Riding the Red Ch. 09

Julien snorted. "A bullet to the head is a bullet to the head, Colonel."

"Just so. However, a bullet to the head would also stop me from tellin' ya what ya want to know."

"Suddenly feeling chatty?" Eiric said.

"Well, you know...the proprieties must be observed. MacTavish could hardly fault me giving you information after ya had killed three of me men and threatened me own life, could he?"

She shook her head. "What is wrong with you people?! Human beings are not pawns--they are not...expendable!"

Meallan shrugged. "And yet they just keep makin' more. D'ye want this information? I have an appointment with me barber."

"Talk," she ground.

"MacTavish came t'me about three months ago, tellin' me that it was about high time I paid me debt to him. He wanted to use some of me best workers for some scheme of his."

"Did he tell you what it was?"

"No, but I figured it out soon enough. Ya know that your father doesna volunteer information."

She nodded at that. That was truth. "Which people?"

"All of my weather-weavers, and half of my shielders."

"Why did he use your people and not his own?"

"He needed it double-blind. He knew that if he used his own, ye'd have no trouble tracking them, if not on your own, then through him." His voice softened. "Ya know that your da canna deny ya anythin', especially after..." A delicate pause.

Eiric stared at him like a cat about to pounce. "After what, Meallan?" she said, her voice deceptively gentle.

"Well," he said neatly, "There's no need for me to be goin', dredgin' up the past. I've things to do. Let's get on with our little interview."

She continued to stare at him, her irises slowly going hot. "Eiric," Julien warned. She smiled, though it looked more like a baring of teeth than anything remotely friendly. Meallan just watched her, as if fascinated with the face of his impending doom. "Adrienne!" Julien barked. Eiric blinked and looked taken aback. Her eyes quickly lost their heat and cool silver returned. She sighed and sinuously stretched, as if bored. "Where are they?"

Meallan spread his hands. "That, I canna tell ya. Contrary to yer little outburst back there, I'm not a stupid man. I knew ye'd be comin'. I didna ask where they'd be goin'. All I can tell ya, Little Bird, is that they're out of time."

She blinked, nonplussed. "Out of time?"

Julien looked furious, and pulled back the gun to strike Meallan across the face. "You pompous little--"

Without even looking, Eiric caught the barrel before it struck the older man. "No, Julien. Out of time means...that they're...out of our time. It's like Sidhe time. One day here doesn't necessarily mean one day there."

He exhaled noisily, as if punched. "Do you mean that...we then have no idea how long our daughter has really been there?"

She was silent for a moment. Then, "Yes." A very palpable silence surrounded her husband. She knew that he was desperately trying to keep his temper in check. She turned her face to him slightly, "Later," she said softly. Turning back to Meallan, she said, "What else can you tell us?"

"I've told'ye all," he said genially. "Well, almost. You've followed the magic, now follow the mundane."

"What's that supposed--" Eiric stilled her husbands irate words with a gentle hand on his arm. She inclined her head graciously to Meallan, and he did the same. "Let's go," she said to Julien.

His jaw worked angrily, but he turned and strode from the warehouse.

Eiric started after him, but then snapped her fingers. "Oh! I almost forgot!" Snake-fast, she whipped around to Meallan, putting all of her weight behind her as she backhanded him to the cold cement floor. He looked up at her, mouth bleeding, as if he expected her to say something. She just smiled and walked to her husband, clasping the hand that he held to her. Together, they left the warehouse, as Meallan climbed to his feet.

"By Mor-Ríoghain," he said softly. "I wish that she were my daughter."

****************

Eiric slid into the car beside Julien. "Drive," she said, her voice devoid of all inflection.

"Where are we going?" Julien asked.

"To your mother's house." She rested thoughtfully against her seat. "'...follow the mundane,' he said. What's the first normal thing that someone thinks about when they're going to be isolated for an extended period of time? Toilet paper? Soap?"

Julien affectionately rolled his eyes. "Les americains," he mumbled under his breath. "C'est la nourriture, petite."

Her eyes lit. "Food! You're right, wherever, or whenever they are, they need food! If they are out of time, then maybe a lot of it. Depending on how far out of time, there may be points when they have to align with our time for food drops. We just need to figure out...which marche has recently taken on a large delivery account."

"Et puis?"

"Then, we figure where they're delivering the food. The only thing to do after that is either to figure out how to make it past the shields, and try to align ourselves with a drop off, or..."

"Ou?"

"Find out when they are, and try to make it there."

"That sounds more difficult."

"That's because it is. We know that they're somewhere in Orleans. We know that they're somewhere isolated. But they could be...anywhen."

He put a warm hand on her thigh. "Think about how much closer we are then we were this morning. Ce matin, c'etait juste nous et ma mere. Alors, our group has expanded by three. This morning, we knew nothing. Maintenant, we know that she's alright, pour la moment, and we know that wherever...or whenever she is, c'est froid. We also know that we're going to have to look out for Meallan's shielders." He turned to her, raising her hand to his mouth. Kissed it. "I know that you're frustrated, ma femme. So am I." His jaw hardened. "But losing heart is not an option."

"I'm not losing heart, Julien. I'm just...thinking."

He turned to her, but she turned away.

"Non," he said.

"I may have to, Julien."

"That is not going to happen."

She turned to him. "You're becoming awfully comfortable with issuing edicts."

His knuckles turned white on the steering wheel. "Nice try, but it's not about that, and I know that you know it. She's evil, Eiric."

Eiric waved her hand dismissively. "No." She looked tired. "As much as we might want to despise them, Meallan, my father, all of the others big names, few of them are genuinely evil so much as..." She shook her head sadly. "Completely amoral. That's what makes them so dangerous. You can count on evil. It's like water trickling downhill; it's always going to do the worst thing, but amorality?" She sighed.

"Meallan just tried to kill you!" he grated.

"No he didn't. That was a test. No, not a test. A game."

Julien snorted. "Three guard werewolves against one you. Sounds like an awfully rigged game, to me."

Eiric just looked at him, face neutral. "It was. They never had a chance."

He glanced at his wife. Saw her eyes devoid of...anything. Looked back at the road. Julien hated that there was that part of her that he couldn't touch—couldn't comfort, and heal . He cleared his throat, and changed tactics. "What's his power, anyway?" He barked a short, mirthless laugh. "Delicious Southern-fried cuisine? Eleven secret herbs and spices? Arteriosclerosis?"

She closed her eyes, a smile ghosting around her mouth. "Simply put, he can manipulate the flow of electric charge."

He was silent for a moment. Then, "Eiric, I'm a diplomat, not a scientist."

She smiled. "His people emigrated to what is now Ireland, from Greece, thousands of years ago. There, they were called Keravnos, or Kerauno. Lightning. Thunderbolt. In Greece, people decided that they were gods. That's from whence the whole Zeus mythos derives."

Julien paled. "He can make lightning?"

"Yes."

"You punched him."

"I did."

"And he could have struck you with lightning."

"Technically, it wouldn't have been lightning, considering the fact that the point of origin would have been a person, instead of a cloud, but yes."

He glanced sidelong at her. "At any point, he could have struck us all with light—with...a massive electrostatic discharge."

"Yes."

Julien whistled, low. "Mon coeur, you have a set of brass ovaries."

"Well, they don't really do the whole lightning thing much, anymore. It's too flashy. He probably would have just stopped my heart, or interrupted my brain activity, if he wanted me dead."

"Brass," Julien muttered under his breath.

She shrugged. "You can't show weakness with people like him, Julien. They'll eat you alive. Some literally."

He was silent for a while. Then, "Why did he call you, 'Little Bird'?"

She paled. "That was my nickname before...before I... Be...fore," she faltered.

He nodded, sliding his hand around her shoulder and coaxing her head to rest upon his lap. He kept one hand on the steering wheel, and stroked her hair with the other as he drove. "I understand."