Part 7
Oh shit.
That was the first thought that came to Jenny's mind as she sprang forward with outstretched hands.
People were not supposed to fall through walls—it defied all logic.
But then what did she expect when it came to Julian? He defied all logic. The only rules he ever stuck to were those of his games; the rest he seemed to think below him.
Her fingers just grazed his, and then she lunged forth a few more inches, until her hand closed around his wrist, pulling her along with him. She was reminded of that time—when they had played lambs and monsters—and at the end when she had pushed him through the vortex. The one he had created to take them through, to the Shadow World. Except then she had acted deliberately. This time it was an accident.
And then they landed, Julian on the bottom, with Jenny on top. And if that strangled sound that escaped his lips as his back contacted the ground was any indication, it was a painful landing.
They lay a moment, in stunned silence. Then, "You know, you could have just said no."
Jenny paused in her recovery and let out a sound that faintly resembled a snort. "Right. When has 'no' ever been enough for you?"
She was tempted to just pick herself off him, but she didn't want to injure him any further—no, she didn't want to give him something else to guilt her about—with a misplaced knee or stray elbow. Suddenly she stilled, feeling something hard digging into her thigh. God, that better be my flashlight, she told herself silently. With one hand she reached down, her fingers closing around—
"Your lips say one thing but your hands say something entirely different."
Eyes widening, her hand froze and she tilted back her head. Then the object moved further into her grasp and she caught his expression. He was laughing—at her. Those too-blue eyes sparkling with silent mirth. She gripped the flashlight and brought both hands up to his chest, launching herself upward. Any stray knees or elbows were completely welcomed now. Fumbling to her feet, she shot him a glare.
Then she caught sight of their surroundings and froze. The grassy surface beneath them, the sky above… it was a far cry from the dark caverns she had come to expect.
"Now correct me if I'm wrong," she spoke hesitantly, "but this whole Underworld thing—there's some subterranean element to it?"
Head dipping back, he peered up at her from the ground. He still hadn't made a move to get up, looking for all the world as if he were perfectly comfortable as was. And far from being bothered by her question, he actually seemed amused.
"Yes." Far too relaxed for their current situation. Didn't even seem concerned about why she'd asked the question.
She sent him a hard look, letting him know she didn't share his amusement. "That's what I thought." Her eyes turned back up. "So where exactly is all that sunshine coming from?" A challenging tone to her voice, and a touch—just a touch—of satisfaction. Let him explain that.
It got his attention, at least, as he finally drew his eyes away from her. Standing swiftly he turned to look.
It was the shade from the rock face behind them, the one through which they had fallen, that had kept them from noticing immediately. Whatever sun was the source of all this light hung in the sky behind it, blocked from their sight. And if one ignored the grassy surface beneath them, it might be possible to believe there was nothing strange about the setting—at least for a brief moment. They had been caught in a small blanket of shadows amidst the brightness.
With the wall at their backs, directly in front was something as mild as a scene from a park—one that might have been found in any number of suburban neighborhoods, including her own. An open stretch of grass, decorated with a spattering of trees here and there. Bushes, flowers, and what might even have been a pond in the distance.
Everything else, though, was better than what she would have found anywhere near her own home. The air was pure, clean and tranquil. The sun was bright and warm, but not oppressively hot or muggy like it was in the Californian skies. A perfect expanse of blue that logic dictated should not even have been there—all added up to a scene from the ideal quiet Sunday afternoon.
It certainly didn't personify any image of the Underworld she'd held.
Julian brushed off the grass on his jacket. "It seems we picked the wrong one."
"We?" Jenny blinked. "We picked the wrong one?" She shook her head. "Oh no, I didn't pick anything. In fact, as I remember it, you didn't exactly stop to consult me on the decision—so, no, we didn't pick the wrong one."
"And as I remember, you didn't suggest any alternatives," he countered easily as he turned to face her.
"I suggested using a better system than 'why not.'" She felt a little childish arguing like this. But if she felt childish, what about Julian? He was… well, who knew how old he was?
"Such as what? I must have missed the map with the little red dot labeled 'you are here,'" he said with deliberate seriousness, "Maybe then we could have chosen with a bit more reasoning."
Barely resisting the temptation to roll her eyes, she turned back to the rock wall through which they'd arrived. The flashlight was useless now; she tossed it back inside her bag.
As solid-looking here as it had seemed from the other side. But that hadn't meant a thing then, so why should it now? she reasoned. Her hands ran over the surface. Nothing happened. She spared a backward glance at Julian, but he wasn't paying attention. He was staring up at the sky, a strange expression on his face. No, the sun, she realized. He was looking at the sun—he wasn't a Shadow Man anymore and he was looking at the sun.
Jenny turned away, back to the wall.
In an increasing radius she searched for something—anything—that could be interpreted as an entrance or exit. But she found none. Finally, letting out a groan of frustration, she leaned back on her heels.
"Hey," she called back over her shoulder. She hadn't wanted to interrupt, but there were more pressing concerns at hand right now. And if they survived, well then he could spend the rest of his life staring at the sun—the real sun—if that was what he wanted. "You went through first last time—maybe you should give a try." She was only half-serious and honestly doubted it would make a difference who went first, but it was worth a try.
"I only went through first because you pushed me. Are we going to do that again too?"
Jenny turned and smiled at him sweetly. "If we have to. But I'm hoping you'll just be cooperative and agree to do this voluntarily."
"Seems more like under duress," he said. But he joined her anyway. Not that it did any good; his efforts produced results no different from hers.
A tiny smile appeared on her face as an idea came to mind—payback and exploring their options, both at once—and she acted before she could rethink it. She pushed him.
This time though, instead of falling straight through the wall, he merely landed against it—shoulder hitting the hard surface and taking the weight of the rest of his body—the way it should have been the first time. Leave it to Julian to start obeying the laws of physics at the most inopportune times.
Jenny had enough good sense to wipe the look off her face before he recovered. He shot an indignant expression in her direction, his blue eyes sparkling with dangerous electricity. She kept her face as straight as possible—it wasn't generally a good idea to pour water on live wires. "What was that for?" he said slowly in a low voice.
Managing an admirably innocent-looking shrug, "You gave me the idea," she replied. "I thought I'd give it a try. You know, just in case. Leave no stone unturned."
The fire in his gaze cooled as quickly as it had heated. "Well, this upturned stone would appreciate it if next time you gave him some fair warning." He rolled the shoulder that had landed against the wall. "My first day in a mortal body…" He shook his head. "You seem to enjoy causing me physical pain."
She frowned and said, "When else did I cause you physical pain?"
"When you landed on top of me—" he gave her a pointed look—"the first time you pushed me."
"When I landed on top of you?" she repeated disbelievingly. The frown grew deeper as her eyes narrowed. "Are you calling me fat?"
He smiled—a very unusual thing to do for a man in his current position. The few times that Tom had cornered himself into a similar spot, he had worn a look that resembled the one Jenny saw on his face the day of the first game—in the lobby of the paper house, when Julian had faced him with his fear of rats.
Reaching for her, his arms encircled her waist and he pulled her to him before she could react. "No, I didn't say that. And I would show you exactly what I think, but you have tendency to push me away just then." Always enchanting, his voice was. Promising things forbidden and tempting without illusion. If you got sucked in by his hypnotic tones, you knew exactly what you were getting into. And you didn't care—because that was how much you wanted it.
Her anger quelled, though reluctantly; the sudden discomfort of being so close to him caused the shift in emotions. She squirmed out of his grasp and took a couple of steps back. It was not, she stubbornly told herself, the same as pushing him away. "You have bad timing," she said, glancing away, unable to meet his eyes.
Even though she wasn't looking at him, she could feel his gaze burning into her face. "And you think that at another time your response might have been different?"
Jenny hesitated. She wasn't sure she wanted to head in this direction right now; she wasn't sure about the wisdom of bringing up a topic that was such a sore point between them. Especially when they should have been focused on working together, and getting out of here. Finally, she said, "At a better time, yes."
He brushed her face, tilted her head so she had to look at him. "When exactly would that have been?" Softly, he spoke, his words quiet. But then, with Julian, she remembered, the softness was as dangerous as anything else. The softness was a deception—even if not deliberate—because it contradicted his very nature.
"I don't know." She shook her head and his hand fell away. Hadn't she asked that question enough times herself? And in the end, she simply didn't have an answer for it. It always came down to Tom—her and Tom. "We shouldn't be talking about this right now."
"Yes, leave the conversation for a better time. Right?" he said harshly. His quicksilver mood had transformed once again. Jenny winced.
"Julian—"
He interrupted with a quick gesture of his hand. "No, you're right. Not now." But the darkness that haloed his head spoke otherwise. He didn't agree because he didn't understand; he was just angry. But angry enough not to listen, to not want to hear whatever she had to say. And once Julian made up his mind, there was no changing it.
"So, what? What do we do now?" It was a double-edged sword and Julian chose the duller side.
"We find an exit and get out of here."
She supposed she should have been grateful. The duller side was less likely to cut. "Okay." But then, wasn't it also supposed to be more painful?
There was only one problem with his answer. "How do we do that? I mean, what if it's like the way we came here? Then the only way we'd be able to tell that it's even there is to go right up to it." She shook her head. "And we can't go around groping every square inch of surface area in this place. We might not have a time limit, but at some point we're going to get hungry and we're going to need to sleep." She caught his look and added in a wry voice, "Yes, you too."
Julian let out something close to a sigh, one half of his mouth twitching downward. "Who knew being mortal would be so… tedious?" She would have laughed, but for the serious expression on his face. Not that it wasn't still funny—she just didn't think he would appreciate the humor in it. "Well, I'm thinking it wouldn't be anywhere nearby. Of course, that would be far too easy," he drawled.
Jenny rubbed a weary hand across her eyes. She didn't doubt his words; in fact, she'd been thinking the same thing. "So we just start walking, blindly, like we did the last time." And see where that got us, she added silently.
"Well, sooner or later we should run into someone. And then maybe they'll point us in the right direction."
Her eyes widened. "People, here? You mean like… the spirits of the dead?" She had known this was supposed to be where they dwelt, but for some reason she hadn't actually expected to see them. The thought was too disturbing, regardless of whether or not this place was "real."
"The good ones. You know the kind—obeyed their mothers and fathers; ate their Wheaties every morning; helped little old ladies cross the street."
"And the others end up in Tartarus," she finished for him.
"Some," he agreed. She didn't ask about the rest.
"Wait. Look," she said, placing a restraining hand on Julian's arm. He followed the direction of her gaze. "That looks like a trail, doesn't it?"
A stretch of fine gravel leading away from them disappeared somewhere into the line of trees beyond. The contrast of light gray against green grass was harder to make out under the brightness of the sun. "It certainly looks like it's meant to be followed."
Jenny took in a short breath of air that she quickly cut off from becoming a sigh, "I'll take that as a yes." Suddenly remembering where her hand was still resting, she dropped her arm. "Should we follow it?"
His sapphire gaze moved from the path back to her. Then he took a step back and watched her. "Your choice."
Jenny paused. For a second she wondered if maybe she had misunderstood. But there was very little leeway for interpretation with such a simple phrase. Julian was leaving it up to her—and he was, presumably, willing to follow her directions.
"What?"
He flashed an amused smile but crossed his arms over his chest, one gesture relaxed and nonchalant, the other defiant and challenging. "I did pick last time, with the tunnel. And when that didn't turn out quite as well as one might have hoped—well, I just figured you might want to put whatever strategy you've developed to use."
Uh-huh. He wasn't fooling her. "In other words, you're saying that if I screw up, I'll have no one to blame but myself."
A slight shrug of his shoulders, and a look that indicated he really wasn't concerned with the semantics. "Or maybe I just don't want to give you an excuse to hit me again."
She resisted a smile. "Those were not excuses. Besides," she shook her head, "I never hit you."
Then she looked back to her choice. Okay, fine, if this was how he wanted to play it, she was fully prepared to accept the challenge. "Well then, let's go." Besides, it looked harmless enough. This was supposed to be a good place. A safe place. They'd only wound up here by accident; the dangers should be waiting for them at the end of the other passage.
"And how did you make your decision?" he asked. He followed nonetheless.
She sent him a sideways glance and found him staring back with those fathomless eyes. It was easy to pretend that now, just because he was mortal, that that made him human. But it didn't. Because despite it, he was still Julian, still the Shadow Man, member of an impossibly ancient alien species, still the one who had put her and her friends through hell before revealing that he was truly capable of vaguely human emotion.
Being mortal didn't make him much less dangerous.
Turning away, she concentrated on their surroundings. "I just did."
It really was quite beautiful, faintly resembling some of the manicured parks back home, the tourist-type settings where people went to take their pictures after the wedding. The type of place she had planned to have her own pictures taken, except that she hadn't managed that first part.
Jenny stifled a sigh at this direction of thoughts. This was one part of her plan she hadn't carefully considered—hadn't allowed herself to consider, because there was no good, clean answer in this case: How was she ever supposed to explain this to Tom?
If she got through this game, came back with Julian, what would he think? For crying out loud, a month ago they had still been engaged—what was he supposed to think?
They were still friends; it was hard not to be, when they had shared so much of their lives with each other. But this was not exactly the sort of thing that would go over well, friendship or no to act as a buffer.
Dee would be hard enough, but Dee would get over it. She understood—or had tried to understand—the problems between her and Tom. And now that she had Devon, now that she finally found herself in a serious, committed relationship, maybe she could really understand the lengths to which one might go for love.
Maybe it would have been easier to explain to Tom, or to Dee, if she herself understood it better. But even the love aspect of this was entirely too confusing. Julian was confusing. She remembered him being one way, and now—well, he wasn't completely different, but he was different. He wasn't the boy she remembered holding in the cramped hallway of her grandfather's house—the one who asked her to dream of him, to not let him be forgotten. He wasn't proclaiming his love—he hadn't even mentioned the word. And sure, he was being flirtatious, but that didn't exactly mean much. She wondered whether the other Shadow Men might have done something to him, when they were bringing him back, but that didn't seem likely. They had said the only changes they made involved his powers—making him mortal—and they were supposed to be a race that lived off their word. Sportsmanship. Fair play. This wasn't their style. No, more likely, it was just Julian.
All in all, it was giving her a headache and she wished she could just push it all away, at least temporarily.
"You 'just did,'" he was saying, his voice mocking in a pinch, "Well that's just leagues better than 'why not.'"
Jenny gave him a weary look, the slight pounding sensation at her right temple turning up a notch. "Look, can't we pretend—for a little while—to get along. Just since we are playing on the same side."
He returned her look with an innocent expression and put up his hands in a surrendering gesture. "I've been all for promoting our interpersonal relations. You're the one who keeps refusing—violently, I might add—all my suggestions."
"Your idea of 'interpersonal relations' isn't helping us either!" she suddenly exploded. "I don't know how you can take this all as lightly as you do. You're the one who kept repeatedly stressing just how serious our situation is! Can't you just drop all the pretense and that Shadow Man image of yours—and for once act on how you really feel?"
Sighing in exasperation, she turned to walk away. But quick as a cat pouncing, he snatched her wrist, yanking her back. He spun her in a twirling motion, like the final move of some intimate dance, both partners finishing face to face—but he pulled too hard and she wound up flush against him. Close enough to feel his warm breath against her face.
Somehow, she didn't think he'd overshot by accident.
"What are you—" she choked, trying to escape his grasp. It didn't work and she brought her hands up to his chest, fully prepared to push with all her might. But unlike their previous two experiences, this time he was prepared and he anticipated the move. With one hand he caught both hers, trapping them against the cotton material of his black t-shirt where the two sides of his duster left an opening.
Shifting between a desire to scream or slap him, she did neither. Instead, she took a third option, one she had been unwilling to admit even to herself because just thinking about it made the action so hard to resist.
But her resolve was never that strong on this point—and now it had just broken completely.
So she kissed him. Hard and ferocious, mustering the strength of every pent-up emotion that had been distracting her since the beginning of this ordeal.
He may have been surprised, or this may have been what he intended all along; she had no way of knowing. And in all honesty, it didn't really matter to her. Not right now, anyway. He certainly took no time in reacting.
The hand wrapped around her waist managed somehow to pull her closer still, so close that it was difficult to breathe anything but him. The other released her wrists and moved to the back of her neck, then slid further up until it buried itself in her long hair, guiding her head.
It was better than anything she remembered. It was more.
She'd thought memory had captured it well, like the twilight softness of his lips against hers, the velvet of his hair beneath her fingertips—and it had. But it was the rest she had forgotten, those finer details that couldn't be described in the corporeal terms of her senses. Like the way when he kissed her, he could make her feel like she was perfect.
That no one in the world was more beautiful or desirable than her.
She was drowning—or at least her senses were. And she couldn't even think of anything that didn't have to do with Julian. His lips, barely touching, then hard and demanding, and somehow sometimes both at once.
And it was thrilling. She felt as if she were falling without a safety net, and for once, she didn't care. For once, there was no guilt—not here, not now at least.
He tilted his head—or maybe it was hers—and she felt him urge her mouth open under his.
Absolutely no reason to pull away.
Then a throat cleared behind her.
Reality came crashing back down, and the spell was broken. She was staring up into twin pools of cobalt, framed with heavy, curled spikes as black as coal. The whirling mass of emotions she glimpsed there reflected her own. But it was only an instant's insight; then he broke the gaze and looked over her shoulder.
Her face slightly warm, she relaxed back in his arms—not pulling away entirely—but so they were two entities once again, and acting the part. She twisted slightly, turning her head to look, and her already quickened heart beat even faster in anticipation and surprise.
Then she saw him, standing but a few feet away—silver hair, face worn but kind. Little crow's feet at the corner of each eye and deep grooves around the mouth that hinted at a generous nature, quick with a smile. And a gaze, achingly familiar, green and warm. Jenny felt her breath catch in her throat once more, and this time it had nothing to do with Julian.
Closing and opening her eyes quickly, she almost half-expected the vision before her to be gone. But it wasn't—he wasn't.
A strangled sound came from her mouth before she was able to utter the one word singularly occupying her mind. "Grandpa?"
If you haven't read my other FG story, "Choices and Consequences", check it out. It's just a one-shot, sorta prologue to this story.
