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  • Riding the Red Ch. 09

Riding the Red Ch. 09

12

The store owner's head whipped around as Eiric approached. Julien watched his wife hypnotically saunter to the front of the store, moving like a hungry snake. Terror flashed across the man's features, disappearing as quickly as a rat scuttling down a hole.

The man was...well, to put it honestly, the man was huge. Not exceptionally tall, but he had the squat, overblown musculature of a career body-builder. Biceps strained the sleeves of his yellow polo, and thigh muscles bulged against his jeans. His dark hair was shaved to a shadow, and veins stood in harsh relief against his skin. Yet this man, who looked like he could crack walnuts with his thumbs, was looking at Julien's slender, relatively small wife like he was a trapped mouse. Julien raised a brow. When scary people are scared...

"Lady MacTavish," he said faintly, his Cockney voice surprisingly high and thin.

"It's Blanchard, now," she said simply, clasping her hands in front of her like a schoolgirl. She inhaled slowly, and then sighed, as if very weary. "How are you, scuttler?" she asked brightly, cocking her head.

"Sc-Scott-Scottler, Lady Mac...Blanchard," he stuttered, with the air of someone used to making the correction.

Julien glanced up and could see a wide mirror hanging behind the checkout counter, which allowed him to see his wife's face. She was staring blankly at the man. Then, with alarming speed, her expression changed to animalistic rage, and she leapt at Scottler, knocking him back against the counter, her hand wrapped around his jaw, two fingers in his mouth, pulling it open.

"I call you scuttler, because that is what you are, you sniveling, scrambling, treacherous little rat!" she bit.

Scottler trembled, but didn't move. Apparently, he was too busy testing how far his eyelids could retract from his watery blue eyes.

Just as quickly as she had leapt, she sinuously moved back, adjusting Scottler's clothes and brushing off imaginary dust. "Very well," she said politely. "Scottler, it is." She walked away a few steps, then in a small circle, looking around admiring the store. "What a nice place you have."

Scottler straightened, glancing warily at Julien, who just glowered. Looking oddly reassured, he ventured, "You know, I always said that I was going to open me own shop. Get out of the life; go into business proper. I'm straight, now--"

"How nice for you," Eiric said noncommittally, "But I really don't care about your sexual orientation..."

Scottler's mouth worked, and his face turned a deep, mottled shade of red, but he stayed silent.

Eiric watched him with interest for a while, then clapped her cupped hands suddenly, the sound as loud as a firecracker. Scottler jumped. "Well, I'd love to keep catching up, really I would, but I'm afraid that I must come to the point of my friendly little visit. Tell me, what's the latest gossip? Who's wearing what, who's cheating on whom, have you heard of any talk about someone hiring an inordinate number of weather-weavers, or shielders?" She looked at him, eyes bright and expectant.

Scottler shook his head sadly. "As I said, Lady Blanchard, I'm out of that life. I got a good thing'ere--"

"You know how I know that you're lying," Eiric said, her tone friendly, light.

Scottler shook his head, "I ain't lying, Lady--"

Eiric held up a hand and he abruptly stopped talking. She walked casually to him, and laid her head on his chest, wrapping one arm around him and putting her hand over his heart. He stood as still as a particularly juicy vole trying to hide in plain sight from a hawk. She tapped a finger lightly against his chest to emphasize her words. "I know that you are lying...because I can smell it on you."

Scottler shuddered, and Julien was disgusted to see that the man had an erection.

"Now, you can answer my questions, and I can leave, and you can keep your nice little weapons store, in this nice little town, or..." her voice trailed.

A sly, stupid look passed over Scottler's face. "Now, now, Lady Blanchard," he said, self-importantly, "You know if you run 'ot in 'ere, it will mean the end o' all o' us. I 'ave enough munitions in 'ere to take out an entire block." He ended this little speech with a triumphant look on his face.

"It will mean the end of you," Eiric purred, then leaned her face up and roughly clutched the neck of his shirt. "Baby, I can run so hot that everything in here will melt before it even touches me. So...yes...everything will explode, but I'll be walking out of here just as pretty as I am, now. You, on the other hand..." she shook her head sadly.

Scottler had paled during her little speech. "But, wha' about 'im, eh?" he asked, looking desperately at Julien.

"He can take care of himself," she said softly. "Scottler... Scottler..." she sing-songed. "Talk to me..."

"I don't know nothin'," he said stubbornly.

Eiric nodded, as if this admission deeply pained her. Then she took her finger, and slowly ran it down Scottler's chest. The fabric of his shirt blackened and peeled away, smoking as it exposed the overblown planes of his chest.

For a moment, all Julien could hear was the hiss of burning fabric, and Scottler's harsh, staccato breaths. The entire store was thick with the acrid stink of his fear.

Eiric, pushed aside one side of Scottler's shirt to expose a stylized golden charm of a lightning bolt. She tapped it with her palm, loud slapping noises reverberating throughout the room, punctuating her words. "I thought that you got out of the life, scuttler? I thought that you went straight? That you were clean?" Her voice was strident. "So, why are you still wearing his mark?" Scottler's skin was turning an alarming shade of red where her hand repeatedly struck.

"I just like the necklace, Miss," he said, his voice tight.

Eiric looked up into his eyes, and then nodded. "It is a nice necklace. May I see it?" Without waiting for an answer, she ripped it from around his neck. Then, stringing the chain between her teeth, she brought both hands to the front of his pants, which bore a suspiciously spreading dark stain, and deftly started to undo his belt buckle.

"Well, Missus! Wif your man here, and everythin'? Well, I won't let it be said that Scottler didn't rise to the occasion," he proclaimed, grinning down at her, his too-perfect teeth very white in his ridiculously tanned face. She undid his jeans, glanced down, and then raised an eyebrow. "Nah, no underwear," he said proudly. "Never saw the need for it."

She delicately dropped the chain into one palm, using her other hand to hold open his trousers. Her hand started to glow, and the gold quickly melted into a bright pool in her palm. Realization dawned slowly over Scottler's previously lascivious features, and he started to squirm as heat radiated off of her.

"Unfortunately, though fortunately for you, I don't have time to play, so I'll get right to it. You're going to tell me what you know, or..." she tipped her hand slightly, and the liquid gold trickled toward the edge of her hand. She laughed sweetly. "Now they'll really mean it when they say, 'It must be gold-plated.'"

"Now, wait, Miss—Lady MacTavish—Blanchard! Blanchard! Lady Blanchard!" he said desperately.

"Mmm?" she purred, eyes on the molten gold.

"There's no need for that, see? Scottler's always been your friend, yea? Look, all I know is that Meallan contracted out a lot of his people for an important job. No one's really talking about it, but everyone knows."

"Which people, scuttler?" Eiric said, waving her hand gently.

"What makes you think I know--" Her hand started to tip. His voice cracked, "Yes, yes! It was weather-weavers! I know that. But I don't know nothing about no shielders, or nothing, please!" He started to cry. It wasn't pretty.

She watched him for a few moments, and then closed her hand. "Okay!" she said brightly, patting him on the head. She dropped her hand, and the gold dripped through her fingers onto the floor. "Where can I find Meallan?"

Scottler hiccuped, and then sighed. "Last I heard, he was doing business out of some warehouse on La Dhuy."

Eiric stroked his bristly head "See, scuttler? That's all I wanted to know. Was that so hard?" His shoulders shook as he fought unvoiced sobs. She stepped back and he slowly slid down the front of his checkout counter to the ground. She started for the door, which Julien hastily unlocked and opened. Before she exited, she looked around the shop, turned to Scottler, and sang gaily, "It has been lovely seeing you again, scuttler! This really is a nice little place. I'm sure that nothing will happen to it."

Julien spared one last glance at the trembling man, and wished that he hadn't. Thick, white droplets had spattered all over the front of Scottler's pants and shirt. Turning away in disgust, Julien followed his wife to the car, and they drove away from the weapons shop.

****************

"Well," said Julien as they cruised down the streets on their way to La Dhuy. "That was gross."

His wife nodded absently, looking out the window. After a while, she turned to him. "You did well in there. Just...try not to glower so much next time."

"You told me to look menacing."

"Yes, but...have you ever noticed that the most dangerous people are the ones who do the least advertising? And vice-versa?"

He drove, but said nothing.

"Alright, take Scottler for an example. He looks like a particularly violent wrestling aficionado. Yet...well...you saw what happened." Julien remained silent. She sighed, and then changed tactics. "When I was a little girl, there was a tiny old sweet crone who used to come to the house to see my father. She was so thin, and her skin was so pale that you could read her veins like ink on parchment. She would pat my cheek, and offer me sweets, but whenever my father caught her paying attention to me, he would quickly send me away. I couldn't understand why. I liked her. Her hands were soft, and she smelled like peppermint.

"It wasn't until later that I found out that she was one of his most...accomplished assassins. She may have been tiny, but she had an encyclopedic knowledge of poisons." She paused, and then added, "And torture techniques. After I ascended, she was the one who taught me most of what I know." Eiric put a hand on his thigh. "Julien...guards, assassins, serially dangerous people don't look so forbidding on duty because, to them...killing is just...what they do. It's nothing special. Mundane."

"Do you want me to look...bored?"

"No. Just..." She searched for a moment. "Imagine there's an intern to whom you've offered several deadlines for the same project, but who has managed to miss every single one of them. Instead of remorse, knowing full well that you're married, she tries to seduce you."

He looked coldly at the road as he drove, his pupils narrowing to pinpoints

She looked at him approvingly. "C'est ca! That's your look. Keep it. Much more convincing than the overdone glowering."

"If you say so." They stopped at a stop light.

"Look at me," she said.

He turned his head to find her staring hotly at him. The scowl left him uncomfortable, as he knew from experience what that expression usually meant when it was directed at him,.

"Now watch," Eiric said. And then his wife disappeared. There was nothing behind her eyes—no warmth, no feeling, just a dark empty void where a person should be.

He could feel the weight of her gaze on him, and it made his skin crawl, made him want to get out of the car without turning his back on her. He felt like it was in a too-small space with a too-large predator. Just as suddenly, she was back. He swallowed hard, feeling chilled, and turned back to the road.

"I concede the point."

"Excellent." They continued in silence.

After a while, he glanced at her., and then cleared his throat. "You realize that this is a trap."

"Oui."

"What are we going to do?"

She looked at him and smiled grimly. "Who says that it's their trap? Turn in here."

He looked at where she was telling him to stop with mild surprise, but parked where she directed, and turned off the car. "What are you going to do? These people sound dangerous. You can't just walk in there like you did with Scuttler. Scottler. Oh, merde." He shook his head, still feeling sullied.

She turned at him, and smiled, then took his hand and threaded her fingers through his. "I'm not going to walk in, dear. You are."

****************

The soft rubber of Julien's black hiking boots made only a whisper of noise as he cautiously walked into the abandoned-looking warehouse, hands loosely at his sides. He walked into the large room, keeping his back to the wall and waited. After a few minutes, when nothing happened, he called, "Allo? Est-ce que quelqu'un la?" When no one answered, he walked to the middle of the room, looking around for movement.

A whisper of sound was the only warning heard as three tall, slender men dropped silently from the high ceiling to surround him. He looked around, as they stood at the ready, and brought his hands up for a slow clap. "Tres bon, tous. Very well done. I've not seen better at the circus!" They didn't move, just watched him, unblinking. "Alors, I see the dogs, but...where's the master?"

Slow, staccato boot steps were heard overhead, and echoed through the building. Julien watched, seemingly bored, as a stately, snow-haired gentleman in a white suit and shirt, with black cravat walked down the stairs with the aid of a black, silver-headed cane. He was middle-aged, but obviously quite fit, and his hoarfrost goatee was waxed to points of tonsorial ecstasy. He stopped in front of Julien, and looked him over, with palpable disapproval. "Where is yer lovely wife?" he inquired politely, in a soft Irish lilt.

Julien shrugged. "She's off to buy something that I need for my thaumaturgy. I figured that I'd go ahead and meet with you to discuss what you know about the location of my daughter. You're Meallan, I presume."

Meallan tilted his head congenially. "So, ye came all this way to talk to me...what? Man to man?"

Julien laughed softly. "Exactement. If you could oblige me with what I want, I'll be on my merry way."

Meallan shook his head sadly. "I fear that I must detain ye. I owe MacTavish a favour, and I must see that it remains discharged. Y'understand. He's not the sort of man to whom one wants to be owin' a favor."

"That's unfortunate," Julien said, sadly shaking his head. "I'm afraid that I can't oblige you. Let's make a deal. You give me the information, and I walk out of here."

Silver eyebrows rose. "My dear boy, the definition of a deal is an arrangement for mutual advantage. What you've just proposed is a demand."

Julien cocked his head. "Really, I should think that my end of the bargain is all the more explicit for having remained unsaid. But if you require me to be vulgar about it, then here goes. You give me what I want. I walk out of here." He pointed to each man surrounding him in turn. "You live. You live. You live."

"Really, Mr. Blanchard? That's your threat? You think that saying that threatening to kill us is a particularly strong negotiating point?" Meallan shook his head, looking woeful. "You really should have brought your wife. Dealing with a hedge witch like you will hardly be difficult."

"Oh, I didn't say that I'd kill you all. I know my limits. I could probably only kill two of you." He locked eyes with each man surrounding him. "The question is...which two...of you? Does anyone feel like gambling?" He nodded his head toward Meallan. "He lives. His kind always lives, but two...of you...will not. Which ones shall it be? I don't know. You don't know. Are you willing to die so that he can stay alive? Him? What do you think you mean to him besides meat willing to take a bullet?" He grinned--a death's head rictus. "Proverbially speaking of course. Magic is always so much nastier than bullets."

No one moved, but one man finally blinked, while another set his jaw. The third just swallowed.

Looking bored, Meallan said, "A lovely little speech Mr. Blanchard—I entirely enjoyed it--but it doesn't change the fact that you aren't going anywhere until the job with your daughter is complete."

Julien looked at him. "I'm sorry, aren't you supposed to be frying chicken or something?" Meallan looked blank. "Kentucky Fried Chicken? Colonel Sanders? Seriously, no one has told you that you looked like..." He looked up at the ceiling and blew a frustrated breath. "Ma foi, I miss my daughter!"

Meallan struck his cane against the ground and nodded at the men. "Take him away. Be rough. If he undergoes an unfortunate accident in the river..." No one moved. Meallan set his jaw and quirked an imperious brow. "Am I going to have to ask again?"

The men moved as one then, closing on Julien. He raised his voice. "I'm giving you one last chance, Meallan. I'm a generous man, not a patient one."

Meallan turned his back and walked away, waving his hand dismissively. The men surrounded Julien, one taking him roughly by the arm, while another kicked him behind the knees, then walked around and backhanded him. The third put his face very close to Julien's and said, "Nice try back there, mate," his Cockney voice so deep, it was almost a rumble. "That man in that cabin wif your daughter..." His golden eyes gleamed maliciously. "Lucky dog. What I wouldn't give to be in 'is place. A nice, young, plump, tight little virgin all of me very own." He leaned forward to whisper in Julien's ear. "I would eat her all up! And she would whine for more like a bitch in 'eat..."

Julien looked up at the talker. "Heat?" he said, low. Julien cocked his head, looking at the man like he was examining an insect. "You like bitches in heat?" Then he laughed as the two men holding him hauled him to his feet. Suddenly, he dropped all of his weight forward, and rolled his shoulders, throwing them off balance. They dove forward, flipping neatly, and rounded on him, but by then, he had leapt back up, his hands shooting forward to grip the talker's head. "Let's dance," he purred, and the man's face began to redden. An acrid, burning smell filled the air as hair sizzled, and Julien's tall, solid form began to morph into Eiric's lean, tight curves.

"It's Lady MacTavish!" one of the other men yelled. Both began ripping off their clothes.

Eiric's silver eyes were fixed on the talker's gold ones. He was screaming as she cooked him from the inside out. When his shrieks had reached an ear-splitting whistle, she roughly twisted her arms, breaking his neck. She looked up at the two left, contorting in mid-change. "One," she said.

Fast as thought they were on her. She leapt into the air, and landed on the back of one, heating her hand, and plunging it into the back of his ribs, which crackled into so much ash as she squeezed his heart. He faltered and fell, and she rolled and leaped back to her feet. "Two."

A rush of air was her only warning when a loud shot rang. The wolf who had been about to spring on her from behind was thrown to the ground, a neat hole bleeding in his chest.

Meallan had watched all of this from the stairway, leaning against it as if he didn't have a care in the world. "I thought that you said that you could only kill two."

"So I did," she replied.

Loud steps reverberated throughout the warehouse as the real Julien descended. "Three," he said, gun leveled on Meallan.

"How very clever," Meallan said. "Why didn't they smell ya?"

"You think that a glamour only covers sight, sound, and touch? Are you willfully ignorant, or just really that stupid?" she asked acidly.

"Now, now," the white-haired man admonished gently. "There's no need for rudeness, Lady." He inclined his head. Not turning around, he said, "Put away that gun, young man. It won't do y'any good. Silver doesna work on me."

12
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