Bayou Moon - Andrews, Ilona [28]
A bulge of flesh grew on Ruh’s shoulder. It squeezed and relaxed slowly, growing thicker with each contraction. What the hell . . .
Ruh moaned. A huge drop of yellow ichor swelled over the tracker’s right deltoid and burst, releasing a tentacle.
Acid burned William’s mouth. Right, if he ever fought Ruh, stabbing him in the back from above, right between the shoulder blades, would be good.
The tentacle shivered above the tracker’s shoulder, like a worm the color of raw muscle, and clung to Ruh’s red skin. Lubricated by the ichor, the tentacle slid, winding its way down the arm. Another followed it, twisting about the first, then another.
Cerise gagged. He clamped her tighter. If she vomited, the body fluid would break the spell.
The tentacles plunged into the water. The rolpie moaned and screamed, trying to get away.
A sickening magic swept over them like an avalanche. If it was wind, it would’ve rocked the boat.
Cerise shuddered in his grip.
Don’t panic. Just don’t panic. “I’ve got you,” he whispered into her ear.
Thin tendrils of magic stretched from the boat. Colorless, shimmering like hot air rising from the ground, they snaked their way along the surface of the river, through the reeds, toward them.
If the spell broke, they were fucked.
The magic hovered, waiting, probing. The colorless tendrils lapped at the edges of the mirror spell.
Hold. Hold, damn you, hold.
The coin burned William’s hand. A spasm rocked Cerise. “Almost over,” he whispered. “Almost done.”
On the boat, Ruh peered straight at them.
William held his breath.
The magic tendrils swelled and split, flowing around the boat. They tasted the shore, slithered over the mud, and retreated.
Ruh turned to the Edgers. William strained. His ears picked up the faint sound of Ruh’s voice.
“Girl didn’t . . . this way. Moving on ...”
They were looking for a girl. The girl? This girl?
The tracker pulled his tentacles out of the river. William caught a flash of a complex web, covered with long red eyelash-thin hairs dripping with water, and then the net folded in on itself. The cilia slid into the tentacles; the tentacles rolled into the shoulder like elastic rubber cords, and the skin sealed over it. Ruh massaged the viscous ichor into his arm, rubbing it into the skin like a lotion, and reached for his cloak.
The older Edger released the rope, and the rolpie shot down the river, fleeing for its life and dragging the boat with it.
William waited. A minute passed. Another. Long enough. He let go of the coin. It lay useless and cold on his palm, all of its charge spent. He had to give it to the Mirror. They made neat toys.
Cerise slumped forward, curling into a ball. The parts of her that weren’t covered with dirt had turned so pale, they looked green. The aftereffect of exposure to the Hand’s magic should be hitting her full force now.
If Spider wanted her, then William had to keep her for himself. Sooner or later Spider would come looking for her, and then they would finish the dance they’d started four years ago.
Cerise coughed.
The wild in him bared its teeth. She was weak and scared. Almost pitiful. Easy prey for anybody. He had to guard her or she’d get herself killed.
“They’re looking for you.” He kept his voice brisk.
She clutched at her stomach. Her words came out strained. “No personal questions.”
“That’s the Hand. Louisiana spies. Why do they want you?”
She shook her head.
Fine. The aftereffects of the Hand’s magic became worse with time. He simply had to wait her out, the way a wolf pack waited out a bleeding deer. Sooner or later the deer would run himself into the ground and then it was dinnertime.
William took the pole from her and sank it into the water, propelling the boat upstream.
SIX
CERISE shivered. Icy needles pricked her spine and stabbed into the muscles of her back. Her neck grew stiff. Her mouth had gone dry and bitter.
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