Earth Awakened, page 24
She still didn’t feel like making the effort to find the washroom, though. She’d just have to take a nap, and wake up in the middle of the night when she’d gotten some fucking rest.
“So,” she said. “What’s your story?”
Chapter 28
Gobardon snorted. “No.”
“What? Why not? I opened up. Now it’s your turn. You owe me.”
“I owe you no such thing,” he said. “You told me your story on your own accord.”
“Fuck that,” she said, jabbing a dramatic finger toward the floor with a frown. “This is Foxhole rules. You owe me.”
He arched a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “‘Foxhole rules’?”
“Yes. We’re both stuck together in a blind. We regale each other with fucked up tales of our past to distract us from our imminent deaths.”
He scoffed. “We’re not going to die.”
“How do you know? Maybe tomorrow when we go knocking on that goddess’s front door, she decides to really fuck us up?” She raised an eyebrow of her own. It wasn’t as perfect as his—his looked like he’d actually visited a spa in the past six months, whereas hers has last been treated to the luxurious heat of a Swarzgardian bomb blast. “I mean, she already blocked us from teleporting to her mountain.”
He breathed out a sigh, and his eyes flicked from the screen of his phone to her. She held them, ignoring the shock that went through her.
God, what the fuck was with him? He had this god damn presence to him.
And his eyes…
“Why are your eyes so dark? Is that a Lürian pigmentation thing, or am I just completely racist and badly traveled?”
Maybe she was just racist, but… there was no way a Terran person had eyes that dark. They were god damn black in places. Especially now, when she couldn’t see any of the brown that edged them when his eyes caught the light.
He stared at her. “Really? You don’t know?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Know what?”
His lip curled. “Everyone talks about it. It’s the worst-kept secret of my family.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, forgive me for not being ‘everyone.’ Clearly, I don’t run in the same circles as you. No, I don’t know. If it was mentioned in my presence at any time, it clearly went sailing over my goddamn head. All I know is that everyone seems to have some sort of beef with you and your family, and Axariel hates your guts.”
“She said that?”
“In different words, yes. You gonna tell that story?”
He snorted. “It’s not my story to tell. An ancestor of mine wronged her guild. She just happens to remember it because she is over three hundred years old. My father wasn’t even a twinkle in my grandfather’s eye at that point.”
McKay frowned. Grandfather?
Maybe Gobardon’s family was particularly long-lived—as she’d so recently found out, Lürian life expectancy was more malleable than she’d originally assumed—but that math just didn’t add up to her.
For a long moment, she thought he wasn’t going to say anything. They stared at each other, neither breaking eye contact.
Then, he shifted.
“It’s something called ‘the Ritual.’”
“‘The Ritual?’” McKay asked. “What, like an occult thing?”
Well, maybe not. Given that the entirety of Lürian society had been built on magic, rituals were probably more a damn governmental law and procedure than the Satanist stuff her father used to go on about.
“That’s the most basic translation,” Gobardon said. His eyes slipped from her, heading to other parts of the window. She knew he didn’t need to see—his Earth magic could do that for him just fine. It felt more like he just needed something to look at that wasn’t her—either that, or he was being self-conscious about his eyes being the subject of conversation and didn’t like her looking into them while they talked about it. “It’s probably one of the oldest ones still practiced. My family was notorious for what you people would refer to as ‘black magic.’ The Lürian equivalent of it, anyway.”
“Not to be confused with ‘Dark Magic’?” she asked.
“Correct.”
“Ah. So you were ostracized? Kind of like the pagans here were hissed at when Christianity came round and began fucking up their shit?”
“Oh, no. My family definitely deserved the hissing. Trust me when I say we’ve done everything in our power to earn that reputation, and much more besides.”
“Yes, I remember your father. I take it he wasn’t the exception to the rule?”
“No.”
More like a perfect example, perhaps.
She hadn’t run into Michael for long, but he’d left an impression.
She sensed that Gobardon had more to say, so she stayed quiet. His eyes strayed toward the far wall, holding it in a dead stare, and he shifted on the couch, making the light shift with him. She caught an impression of his long, lanky frame, the way he’d looked when they’d been walking, or when he’d led her into his warehouse.
He was definitely an eye-catching figure. But then, she’d always been a sucker for the tall and the dark.
Well, with men, anyway. Some women, too, but she tended for the short ones in heels more. And sharp, cutting business attire. And librarian-sexy glasses.
With some effort, she reeled her brain back to the topic at hand and gave herself a mental slap before she completely tuned out the conversation—or followed her train of thought to its logical terminus.
I do not have the hots for the teacher. Gobardon is not an option. This dry spell can be answered with a romantic tryst with my hand in a few day’s time when I find myself alone in a room for a while. Fuck.
Good thing Gobardon wasn’t a Psychic Mage and her thoughts were safe from him.
She hadn’t met any yet, but their reputation preceded them.
They could slip into minds like a sharp knife into hot butter. Or a person touching the keys on a piano.
“Do you know much about Maanai?” Gobardon asked.
“Yes. It ate your world, and it’s used in Lost Tech.”
Gobardon didn’t wince at the mention of his world’s apocalypse, but the skin near his eyes tightened.
Wow, look at me. What kind of piece of shit brings up the apocalypse of his home world?
Then again, given the topics, how could she not?
“Yes, it did. It comes in three forms.” He paused, and his eyes fell back on her. “How familiar are you with chemistry?”
She snorted. “Oh, I’m a beast at it.”
“Good,” he continued, returning his gaze to the window. “Maanai, in its natural form, is a fissile isotope—”
“Dude,” she said. “I was joking. Why the fuck would I know chemistry?”
His eyes flicked back to her, and she recognized the look. It was the same glare of seething frustration she had seen him give Kitty.
Shut up, McKay. The guy’s actually opening up to you, and you’re fucking with him.
“The Ritual involved Maanai-122,” he said, turning away from her again. “It’s the form of Maanai made after the raw material goes through the Calenate process. It’s a bit more complicated than this, but they would basically distill it and introduce it into the bloodstream in small amounts. Over time, it would build up in such a way that the body would get used to it and it would enhance the bearer’s natural magic.” He hesitated. “The process caused some… abnormalities.”
McKay’s eyebrows twitched upwards. “That’s kind of fucked. Your parents were basically drugging you?”
“No, no, it wasn’t a drug. It…”
“Was it a government sanctioned ritual, or did they do it on the sly and swear you to secrecy?”
He let go of a breath. “It’s not like that. It’s a family tradition. Goes back over six hundred years.”
“Yeah, well, the Catholic Church has been molesting kids for going back over six hundred years. Doesn’t make it right.” She squinted her eyes at him. “You realize that you just told me your family has been shooting up its kids with an unstable mineral, and then you defended them, right?”
He didn’t say anything. His cell phone timed out, the screen blinking off and leaving them in the dark, and a tepid silence hung in the air. Without seeing his face, it was hard to read.
But he didn’t seem angry. She sensed a mixture of emotions, as if he were deciding whether he wanted to get haughty and defend his family’s actions or admit that they were fucked up and resign himself to that fact.
After a few moments, he sighed, and it felt like his entire body sighed with it.
“Well, when you put it that way, it does sound pretty bad, doesn’t it?”
“Yep,” she said. “That’s pretty bad. I mean, my parents might have been shitty people, but at least they didn’t push random occult drugs into my system.”
A surprised laugh barked out of him. “If any of my father’s generation heard you say that, you would’ve been taken, tortured, and killed within months. Quietly. In a way that no one would miss you. With the appropriate authorities paid off to ensure it.”
“Those rich bitches. well, it’s a good thing they ain’t here, isn’t it?” She stifled a yawn. Damn, she was starting to fade again. Just as she was getting some of the dude’s backstory out of him. “So, did it work?”
“The Ritual? Yes, it did.”
“Ah. So they weren’t completely full of shit, just abusive about it.”
“They were focused on power. If you couldn’t help them acquire it, then you were less than useless.” He shifted, and uncrossed his legs. “But they would always defend family. It didn’t matter what trouble you got into, they would fix it. Hard. Save the family’s reputation and uphold it, then light into you behind closed doors.” He shifted again. This time, she felt his gaze slip toward her. “They rarely abused us. They were strict, certainly, but I only heard of actual beatings if someone severely messed up. As in, went into a drug and gambling stupor for several months, smeared the family’s honor, and had to get rescued from their stupid decisions.”
Or married the wrong person. Then, they just had the other person killed.
But that was not something she was about to bring up. He seemed to be in a good mood for once, despite the topic.
“Abuse comes in many forms. And the government will convict people for it, especially in Mersetzdeitz.”
She liked that about Mersetzdeitz. Granted, she liked many things about Mersetzdeitz, but its civilian protections were some of the best in the world.
Actually, she’d heard the systems were pretty good with its military, too.
Maybe she should join up. If they’d have her.
Have to get the cat under control before I start thinking about that.
Inwardly, she hit herself.
No, not ‘the cat’. Greneinta.
Even if she was being a shit show today, she still had a name.
He didn’t answer for a long time, though she could feel that his gaze had lifted from her. She sagged on the bed, the heaviness of her brain pushing down her eyelids even more.
Yep. She was definitely fading.
She squirmed into a more horizontal position, holding her breath as she shook the first blanket out and dust rose into the air.
His gaze flicked back to her again. She could feel it.
Well, if he was going to pay so much attention to her, she might as well keep him talking.
She kicked at the blanket to cover her feet and grunted. “So, that’s why your eyes are so dark?”
“Yes. It’s a mark of my family.” The couch groaned as he leaned back, and she heard cloth rustle as he dug for something in his pocket. “You know, I envy you. You escaped yours. The second anyone takes one look at my eyes, they know precisely who I am.”
She grunted. “Then wear sunglasses.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“Contacts, then. Or, wait—it’s your family everyone hates, right? Change your last name and donate a crap load of money to the Children’s Hospital or something. Enough that they put something in your name permanently.”
There is a small pause.
“It’s not just my family.”
Oh.
“Well, I can’t help you there. I imagine the Children’s Hospital ploy would work a bit, though.”
“Perhaps. But, no matter what I do, it won’t pay for the sins of my past.”
Sins of his past, hey? Well, that she knew a little about.
“Everyone’s got their own sins,” she said. “And everyone’s gotta find a way to deal with them. Still, the hospital would be a good start.”
He chuckled. “It would seem self-aggrandizing. Everyone would know I was doing it for the PR.”
She stifled a yawn. “So? At least you’d be helping out some kids. Plus, it’s pretty hard to shit talk someone who makes a massive donation to help sick kids. I mean, could you imagine what kind of a piece of shit that person would look like?”
He chuckled. “That’s very true.”
“Anyway, I think I’ll go to sleep now.” Her words strained as she shuffled herself deeper into the bed, pulling the blanket up under her chin. “Your family can’t follow you everywhere, Gobardon. Especially if they’re dead.”
“A Children’s Hospital donation and murder.” He chuckled, his tone wry. “You’re just full of suggestions.”
She gave him a dismissive flap of her hand. “Hey, you already got one. What’s a few more?” She yawned. “Good night, Gobardon. If I have a PTSD episode, don’t worry—the cat doesn’t react to it.”
“Her name is Greneinta,” he reminded her gently.
She cringed.
Goddamn it, she thought as she spiraled into unconsciousness. And I’d been working on it, too.
Chapter 29
May 14, 2003 - Transition Year Twenty-One
The Outpost in Occupied Seola, after the battle.
Javen stuck the toe of his boot under a charred piece of metal and kicked it over, littering it among the other jagged pieces of broken metal and plastic, wrinkling his nose at the smoke that braided itself into the air around the outpost.
The acrid smell of burnt material was thick enough to taste.
He squinted against the sting on his eyes and rotated, taking in the rest of the ruined room.
The outpost’s Intelligence Station had been the refugees’ first priority. Bolo, one of Naomi’s soldiers, had originally been assigned to it—given his specializations, it had made sense.
But the surrender had thrown them off.
Although they’d hoped for one, they hadn’t actually planned for it. And with most of the army-trained fighters still MIA, Naomi had made some snap reassignments to adjust.
She had divided the remaining refugees into units: inventory specialists, prisoner watch, grounds detail, and body retrieval.
Volunteers from the last unit had come from both armies—they both had dead to mourn and care for.
But one person insisted on digging through the tower’s rubble alone.
Caleb wanted to be the one to recover Gannon’s body.
A memory of the tower falling came to his mind, and he winced.
God, it had happened so quick.
One moment he was there, pointing his gun at a soldier.
Then, the tower was on him.
A familiar, slick feeling slid into his gut. He bit down on his tongue hard, then squatted down and began picking through the office debris, taking care not to cut himself on the sharp edges of computer parts.
The Swarzgardians feared him. The soldier who’d escorted Javen to this room asked to have a guard with him and demanded to be led away again once Javen reached his desired destination—and Javen had thought it a bit dramatic until he realized just how everyone changed their paths to avoid him, or stopped talking when he came near.
She didn’t give me this assignment to give me a moment of peace. She did it to give them the moment.
That was understandable. It wasn’t every day one saw someone do what he had.
He didn’t know what it was. The power that had coursed through him had left just as quickly as it had arrived—as if it had extinguished itself, snuffed out like a candle.
And the rage that had been inside of him had quietened down.
Had it stayed with him, he didn’t know if he would have been able to accept the surrender.
That was a problem.
The power he’d felt had made him feel invincible, but its potential for havoc was dangerous.
It also hadn’t come from Caleb. Whatever else may have confused him, he knew that to be true.
Which begged the question—if not Caleb, then who? Or, more likely, what?
The power he’d felt had not been a Mage.
We weren’t the only ones fighting with magic.
Two sharp raps on the wooden frame of the door interrupted his thoughts. Naomi stood on the threshold, her helmet gone but her gun still hoisted on her back.
That shield was down on her features again.
Either he was about to be lectured, or she was going to lie to him.
“The second flare has been seen,” she said. “Bonnie’s group should be here tonight. Richard and the civilians will be here in two days.”
A part of his mind sank.
For a few, blissful days, he’d forgotten that Richard Frynell still existed.
“They destroyed everything,” he said, tossing a piece of plastic into the pile. With some effort, he got to his feet. “There’s nothing left.”
“If everything is destroyed, then someone did their job well.”
He put his hands on his hips and rotated his torso to observe the room. Corners of paper stuck to the wall under pieces of tape where diagrams had been ripped away. Even the cork board had been smashed into almost impossible tiny particles.
