“Mandalay, Burma. Second Earth. Shit. What do I do?” But as soon as the words left his mouth, he whipped his card-like warrior phone from his pocket and thumbed Central.
“Central,” Jeannie’s voice came on the line. “How can I serve?”
“Jeannie, I’ve just heard from Parisa. She’s in Mandalay.”
“Holy shit.” He heard tapping. “I’m moving the grid as we speak. There we go. There we go. Give me a minute, probably less.”
“Hurry, Jeannie. We’re in trouble.”
He focused on Parisa and sent, You’ve got to narrow this down for us if you can. Which side of the city?
Just past the outskirts at the southern end.
“Southern end,” he said into the phone. To Parisa, he sent, Are you on Second Earth? He wanted to be sure.
Yes. But Antony, there’s something you must know. Rith keeps other women here, as blood slaves. I saw how he did it. He causes their deaths while he harvests their blood, then he brings them back to life. One of the women, Fiona, was abducted from Boston. She’s been here since 1886. Can you get her out as well? All of them?
Oh, God. Blood slaves. So they existed. Now it all started making sense, how Greaves was able to turn so many High Administrators as well as members of COPASS. He must be using these women to provide dying blood. There had been rumors for years. Now there was proof.
But as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t make these unknown women his priority. He knew nothing about Rith’s security setup, or the layout of the building, nothing. And right now, Parisa was his primary concern.
I’ll talk it over with Thorne. But we’re going to take this one step at a time. Let’s get you out of there first.
Right. Right.
God, had it really happened? And how had Parisa been able to speak into his head? What had changed? What had happened to make the impossible possible? But then who cared? I’m on my way.
To Jeannie, he said, “Listen, Parisa spoke of being beneath two domes of mist. I know her signature doesn’t show up on the international grid, but Rith’s might. He’s a powerful SOB. Maybe that will show up on the grid as something unusual. Do you have Mandalay in front of you?”
“Yes. Scanning the southern sector now. Come on. Come on.”
To his brothers, he said, “And which of you is coming with?”
As one, they drew into a half circle around him, Jean-Pierre beside him. Words weren’t necessary. His chest took their joint support and loyalty as a heavy-fisted blow. Shit, his eyes burned. He glanced at Thorne. No one could go anywhere without his permission.
All the warriors turned toward him. Thorne’s mouth was a thin grim line, but he nodded and said, “We all go.”
Medichi lifted his chin. “We’ll materialize nearby and I can’t tell you what to expect. I don’t know if we’ll face death vampires or what.”
“Fuck, yeah!” Luken cried. “Bring ’em on!”
“Jeannie,” he pleaded into the phone.
“I think I’ve found it. It’s enormous—it’s like the time Kerrick went to that medical complex and a huge part of the parking lot was held in some kind of misted disguise. I thought only Greaves had this kind of power. No wonder Rith was able to take her. And did you say a double dome of mist? Holy crap.”
Medichi ignored this speech, one of the longest he’d ever heard Jeannie make. He addressed the only important element. “You’ve got seven to fold.”
He glanced at them all, overwhelmed by the support the brotherhood gave him. Jean-Pierre nodded. Luken put a fist against his chest. Zacharius and Santiago, almost as one, took their daggers from their weapons harnesses and held them aloft. Kerrick smiled, that knowing look that only a warrior caught in the breh-hedden could possibly offer, a look full of sympathy and hope. Thorne’s jaw worked. “Let’s go get your woman.”
Jeannie gave a cry. “I’ve got the coordinates. But there’s one powerful signature there. Has to be Rith. You boys ready?”
“Shit, yes, Jeannie.”
We’re on our way, Parisa.
I’m outta here, she sent.
Medichi took a deep breath. “Fold us now, Jeannie.”
The vibration began.
Parisa slipped past the three servants outside her room, moving on tiptoes until she was outside on the back lawn of the garden. A gentle rain descended through the air, which meant beyond the domes a real storm could be pounding the land. Oh, shit. Then again, she didn’t really care. The time had come. Rith had it in for her and Fiona needed someone to get her out of her blood-slavery prison.
Her heart beat like a jackhammer, and serious vibrations rocked her chest. She panted and almost couldn’t catch her breath. It occurred to her that if she didn’t calm down she’d never be able to mount her wings—and up was the only way out of this prison.
She’d been testing the interior dome of mist for weeks now, rippling her hand as she flew. There was nothing about it that felt impenetrable. She just hoped the second dome was as forgiving.
From what she had experienced with mist, however, its purpose wasn’t so much physical as a mind-bending disguise.
Besides, even if she struck a brick wall traveling at top flying speed, she just didn’t care. She’d made her decision. She was leaving her captivity now.
She closed her eyes and focused on the apertures of her back. She blocked everything else out. She felt the weeping begin, the release of fluid that would allow the feathers and superstructure to emerge. She smiled.
She voyeured Medichi and her heart leaped. He stood on the bank of a rice paddy, the Warriors of the Blood flanking him on either side. A storm raged and as lightning flashed, lighting up the night sky, he suddenly looked like a god, so tall, muscular, his expression fierce.
Antony? she sent in that new forceful way.
Parisa, are you ready? We’re here, all the brothers. We’re waiting for you. I can see the dome of mist. Are you safe?
Yes. I’ll be flying straight out the top, but you’d better come get me. I’m not wearing anything.
She closed the window and shut her mind down.
“What are you doing, Parisa?” Rith’s voice spoke calmly from the doorway.
“I’m ready to fly.”
“In the nude? This is repulsive behavior. Besides, it’s raining. Put some clothes on first.” His English really was perfect.
“Sure,” she said. She enjoyed speaking the lie. She closed her eyes and willed her wings to come with a single thought.
Out they flew straight from her back, into full-mount in an easy motion she had never known before. Hells, yeah! She had changed.
She launched and flew straight for the top. She heard growling behind her, and a quick glance showed her that Rith had stripped off his shirt and was even now mounting his wings.
Oh, God.
She smashed through the interior dome of mist. Rain struck her face and dragged at her wings, but she beat them frantically. As she headed toward the second dome, she kept feeling a hand grabbing for her feet.
She plowed through the second barrier and the storm hit her full in the face. Rain and wind caught her wings, sending her spinning. She worked to remember what Havily had taught her. She stretched one wing out, brought in the other and leveled, but the wind caught her again and sent her into a second spin. At the same time, the rain pounded her.
Once she righted herself, she saw Rith heading straight for her.
She began to tumble again back toward the dome of mist. But before she had gotten far, she saw that it wasn’t Rith at all, but Medichi who flew toward her, his wings huge, rain beating on him, his face more determined than she’d ever seen him. She concentrated and pulled one wing in briefly then fluffed them both. The tumbling stopped and she righted herself even though she pitched back and forth in the wind. She shivered.
The next moment Medichi was next to her and took hold of her hand. He became a tremendous anchor. Even though she pitched about wildly, she knew he would hold her steady.
He didn’t say anything. He just started pulling her into the wind very gently, then down slowly toward the earth.
“Bring your wings into close-mount if you can,” he shouted above the noise of the storm. “That’s it. Yes, keep doing that.” She struggled to bring her wings in and not flip over or start to roll to one side or the other. She was soaked head-to-toe, feather-to-feather.
She kept her gaze fixed on him, nothing else. He was so powerful and manipulated his wings with centuries of experience as though each sudden shift of wind, each onslaught of rain were but a bump. The adjustments he made were brisk, small, and kept him floating in the air without the smallest sign of distress.
She, on the other hand, felt like she was in a washing machine on the agitation cycle.
Lightning flashed through the sky above. She gasped and almost lost her equilibrium again—but this time for a different reason. Antony’s cream-colored wings were streaked through with reds and oranges, blues and greens, as though lit on fire. The colors moved, flying from feather to feather in a pattern of ever-changing flames. Strands of his hair had come loose from the ritual cadroen and flew about his face. He looked like Zeus half standing and half floating in the air, his hand extended to her.
The closer she drew her wings to her body, the more she started to lose altitude, but he held her aloft. “Now the rest of the way and I’ll catch you.”
She had to trust him but she gave a cry as she drew her wings in to close-mount position and started to fall. Then he caught her very gently around the full circumference of her wings, shifting to cradle her in his arms. His concentration was fierce as he battled the monsoon. He headed toward the earth, diving closer and closer to the ground, toward the rest of the Warriors of the Blood, all in black leather kilts and harnesses.
Closer. Closer. When his feet touched the ground, she closed her eyes and sighed. Tears dribbled from her rain-soaked face.
She watched as Medichi brought his wings into his back, awkwardly at times because of the weather.