Okay … focus.
But until Parisa drew her wings in, she would be unable to have Jeannie fold them through the dimension. Wings were just too fragile to make the trip.
“Please try again,” Havily said. She even took Parisa’s hand this time and squeezed.
However, instead of making an effort, Parisa’s eyes widened as her gaze shifted to the courtyard and she gasped. Havily turned and couldn’t hold back a shriek of her own. There, beyond the warring men, was Crace, the death vampire who had attacked her in her town house, the monster who had taken her blood and wrecked her throat. He wore only a black leather kilt and battle sandals. He looked eerily pale—as he should, given his nature—and his dark hair hung uncombed almost to his shoulders. He was more monster now than High Administrator.
“Is he the one who drank from you?” Parisa cried.
Havily just looked at her. “You know about that?”
“I saw Warrior Medichi talking to you and comforting you.”
Havily nodded. “Yes, he is the one, and he is really dangerous. Parisa. We have to get out of here. Now.”
“I don’t know what to do!” Parisa cried. She shook now, head to foot. “I just can’t seem to make the wings retreat.”
“You have to stop looking and listening. Warrior Marcus will take care of General Leto and Crace.” But Parisa was wild-eyed, which was completely understandable. “Calm yourself down. Think of other things.”
Havily started shoving Parisa in the direction of the south-facing rooms, but Crace caught sight of them. His gaze, now lowered, was not in any way directed toward Parisa, but was fixed on Havily. She shuddered, for in that moment she understood his intent—and it had nothing to do with the woman in front of her.
Havily took a deep breath and turned toward Parisa. She took both her hands and looked into her eyes. “Okay,” she murmured. “Let’s try something else. Do you have a boyfriend, someone you can focus on?”
“Oh. Yes, I do. I … I have
someone.
”
“Good. Then focus on
him.
Think of being with him, of speaking with him, of having his arms around you. Pretend they’re around you right now.”
Crace lifted an arm. Oh, shit, he was dematerializing, which meant he would be next to them both in three … two …
Creator help us!
Parisa seemed to fall into the image with her entire being, and before Havily blinked Parisa’s wings flew back through her wing-locks. The moment they did, Havily thought the thought, with Crace only a few yards away and reaching for the mortal. She couldn’t take her far, not in this situation, so she landed in Parisa’s backyard, right next to the pool. She drew her phone from her pocket and made a swift call to Central.
“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” she muttered, hopping from one foot to the next still holding Parisa’s hand. The trouble was, Crace would be able to follow them since the act of folding left behind a pathway of light, a trace, which any powerful ascender could follow. And yes, Crace had enough power, which meant she had only a few seconds to get this done.
“Jeannie here.”
“Jeannie,” she cried. “I’ve got the mortal. Send us to the villa now!” She screamed the words because Crace had materialized ten feet away from them. He smiled as he ran, but the next moment she stood with Parisa in Medichi’s foyer.
She shook all over but she punched her phone. “Jeannie, we made it, but is there any chance Crace can follow us?”
“No chance in hell. Her Supremeness misted the villa. The mist will block the trace.”
Havily finally released Parisa’s hand. “Thank you. Thank you so much.” She put her hands over her face and let a few tears leak out of her eyes. She had so much adrenaline in her system that she couldn’t stop the tears or the shaking.
“Are you okay?” Parisa asked.
Havily felt the mortal’s hand on her shoulder.
At that, she pulled herself together, because it was absolutely the most absurd thing in the world for a mortal human, who had just been dematerialized …
twice
… and brought to an unknown house in a different dimension to be consoling Havily.
“I’m sorry,” she said, giving her head a shake. “But Crace is a monster and he would have hurt us both. I’m sorry I lost it. I’ll try to do better.”
Parisa nodded. She was looking white-faced and she was still completely naked. “So, what just happened? How did we get here?” She turned in a circle. She murmured, “I know this place.”
“I called our Central Command, which has the ability to do jumps between dimensions. We call it folding, otherwise known as dematerialization. You are now officially in the Second Dimension. How do you feel? Any dizziness? Nausea?” Sometimes mortals didn’t have a good reaction to Second Earth and had to be sequestered on Mortal Earth until the rite of ascension drew to a close.
Parisa, however, just shrugged. “Actually, this feels really wonderful, almost like … home. And I’m smelling … sage. A lot of sage.”
“Herbs from the kitchen, maybe.” She was distracted as she thought of Crace—and of Marcus possibly battling both Crace and Leto alone. She wasn’t sure what she needed to do next, but she still had her link to Medichi. She used it now.
How strange to feel the tendrils that reached out for the powerful warrior. When she felt the connection touch him, she sent,
Marcus needs help. Leto and Crace attacking at the following location.
She then streamed the image of the house through the link, which in terms of ascenders locating a place worked as well as coordinates laid out on Central’s grid.
On my way,
came back to her in a rush of sensation, of power, of determination. He was in full warrior mode, which was to be expected since at this hour, nearing ten o’clock, he had been battling death vampires for at least two hours.
“Thank God,” she murmured. She could only trust that Medichi would arrive in time to support Marcus against the two powerful vampires.
She glanced at Parisa, still nude.
Well, this was one problem she could solve right away. She might not be able to retrieve Parisa’s clothes, but she could bring some of her own to the villa.
She moved to the large central table and brought an assortment of pants and shirts, even underwear from her dresser and closet, folding the pieces one after the other onto the table. “I think you should be able to wear some of these. We look to be about the same size.”
The woman stared down at the pile. “How clever,” she said. There was something of the intrigued scientist in her voice.
“You know, for someone who has just been introduced to a new dimension, you’re taking all of this really well.”
Parisa grabbed a black silk thong and stepped into it. “I don’t know about that. I think I must be in shock. Yes, probably shock.” She made use of one of Havily’s bras, but her breasts overflowed the top. The woman had to be at least a double D. She quickly dove into a pair of jeans and a purple sequined tank top meant more for clubbing than fleeing from the Commander’s henchmen, but the combination looked good on her.
Parisa blinked at her from a pair of beautiful amethyst eyes, the same color that she had witnessed on her wings. A faint smile drifted over her lips. “On the other hand, from the visions I’ve had, I’ve already seen a great deal of this world already and I know the men. I know Warrior Marcus from before, as I said, and Warrior Medichi, of course.” She blushed as she said his name. “I know that something happened to Warrior Luken and that both he and Warrior Medichi are worried about his back, about his wings, I think.”
Havily nodded, then told her about the attack on Luken at the Superstitions.
“Oh, God.” Parisa started, a whole-body jerk, and her fingers flew to her lips. “I once tried to pluck a feather. I couldn’t believe the streaks of pain that followed. I can’t imagine what it must have felt like to be burned. But he looked perfectly well when I saw him in my … vision … in the hospital. How did he survive?”
“The ascended world is a world of near-immortality. Only the most brutal of events can take the life of an ascender. In all other situations, we heal miraculously.”
“Oh.” Her gaze shifted and then she sort of crumpled, dropping to sit down on the planked floor as though her legs simply wouldn’t hold her up any longer.
Well, finally. A normal reaction.
* * *
Marcus smiled. He battled with his sword like the warrior he had been all those centuries ago. He and Medichi had Leto backed up into a ficus tree.
Leto had been a good friend to Marcus, a drinking buddy, in times gone by. Now he was a goddamn traitor—something he still found hard to believe.
The women had long since dematerialized, hopefully to Medichi’s villa. Crace was gone as well. So now there was just the traitor to take care of.
Again Marcus smiled. And Medichi smiled. Because it was only a matter of time before they finished Leto off, but shit, the warrior was still an amazing swordsman.
Marcus pressed from the left. Medichi from the right. Swords clanged. Marcus felt a punch to his right side but ignored the sensation and attacked. Suddenly Marcus’s sword hit what felt like a wall, his arm jarred from the vibration of the strike, but he wasn’t anywhere near something that solid.
Fuck. Leto had cast one helluva shield. Who the hell could do that? He sure as hell couldn’t. He struck again and was rewarded with another painful stinging vibration shooting straight up his arm. “What the fuck!” he shouted.
Medichi did the same and came away cursing with pain and holding his sword elbow with his other palm. “What the hell is that, traitor? A fucking shield? You afraid to fight, you goddamn motherfucker?”
Marcus stared hard at Leto. The bastard was sweating and breathing hard but then they all were. He looked from one to the other. “Nice to see you again, assholes, but I need you to get a message to Endelle. Tell her that there’s a party planned for the Ambassadors Festival. Watch the skies.”
“What
party,
you fucking traitor?”
But that was all Leto would say. He gave Marcus a wide smile, all teeth, flipped him off, then vanished.
Marcus turned to Medichi, who was still holding his elbow.
“What the fuck was that all about?” Medichi let go of his sword-arm and gave it a shake. He was breathing hard. He glanced at Marcus, at his abdomen. “Hey. You’re bleeding.”
Marcus felt the warm trickle and looked at his side. Leto had sliced him, deep and all the way through. As though acknowledging the blood had opened a floodgate, suddenly he felt the pain. “Aw, fuck.”
Medichi bent over at the waist, catching his breath. “It doesn’t look too bad. I’ve got to get back to New River. You know New River, that place where I’m doing that job you refuse to do?”
Marcus found breathing difficult. He wanted to flip him off but couldn’t. He now braced his abdomen with his arm. As Medichi lifted up from the waist, Marcus asked, “How the hell did you know to come over here? Did Thorne send you?”
“Nope.”
“Then how did you know?” Shit, his side had really started to hurt, and now he was bent over.
Medichi grinned. “Well, asshole, you’re just going to have to find that out for yourself. But I guarantee you one thing, when you do find out, you ain’t gonna like it.” He tapped his forehead, laughed, then lifted his arm and vanished.
Marcus shouted obscenities after him or at least tried to. What the hell did Medichi mean by that? Or was he just fucking with his head?
He clutched his side. Blood poured down his abdomen. His pants were getting soaked. Shit.
Whatever.
He folded his sword back to Bainbridge.
He needed his wound tended to and he also needed to get back to Havily and the mortal-with-wings. He’d seen them fold out of the house just before Crace got to either of them. Damn, his woman was good.
Oh, man, he couldn’t breathe. He’d also need a boost through the dimension and oh, shit, it was going to hurt even more because of the sword slice.
Shit.
He called Jeannie at Central. First things first. “Did Havily call you? Are the women okay?”
“Yep. She has the mortal at the villa.”
“Good.” He was panting now.
“What’s wrong,
duhuro
?”
He didn’t have the energy to argue with her over her form of address. “I got cut and I need a lift to the villa. Can you get me there?”
“Damn straight, but I gotta warn you, the pain will be worse.”
“I know,” Marcus whispered. “Just do it.”
“Feel better. I’ll send Horace.”
“Thanks.”
The vibration struck and as he moved through nether-space he knew he was screaming. When he landed in the entrance near Havily and a now-clothed mortal, he was still shouting like a sonofabitch. Words poured out of his mouth, inappropriate words, but the hell if he could hold them back.
He landed on his feet but fell to the floor and writhed. He forgot how bad it hurt to fold with a wound like this. Sonofabitch. He breathed hard. Sweat poured off his body. He lay on his back and hit the planked floor with one hand over and over. With the other, he held the wound at his side.