Master and Apprentice (9 page)

Something vibrated against my leg, and I finally realized it was my phone and not the truck. I fished it out. The thing must’ve taken a hit at some point, probably during my tumble down the tree. A crack split the screen and spiderwebbed in a corner. The display flashed on and off, but between flashes
I made out the incoming number. Jazz. I thumbed the green button and said, “Don’t worry.”

“I hate it when you answer like that.” The line crackled and echoed with distance. “You’re late. I worried.”

“We had to take a little detour.”

“How little? I need to know when to start worrying again. And … are you driving?”

“Um. Yeah.” No point in lying to her. She’d read it like a billboard.

“Funny. I don’t remember you taking a car out with you.”

“I had to borrow one.”

She swore under her breath. “Okay,
now
I’m concerned.”

“I know.” I let out a sigh. “Tell you everything when we get back. Promise.”

“And when might that be?”

“If I’m not there by midnight, cancel the pumpkin coach and send out the glass slipper.”

“Gavyn!” She choked back a laugh. “All right. Just don’t die.”

“I love you too.”

There was a long pause, and then she hung up.

My mouth turned down involuntarily. Jazz wasn’t big on sentiment. It would’ve been nice to hear the words from her once in a while, but I understood her reservations. Our relationship hadn’t begun on the best of terms—and the risks I took with Ian didn’t help stabilize things. I wouldn’t want to get too attached to me either.

I tried to slip the phone back in my pocket and missed. It landed on the seat, and the rattling of the truck slid it away toward the edge. I made a grab for it, but the tips of my fingers pushed it onto the hump between the footwells. Grumbling, I leaned over and snagged the damned thing before it could hit the floor and smash on the road.

When I straightened again, something big and fur covered filled the darkened view from the windshield. And it was getting bigger fast.

“Shit!” I slammed on the brakes and wrenched the wheel hard to the left, hoping to at least avoid flipping over the guardrail. The truck emitted an ungodly squeal. For an instant it rode on two tires before it dropped down and shot back into the turn, only to twist all the way back around. I hit the thing head-on at a good clip. My body bucked forward, and my skull met the steering wheel with a solid crack. Blackness followed instantly.

A groan penetrated the shell of my consciousness. I didn’t associate it with me until a moment later when the pain hit. Wasn’t sure I could move, but I cracked an eye open and realized I hadn’t been out long. The living roadblock still stood outside, just beyond the crumpled and steaming hood, looking annoyed.

Apparently, we’d hit a hundred-point buck. On steroids. “Ian.” My tongue slurred the word, and it came out
eeng.
“That a moose?”

He didn’t reply.

“Damn …” I gritted my teeth and pushed up slowly. Nausea rippled through me with the motion, and flashing lights danced in my vision. I tried to blink them away. When I shifted straighter, glass crunched beneath my feet. That wasn’t a good sound. I made myself turn enough to get a look at Ian, for the first time actually hoping that he was just ignoring me.

He wasn’t. The windshield had burst inward, and it looked like they didn’t make safety glass back in 1900 or whenever this truck had rolled off the line, because a huge shard of it was embedded under Ian’s sternum. Blood splashed his chest,
painted the underside of his chin, welled along the sides of the glass, and oozed down his stomach. His head rested back at an extreme angle, and his half-open eyes rolled in their sockets.

Jesus. I knew he couldn’t die, but how much abuse could his body take? It didn’t look like he was even breathing. “Ian?” I half-whispered, and laid a hand on his arm. No glow. He’d told me once before that he couldn’t amplify what wasn’t there in the first place. He was still drained.

A tremendous snort drew my attention. Outside, the moose shook his massive head, lowered it, and rammed his antlers into the front grille. The truck rocked back an inch or so on creaking springs.

The motion must’ve shocked Ian back from wherever he’d retreated. He jerked stiff, his eyes snapped open. And he screamed.

His hoarse cry seemed to make the moose reconsider battling the truck. The animal turned and lumbered off into the trees. Ian drew a gurgling breath, and closed his eyes. “Hurts,” he whispered. His lips barely moved. “Help … get it out.” The arm closest to me rose a few inches, wavered toward the glass shard. Dipped and fell.

“Okay. Don’t move, man. Let me …” I swallowed hard. It had to be in there pretty deep, or it would’ve fallen out already. I leaned over and tried to get a grip on a lower edge without slicing my fingers off. The first tug did nothing but elicit an anguished grunt from Ian and break my tentative hold.
Damn.
I set my jaw, grabbed the only protruding portion, and wrenched. The jagged edge sliced my palm, but the shard withdrew from Ian’s flesh with an awful wet sound.

Gasping, I pushed the bloodied fragment away and squeezed my hand closed. “I’ll try to heal you some,” I said through teeth chattering like a San Francisco fault line.

“Nuh …
no,
” Ian squeezed out. “Save it. Home. Akila.”

“Christ, Ian.” My stomach torqued more than it should’ve been able to, and I wondered if it had turned completely inside out. I knew what he meant—he wanted me to save my power for a bridge to get us home so Akila could heal him. “How am I supposed to do that? I mean, we’re on a damned mountain. There’s not gonna be a Seven-Eleven around the next corner, and moose don’t use mirrors.”

A corner of his mouth twitched. “Trust you … figure it out.”

“Thanks a lot.”

Ian failed to acknowledge my sarcasm. I held back a moan and felt for the door handle on my side. Maybe there was a pond nearby. Hell, I’d settle for a puddle. Mirrors weren’t the only things that worked for transportation spells—any reflective surface would form a bridge, as long as it was fairly smooth. I’d never used water before, but I’d seen Ian do it. That would have to be good enough.

I popped the handle, swung the door open, and slid out in a creaking heap. Every inch of my body felt like George Foreman had used it for punching practice. The last rays of the dying sun burned a corona of light around the next mountain over, and I caught a pale shadow of my own battered face framed in the door.

Not a shadow. A reflection. The side windows weren’t broken. I’d have to stuff Ian through, but it’d work.

I hauled myself back into the cab and shut the door. “Good news,” I said. “We’ve got windows. Have us home in a second.”

Ian murmured something completely unintelligible. I hoped he hadn’t remembered anything important that he should’ve told me months ago, like making a bridge with a truck window on a mountain in Virginia always sends you to
Mars or something. He frequently neglected to mention the little rules. He claimed it was because they were instinctual for him, but sometimes I swore he left shit out just so he could laugh when I screwed up.

I was already bleeding, so I didn’t need to worry about my missing knife. I swiped a fingertip across the gash in my palm and smeared Ian’s symbol on the top right corner of the passenger window. Crescent, dot, squiggle. Picturing home, and my desire to be there, was easier than breathing. The words came quickly too.
“Insha no imil, kubri ana bi-sur’u wasta.”

The window darkened and showed part of a familiar blue couch. “Right,” I said. “Try and cooperate with me here, Ian—or at least don’t make this any harder.” I slid an arm behind his back and pushed until he flopped against the window frame. One arm and part of his head went through before I couldn’t move him that way anymore. I shifted, knelt on the seat and got both hands under him. With a lot of straining and cursing, I managed to get him most of the way through. Only his shins and feet remained. I shoved on his feet and heard a female voice shout something from the other side, just before the bridge closed.

I fell back and gave myself a minute to breathe. Still had to do that one more time, and I couldn’t afford a mistake. I didn’t have enough juice for a second chance.

M
y ungraceful swan dive onto the living room floor confused me for a second. Then I realized something was missing. Ian. I should’ve landed on him. I pushed up on my elbows and battled a sudden surge of nausea while the room went disco ball around me. When the world stopped spinning, I spotted him lying a few feet away with Akila crouched beside him, already working a healing spell.

Jazz must’ve told her about our detour. The reflection spell only worked once, and then it had to be recast for the next transport. Usually, I came through here and Ian took himself directly to the apartment we’d built for them over the garage, so we could both have some private time. So much for that tonight.

“The pumpkin coach left. But I can probably dig up a glass slipper.”

Jazz’s voice shook a little. That meant she was mortally terrified. “No more glass,” I muttered. “ ’Sides, we made it before midnight.” I rolled onto my back and tried to smile up at her. It hurt like hell. But damn, was it good to see her face.

I still didn’t know what she saw in me. She was gorgeous—her mixed blood gave her smooth coffee-and-cream skin, silky black hair, full lips. And her eyes were mesmerizing. One was a pale sea green, the other a deep and glittering brown. She hated them.

I adored them, and told her so even when she wanted to pound me for it.

“I could kill you,” she whispered, and hunkered down next to me. “But I won’t. What the hell happened in the last twenty minutes? You were fine. Weren’t you?”

“Yeah.” I closed my eyes and laughed, an action my ribs screamed at me for. “I hit a moose.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Do I look like I’m kidding?”

“Oh, Gavyn.” She reached out and grabbed my hand. She was definitely worried—she’d used my first name. Usually it was Donatti, or asshole. For an instant I thought there were tears in her eyes, but she blinked and the suggestion was gone. “Is anything broken?” she said.

“Don’t think so. Well, maybe a rib or two.” I tried to sit up, and pain lashed through me. “I’ll just stay here for a few minutes.”

“Good idea.” Her hand tightened on mine. “I guess your bad luck is back, huh?”

“Back? It never left.”

She frowned. “Maybe. But you’ve seemed pretty lucky ever since he came along.” She indicated Ian with a halfhearted wave.

I started to protest—and realized she was right. More or less. I probably should’ve died a dozen times in the last year, or at least been seriously maimed. And before Ian intruded in my life, I’d never been able to catch a break. Random bad shit kept
me constantly on the edge of survival. But once we destroyed Lenka, things kind of slid into place. I had a home, a family, and a purpose. Everything worked. Until today.

“It’s a fluke,” I said, more to convince myself than her. “Lots of people hit mooses.”

“Sure they do.”

A shadow fell over me, and a voice said, “You look terrible.”

“Thanks.” I twisted to look up at Akila’s drawn features. She was a different kind of beautiful. Lithe and exotic, dusky skin, cascading black curls. Tall and willowy to Jazz’s short and slender. Her eyes freaked me out a little, though. They were light brown all over, no whites, with pupils that could dilate to nearly fill them. Hawk eyes. “Same to you,” I said. “How’s Ian?”

“He has been better.” She tried to smile. “He is sleeping. I have healed most of the damage, but he is still very weak.”

Jazz looked at her, back to me. “So. What happened before the moose?”

“Moose?” Akila echoed. “I do not understand. An animal could not have done this to my husband.”

I grimaced. “Long story. Any chance you have some of that healing left for me?”

“Oh! Of course. I apologize.” She came down to my level, and her gaze skated over me with brisk assessment. “This will take a few moments.”

“Fine with me. I don’t have any pressing appointments.”

Jazz cracked a smile, but a muffled thump from the vicinity of the stairs wiped it away. “What …”

“Mommy?” Cyrus sounded thin and distant, his voice full of sleep. “I gotta go
bad.
”

“Damn it,” Jazz muttered. “I shut the bathroom door. It’s been sticking lately. Hold on, baby,” she called a little louder. “I’m coming.” She leaned down and brushed a kiss on the
corner of my mouth. “You don’t get out of telling me what happened. This is a temporary reprieve.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I would have mock-saluted, but my arms weighed a thousand pounds.

Jazz nodded and stood. “Call me if you need anything,” she said to Akila.

I watched Jazz leave, and then turned a questioning glance on Akila. “Call?”

She smiled. “Jazz has given me a cell phone.”

“Oh, good. Maybe you can talk your husband into considering a little technology too.”

“I do not think he trusts your … gadgets.” Akila held a hand over my chest. “Try to relax.”

Relax. Yeah, right. I settled for closing my eyes and forcing my jaw to unclench. Akila whispered a few words in djinn, and the sensation of magic spread through my body, warm and pleasant, soothing the fire in my nerves like a dose of good Scotch. I wondered if the words helped. The few times I’d used healing magic, I had to run on instinct and need. The process was clumsy and unfocused, and took a hell of a toll on me. Ian said it was because healing was a strength of the Bahari. I wasn’t so sure about that.

Soon I felt like I might live to see the sun come up again. I drew a deep breath and reveled in the absence of pain. “Thank you, Princess,” I said. “I owe you one. That makes, what, fifty now?”

“You owe me nothing.” She shuffled back and sat down on the floor. “However, I would like to know what has happened to you both.”

“Yeah. All of us do, I think.” I sat up slowly, at once wanting nothing more than to sleep for a month. “Maybe we should wait for Jazz, so we only have to talk about this once.”