Chapter 11

11

T he next morning, after another night of sleeping under a mound of blankets on the couch, the far-off sound of someone speaking pulls her towards consciousness.

For a few minutes she flounders, the human brain she’s trapped in unwilling to fully wake from the soft smudged comfort of sleep, before the voice continues.

Sitting up, the blankets slither from her, and sunlight trickles in past the curtains.

Dust motes dance in the beams, catching her attention, until, very clearly, Gurlien says something back past the closed door of the bedroom, then gets an answer through a speaker of a phone.

Ah.

Testing her balance, she stands, and though her legs ache, there’s no shooting pain to accompany them.

So she’s recovering.

Good to know .

Light on her feet, she steps towards the door, but his voice is still indistinct enough that she can’t pick out words, the condo too well insulated.

And he had so clearly wanted to be alone the night before.

But he speaks, and she puzzles out her own name, so she turns the doorknob and pokes her head in.

He’s dressed in a different button up, this one a light sage green with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and one phone is propped up in front of him and his head is bent over the other, the case off it’s back, poking with a screwdriver into its innards.

There’s a new set of bandages on his arm, pristine.

“Yes?” he asks, not glancing up at her.

Taking it as permission, she approaches, and on the other phone is the Half Demon on video, his brows raised at her appearance.

“How’s your knee?” she asks, and the Half Demon rolls his eyes.

“I’ll be in a brace for about a month,” he replies. “Are you going to bring Gurlien back?”

This gets Gurlien to sit upright, raising an eyebrow.

“When it’s safe,” Ambra replies, nervy at the direct question.

“Good,” the Half Demon responds, and briefly, behind him, the Necromancer walks through the view, a mere crossing of the frame, but he scowls at Ambra’s gaze tracking the movement. “Back off.”

“I didn’t do a thing,” Ambra protests, and Gurlien shakes his head at them. “What, I didn’t.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gurlien replies blandly, which is bullshit. “Maison’s helping me with a remote device so we can get some data easier without being tracked.”

The Half Demon—Maison, she should work on remembering his name—sits back, crossing his arms. He frowns at the phone, like he’s deeply disappointed in them both. “Gurlien, mind if I talk to her alone?”

Instead of letting him stand up, Ambra drapes her arms over Gurlien’s shoulders, leaning against him to be closer to the camera. “Why?” Still, her heart pounds, even though the Half Demon is hundreds of miles away and no danger to her or Gurlien.

Gurlien startles a bit. “Are you okay?” he asks, tilting his head up to her, as if the sudden contact is worrisome, and he’s warmer than she thought he’d be, despite the relative coolness of the room.

“Depends,” Ambra scowls at the phone, and Maison appears to be fighting a smile, “on whether or not the Half Demon is going to threaten me.”

“I’m not,” Maison replies, like her actions are amusing instead of a direct response to his posturing. “Just talking, Half Demon to trapped demon.”

Ambra straightens, letting her arms fall away from Gurlien’s shoulders, and he shoots her a bemused glance before stepping away, closing the door behind him.

The blankets on the bed lay rumpled, like he didn’t bother to put them back when he got up, but she sits down at the simple desk chair, scowling at the phone.

And they sit in silence for about a minute, before Ambra sighs, leaning forward. “What?”

“You kidnapped him,” Maison replies, almost incredulous. “You know he probably can’t do anything for your problem and you kidnapped him.”

“He was able to disorient one handler enough,” Ambra replies. It’s strange, speaking to someone on a screen, despite the hundreds of times she saw someone do it before. “I call that something.”

“He’s been trying to be free of the College for over a year now,” Maison says instead, and she sits up in interest, at the actual idea of getting more information. “And you’re just drawing him back in.”

“And getting him out,” she says. “I teleported him away from the danger as well.” She shifts, unsettled for some reason at the thought. “I’m not going to place him in needless danger, he’s now my only way out of this mess.”

“I take it you won’t accept more help?” Maison asks, and for a split second, his voice distorts over the phone. “You don’t have to be alone for this, we’re not going to turn you over.”

“But if I fail,” she starts, and her throat closes up, beyond her control, but he just watches as she swallows through it. “If I fail, knowing where you are, knowing where the Necromancer is, is dangerous for you. He’d…he doesn’t want to put you in danger, either.”

He inclines his head in agreement.

“After this is done, I’ll rob another bank, give him and you as much money as you ever need,” Ambra says, bracing, “I just need to kill Nalissa and Boltiex, and then I can leave everyone alone forever.”

His brows flash up, and he makes eye contact with someone off screen.

“Who else is there,” she demands, baring her teeth at him.

“Chloe,” he answers, “the alchemist who will absolutely kill you if her best friend is hurt.”

“He already got hurt, Johnsin slashed at his arm,” Ambra replies automatically. “I’ll steer clear of her. ”

Maison rolls his eyes. “Sure,” he replies sarcastically.

“What claim do you have on him?” Ambra asks, and his eyebrows flash up.

“Not like that,” Maison says, his voice guarded, and even through the lines of the phone she can spot his eyes gleam red for a split second. “I’ve known him since we were children, but not like that.”

“Good,” Ambra says, crossing her arms.

“You’ve known him for all of five days,” Maison continues, and there’s a warning in his voice. “Is that wise?”

“Absolutely not,” she answers, and he smiles at her, looking very suddenly human. “Nothing about this is wise.”

He grins. “Work with him,” Maison says. “He’s a dick—”

“—no, he’s not,” Ambra protests.

“—but he knows his shit.” Maison rolls his eyes. “Use his knowledge, is what I’m saying.”

“Obviously.”

He shakes his head, before his face falls into seriousness again. “The leash, that’s the bond?”

Again, the lump in her throat.

“They split it, right?” he continues, and there’s a fear, sudden, striking inside of her. “That’s how they’re doing it, right? A bastardization of a bond?”

She can’t answer, so she just looks away, at the sleep rumpled room and the pillows with an indent of where Gurlien lay.

“So it would have to exist before, for them to do it?” At her silence, he sighs. “I’m trying to help Gurlien put it together.”

“What would he know of the bond?” she murmurs, a pang lancing through her stomach. “Humans can’t feel it.”

The body hadn’t, at least.

“No, but he’s spent enough time with me to know what they mean,” Maison says, and there’s no trace of laughing on his face, not now. “Did they break it for you?”

There’s only one way to break a bond, and if he’s a Half Demon, he knows that, so she jabs at the giant red button on the phone, ending the call.

“Your friend is an asshole,” Ambra calls out, standing and almost knocking the chair over.

“Yes,” Gurlien calls back through the door, and she rifles through the closet, quickly shucking off the reddish sweater for a dark blue shirt the body had loved. “He’s been that way his entire life.”

“Such great friends you have,” Ambra says, breezing back into the main room, and her legs ache a bit at the quick movement. “Does this shirt look odd?”

He stares at her blankly.

“Yesterday at the store, my clothing looked out of place and odd. Does this look odd?”

“Well,” he starts, “not really. You were just clashing yesterday.”

“Okay,” she grits out, then attempts to finger comb her hair, before giving up and flopping back on the couch. “Distance training or setting up another location to be human appropriate, one they didn’t know about?”

“Safe spot,” he says immediately. “Good way to track if they know your location or if they’re just using historical data.”

And this is why she appreciates him. An actual scientific approach to things, instead of poking at the sore emotional spots of her.

“And it’ll give us a place to return to,” he continues, which is a part she didn’t anticipate. “Someplace with food, a bed, and relative safety.”

“Good point,” she says, and the frazzled edge inside of her relaxes somewhat, away from the conversation with the Half Demon. “That’s important.”

“And I want breakfast before we go,” he says, and she stills, like she had slithered right into a trap he laid before her. “Something that’s actually filling.”

She rubs the side of her head, and it still prickles uncomfortably.

“There’s a cafe down the street, there’s that strip of magic that runs through it, let's go there.” He strides back into the bedroom, pocketing the phone and grabbing a sturdy jacket he bought the day before.

And he had remembered the lay of the magic with just a brief glimpse. A glimpse where he had been, at best, somewhat emotionally compromised.

“It’ll be easy for you to grab and use if we’re in there,” he says, and he had obviously planned this in the however long he had been awake before her. “You can have your back to the wall, the magic in front of you, and I can get food.”

He extends the green tinted glasses to her.

“You thought this through,” she says, gingerly taking them from him.