head. “Not as much as you’ve already been hurt, I’d think.”
“No.” There was a pause. “Nothing could ever hurt that much.”
“No,” agreed Marcus. “I didn’t think so.”
Later, Mathieu clutched the hot metal cup in his hands and watched the campsite stir to life around him.
Jenn and Marcus shared a tent, as did the two climbers who had helped Jenn get to the borders of his wards. There were some people watching him from the windows of the metal hut behind the test. There was the empty tent they’d set aside for him. And as these people went about their business, no one came near or spoke to him.
He smirked around the lip of the cup as he drank. Being a dangerous unknown quantity granted one some privacy, he supposed.
At first taste, coffee did not much impress Mathieu. When he’d said as much to Marcus, the blonde man had laughed and taken the bitter, dark brew from him and then presented him with something much lighter, sweeter and entirely much more to Mathieu’s preference. Being called a ‘Philistine’ about not wanting to drink coffee in its unadulterated form had rankled until he realized the man was joking with him.
Joking. With him.
“They’ll be here to take us down in about an hour.” Marcus had gestured to the north. “We’ll go to the Foundation’s local chapter house at Sanctuaire de Notre-Dame la Salette. Someone will meet us there with clean clothes and we’ll put together a passport for you. A quick shower and change and…” Marcus made a flying motion with his hands.
With a quick shake of his head, Mathieu imitated Marcus’ hand gesture. “And…?” He let his tone ask the question.
“And we’re off to New York.” Marcus waved away further questions as he poured another cup of coffee and walked back towards the tent where Jenn slept. “And now I have to venture into the den of the dragon. Pray for me.”
Mathieu cocked his head and smiled through his tension. “Prayers from such as me would not be heard, but you have them for the little they are worth. Die with honor, brave Chevallier.” He raised his cup of coffee in salute.
Marcus saluted back and then unzipped the flap of his shared tent, ducking in to face his dearest wife and wrest her from sleep’s loving embrace.
With a sigh, Mathieu turned back to his coffee and watched the climbers begin the process of disassembling the campsite to the sound of Jenn’s complaints at being woken.
When she had pulled up to a mostly sitting position, hunched under the sleeping bag with the cup of coffee held close to her chest. If Marcus had less of a survival instinct he might have pointed out her similarity to a gargoyle at that exact moment.
Instead he spoke quietly, “He’s still here. I almost thought he’d run during the night.”
Jenn shook her head and drank another gulp of coffee. “Of course he’s still here. He swore he’d help. People from his time tended to put a lot of emphasis on keeping promises.”
“Yeah.” Marcus looked over his shoulder at the closed tent flap. “I wonder if that applies to cases of insanity.”
“He’s not insane. He’s …” Jenn shrugged her shoulders and searched for the right word. “Fragile. He’s just fragile.”
“I say to-may-to, you say to-mah-to and they both mean the same thing. He’s bugfuck crazy and we both know it.”
Jenn shrugged. “It’s workable. Dwayne is fucking insane and look how great he is with divination.”
“Yeah, but being completely bugfuck crazy never hurt in divination—it could almost be considered a prerequisite. It could really hurt in this case though.”
Clutching the coffee closer, Jenn looked at him and said quietly, “He is Amanda’s only chance. You know that, I know that. Amanda’s dad knows that, which is why he’s spent all this money and goodwill with the Elders on coaxing him down. I can put up with a little bit of creepy gibberish if it brings her home safely.”
Marcus met her eyes squarely.
“No.” There was a pause. “Nothing could ever hurt that much.”
“No,” agreed Marcus. “I didn’t think so.”
Later, Mathieu clutched the hot metal cup in his hands and watched the campsite stir to life around him.
Jenn and Marcus shared a tent, as did the two climbers who had helped Jenn get to the borders of his wards. There were some people watching him from the windows of the metal hut behind the test. There was the empty tent they’d set aside for him. And as these people went about their business, no one came near or spoke to him.
He smirked around the lip of the cup as he drank. Being a dangerous unknown quantity granted one some privacy, he supposed.
At first taste, coffee did not much impress Mathieu. When he’d said as much to Marcus, the blonde man had laughed and taken the bitter, dark brew from him and then presented him with something much lighter, sweeter and entirely much more to Mathieu’s preference. Being called a ‘Philistine’ about not wanting to drink coffee in its unadulterated form had rankled until he realized the man was joking with him.
Joking. With him.
“They’ll be here to take us down in about an hour.” Marcus had gestured to the north. “We’ll go to the Foundation’s local chapter house at Sanctuaire de Notre-Dame la Salette. Someone will meet us there with clean clothes and we’ll put together a passport for you. A quick shower and change and…” Marcus made a flying motion with his hands.
With a quick shake of his head, Mathieu imitated Marcus’ hand gesture. “And…?” He let his tone ask the question.
“And we’re off to New York.” Marcus waved away further questions as he poured another cup of coffee and walked back towards the tent where Jenn slept. “And now I have to venture into the den of the dragon. Pray for me.”
Mathieu cocked his head and smiled through his tension. “Prayers from such as me would not be heard, but you have them for the little they are worth. Die with honor, brave Chevallier.” He raised his cup of coffee in salute.
Marcus saluted back and then unzipped the flap of his shared tent, ducking in to face his dearest wife and wrest her from sleep’s loving embrace.
With a sigh, Mathieu turned back to his coffee and watched the climbers begin the process of disassembling the campsite to the sound of Jenn’s complaints at being woken.
When she had pulled up to a mostly sitting position, hunched under the sleeping bag with the cup of coffee held close to her chest. If Marcus had less of a survival instinct he might have pointed out her similarity to a gargoyle at that exact moment.
Instead he spoke quietly, “He’s still here. I almost thought he’d run during the night.”
Jenn shook her head and drank another gulp of coffee. “Of course he’s still here. He swore he’d help. People from his time tended to put a lot of emphasis on keeping promises.”
“Yeah.” Marcus looked over his shoulder at the closed tent flap. “I wonder if that applies to cases of insanity.”
“He’s not insane. He’s …” Jenn shrugged her shoulders and searched for the right word. “Fragile. He’s just fragile.”
“I say to-may-to, you say to-mah-to and they both mean the same thing. He’s bugfuck crazy and we both know it.”
Jenn shrugged. “It’s workable. Dwayne is fucking insane and look how great he is with divination.”
“Yeah, but being completely bugfuck crazy never hurt in divination—it could almost be considered a prerequisite. It could really hurt in this case though.”
Clutching the coffee closer, Jenn looked at him and said quietly, “He is Amanda’s only chance. You know that, I know that. Amanda’s dad knows that, which is why he’s spent all this money and goodwill with the Elders on coaxing him down. I can put up with a little bit of creepy gibberish if it brings her home safely.”
Marcus met her eyes squarely.
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