He nodded. "Just as with crossing between realms, so must an avatar be congruent with the entity wishing to posses it. How did you unmatch youself ?"
"Well…" I smiled. "Accidentally. Mostly I was just doing what came naturally. The night before the big ceremony—which I thought was to initiate me into their mysteries—a sweet boy named Johnny McLeod performed another sort of initiation. Her avatar must be a virgin, you see."
He laughed.
"She was royally pissed about Johnny, though." A little shiver travelled through me.
They'd brought me to Her when they realized what I'd done—brought me weeping, cursing, fighting. They hadn't been gentle in their disappointment, and I'd learned what they'd planned. Then I saw Her… or, rather, what was left of her old avatar. Centuries old, it was, kept more or less alive by Her power. It—I've never been able to think of that husk as female—had looked like a mummy. Dead everywhere but the eyes…
"She crumbled," I said. "After She cursed me. That little temper fit cost Her."
"I'm sorry." He reached for my hand and held it. "I've called up bad memories."
The contact was good. Steadying. For a few minutes, I let myself enjoy holding hands. But as memories faded, that simple pleasure was lost in the rise of hunger. With a sigh, I pulled my hand back.
He was silent a moment longer, then said,
"You were right to warn me. These Azá may not know why their goddess wants me. She won't be able to tell them much."
"Why not? She is a goddess—or one of the Old Ones who calls herself goddess, which amounts to the same thing. Can't she tell them whatever she wants?"
"Communication across the realms is chancy." He sounded distracted. "And yours is so distant from most… I doubt she can convey actual words. Images, perhaps."
"Visions."
"Yes, and it's devilishly hard to get precise information across in a vision."
He sounded as if he knew from personal experience. A sudden thought chilled me. "Michael, there isn't any chance that… I mean, you aren't…"
"Aren't what?"
I bit my lip. "One of the Old Ones?"
Startled silence, then a sharp bark of laughter. "Gone senile, maybe? Considering my memory problem? That's good. I'll have to tell—" He stopped short. "Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit."
"You remembered something."
"Someone. For an instant I had a face, a name. A friend. I knew he would enjoy the joke, and…" He shook his head. "He's gone now."
A tightness beneath my breastbone told me I was already too involved with this strange, uprooted man. Still I reached for his hand. "You have a friend here, too."
His fingers closed around mine. Then, slowly, he lifted my hand to his lips. I tried to pull it back—and couldn't, for he wouldn't release me. He pressed a kiss to my fingertips, and his breath was warm. His mouth was warmer.
Then, thank God, he dropped my hand. I gave a little laugh that sounded far too nervous. "You've picked up some odd things on the Internet."
"I didn't read about that." He was pleased with himself. "Perhaps it was instinct. I like the way you taste."
"Yes, well, you taste in a different way than I do. I'm trying not to jump your bones here, Michael. You are not helping."
"Jump my… oh. But I would like very much if you jumped my bones, Molly."
Now the hard thud of my heart made sense. So did the way my pulse throbbed in tender places, and the hunger rising, rising… "I can kill that way, too. If I take too much."
"But you wouldn't."
"That doesn't make it safe." For either of us.
"You couldn't drain me."
I snorted. "Oh, the sublime confidence of youth."
"The nodes," he said patiently. "I draw what I need from the nearest node, either directly or through a ley line. You can't drain them."
The nodes? Was that what I'd felt—that sparkling, delicious energy that had flowed when he was healing? Oh, gods, but I wanted to taste that. And him. I wanted Michael. If I could—"Shit."
"What is it?"
"A cop, the state version. He's on my tail, flashing his lights."
"What does that mean?"
"He wants me to pull over. I'm not speeding," I said grimly. "I haven't broken any traffic laws. So he has something else in mind, and it probably isn't good news."
I had no choice, though. I sure couldn't outrun him. There was plenty of shoulder, but I don't put my rig on the shoulder when I can help it. I flashed my lights to let him know I'd seen him, then waited for an exit to come along. While I waited, I briefed Michael on the various other law enforcement agencies, and suggested he let me do the talking.
"You think he is stopping us because the FBI told him to?"
"It seems likely. Unless there's some other player we don't know about in this game." There was an exit for a rest stop coming up, which was perfect. I signaled. The fuzz didn't bother with a turn signal, just stayed on my bumper as I slowed.
"There may be many players we don't know about. There were… I'm almost sure there were two."
I stole a glance at him. Sweat gleamed on his forehead. He was staring straight ahead, his gaze fixed on nothing his eyes could see. "Two?" I said softly.
"Who came for me. She—the one who wounded me—and another. At least one other."
"Do you think she might be the Azá's goddess?" There was no traffic on the access road. I pulled up into the curve of the rest stop and eased to a stop.
He shrugged. "How can I tell? I don't remember her clearly, and I know nothing about the Azá's goddess."
"I'll fill you in on her." I glanced at the side mirror. My tailgating cop was getting out of his car. "Later. Michael, I've made some assumptions for you. Maybe I shouldn't have. The FBI might be able to keep you safe from the Azá. You might not mind it if they found you."
"No. You are right. I can't let myself be taken by any government. I'm… too much temptation."
True, but I suspected he didn't mean it the way I did. "Open the glove box, will you? Oh—it's this." I showed him. We had the registration and insurance papers out by the time the cop turned his flashlight on us through the window.
I hit the button to roll it down. "Yes, officer? Would you mind—" I held a hand up. "The light. I can't see you at all."
He lowered the flashlight enough for me to see that the face beneath the Smokey Bear hat was young, but he had his cop face down pat. He looked as friendly as stone. "Are there just the two of you in there, ma'am?"
"Yes, me and my nephew." I held out the papers that proved me to be a law-abiding citizen.
He ignored them. "I need you both to step out of the vehicle, please."
This was not good. Officers never ask middle-aged ladies to step out of our vehicles for a traffic violation. "What's wrong?" I made my voice breathy, as if I were frightened. It wasn't difficult.
"If you'll just step outside the vehicle, ma'am."
I glanced at Michael—who had the most peculiar expression on his face. His upper lip was pulled back as if he were about to sneeze, and his eyes were fixed on the officer demanding our exit. "All right," he said in a thin voice. "I've got him."
"Got—" I swung my head back. "Oh, my." The stone-faced cop was truly stony now. Frozen.
"What should we do with him?" Michael asked. "I can't hold him very long."
Chapter 8
I took a slow breath. Steady, I told myself. You've seen stranger things … but at the moment I couldn't think of any. "What did you do to him?"
"I froze him. You can ask him things," Michael said helpfully. "He won't remember later, if I tell him not to. But hurry."