As he pulled into the truck stop where the busses were known to refuel, Noah was scraping all the optimism he could find out of the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t fear of Moore or Lourdes. It was fear of failing. He couldn’t let Lindsay down.
“If Ylli’s friends are right, we won’t be waiting long,” Noah said, partly to remind himself that he wouldn’t have long to spend worrying before he had to simply act.
Lindsay’s fingers crept up Noah’s thigh. Before it got into salacious territory, he flipped it palm-up.
“Let’s get ready.”
Noah parked the van as far from the lights as he could, but left it running. Kristan would come take his place when he got out. He tucked his hand into Lindsay’s and held on.
“So, what’s my illusion this time?” He managed to come up with a smile for Lindsay.
“Any preferences?” Lindsay smiled back at him, but it looked strained. “I take requests.”
“Just don’t distract me.” Noah squeezed Lindsay’s hand. “Which leaves out the naked pictures of you.
Anything that works for you. A piece of jewelry or a watch, something that won’t look too odd from the outside if I see it or fiddle with it before I remember not to do that.”
Lindsay looked down at their hands and turned Noah’s so that it lay palm up in his. His expression was a study in concentration, as though he were searching for something under Noah’s skin. His fingers were frigid and pale against Noah’s dark skin when he laid them over the inside of Noah’s wrist.
“You made me a garden of them once.” Lindsay revealed a red-gold rose on Noah’s wrist, like a tattoo, but made of his magic. Noah remembered his mother’s garden, alight with magic on the blooms, and the fire roses he’d brought to the empty gym where Lindsay let him touch his magic without fear.
“I’ll plant you a real garden of them someday,” he promised.
He unbuckled his seatbelt to turn and cup Lindsay’s sweet face in both hands. Lindsay’s lips were cool and soft when they kissed. He hardly registered the sound of the van door sliding open as the others got out. Lindsay wasn’t just the reason he was going in; Lindsay was his reason to come out alive.
“I think we scared them off,” Lindsay whispered. He didn’t give Noah a chance to answer before he was wriggling out of his seatbelt and sliding across to kiss him again.
Whatever the reason, Noah didn’t care. He slipped one arm around Lindsay, holding him close and kissing him like he could somehow imprint on Lindsay the promise that he would be back. He knew Lindsay would blame himself for anything going wrong, and that was the last thing Lindsay needed.
“The bus is here,” someone outside murmured. Slowly, Lindsay pulled back.
“Let’s get this done.” Noah kissed him one more time, a soft kiss on the mouth. “I’ll trade off with one of the passengers. Make sure the driver opens the door.”
He got out of the van and checked that he had nothing on him, no cash, nothing that could identify him, no crumpled receipts in the bottoms of his pockets. Nothing but the tattoo that was visible to him and no one else.
“I’ll go ahead,” he said as Lindsay got out of the van. “See if you can see through me and speak to me for sure.”
“Remember not to answer me out loud.” It was Lindsay’s voice whispering in his ear, but it was no more real than the rose on his wrist.
“I won’t forget. ”
Noah had no idea if Lindsay heard him or not, but all that mattered was that Lindsay could keep track of things. He looked over his shoulder one more time. Lindsay would ensure he wasn’t seen, Ylli would grab whoever came off the bus, and all he had to do was board, liberate some poor sod, and let the rest happen. He wasn’t good at the last part, but he’d manage.
“I’m with you. You’re good to go.”
The door of the bus opened and a guard stepped out, walking over to the pump. The door stayed open.
Noah took the steps all at once, and slipped past the oblivious driver. It was eerie, like a dream, to be walking around invisible to everyone. The passengers were all quiet, mostly sleeping, some staring blankly out the windows. Noah knew what stoned looked like, and that was it. There was a passenger three rows back who seemed about his height and weight; better yet, the guy was wearing a hooded sweatshirt that he had pulled up so it was hard to see his face.
“Let’s get you out of here,” Noah muttered. The man stank of sweat and cigarettes, and he lolled limply as Noah stripped the sweatshirt off of him. Noah tugged it on and got the man’s arm around his neck, heaving him to his feet.
To Noah’s surprise, the man half-woke but didn’t get belligerent. Mumbling cheerfully, he let Noah walk him to the steps. The two guards sitting next to the steps didn’t look up from their respective smart phones; Lindsay’s illusion was working. From the flicker and glow of the screens, Noah guessed that one was playing a game and the other was reading.
“So, what’s your name?” It was worth a try, and Noah had no idea if they’d bothered to take names and keep a headcount.
The slurred reply sounded something like “Alex King”. Noah would take it. If he pretended to be as heavily influenced as this guy, he could have gotten away with “King Kong”.
Noah let Ylli pull the man off the bus, then went and took his place. It was hard to feign the boneless sag and dull reaction of someone drugged when adrenaline was flooding his brain, but Noah made himself relax. He focused on the rose on his right wrist, on the glow of it and the shading of the petals.
When the guard who had been pumping gas got back on and took his seat behind the driver, Noah’s heart tried to climb up his throat. He couldn’t risk any kind of reaction, couldn’t screw this up for everyone because he got a case of nerves. The mental exercises from his childhood were familiar enough that he drew on them to keep his mind busy while a guard from the back—one he hadn’t seen—started a slow walk up the aisle.
The bus rumbled and lurched, and pulled away from the pumps, heading back onto the highway.
Noah’s seatmate sat up a little, but Noah couldn’t see what caused it. The downside to having his face obscured was giving up his vision.
“Relax there, buddy,” the guard said reassuringly. “Not much farther to go.”
When his seatmate settled down, Noah realized he’d been holding his breath. Not much farther to go.
Out the window, their destination looked like any other industrial park lined in grass and trees to make it seem less imposing. A curving two-lane road took them past parking lots and buildings that would have been at home on a university campus.
The bus pulled to a stop in front of one of the lower buildings, one with a single row of parking spaces out front. Instead of cars, there were people standing in the parking spaces, some with white lab coats and others who looked similar to the men from Wildwood that Lindsay had called—
“Hounds. Be careful, Noah.”
No chance he was going to be anything but careful. The guards were coming up the aisle, waking passengers. Every once in a while, Noah heard a sharp hiss, like something from a compression canister. As he stumbled to his feet in response to a cuff from a guard, he caught a glimpse of what made the noise. It looked like a small can of pepper spray, but whatever came out couldn’t be smelled on the air. Where the person was sprayed, their skin went white like frostbite and they jerked like it was painful.
Noah wasn’t sticking around to see more. It was effective, he had to give them that. Maybe it was like cold water to the face. He hoped that was all it was.