Page 26 of Taken for Granite
She wanted to scream in frustration. Now was not the time for his macho, alpha male posturing. She didn’t want to point out that he was blind, starved, had no weapons, and had only one pair of shoes because she bought him shoes that morning. How was he fighting his way out of anything? Let alone against a professional organization that expected his arrival.
She took a calming breath and let it out slowly. “The point is, you’re hurt, and I don’t want you to get more hurt. You need to rest up and heal. So if I found us a place to do that, to rest, would you?”
He huffed, as if turning over the idea of her compassion. “You would delay retrieving Chloe?”
She bit her lower lip. Yeah, letting Tas rest for a day would delay getting Chloe. Her choices sucked, but she hated the idea of sending him back hurt to the people who caused that hurt. “Is a day enough time?”
He scratched at the base of a horn. “If I can go into stone sleep, I will be healed when I wake.”
“Perfect. I know a cabin we can use. It’s up in the Poconos, so it’s on the way to the Rose facility.”
“I am amenable to this plan,” he said at length.
“Great. I want to wash my face and brush my teeth before we go.”
In the bathroom, she noticed a sweet odor, almost like salted caramel. That definitely wasn’t the soap the motel provided. She dug out the new bottle of moisturizer and tore open the packaging. Her dry and itchy skin thanked her.
Teeth brushed, deodorant applied, hair brushed into something other than a complete mess, and no longer feeling gross, she was ready for whatever crap the universe would fling at her today.
* * *
tas
The female played with the radio. Morning chatter drifted into fast-paced popular music. None of it was familiar to Tas, but he enjoyed the wildness and speed of it. Music was one of the few pleasures he had on Earth. When he closed his eyes, a vibrant piece swelled; he felt it in his chest, as crisp and clear as if he plunged from a tall aerie and caught an updraft with his wings.
Moreover, he enjoyed the easy access. At the time of his capture, commercial radio was still in its infancy. Static filled the airwaves more than any actual broadcasts, which frustrated him. He found little enjoyment in huddling around the wireless, trying to pick out the music from the noise. To enjoy music without hindrance, he had to attend a performance hall or concert. During the Blitz, he even attended public concerts meant to improve civilian morale. He particularly enjoyed the lunchtime performances at the National Gallery, when the music reverberated off the empty walls of the museum. He attended each one without fail.
That, unfortunately, was how the Syndicate captured him and Frelinray. He had grown complacent. Overconfident.
He sat in the back of the vehicle, on the cushion the female provided, and listened to her hum with the music, butchering the melody. Siren she was not.
“Must you?” he asked. “You are ruining the music.”
“Wow. I know I can’t carry a tune in a bucket, but ruining the music? You’re crushing my dreams, Tas.”
“I am sensitive to sonic vibrations. Discordance is irritating.”
“Sonic… Is that how you’re able to get around?”
“Along with my other senses, yes.”
“That’s pretty cool,” she said.
Tas observed that the female had an agreeable speaking voice, as loath as he was to admit it. The pitch was neither too high nor too deep and, last night, her voice developed a burr when she grew tired.
“I have questions,” the female said.
Questions designed to pump information from him. “Of course you do,” he said sourly.
“You’re from another planet.”
“I said as much.”
“And you disguise yourself as a gargoyle?”
Tas snorted. “Hardly. This is my natural appearance. Your gargoyles are an imitation of my crew.”
“So there’s more of you?”
