Dark Company (27 page)

She touched the dressing on her shoulder. The wound was hot and festering. Lifting a corner of the bandage, Skylark peeled it back to take a look. The dark hole gaped at her, ragged and inky as the underside of a toadstool. She covered it with the bandage again and thought about Sebastian. Had he suffered when he died? She was sorry for the mouse, really, though she wasn’t nearly as upset as she knew she should be. He was a casualty of war, she told herself. It was as simple as that. Her mind wandered to Kenji. She wondered if he was at the bar, drinking away his anger. Maybe she should go and see for herself. She was feeling restless, anyway, and could use a distraction.

Sitting up, she swung her legs easily over the side of the bed and dressed herself. First the breastplate, then the glove and wrist guard and, finally, the Elusive Ephemeral, which had been waiting patiently in its shroud of mist beside the bed. She slung the bow and quiver over her shoulder, triggering a sharp pain in her wound. This time, she embraced it, revelling in the feeling as she threw her head back and morphed into her human form. The Ephemeral scrolled to the colour of gun metal and vanished, concealed against her shirt. Skylark conjured a mirror to admire her reflection, turning her head from side to side. Her violet eyes had darkened to the richest colour of amethyst. “Beautiful,” she said, tossing the mirror back into the ether and zeroing in on Kenji’s energy.

“Take me to where he is now.”

The lights began to blur, and with a jet engine roar Skylark shot from the hospital room. Touching down, she was delighted to see she hadn’t reverted as before. She credited him, the one whose darkness flowed through her. He had made her stronger. She looked around. She hadn’t landed at the bar. She was standing in a garden outside a teahouse in eighteenth-century Japan. There was music coming from the building. She prowled toward one of teahouse’s translucent paper windows and peeped through a small hole.

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

A dozen Japanese men sat on the floor, transfixed. Skylark followed their line of sight to the front of the room where the most exquisite geisha danced. Her fan moved as delicately as a butterfly. Her voice was haunting, like the fluty song of a wood thrush calling through the trees. Skylark was spellbound. And then she saw him, standing at the back, bewitched by the geisha’s charm.

The look of shock on Kenji’s face when she entered the room was delectable. “So … this is where you go …”

“What are you doing here?” Kenji demanded.

He was cagey as a tiger. Skylark laughed. “Why? Afraid I’ll upset your pretty girlfriend?” She walked around the geisha, appraising her kimono. “Nice dress.”

Kenji gritted his teeth. “Get out, Skylark.”

“Make me.”

He lunged and she dodged him, the geisha’s kimono ruffling in his wake. The geisha paused, recovered artfully and continued to dance.

“Careful,” Skylark said. “You’re leaving your grubby little energetic prints all over this place.”

Kenji stepped cautiously toward her. “Let’s take this outside.”

Skylark shrugged. “They can’t see us unless we engage them.” She reached for the geisha’s fan.

Kenji dove, hitting her in the chest and blasting her out the teahouse door. She grabbed his arm and flipped him, effortlessly, then pressed her boot on his neck.

“Looks like we have a problem, Kenji. The whole time you were telling me to put my feelings in a box, you were mooning over your little Japanese girlfriend. What about her soul’s expression? Don’t you want her to evolve?”

He fought to get up.

“Stay down,” she growled. She pressed harder with her boot, enjoying his helplessness. He was pitiful. “I’m guessing you were here when we needed you the other day. That makes you responsible for what happened. I wonder what Francis would have to say about that?” Reaching under her breastplate, she tore the blackened bandage from her wound. She examined the stained cloth with mild curiosity then pitched it and leaned over Kenji.

“I feel him so close to me … I can see his eyes … I can hear his voice inside my head.”

“Don’t listen to him, Skylark. The Speaker’s using you.”

She kicked him aside. “Why would I take any advice from you? At least I have the guts to admit I’m weak.” She imagined Poe’s lips against hers. She would go to him, now. Nothing could stop her. Not Kenji or Francis or some girl with hazel eyes.

Kenji hollered as she jumped. In an instant she was standing over Poe, watching him sleep beneath a blanket on the ground. Her soul light nearly burst at the sight of him. There was someone with him—a young ranger. He stood when he saw her.

“I am this man’s Guide,” he said.

Skylark sneered. “Get lost.”

The ranger approached, undaunted. “He is my charge. This is a very delicate time in this man’s life’s journey.”

“That’s why I’m here,” Skylark said. “To help him on his way.”

The ranger positioned himself between her and Poe. “Who are you?”

With a flick of her hand, Skylark incinerated him. “Boring.” She turned her violet eyes on Poe and drank him in as he slept. He was so beautiful. She would never relinquish him to another girl—ever. Whatever it took, she would tear that girl from his heart. She closed her eyes and projected herself into his dream. In the liquid shadows of his subconscious she took his hand and held it to her chest. His mouth found hers and she breathed herself inside him.

Poe woke with a shout, scrabbling away from her. Skylark stared at him. He stared back.

“Can you see me?” she asked.

He looked confused.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” she said.

He staggered to his feet, checking over his shoulder.

She twirled a lock of her raven hair between her fingers. “It’s okay. We’re alone.”

“How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long.”

He scrutinized her clothes, following the healing cord up her scarred arm and coming to rest on her face. There was a glint of recognition in his eyes. Yet she could tell he doubted himself. He didn’t understand who she was. She smiled, her skin tingling just to be near him.

“Your eyes,” he said. “They’re … purple.”

“Do they please you?”

“I’ve never seen anything like them.”

His candour was so charming, though his guard was quick to come up.

“Who are you?”

“What?”

“Are you following me?”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing out here?”

She hesitated. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. Inspiration suddenly came to her as if transmitted from someone else. She made herself look as small and vulnerable as a kitten. “I’m lost, I guess … What are you doing out here?”

Poe picked up his blanket, shook it, and worked it into a tight roll. He secured it with a piece of string. “I have to go.”

Oh, he was spoiling the fun, she wickedly thought. “Where?”

No answer. His bewilderment delighted her.

“Don’t go,” she said.

He turned, his face set with anger. “Did they send you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I don’t want anything. I just thought you’d like some company. It’s scary out here. I’m alone. I have nowhere to go.”

He tucked the blanket under his arm and grabbed a small cloth bundle from the ground. “Well, I can’t stay here … and you can’t come with me.”

“Why?”

“It isn’t safe.”

Skylark looked around. “Who are you running from?”

“No one.”

“Then why are you in such a hurry?” She perched on a nearby stone, savouring everything about him.

Their eyes locked. She was winning him over. He tossed the blanket to the ground, sat on a rock across from her and untied the bundle.

“Are you hungry?” He offered her a piece of fried bread. “It isn’t much.”

She took it, just to hold something he’d held, and gave it a sniff.

“You really shouldn’t be with me,” he said.

“Why not?”

“You just shouldn’t.”

“You’ll have to come up with something better than that.”

He tossed the piece of bread in his hand back in the cloth, tying the corners together. She watched his jaw clench and unclench, knowing he was searching for the right words to explain his situation. It was
adorable
.

“I’m wanted,” he said. “I’m being chased.”

“By whom?” Skylark played along.

“I’m an outcast. It’s dangerous for you to even be here.”

“You must be a terrible person,” she said.

He caught her sarcasm and gave her a look. It sent a charge racing through her. “Whatever you’ve done, it can’t be that bad … can it?”

“I assure you it is.” He stood to go, tucking the blanket beneath his arm again. “I’d rather be alone,” he said, but his words lacked conviction.

She got up and stood in front of him. “I don’t care what it is you’ve done—honestly. I’m alone out here. I have no one. Whatever’s troubling you, I forgive you.”

He looked at her with such visible gratitude she nearly threw her arms around his neck.

“Please,” she said. “Let me stay with you—just for a little while.”

“No. You could get killed.”

“I’ll die if you leave me here. Do you think I can survive out here alone?”

He waffled. “I just don’t want to be responsible … I can’t carry the burden of another life. I’ve made some bad decisions, and people have been hurt as a result.”

Skylark gazed deeply into his eyes. “My life is my own. I’m not afraid of you.”

“You have no idea what you’re saying.”

“Then why don’t you explain it to me.”

He balked. She could tell he was about to tip his hand.

“I killed someone.”

His admission thrilled her. The pain in her shoulder flared deliciously as the arrow’s dark energy went deeper still. “Under what circumstances?”

He ran his hand through his hair. “Does it matter?”

“I think it does.”

“I belonged to a group. We … worked together … for a new reality …” He stopped to judge her reaction.

“A world without sin,” she said, her tongue finding the words so easily.

His eyes widened. “Yes.”

The pain rippled through her body and she could feel her eyes grow even darker. When she spoke next, it was with two voices. “But sin found you. And now your hands are dirty, and your heart is heavy with guilt.”

Poe lowered his head. “Yes.”

“It’s an old story. As old as the time before time. You’re not responsible for this.”

“I spilled blood,” he confessed.

“You were justified in your actions.”

“Is there ever justification for murder?”

She placed her hand on his head. “This earth was born in doubt and pain. It is the way of all things.”

“But the Light …”

“The Light is the parent of the Dark. One cannot truly understand anything without knowing what opposes it.” She brushed his cheek with her fingers. “Do you regret your decision?”

“To kill?”

“Yes.”

The muscles jumped in his jaw. “No.”

“Then free yourself.” She lifted his chin with the gentlest motion. “It is a fanciful dream of mankind to live in peace. Peace exists only in the mind as the blade drives through the heart.”

“I killed someone to save another.”

“Then the best man won. The exchange was more than fair.” He frowned.

“Would you rather she’d died?” she asked.

“It’s a sin to murder—it destroys all we’ve worked for.”

“It’s a greater sin to give your life so freely.”

“I didn’t want to do it.”

“You had to. What good is resistance if one simply surrenders when pressed?” She took his hand and a wave of ecstasy rolled through her. “Do you want to die?”

“No.”

She moved closer. She could see eternity in his eyes. She wanted to stay like this forever. But the breeze picked up and the spell was broken.

“We have to go,” he said. “It isn’t safe to stay here any longer.” Skylark shadowed him through the woods. “Can I at least know what we’re running from?”

He pushed through the underbrush, holding branches so they wouldn’t whip back in her face. “Company men.”

“I’ve heard of them.”

He stopped dead. “What? How?”

“Stories,” she smoothly lied. “When I was a child. We thought they were only fairy tales to scare small children into behaving.”

“Well, they’re very real.”

“And you killed one.”

He nodded.

“How can it be wrong to defend yourself?”

He didn’t answer. They walked to a stone outcropping at the edge of the forest. He crisscrossed through the boulders, Skylark following closely.

“This is a good place to rest,” he said.

They sat together, backs against the rock. She let her vision travel far through the woods to where a meadow swayed around a small house that peeked out as bright as a polished bone from a hill. And beyond that, she could hear a waterfall. The pain in her wound flared, and she could sense Poe’s thoughts as his consciousness shifted. She had successfully planted a seed in his mind. Kill one man, kill them all. He was ready to hunt the hunter. She shivered with pleasure, and the Ephemeral shivered with her.

“I can help you,” she said.

He stared at his feet.

She reached over and touched his hand, lightly, and only at the fingertips. “I believe in your cause.”

He smiled to himself. “I don’t even know your name.”

Leaning in, their lips almost touching, she could feel the invisible tendrils between them taking hold. “I’m Skylark.”

“I’m Poe,” he said, his name an opiate to her soul. He closed his eyes. He looked so tired.

“Rest,” she said. “Sleep. I will keep watch.”

He lay back, his head on the blanket roll. She took the opportunity to inspect her wound. It was dark and alive, an ugly mouth.
Its black ink had bled right through her armour. Pain gripped her shoulder. She could hear his voice so clearly now. Such loving whispers. Offering her the world. An image of Sebastian bobbed up in her mind and she was struck momentarily by another kind of pain, though fleeting. The bond between her and the mouse was fading. The whispers soothed, caressed.
All is exactly as it should be … exactly … as it should be
 … Skylark curled around Poe, absorbing the warmth of his body, feeling his lifeblood coursing as she pressed into his dreams once again.