always saw it like this.'
It was midmorning before she had recovered. Faintly contrite but determined not to show it, Laura sat in a sunbeam on the bed, wrapped in a blanket, her skin like snow, her pupils still dilated so much her eyes seemed black. She had attempted to tell them the full horror of what had happened at the club, but so much had been tied into her trip she couldn't separate reality from hallucination herself. 'Maybe that spy was right,' she said. 'Maybe it is all how we see it in our heads. Who knows what's really happening?'
'Exactly!' Shavi began excitedly. 'Liquid nitrogen would cause-'
Veitch pushed forward, barely able to contain his irritation. 'What's wrong with you? Look at the state of you-off your face, talking bollocks. This isn't a holiday. You can't just carry on having a good time-'
Church clapped a hand on his shoulder. 'Not now, Ryan.'
Veitch glared. 'Jumping to her protection just because you're shagging her, even though you know I'm right?'
'It's not like that. We all know she could have made some better choices, but this isn't the time.'
Veitch shook his head angrily. 'This is war. We've got to have some strict rules. Because if one person fucks up, it could drag the rest of us down.'
'He's right,' Tom said. 'We have to have discipline-'
'And that's one thing I haven't got, right?' Laura said sharply. 'You lot are such blokes.'
She desperately wanted to talk about her fears, about what was happening to her body, but everyone seemed more ready to criticise than to listen. She didn't feel any different, but the shock of seeing what happened to her blood lay heavy on her. Part of her wondered if she had contracted some hideous new virus which had crossed over from Otherworld; there were so many new rules, so many things still hidden, it was impossible to put any event into any kind of context. Perhaps it had lain in her, dormant, but was now beginning to ravage her body. But with all their talk of discipline and missions and responsibility to the cause, how could she even bring it up? It was something she had to deal with herself.
Veitch leaned against one of the lobby's marble columns, adopting a look of cool detachment while secretly believing the attendants were all sneering at him, whispering behind their hands that he shouldn't be there, that someone ought to throw him out. It made him feel angry and hunted and at any other time he wouldn't have subjected himself to it, but those feelings paled in comparison to the betrayal he felt at Church's dismissal of Ruth's plight. He understood in an oblique way what Church said about obligation and responsibility, but loyalty to friends overrode it all; and love was even more important than that.
He was suddenly aware of an old man moving across the lobby towards him. His gait was lazily elegant, although he looked in his seventies. The sharp cut of his expensive suit, the delicate way he held his silver-topped cane, the perfect grooming of his swept-back white hair and old-style handlebar moustache, all suggested a man of breeding.
Here we go, Veitch thought. Somebody who wants the riff-raff thrown out.
But as the elderly gentleman neared, Veitch saw he was smiling warmly. 'I am an excellent judge of a man's face,' he said in the well-formed vowels of a privileged Edinburgh brogue, 'and I can see we've both been touched by magic.' His eyes twinkled as he took Witch's left hand in both of his; Veitch was so shocked he didn't snatch it back as he normally would have. 'I can see troubles too,' the gentleman continued. 'And if it is any comfort, hear the words of someone who has grown wise in his long life: never give up believing.' He tapped Veitch once on his forearm and then, with a polite nod, turned and moved gracefully back across the lobby.
'What was that all about?' Church had come up on Veitch while he curiously surveyed the gentleman's retreat.
'Dunno. Some old duffer who's had too much sun.'
As they wandered in the morning sunlight towards the sandwich shop to pick up lunch, Veitch put on the cheap sunglasses he had picked up at one of the department stores on Princes Street. He couldn't contain himself any longer. 'I don't know how you can dump her, mate.'
Church nodded, relieved it was finally out. 'I know how you feel, Ryan. More than you might think. But after how I almost screwed things up before Beltane because I was so wrapped up in my own problems, I've got to keep my eye on the big picture. I learned the hard way that we all come second.'
Veitch shook his head; the sunglasses masked his emotions from Church. 'I hear what you're saying, but it's not right.' His feelings were heavy in his voice, but he was managing to control himself. 'She's one of us. We should look after our own.'
'And maybe we can. There might be a way we can do what we have to do and save Ruth at the same time. I just haven't thought of it.'
'Well, you better get thinking. It's your job.'
'Why is it my job?' Church bristled. 'Did I miss the election? How come I ended up leading this pathetic bunch?'
Veitch looked surprised, as if Church had asked the most stupid question in the world. 'Course it had to be you. Who else could do it?'
'Shavi.'
'He's got his own responsibilites. Listen, you know your strengths. Thinking, planning. Seeing the big picture.'
Church grunted, looked away. 'Well, I don't like it.'
'You're good at it. Accept it.'
'Okay,' Church said. 'Well, you accept this. The Pendragon Spirit, or whatever it is, is pushing all our strengths out into the open and yours are obvious too. You're not just the fighter, the warrior, you're the strategist. I've seen it in you-you're a natural at choosing the right path whenever we're in a tight spot. So here's your job: sort out how we can save Ruth and do everything else we need to do.'
Veitch looked even more surprised at this, but after a moment's thought he said seriously, 'All right, I'll take you up on that. But if I do it, you've got to give me a good hearing.'
'Deal.'
The relief on Veitch's face was palpable. As they crossed Princes Street, he said, out of the blue, 'So what's happening with you and the big-mouthed blonde?'
Church shrugged. 'We get on well. We've got a lot in common.'
'I don't trust her.'
'I know you don't. But I do. Is that what you want to hear?'
'Yes.' He paused outside the sandwich shop and turned to Church. 'She's got it bad for you, you know.'
'So you're an expert on affairs of the heart now, are you?'
'I know what I see. Do you feel the same about her?'
Church shifted uncomfortably, then made to go into the shop, but Veitch stood his ground. 'Everything is a mess these days,' Church said irritably. 'All I can do is get through each day acting and reacting, not thinking at all.' He missed Ruth much more than he might have shown, but he kept quiet because he didn't want to give Witch any more fuel for his argument; but Ruth was the only one to whom he could truly talk. Her listening and gentle guidance had helped him unburden numerous problems. 'Is that the end of the inquisition?' he asked sharply.
'One more thing. Something that's been on my mind. That dead girlfriend of yours. How you coping with that?'
Church winced at Veitch's bluntness. 'You have got this strategy thing, haven't you? Checking up I'm not a liability?'
'No-'
'Yes, you are. You just don't realise it. Marianne's death doesn't haunt me any more. Neither does she, if that's what you mean. Since the Fomorii stopped bothering with us they've not sent her spirit out to make me suffer. But that doesn't mean I've forgotten they've still got her.' He tapped his chest and then his head. 'It's in here and it's in here. And one day soon I'm going to set her free and get my own back.'
This seemed to satisfy him. 'I just wanted to be sure.'
Church watched him disappear into the shop with an increasing sense of regard. His skills as a warrior were growing stronger with each passing day, as if ancient history were shouting through his genes. The Pendragon Spirit had chosen well, each of them maturing into a different role, the resources most needed for the task at hand. Perhaps there was a chance after all.
