Light My Fire
Page 65

“OK, once more. But just once more, and that’s it. I don’t want to take any chances.” I cleared my mind again, focused, and allowed myself to be filled with the thick, warm power that seemed to ooze up out of the floor to wash over me. A horrible ripping noise filled the small bathroom, echoing off the tile walls and floor as I rended time from space, tearing a hole big enough for Jim to pass through. Overhead, two of the lights went out. The rip was right next to a sink, causing it to fall to the floor in an explosion of porcelain on tile. Two pictures fell off the wall, as well as a chunk of ceiling tile.
Water jetted out of wrenched pipe, arcing at an angle that allowed it to hit the wall behind me, splashing everything—Jim and me included—within a ten-foot radius.
“Fires of Abaddon!” Jim exclaimed, looking with big eyes at the damage.
“Later. Just go do what I asked.” I put both hands on Jim’s furry derriere and shoved it through the opening. The rip made an obscene sucking noise, closing up as the last of Jim disappeared into its maw.
“Aisling?” The doorknob rattled. “Is everything all right?”
I made an abortive attempt to shove some wadded-up paper towels in the pipe, but it was hopeless. I’d simply have to make restitution with the fencing people for the damage my rip in space had caused. “Yeah, fine. I’m coming.”
The front of my curtain toga was soaked with water, but I figured that was the least of my worries. I unlocked and hurriedly slipped out the door, quickly closing it behind me.
Drake, Fiat, and Gabriel all looked at my sodden front.
“I had ... er ... a little accident washing up.”
“If you are through with these games,” Fiat said, his eyes as chilly as his flesh. He waved toward a double door at the end of the hall. “We can proceed.”
“Right. Sorry.”
I started after Gabriel but paused when Drake asked, “Where is Jim?”
“It’s . .. uh . . . cleaning up the water I spilled. It’ll be back as soon as possible.” Or as soon as I had another moment of privacy to yank it back through time and space. I hurried after Gabriel, praying he was telling me the truth about everything.
It didn’t explain why he didn’t try to rescue me in Paris, but at least I’d feel a whole lot better about Fiat if I knew that Gabriel wasn’t secretly siding with him.
22
“By rights, I could call the challenge as a default.” Dmitri’s voice rang out strong with self-confidence as we took our seats in the raised dais of what Gabriel told me was a training room.
That gave me a moment of thought. Why wasn’t Dmitri a bit more concerned about battling Drake? Was he really so good at swords that he thought he didn’t have anything to worry about? Or was something else going on?
Something nudged at the edge of my awareness, but I ignored it to focus my attention on Drake as he picked up his sword, testing its blade before walking to the far end of the room. “That would be foolish. You know the rules governing a challenge as well as I do. The challenge resumes once an interruption has been dealt with.”
“You assume running off to see your woman is a valid interruption. I feel differently, but do not fear!” Dmitri held up his hand, an unpleasant smile on his lips. “I don’t want to give you any grounds for crying foul. I am satisfied to have the challenge continue.”
Drake nodded and stood waiting, his stance relaxed, but his eyes were at their most dragonish. I knew that every muscle in his body was poised to attack.
“Sit here, cara.” Fiat’s voice made the back of my neck twitch with irritation. He pressed me into one of the few chairs on the dais. “You will be able to see well from this spot.”
The something nudged at my consciousness again. I frowned at Fiat, distracted enough by it to keep silent.
“En garde!” Dmitri lunged forward, his blade slashing through the air at Drake. My breath caught in my throat for a moment as Drake stood still, not moving to counter the attack, but when the blade was a hairsbreadth away, he swung around to the side, parrying the attack, sending Dmitri forward onto his knees.
“This challenge is to be fought, not to the death, but until the vanquished agrees to yield,” Drake said, addressing me as Dmitri snarled an oath, leaping to his feet. “Normally a challenge is to the death unless it is agreed otherwise.”
“I will kill you regardless,” Dmitri spat, doing a couple of those big leaping fencing moves forward, his blade dancing through the air.
Drake seemed to have no problem parrying him, however. His sword, identical to Dmitri’s, flashed silver in the blue-white lights. “My sept has lost too many members to the sword, however, and I am loath to lose another, even one who seeks to destroy me.”
“Bah. You are weak, Drake. I would never tolerate a challenger to live after he had tried to take over as wyvern.” Fiat’s cool finger trailed down my bare arm. I snatched it away, giving him a glare. “Then again, you have much to fight for.”
“I believe Drake’s thinking to be magnanimous and humane,” Gabriel said, secret laughter lurking in his silver eyes. “Only a man secure in his power would allow dissenters to remain within his protection.”
Oooh. Touche. Fiat’s face darkened, but he restrained himself from saying anything. He turned to watch the two men doing the peculiar fencing dance of back and forth, but I wasn’t fooled. He had to make an effort to sit back in the chair and appear only marginally interested.
I turned back to watch Drake, admiring both the power and the grace of his movements, his attacks controlled, his defenses swift and sure. I had a feeling that he was playing with Dmitri, who had started to sweat. Drake’s moves were still easy and clean, but Dmitri was starting to labor. His breathing was heavier, his movements slower, and twice more Drake knocked him to his knees.
“Do you yield?” Drake asked a few minutes later, after Dmitri had thrown himself forward into a particularly uncoordinated attack.
“Never,” was the snarled reply.
Back and forth they went again, moving up and down the floor, Drake continuing to be sure-footed and fast in his strikes, Dmitri starting to make mistakes. Twin streaks of blood snaked down his left arm, his right shoulder stained red from another cut.
It was clear that Drake was drawing blood deliberately—not enough to endanger Dmitri, but enough to disorient and distract him.