Faefever Part 11

"That's not what you want most. You want that because because of what you want most: Your sister back." of what you want most: Your sister back."

I didn't like where this was going.

"I called to offer you a deal."

Deals with the devil, Barrons had recently reminded me, never went well. Still, I couldn't stop myself from asking, "What?"

"Get me the Book, and I'll get you your sister back."

My heart skipped a beat. I held the phone away from my ear and stared at the receiver, as if seeking some kind of inspiration, or answer, or maybe just the courage to hang up the phone.

Your sister back. The words hung in the air. The words hung in the air.

Whatever I was looking for, I didn't find it. I returned the phone to my ear. "The Book could bring Alina back from the dead?" I was chock-full of superst.i.tions inspired by childhood fables; resurrecting the dead was always accompanied by gruesome caveats, and even more gruesome results. Surely something so evil couldn't restore something so good.

"Yes."

I wasn't going to ask. I wasn't wasn't. "Would she be the same as she was before? Not some scary zombie?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Why would you do that, when you're the one who killed her in the first place?"

"I didn't kill her."

"Maybe you didn't do it yourself, but you you sent them after her!" sent them after her!"

"I wasn't done with her." There was the barest hesitation. "And I had no plans to kill her when I was."

"Bull. She found you out. She followed you into the Dark Zone one day, didn't she? She refused to help you anymore. And you killed her for it." I was certain of it. I'd thought about it every night before I went to sleep, for months. It was the only conclusion that made sense of the voice mail message she'd left me, a few hours before she'd died. He's coming, He's coming, she'd said, she'd said, I don't think he'll let me out of the country. I don't think he'll let me out of the country.

"You've felt the power of my coercion. I might have lost her willing cooperation, but I never needed it to begin with." Imperious arrogance dripped from his voice, as he reminded me how easily he'd controlled me. No, he wouldn't have needed her cooperation. With that terrible, will-stealing Voice, he could have made her do anything he wanted, anything at all.

My cell phone rang again.

"Answer it. Barrons hates waiting. Think about my offer."

"How do you know Barrons?" I demanded.

The line was dead.

"Are you all right?" Barrons growled, when I answered my cell.

"Fine."

"Was it him?"

"The great LM?" I said dryly. "Yes."

"What did he offer you?"

"My sister back."

Barrons didn't say anything for a long moment. "And?"

I was quiet for an even longer moment. "I told him I'd think about it."

Silence fell between us and lengthened. Strangely, neither of us hung up. I wondered where he was, what he was doing. I strained my ears but couldn't hear any background noise. Either his cell phone had great noise reduction capabilities, or he was somewhere very quiet. An image flashed through my mind: Barrons, big and dark, naked against white silk sheets, arms folded behind his head, phone propped at his ear, crimson and black tattoos ranging across his chest, down his abs. Leg tangled with some woman's.

Nah. He'd never let a woman stay the night. No matter how good the s.e.x was.

"Barrons," I said at last.

"Ms. Lane."

"I need you to teach me to resist Voice." I'd asked him this before, but he'd only given me one of his noncommittal replies.

There was another of those long silences, then, "In order to attempt that-and I a.s.sure you it will be no more than an attempt, one at which I highly doubt you'll succeed-I'll have to use it on you. Are you prepared for that?"

I s.h.i.+vered. "We'll lay some basic ground rules."

"You like those, don't you? Too bad. You're in my world now, and there are no basic ground rules. You learn how I teach you, or not at all."

"You're a jacka.s.s."

He laughed, and I s.h.i.+vered again.

"Can we start tonight?" I'd been safe today, with the Lord Master on the phone. But if, instead of calling, he'd strolled up behind me on the street and commanded me to be silent, I wouldn't have even been able to open my mouth long enough to release V'lane's name.

I frowned.

Why hadn't hadn't he walked up behind me? Why hadn't he sent his army after me? Now that I thought about it, the only two times he'd ever tried to capture me were when I'd practically delivered myself to him, and he'd believed I was alone, almost as if I'd been an opportunity too convenient to pa.s.s up. Was the Lord Master in no hurry to get close to me? Did he fear my spear after seeing what it had done to Malluce? he walked up behind me? Why hadn't he sent his army after me? Now that I thought about it, the only two times he'd ever tried to capture me were when I'd practically delivered myself to him, and he'd believed I was alone, almost as if I'd been an opportunity too convenient to pa.s.s up. Was the Lord Master in no hurry to get close to me? Did he fear my spear after seeing what it had done to Malluce? I'd I'd feared it intensely when I'd eaten Unseelie. I hadn't wanted it anywhere near me. But with Voice he could easily strip it away. He'd wanted Alina's willing partic.i.p.ation, and now he seemed to want mine. Why? Because it was easier if I was willing, or was it more complicated than that? Did Voice work only to a certain extent, and there was something he needed from me that he wouldn't be able to coerce? Or maybe-a chill of foreboding accompanied this thought-I was only a small part of his much larger plans, and he'd already made other arrangements for me, and it just wasn't the right time yet. Maybe he was even now constructing a cage around me that I couldn't see. Would I wake up one morning, and walk straight into it? I'd been duped by Malluce. I'd believed him a figment of my imagination until the last. feared it intensely when I'd eaten Unseelie. I hadn't wanted it anywhere near me. But with Voice he could easily strip it away. He'd wanted Alina's willing partic.i.p.ation, and now he seemed to want mine. Why? Because it was easier if I was willing, or was it more complicated than that? Did Voice work only to a certain extent, and there was something he needed from me that he wouldn't be able to coerce? Or maybe-a chill of foreboding accompanied this thought-I was only a small part of his much larger plans, and he'd already made other arrangements for me, and it just wasn't the right time yet. Maybe he was even now constructing a cage around me that I couldn't see. Would I wake up one morning, and walk straight into it? I'd been duped by Malluce. I'd believed him a figment of my imagination until the last.

I shoved my fearful thoughts away before they could multiply. I certainly wanted to get close to him him. I was going to kill him. And his nasty trick of Voice was a barrier I was going to have to be able to get past.

"Well," I prompted, "when can we start?" I didn't trust Barrons, but he'd had plenty of opportunities to use Voice on me in the past, and hadn't. I didn't believe he'd use it to harm me now. At least not much. The potential gain was worth the risk.

"I'll be there at ten." He hung up.

It was nine-fifteen by the time I finished my invention, forty-five minutes before Barrons was due to arrive.

I turned it on, sat back, scrutinized it a few moments, then nodded.

It looked good.

Well, it didn't really. It looked . . . strange, like something out of a sci-fi movie. But it worked, and that was all that mattered to me. I was sick of not being safe in the dark. I was sick of watching my flashlights go spinning away from me. This couldn't couldn't spin away. And if I was right about its capabilities, I'd be able to walk straight through a Shade-wall with it on. spin away. And if I was right about its capabilities, I'd be able to walk straight through a Shade-wall with it on.

There was one final test I needed to perform.

It was a great invention and I was proud of it. The idea had come to me this afternoon, during a slow spell. I'd been stressing over the enormous Shade outside the bookstore, when suddenly a light had gone off in my head, or rather, several dozen.

I'd flipped the sign and locked up at seven on the dot, raced down the street to the sporting goods store on the corner, and bought everything I needed, from the biking helmet, to batteries, to brackets and caving lights, to tubes of superglue, to Velcro bands as an added precaution.

Then I'd come back to the bookstore, dialed my iPod to the latest playlist I was crazy about, cranked it up to a smidge below deafening, and gone to work.

I shook my invention. I dropped it. I kicked it, and still all parts remained intact. Superglue: after duct tape, a girl's best friend.

I was satisfied. With three quarters of an hour until my Voice lessons, I had time to test the device, and still make it upstairs to freshen up a bit, not that I cared how I looked around Barrons. It's just that in the Deep South, women learn at a young age that when the world is falling apart around you, it's time to take down the drapes and make a new dress.

Every truly inspired invention needed a catchy name, and I had just the right one for mine. Who needed the Cuff of Cruce to walk among the Shades?

I slipped the biking helmet on my head and strapped it securely beneath my chin. It fit snugly so it couldn't fall off in the heat of battle. I could do a flip (if I could could do a flip) and the thing would stay stuck to my head. I'd superglued dozens of Click-It lights all over the surface of the helmet. Brackets stuck out several inches from both sides and the rear, with spelunker lights attached, pointing downward. do a flip) and the thing would stay stuck to my head. I'd superglued dozens of Click-It lights all over the surface of the helmet. Brackets stuck out several inches from both sides and the rear, with spelunker lights attached, pointing downward.

I swept my arms out and took a deep bow: Presenting the MacHalo MacHalo!

With all the lights turned on, the helmet created a perfect halo of light around my entire body, down to my feet. I loved it. If it hadn't been so bulky, I might have tried sleeping in it. As an added precaution, I strapped on the Velcro wrist and ankle bands I'd cut little pouches in, and sewn Click-It lights into. All I had to do was. .h.i.t my wrists and ankles together and the lights clicked on.

I was ready.

But first, I wanted a test run inside the store before I went outside.

I clicked myself on from head to toe, hurried to the panel, and began flipping off the interior lights in the front part of the bookstore. Not the exterior ones, just the interior. Even though I knew the building was still surrounded in light outside, it was hard to make myself do it. My fear of the darkness had grown beyond a rational thing. That happens when you know a shadow can eat you alive if you touch it.

My hand hesitated over the last row of switches for a long, difficult moment.

But I had my MacHalo, and I knew it would work. If I gave fear a toehold, it would screw me. I'd learned that lesson from Barrons, and had it driven home by Malluce: Hope strengthens. Fear kills.

I flipped off the last row, plunging the bookstore into complete darkness.

I blazed as bright as a small sun in the room!

I laughed. I should have thought of it before. There wasn't an inch of me, not a centimeter, that wasn't lit up. My halo radiated outward a good ten feet in all directions. And I was right; if I had the courage, I could walk right through a Shade-wall. None of the vampiric life-suckers could get close to me in this getup!

My iPod began playing "Bad Moon Rising" by Creedence Clearwater Revival, and I did a little dance, giddy with success. I had one more weapon in my a.r.s.enal to make me safer, and I'd thought of it myself.

I whirled around the bookstore, miming the epic fighter I was now going to be, armed with my clever MacHalo, no longer afraid of dark alleys in the night. I leapt chairs and darted around bookcases. I pounced sofas, I hurdled ottomans. I stabbed imaginary enemies, immune to Shade-danger by the brilliance of my own invention. There's not much room in my life for good, plain, stupid fun, and there hasn't been much to celebrate lately. I take advantage of both when I can.

" 'Hope you got your things together,' " I sang, stabbing a pillow with my spear. Feathers exploded into the air. " 'Hope you are quite prepared to die!' " I spun in a dazzling whirl of lights, landed a killer back-kick on a phantom Shade, and simultaneously punched the magazine rack. " 'Looks like we're in for nasty weather! '" I took a swan dive at a short, imaginary Shade, lunged up at a taller one- -and froze.

Barrons stood inside the front door, dripping cool old-world elegance.

I hadn't heard him come in over the music. He was leaning, shoulder against the wall, arms folded, watching me.

" 'One eye is taken for an eye . . .' " I trailed off, deflating. I didn't need a mirror to know how stupid I looked. I regarded him sourly for a moment, then moved for the sound dock to turn it off. When I heard a choked sound behind me I spun, and shot him a hostile glare. He wore his usual expression of arrogance and boredom. I resumed my path for the sound dock, and heard it again. This time when I turned back, the corners of his mouth were twitching. I stared at him until they stopped.

I'd reached the sound dock, and just turned it off, when he exploded.

I whirled. "I didn't look that that funny," I snapped. funny," I snapped.

His shoulders shook.

"Oh, come on! Stop it!"

He cleared his throat and stopped laughing. Then his gaze took a quick dart upward, fixed on my blazing MacHalo, and he lost it again. I don't know, maybe it was the brackets sticking out from the sides. Or maybe I should have gotten a black bike helmet, not a hot pink one.

I unfastened it and yanked it off my head. I stomped over to the door, flipped the interior lights back on, slammed him in the chest with my brilliant invention, and stomped upstairs.

"You'd better have stopped laughing by the time I come back down," I shouted over my shoulder.

I wasn't sure he even heard me, he was laughing so hard.

"Can Voice make you do something that you find deeply morally objectionable? Can it override everything you believe in?" I asked Barrons, fifteen minutes later when I came back down. I'd made him wait, partly because I was still stinging from his laughter, and partly because it p.i.s.sed me off in general that he was early. I like it when a man's on time. Not early. Not late. Punctual. It's one of those lost dating courtesies, not that Barrons and I are dating, but I think dating courtesies are common courtesies that should be practiced in most all civilized encounters. I pine for the days of good, old-fas.h.i.+oned manners.

I made no mention of his laughter, the MacHalo, or my absurd dance. Barrons and I are pros at ignoring anything and everything that pa.s.ses between us that might smack of emotion of any kind, even so simple a feeling as embarra.s.sment. Sometimes I can't believe I was ever beneath that big, hard body, kissing him, getting glimpses into his life. The desert. The lonely boy. The lone man. Don't think it hadn't occurred to me that having s.e.x with Barrons might just answer some of my questions about who and what he was. It had. And I'd promptly stuffed that idea into my padlocked box. For a gazillion reasons that need no explaining.

"It depends on the skill of the person employing Voice, and the strength of his victim's convictions."

Typical Barrons answer. "Elucidate," I said dryly. I've been learning new words. I've been reading a lot lately.

As I moved deeper into the room, his gaze dropped to my feet, and worked its way back to my face. I was wearing faded jeans, boots, and a snug pink Juicy T-s.h.i.+rt I got on sale at TJ Maxx last summer that said I'm a Juicy girl I'm a Juicy girl.

"I bet you are," he murmured. "Take off your s.h.i.+rt," "Take off your s.h.i.+rt," he said, but this time his voice resonated with a legion of voices. It rippled outward, past me, filling the room, stuffing every corner, cramming it full of voices that were all telling me to obey, pressuring every cell in my body to comply. I he said, but this time his voice resonated with a legion of voices. It rippled outward, past me, filling the room, stuffing every corner, cramming it full of voices that were all telling me to obey, pressuring every cell in my body to comply. I wanted wanted my s.h.i.+rt off. Not the same way I wanted it off around V'lane, rooted in s.e.xual compulsion, but merely because I . . . well, I didn't know why. But I wanted it off right now, this very instant. my s.h.i.+rt off. Not the same way I wanted it off around V'lane, rooted in s.e.xual compulsion, but merely because I . . . well, I didn't know why. But I wanted it off right now, this very instant.

I began to lift the hem of my tee, when I thought, Hang on a minute, I'm not going to show Barrons my bra, and pulled my s.h.i.+rt back down.

I smiled, faintly at first then bigger, pleased with myself. I stuffed my hands in the back pockets of my jeans and gave him a c.o.c.ky stare. "I think I'm going to be pretty good at this."

"TAKE OFF YOUR s.h.i.+RT."

The command hit me like a brick wall and destroyed my mind. I sucked in a violent, screeching breath and ripped my s.h.i.+rt from neckline to hem.

"Stop, Ms. Lane."

Voice again, but not the brick wall: rather a command that lifted the brick wall from me, freeing me. I sank to the floor, clutching the halves of my torn T-s.h.i.+rt together, and dropped my head in my lap, resting my forehead against my knees. I breathed deeply for several seconds, then raised my head and looked at him. He could have coerced me like that anytime. Turned me into a mindless slave. Like the Lord Master, he could have forced me to do his bidding whenever he'd wanted. But he hadn't. The next time I discovered something horrifying about him, would I say, yeah, but he never coerced me with Voice? Would that be the excuse I made for him then?

"What are you?" It burst out before I could stop myself. I knew it was wasted breath. "Why don't you just tell me and get it over with?" I said irritably.

"One day you'll stop asking me. I think I'll like knowing you then."

"Can we leave my clothes out of the next lesson?" I groused. "I only packed for a few weeks."

"You wanted morally objectionable."

"Right." I wasn't sure his demonstration had served its purpose. I wasn't sure taking my s.h.i.+rt off in front of him was.

"I was ill.u.s.trating degrees, Ms. Lane. I believe the Lord Master has achieved the latter level of proficiency."

"Great. Well, in the future spare my tees. I only have three. I've been was.h.i.+ng them out by hand and the other two are dirty." BB&B didn't have a washer or dryer, and so far I'd been refusing to tote my stuff to the Laundromat a few blocks down, although soon I was going to have to, because jeans didn't wash well by hand.