Wicked Bronze Ambition

84

That finger poke, one more time. It was morning. Light didn’t improve the ambience of the vacant house, nor did it increase the appeal of the witch with whom we shared it. The floor-my mattress-remained as soft as chert. Tara Chayne showed me that she had the stamina of a sergeant major, last to retire and first to rise.

It was morning. Light was getting inside somehow. I grumbled, “Why the hell do you keep doing that? It hurts!”

“Because it works. Get up. Time to go. We’ve been in one exposed position for far too long.”

That made it feel like a recon mission back in the islands.

Misery, curdled, then double-dipped.

She did have a point. That little nasty was out there with her giant-ass friend, plus who knew what all else with a bad attitude where we were concerned?

Obviously, Tara Chayne Machtkess didn’t just sit around Force headquarters when she’d gone down South. She was here for this morning because she’d learned her lessons then.

I sat up. “I feel like death on a stick and we never had anything to drink.”

Brownie whimpered, maybe in sympathy but more likely in hunger. We’d been a team for no time and already she and her crew were spoiled.

I observed, “This is the hardest damned floor I ever slept on.” The room itself was as big as a barn. A ballroom once, I suppose.

Some thumping then, from beyond Tara Chayne.

“And your little sis agrees.” I leaned forward for a better look.

Mariska remained well and truly bound and gagged. She wanted to say something. She seemed desperate to speak. It might not be what I first thought. I could smell well enough to get that what she really wanted to do was complain.

Tara Chayne observed, “If you’d just stuck with us last night, you’d have woken up in a real bed, clean and dry.”

Thump-thump. Thump-thump!

I said, “I believe I sense some anger issues.”

“She can be that way sometimes.”

“Last night we said we were going to take her back to your place today. That made sense at the time. But couldn’t it be a little risky?”

“It could be. Yes. But I’ve already informed Denvers. Things are in motion. We’ll stick to the plan.”

She sent a message? How?

No sooner wondered than answered. The centipede thing.

It curled around Moonblight’s neck, whispered into her ear. Then it unwound and slithered into a corner, where it faded from sight.

Tara Chayne grumbled, “Get your butt up so you can help me get up.”

Oh. All right. She was in a foul mood because, despite not being bound, she remained a prisoner of her body. She resented the infirmities of age. More, she hated showing those where others could see.

Aching everywhere, I shifted my bones. I helped the sorceress. Between us, muttering and whining, we got Mariska upright, too.

Tara Chayne grumbled, “At least you didn’t sleep on a bare floor.” Not that the rag carpet would have given Mariska much comfort.

I growled, “Can’t we just shut up and go? We’re all hurting. This whining doesn’t help. And I’m starving.”

Mention of hunger, even if not by name, got the interest of the dogs, all of whom made noises showing that they agreed with me.

I limped to the door. We had left obvious signs of breakage. We-in the form of Tara Chayne Machtkess-would have to apologize to Richt Hauser and make restitution. I took a cautious look outside, saw nothing suspicious, nor anything likely to attract attention-other than the coach rolling up. The coachman was having trouble staying awake.

“Oh, excellent!” Tara Chayne barked. “Most excellent. Here already, Chase gets a bonus. Let’s move out. All aboard!”

She crossed to the coach boldly, indifferent to curious looks from a passerby, leaving me to manage Mariska. I would be the great hairy thing remembered if a kidnapping story began to circulate.

Tara Chayne opened the coach door, chucked dogs inside. That offended Mariska’s dignity. With hands bound behind her and wearing a gag, she still managed to make her displeasure plain. Stray dogs were so far beneath her that they did not belong in the same city, let alone the same vehicle, where they would shed mangy fur and parasites all over her.

Tara Chayne told her, “I could tie a rope around your neck and let you run along behind. You think you can keep up?”

Mariska allowed me to help her board.

Every facial twitch thereafter, as she sat facing us during our ride, betrayed a determination toward paybacks once the tables turned. And she was confident that they would.

These girls had been in this contest for a long time.

Mariska might be with the Operators more because Tara Chayne had chosen to oppose them than for some other irrational reason, including nostalgic romance.

I fought down a grin on imagining Mariska blaring mad laughter and yelling, “Retribution shall be mine!”

Neither woman was pleased when I couldn’t keep the grin off my clock. But I would survive. Brownie still loved me.