Chapter 7

7

H e stumbles away with a strangled gasp, the backpack slipping from his fingers.

The coordinates are outside a small rural building, some sort of cafe, and the word that bubbles up into her brain is ‘cutesy.’ Snow dusted trees surround it, a few tables under umbrellas outside the door, portable heaters glowing at them.

The sign on the cafe is faded and peeling, describing breakfasts and lunches, and the dim roar of a just out of sight freeway filters through the trees.

Some sort of truck stop.

Through the grimy windows, a few people sit, hunched over coffee cups and plates full of food.

There’s nobody with magic in at least a mile radius, and Ambra holds her breath for a touch of the resident demon, but it doesn’t come.

Gurlien takes in a deep, steeling breath, as if once again the teleportation is rough on him, before he squares his shoulders at the tiny cafe.

“Sit and wait out here,” Gurlien orders, pointing to one of the little tables next to the heater. “Don’t do anything strange.”

“Why,” Ambra asks, skeptical.

He sighs, rubbing between his brows again. “I’m going to go order food, the others will be here soon, and you’ll appear more normal if you wait at a table.”

It’s logical, so she sits primly on one of the cushioned chairs, letting the heater point directly at the ache in her legs.

It’s not quite the comfort of under the blankets, but it’s a different sort of soothing. Like the muscles and nerves need it.

Her warmest safety spot is in that nebulous area between Eastern Europe and the middle east, and it’s still too close to Nalissa to want to teleport them there, but she briefly thinks of the desert sands and wiry green trees. The body had complained about the heat, but it had been quite a few months and Ambra doubted the weather is quite as severe now.

Gurlien disappears into the cafe, until she can only see his silhouette through the window, just the suggestion of his glasses and the cut of his chin, though he gestures enough with his hand that there’s the barest hint of a tug at the leash with his motions.

It’s the clumsy sensation that the Five all had in the first few months after the merge, but as they got used to controlling her, they all learned how to stop telegraphing all movement through the leash.

She’s going to have to see if he could be taught to neutralize that, if the lack of magic in him will grant her that, or if she’s just going to have to deal.

Then, suddenly, the back of her neck prickles, and she straightens, as if her spine decides she needs to sit upwards in response.

She’s being watched. She’s being watched and it’s someone she doesn’t know.

It’s not a threat, it’s not quite a scan, but power flows into the tiny clearing, washing over her, until the hair on her arm raises and her heart jumps.

There’s nobody else in the clearing, just her.

It’s not another demon, not exactly, but there’s something fundamentally wrong with it. Something twisted, something not quite human, and it settles over her for a moment before it vanishes.

Ambra blinks out at the clearing, her pulse pounding underneath the skin, and resists the urge to teleport away immediately.

It wasn’t a demon. It definitely wasn’t the College.

They didn’t reach for her leash, and Gurlien’s inside and she still can’t tell if he could help her if she goes so far away and…

A sleek black car pulls up to the small gravel lot.

She eyes it, letting a scan of her own snake out, and there’s just one person inside…

Another dud. Another person who once had ability, but the space where it should be is scarred over, the edges like a demon sliced it out of him.

She perks up. He’s absolutely not the one who just flooded her with awareness, but…

The door kicks open, and it’s a young man, face open and friendly, with curly black hair.

“Ambra?” he calls out to her, and she flinches, at yet another person knowing her name.

“Gurlien’s inside,” she lets the words fall out of her mouth, not even bothering to control them. “What was that?”

He smiles so sudden it’s startling, and she sits back. As if space could give her some room to process the discomfort. “So you did feel that.”

“It wasn’t you?” Her words trail upward, and she swallows down. “I know it wasn’t you, you’re a dud, it’s obvious.”

“Thanks,” he replies cheerily, then grabs one of the chairs and sits across from her, entirely too close. “That was a friend, she was checking to make sure you weren’t going to put me in danger.”

Ambra doesn’t know how someone could determine that from that sort of flood, but she scoots her chair back just a bit in case.

“What is she?” Ambra asks. “That wasn’t a demon and that wasn’t human.”

The man across from her stares, a bit hardened, before defaulting back to friendly, leaning back casually in his chair. “Absolutely not telling someone with ties to the College.”

“I don’t have ties, they’re the ones that tied me to them, and I’m trying to get away,” Ambra shoots back, but her hands twitch up towards the leash anyways.

He smiles, wide, like she’s a dear friend and this is expected, and her hackles rise again.

There’s a small earpiece attached to the back of his ear, and Ambra’s killed enough people with them to know that he’s wired. That someone else is listening in, giving him information specifically so she can’t hear them.

But thankfully, the door clacks open, and Gurlien steps back out, juggling four ceramic mugs filled with steaming black liquid .

“Just you?” Gurlien asks, setting down the mugs on the table, then briskly rubbing his hands together.

“Well,” the man drawls, “T got spooked and Zoel didn’t want to come.”

“Zoel the Wight?” Ambra interjects, already skeptical. “That wasn't Wight magic right there.”

Gurlien sighs, sitting at least on Ambra’s side of the table and cradling his mug. “Zoel could have been a helpful neutral party,” he says.

“Zoel hates you, that’s far from neutral,” the man shoots back, and Ambra cranks her head over to look at Gurlien.

“Why would a local Wight dislike you?” she asks, curious, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the chilled table. “Wights are famously easy to get along with.”

“Yeah, Gurlien, why does Zoel hate you?” the man asks, and Ambra scowls at his sarcastic tone. “It’s a good story, you should tell her.”

Gurlien frowns at the man. “It’s not important,” he replies, and Ambra’s absolutely going to needle him about it later. “We could’ve used his expertise.”

“No,” the man says, then grins at Ambra like they’re friends. “We consulted, it’s far outside of his expertise.”

Then, horror of horrors, he extends his hand over to Ambra.

“I’m Axel,” he introduces, and Ambra just leans further back, not reaching for his hand. “Gurlien said you killed Kyle Johnsin yesterday.”

Ambra swallows, and almost at the memory, pain shivers over her. Like just thinking about it could make the body react outside of her control.

“To be technical, he was torturing her, that counts in self-defense,” Gurlien points out.

“I’m definitely not going to be mourning him,” Axel says, still keeping too much of his attention on Ambra. “You want to be free of all of them?”

Ambra glances at Gurlien, almost to give herself a bit of a rest from the intensity of the attention. His fingers are wrapped around the mug, almost idly, and small lines of tension bracket his eyes underneath his glasses.

“Yes,” she replies, and again, the shiver of pain.

“Then what are you planning on doing?” It’s far too casual, far too friendly, and Ambra doesn’t buy it one bit, so she scowls, crossing her arms. “I have a list of questions, if you want our help—and I’m not exaggerating when I say we’re probably the most qualified in the world—you need to answer them.”

Another quick glance to Gurlien, and he nods, minutely.

“Finding someplace to be alone,” she answers, though it feels wrong, to divulge this to another person. “Exist.”

“Any plans on destroying the world?” Axel asks dryly, and Ambra blinks at him, then wrinkles her nose. “Good answer.”

“I told you—” Gurlien bursts out, and Axel waves him off.

“And you lie,” Axel shoots back. “So yes, we’re going to ask all the questions.”

He leans back, sipping from his drink, then pulls out a tiny notebook, and Ambra tries to crane her neck to see the writing, but unfortunately this body doesn’t have the ability to read upside down.

Gurlien sighs, then gestures to the mug in front of Ambra. “Have you tried coffee yet?”

“I didn’t like it,” Ambra replies, but the steam coming from it is appealing, especially when her nose is back to being cold. “Too bitter. ”

“Put sugar and cream in it,” Axel murmurs. “All demons I know like that.”

“All demons?” Ambra asks, her skin prickling. “Did you tell them I was here?” Preemptively, she grabs Gurlien’s wrist, the curiosity over the list the only thing stopping her from teleporting away immediately.

“Believe me when I say they have no interest in harming you,” Axel says, raising an eyebrow at the motion. “But yes, sugar and cream.”

Ambra carefully releases her hand from Gurlien, and he rubs the inside of his wrist. She doesn’t trust this Axel, but…

“If you have a way to sever the leashes, all of them, that would be preferable to me tracking them down and killing them.”

Gurlien gives her another minute nod, like that’s a good thing to say.

“The more interactions with them, the bigger chance they take me in,” Ambra continues, then shivers again, even though the heater is quite nice. “I don’t ever want to go there again.”

“Good, we’re on the same page,” Axel replies cheerily. “Question two, are you in pain?”

“Yes,” Ambra replies immediately, without any thought, and Axel writes that down.

“Johnsin was horrific,” Gurlien says, and there’s frustration coating his voice, frustration she can’t quite pick out. “I told you, there was torture.”

“Rich coming from you,” Axel shoots back, and Ambra’s absolutely going to get all of this story out of Gurlien later, but the door clacks open again, with a waiter carrying a tray full of food.

“Y’all sure you don’t want to come inside?” the waiter asks, placing a plate directly in front of Ambra first, then distributing the food to the rest of the table. “It’s going to snow in a bit.”

“We’re fine,” Gurlien answers, and the waiter nods, setting down silverware and napkins, then leaving.

It’s an extraordinary amount of food, the plate piled high with some sort of bread product covered in butter, with eggs and crispy meat to the side, and way more than Ambra thinks anyone could ever eat.

She blinks over to Gurlien, who’s giving her the most bland expression over his glasses.

“I think that face answers question five,” Axel says, cheerful.

“I ate last night,” Ambra says to Gurlien, who obviously ordered it for her. “Two of those pastry things. Two.”

“And human bodies need more food than that,” Gurlien shoots back, then picks up his own fork. “You’ll be better equipped to resist Nalissa if you have enough energy.”

“And this is an unreasonable amount,” Ambra retorts, but pokes at the crispy meat anyways. It breaks off in her fingers, so she eats it and it’s…surprisingly salty, according to the words that spring up unbidden to her mind.

In all of her memories, she’s not entirely certain she tasted something like it. The body preferred vegetables, eating bowls of leafy lettuce with very little taste or mugs of soup with more potatoes than Ambra thought feasible.

“Humans need around 1200-2000 calories a day,” Gurlien recites, as if out of a textbook, and she pauses her next bite to stare at him. “When exporting large amounts of energy—which magic is, thank you very much—they need to increase that amount drastically.”

“That can’t be sustainable,” Ambra says, though the textbook bit is clearly entertaining. “And that’s way too large of a target to be at all useful. ”

Across the table, Axel’s watching them, a funny sort of smile on his face, before he shakes his head, scooting his plate over to the side just enough to have the notebook out.

“Question three, what happened to your human?”

Ambra freezes, and the friendly expression drops from Axel’s face, revealing something without a trace of mirth.

All of her senses, all of her alerts fire off, but it’s nothing. He’s just a dud in front of her, and Gurlien’s there, but it’s as if she’s being attacked.

“It’s a simple question.” Axel sits back, crossing his arms.

Ambra swallows, her throat raw from the lack of screaming the day before.

Gurlien turns in his chair to watch Ambra, and there’s something in his eyes, something closer to warmth, but it does nothing to eliminate the threat in front of her.

“She died,” Ambra says, finally, after the moment stretches on far longer than it should.

Even saying it like that hurts.

“You sure about that?” As if this conversation costs him nothing, Axel sips at his coffee. “Are you absolutely, one hundred percent sure of that?”

“Yes,” Ambra replies, small.

“How long into this process did she die?”

Ambra’s hands shake, and she twists them in her lap to stop the motion, and Gurlien’s eyebrows raise.

“Does it matter?” Gurlien asks, instead, when she struggles to speak, and a rush of gratitude floods through her, at those three words, saving her from answering.

“It very much so does,” Axel shoots back.

“Look, just because you—” Gurlien starts, but Axel cuts him off.

“Not in front of the College plant,” he says, curt. “The demon can answer the question, or she can get absolutely no help from us.”

“That’s not fair, she was literally tortured—”

“And how long was the human tortured before she died?” Axel asks, lifting his chin, and Ambra can’t believe she ever thought he would be friendly. “I think that has far more weight.”

“Seven months ago,” Ambra replies, forcing the words past the lump in her throat, and even clenching her hands doesn’t stop the trembling. “She died seven months ago.”

Both the men fall silent, watching her, and Ambra picks Gurlien to stare at, the far kinder face. “We knew each other for three years, were…in this…” she gestures at the body, “for about ten months before she died.”

The sudden lack, the terror, the wrenching pain, all just as new as the day it happens, and Ambra swallows, then swallows again, trying to chase away the phantom sensations.

She’s not on an operating table in a sterile white room, she’s outside a little cafe, with food in front of her and steam still curling from the mug of coffee. The air still smells of the promise of snow, and cars rumble past on the freeway out of sight. A thin strip of magic flutters along the driveway, completely bypassing them, and if she wanted, she could jerk it towards her, detonate the table, and run away.

Axel sits back, but Ambra just stares harder at Gurlien, like he could get the conversation to end.

“And how did she feel about this,” Axel mimics Ambra’s gesture, “for the ten months?”

Ambra opens her mouth, but no words come out, her breath just as cut off as the leash had done, and her eyes water, beyond her control.

“Jesus Christ, and everyone says I’m the insensitive one,” Gurlien interjects, and Ambra forces her jaw to unclench. “This is clearly a trauma response, can you back off?”

There’s a trace of noise, someone speaking into the earpiece, and Axel listens, before nodding.

“Great,” Gurlien says sarcastically. “Thanks. So kind.”

“You’re not one to talk,” Axel says, and piece by piece, the friendly mask falls back into place, as foreign as anything Ambra’s ever encountered. “Question four, and this one comes from an expert, did they tie you in through the cardiac or nervous system?”

“Nervous,” Ambra says, and her voice is so much smaller than she wants.

Next to her, under the table, Gurlien presses his knee against hers, startling her, but she doesn’t shift away from the sudden contact.

“Spinal or cerebral?”

“Both,” Ambra says, even quieter, no matter how much she tries to project. “They said just cerebral failed.”

“Depending on your definition of failure,” Axel replies, then smiles fully back into friendly, and Ambra wants to throw the plate at him. “Good information, our Necromancer needed to know that piece for some reason.”

“You shouldn’t tell me where she is,” Ambra says, before she can stop herself, before scowling at the plate. “Are we done?”

“You should still eat some,” Gurlien says, an almost gentle reminder. “It’ll help the pain heal faster.”

“That it will,” Axel agrees, and Ambra turns the scowl onto Gurlien for saying something that Axel would back him up on. “Though recognizing hunger signals will be something you struggle with…how were you dealing with those in the seven months?”

“They kept her in stasis chambers,” Gurlien answers, relieving Ambra of the need to do so, so she takes another bite of the crispy and salty meat. “Near as I can tell, only let her out tightly controlled and for specific missions.”

Axel writes that down.

“So, you know, another form of torture,” Gurlien shoots over, more aggressively. “More torture that she had nothing to do with and you’re just digging at it like she’s the instigator of it.”

“Were you?” Axel asks mildly. “The instigator?”

“No,” Ambra says, and her stomach turns over, unhappy, at the food. “We were approached by the College because we knew each other.”

And they had been so excited.

She sets down her fork, shivering once.

“And I think we can all agree that the College does things unethically,” Gurlien says bracingly, and Axel snorts like he told a joke. “So can you help us?”

Axel snaps the notebook closed, an open and practiced smile on his face. “I have to run this by my experts.”

Gurlien scoffs.

“You realize you’re dealing with an experiment that has, to our knowledge, only two living examples, right?” Axel says, and it jolts Ambra to remember the other one, the one where the demon died and the human lived, and how much kinder of a world that would be. “It’s not like we have a lot of data to go off of, so we have to take this and actually research.”

He turns to Ambra, and Ambra scoots her chair back a bit.

“Short term advice? Eat enough food, actually sleep on a bed, don’t get taken by the College,” he says, like those aren’t equally as perplexing ideas. “Maybe kidnap someone a little less assholish next time? ”

“He’s not an asshole,” Ambra says automatically.

Axel stares at her, like that’s the one bit of information she’s given that stretches his belief, before he turns to Gurlien.

“How’d you manage that?” Axel asks, before he stands, tossing a twenty on the table for his food, and striding off.

No strange scans follow his leaving, and the sleek black car rumbles out of the parking lot and out of view before Ambra lets her spine unwind.

“What the fuck,” she mutters, pushing the plate away and burying her head in her arms, as if the lack of sight would help her stop the shaking.

“That went well,” Gurlien mutters, clutching the mug of coffee like it’ll save him.