Wuya screamed profanities in a language so ancient it possessed slang for 'woolly mammoth'. The jungle cats prowling Chase's mountain palace watched dispassionately as the Heylin witch bandaged her severed limb. The conquered warriors didn't question her presence in the keep, but neither did they move to help her. Wuya was there on Chase's whim until the dragon lord said otherwise.
Fortunately or un, however you chose to look at it, Wuya's powers remained sealed. If she had her magic at hand, these fur balls would be skins decorating the floor, Chase would be nothing but a memory, and the Spicer estate, along with its inhabitants, would be a smoking hole in the ground. But Wuya did still know some spells and potions. At the moment she was fumbling through her personal supernatural pharmacy looking for the regeneration salve; a mystical cream that would allow her arm to reattach to the rest of her body within a few days.
Locating the jar, Wuya staggered to her bed. Balancing the severed limb between her thighs, the Heylin witch smeared a healthy dose of the salve on the wound, then ripped the bandage off of her arm. Wuya keened sharply between gritted teeth until the pain faded slightly. Through supreme force of will, the witch fitted the two ends of her arm together and started to wrap a fresh bandage around the wound.
She was lucky Jack had been good enough to return her arm. It would have taken weeks for the limb to re-grow entirely. Jack Spicer . . . maybe she wouldn't kill him when she razed his house to the ground. Maybe this time she would make sure he was securely restrained, then make him watch while she butchered his family. She'd chop up miniature Chase's soft toddler body and make it into a stew for Spicer to eat. She'd keep the albino youth alive for months while she tortured his soft flesh.
Red eyes blazing with hatred.
Teeth bared in ferocity.
White skin that shone like moonlight.
Wuya shook her head as the pain in her arm faded to something manageable. The manticore scale pills she had swallowed before fixing her severed limb probably had something to do with that. Gingerly, the witch laid back down on her bed, laying her arm out flat so that the healing could begin.
Fair skin or not, she'd make Jack Spicer regret ever being born for this. She'd . . . she'd get revenge . . . Wuya's eyelids started to droop as the supernatural painkillers kicked in. She'd break his fingers one by one . . .
Surprisingly strong hands with long, slender fingers; artist's hands.
She'd been surprised by the size and strength of them during the hunt for the Treasure of the Blind Swordsman. It had been the first time she'd truly interacted with Jack since returning to flesh. The youth had often put his hands on her to help her in or out of the train or mount her horse. Spicer was surprisingly gentlemanly in that fashion.
Wuya shook her head again. No, gentleman or not, Spicer still had to suffer a slow, agonizing death for what he had done to her. She'd . . . . she'd break his legs and leave him to crawl and scream. . .
Jack staring imperiously down at her as she cringed in pain.
When had the youth gotten so tall? When Wuya had first met him as a ghost, he seemed like nothing more than a little boy with a snotty attitude. Wuya had ignored his physical presence in favor of Chase's uber masculinity, but Jack had grown a lot since she'd met him. How old was he now? Seventeen? Eighteen? No, seventeen; it had been three years since they had met and Jack was fourteen then.
Blazing red eyes.
In Wuya's youth, that white skin and red hair would have marked the lad as royalty. As red and as white as milk and blood . . . . that was the phrase people had used to wax poetic about a young man's beauty. Milk and blood . . . . Wuya had never seen anyone who fit the description better than Jack Spicer. The witch had simply never realized it because Jack's personality always got in the way.
Maybe she could find another use for him after she killed Chase. Wuya's eyes drifted close as chemical bliss flooded her body.
Milk and blood . . .
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Chase Young was filled with fear. The same aftereffects of Wuya's attack that he had gentled Spicer through were ripping through his small body. The dragon lord huddled down in the guest bed RJ 13 had readied for him, fighting the urge to pull the covers over his head.
After Jack's spectacular faint, Nana Spicer had returned with the first aid kit, needle and thread, and RJ 13 in tow. The robot had already snapped his head back into place and was trying to fit his left arm back into it's socket.
Sometime later the automaton had explained that the RoboJacks were designed so that their limbs and heads separated rather easily from their torsos; the complicated limbs were time-consuming to build from scratch, so Jack had given them a break away failsafe and universal socket joints so that one scrapped RoboJack could donate his working parts to his compatriots. It also meant that a RoboJack unit broken down into several pieces could simply pop his limbs back on if they hadn't been damaged too badly.
Nana Spicer had taken in her grandson sprawled across the kitchen floor, sighed, then bandaged her own hand. Once she was satisfied with the result, she had instructed RJ 13 to take off Jack's clothes and lay the youth out on the table.
In the light of day, Spicer's injuries hadn't been that bad. The teenager's helipack had protected the muscles across his upper back and the thick layers of leather and denim below his waist had deflected all but a few shards of glass. Only a small area above his belt and below his helipack had the protection of nothing but Jack's leather coat. Nana Spicer cleaned the injuries, dousing them liberally in whiskey before picking out the glass. The old woman stitched the gashes with practiced ease. As she smeared a strong-smelling salve on the stitches and bandaged the injuries, Nana Spicer growled out orders to RJ 13 to take Jack up to bed, then begin repairs to the Third Reich room. She had invited Chase to join her for some post traumatic drinking, but the dragon lord had begged off, pleading for a hot bath instead. When he emerged, RJ 13 had finished up his repairs with the help of the few remaining JackBots. One of them served the shrunken overlord a hot meal and showed Chase to a freshly made up guest room just down the hall from Jack's room.
Here now, alone in the darkness, the fear rushed up to seize Chase Young. This was strange; Chase had lived through centuries of bloodshed. He was immune to the horrors by now. Indeed, it seemed as if one part of his mind retained the cool calm he worked carefully to maintain, while a completely different part trembled in terror. Unfortunately, it was quite a large different part. His thoughts were strangely doubled and disjointed.
'This will set my plans back a few days, but fortunately Wuya won't be in any shape to mount an attack either.// I'm scared! Wuya will get me!' Frowning, Chase shifted his grip on JackBear, now reloaded and ready for action. The coherent part of him wished for a weapon. The frightened part wanted something to hold.
'Jack is injured as well, but it is not serious. He should be up and about in short order. Then he can make himself useful by serving me once more.// Jack saved me! He came in swinging his sword and drove the bad witch away! Jack was amazing!' Chase shook his head sharply. The only amazing thing about Spicer was that he had finally managed to do something right.
'Shut up and let me rest!//I'm scared the witch will come back! I don't want to be alone. I want to be with Jack; he'll protect me.' The shrunken dragon lord snarled, burying his face in the pillow. This was infuriating; it felt as if some pathetic stranger had taken up residence inside his skull. It wouldn't be half as annoying if the voice wasn't so child . . . ish . . .
Chase Young sat up slowly, a horrible suspicion taking shape in his mind.
'It's too dark in here! I want a night light!'
Chase remained still, staring out into the dark room. He tried to will himself to become accustomed to the darkness, but the other part of his mind still clamored protests. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Golden eyes flicked to the window, apprehension written in every rod and cone. When Chase was a child-the first time, that is-he had been terribly frightened of thunderstorms.
'Don't even think about it.' He snarled to the other part of his mind. 'You are Chase Young; you command thunder and lightning.'
'Meep.' Went the other Chase.
A loud crack shook the house. To Chase's horror, his body was out of bed and running towards the door before he could do anything about it. He was out in the hallway before he got control of the fear and his hand was reaching for the doorknob of Jack's room just as Chase brought himself to an abrupt halt.
No. Just no. Absolutely not. It was his second day as a child and he was not climbing into bed with Jack Spicer. If he could not sleep, then he would walk around the house until the storm passed. Or . . . watch a movie! Yes, he could finish that amusingly violent movie Jack and Nana Spicer had started watching the night before! This decided, Chase pattered quickly down the hallways to the TV room he had been in the night before.
JackBear still clutched to his chest, Chase pulled the door open and stopped in his tracks yet again.
RJ 13 was busy with the television.
He wasn't watching it, though.
'Why's he making those funny noises?' the other Chase wanted to know.
Chase paused. He knew what the robot was doing, but he was at a loss to understand how he was doing it.
RJ 13 had pulled a cable out of a small port right behind his right ear and inserted it into one of the plugs in the front of the television meant for hooking up gaming consoles. From what Chase could see, that all there was to it. However, RJ 13 seemed far too ecstatic for this to be everything; the mechanical teenager sprawled across the floor in front of the big screen TV, panting and gasping as if . . . well, as if he were plugged into a Cheerbot at the very least.
At least the washing machine Chase could understand; there was the whole spin cycle vibration aspect.
How did one go about screwing a TV?
RJ 13 arched up off of the floor, his face set in a look of sweet torture, his voice high and thin, but carefully quiet. There was a sharp cracking noise that made Chase flinch and the RoboJack collapsed limply on the floor.
"W-wow," he panted, huge smile on his face.
'Why is he out of breath?' Chase wondered. 'He doesn't even need to breathe.'
Still leaning heavily against his electronic lover, RJ 13 opened his coat and pulled up his T-shirt. His pectorals swung open like cabinet doors. Chase couldn't help noticing he had a decal of a winged heart with 'Lucky 13' in it pasted on the left one. The robot fiddled around inside his chest cavity for a minute, then dropped a blown fuse onto the floor.
"You were even better than the battery charger in Master's lair," RJ 13 announced. The mechanical teenager reached into one pocket of his jeans and produced a new fuse. "Hope you're ready for round two! What?" The android paused as if listening. "Oh, the DVD player thinks I'm hot?"
At this point Chase fled the room.
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The Other Chase whimpered quietly to himself as the dragon-turned-toddler roamed the house. Despite her assurances that she would be somewhere close drinking like a mad idiot, Nana Spicer seemed to have disappeared into the mansion. The storm was rolling through unchallenged and Chase had to fight to keep from fleeing to Jack's room.
'I want to be with Jack! Jack will protect me!' The child-mind cried.
'It's only thunder. It can't hurt me.' Chase reminded himself. 'Jack's still sleeping anyway; Nana gave him something to keep him under through the night.'
A particularly loud crack of thunder cannoned Other Chase into the driver's seat and the mighty Chase Young, eternal Prince of Darkness, found himself curled up around JackBear, crying piteously.
"I want Jack!" Chase straightened abruptly, slapping one hand over his mouth. That had been out loud. Someone might have heard that. Wuya had implied that Spicer had an open-door policy when it came to evil team ups; what if Katnappe or Tubbimura or that Russian with the bad teeth happened by? Chase could feel the other him bracing for a new run at control.
"I'm going! I'm going to Jack now!" He yelled to himself.
This seemed to placate his other self. Chase hurried back down the hallway towards Jack's room. The teenager didn't stir as the miniature warlord entered. This wouldn't be too bad; Spicer was still unconscious. Surely Chase could wake up before the evil youth in the morning and be gone before he was noticed.
Shoving JackBear up onto the bed before him, Chase clambered up with difficulty. Jack, laid carefully on his stomach by his perverted robot minion, never even twitched as Chase snuggled down beside him. JackBear was tucked in between the two boys. Chase caught himself just as he was about to stick his thumb in his mouth. Blushing hotly even though no one had seen him, the dragon lord settled for laying that hand on Jack's bare shoulder.
"Es ist nicht der affe," the albino youth muttered. "Ist die harfe."
Chase blinked, snatching his hand back.
"Sie habe das geld nicht, kleiner schlingel? Machen sie den mund weit auf." Jack continued.
Chase chuckled as he realized the teen was talking in his sleep. He hadn't even realized Jack knew German, but, considering his family history, it wasn't much of a stretch. Ah well; at least the other Chase had quieted down. The shrunken overlord returned his hand to Jack's shoulder.
"Parece que la fiesta esta muy animada."
One black eyebrow arched up. Spanish as well?
"Las tenazas tiene nauseas."
Chase lifted his hand, then brought it back to Spicer's skin again.
"Fileh choobi ra zud zado mikhord."
Persian? Who would have guessed? Chase tapped the shoulder again.
"Ringo arimasu ka? Ichi-ji-kan-de shimasu."
Japanese. The dragon lord giggled as he poked Jack in the shoulder. It was like changing the radio station.
"I can't make a robot out of chocolate."
Giggle, tap.
"Go mbeirimid beo ar an am seo aris."
Chase paused. What was this one? It sounded vaguely familiar.
"As ucht De bailigh leat! Bas na bpisin chugat."
Chase knew he had heard it before, but where? It was very lyrical and flowing. Nana Spicer had cursed in the same language during Wuya's attack. But Chase had heard it before then . . . . . . oh yes; the language of the elves! It later became the basis for the Gaelic language. Spicer was speaking Irish Gaelic.
Chase had always thought that was a beautiful language. Very poetic.
"Seo slaint mhinic-a-thig,
Agus seo slainte minic-nach-dtig."
Chase Young sighed, settling down against the pillows as Jack Spicer whispered poetry in the language of the elves. His golden eyes began to drift close.
"Is trua nach dtig minic-nach-dtig,
Leath chomh minic le minic-a-thig."
He barely noticed when he stuck his thumb in his mouth.
"Mo gra thu!"
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Translation Key:
Wee, the Leonine Crimson One gets to show what a language geek she is. Before any fellow linguists out there can tell me the translations don't make any sense, of course they don't; Jack is talking in his sleep. Since when do sleep-talkers make any sense?
"Es ist nicht der affe, ist die harfe." "That's not a monkey, it's a harp."
"Sie habe das geld nicht, kleiner schlingel? Machen sie den mund weit auf." "You don't have the money, you little rascal? Open your mouth very wide."
"Parece que la fiesta esta muy animada." "This looks like a pretty wild party."
"Las tenazas tiene nauseas." "The curling iron is nauseous." (RJ 13 probably got it pregnant.)
"Fileh choobi ra zud zado mikhord." "The wooden elephant is going to crash soon."
"Ringo arimasu ka? Ichi-ji-kan-de shimasu." "Do you have an apple? I'm going to do it within the hour."
"Go mbeirimid beo ar an am seo aris." "May we all be alive this time next year."
"As ucht De bailigh leat! Bas na bpisin chugat." "For God's sake, leave me alone! A kitten's death to you."
"Seo slaint mhinic-a-thig,
Agus seo slainte minic-nach-dtig."
"Health to often-comes,
And health to seldom-comes."
"Is trua nach dtig minic-nach-dtig,
Leath chomh minic le minic-a-thig."
"A pity that seldom-comes,
Does not come half as often as often-comes."
"Mo gra thu!" "My love to you!"
And this isn't really a translation, per se, but the 'red and white as milk and blood' phrase I actually found in a book of fairy tales I had as a child. I think it came from the story 'East of the Sun and West of the Moon' and was used to describe the hero. I've never forgotten it.