It's beautiful,” she said, or Amy said . . . or maybe they said it together. Lauri could not be sure. She thought she detected a slurring, though, as of swollen lips, and she pried her eyes open and looked into Amy's battered face. Incongruously, despite the bruises and the blood, Amy was smiling.

“What is it, Lauri?” she said. “What do the stars mean?”

“It means, love . . .” Lauri looked into eyes that were, once again, filled with light, stared at flesh that was, for all its marks of battering, suffused with a delicate shimmer. “It means that you're an Elf. You've got the blood I was talking about. It woke up. It's changing you.”

Amy closed her eyes, sighed. “Rob asked me what was going on, and I told him about the stars. He got mad.”

“How . . . how do you feel about that?”

“I just want the stars. I tried to tell him that, but he didn't like it. He started hitting me. He didn't care about the stars . . . and I realized then that he really didn't care about me, either. I . . . I don't think he ever did.” She opened her eyes suddenly. A flash. “I want the stars,” she said fiercely. “I want them. I won't let him take them away again.”

Lauri heard the door open. “Hadden?” she said. “We're OK.”

But Amy's eyes had widened in fear, and Lauri turned around to see Rob framed in the doorway, his T-shirt greasy and his jeans stained with what she assumed was Amy's blood. He was holding a six-pack of beer, and he was staring at Lauri.

“What the—” He started forward, fist balled, face red. Lauri rose and set herself between him and Amy.

“She's a friend of mine, Rob.” Amy's voice was husky. “Leave her alone.”

“What the hell's she doing here?” he demanded.

“She . . .”

Lauri wanted no delays, no interference. “I came here to save Amy's life after you nearly beat her to death. I'm going to get her out of here.”

“The hell you are.”

“Rob . . .” There was a plaintive tone in Amy's voice, but she abruptly caught herself. Holding on to the counter, she slowly got to her feet. “You really hurt me, Rob.” The plaintive tone was gone. It was a statement of fact. There was no pleading or apology in it. “You nearly killed me.”

“Bullshit. You make me so goddam mad. All that shit about stars. You gonna start that again? What the fuck are you trying to do to me?”

“I'm not trying to do anything to you,” said Amy slowly, evenly. “I just want out.”

Rob eyed Lauri. “Get outta my way, cunt. I want my woman.”

Perhaps he had chosen his words to anger her, but Lauri had her stars, and the light leached away the emotion. She was calm, centered. She had a job to do, and when Rob lunged, coming at her, swinging the six-pack like a club, she was ready for it. She ducked, allowed the momentum and the weight of the beer cans to spin him half around, then drove in.

A kick sent the cans flying, and she grabbed Rob by the shoulders and whirled him back as though he were a sack of cabbages. A second kick, a roundhouse, caught him square on the side of the head, and he went down heavily and lay still.

She turned around to face Amy. The small woman was staring at the inert body. “You didn't . . .”

“He's just out, Amy. He'll be OK. Sorry about that.”

Amy wavered, looked dazedly about the room.

“Get your things together, kiddo,” said Lauri. “Clothes, personals . . . whatever. We're getting you out of here.”

“Where . . . where are we going?”

“Home. We're going home. Up into the mountains. Where we were before. Remember the house you saw?”

In five minutes, Amy was dressed and had filled a duffle bag. When they came back out into the living room, though, Rob was gone. Lauri was startled: she had expected that the combination of alcohol and impact would have kept him unconscious for several hours.

“What are we going to do?” Amy was looking at the place where Rob had been.

“We move, Amy.”

“Lauri, he's got a gun in his car.”

The gun. Amy had mentioned it before, but Lauri had forgotten. She kept to her stars. “Then we move faster. Come on.”

They got down the stairs and out to the street without incident, Lauri carrying the duffle bag and, partially. Their progress was slow, but the truck was still there, still double-parked and idling, and Hadden reached out to help Amy in.

Amy gasped. “Hadden! You?”

“To be sure,” he said softly. “We're all in this together.”

Lauri threw the duffle bag into the back and swung behind the wheel. “I had to fight him, Hadden,” she explained. “I put him out, but he came to and took off when I wasn't looking. Amy thinks he's going for a gun.”

“Well, then we'd better get out of here.” Still perfectly calm. Yes, indeed: he had it down to an art.

“Right.” The Bronco's tires screeched a little as Lauri pulled out, and she wove through the back streets, heading for Colorado Boulevard and the freeway on-ramp as fast as she dared. Above, the pale light of early dawn was filling the sky. Streetlights began to dim, buildings emerged as forms of gray and pastel. The clouds had departed: the sky that day would be of deepest sapphire.

Traffic was thin when she reached Highway 6, and she overtopped the speed limit as much ass he dared. The urgency was not so great now, but she wanted to get Amy to Elvenhome.

Lauri stole a glance at her. Amy was curled up in the seat, dozing. The shimmer about her was bright, distinct, and, even through the grime and the bruises, Lauri could see that her face was softening, lines of worry and pain vanishing as the blood worked.

They were just entering the foothills when Hadden spoke up from the back seat. “Lauri, there's a car back here that's following us, I think.”

Lauri saw it in the mirror. A red Mustang was in their lane, tailing them.

“He's been with us at least since we got onto Sixth Avenue,” said Hadden. “You think it's the man?”

“Rob? Yeah, probably.” Lauri's voice was flat. She remembered the gun. “I'm still going up to the Home. He'll be on our turf.”

“Agreed.”

The Mustang stayed with them as they wound through foothills that quickly rose into mountains. Hoping to lose it among the turns, Lauri put on some speed, but the Mustang accelerated, closing the distance. Peering into her mirror, Lauri thought she recognized Rob's features behind the wheel.

Amy awoke, looked back, caught her breath. “It's him!”

“Thought so.” Lauri upped her speed a little more. If she could make the turnoff to Elvenhome quickly enough, with enough of a lead on Rob, he might miss it entirely and continue on out toward Idaho Springs.

“Lauri, you don't understand,” said Amy. “When he's mad, he doesn't think. He's liable to try to kill you.”

“He's going to find I'll argue with him.” Lauri tried to sound confident, hoped that she had succeeded.

“Hold on to the stars, Lauri,” said Hadden. “And you too, Amy. You're one of us now.” Lauri saw him in the mirror. He was very calm, and the starlight was in his eyes. “Do what you need to, Lauri. There are some things worth taking risks for.”

The last quarter mile to the turnoff was abominably straight, and as Lauri spun up onto the steep slope, she knew without looking that Rob had followed.

She gunned the Bronco, jouncing up the dirt road. “When we get there,” she called to Hadden over the bumps and the engine noise, “you get Amy up to the house. I'll deal with Rob.”

“What do you intend to do?”

“Jump him. I'm an Elf. I should at least be able to sneak up on him. After that, it's clobbering time.”

Amy was terrified. “Lauri, don't. I can't let you do that. He's got a gun. Just let me go back to him. He'll leave you alone then.”

Lauri felt her jaw clench. Rob himself could not make her angry, but the thought of what Rob had done to Amy . . .

“Amy,” she said, “do you
want
to go back to him?”

Amy hesitated, looking first at Lauri, then at Hadden, then at the pursuing red car. Lauri felt the struggle. Starlight. Finally: “No. I don't.”

“Then you goddam well don't have to. Hadden, can you warn Ash that there's going to be trouble?”