18: Come Now or Stay
Beth squeezed back against the apartment door and let the other two precede her. Eric first, battered, filthy, and mangled, with bruises darkening his throat—then Kory, looking thoroughly exhausted.
Riding in the Jeep wasn't easy for him. Too much Cold Iron; guess I should have gotten one of those little plastic Korean cars. He was in pain most of the ride. He'd never have managed if he hadn't had his armor to insulate him.
And there's too damned much unfinished business in here.
She closed the door and leaned back against it. "Well?" she said. "Talk, you guys. The tension in here is sharp enough to shave with."
Eric eyed her doubtfully. "Talk?" he faltered. "What about?"
She threw the double lock on the door—the one only she had ever been able to juggle open successfully. "You're trapped, guys. No getting out." She leered. "You're in my power."
Eric sagged down on the couch. "Oh come on, Beth—get serious."
"I am." She flopped down in her favorite papasan chair. "We've got the misunderstanding translated. Now—let's get personal things straightened out among the three of us."
Kory started to sit in the recliner—and Beth had a sudden vision of what all that metal would do to the leather upholstery. "Kory!" she yelped, and he froze; halfway between sitting and standing.
''Without the hardware. Please."
He flushed, and looked pleadingly at Eric. "Bard?" he said hesitantly.
Eric's head snapped up, his eyes wide and startled.
"Please, Bard—I—" Kory's flush deepened. "I have no magic left."
Now it was Eric's turn to blush. "Shit, Kory, I'm sorry—I—oh hell—" He fumbled his flute out of the case, and ran through a quick rendition of "Banish Misfortune." Two verses and a chorus later, Korendil eased down into the recliner clad in nothing more harmful than silk.
High Court garb, Beth was certain of it. One look at him, and half the producers in the Valley would be on their knees to him offering him contracts. She grinned to herself. And the other half of them would be offering him their—ahem. This is not the time. We've got a race of people to save, and if we can't get our act together we won't be able to.
But oh—he looked wonderful. Flowing azure silk, velvet, and gold trim, and jewelry of gold and sapphires; his golden curls tumbling into those incredible green eyes . . . and that body under all the finery . . .
Dammit, Kentraine, get your mind on business!
"Guys—"
"Kory—" Eric said, at exactly the same moment. And blushed again.
She bit back a giggle. Ye gods, he's got a low blush-factor. He looked at her uncertainly.
"Go on, Eric," she urged.
He blushed even redder and hung his head, staring at his flute. She looked over at Kory out of the corner of her eye. He was collapsed bonelessly in the recliner, eyes half-closed.
"Kory?" Eric said, very softly. "Kory? Listen. Please don't call me 'Bard.' Please?"
"But it's what you are," Kory replied, without looking up at him.
"Yeah, I know that's what I am—I mean, now I do. For a while there, I didn't seem to know much of anything. But the way you're saying it, it's like we aren't friends anymore." The sadness in his voice penetrated Kory's weariness, and made him open his eyes wide.
Beth held her breath as the elf flowed up out of the recliner and slowly took a single step toward the musician. "Are we friends, Eric?" Korendil asked. "Are you doing this now, finally helping us out of guilt or—"
"Kory," Eric said urgently, finally looking up and meeting the elf s eyes. "Kory, please. Yes, I know I've done some really stupid things, how the hell could I not feel guilty about that? I nearly killed you—"
Kory took another step toward him, and towered over Eric, his face gone utterly still.
Eric kept his eyes fixed on Kory's. "But it's not just that. I mean, that's not all. I . . . like you, Kory. I thought you liked me, before I messed things up. I want you to like me again. I never had any friends like you and—and Beth before. People who really give a damn about me. And if I screw this one up—" He clenched his jaw against something. Beth thought—tears?
"Kory, I'm scared. I don't know what I'm doing. I know what's going to happen when we try to fix the nexus. It's obvious they're going to try and stop us—and they aren't gonna do it halfway. Any of us could end up—I mean, I don't want to die—but it won't be so bad if—if—I know I've got friends again. If—if it isn't alone—"
Korendil reached down, took Eric's hands in his, and pulled him to his feet.
Oh gods, Kory, don't kiss him again. He doesn't know how to deal with that at all . . . hell, I barely know how to deal with that!
But the elf only put one hand on each of his shoulders, gazed into his eyes, and said, huskily, "You have friends, Eric. Friends who will die beside you, if need be. Two, at least; Beth—and myself. Is that enough?"
And it was Eric who made a strange little sound in the back of his throat and threw his arms around the elf. Kory hugged him back—but carefully, breaking off the embrace when Eric pulled away.
But Eric didn't pull completely away, not like he'd done back at the Faire site. He kept his hands on Kory's shoulders, and his gaze locked with Kory's—and Beth began to feel as if they were reaching some kind of a deep, wordless understanding.
It was a little uncomfortable. I feel like a Peeping Tom or something, she thought; she rose to her feet, and began edging toward the kitchen. Maybe if I go fix some herb tea or some—
She stopped, because Kory's hand was on her elbow. He drew her towards the two of them.
Then Eric's arm was around her waist, and she was part of a three-way embrace that was so warm and intimate that she had to close her eyes and hold her breath.
Oh gods, oh gods—don't ever let this stop—
"Beth," Eric said, slowly, as if he was thinking out every word. "I'm sorry. I screwed things up for you, too. Beth, I never meant to hurt you. I—I'm sorry. I guess I'm saying that a lot. I—I guess I've got a lot to be sorry for."
"I think," Kory replied softly, and very carefully, "that we should all agree to forgive each other and let the past bury itself. We, all three of us, delivered soul-wounds, whether we meant to or no. I am as guilty of that as you are, Eric. No matter that I did so out of ignorance—the hurt was there, I saw it, and I did not try to heal the hurt in time."
Beth saw the image in Kory's mind, the moment in the kitchen when Kory walked in and kissed her—saw through Kory's eyes the hurt, the betrayal in Eric's expression.
She blinked, and felt a stab of guilt at her own actions—that she had been so angry at Eric for vanishing at the demonstration that she had flaunted Kory in his face.
"Me too," she heard herself saying, her voice gone husky. "I didn't think you would care so much about Kory and me. And—I wanted to hurt you, Eric. It was stupid and childish, and I did it anyway."
"So—can we three find forgiveness in each other's hearts, do you think?" Kory finished.
She looked at Eric—
He was crying, and nodding. So was Kory.
So, she discovered, was she. She squeezed her eyes shut again, and hugged them as hard as she could. Within milliseconds, they had responded.
And . . . something stirred.
After years of raising the Cone of Power in Circle, Beth knew the sensation when Power began moving. And this was Power; a Power uniting the three of them, binding them, weaving them into a three-stranded braid of love and faith and strength that nothing would break short of death.
My gods. No. Yes. Jesus Frog on a pogo stick—
This isn't possible. It can't work.
Why not? she asked herself as the power continued to bind them into the whole. A tripod is the most stable configuration there is. A three-sided column bears more weight per inch of surface than a square one. An equilateral triangle is the prime geometric shape—
It's crazy, that's why.
She wondered if Eric was hearing the power-flow as music. She cracked her eyes open a little, and saw his beatific expression and figured that he was. What the hell. So it's crazy. I'm crazy.
She immersed herself in the binding.
The power faded—as it was inevitable that it should do. Reality intruded itself, and with it, certain discomforts. Like Kory's damned armor digging into my— "I hate to break this up," she said, a little hoarse from the emotional overload, "but you're leaving chain-mail imprints on my chest, elf."
Kory chuckled, and let her go. She opened her eyes—and gasped.
Jesus H. Frog—
Her jeans and T-shirt had somehow been transmuted; now she was wearing something like a fabulous cross between Faire garb and her stage gear. Flowing black silk shirt and breeches, tight black leather tunic and thigh-boots and gloves, all trimmed and studded in silver.
Kory, clad again in his armor, was splendid enough—but Eric—
He had been disheveled, filthy, his hair straggling into his eyes; bruised, and generally looking as though he'd been through the tumble cycle on a dryer. With rocks and mud and razor blades. The only thing about him that had looked worth saving had been a pair of burgundy-leather Faire boots—and those had needed cleaning badly.
That had been a few moments ago. But now—
Now he was clean, as immaculately groomed as Kory, and clad head-to-toe in a elven Court costume of silk, satin, and soft sueded leather, all in a rich wine color trimmed in sliver.
But as Beth looked at him in wonder, she realized that there was something more changed than simply clothing—there was a look in his eyes. A stability. As if he'd finally found himself.
Like . . . he's finally grown up. He's what I never dared hoped he'd be. That's why the power—the binding. There was pain there, and a self-knowledge that wasn't for from pain. Maturity and depth. And not even a hint of bitterness. He looked like a Bard, every inch of him.
Is this what Kory saw in him, all this time?
Kory had switched back out of his Court gear and into his armor, as Beth's chest could attest.
They looked incredible. Beth caught her breath at the realization of how much she loved both of them.
"Jesus," she said, half in awe, half in an attempt at flippancy. "I'm locked in my apartment with the two most gorgeous hunks in the Valley."
She expected some kind of response to that out of Kory—but it was Eric who went to one knee; then kissed her hand, and replied, looking to each of them with a grin, "Nay, lass, ye've got it backwards. I'm locked in your apartment with"—he dropped the accent—"with the two most wonderful people in the universe."
Kory reached down and brushed his cheek lightly with his fingertips, then held out the hand to help him to his feet again. Eric took it.
She saw that look creep into their eyes again, and realized that it would be all too easy for them to mesmerize each other for the rest of the morning.
"Okay, you sexy things, we'd better get our rears in gear," she said. "Eric—would it help if you had musical backup that's equally used to being magical backup?"
Eric stood by the apartment window, half-listening to Beth on the phone, half-embroiled in the endless questions that refused to leave him alone.
". . . yeah, Allie, I know, you're supposed to be at work at noon . . . I thought it was hopeless, too, but we've got a chance now. Eric came back last night."
In the street below, the rush-hour traffic was just starting. As Eric watched, an ivory limousine glided past, disappearing into the apartment complex's parking lot.
A white limo? Where have I seen one of those lately?
Those crazy guys from the Mad Hatter booth who showed up last weekend on Fairesite in a limo? No, theirs was a black stretch model, I remember that now.
Besides, that was months ago, remember?
He glanced back at Beth, now dialing another number. And Kory, soundly asleep in the recliner.
He looks so . . . peaceful, sleeping like that. Even with that one silly curl that keeps falling over his eyes, every time he shifts a little.
Eric resisted the impulse to walk over and brush that curl back into place. He glanced back at Beth, and saw her watching him with that familiar, speculative, thoughtful gaze.
Well, at least Kory's getting some rest. I wish I could fail asleep like that. I feel like I haven't slept in days. Which isn't too far off the truth, actually.
It looks like all of this is gonna work. The band and the elves are meeting us at the donut shop, then we'll head up to the hills. And me—I'll do whatever it is that I'm supposed to do.
God, I have never been so scared in all my life.
Beth hung up the phone, and walked back towards Eric and Kory. She bent over the sleeping elf, and kissed him tenderly. "Hey, handsome. Time to go."
Kory's eyes opened instantly, and he gazed up at Beth. She smiled, and lightly pushed that errant curl, the same one that Eric had wanted to fix, away from Kory's eyes.
Then she walked over to the wall, where a guitar case was propped against a cabinet.
Beth picked up the guitar case and cradled it lovingly. "This," she said with the air of a mother showing off her firstborn child, "is my twelve-string acoustic guitar, hand-built by John Mello, a terrific guitar luthier up in Berkeley. It cost more than I'd care to mention—but I'd been earning good money for a while, and I figured it was well-spent on this baby." She patted the case with a fond, possessive smile. "Now I'm glad I got her. We're going to need every edge we can get. The others'll be bringing their best stuff as well. Believe me, Eric, you're going to have the finest backups you've ever imagined." She slung her purse over her shoulder, and hefted the guitar case in her other hand. "Well, gentlemen, shall we?"
I'm starting to think this might really work. That maybe we can really make this happen—
"Let's hit the road," he said, turning away from the window.
A faint burst of melody flickered across Eric's thoughts, a brief flutter of distant, discordant music, almost too low to be heard, as he walked back to pick up his flute from the couch.
Then all he could hear was Bern's terrified scream as the living room suddenly exploded into roaring flames.
Jesus H.—
Eric stumbled backward against the wall, one hand flung over his eyes as the fire leaped up before him. Everything around him was burning, green light glowing in weird patterns.
The couch ignited before his eyes, instantly charring and crumbling into gray ash. Eric backed up along the wall, choking in the thickening smoke.
Can't—can't see the others—oh God—
His path to the door was already blocked by green flames, burning even brighter as they encircled him.
Green fire—it's Perenor! He's trying to kill us all!
Eric saw Beth trying to open the closed window through the flames, the frame already buckling from the heat. Then she raised her guitar case and smashed the glass.
The noise was barely audible over the sound of the crackling flames.
At least Beth can get out of here, escape before we all turn into kabobs. And maybe Kory—where in the hell is he? I can't see him through the smoke—
His eyes watering too much for him to see anymore, Eric tried to feel his way along the way—and stopped, sensing the fire, only inches away from him in every direction.
And the malevolence directing the blaze, the intense hatred that fueled the flames.
The hatred, directed at Eric.
:And so it ends, Bard—:
Then someone crashed into Eric with a tackle worthy of a professional football player, slamming him to the floor. He felt himself being physically lifted and hurled through the air, to land in a smoldering heap next to the shattered window.
Kory shoved him through the rough glass, to where Beth was standing on the ledge outside. Beth and Kory both held on to Eric as he choked, trying to catch his breath, wiping the tears from his eyes with a sooty hand.
"I'm—I'm okay," he said at last. Without speaking, Kory and Beth helped him to the corner of the building, where they jumped down safely onto a parked pickup truck.
Eric glanced back at the upstairs apartment, as the windows burst from the heat, the green flames licking hungrily at the walls and roof.
This guy is definitely playing for keeps. That was too close.
He was suddenly aware of Beth's voice, next to his right ear.
". . . that sonuvabitch, that was my books, my records, my art, dammit, all of my costumes, my Fender guitar, that bastard just burned up everything I own! Christ, Eric, he did this to both of us! God, I am going to kill that fucker!" She raised the guitar case like a sword, ready to hack away at anything before her.
Eric glanced at Beth, ranting furiously, filthy with soot, her hair singed at the edges; and Kory, next to her, who for once genuinely looked like hell. I can't do anything about all of that stuff upstairs, but—but this—just like what Kory did earlier, only more specific—
He closed his eyes and concentrated on a thin thread of melody, "Oh, the Britches, They Have Stitches," and imagined—
All of us, looking just fine, damn Perenor's eyes.
This time, he could feel the music weaving around them, the Power taking shape beneath his hands. A moment later, he opened his eyes—
And looked across the parking lot to where a tall, silver-haired man was standing next to a white limo. Watching them.
Calmly, slowly, Perenor began to walk towards them.
Eric just grabbed both Kory and Beth by the hands and ran for Beth's Jeep parked twenty feet away. Beth vaulted into the driver's seat as Kory and Eric scrambled into the back, Beth shoving the key into the ignition and cranking the engine hard.
Perenor only continued walking towards them. Even from a distance, Eric could see the smile flickering across his lips.
Christ, he's playing with us, he knows he's going to get us, no matter if we try to run—
The Jeep's engine suddenly sputtered into life, and Beth snapped the emergency brake loose, hitting the gas hard. The vehicle virtually leaped forward, heading straight for the parking lot exit.
Maybe we can get out of here before he fries us all—
Then Eric noticed the dark fire burning in Beth's eyes.
Uh oh.
"No, dammit," Beth said from between clenched teeth. "I'm tired of running from this guy. I am tired of this guy, period."
"Beth—!" Eric yelped, but she yanked the wheel hard, simultaneously flooring the gas pedal. The Jeep's tires screamed as it accelerated.
Heading straight towards Perenor.
Eric saw Kory's wide-eyed expression of disbelief as the elf looked back at him in shock, then Perenor was directly ahead of them.
Oh God, she's going to hit him straight on—
Eric winced, expecting the impact at any second. She's gonna— But this guy deserves it—what he did to Phil, and the others, he deserves to die like an animal, like roadkill— He forced himself to look up, wanting to see the look on the elf-lord's face, to see him die. To see how you'll react to being cut down, you bastard, just like all the people you've killed—
And then he saw Perenor smile, as with a contemptuous flick of his wrist, he vanished. The Jeep careened directly over the spot where he had stood.
Beth barely slammed on the brakes in time to prevent crashing right into a parked van. The Jeep squealed to a stop, and the three of them just sat there for a moment, staring at each other.
"I knew it couldn't be that easy," Kory said at last. "We had best go to meet the others quickly. I am certain that will not be Perenor's last attempt to thwart us."
Yeah. He's got too much riding on this to let us win. Him and Ria both.
Ria—
What am I gong to do, if she tries to kill me? What if I can't bring myself to fight her?
What if I can't handle the magic, if I can't create the new nexus?
Then Kory will die.
Oh God, please, no.
Yeah, I'm scared. If I blow this, there won't be a second chance.
And what if . . .
At this hour of morning, Whoopie Donuts was virtually deserted, except for the bored man in a dirty white smock wiping the counter with a rag. Eric walked in with Beth and Kory, glancing around to see if any of .the others had arrived yet.
Just us, so far.
This was a great place to meet. I wonder if sugar donuts can have a positive effect on Bardic magic? A cup of coffee will probably help, at any rate.
Eric reached out with his thoughts, touching the small bit of magic he had created while they were in the Jeep under Kory's direction. A disguise spell. To make Kory look like a normal guy, sans armor and sword. Double-Oh-Seven, eat your heart out.
They walked up to the counter, where the proprietor barely gave them a cursory look before jotting down their order.
When the man pushed two cups of coffee and an orange juice across the counter to them, Eric picked up the Styrofoam cup and sipped gratefully, feeling the strong drink heating him all the way down.
Down to that cold lump in my stomach, right next to the butterflies.
Stay cool, Eric. It's okay to be nervous. After all, I've never saved the elven race before. This is a first.
The only other patrons were two women, seated at one of the plastic tables across the room. Eric glanced idly at them, then realized they were staring at Kory.
As if they could see him as what he was, not a myopic teenager in a blue T-shirt and jeans.
Oh well. So much for the disguises. Great idea, Kory.
One of the two looked as if she was going to stand up. Then (amid the squealing of tires that sounded, to Eric's tired ears, vaguely like horses) the rest of the elves arrived.
Eric peered through the glass door and saw Val: a beautiful, silver-haired woman wearing a stylish blue linen dress, stepping out of a white Corvette—
No, an elf-woman, regal with years beyond counting, garbed in blue silk, standing beside a white stallion that butted playfully at her hand as she moved away from it, striding toward the glass door of the donut shop—
This is definitely too weird for words.
The man at the counter glanced up as Val and Eldenor walked into the shop, then went back to polishing the Formica. But if anything, the two women's eyes were even wider.
And Eric caught a flicker of light about them. Not silver, like Phil's had been, but a sweet hint of green. Not the green of decay, like Perenor s, but playful green, like sunlight shining through the ocean waves. With unseen depths, living power welling up from below.
Sonuva— Hey, maybe it's not the disguises that are the problem here—
Eric took a good look at the two, trying to figure out who—or what—they were. And why they're in here right now, with us—
The fiftyish, coffee-skinned woman, her silver hair coiled in an elegant braid, was watching them with a faint, knowing smile. Next to her was a young girl, maybe fifteen, with short brown hair and a skin-tight black leather jacket that would make any biker turn green with envy. Eric winced, seeing the safety pins visible in her ears as the kid turned her head, eyeing all of them suspiciously. Especially Eric.
That older lady—I feel almost as if I've met her before. That calm, quiet way of looking at the world, like she understands people, and knows she can handle anything.
But that kid—if I saw her on the street, I think I'd run; just so she wouldn't have enough time to stick a knife in me. What are those two doing together? They're the unlikeliest pair I've seen in a long time.
The kid leaned over and whispered something to the woman, who nodded.
"Hey, who are you guys?" the girl called from across the room.
Eric, Beth, and Kory exchanged glances, then Beth smiled.
"We're in a play," Beth said, absolutely straight-faced. "It's a remake of West Side Story. Set in Tolkien's Middle Earth."
"Oh, come on, don't give me that shit," the girl said, with narrowed eyes.
"Kayla," the older woman said reprovingly. The girl shrugged. "Hey, it's the truth. She's bullshitting us." The kid looked up at Beth with a wicked grin. "Don't get me wrong, I sure wouldn't expect you to tell the truth—like why you're wandering around Los Angeles with a group of elves. Is Sauron in town or something?"
"Much worse," Beth said, very quietly. She glanced at Eric. "Banyon, why don't you go get us some more donuts or something, while I talk to these ladies?"
"Sure," Eric said. He waited at the counter behind two of the other elves, each of whom produced a fifty-dollar bill to pay for their breakfast.
There sure are lots of those fifties floating around in this elven community. I just hope this guy doesn't look at the serial numbers—
"What's a bearclaw?" Eldenor asked another elf behind him, in a low voice.
The second shrugged. "I don't know. Does sound familiar though, doesn't it?"
Donuts in hand, Eric sat at the edge of the one of tables, where two of the High Court, as brightly colored as tropical fish, were catching up on gossip for the last ten years. They smiled at Eric as he sat down with them, but continued with their conversation.
Eric glanced down at his donut, and wondered for the thousandth time what he was doing here.
It never changes. Even now, when I'm probably about to get myself toasted for these people, I'm not really a part of their group.
He bit into the donut, liberally dusting himself with powdered sugar. It's just like Faire, all over again; I'm on the outside, looking in.
Then Korendil sat down across from him, an éclair in his hand. "Bard—Eric, rather—have you tried one of these? The proprietor says they are quite fine, in truth—"
"No, thanks." Chocolate éclairs really aren't my scene, I'm more into powdered sugar, really . . . Hey, wait a second—ohmigod—chocolate!
Eric swatted the confection out of Kory's hand, just as he was about to bite into it. The éclair skidded across the floor, as Kory stared at him.
"That was a chocolate eclair," Eric explained quickly, hoping that Kory would wait for the explanation before swatting him. "Chocolate has some caffeine in it. I don't know if it's enough to affect you or not, but I didn't want to take the chance."
Kory just looked at him for a moment, then he reached across the table, squeezing Eric's sugar-dusted hand gently. "Again, you are guarding me from harm, Eric. I must learn more of the ways of this human world, or you will have to spend all of your time protecting this foolish, headstrong elf."
"That's okay," Eric said, past the lump in his throat. "You've saved my ass more than a few times, yourself. We'll just have to keep looking out for each other, that's all."
They both looked up as Beth, a Styrofoam cup of coffee in her hand, slid in next to them. Eric leaned past her to look at the empty table where the two women had been seated. "Is everything all right?" he asked.
Like, are those two going directly to the cops to tell them about the loons in the donut shop, or what?
"Everything's fine," Beth said, adding some extra sugar to her coffee. "Turns out those two are the same kind of people as you are, Eric. Well, sort of. They're Healers. I let them know that we're heading into some rough stuff, and Elizabet promised to keep her ears open in case we need her help. Which, with any luck, we won't."
"That little punkette was a Healer?" Eric tried to reconcile the two images in his mind, and came up with a complete blank.
"Kayla is Elizabeth's apprentice," Beth said. "And pretty damn good at the trade, from the sound of it. She's a nice kid."
A nice kid? Are we talking about the same girl? The one with the pins in her ears?
Then again, Beth does tend towards the black studded leather herself—
What the hell. If things turn out bad, we'll need their help, in a big way.
But it is one hell of a coincidence that they just happened to be in here eating donuts this morning—
"Beth!"
The other three members of Spiral Dance entered the shop, starting towards them.
Eric felt a tight fist closing around his gut. Everybody's here. This means we're going to head over to Griffith Park and actually do this thing.
And Ria and Perenor may try to stop us. Or, if we're lucky, they won't.
Personally, I'm not betting on that kind of luck.
He glanced at Beth, talking animatedly with Allie and Jim; and at Kory, sitting so close beside her.
At this point, I don't really care if she dumps me for him. Not now. I just want all of us to live through this That's all I care about right now.
I'll worry about the rest of that later.
Afterwards.