Devotion ss-3, page 17
part #3 of Soul Savers Series
"Need a lift?" Owen yelled from the driver's side.
"Get in, princess," Jax called from the passenger's seat as the truck slowed down enough for Tristan and me to jump into the back. But I didn't move until I saw the little blond head wedged between Owen and Jax. He's safe. I sprang into the truck's bed.
"Take cover," Tristan yelled at the Amadis and the burning village instantly disappeared. "The truck, too, Owen!"
Owen thrust his hands up to shield and cloak the truck and then yanked the wheel in a hard left turn, throwing Tristan and me against the side of the bed. Several figures popped into existence in the direction we had been heading, but not able to see us, they gave up and disappeared again. Then the truck back-fired, slowed and stopped.
"Is something wrong?" My voice cracked on the last word as panic tried to grip me.
"Nah. This is where I get out, princess," Jax said. "I only came to show warlock here how to find Kuckaroo. He would have never made it in time, the direction he was going."
"How did you know?"
"My bird friend brought me a message about the Daemoni. It doesn't take a genius to figure out what they're looking for." He peered back the way we'd come, as if he could still see the hidden town. "I guess those are the closest I got to mates. I can't abandon them. Better see what I can do."
He took off down the road, no time for any of us to say long goodbyes.
"Thank you for everything," I called out.
"Any time, princess."
Owen jammed the truck into gear, and it lurched, then rumbled on. I jumped to the front of the bed and pulled Dorian through the open window to the cab, welding him against me, never wanting to let him go. I kissed all over the top of his head, every part that wasn't buried against me.
"Mom … can't … breathe," Dorian gasped against my chest.
I laughed, an unfamiliar sound mixed with joy and grief–joy to have my baby in my arms, grief for what we left behind.
"You have a plan, Scarecrow?" Tristan called over the truck's ear-splitting engine.
"You're the plan man," Owen yelled back.
"Can you still fly?"
Owen laughed. "Oh, yeah! Those were the only classes I didn't mind sitting through."
"There's a private air strip about a-hundred-and-fifty kilometers due west."
"Gotch'ya! It'll take a while with old Bertha here," Owen said, slapping the ancient truck's dashboard, "but we should get there before dark."
We rumbled along through the bush on no apparent road. The benefit of Owen's shield, besides the fact that it made us literally disappear in the Outback and lose the Daemoni, was that it magically protected us from the dust. Not that I could be any nastier with dirt stuck to the dried sweat and blood from the morning.
Tristan leaned against the front of the truck's bed, wrapped his arms around us and pulled us between his legs, Dorian still in my lap.
"I love you, ma lykita," Tristan murmured against my ear. "I'm sorry about earlier."
"Me, too. I have no idea what overcame me."
"Could have been Vanessa's mages messing with us before we saw them."
"Ah." I closed my eyes. Bitch. "You know I love you more than anything, right?"
"Of course."
"More than me?" Dorian asked.
I thought for a moment. How do I explain the difference to a seven-year-old? "Hmm … more than anything but Dorian. And Dorian, I love you more than anything but Dad. Okay?"
Dorian considered this for a moment. "Awesome. I'm the same as Dad."
I leaned my head against Tristan's chest and closed my eyes, tears silently seeping through my eyelashes. Another village attacked, more people dead. Because of us. And we couldn't even stay to help them. The best thing we could do for them was leave. And never return.
We were on our own.
Chapter 13
Tristan wiped my tears away and whispered in my ear, "At least we're together."
I nodded against his chest.
Those were the last words spoken for nearly two hours as Bertha bumped through the wilderness, her rusty moans and creaks filling the silence. Dorian fell asleep in my lap, my body cushioning him on all but the worst of the bounces while Tristan's body cushioned mine. After grieving for the Amadis we left behind, my thoughts switched to our escape, and I hoped Tristan was concentrating on the best solution to get us off this God-forsaken continent. My experiences so far marred my perception of Australia–wild, dirty and frightening.
Owen must have grown bored after two hours of driving through the barren terrain–he broke into song. He had an unbelievable voice I never knew about, imitating the singers perfectly, from Elvis to Chester Bennington, and even the instrumental parts. It was the closest we had to a radio, so we didn't mind. As he finished Shadow of the Day, the sun already low in the western sky, he slowed Bertha, eventually bringing her to a stop.
"Is this it?" Owen asked.
I opened my eyes and almost whooped out loud when I saw the homestead. Bertha sat in front of an old farmhouse, facing a faded red barn. My mind was already inside, drinking a cold glass of water and then standing under a hot shower. But as I looked around more closely, my heart sank to my lap. Siding hung off the dilapidated barn, and the roof was caved in. The fields and stock pens were overgrown and unkempt. Paint peeled off the walls of the house, and grime tinted the windows a yellowish-brown color. A tiny, old airplane sat at the end of what once may have been a dirt runway, but now was littered with overgrown weeds and potholes nearly the size of Bertha. This can't be it.
"Yep, this is it," Tristan said, pushing me forward so he could stand up.
Owen turned in the driver's seat, and his face looked how I felt. "Dude … seriously? I think the owners abandoned this place decades ago. Probably ran away scared."
"Perhaps. I haven't been here in … a lifetime." Tristan hopped out of the truck. "Come on. Let's check it out. There's nothing here you can't fix, Scarecrow."
"True," Owen agreed, sliding out of the driver's seat, "very true."
Somehow, Dorian slept through the loud screech and bang of the truck's door closing. I stayed with him in the truck bed and listened while Tristan and Owen explored. Their discoveries didn't sound good. Based on their comments, Owen was right–the owners apparently took off years ago, leaving everything behind as if they were going to the store, including trash and dishes in the sink. The pipes creaked as they tried to turn the water on, but it sounded as though only a few drops actually dispelled from the faucet. So much for a drink or a shower.
Tristan suddenly appeared beside the truck, and various screeches, pops and bangs came from the house. I stiffened. It sounded as if Owen was fighting something.
"You left him in there?" I whispered anxiously to Tristan.
"Sure," he said with a shrug. "He's fixing it up."
Of course. Some things–such as Owen being a warlock–I still had a hard time remembering as real. To me, he was simply … Owen.
"Running water?" I asked, my voice mixed with doubt and hope at the same time.
"That's most of the noise–the pipes are a disaster. If Owen can't fix it, though, no one can."
"Good to go," Owen said, emerging from the house. He raised an eyebrow at me, questioning my doubt in him. "Including running water."
"Dibs on first shower!" I handed Dorian to Tristan and scurried out of the truck.
The house still looked the same on the outside, but when I walked through the front door, it could have been a model home … from the 1970s. Though outdated, the plaid-upholstered furniture appeared as though it'd just come off the delivery truck, and the avocado-green carpet as if it'd recently been laid. The orange kitchen appliances gleamed, and water poured out of the faucet … brown water.
"Ew. Can you fix that?" I asked.
"You sure do ask a lot," Owen teased with a grin. "It already looks better than it did. Just give it a few minutes."
The water eventually ran clear and hot, and I finally became clean and felt human again. Well, as human as I could be. With the dirt scrubbed away, my face looked perfect–no more bruises or any sign I'd been whacked by a kangaroo. Whew. A raccoon face wasn't the best disguise for our escape–a little too memorable. The gash on my arm from the morning's fight had also disappeared. I was as good as new … almost. Some decent sleep would take care of the rest.
Dinner consisted of snack food Owen and Dorian had in the truck, and as soon as he finished eating, Owen crashed in one of the bedrooms. Besides Dorian, he'd need the most sleep, and we had to leave in the middle of the night and travel in the dark. After putting Dorian to bed, Tristan and I loaded the luggage Owen had brought for us in the six-passenger airplane. I didn't know how it would ever get off the ground–it looked as though it'd been sitting for decades. Tristan and Owen had worked on it while I showered and then bathed Dorian, but they could do nothing about the old fuel. Tristan told me to have faith.
Though a little crowded in the queen-sized bed with Tristan and Dorian, I slept amazingly well and was wide awake after four hours of sleep, my body feeling completely regenerated and renewed. The guys could sleep another hour before we had to take off, so I crept outside and sat on the front porch steps. I gazed at the unfamiliar sky with more stars than I'd ever seen, feeling close enough that I actually reached up and waved my hand across the sky, nearly expecting to scatter the sparkly jewels. Of all the places in the U.S. Mom and I had lived, no starry night compared to that of the Australian Outback. The beauty mesmerized me.
But the diamond-studded sky couldn't distract me from the anxiety of the search. I couldn't wait to return to the States and begin looking for the girl. For our daughter. The last four days of escaping the Daemoni were four more days lost, four more days we were separated. Every day seemed to count now.
Just as Dorian had celebrated his seventh birthday less than three months ago, so had she. Seven years … How long would they have let it go? Would I have ever known? Surely I would have learned at some point, but they might have kept her hidden until she went through the Ang'dora–thirty, forty, even fifty more years.
I licked my lips and tasted the salt of stray tears. I still couldn't believe the betrayal by Rina and some of the council. And then the sadness turned to quiet anger. Those same council members who hid our daughter suspected both Tristan and me as traitors. They accused us of betrayal when they hid the hope for the Amadis' future from the very people they served, the people whose lives depended on that future.
I heard a soft catch of the door's latch behind me and expected Tristan, but Owen sat next to me.
"Pretty insane stuff going on, huh?" he said quietly when he saw me wiping my eyes.
"It's nothing like I expected. I knew we'd be on the run a lot and I knew we'd have to fight to be together, but I never thought it'd be this bad."
"It won't be for long. The Daemoni are still throwing their tantrum after Tristan's escape. They'll get bored, quiet down and abandon the hunt, especially when they won't be able to find us."
"That would be a relief. We have other things to focus on without worrying about them." I sighed. "They're not the only ones we have to fight for our love. Some of the Amadis don't want us together. Some don't want us at all. They'd probably celebrate if the Daemoni captured us."
"I wouldn't go that far …"
"They think we'll betray them, Owen. For some reason, they think I have more loyalty to the sperm donor I've never met than to the Amadis, to my only family. And they think Tristan will go back, too. Why do they doubt us?"
Owen scrubbed his hand through his hair and scrunched his eyes. When he spoke, the seriousness of his tone and his word choices gave a rare indication of his true age. "There are some who always worried about both of you. You have strong Daemoni blood. So does Tristan. Some believe that even if he wanted to convert, it's not possible. When he tried to kill you after the Ang'dora … that only fuels their beliefs there's still something under the surface, waiting for another opportunity to attack. And then there are a few who think he never wanted to, that he's pulling the ultimate spy job on all of us … and that you'll go along because you love him so much."
"What? That's completely absurd. How could they …?"
He shrugged. "He was such a formidable Daemoni warrior for so long, attacking our people, humans … innocents. That's how they remember him and they can't believe he could ever change."
"That was Seth, not Tristan," I said.
"You and I know the difference, as do most of the Amadis. The ones who don't knew him much longer as Seth. Some served him before their own conversions and saw the worst of him."
"But he didn't like himself then. He never wanted that life. You'd think they'd know more than anyone how much he wanted out of it."
Owen cut his eyes sideways at me. "Alexis, the Daemoni are cunning deceivers and Tristan was the best. He did what he had to do to make them happy just to stay alive. If you think he sulked around and defied them all the time, you're fooling yourself."
I pressed my fingers to my temples and squeezed my eyes shut, pushing away the images trying to surface–images of Seth's horrible acts, which Tristan had inadvertently shared with me the night I tried to save Sheree, the were-tiger. "I don't want to talk about this. My point is that's not him now. How can anyone not see that?"
"Some people need time. Others … well, they might not ever believe. They might not want to believe. Just as in the Norman world, there are always a few who like to stir the pot."
"I don't get it, Owen. I thought the Amadis were all good."
"We are good. We find good, and we protect it. But it doesn't mean we're all perfect, that we don't screw up." He shifted, turned toward me. "Listen. We'll find out what's going on and take care of this mess, and I'll bet you the truly good people will be proven right … including you and Tristan and Rina. Remember what I keep telling you … in the end, good always wins. We always win." He patted my knee. "Have some faith, Alexis."
That was the second time I'd been told to have faith tonight. But my faith was waning.
* * *
After Tristan strapped a sleeping Dorian into his seat, Owen rubbed then thrust his hands at the airplane's propeller to start the engine, at which point I had no choice but to at least have faith in him … because we were going to fly with magic as our fuel.
As I walked through the house one more time to make sure we left nothing behind, Tristan came jogging in.
"Thought I should leave a note, tell them where their plane is," he explained, finding a scrap of paper and a pencil nub in a drawer.
"Um, I could be wrong–I usually am anymore–but I really don't think they're coming back," I said.
He shrugged. "With these people, you never know. They're kind of like that."
He wrote a one-sentence note detailing the town and country where the plane would be and then paused before signing it–as Seth. I lifted an eyebrow, trying to ignore the tingling down my spine. He grimaced.
"Trust me–that was harder for me to write than for you to see. But that's all they know me as."
I nodded silently then flashed to the plane, trying not to think about it. But I couldn't help it, especially since Owen and I had just been discussing Seth. I held an entire, silent conversation with myself, trying to convince myself that it meant nothing more than he knew the owners a long time ago. But the paranoia gnawed at me for most of the flight. He wouldn't … would he?
He looked back at me from the front seat right then, as if he'd heard me ask myself that question, but our minds weren't connected. I mentally slapped myself when I looked into his eyes. He loved me. The look in his hazel eyes, all over his face, made it perfectly clear. I smiled warmly at him, and he grinned and winked. I forgot my doubts.
When we landed at the tiny airport, I realized we weren't even in the same country Tristan had left in his note, and he immediately arranged for the plane to be flown to the location where he'd said it would be. A mental slap wasn't enough. I deserved to be physically punched. What is wrong with me? I can't doubt him! We have to stick together. I couldn't let other people's ignorance and prejudices get to me. That would only make things worse for us.
Two days later, we arrived on U.S. soil without incident, and if it weren't the L.A. airport, I might have dropped to my knees and kissed that soil. Until we'd left the Keys for Greece, I'd never been out of the United States. My publicist had wanted me to do an international signing tour when my books became popular overseas, but I refused–the U.S. tours were difficult enough. Though California was one of the few states I'd never lived, I felt as though I was home. Just hearing (mostly) English with American accents gave me a sense of normalcy. And to make it better, no one looked at me with an ounce of recognition.
"Are we almost home?" Dorian asked while we studied the departure boards, trying to decide where to go next–where to start our search.
Hmm … home? I wasn't quite sure where "home" was yet.
"We can't go to your old home," Tristan said. "We talked about that, remember?"
"I know we can't live there anymore, but can we go visit? I want to show Joey and everyone else at school that you're real and not a shithead."
I fought the urge to laugh. Tristan raised an eyebrow.
"Watch your mouth, little man," I warned, hiding my smile.
"But that's what Joey called Dad, and it's not true!" He lifted his chin and stuck his lower lip out in a defiant pout. "Maybe Dad can beat up their dads. They're the real shitheads."
I couldn't help it. This time I full-out laughed, and Tristan and Owen joined me. We all had a hard spot in our hearts for the publicity and rumors about Dorian's father abandoning me when I was pregnant.
"We're going to do the right thing and leave them alone," I finally said. "If there's something you miss from home, though, we can get another one."
"Naw. I got Dad now." He took Tristan's hand and grinned. "And I'll be getting my dog soon."
