Solatium (Emanations, an urban fantasy series Book 2) (25 page)

Williams frowned. “What does she do?”

“Influence emotions with her voice. It works on people and animals.”

Williams looked interested. I could see why. Someone like that could scare away bad guys with a word.

“She going to show up here?”

Jobah shook his head. “She’s got a show on. She’ll be sleeping at the theater all week.”

It took me a moment to process what he meant.

“Wait. She’s an actress?”

Everyone looked at me like I was weird for being surprised.

“Yep,” Terry said, setting his grenade down firmly enough to make me twitch. “And I’m a farrier. We have to earn our livings, eh?”

I nodded to hide my confusion. Cordus never would’ve let one of his people have a career. So far as I knew, no power would — service to a power
was
a career.

Bill Gates seemed to be an aberration.

Jobah explained where we could find Mizzy, and I followed Williams back out into the rain.

On stage, a pale black-haired woman turned, her face momentarily hopeful.

“We need not fear discovery,” she said in Baasha. “There are none powerful enough to punish us.”

Then her hope seemed to evaporate. She sobbed and went back to dry-washing her hands.

I glanced up at Williams, wanting to ask what we were seeing, but he was staring down at his feet, apparently uninterested.

We were leaning against the shadowy rear wall of a bare-bones theater. It was basically just a long room filled with benches. The stage was a simple platform at the far end with a curtain at the back through which the actors could enter and exit. The place was sweltering and musty and none too clean, and the audience was made up of exactly five people — including us.

The action on stage continued. I tried to follow along with what the actors were saying, but my vocabulary wasn’t really big enough.

Before too much longer, the play concluded, and the very sweaty actors made their bows to a smattering of handclaps. Then they retired, and the other three audience members left. A worker came in and straightened the benches.

We stood against the back wall, still and quiet. Williams probably had us shielded.

When the place had the silence of emptiness, he pushed off from the wall and headed through the curtains behind the stage. I followed along.

We found ourselves in a large space crowded with props and costumes. Williams threaded his way among objects and racks of clothing toward the far end of the building. The back wall was lined with doors — dressing rooms, perhaps. Light shone from beneath several of them.

Williams didn’t knock on any of them. Instead, he stopped about ten feet back and said “Mizu Bard” in a loud voice.

The woman I’d seen on stage opened one of the doors, peering through the darkness until her eyes landed on us. She looked scared.

“Jobah sent us,” Williams said.

The woman studied us. “Are you the ones Mr. Gates told us about?”

Williams gave a quick nod.

The woman smiled brightly. “Well, come on in.” She stepped back, making room for us to enter. “I’m sorry about the mess. Just sit anywhere.”

There was only one chair, and it was pulled up in front of a vanity full of make-up. I pushed a pile of hats to one side and sat down on the bed. Williams just stood.

The woman settled down in front of the vanity’s dingy mirror.

Now that we were in the light, I could see the long, black hair she’d sported on stage had been a wig. Her real hair was shoulder length and platinum blond. As we watched, she ran her fingers through it and shook her head.

“Nolander?” Williams said.

She winked at him in the mirror. “Guilty as charged, big guy. You can call me Mizzy.”

She dipped a cloth into some cream and began removing her make-up. “So, what kind of help do you folks need?”

“Going to Fur.”

The woman’s hand stilled. Then she rolled her eyes and laughed. “Well I can’t possibly go. We’ve got two more shows to put up before the end of the year.”

She got the Williams stare in response.

Her eyes flicked from him to me. “I don’t really leave Free. But I can tell you what you might run into along the way. I know a lot about the way between here and there.”

Williams didn’t say anything. He was studying the woman intently.

“Why don’t you leave Free?” I said.

She shrugged. “I have a lot of commitments here. But like I said, I can tell you everything you need to know. It’ll be as good as having me there.”

Williams held his hand out.

Mizzy glanced at it. “Didn’t think you were the dancing type, sugar.”

“He wants to check your capacity,” I said.

She grinned up at me in the mirror, her eyes dancing. “Well, that’s disappointing. Here I was, getting hopeful.”

Williams’s hand didn’t move.

For just a moment, fear ghosted across Mizzy’s face. Then she shrugged and touched Williams’s hand. And ran the tips of her fingers up his forearm. And licked her lips.

Oh my god. She did not just do that.

He didn’t react to the flirting. “What’s this working around you?”

“Oh, just a little tweak. My eyes aren’t really green.” She ran her hands slowly over her chest and looked at him, pouting. “And I’m really only a C cup.”

Good lord.

He stepped back and regarded her silently for several long seconds.

She smiled up at him and waggled her eyebrows.

Her teasing made me anxious. It was like watching someone poke a big old rattlesnake to see if it was dead.

She sure had the goods to back it up, though. The woman was gorgeous: heart-shaped face; full lips; high cheekbones; and knowing, sensual eyes. I wondered why she’d even bothered with the thick foundation she’d been wearing. Her skin was pale without being pasty, and her complexion was flawless. She was a good bit older than I was, but she carried her age beautifully. She looked like Marilyn Monroe, if Marilyn had lived another ten years.

Williams turned away. “You’re in.”

Mizzy’s flirtatious manner cracked. “I can’t go. Really.”

Williams was already heading for the door. “Then you can explain yourself to Cordus.”

She watched him go. Then she turned to me. For a moment, I saw fear there. Then she rolled her eyes and sighed in exasperation.

“Where was that guy when we staged
Beauty and the Beast
?”

The Garden Gate had a big crowd for lunch. Kite and Cata were rushing around serving people, and Ida was making a tremendous din in the kitchen.

Williams guided me through the dining area to the staff common room we’d sat in earlier. Most of Mr. Gates’s people were there, assembling piles of stuff for the trip.

Jobah stood and nodded to Williams. “My friend who’s up from the plains — he can see us now, if you’re ready.”

Williams nodded. “Take Miss Ryder to her room. She needs to rest.”

I bit my lip. It was infuriating to be packed off like some delicate flower, but in truth, I needed alone-time to think things through. My ability to distract myself was wearing thin.

He pinned me with a stare. “Don’t leave the inn for any reason.”

“She’ll be safe here,” Jimena said.

“See that she is. Lock her in.”

He sent me a parting glower and stalked out. Jobah gave Terry and Kevin some rapid-fire directions, then headed out after Williams.

A weight seemed to lift from the room. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who found the man distressing.

“Is Mizzy coming with?” Terry asked.

“I’m not sure.”

He looked disappointed.

“She’s a good traveling companion?”

“Oh yeah,” he said. “She knows all the best stories.”

Jimena touched my shoulder. “I’ll take you to your room.”

I nodded and followed her up the stairs to a private bedroom. It was small and simple, but immaculate.

“Will this do?” Jimena asked.

“Of course. It looks great.”

“All right, then.” She went to the door, then paused, nodding at an old-fashioned pull-chain near the door. “I’m sorry. I have to lock the door. But just ring if you need anything.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

She smiled and then left, closing the door softly behind her. The lock turned and her steps retreated down the hallway.

I settled on the edge of the bed.

Gingerly, I let the question of my mission surface in my mind.

I’d expected the dam to break — panic and bawling and the whole nine yards — but the calm I’d forced on myself was sort of sticky. No tears came, and I was able to think clearly.

So, either I was being given to the ice men for thirteen years, and Cordus had fed me a line of bull to make it all go down smoother, or I really was going to the ice mothers’ library to research Eye of the Heavens, and Cordus had fed Chasca — and perhaps others — a made-up story about Hera Hanson, the solatium, to keep Limu from getting wind of things.

I thought about it.

If I really were headed to the library, a cover story would probably be essential. A Nolander randomly traipsing through the S-Em would stand out. I’d need a good reason to be here.

Though some of Mr. Gates’s Nolanders seem to live here.

If, on the other hand, I really was a solatium, would Cordus have bothered with the whole “researching Eye of the Heavens” thing? He could’ve just ordered me to go. What choice would I have had? No more than any other Nolander being sent anywhere else. Heck, he could’ve even made me
want
to go.

Over the course of a few seconds, all the various wheels turning in my head ground to a halt.

He could’ve made me want to go.

Had he?

No. Not that.

Sending me off on a fake mission was one thing. Dishonest and cowardly, but normal. Crappy people did that kind of thing to spare themselves trouble. It sucked, but it wasn’t … I don’t know. It wasn’t beyond the pale.

But messing with my mind would be something else. Making one person into someone else because you didn’t like them the way they were … it was like erasing someone, replacing them with a copy you’ve “fixed.” Cordus wouldn’t do that to me.

Why not?

I struggled to find a reason. Everything I came up with sounded like bullshit.

I thought back to the meeting in his office. If he’d messed with my mind, there should’ve been a moment where I changed. Right?

But there wasn’t. He’d convinced me. That was all.

How? How did he convince me?

I remembered being appalled when I first realized what he had in mind. I’d told him I was clueless, powerless, broken. He’d said I was female, had the necessary interests and knowledge, and was useless for anything else.

In the cold light of day, my side of the scale seemed a lot heavier. Don’t
clueless
and
powerless
pretty much trump everything? If I had to choose between “speaks Baasha, utterly helpless” and “only speaks English, knows what she’s doing and can kick your ass,” I’d go with the latter. The ass-kicker could study Baasha on the way. Besides, Williams spoke Baasha. Bill Gates’s people probably did too.

Then again, he’d also said he had no one else to send. Given the level of defections he’d suffered, that could be plausible.

So maybe he really did need me.

Or maybe I was fooling myself. I wanted him to need me, didn’t I? Hell, I’d been dreaming about him for months. It was hard to believe a being like him truly needed someone like me to do this job.

The more I thought about it, the less sense it made. He was a power. He could make whatever sort of body he wanted for himself. If he needed to enter the ice mothers’ library, he could make his body female and do it himself. Er, herself.

Why hadn’t I thought of that at the time?

Actually, I hadn’t thought much at all during that conversation. I’d been too busy drinking in his admiration.

The hairs on my arms rose.

He had no cause to admire me. He was a 1,700-year-old being of immeasurable power — a god, basically.

He’d been buttering me up.

Once I realized it, the obviousness of it was painful.

But why? Why not just order me to go?

He likes consent
, the let’s-be-brutally-honest part of my mind whispered.
That’s why he doesn’t just rape Kara. That’s why he makes her want it when it’s happening. And he likes what knowing about it does to you. That’s why he lets her remember afterwards that she really didn’t consent at all.