Cravings (21 page)

So why not tell him? "All right," I said, signaling that I meant to take the
next exit. I wasn't hungry—well, not for food. But he must be. It was nearly
eight. "I… used to know Erin's great-grandmother. So when I moved back to
Galveston—"

"You'd lived there before?"

"I was there for the Great Storm. Anyway, I knew about Erin and I was
curious, so I sort of kept an eye on her. She liked to walk on the beach at
night."

"So do you."

"Yes, but I'm hard to hurt."

"She came into danger?"

"There were two of them that night," I said, remembering. "Two pond-scum
bastards who followed her, just as I was. One had a knife. He grabbed her, held
the blade to her throat. The other ripped open her shirt."

His breath sucked in. "Did you kill them?"

"You're more bloodthirsty than I realized."

"Perhaps you preferred to let the law kill them."

He was certainly clear on how rapists should be treated. I couldn't say I
disagreed. "They had heart attacks. One lived, one didn't."

"How? What did you do?"

"Just a minute," I said, easing the big Winnebago onto the access road. "I
want to pull in at that gas station and top off the tank. The sign says they
have diesel."

"Are you avoiding my question again?"

"It's easier to show than to tell, that's all."

"I'd rather not have a heart attack."

"You keep asking questions, you can't complain if some of the answers aren't
comfortable."

IT took some maneuvering, but I got my rig tucked up next to the pumps. I
shut off the motor, unfastened my seat belt, and turned to Michael. "Do you want
something to eat?"

"I want you to show me what you did to Erin's attackers."

All right. No more delay tactics. I took a deep breath, got my focus, and
reached out.

I was wearing a t-shirt—a pretty Caribbean blue, one of my favorite colors—so
my arm was clearly visible. But as I stretched it towards him, my hand went
fuzzy. Translucent. I kept reaching—and slowly, carefully, put my hand inside
his chest.

He stared down at his chest, eyes wide. "A most peculiar sensation."

That was it? That was his total reaction? I gave a shaky laugh, pulled my
hand back, and let it go solid again. "It was more than peculiar for Erin's
attackers. I went a little more solid and tickled their hearts."

"You showed great restraint. You could have ripped them out."

"I've done that, too. But not…" My breath hitched. For a moment I could smell
the smoke of the guns, hear the screams of men and horses, feel the shudder of
the ground as the canons fired, and my own desperation as I hunted for the one
soldier who'd mattered… but he'd already been dead when I started looking, my
beautiful, bright-eyed Charlie, my son, lying butchered in the blood-soaked
earth while I searched and searched. Too late.

Quietly I said, "Not for a long time."

"You don't like killing."

"No one should like killing. There's nothing brave or glorious about it."

"No. Yet sometimes it's the only way to stop a great evil."

"You're sounding more like a warrior than a scholar."

"Is it not possible to be both?"

"Maybe." My heart was beating hard. I didn't know why. His eyes were
luminous, intent on me… I wanted so much to touch him. I pulled my gaze away.
"You've seen what I can do. Most succubi—those who started out that way—are
naturally insubstantial, and take on form only with effort. It's the other way
around for me, but…" I shrugged. "Other succubi are from Dis. Hell, in other
words. I'm originally of Earth, even if I do partake of hell now, too."

"Molly, you aren't of hell."

My eyes flew to him. "But—you said that I was. That the curse made me of both
realms."

He shook his head. "Your memory is faulty. I said you were inherently of two
realms. I can't tell which other realm claims you," he said apologetically. "I
can't read that deeply. But it isn't hell."

"But succubi are from hell. You saw what I did, going fuzzy that way. That's
what demons do."

"There are other realms where matter and energy aren't as sharply divided as
they are here. I… I think I come from such a place." He smiled slowly, sweetly.
"So do demons, yes, though that's not my realm, or yours. And so do angels."

Without my willing it, my hand reached for him, to touch his face—and a car
honked right behind us. I jumped. "I-I'd better get filled up." In more ways
than one, but there wasn't time to hunt now. Soon, I promised myself, and opened
my door and climbed down. "Want to learn how to pump gas?"

"Yes." He didn't move, though. "One more question."

I waited.

"Where are we going?"

"I wondered when you'd ask that. We're going to see an acquaintance of mine.
You need help I can't give you." I closed the door and moved to the pump,
selecting the "credit" option. My wallet was in my pocket. It's too easy to be
separated from cash and other important items if you carry a purse. The credit
card I used, like my rig, belonged to NMN Corporation. That was my little joke.
NMN stands for Not My Name.

Michael got out and came around the front of the rig, frowning. "You said
acquaintance, not friend."

"I call very few people friend. Cullen is…" I shrugged and took out the
nozzle. "Among other things he's one of those who study the nature of magic. The
two of you should have a lot to discuss."

"He's a sorcerer."

"Yes."

"No. No sorcerers."

"Go buy yourself a Coke," I said, handing him a five. "When you come back,
we'll talk about it."

 

MlCHAEL loved Coke. He bought a six-pack and drank three. He did not love the
idea of seeking help from a sorcerer. He had the idea that he wasn't supposed to
do that—but of course couldn't say why.

It's hard to argue with someone who has no reasons, only feelings. I did my
best. We debated it off and on all the way around the loop—when he wasn't asking
about engineering, building codes, the water supply, and all sorts of other
things I couldn't answer. He was desperately curious about the city, and looked
wistful once it had receded behind us.

"Maybe you can go back later," I said. We were on I-10, headed west.
Headlights chained the highway on either side, orderly fireflies lighting the
dark at seventy miles an hour. "There are a lot of other cities to see on our
route, though. Big ones, little ones, all sorts." San Antonio, El Paso, Las
Cruces, Tucson…

"This sorcerer of yours lives where?"

"In California."

"That's on the west coast."

"Yes."

"A long drive for little purpose, since I can't go to a sorcerer."

"You can't go home until you know where home is."

"I'm not sure I want to go back." He slid a long, level glance my way. "I
like it here. Besides, we know someone there wants to capture me. We don't need
a sorcerer, Molly. We can wait for my memory to come back on its own."

"And if the Azá find you first?" I shook my head. "Someone here wants to find
you, too, and I can't protect you from them."

"I don't need your protection," he snapped. "Your help, yes. I don't know
this world. But I can protect myself."

"Now you sound like a typical male."

"I am male."

I'd noticed. Oh, I had noticed... "The FBI thinks the Azá's goddess doesn't
exist, and that they only use animals for their death magic. I know better."

"They won't kill me. I am… valuable."

"I think so, too, but will they?"

"I don't know what I am," he said, his voice low and tense. "I don't know my
name, or where I come from. But I know this much: they will not want me
damaged."

"What if they don't know what you are, either?"

He was silent for several minutes. "An unsettling idea," he finally said.
"One that should have occurred to me. It would depend on this goddess of theirs,
wouldn't it? On what she knows and where she is."

"She's certainly not from these parts," I said dryly. "Nor does she have a
strong connection here, thank God. Her followers have been trying for three
centuries to find an avatar for her. I'm happy to say they haven't had much
luck."

"For three centuries, Molly?"

I glanced at him, nodded. "They had me picked for the honor, yes. I didn't
know it, though I'd, ah… dabbled a bit with their rites. I was a wild child for
awhile, or thought I was. I'd been raised in the Church, but God and I had a
falling out after my parents died of smallpox. I thought He should have handled
things differently. Well." I shrugged. "I was young."

"What happened?"

"They were trolling for converts, and they had a good spiel. The idea of
worshiping a goddess appealed to me—seemed like men had had things all their way
too long." I'd been in London by then, a little lost… make that a lot lost, but
sufficiently insulated by the arrogance of youth to pretend otherwise. "They put
on a good show, too. Magic was a major crime back then, so it didn't take much
to dazzle, make it seem like they knew what they were talking about. And what
adolescent doesn't like a secret society? Wisdom hidden from the masses, with a
select few admitted to the mysteries." I snorted. "I was easy for them. Easy."

"But you got away."

"At pretty much the last minute, and not through any planning on my part.
They'd tested me, though I didn't know it, and I fit Her. That's why avatars are
hard to locate, I found out later—body and mind have to be matched up in some
arcane fashion to Her. I, ah, got myself unmatched."

He nodded. "Just as with crossing between realms, so must an avatar be
congruent with the entity wishing to posses it. How did you unmatch youself ?"

"Well…" I smiled. "Accidentally. Mostly I was just doing what came naturally.
The night before the big ceremony—which I thought was to initiate me into their
mysteries—a sweet boy named Johnny McLeod performed another sort of initiation.
Her avatar must be a virgin, you see."

He laughed.

"She was royally pissed about Johnny, though." A little shiver travelled
through me.

They'd brought me to Her when they realized what I'd done—brought me weeping,
cursing, fighting. They hadn't been gentle in their disappointment, and I'd
learned what they'd planned. Then I saw Her… or, rather, what was left of her
old avatar. Centuries old, it was, kept more or less alive by Her power. It—I've
never been able to think of that husk as female—had looked like a mummy. Dead
everywhere but the eyes…

"She crumbled," I said. "After She cursed me. That little temper fit cost
Her."

"I'm sorry." He reached for my hand and held it. "I've called up bad
memories."

The contact was good. Steadying. For a few minutes, I let myself enjoy
holding hands. But as memories faded, that simple pleasure was lost in the rise
of hunger. With a sigh, I pulled my hand back.

He was silent a moment longer, then said,

"You were right to warn me. These Azá may not know why their goddess wants
me. She won't be able to tell them much."

"Why not? She
is
a goddess—or one of the Old Ones who calls herself
goddess, which amounts to the same thing. Can't she tell them whatever she
wants?"

"Communication across the realms is chancy." He sounded distracted. "And
yours is so distant from most… I doubt she can convey actual words. Images,
perhaps."

"Visions."

"Yes, and it's devilishly hard to get precise information across in a
vision."

He sounded as if he knew from personal experience. A sudden thought chilled
me. "Michael, there isn't any chance that… I mean, you aren't…"

"Aren't what?"

I bit my lip. "One of the Old Ones?"

Startled silence, then a sharp bark of laughter. "Gone senile, maybe?
Considering my memory problem? That's good. I'll have to tell—" He stopped
short. "Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit."

"You remembered something."

"Someone. For an instant I had a face, a name. A friend. I knew he would
enjoy the joke, and…" He shook his head. "He's gone now."

A tightness beneath my breastbone told me I was already too involved with
this strange, uprooted man. Still I reached for his hand. "You have a friend
here, too."

His fingers closed around mine. Then, slowly, he lifted my hand to his lips.
I tried to pull it back—and couldn't, for he wouldn't release me. He pressed a
kiss to my fingertips, and his breath was warm. His mouth was warmer.

Then, thank God, he dropped my hand. I gave a little laugh that sounded far
too nervous. "You've picked up some odd things on the Internet."

"I didn't read about that." He was pleased with himself. "Perhaps it was
instinct. I like the way you taste."

"Yes, well, you taste in a different way than I do. I'm trying not to jump
your bones here, Michael. You are not helping."

"Jump my… oh. But I would like very much if you jumped my bones, Molly."

Now the hard thud of my heart made sense. So did the way my pulse throbbed in
tender places, and the hunger rising, rising… "I can kill that way, too. If I
take too much."

"But you wouldn't."

"That doesn't make it safe." For either of us.

"You couldn't drain me."

I snorted. "Oh, the sublime confidence of youth."

"The nodes," he said patiently. "I draw what I need from the nearest node,
either directly or through a ley line. You can't drain them."

The nodes? Was that what I'd felt—that sparkling, delicious energy that had
flowed when he was healing? Oh, gods, but I wanted to taste that. And
him
.
I wanted Michael. If I could—"Shit."

"What is it?"

"A cop, the state version. He's on my tail, flashing his lights."

"What does that mean?"

"He wants me to pull over. I'm not speeding," I said grimly. "I haven't
broken any traffic laws. So he has something else in mind, and it probably isn't
good news."

I had no choice, though. I sure couldn't outrun him. There was plenty of
shoulder, but I don't put my rig on the shoulder when I can help it. I flashed
my lights to let him know I'd seen him, then waited for an exit to come along.
While I waited, I briefed Michael on the various other law enforcement agencies,
and suggested he let me do the talking.

"You think he is stopping us because the FBI told him to?"

"It seems likely. Unless there's some other player we don't know about in
this game." There was an exit for a rest stop coming up, which was perfect. I
signaled. The fuzz didn't bother with a turn signal, just stayed on my bumper as
I slowed.

"There may be many players we don't know about. There were… I'm almost sure
there were two."

I stole a glance at him. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. He was staring
straight ahead, his gaze fixed on nothing his eyes could see. "Two?" I said
softly.

"Who came for me. She—the one who wounded me—and another. At least one
other."

"Do you think
she
might be the Azá's goddess?" There was no traffic
on the access road. I pulled up into the curve of the rest stop and eased to a
stop.

He shrugged. "How can I tell? I don't remember her clearly, and I know
nothing about the Azá's goddess."

"I'll fill you in on her." I glanced at the side mirror. My tailgating cop
was getting out of his car. "Later. Michael, I've made some assumptions for you.
Maybe I shouldn't have. The FBI might be able to keep you safe from the Azá. You
might not mind it if they found you."