Spires of Spirit (28 page)

“She knows.”

The parking area came into view as they crested the last hill. The fresh gravel was glowing in the morning sunlight, and the sparrow hawk flashed through the sky. Lauri floored the accelerator down the slope and slewed to a halt close to the path. “Everyone out,” she yelled as she threw her door open. “Leave the bag.”

The Mustang was at the top of the hill. Lauri judged distances, times.

“We can make it to the trees of we run.”

Amy was unsteady. Hadden scooped her up and carried her, and Rob was just pulling up beside the Bronco when the trees closed about them. Glancing back, Lauri had enough time to see him get out, to see a bright flash of metal in his hand.

“Move!”

Rob did not know the paths of Elvenhome: that, Lauri thought, might increase their lead, might give Hadden and Amy a chance to reach the shelter of the house. And when they reached the meadow where Lauri and Amy had picnicked, from which Lauri could see, projecting above the trees, the white tower with the blue roof, she called out: “Go on ahead, Hadden. I'll wait for him here. I'm not letting him near the Home.”

Hadden nodded and, still with Amy in his arms, started across the clearing. He was halfway to the shelter of the trees on the far side when Lauri heard a crashing of heavy boots on the path behind her. Rob was coming on, making better time than she had expected. She slipped behind a pine tree and waited.

Then he was there, passing just on the other side of the pine. Lauri moved, crashed into him, knocked him down, but the hour's drive had given him time to sober up, and he reacted more quickly than she had expected, lashing out and swinging the gun into the side of her head.

Stunned, Lauri rolled over on her side, fighting for clarity, fighting for the stars; but Rob was already on his feet, and he was taking aim at Hadden and Amy. The gun gleamed, a cheap, nickel-plated .38, and though Lauri struggled, she had only managed to get to her knees when Rob squeezed off three shots. They sounded trivial and faint in the open air, but she saw Hadden go down, falling half on top of Amy.

Rob turned to Lauri and leveled the gun. “Nice try, bitch.”

Lauri tried to move, but her head was still spinning from the blow. With the muzzle of the pistol barely a foot from her head, she scrambled for her stars, saw, once again, the blue primary, and grabbed for it.

Rob's finger started to tighten.

A blur. The sparrow hawk swept down, streaked across the clearing, and, with an audible smack, buried its tiny talons in Rob's wrist. The pistol went off, but the shot went wide, kicking scraps of bark out of the pine tree.

In Lauri's mind, the blue star exploded into light, snapping her awareness back, tightening nerves, muscles, thoughts into a fine and intense focus. Rob was cursing, flailing out after the hawk with a bloody hand, but the hawk had already swept up out of his reach. Giving up on the hawk, then, he turned to Lauri once again, the gun still in his hand.

But Lauri was seeing him through the blue-white incandescence of the star, and abruptly, the light filled her, expanded swiftly, and lanced out at the man before her in a glowing pressure wave of energy. Struck, blinded, thrown back by the ephemeral but potent blast, Rob rolled over and over in the grass.

He had dropped the gun, and as he seemed more concerned with his dazzled eyes than with Lauri, the Elf was content to leave him that way while she went among the stars. She found that Hadden had been hit in the leg, that Ash was on her way. Lauri's thoughts were calm, even, the star still shining within her. She could feel Hadden's leg bleeding, could feel the shattered thighbone. Yes, there were things worth dying for. There were things worth preserving at all costs.

Within her, she heard Hadden's voice:
Finish with Rob. I can wait for Ash.

Methodically, still with that terrible, incandescent focus, she got to her feet, picked up the gun, emptied it, and threw it away. Nearby, Rob was still struggling, thrashing, clawing at his face.

Dropping to one knee beside him, Lauri rolled him face up and grabbed the front of his shirt. His eyes were glazed, but he could now see well enough to recognize her, and he stared in fear.

Very deliberately, she shook her hair back from her ears and let the stars inside her blaze until she was sure that he could see the light in her eyes. “You've come to the wrong place, man.”

He was stiff, rigid, terrified.

“You're not going to come back here again, are you?”

Silence. His eyes were wide. He was seeing the light.

”Are you?”
She shook him, the starlight lending her strength.

“N-no.”

”Ever?”

“No. No. I swear.”

“Human oaths mean nothing here. I'll give you a reason better than an oath.” For a moment, her eyes bored into his, and then, in the same way in which she had grabbed Amy in the abyss, she seized him. Dragging him within himself, she rent the fabric of his existence and showed him the awful emptiness. He writhed in her grasp, but she held him, forced him to look, and only when he began to whimper in abject terror did she pull him back, seal the rent, and return him to himself.

She pinned him to the ground. “Know this, man,” she hissed into his face. “That's where you put Amy. That's where you left her. What do you think I ought to do with you?”

He babbled. “Please . . . lemme go.”

“If you ever come here again, if you ever bother Amy or any of my people again, that's where you're going. Right back there. Forever. You can rot out there for all I give a damn.”

“OK-OK-OK . . .” He was thrashing again, blubbering like a whipped boy, gasping as though he was not sure that the world of sky and sunlight would not at any moment be taken away from him. Looking into him, Lauri saw the fear and knew with certainty that he would do as she wanted. But she saw something else too: dimly, faintly, she saw the potential for the starlight to take him. Even Rob. And who knew when it might happen? And would not her contact with him contribute to the eventual awakening of his blood?

She let go of his shirt and stood up, feeling sick. Even Rob might see the stars someday. Even Rob could find completion and rest. She would have to check on him. When the blood awoke, he would need help . . . more help than anyone else.

For now, though, he was far from starlight. He was, in fact, all but witless with terror. Lauri looked down at him. “Get out. Go,” she said, and she watched as he crawled to the trees, stood up shakily, and half ran, half stumbled back toward his car.

Drained, almost grieving, she turned and walked slowly to the others. Ash was there, and, impelled by the need before her, she had, once again, healed: Hadden was on his feet now, his leg sound, and he was watching as his beloved laid her hands on Amy.

In a moment, Lauri felt the energy, felt the surge of strength as Amy blossomed.

Amy's face was clear now, and though it was dirty, there was not race of a bruise or a cut. There was, instead, a soft shimmer about her, and her eyes were bright with starlight. The tip of an ear poked out from her disheveled hair, and Lauri noticed that her cheekbones had changed. She looked complete, all of a piece.

She smiled at Lauri, the morning sun golden on her skin. “Lauri . . . I . . .” She hesitated, looking for the words.

“Welcome home,” Lauri said. Her queasiness surged again as she heard an engine start up in the distance, but the sparrow hawk flitted over, dipped its wings, and rose into the sky, into the clear light, toward Elvenhome.