“Much of my drive in joining is vanity. It’s as if I’m looking in a mirror. Her pleasure reflects back to me how marvelous I am.” The bald honesty and the insight of the admission stunned her. Tis looked at Zabb with new respect, and there was a twinge of guilt.
“You’re right. I hadn’t really thought about it, but you are absolutely right. I did the same thing. Ideal, what pigs we men can be.” She snuggled closer to him, and he put an arm around her shoulders.
“You’re going to be a very good lover. Having known what pleases you as a man, you can apply it and please your partner.”
“Going to be?” Tis asked.
“Your impression was correct. You do hold back.”
“Rape has a way of doing that to you,” Tach said a little dryly.
“I think it’s more a function of being technically a virgin.”
“You have an elastic view of virginity.”
Zabb was warming to the theme. Excitement growing with each word. “In fact, you’re the most virginal of virgins. You have no sexual sense of self. You’re learning it here, in my bed, in my arms. You’ve never known another man -”
“Just hundreds of women,” Tis said, torn between amusement and irritation.
There was a chime. Zabb sat up, all quivering alertness, and Tis knew he had read some telepathic summons. Taj entered, and Tisianne, suddenly shy, pulled covers up to her chin.
“Raiyis, forgive the intrusion, but we have received a private priority message from Blaise.” The formal mask slipped, and he looked at Tisianne. “I think you better hear it… now.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Zabb keyed the holostage, and Blaise appeared in the audience chamber of House Vayawand. There was an infant on his lap. At the foot of his throne sat Jay and Hastet. They had the blank, stuffed look of people enduring severe mind control.
It took several seconds for images and words to penetrate the pounding in Mark’s head. Jay’s mutilated hands were cuffed in his lap; the raw stumps of his fingers looked like little screaming mouths.
“You want her, Grandfather? Come and get her. You’ve got three days, and then she dies. I’ll send her back to you in bits and pieces.”
That sentence came through with appalling clarity. Mark’s hand closed like a vise on Tisianne’s shoulder, but whether to hold her in place or as support for himself, he couldn’t say.
The images shuddered and vanished. “Do you want to hear it again?” Taj asked.
Zabb shook his head. “No… I believe we’ve grasped the most salient point.”
Tis rose very carefully, as if any incautious movement would shatter her or break her fragile emotional control, and started for the door. Mark trailed faithfully after her.
“You are not going there!” Zabb exploded.
“You are quite right; I am not going there.”
That shook Mark. He’d assumed this purposeful movement had a destination. “Doc, Illyana -” Trips remonstrated.
“Is lost to me! Even if I went to Blaise, he would keep me from her!”
Mark remembered Sprout being led away by the child-welfare people. Remembered the gray jail that had held his child. But he’d gotten her out, even though it cost a woman’s life. Tisianne wilted slightly under the ace’s angry and incredulous expression.
“And what if he kills her?” Mark said.
“It won’t be the first time.” Zabb shrugged. “And babies are easy, you can always make more.”
Tis nodded. “Cousin, this hurts, I won’t deny it. Have I permission to withdraw and rest?” Zabb waved permission, and they left the Raiyis’s office.
Back in Tisianne’s chamber, she drew out the Network damper. Tis looked up at Mark, and he saw the shadow of Medea and Cerridwen and the Medusa in her face. She took a tight grip on Mark’s hand and said in a low, passion-filled voice. “We’ll leave tonight. I think Traveler will be of most use.”
“Pretend to be surrendering to Blaise?”
“Correct.”
“This won’t be easy,” Mark warned.
“It’s got to be tried.”
Mark ran a hand across his mouth. “What a bummer. Poor Jay.”
“Gimme me a second,” Jay mumbled.
After the bounce/cast they had been escorted to a sumptuous suit – and the doors had been locked behind them. Jay availed himself of a wall, leaned his back against it, and slid to the floor. The black spots dancing before his eyes receded, but he knew they were just waiting for another chance to return. He tried to remember the last time he’d slept.
Hastet stood over him, absently patting Illyana on her swaddled bottom. The baby was crying. So what else is new? thought the detective. Hastet looked as if she were going to cry.
“Shit, my hands hurt so much.” Jay was embarrassed at the thickness of his voice.
Quick footsteps approaching the door. Jay scrambled awkwardly to his feet. The black spots came raging back. The lock cycling. Tachyon – no, Kelly – entered.
“I’m Kelly Jenkins, these are my rooms. You may stay here with me, but I must have your word that you won’t try to escape. Otherwise the doors stay locked.” He turned and looked at Hastet. “Now may I see my child?”
Hastet’s eyes sought Jay’s. The ace shrugged. “Might as well, can’t dance.”
Kelly accepted the baby. He supported the tiny red gold head with his real hand, the artificial appendage under her body. The man bowed his head, and the long red hair shrouded the child. And amazingly the baby stopped crying.
“Telepathy,” said Hastet at Jay’s wild glance.
“It won’t hold her for long,” Kelly said. “I told her I was ‘mother,’ but she knows I’m not Tachyon.” He flashed a grim smile. “You ever heard a mental raspberry?”
He had just settled down to an evening’s orgy with a toy when the Vayawand traitor came calling.
“She’s gone.”
Zabb put aside the girl and frowned at the older man. “What are you maundering about?”
Bat’tam grabbed his arm, gave it an urgent shake. “She’s taken a l’lail. Traveling overland. There’s a storm coming.” He stressed each word like a teacher speaking to a particularly dim student.
“Damn the girl. She gave her word. Is she trying to drive me mad? I should have killed him as a pup.” The words came out in sharp staccato bursts as Zabb tried to analyze and control his tumbling emotions.
“Then why are you making love to a substitute?”
Bat’tam demanded, and pointed at the terrified La’b.
Zabb looked from the Vayawand nobleman back to the toy, her long hair carefully dyed white blond, her similarity of features to the female Tisianne.
“Ancestors curse you.”
Mounted on a shujukis, snow swirling in his face, he could barely discern the wingtips of the raptor. Zabb held contact with his guard by the mindnet. The shujukis were mountain bred snow hunters, tracking by body heat. He searched by mentatics for that familiar, infuriating signature. It was not his gift, and he was making a botch of it. She was hiding from him and making a botch of it. The imperfect shields cut in and out like a child playing peekaboo through its fingers.
But she drew him like filings to a magnet. What did that mean? Probably nothing except that he had a passionate desire to kill her. Ideal, it was cold. Murder was a warming action.
At last the shujukis sensed her warmth Folding its wings, it dropped into a killer’s dive. The rending beak, the claws at the wingtips… Zabb considered them all, and the murderous thoughts crumbled. The shujukis sensed his wavering intent, reluctantly released the bloodlust.
The l’lails couldn’t know that. They had heard the single wing clap like warning thunder, the only warning the prey received. Tis clung like a burr to the long, arched neck of her l’lail as it bucked and fished. Mark Meadows was thrown. He struggled in the deep snow trying to regain his feet.