“Well, you know it’s not like she’s going to fire you or anything.”
At that, Havily burst out laughing. “It’s sooo true.” She chuckled a couple of times, then said, “Well, I’d better be going. Please, call me anytime.”
“Thanks. I will.” And she meant it.
Havily lifted a hand in the air and vanished.
Parisa stared at the empty space. She was moving in the direction of the house when the air shimmered. She smiled. What had Havily forgotten to tell her? Something more about what it was to make love to a warrior?
But it wasn’t Havily.
A second more and Rith smiled at her, that easy blank smile of his that sent shards of fear slicing through her chest. She couldn’t breathe.
“Rith,” she murmured. Her heart banged out a few beats and threatened to give up completely.
He moved toward her, slow steps, his arms outstretched, always outstretched. She felt that lazy sensation in her mind, like sluggish pond water. She blinked. She felt so sleepy.
No. No. No!
She closed her eyes, set an image in her mind, a simple location, a very familiar place, and thought the thought. She felt the vibration.
Fear held her immobile—or maybe it was the sensation of flying through nether-space without someone else to serve as a tether, something she’d only done once before. The journey ended with her bare feet on hard planked wood in Antony’s bedroom, her mug still in her hand.
She glanced at Antony, who stood in front of the shattered mirror in the bathroom, his brush poised halfway down his hair as he stared back at her. He wore jeans and, once again, no shirt. She felt the air move near her and whirled around. Rith had followed her, traced after her.
She pointed at him and cried out, “Rith!”
From her peripheral vision in the direction of the bathroom she saw a flash of steel then Antony moved with preternatural speed as he streaked by her and blurred into the bedroom. His sword cut through empty air in exactly the same space the monster had inhabited a split second before.
He turned back to her, his eyes wide.
It had all happened so fast. “Did you see him?” she cried. “You saw him, right? Rith? Right?”
He nodded, his mouth agape. He looked at the floor as though trying to make sense of what had just happened. He shook his head. “Shit!” He vanished but popped back into the bedroom. He did this a couple of times.
“Shit! This is what happened to Jean-Pierre in the Toulouse farmhouse. How the f**k does Rith block a trace like that?” He was breathing hard. He looked confused.
He glanced at his sword and folded it away.
He moved toward her. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I think so.” Then her mind reviewed the last half minute of her life, in particular that very bizarre moment of watching Rith move toward her then make a simple decision to escape. “I folded again,” she said. “I thought the thought and I folded.”
“Where were you?”
“In the Italian garden, in the room with the lantana and ferns and the ficus trees. I was standing barefoot on the lawn. Havily had just folded back to Endelle’s office.” She looked down at her feet. “See. I’m still barefoot.” Which of course made no sense in terms of what she had just done, but somehow it made it more real for her.
He stood in front of her now, his lips parted, his eyes wide. He kept searching her face. She wasn’t sure what he meant by it. “You dematerialized again,” he stated.
She nodded.
“Of course you did. Shit, Parisa, we need to practice that, too.” He reached out and touched her arm almost as though he didn’t believe she was real. “I love that you’re so f**king powerful.”
Parisa looked away from him. His hand slid down her arm. He caught her hand. She didn’t let go. “Hey, you okay?” he asked.
“I got away from him but it feels like I just got lucky. That’s all.” She squeezed his hand. “He got through a dome of mist that Endelle, Endelle, created. He knew where I was and he waited until Havily was gone to try to abduct me again. He almost had me again.” Her chest felt tight but there were no tears. No more tears. She needed to figure this out. “How is that even possible?”
“I don’t know,” Antony said.
She drew her hand out of his and wrapped her arms around her stomach. “How am I supposed to stay secure or even stay alive if that bastard can get in here like this?” She paced in a circle. He didn’t try to stop her.
“We need to talk this over with Endelle,” he said. “I think we’re in real trouble here. We need a plan of attack. For whatever reason, Rith is determined to get you back.”
No shit.
***
Half an hour later, Parisa stood at the railing of Madame Endelle’s favorite garden at White Lake, the place Her Supremeness had elected to take the meeting. The garden had been modeled on the Butchart Gardens on Vancouver Island, Mortal Earth, which Havily had suggested she visit many decades prior. It was hard to imagine such a difficult woman being inspired by anything, but the sunken garden had done just that.
“I love this pit,” Endelle said. “How deep do you think it is, five hundred feet? Has to be more than that.” Both her hands gripped the iron railing that overlooked what amounted to paradise. Thousands of flowers, trees, and shrubs filled every bed. In the center, just like at Butchart, a small hill rose, a sort of earthen castle, a playground to climb, savor, and be enjoyed by children.
Parisa wondered if there would ever come a time when she would stand anywhere near Madame Endelle and not want to either cringe beneath her hard gaze, or scream at her. She was the hardest woman she had ever known. The warriors both feared and loved her. And she was tall, taller even than Antony when she wore her stilettos. And she always wore stilettos.
She sported cowhide today. Not fine leather, but actual hide in squares of brown and white, alternating like a checkerboard. The skirt was short and stiff, bristly. Parisa never knew what to make of the woman’s fashion choices.
She resisted the urge to pet the hide.
The strange piece was offset with a soft brown suede vest, cut deep so that four inches of cle**age showed. She had muscular arms. Had she not been Supreme High Administrator of Second Earth, Parisa thought Endelle could have served as a Warrior of the Blood.
Looking up at the formidable woman, Parisa asked, “Have there ever been any female Warriors of the Blood?”
Endelle’s brows rose. “What do you think?”