Chapter 14

Lauren wrapped a sheet of tinfoil around Bo's sandwich and tucked it into the hot oven for a bonus crisp-and-melt treatment. She dressed in casual work clothes, stripped the bed, cleaned the kitchen, wrote a sheet of quick notes for Bo, and spared a minute to wonder at her superlative energy level, which she surmised was a proximal power-up linked to Bo's accidental chi overload.

She marveled over how an hour of volcanic lovemaking could rejuvenate her like a two-week vacation. Her body barely even felt sore when, by all rights, she should have been limping along like a car with three flats. Half the things they'd done to each other probably violated the Geneva Convention; the other half would have scandalized expert libertines.

Lauren flexed her hands and smiled. Far from feeling ashamed, she was actually quite pleased with herself for pacing Bo's frenetic need. The Koushang amulet, still heavy around her neck, was apparently a game-changer – and it was still working its magic.

With sustained contact, excess chi had obviously migrated from succubus to human (perhaps through a loose form of induction charge, Lauren reckoned) and the talisman retarded normal dissipation. The resulting sensation partnered an endless caffeine high with hot caramel post-sex haze, a combo which was purely wonderful. She had, objectively, never felt better.

This supposition explained her vigor, but her cheerfulness was entirely due to one thing: Bo was still here, lingering in her home, snooping for clues to her past, and singing Hall & Oates songs in her shower. Despite the trauma that drew them together tonight, Bo seemed comfortable and grounded, solid within place and moment – it finally all felt right.

Her words and actions conveyed that Bo wanted more than trauma care and therapeutic sex. If that held true, if Bo would help her stitch together the parts and pieces of a relationship, then Lauren would do her best to channel lightning into the beast, to make it live and breathe and stomp around tall. The villagers would not approve, yet Lauren didn't particularly care.

Not the most romantic imagery, she realized, and quickly forgave herself. Whatever. My life is more Mary Shelley than Jane Austen, anyway.

She snickered and checked her phone messages again. Serena still hadn't responded with any info about Dyson or Hale, so haranguing her further was pointless. While Bo cleaned up and dressed, Lauren would busy herself by looking in on the Ash, checking the hash function decryption, and taking a few quick samples from the evening's hard-won evidence: two red plastic bags filled with Bo's ruined clothes, which might hold traces of raw venom near her wound sites.

On her way out, Lauren paused and listened to the cross-jet shower pinging water against glass tiles, listened to Bo splashing around and randomly extolling the water pressure or the scent of a sugar scrub. Thrilled as she was to have Bo here, the lively noises sounded alien in these rooms where silence usually reigned.

No one came up here. No one could. The Ash arranged her quarters with a private keyed entrance, spelled to prevent intrusion, and Lauren had never smuggled guests into her fortress. Even those few sweet trysts with Justine had taken place in hotels, away from disapproving Fae like Gael, who joked about 'shucking the help' and gave Lauren sulfurous sneers - open hostility which only increased after she amputated his diseased hand last year.

Some level of general peer disapproval was a given. Lauren was too sensible to imagine fairytale happiness in a human/Fae romance, yet she really wanted to try with Bo, even if that meant compromising her trust with the Ash and risking the protection he had so generously provided. After all, what good was being alive if one never truly felt alive? Whether the Ash would appreciate this logic was an issue for another day.

She gathered the red plastic bags, skipped down the spiral stairs and keyed the elevator for an automatic return to the apartment, all while humming the same Hall & Oates song Bo crooned in the shower. The tune always brought to mind her terminally unhip parents: two academic nerds who germinated hardy happiness, adopted two stray girls, and intentionally infected them with cloud-hopping ambitions for discovery and true love.

"If they could see me now," Lauren said, and smiled despite the impossible wish.

The elevator doors opened on the labs and a shadow crossed her path. She heard the thwip sound of an air gun and felt a sharp pain in her gut. Looking down, she saw the bright orange plunger of a 0.5 cc syringe protruding from her stomach. In the space of a breath, the red bags dropped and the floor melted and everything went slantways.

A gigantic dark figure caught Lauren as she fell. He scooped her up and cautiously cradled her. Though her vision was blurring, she glimpsed his face and recognized him as one of her patients – Fennig, a special detail agent who suffered chronic foot pain. Lauren had fitted him for a bunion splint last month.

The agent looked vaguely embarrassed. He cleared his throat and told Lauren not to worry, that she wouldn't suffer. "I have seen it done. The sword is sharp and does not break," Fennig whispered. "It should not hurt, I think."

He took her to the medical team prepping the Ash for transport and strapped Lauren to a gurney, gave instructions to get her safely to the villa as soon as possible.

"It is best that she does not wake up," Fennig said. "Serena wants no trouble."

The nurses nodded grimly; they understood that to trouble Serena tonight meant ending up broiled or jailed. They rushed Lauren to the service elevator as Fennig checked the small private lift to the doctor's quarters.

The car was gone, returned automatically to the hidden, inaccessible floor. He cursed himself for not jamming the door open, for not removing the key when he had the chance. If Dr. Lewis had company up there, they might come looking for her, and the Ash's medical team was still several minutes away from departure. The succubus could ruin everything, unless he stopped her cold.

Fennig wiped his tired eyes and took a seat with a diagonal view of the elevator. It had been a long, perilous day, and if he was honest, he didn't know why any of this was happening. He didn't hate the Ash, he didn't hate the Morrigan, and he really didn't hate Dr. Lewis. She made his foot feel better. To a four-hundred pound colossus who stood for sixteen hours a day, that relief was priceless.

He wondered why Gorrick and Vinata didn't just exile themselves and make hideous babies on an island somewhere. Why did they have to wreck the whole system? It normally worked pretty well, Fennig thought, for those who weren't crazy or evil. The checks and balances were no more cruel than nature itself, and average Fae like him got along just fine.

Personal feelings like these had to stay private, he knew, as honesty was now a liability. Things were crazy, and speaking up brought punishment. Justine tried talking sense and she got beaten, scorched, and thrown to that deviant Gael for her trouble. What a waste. Fennig wasn't going out like that, especially if the only thing between him and survival was a dead succubus.

He took out his .357 revolver, checked the rounds, and laid the gun on his thigh. As a colossus for hire, Fennig had killed hundreds of Fae over hundreds of years, though he'd never killed a succubus. Come to think of it, he didn't know anyone who had killed a succubus, and he knew many terrible, violent creatures. He shifted in his chair, cocked and un-cocked the gun hammer.

"Worse ways to go than being kissed to death," he mused. "Yup. Many worse ways."

XXxxXX

By the time Kenzi, Hale, and the Morrigan pooled their accounts of the evening, Trick was oddly unnerved, and he retreated to his study for a quiet think. After half a bottle of whiskey, the Dark Fae leader had chilled enough to release Hale from his handcuffs so that Kenzi could attend to his wounds. She issued a stern warning for the Siren to stay quiet, as more whistling meant more pain, but overall, she seemed relieved that this whole debacle wasn't simply an indictment of her management style.

"When your own private guards try to arrest you, it's kind of a blow to the ego, you know? Damn traitors. Bunch of grasping, faithless dogs," she spat, in Kenzi's general direction.

"Praetorian bitches," Kenzi lustily agreed. She pressed a damp bar towel full of ice onto Hale's busted scalp. He shot her a puzzled look, and she shrugged. "Lady has a gun and needs to vent. Let her talk."

The Morrigan downed another shot of Bushmills and shook her head. "As bosses go, I'm not that bad. I mean, sure, you have to pick up my dry cleaning and go down on me once in a while, but I haven't straight-up murdered an employee in years."

"Saw you ice that snake dude tonight," Hale observed. "He was one of yours."

"In name only; his mommy and daddy paid his way into my blade guild. And let's not forget, if I hadn't trailed that scaly backstabber while looking for clues, you would be dead," the Morrigan replied. "I saved you, and your lack of gratitude is bad form on par with your chavvy hats. Seriously, what kind of grown Fae wears a fucking plaid trilby?"

Hale firmed his jaw and said nothing. Kenzi rolled her eyes and dropped the ice pack into his lap. While he was busy gasping, she spoke for him. "Thank you for helping my prideful, fashion-forward friend. Might be hard to believe, but some of us would miss him," she said, and squeezed Hale's arm. "Like crazy, even."

Once his shock had worn off, Hale replaced the ice pack on his head and looked sideways to conceal a grin. The Morrigan graciously smiled and gave Kenzi a good looking-over. She angled against the bar in an alluring pose that worked, despite her bruises and trashed wardrobe. Her poise and confidence clearly remained untouched.

"You seem like a smart kid," she said. "Why are you wasting your time with these milquetoast melvins?"

"I go where Bo goes. We've grown fond of the melvins," Kenzi replied, simply and honestly.

"Uh-huh. Did she pledge to the Light and everyone forgot to tell me?"

"Nope. Still kickin' it freelance. The no-fealty thing suits her pretty well."

"For now; she can't live in the DMZ forever. When things get straightened out and your girl is ready to clique up, consider steering her my way." The Morrigan reached into her blouse and produced a small leather bag. She plucked out a tiny, shiny bauble and tossed it to Kenzi. "No strings. Just remember - I can make it worth your while."

Kenzi opened her hand and stared at the small fortune twinkling in her palm. At first sight, the diamond appeared to be a round-cut stone of decent clarity, weighing about four karats. When Hale craned his head around and reached for her hand, Kenzi impulsively popped the rock into her mouth and swallowed it. Hale gaped at her in disbelief, but she looked singularly unapologetic.

"Buys me some time," she explained. "Dude, I can't think about money right now."

"I do like a girl with her priorities in order." The Morrigan snickered and raised her glass in a toast. "Death to Praetorians! They'll not share in our glittering future."

Kenzi gulped down a shot of vodka and tried to ignore the $30,000 bird dog incentive in her stomach. Fortunately, Trick then emerged from his study carrying two ancient, dusty books. He looked particularly tense as he climbed onto his step-stool and opened one book atop the bar.

"What's with the Fae-pedia?" Kenzi wondered. "Did something I said actually make sense?"

"Strangely, yes, but it's the combination of things that has me worried," Trick replied. "The light emission from the Ash probably means his consciousness is active on some level. I think he reached out for help from one of these beings - the Elex."

Kenzi and Hale leaned over the bar as Trick pointed out a sketch. The picture showed a man (in a very broad, two-armed, two-legged sense of the word) whose eyes and hands streamed light. Kenzi immediately nodded and confirmed that was how the Ash looked earlier today.

"That alone isn't necessarily bad. Elex are benign, incorporeal beings – basically just clouds of energy held together by magnetism. They escort organized electrical waves, like information and ideas, between dimensions, between beings of high consciousness," Trick explained. "On rare occasions, the Elex ferry messages to an Ash from their ascended forebears."

Kenzi looked skeptical. "So they're like Twitter for high-powered Fae? And the one inside the Ash, he talked to me because of those crazy strong magnets in my bag?"

Trick shrugged. "It's possible. Maybe the Ash is too weak for the Elex to speak or act without some sort of external boost."

"Normally, they don't interact with humans at all," the Morrigan added. "Tiny little brains and all that."

"The Elex don't communicate with your clan at all, either," Trick noted. "Tiny little hearts and all that."

She cocked a brow and glanced at his southern hemisphere. "You sure you want to compare who has a tiny little what?" she quipped. Trick gave her a surly glare.

"God, why didn't this Elex-thing just talk to Lauren instead?" Kenzi interjected. "She got there right after he started babbling."

Trick took a deep breath and spoke slowly. "Because of their magnetic properties, two Elex can't occupy the same space at the same time… and Lauren may already have traces of one hidden in her mind."

"Oh, please. That's not even possible," the Morrigan blustered. "Sure, humans are fine for the occasional rap song or power ballad, but they are not worthy vessels for numinous inspiration."

"From what I was told, the Elex interacted with Lauren by accident. She doesn't even remember it happened, much less what information she absorbed. It's why the Ash took her in, to protect and preserve what the Elex was sent to deliver."

The Morrigan clenched her fist and tapped her pistol against the bar. "How the hell do you know this and I don't?"

"Because I am well-liked," Trick explained. "And because drunk young Fae like to brag to their elders, especially well-connected idiots like Gael. He came in here a few days ago and ranted to me about Lauren for half the night. She cut off his hand - to save his arm, mind you – but he fully hates her."

"Little cocksucker hates everybody," the Morrigan muttered. "Still, if Gael spoke truth, if Lauren has some bright idea trapped in her head, those bloody headaches mean it won't be there for long. These nasty things are looking for her. If they find her, they'll suck it right out."

She scratched one red lacquered nail across the open page of Trick's second book, pointing at a sketch of two dark, flowing robes inhabited by smoke and hungry eyes. One figure wielded a sword with a serrated back, the other a grooved helical knife. The caption read Dacoits Pramata. Trick merely bit his lip and gave the group a curt nod.

"Looks like your doctor is bound for the chop," the Dark leader predicted.

On hearing this, Kenzi disregarded the Morrigan's 'no calls' edict and yanked out her phone to ring Lauren's cell. The Morrigan stood and barked a warning, Trick and Hale started arguing with her, and Kenzi barely registered any of it. She turned her back and walked off to a darkened corner, chanting a plea for Bo to answer her call.

XXxxXX

Bo emerged from the shower and called for Lauren. When no answer came, she assumed she was alone and helped herself to a t-shirt and jeans, ankle boots and Lauren's blue leather jacket. Everything fit a bit snug, but it all felt good and smelled familiar and true, like a woman's hair and skin and sweat.

My woman, Bo thought. Maybe. If my luck holds.

The smell of the jacket made her stomach grumble. Hunger led her to the kitchen where a sugary, buttery aroma filled the air. She shut off the oven and removed a tinfoil square parcel, unwrapped it and stood there for a bit, slack-jawed and staring.

It appeared to be an apple pie sandwich, made with grilled cinnamon bread, sliced red and green apples, and melted cheddar cheese. It was even halved diagonally. Bo smiled so wide that her face hurt. She carefully pried loose half of this unconditional sandwich and took a bite.

Her mouth watered like a spray gun. Her knees buckled a little and Bo leaned against the counter. "Holy fuck." She took another bite, then another and another, savoring and cursing by turns until half the magical sandwich was gone and she'd fallen further in love with the chef. She paused to breathe, to guzzle some water and build anticipation for the second half – the better half, now that she knew what to expect, knew just how good it would be.

On the granite countertop, she noticed a yellow sheet of legal paper pinned beneath Lauren's cell phone. The paper was folded in half, the words "Read Me" written on the face. Inside were five neatly printed, bullet-pointed notes:

*I'm in the labs. I took your clothes for testing, so borrow anything of mine and come down AFTER you eat. The little iron key in the elevator is one of a kind so please treat it gently. It's the only way in or out of the apartment. Your sandwich is in the oven. Not your first choice, I know, though I hope it's a viable substitute.

My first choice was stupid, Bo thought. I wasn't aiming this high. She eyed the apple melt with something approaching lust. She doubted whether it would taste as good if made by someone who didn't care as much. Does our chi get into the food we make? It's in breath and skin and even in the air, so why not food? Made with love… makes sense.

*Clement and Joyce Lewis teach anthropology and biochemistry, respectively. They are open, spiritual, loving people and I'm very lucky they found me. They would adore you. Little sister Paula Joy (Peej) would be a harder sell. Like Kenzi with me, I imagine.

Reading this made Bo sigh in relief. Whoever raised her, Lauren was cared for and loved growing up, and this was invaluable. Some bio parents are a nightmare. Bo still thanked her lucky stars for Sam and Mary Dennis. She couldn't imagine the kind of horror show bitch she might be without their early influence. As for the little sister issue… Kenzi's coming around. Just give it time.

*I was commissioned as a captain after five weeks of training because USAF needed MDs in the combat theater. I enlisted because they offered to pay off $250K in student debt. My parents were threatening to take out a second mortgage and I said no. The uniform is long gone. Guess I'll have to rent one?

You absolutely will. Shit, maybe I'll get one, too…

*You amazed me tonight. I already knew you to be clever and strong and brave, but after witnessing what you could do (and would not do) to survive, I admire you all the more. However I can help as your abilities develop, you've got me.

Bo swallowed and nodded, relieved. Tonight proved that her growing abilities were volatile beyond previous knowledge. She needed Lauren to help her figure it out, to keep her grounded when all she wanted to do was binge and glow until she floated into the heavens and burst like a skyrocket. It would be a stupendous way to die, but still…dead. Best to put that off as long as possible.

*Emotions were loose tonight and certain words were used, maybe too soon, maybe in a flip way. No matter. It's true for me, and probably will remain true long past the point of good sense. You've got me. I love you, Bo. Now eat your sandwich and come down.

Bo read the last bit a few times, just mulling it over, letting it settle. Someone loved her. Someone extraordinary loved her, and the astounding happiness this inspired exceeded her every hope. She realized that if she could step up, give herself over to Lauren in the same way, there might actually be more of this feeling ahead. Weeks and months and maybe years of this.

She picked up the phone and the remainder of the apple melt and laughed all the way to the elevator. Sure, there were villains to catch and obstacles to surmount, but Bo felt like a kid out of school, rushing headlong toward summer. She keyed the elevator and pushed the button to take her one floor down.

Lauren's phone rang in her hand, showed an incoming call from Bo – which meant Kenzi was finally checking in. She answered just as the lift doors closed. "Hey. You all tucked into your motel bed?"

Kenzi skipped right past her question. "Is Lauren with you?"

"No, she's down in the labs checking on the Ash. I'm heading there now."

"When you see her, just grab her and run like hell," Kenzi said. Her voice sounded broken and frantic. "These murders, the Ash glowing, her headaches – it's all tied together somehow. The brain bandits are after Lauren."

Bo heard the words. She heard the elevator ding as the car arrived at the labs. The doors softly slid open, and she heard the hammer click back on a large revolver.

She looked up and saw the oversized gunman, some thirty feet away, just as the first shot rang out.

TBC