Oh fuck. I turn, my heart beating against my ribcage. No one ever sneaks up on me. How did this fucker sneak up on me?
“Oh, Phoenix. Just you. I assume you came to view the evidence for your brother’s case?”
I thank my lucky stars for Gem, talking me out of my bull-headed ways. Whatever he did must still be working. And he thought a little smooch from me was gonna ruin his concentration.
Plain brown hair. Medium height. He’s pretty indicative of the brainy types who prefer lab work to fieldwork. He fills the stereotype so well, it’s like he was carved from laboratory-guy clay. His eyes are the only thing standout about him. Really strange fucking eyes. They’re blue with turbulent flecks of silver, swirling within them.
“Come. This way,” he says, without waiting for an answer.
Nothing feels good about this, all my senses sound the alarm. I’m usually the “shoot first and ask questions later” kind of guy, but my gut’s telling me to stand down. Plus, the less I talk the better in order to keep up the “I’m Phoenix” ruse. I follow him to a wall at the back. Slapping his palm down, the door begins a slow slide to open. I swear I see a burst of blue, but it’s gone too fast.
There’s another cylinder filled with stardusted liquid behind the wall. Inside is … is a girl. Holy fucking Gods, thereisa girl. She’s well-preserved, but she looks like she’s been dead for a while. And she’s … well she … I think how my brother would put it; she’s giving serious Laura Ingalls Wilder vibes. He’s also the only reason I know that reference.
“She’s not from the time we were in,” I point out to the man. Anyone can see that, which means if they judged Treyu unfavorably anyway, they didn’t care. Now that I’m looking with skeptical eyes, her skin’s a bluish grey. I know she’s dead and all, but I’d bet my sunstar she didn’t die by demon or in an explosion.
I turn to see what the man has to say, but he’s gone. What the…? Scanning the room, it’s empty. I couldn’t have imagined him; I wouldn’t have been able to open that door. Where the fuck did he go?
A fresh sensation of “get the hell out of here” waves over me. This time, I listen to it.
* * *
Slipping through the catacombs of the Guild is easy for me. My brothers and I made games of running through them as soon as we were given access, much to the dismay of some members of the Guild. Others thought it a useful idea. Exploring them day after day is the only way to get to know the ancient hallways. There’s a lot of shit stored in them too. Knowledge, treasure, magic of the ethers. Even with a star’s long life, there’s no way to get through all of it.
I exit from the lower levels that aren’t used anymore. I’d be surprised if too many Guild members beyond Luella even knew about the path. It leads into town, so I have to backtrack to meet up with Gem at our predetermined location in the woods.
I should do something cute for Gem. Wrap around him from behind and nibble on his neck until he shivers. He’ll smile, and I’ll know he’s happy. Yeah. That works. Gem loves the small things.
My boots crunch a happy rhythm against the rocks. It’s the only noise along the deserted dirt road, other than the water moving on either side. I feel better when I hit tree cover, calm enough to rest my head back against the rifle I’ve got slung across my shoulders. I slow my pace as I approach the clearing that’ll take me to Gem, intent on my plan to maul him.
“Hold him down,” a silky voice says. “Once I have the rune on him, I want him tied up and brought to the ship.”
Rune? Tied up? Whoever that is, they’d better not be talking about doing that to Gemini. I’ll feed them their nuts through a straw after I’ve made a smoothie out of them. I want to run in, rifle blazing, but I don’t know how many there are, so I force myself to creep into the clearing in a crouch.
Three … Caimians? What in the Goddess are they doing here? They’re a long way from home, that’s for sure. Caimians are an Elven-like race, but without the pointed ears, from a galaxy over from us. They’re larger, usually a foot or two larger than stars, with pale-blue skin that sparkles in the sunlight.
I recognize the largest one with the ax, giving all the orders. He’s a prince. Meanwhile, the other two have their pristine hands all overmyGemini. One has a hand clamped over his mouth, while his free arm strangles Gem’s waist, plastering Gem’s back to his front. The other one is opening Gem’s robes.
Rage becomes a living, seething thing inside me. My blood burns like I’ve been drinking from the cup again, and my need to terminate him is a flavor in the air.
I become the bringer of death.
Blue light sizzles over the Caimian douchebag, undoing my man’s robes. He drops like a heap of wet clothing, dead. Life leaves his way-too-pretty eyes. I would have loved to use the setting on my rifle that would have blown him to smithereens, but don’t want to get guts on Gem.
I turn my rifle on the prince.
“He belongs to me. Tell your warrior to take his unsoiled hands off the prince of our Nebula, now.”
The prince frowns. “Don’t you mean his soiled hands? That’s usually what people say when they want to insult someone.”
“I know what I said.Now.”
The pretty Caimian releases Gem, and I yank my man to me, still holding my rifle on the prince. Crisp steel rings through the air from the guy who likes to touch what doesn’t belong to him. I don’t give him the benefit of the doubt. The man had his hand on Gem. Penalty? Death. My only regret is that I can’t make it slower.
I shield Gem from the explosion of guts and blood with my body, the soggy muck paints my jacket with a sheen of liquified blue. Spinning quickly, releasing my hold on Gem, I set my rifle on the prince again. He’s finally gotten smart, holding his hands up in surrender.
“I don’t want any trouble,” he says.
For him, I set my rifle to what I like to call smoke. That’s all that’s going to be left of him in a hot second.
