Unbinding (25 page)

His eyes were wide and startled. Abruptly he burst into tears.

She sighed in relief.

“What did you do to him?” the female cop demanded.

“He’s good. Tears are good. You might get a paramedic over here, though. No, wait.” A girl about Mark’s age had broken free of the officer interviewing her and was hurrying their way. “A friend is even better.” Kai started to stand—and nearly toppled.

An arm slid around her waist and hauled her upright. “Damn fool,” Ackleford muttered. “You okay?”

“More or less.” Her headache was back and had shot into
ohshit
territory, but she was okay. And so was Mark. Hurting, shocked, scared, but okay.

“People who are okay can stand up all by themselves.”

“I can do that.” When he withdrew his support, she hardly wobbled at all.

Kai lingered long enough to see the girl and Mark make a teary connection, complete with hugs and questions. The girl was one of the volleyball players. She needed Mark’s support as much as he needed hers, and that was perfect. They’d help each other.

Time to see if she could walk. She took a few steps and nothing fell off. “A couple ibuprofen would be welcome,” she admitted. “Speaking of which, where’s Arjenie?”

“Getting you some water. She figured you’d need it when you, uh, came to.”

“How long was I tranced?”

“Twelve minutes,” José said.

Ackleford snorted. “Twelve freaky as hell minutes. The two of you just sat there. Didn’t move, speak, didn’t do a damn thing but stare at each other. Listen up, Michalski.” He stopped and looked at her with his usual scowl . . . but while his words remained caustic, his voice wasn’t. “I need you to focus on those four goddamn persons of interest we’re sitting on. They know something about this, or so they claim. They sure as hell knew your name. Don’t go haring off fixing people. You can’t fix everyone.”

“I know that.” She was pretty sure she wasn’t going to throw up, but oh, her head . . . “Almost everyone here is traumatized to some extent. Several of them could use help getting over that trauma, but it doesn’t necessarily have to come from me. Except for Mark. He would have kept getting worse, not better.”

“How the hell do you know that?”

“My Gift. It doesn’t insist often. When it does, I’m needed.”

Arjenie came hurrying up, trailing three of the guards—two of them on two legs and one in fur. One of the two-legged lupi held three paper sacks like the one in Arjenie’s hand. She also held two bottles of water. She handed one of them to Kai. “You didn’t eat at Clanhome, and ibuprofen on an empty stomach is not a good idea.”

True. Kai took the sack and found several fish tacos inside. They smelled wonderful.

The guard with the other sacks started passing out tacos. Arjenie dug in her tote, retrieved the ibuprofen, and shook two of the capsules onto the palm of her hand. “What was wrong with that young man?”

“It’s hard to put in words.” Kai took the capsules and washed them down with a healthy slug of water. That felt good, so she drank some more, then stuck the bottle in one pocket of her vest so she could unwrap one of the tacos. “I know what I saw, but what kind of diagnosis would a psychiatrist use? Extreme PTSD? Psychotic break?” She shook her head, winced, and reminded herself not to do that. She took a big bite of the taco. Her taste buds rejoiced.

Ackleford shook his head. “You don’t know what was wrong with him, but you tried to fix him anyway.”

“What’s the word for that particular shade of blue in your tie, Special Agent?”

His scowl looked more confused than anything else. “I have no goddamn idea.”

She nodded. “And I don’t know the psychiatric term for what I found, but I know what was wrong. There was a weak place in Mark’s patterns, something innate. Maybe something in his brain chemistry.” She’d had to use more power than she’d intended to; that and the location of the fix suggested she’d made a physical change. “Whatever it was, it left him unable to deal with what happened. People say that sort of thing all the time—that we’re falling apart, going nuts, coming unglued. However true that might feel, it usually isn’t, not in a permanent way. But Mark . . . Mark really was coming apart.”

“And you fixed it.” Arjenie gave a firm nod and accepted a taco from the guard named Casey. “That’s a wonderful Gift you have. Eat now. I’m going to.”

Casey held out a paper-wrapped taco to the special agent. He scowled.

“You might as well,” José said. “We are.”

Ackleford looked disgusted, but he took the taco. “Multitask. Walk while you eat. Michalski. You can tell when people are lying, right?”

Kai swallowed quickly. “Yes.”

“These assholes aren’t talking. Can you make them?”

“It depends on why they aren’t talking. If they’re compelled to silence, I can remove the compulsion. Not quickly,” she warned him, “and with me so low on power, not at all until I recharge. But eventually I can remove it. If they’ve decided on their own not to talk, though, I can’t make them.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both. I’m a mindhealer. Technically, the ability to force someone to talk may be within my skills, but I can’t describe how repugnant the idea is. I won’t do it. However, there’s a way to get around someone’s self-imposed silence. People react mentally when you mention something they’re trying to hide. They might be able to control everything else—expression, body language, even blood pressure. Elves with good body magic can do all that and more, but their minds still react.”

“But you can’t read their minds.”

“No, but I see the reaction. I may not know what they’re thinking, but I know they reacted. That kind of interrogation is like playing a game of hot and cold—one that can go on a long time,” she admitted, “because people react to lots of things, not just their secrets. But if I keep talking, asking questions, and watching their thoughts, eventually I’ll find the spot they most want to hide.”

“Huh.” Ackleford stuffed a last bite of taco in his mouth, chewed. “So you can learn something from these people, even if they don’t say a word.”

“Oh, yes.” She felt a grim sort of optimism. “We wanted to find the god’s followers. Now four of them have delivered themselves to us.”

“Which means either the god has made a big mistake, or that we are. Guess we’ll find out which.” He looked at the guard with the white sack. “You got any more tacos?”

D
YFFAYA
was waiting about thirty feet away from the cliff’s edge when Nathan reached the top. He sat in a bright red recliner that was elevated, throne-like, by the large, flat rock it rested upon. He was gnawing on a chicken wing. A trio of green recliners faced his, their backs to Nathan, with a large open space between his chair and the others. Next to each green recliner was a TV tray; each tray held a big bag of Fritos and what looked like a bowl of salsa.

There were twenty feet between the green recliners and the red one. Dyffaya seemed to like that distance. How damnably sensible of him.

The god was using a different body again. This one reminded Nathan of Dell’s hiding form. It was hardly inconspicuous, but it mixed several racial types. The skin was dusky, the hair long and black, the features an arresting, androgynous blend—full lips, strong nose, sharp cheekbones. The eyes were dark and large, with a slight epicanthic fold. He wore jeans and a bright red ball cap. Hard to judge height accurately with him in that recliner, but his build was lean and supple, almost elfin.

He had two young people with him, one male, one female. And Dell.

The blond—she was quite young, a teen, he thought—wore a bikini top and shorts. She sat on the ground at Dyffaya’s feet, leaning against his denim-clad leg. The young man was Asian and bore a startling resemblance to Lily Yu, one that went beyond simple ethnicity. Aside from the sexual differences, he was built much like Lily, and was probably a similar height. Same face shape. The young man’s nose was subtly different, his eyes more deeply set, but his mouth was much like Lily’s. He sat in Dyffaya’s lap.

But it was Dell the god stroked with his free hand, not the young man snuggled up to him. The chameleon sat beside the recliner, haughty as ever, her eyes heavy-lidded. Dyffaya smiled at Nathan, showing teeth. “You arrive at a good time. We’re all set up for the big game.”

“Trying out some of the local customs, are you?” Nathan asked, stalling for time. What was Dell up to? Was she beguiled?

“My new people are very fond of games. It’s a passion I share, although I admit I find football baffling.” He tossed the picked-clean bones from his snack on the ground . . . where they slowly sank, as if the sand were consuming them. “It’s a gladiatorial sport, and yet the rules seem designed to keep the players from injuring each other. Odd. Perhaps you’ll explain the game to me later.” He smiled and stroked Dell’s head. “I wonder why I never thought of having a pet before?”

Nathan waited for Dell to rip his throat out. When she didn’t, he had to conclude she was heavily beguiled. “Perhaps because few would be as long-lived as a chameleon.”

“True. Allow me to introduce you to Penny and Liu.”

“My pleasure,” Nathan said politely. “Liu, you bear a strong resemblance to an acquaintance of mine. Lily Yu. Even your names are similar. Any relation?”

Dyffaya chuckled. “That would be telling. I’ll admit, however, that I rechristened Liu, who was given a less interesting name at birth.” He stroked the young man’s thigh. “I fear I’m easily amused at times. Ah, here come your compatriots.”

Cullen clambered up over the edge, his breathing audible. He looked like a walking scarecrow. Benedict was right behind him. He looked more like granite—impassive and unyielding.

Dyffaya greeted them affably and introduced Penny and Liu—“here to enjoy the game with us. There will be more guests, but they haven’t received their invitations yet.”

Nathan spoke before the other two could respond. “Dell, I don’t see your harem.”

The chameleon yawned.

Dyffaya chuckled. “I haven’t decided if she’s more afraid I’ll take them from her, or that they might be competition for my attention. Quite jealous of my attention, she is. Chased them off.” Dyffaya smiled slyly. “You seemed surprised that your pet and I get on so well now.”

“Nonsentients are relatively easy to beguile, I’m told.”

“Familiars aren’t, however.” There was an edge to Dyffaya’s voice. “Do come over and have a seat. We have plenty of wings. Liu, be a good boy and get them, will you?” The young man sighed, but did as he’d been told, sliding off Dyffaya’s lap and moving to the other side of the recliner. He bent and picked up a large platter piled high with chicken wings. “They’re quite tasty. Oh, I nearly forgot.” Abruptly a cooler appeared next to one of the green recliners, complete with ice and dark brown bottles. “Beer is traditional, I understand.”

“Thank you,” Nathan said, glancing at Benedict and Cullen to remind them of the need for an outward show of courtesy. “Is any of it poisoned?”

“I did admit to being easily amused, didn’t I? I’m not quite that easy, however. And I have something in mind that poison would interfere with.” Dyffaya’s voice hardened. “Come sit down.”

“Thank you.” Cullen offered a small bow, exquisitely polite. “I’m starved. I mean that literally, of course.”

Something flashed across Dyffaya’s face, some emotion too fleeting for Nathan to interpret. “Ah, yes. I hadn’t wanted to comment, but you don’t look at all well.”

“Something I didn’t eat didn’t agree with me, I fear.”

That amused Dyffaya. He and Cullen continued to exchange barbs cloaked as courtesies while Nathan, Cullen, and Benedict headed for the recliners as instructed. Nathan held himself ready to intervene should Cullen slip from amusing to offensive, but Cullen might have been an experienced elfin courtier—graceful, deferent in every word and gesture, with just enough of an edge for wit. Cullen was, in fact, better at this sort of thing than he was.

Once they were all sitting down, Benedict passed them each a bottle of what the label claimed was Bud. Perhaps it was. If the god could import people, a couple of six packs shouldn’t be beyond him. When Nathan twisted off the cap the smell was right. Liu approached with the platter of wings. “They smell delicious,” Nathan said, wanting to remind the others to sniff before biting.

It was true, though. Fritos, salsa, beer, barbequed chicken wings—everything smelled good. Just the way it should.

“So,” Cullen said, taking two wings from the platter Liu held out, “what do you think of those Chargers?”

*   *   *

T
HE
main lifeguard tower was well up the beach from the place where a glass serpent had chewed into people. Kai had time to finish both tacos while they walked, but not enough time for the ibuprofen to kick in. The sun felt hot on her poor, aching head. The rest of her was hot, too. “Why did they take these, uh, persons of interest to this lifeguard tower?”

“To get them away from the crowd.” Ackleford’s tone made it clear he considered that obvious.

She supposed it was. The police couldn’t know what part their persons of interest had played in raising glass from the sand. Maybe they’d do it again, or something just as bad. “Is that it?” Dead ahead was a two-story stucco building with a small third story perched on top like an undersize cap. It didn’t look like a lifeguard tower to her, but it had a red cross on top. “I hope it’s air conditioned.”

Ackleford snorted. “If you’re hot, take off the damn vest.”

“Not a good idea.” Though she really wished she dared unseal it. Kai rubbed her neck with one hand.

“I give a pretty decent neck rub,” José offered.

“No, I . . . no, thanks.” Nathan gave the best neck rubs. So many times when she’d been tired and sore for whatever reason, he’d sat behind her and used his big, magical hands to take away the pain and tension. She did not want anyone else’s hands on her. She . . . oh, shit, her eyes were filling.

“I cry, you know,” Arjenie said matter-of-factly.

“What?”

“When I hurt, I cry. I used to try so hard to hold it back. I wanted to be strong and stoic—and to have people see me that way. That was part of it, because people
react
to crying. It took me forever to figure out that the two don’t always go together. I am strong. I’m just not stoic.”

Kai’s eyes were still brimming. Her head still hurt and she was still hot. But she was smiling. She reached out and squeezed Arjenie’s hand. “Arjenie, I think I love you.”

Arjenie looked pleased and a little flustered. “Did you know that women cry roughly four times as much as men? People think that’s because of social conditioning, but it may also be due to how much prolactin the female body produces and its effect on the endocrine system.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Also, their tear ducts are smaller than ours.”

She was not going to laugh. Arjenie might not understand. But she was grinning as they drew near the lifeguard tower.

*   *   *

D
YFFAYA
had apparently been serious about learning more about football. While they ate, he asked questions. A lot of questions. Nathan made his answers as detailed as possible, wanting to draw this out since he doubted he’d like whatever came next. Cullen and Benedict seemed to share that goal, both of them contributing to the discussion, but Cullen’s knowledge of the game was limited. Fortunately, Benedict could have discussed strategy as it related to football all day.

Eventually, however, Dyffaya tired of the subject. “Enough!” he said, interrupting Benedict. “I am as stuffed with first downs and passing attacks as you are with wings.” He snapped his fingers and the empty platter disappeared while the salsa bowls and chip bags refilled themselves. “I’d like to introduce my own game. There’s a bit more at stake with it than with football.”

Once again a giant display sprung into being. It hung in the air ten feet off the ground between the red recliner and the three green ones. What they saw, though, was odd. Blurry, and the colors were wrong—everything was gray, green, or yellow. They were looking at some kind of broad walkway, currently empty of people, but from almost ground level . . .

“The boardwalk,” Cullen murmured. “As seen from a dog’s eyes, I think?”

“Very good, Cullen. Liu, Penny, it’s time you made our guests comfortable,” Dyffaya said. The young man reluctantly climbed out of Dyffaya’s lap. Penny stood up. Each of them held out an arm—and each arm was suddenly draped with a steaming towel.

Uh-oh. Nathan spoke quickly. “Benedict, Cullen, I need to explain another aspect of courtesy among the sidhe. Dyffaya is sending Penny and Liu to us as body servants. It would be rude to refuse them, but we can specify which services we wish without giving offense.”

Dyffaya smiled sweetly. “You worry needlessly, Nathan. Liu will serve you, since you can have no cultural bias about a male attendant. Penny will serve both the lupi. I don’t know if they partake of the monosexuality so rampant in the human culture of their world, so we will err on the side of caution. I wouldn’t want to make them uncomfortable.”

Cullen smiled. “Benedict, did I ever tell you that elves consider monosexuality perverse?”

“I don’t believe you did.”

“By monosexual, our host means anyone who limits himself to a single sex. Same sex or opposite sex, it doesn’t matter—if you aren’t bi, you’re a bit of a freak.”

“Now, now, I wouldn’t dream of calling monosexuals freaks,” Dyffaya assured them. “Odd, surely, but not freaks.”

Penny stopped in front of Cullen and smiled at him. “May I clean your hands?”

Liu reached Nathan. He was smiling, too. “Allow me to clean your hands, sir.”

All that smiling was beginning to get to Nathan. What was Dyffaya up to? He was behaving as a host, which ought to mean that they could refuse any service they didn’t want. Politely, of course. “That would be pleasant. Thank you.”

Liu knelt in front of Nathan and took his left hand first, wiping it carefully. The towel was hot, but not enough to injure. Good. Someone beguiled as heavily as these two were might not be aware of pain. He’d worried that Liu and Penny could be burned and not notice.

Dell looked from Dyffaya to Benedict to Nathan, then lay down on her stomach, looking bored and sleepy.

Cullen spoke gently to Penny, giving permission for her to clean his hands. He added in a different voice, “Elves are not as monolithic on the subject of monogamy as they are about monosexuality, but it’s a rarity with them. Still, they do understand vows.”

Dyffaya’s eyebrows lifted. “You aren’t referring to marriage, surely, as it is practiced on Earth? Even if you took such vows seriously—and the majority of humans don’t seem to—your people don’t marry.”

At the edge of the display a black object edged into sight. It was badly blurred, but the location and general shape told Nathan he was looking at a man’s shoe. It moved slowly. Very slowly.

Cullen held up his left hand, the one with a ring. “I’m such a rule-breaker.”

“Do you wish to avoid intercourse? Don’t worry. Penny’s no artiste
,
but fellatio is pleasant even without that level of expertise. I assure you her skills go well with the beer and Fritos.”

“There’s a reason they call it oral sex,” Cullen said. “That would be because it’s sex. I’ve made vows. I won’t break them.”

Dyffaya sighed. “You aren’t much fun, sorcerer. Penny, you have another guest to attend.”

Penny heaved a disappointed sigh and stood, crossing in front of Nathan on her way to Benedict. On the display, the foot was fully in view, along with part of a leg.