She waved a sheaf of papers in the air. “Alison, you are to report to the Militia Warrior Training Camps, Female Division. Your CO will expect you tomorrow at eight o’clock sharp. All the information is here.”
“What?” Alison cried.
“She’s not a warrior!” Kerrick shouted. He had moved, jerking forward, but oh dear God that was so the wrong thing to do given his recent surgery. He settled back against the pillows and groaned … loud. Sweat broke out all over his body. He struggled to breathe as pain shot through his stitched-up organs and muscles as though someone had fired up a flamethrower and turned it on high. Christ almighty. Obscenities a mile long flowed through his head.
“You were saying?” Endelle murmured. She even laughed.
The bitch was back and apparently full of plans.
Endelle cut her gaze to Alison. “Your exceptional powers must be put to the best possible use. When properly trained, I know you’ll be able to battle death vamps one-on-one, and with experience over the next several decades you might even be in charge of the facility; certainly you’ll be training warriors by then. You do know about our Militia Warriors.”
Alison’s voice sounded faint, disbelieving. “They’re sort of like the National Guard and a police force combined. But—”
Endelle cut her off. “Yeah, that’s about right and you’ll be one of them so no more discussion about leaving Phoenix Two. And for God’s sake, no f**king whining! Oh, and congratulations on the baby. Good luck, ascender Wells.” As she dematerialized, she tossed the papers in the air. They floated every which way, a couple of them landing on Kerrick’s bed.
Alison gestured in the direction of Endelle’s recent appearance. “What on earth was she wearing? The fur was bristled, kind of stiff. What was that?”
Kerrick shook his head. “I don’t know. Hyena?”
Alison laughed but shortly afterward her expression fell. She planted her hands on her hips and shook her head over and over. Meeting his gaze, she said, “I can’t believe she expects me to be a warrior. I’m about as fit to be a warrior as you are a … a … well, a hairdresser, for God’s sake.”
He let loose a bark of laughter, gasped as pain ignited once more, then clawed for air. “Don’t … make me … laugh,” he sputtered.
“Sorry. That wasn’t meant to be funny but it kind of is.” When she started to laugh again, he put a pillow over his abdomen and took more deep breaths.
Yeah, a woman—now a vampire—who could make him laugh. How the hell was he supposed to let her go?
The shared amusement didn’t last long, however, and for the next hour, she sat beside the bed just holding his hand, not speaking, and once more making a serious effort to empty the tissue box.
* * *
Alison flew over White Lake. Euphoria kept her mind in a state of bliss, her heart fluttering in her chest, her fingertips tingling. She stretched out on the wind, her wings propelling her forward in deep pulls.
Flight. Best creation ever.
As before, she dipped in the direction of the lake, dropped her legs, fluffed her wings into an almost parachute-like position, and slowly descended to the water. Her toes dipped in. The lake anchored her.
A tremendous yearning filled her chest, a longing so fierce she wanted to weep and shout and cry out. She looked up, straight up, and this time she saw a swirling blue vortex and beyond … oh, she could see beyond to a new world of white marble villas, some hanging among the clouds, a beautiful world.
Third Earth. Same geography. Different dimension.
The yearning increased. She tried to fly upward, but the lake had its hold on her, a powerful grip, which she could not break no matter how hard she tried.
The presence of others encouraged her, strengthened her. She took their hands. Together they formed a powerful chain until at last she began to rise. The hands dropped away. She flew straight up, into the swirling blue vortex, faster and faster.
“Not yet,” a man’s voice cried out, an unfamiliar voice. “You must wait a little while longer but you will be the instrument of breaking that which must be broken. In the fullness of time, all will be revealed.”
Alison awoke, her eyes flipping open to the sight of another ceiling. Oh, the ceiling in Havily’s spare room. She pressed a hand to her chest. The yearning remained, the longing for Third Earth. She had just arrived on Second. How could she already be feeling such things, all over again, for a different dimension?
Guardian drifted through her mind, in almost the same masculine voice as she had heard speaking in her dream.
She squeezed her eyes shut and took deep breaths. The dream had advanced. Others, though indistinguishable, had been in the dream, and this time she had flown toward the Trough, toward the blue spinning vortex that led to Third Earth. To break that which must be broken.
Here she was headed to the Female Militia Warrior Training Camp and still dreaming, even more forcefully, about Third Earth.
Just what the hell was she supposed to do with that?
* * *
“Fuck off.” Kerrick glared at Jean-Pierre. Six days in the hospital had worn on his nerves and now his brother lounged in one of the chairs, his words designed to torment.
Jean-Pierre shrugged. “But if you do not want her, Kerrick”—his name sounded like Karreek—“I wish to court her. She’s lovely and smells of the sea.”
She smells of lavender you f**king idiot and there’s no way in hell I’ll let you near her.
He looked away from Jean-Pierre. “Why the f**k are you here?”
“To open your eyes, you motherless piece of shit.” Again … sheet. But the women loved his accent. Would Alison?
He shuddered. He threw back the light covers then flipped his legs over the side of the hospital bed. He ached over his abdomen but he was well enough to get the hell out of bed and out of this sterile environment. He folded off the gown and with enough speed to keep Jean-Pierre from going blind, folded on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
He stood up, but staggered.
Jean-Pierre caught his arm. Kerrick shook it off. “So you came here to bust my balls over … ascender Wells.”
“I came,” he said, easing his voice over the English words, “to talk sense into that fat head of yours, mon ami.”
“Her decision as much as mine.”
“She belongs to you, you must see that. She is your breh and she carries your child. Don’t be so f**king stupid.” Stoopeed. “Très stupide. Idiot. You love her, non?”