Page 10 of Snag
I have no idea. Other than crossing around it to get to the estate cemetery, I’m not certain what’s actually behind the back of the barn with its workshop and garage. “Coda might just want to work out of the trailer section. Can we … hook it up to power … there?”
Rought nods. “The wind sweeps up through here, between the buildings. Coda no doubt has satellite dishes. The barn will act like a windbreak. There’s a secondary … or maybe it’s the primary … entrance to Mack’s old suites beyond the kitchen.”
Right. Not having to cross through the garage and workshop would give Coda and Gigi a bit more privacy to come and go from the suite.
Gigi slows, then slides the truck to a stop alongside us, rolling down the driver’s-side window just enough to scowl down at us. Well, down at me. Rought is tall enough to be closer to eye level. For someone who was all but thirsting over a mere picture that Coda unearthed when looking into the Outcast Motorcycle Club, Gigi barely gives Rought more than an offish glance now. Though perhaps the thirsting was more about the idealized dick that might accompany the guy in the picture, not the guy himself.
The combat mage’s normally pale skin is sun kissed. Black mascara and red lipstick are her only makeup.
“This rain is outrageous, Zaya,” Gigi grouses in that French accent that I’m still not certain is natural or adopted. “It’s been like this for the entire drive up the coast!”
Rought stiffens defensively beside me. It’s subtle enough that if I weren’t still holding his hand or suddenly so in tune with him, I might not have noticed. He doesn’t like the combat mage’s tone. It’s a protective, possessive reaction that should piss me off.
Not, as it does, send a warm thrill through me.
“Gigi, my friend,” I say for Rought’s benefit— and just a little pointedly. “Let’s get you settled. There are scalloped potatoes and a warm fire awaiting you in the main house.”
“Fine!” she huffs playfully.
“Can you back it in?” Rought asks, gesturing toward the back side of the barn beyond the garage.
The combat mage gives him a withering glare, slams the truck into reverse, expertly spins the wheel, and somehow manages to back the trailer up without taking off the side of the barn. She even manages to avoid the low eaves — low compared to the height of the trailer, at least — plus all the gutters, downspouts, and overfull rain barrels.
I’m fairly certain that the barrels are supposed to be feeding into a watering system for the garden and greenhouses, not all backed up. But I don’t have it within me to do more than just note the issue.
A combination of energies shift behind me, and a more specific brush prickles up my neck and the side of my face. I glance back toward the main house to find Rath exiting through the front door. His gaze is on me as he casually pops the last quarter of a purloined muffin in his mouth.Apparently, he wandered up from the beach house while I was otherwise distracted, just in time to steal my food before attempting to intimidate my guests. My invited guests.
Presh, swathed in double-layered blankets and also holding a muffin, hovers in the doorway behind him, blinking as if she’s just woken up. Realizing I’ve seen her, she gives me a tentative, questioning wave.
As if she’s the one worried about her welcome, rather than the other way around.
She should hate me. For not saving her friend Kris from being manipulated and then killed by a dire mage.
Shouldn’t she?
With all but the front of the truck tucked away behind the far side of the barn, Gigi jumps from the driver’s side as if leaping for freedom. “Thank the fuck!” she cries, slamming the door behind her and striding toward me. “You know you have some asshole Authority staked out at the top of the drive, right?”
I twist my lips in acknowledgment. “You left them alive, didn’t you?”
She laughs, sharp and bright. “Yeah, alive and even unmaimed. Unfortunately, they’d already seen me. You know how dialed in those fuckers are with their stupid automated reporting system. But I didn’t want to bring any shit down on your head.”
Energy flickers across my shoulders — the only warning of Muta’s sudden appearance as the snake twines possessively around my neck. With his broad head and eyes fixed in Gigi’s direction, the bushmaster flicks his tongue to scent the air.
Gigi’s step hitches, her fingers twitching as she instinctively readies a defensive spell. Then, recognizing the snakedecorating my neck, she covers by pressing that same hand to her chest. “Muta! You sneaky fucker!”
“A little late, aren’t you?” I say teasingly to the massive gold-and-brown bushmaster— my sometimes guardian, but mostly just a pain in my ass. “Was the fireside just too compelling?”
Muta cinches tighter around my neck, clearly sulking. He’s not a fan of rain, not even the current light mist. He could easily avoid it by transforming into his solid gold-and-bronze topaz-bracelet aspect — usually worn around my forearm disguised as a piece of jewelry — but he enjoys the freedom his snake form offers. No need to hide or be circumspect on the vast estate, though there are usually fewer people around that he’s allowed to terrify.
Gigi takes the last few steps to close the space between us, stopping just short of touching me — eye to eye, mostly due to her short-heeled boots. Her printed silk top flutters loose around her hips, instantly soaking up the misty rain. Her designer blue jeans are so bleached they’re practically white, artfully ripped and worn at the knees.
Muta slithers down my arm until he’s twined around both my and Rought’s wrists, because we’re still holding hands.
I raise my free arm to Gigi, offering an embrace. She steps into me. Her blond curls twist wildly in the breeze as she just barely brushes her right cheek against my right, then her left cheek across my left. She releases me as quickly as possible, stepping back and not quite looking at me.
My energy is usually seriously off-putting, or at least quite intense. Not that I’m generally so demonstrative. Or offering to be demonstrative.
“Thank you for coming,” I say.
