Part 13 (1/2)
”'Irregardless' isn't a word, you ridiculous girl.”
Clare just glared at him.
”Fine,” Morholt sighed. ”Then I guess you're both coming for a little ride.”
s.h.i.+t. That wasn't what Clare was hoping for. She was hoping that she could stall him and keep him at Milo's office long enough for Milo to regain consciousness. Three against one and they might have had a chance.
”What about Milo?” she said desperately. ”I ... uh ... I need him, too!”
Morholt snorted. ”Your lying skills need almost as much work as your vocabulary. I'm willing to hedge my bets with your little sidekick, but I'm afraid Prince Valiant stays here.” He walked over to a desk and picked up a packing tape dispenser, tossing it to Al. ”Wrists behind his back,” he commanded, gesturing to the unconscious Milo. ”Bind his ankles, and a piece over his mouth for good measure, please.”
Al did as she was told-she was smart enough to know that they were pretty short on options to the contrary. When she was done, Morholt gave the binding job a cursory glance and rolled an eye at Al.
”A predictably shoddy job. Don't worry. I didn't expect cello-tape to hold him for long. Just enough for the three of us to get reasonably long gone.” Morholt scribbled with a Sharpie on a piece of letterhead. Clare read the words as he wrote them:
You're smart enough to know that calling the authorities would be a very, very bad idea. The well-being of your lady friends depends on your good behaviour. So behave.
Cheers, S. M.
”Long gone?” Clare asked as Morholt tucked the note in the collar of Milo's T-s.h.i.+rt where he'd be sure to find it on waking. ”Long gone where?”
”You're both coming for a little ride.” He pointed to Comorra's brooch where it lay on the desk. ”Wrap that up and bring it along,” he ordered Al. ”And let's not dawdle.”
Clare and Al hesitated, the seriousness of the situation sinking heavily upon them. They were being kidnapped. At gun-point. Clare swallowed and felt herself grow pale.
”Oh, go on,” snarled their abductor. ”I'm not going to shoot you. Yet. But please don't think for a moment, ladies, that I will put up with any further c.r.a.p from either of you. The car is in the garage. Now, mush, you two.”
Al wrapped the raven-shaped pin back up in its sock and stuffed it in the side pocket of the messenger bag she carried. Then she fell into step beside Clare as Stuart Morholt marched them toward the elevator, down to the deserted parking level, and over to a sleek, silvery-grey car.
”Wow,” Al said. ”Choice ride, Evil-doer.”
”A limited-edition Bentley Mulsanne. And yes. It is rather choice.”
Morholt pressed the b.u.t.ton on a key fob as they approached and the engine started up remotely with a sonorous growl. The car was elegantly muscular, with a distinctive snub-nose front grille and long, sweeping lines along the body. It sported gleaming chrome detailing, ominously tinted windows, and-the girls soon discovered-a roomy trunk, good for hauling antique furniture, stolen artifacts, or two kidnapped teenagers.
”WAS I SEEING THINGS back there, or was that a cut on your neck?”
”It was. Has it stopped bleeding?”
”Looked like it.” Al wriggled around in the dark confines of the trunk, elbowing Clare in the head as she s.h.i.+fted and squirmed. ”What happened?”
”I got a little too close to my friendly neighbourhood Druid,” Clare said, gingerly touching the side of her neck. Way too close, actually. She felt herself blus.h.i.+ng at the memory and thought she could actually feel Al's stare intensify. ”Anyway. Not really the issue at the moment. How are we going to get out of our present predicament?”
”We could start banging really loudly on the trunk lid,” Al suggested.
Except that Morholt suddenly began blasting rap music at an insane volume-no doubt to mask any attempts the girls might make at attracting the attentions of pa.s.sersby. Besides, they could tell that he was driving fast enough that no one would have time to notice. He'd probably planned a route with the least traffic stops just in case. Seemed like the type. The fact that he hadn't duct-taped them or tied them up meant that he was pretty sure there was no way they could escape. However, that didn't stop Al from blindly exploring every inch of the inside of the sedan's generous trunk.
”Tire iron,” she muttered, ”bolted down ...”
Clare s.h.i.+fted her b.u.t.t as Al's hands patted around. ”
Emergency road kit ... okay, some of this could be useful ...”
She could hear Al rummaging through the kit, but she couldn't imagine what it could possibly contain that would prove useful. A tire gauge and socket-wrench set still weren't going to make them a match for Morholt's firearm. But it seemed to provide a nice distraction that kept Al from freaking out. Clare wished she felt the same.
”Nice bluff back there, telling Morholt you needed me to help you s.h.i.+mmer.” Al pitched her voice over the thrumming ba.s.s coming through the car speakers.
Clare shrugged as much as the close confines would allow. ”Wasn't.”
”Er.” Al stopped rummaging. ”What?”
”Well ...” Clare s.h.i.+fted around so that she was facing Al, even though she couldn't see her in the darkness. ”I don't so much need you to go as to get back. I think. That's my, you know, working hypothesis. Maybe.”
”Okaaay.” Al sounded skeptical, but willing to explore the possibility. ”What makes you think that?”
”Did you shout out Milo's name just before I s.h.i.+mmered back last time?”
”Um, I think so.” Al paused, remembering. ”Yeah. Right after Mr. Ninja took him out. Just a natural reaction, I suppose ... Why?”
”Because I heard you. Only you sounded like a bird.”
”You're kidding.”
”If I could glare at you sardonically right now, I would,” Clare said dryly. ”That is not something I would likely make up, is it?”
”Good point.”
”And I've started to realize ... there's always a bird. A raven. It's what brings me back. I think it's you. Your, um, spirit? Or something. You're like my anchor to the present, I think.”
”Wow. A raven, huh?”
”Yeah.”
”Quoth me-'Nevermore.'”
The girls both laughed a little. It sapped some of the tension out of the situation and for that Clare was grateful. Al really was the best kind of friend.
”Hey Clare ... remember what you told me Lla.s.sar said about 'blood magic'? And how you'd p.r.i.c.ked your finger on the brooch?”
”I thought about that maybe having something to do with it. But it's not like we're related, Al.”
”No, I know. But remember when we did that stupid 'blood sisters' thing when we were kids?”