[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
bad."
The priestess, white robes fouled and torn, joined them. A massive bruise covered one side of her face.
She stood alone, Culéoin thought, shamed, and bowed deeply.
"Lady. I will deliver stone and scepter on the morrow, into your own hands. This I vow."
* * *
Shadow's Cloak drew up to the curb outside the temple in answer to his call. Elvensteeds were the
Underhill equivalent of horses if a horse could assume any shape it wanted and required no assistance
on its rider's part. She had chosen her most glamorous appearance, a jet-black 1956 Mercedes 300 SL
gull-wing coupe.
Zeke gave a low wolf whistle of respect and ran his hand down one silken fender. Culéoin smiled as the
normally silent elvensteed made engine-noises of appreciation. Her feminine curves, proud sleek nose,
trim V of a tail, and winged doors had seduced many a man, and she knew it.
Zeke has seen too much this night; I should send him home,Culéoin thought as they got in.Should
have thought of that one earlier. Already there were bound to be more questions than he really
wanted to answer.
Culéoin frowned, searching the contents of one pocket. An hourglass a quarter-inch tall, a silver
penknife, several small crystal marbles, each containing a single spell. La Chasseuse was not there. He
had better luck with the other pocket. Whispering softly to her, he sat back as the cube, a tightly
wrapped essence of Seeking that glowed dull red, quickly unfolded itself. He looked over at Zeke.
"Now that I know his energy signature, I can use this spell to track down the man who sent the zombies.
Find him, find the scepter, find the stone. No problem."
Culéoin smiled at Zeke, who smiled back, but the easy comfort between them was strained. Culéoin
could almost hear the questions piling up.
Norenlod, you idiot.
La Chasseuse's cube was gone, unfolded to a shapeless red glow of Magus force hovering over his
hand. Culéoin slipped one hand around it and stroked it lovingly.
"What're you petting?" Zeke asked.
"My hound," Culéoin replied dryly. "Once she's set on her scent, even Magus-sight won't reveal her
presence to anyone except me and mine."
He lowered the window and released the little ball. It hovered just off the ground in front of Shadow's
Cloak, who faked the appropriate shifting noises as she moved out into traffic following the energy
essence.
Before the silence between them got too awkward, Zeke took pity on him and said, drawling out each
word, "So that's diplomacy."
Culéoin chuckled. He is kind. "Some days go better than others."
Zeke grinned then relapsed into silence. Zeke's waiting. Say you're sorry. Confess. Tell him what you
are.
No.
Several times Zeke seemed on the verge of speaking; Culéoin braced himself for the inevitable. It came.
Zeke sketched a vague circle encompassing Culéoin, the Elvensteed, and the day's events.
"So why didn't you ever mention all of, well, this?"
Culéoin took his time replying as Shadow's Cloak cornered particularly fast.Because you didn't need to
know. It didn't touch you, and I wanted to keep it that way. "Because all of this . . ." He repeated the
gesture. "Is not what I come to Mardi Gras for,muirnín ."
They were slowing now, turns coming less often. La Chasseuse hesitated, bobbing up and down in
place, then stopped decisively in front of a padded black-leather door.
* * *
As they entered the exclusive club, Zeke Washington no longer worried about what had happened to his
Mardi Gras. He worried about who or what his lover really was.
He knew this place only by repute, since his tastes had never run to leather and chains. The padded
door set the tone for the interior, which combined black leather and gleaming brass on every bit of wall
not covered by mirrors. He'd agreed when Colin had suggested another kenned change in wardrobe, but
this just felt wrong.
Zeke ran his thumb down the side of his pants, uncomfortable. He'd started the evening in his favorite
jeans and a Thelonious Monk T-shirt. First they'd been morphed into Elven Court garb. Now his jeans
were so tight he expected to find each individual thread imprinted on his skin, and the T-shirt, sleek black
leather instead of cotton, exposed half his chest and back behind lacing that crisscrossed almost to belt
level. The effect suited the club's ambiance better than Zeke's own clothes, but that made him even more
uneasy.
Colin's hair now reached his waist, pulled into a tight leather-laced braid. Only the single lock of silver
remained unchanged. The reassuringly familiar strand fell, and Zeke felt a chill that had nothing to do with [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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bad."
The priestess, white robes fouled and torn, joined them. A massive bruise covered one side of her face.
She stood alone, Culéoin thought, shamed, and bowed deeply.
"Lady. I will deliver stone and scepter on the morrow, into your own hands. This I vow."
* * *
Shadow's Cloak drew up to the curb outside the temple in answer to his call. Elvensteeds were the
Underhill equivalent of horses if a horse could assume any shape it wanted and required no assistance
on its rider's part. She had chosen her most glamorous appearance, a jet-black 1956 Mercedes 300 SL
gull-wing coupe.
Zeke gave a low wolf whistle of respect and ran his hand down one silken fender. Culéoin smiled as the
normally silent elvensteed made engine-noises of appreciation. Her feminine curves, proud sleek nose,
trim V of a tail, and winged doors had seduced many a man, and she knew it.
Zeke has seen too much this night; I should send him home,Culéoin thought as they got in.Should
have thought of that one earlier. Already there were bound to be more questions than he really
wanted to answer.
Culéoin frowned, searching the contents of one pocket. An hourglass a quarter-inch tall, a silver
penknife, several small crystal marbles, each containing a single spell. La Chasseuse was not there. He
had better luck with the other pocket. Whispering softly to her, he sat back as the cube, a tightly
wrapped essence of Seeking that glowed dull red, quickly unfolded itself. He looked over at Zeke.
"Now that I know his energy signature, I can use this spell to track down the man who sent the zombies.
Find him, find the scepter, find the stone. No problem."
Culéoin smiled at Zeke, who smiled back, but the easy comfort between them was strained. Culéoin
could almost hear the questions piling up.
Norenlod, you idiot.
La Chasseuse's cube was gone, unfolded to a shapeless red glow of Magus force hovering over his
hand. Culéoin slipped one hand around it and stroked it lovingly.
"What're you petting?" Zeke asked.
"My hound," Culéoin replied dryly. "Once she's set on her scent, even Magus-sight won't reveal her
presence to anyone except me and mine."
He lowered the window and released the little ball. It hovered just off the ground in front of Shadow's
Cloak, who faked the appropriate shifting noises as she moved out into traffic following the energy
essence.
Before the silence between them got too awkward, Zeke took pity on him and said, drawling out each
word, "So that's diplomacy."
Culéoin chuckled. He is kind. "Some days go better than others."
Zeke grinned then relapsed into silence. Zeke's waiting. Say you're sorry. Confess. Tell him what you
are.
No.
Several times Zeke seemed on the verge of speaking; Culéoin braced himself for the inevitable. It came.
Zeke sketched a vague circle encompassing Culéoin, the Elvensteed, and the day's events.
"So why didn't you ever mention all of, well, this?"
Culéoin took his time replying as Shadow's Cloak cornered particularly fast.Because you didn't need to
know. It didn't touch you, and I wanted to keep it that way. "Because all of this . . ." He repeated the
gesture. "Is not what I come to Mardi Gras for,muirnín ."
They were slowing now, turns coming less often. La Chasseuse hesitated, bobbing up and down in
place, then stopped decisively in front of a padded black-leather door.
* * *
As they entered the exclusive club, Zeke Washington no longer worried about what had happened to his
Mardi Gras. He worried about who or what his lover really was.
He knew this place only by repute, since his tastes had never run to leather and chains. The padded
door set the tone for the interior, which combined black leather and gleaming brass on every bit of wall
not covered by mirrors. He'd agreed when Colin had suggested another kenned change in wardrobe, but
this just felt wrong.
Zeke ran his thumb down the side of his pants, uncomfortable. He'd started the evening in his favorite
jeans and a Thelonious Monk T-shirt. First they'd been morphed into Elven Court garb. Now his jeans
were so tight he expected to find each individual thread imprinted on his skin, and the T-shirt, sleek black
leather instead of cotton, exposed half his chest and back behind lacing that crisscrossed almost to belt
level. The effect suited the club's ambiance better than Zeke's own clothes, but that made him even more
uneasy.
Colin's hair now reached his waist, pulled into a tight leather-laced braid. Only the single lock of silver
remained unchanged. The reassuringly familiar strand fell, and Zeke felt a chill that had nothing to do with [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]