Virgin City (The Lesbia Chronicles) Read online

  There was a pause in which nothing was said. Then Reed found the world spinning the other way as she was tipped up onto her feet. Ayla kept a hold of her, hands on Reed’s hips as she peered into the woman’s face. “Are you still high? Or is this just how you are?”

  “Another excellent question,” Reed complimented Ayla on her inquiry. “I’m not entirely certain of the objective answer to that question. Let’s find out together.”

  Ayla’s lips quirked, then wriggled, then she lost the battle with the rising smile she’d been trying so hard to repress and gave way to the expression. Reed smiled in response, all but stuffing her sleeve into her nose.

  “Really,” she said. “I hate to be a bother, but if I could just have a little taste of the Lady, I would be much better company. Much less drippy.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible.” Ayla was kind, but firm.

  “Oh it’s very possible,” Reed replied. “Shall I show you?”

  “No, you must under…”

  What Reed must under… was lost, for part way through Ayla’s sentence, the world ended.

  Chapter Six

  On the first day of the new world, Reed sat on the city wall, busted out her pouch and began to roll herself a lief. Her fingers moved with agility born of years of practice, plant matter folding into paper in mere seconds. There was no time for ceremony, she needed to get high. Needed to taste of the Lady's skirts once more.

  Once the cylinder was lit, she laid stomach-down across the wall and looked out across Clitera City. From the pink domed palace to the spiderweb streets of the lower lanes, it was all beautiful. People were moving about, selling this and that, shouting at one another, entirely unaware of the fact that they had all tasted oblivion just moments earlier. Smoke curled from Reed’s lips and nose as she looked over all she had created. Puff after puff, she slowly suffused herself with the substance she craved. It sank through her tissues and into her bones, warming her from the inside out.

  CRACK!

  Reed cried out. The lief fell from her lips. Her hands went back to cover her backside, which had been assaulted with a stripe of the most focused, singing pain Reed had ever experienced. She rolled over to see a most unexpected sight – the tall elfy woman wielding a long, thick, whippy rod.

  “I can’t stop you from using your summoning powers,” Ayla said mildly. “But if you ever destroy the world for your own convenience again I will find you and I will ply this rod across the most tender parts of your body until I am satisfied you have learned your lesson.” She paused for a moment, her eyes glittering with punitive intent. “It will take a long time to satisfy me. Do you understand?”

  One hand clasped to her bottom, the other still miming holding the lief, Reed nodded slowly.

  “How did you find me?”

  “I always know where the summoner is,” Ayla said. “It’s a talent of mine.”

  Reed bit her lower lip. Her bottom rubbing hand continued to rub as a curious expression passed over her features. “You should go.”

  “I have no intention of going anywhere…”

  “Go.” Reed said the word with soft intensity.

  “I’m not…”

  “GO!”

  The word was much louder, but Reed had not shouted. The sound emanated from her, blasting across the city wall. The rod was ripped out of Ayla’s hands and sent spinning out over the cliff. It caught fire in mid-air, flames licking across the length of it. The flaming stick fell toward oblivion, but not before bursting apart in a violent explosion that shattered it into splinters.

  “Please.” There were tears in her eyes as Reed repeated the request. “Go.”

  Ayla's arms folded themselves under her bosom. Her face settled into sternitude. “You can blow as many things apart as you like. I am not leaving.”

  “I don't know who you are, but I know you hit me. I do not like you,” Reed said. “There are not many people I do not like, but you are one of them.”

  “I haven't come to be liked,” Ayla replied. “I have come because you are the summoner. Your powers are not to be squandered.”

  “They're my powers,” Reed replied. “Therefore they are mine to do with as I please.”

  “They are destroying you. You are destroying you.”

  “Destruction is not such a bad thing.” Reed looked at Ayla with a clear, steady expression. Her usual jocularity had faded to a state of seriousness that sat strangely on her usually pleasant features. “Say sorry.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “For hitting me. Say sorry.” Reed made the demand quite coolly.

  Ayla's lips twitched with amusement. “I don't think you quite understand this dynamic.”

  “I don't think you understand that hitting people isn't nice. It hurts.”

  “It's supposed to.”

  “Well that's even less nice.” Reed drew in a deep breath and sighed, moving to sit with her legs crossed, pouch firmly in lap. “What am I to do with you?”

  “I believe that's my line.”

  “You come here, to my city. You start hitting people. I don't allow that sort of thing.”

  “Oh you don't?”

  “This is my city,” Reed repeated. “There may be a scourge of royals in the palace, and guards may roam the streets, but I am the one who decides whether or not the sun will rise.” Her gaze was harsh as her fingers reached into her pouch and began rolling a fresh lief. “This is my city and I will not be hit in it.”

  “If you don't want to be hit, then you'll have to find a way to come to terms with the fact your reality has changed. I'm here now. I see I should have come much, much earlier. For that, I very much do apologize.”

  Reed snapped her fingers and a flame appeared at the end of the lief. She took a quick, sharp sucking breath and held it in.

  “I feel as if we're not understanding one another,” she said, letting out a cloud of smoke. “I don't know who you are. I don't want you here, and I certainly don't need you.” She took another deep inhalation. “I will give you three days to leave the city,” she said. “As long as you do not hit anyone. Clitera City is a nice place and we don't hold with brutish types here. But you may take some time to see the sights. There are some nice shops in the High Lanes.”

  *****

  Ayla's brows rose steadily. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to her in such a fashion, aside from Ariadne, who had the advantage of actually being a goddess, and not simply thinking she was one.

  “Go on.” Reed transferred the lief to one hand and briskly waved Ayla away with the other. “Run along.”

  Ayla did not run along, of course. She had no intention of running along.

  “What is your name?” Ayla asked the question

  “Reed.”

  “Reed.” Ayla nodded. “Let me explain something to you, Reed. I have trained summoners for many hundreds of years. You are far from being the first, and you will likely not be the last. Almost every generation has a summoner. Once every thousand years, a great summoner is born who does battle with the Blood Witch when she comes to drink the world. There are lesser summoners created between times. You are one of those.”

  “I am a lesser summoner?” Reed laughed. “I would like to see a great summoner if I am lesser.”

  “You're in luck,” Ayla said. “The greatest summoner of them all is still alive. You may meet her if you like.”

  “May I?” Reed laughed. “May I indeed.”

  “All you need do is come with me.” Ayla's gaze was enchanting, her tone enthralling.

  “I do not wish to go anywhere with you,” Reed declined, puffing away at her lief. “As I have told you before, I do not like you. Once disliked, one cannot be trusted.”

  “Is that so?”

  “It is,” Reed asserted.

  Ayla was rather enjoying the new summoner. She was pretty and quick-witted, but those were not the qualities that most drew Ayla. Reed's disconnection from complex interpersonal relationships was far more in
teresting. She did not engage as other people did. She did not need to be liked, indeed, even now that they were undoubtedly fighting, she was very matter of fact about the whole affair, very removed from her own anger. In fact, the only spark of temper she had shown at all was when she had been struck.

  Reed was a woman with a total and absolute belief in herself and nothing else. Her rage at being hit wasn't because the blow had hurt, but because it had momentarily shattered the illusion that she controlled the world and all things in it.

  Poor Reed would have many such revelations in the coming days, Ayla had no doubt about that.

  “Do you intend to stand there and stare at me all evening?” The question was asked with casual interest, not agitated snark. The drug was no doubt taking effect, relaxing the summoner, absolving her of the burden of feeling.

  “I intend to take you back and teach you a lesson or two about...”

  Chapter Seven

  What Ayla wanted to teach Reed about would never be known, for the world stopped. Rewound. Began again.

  Reed's easy smile returned as she stepped down the last of the fifty stairs that wound below a silk shop in the High Lanes. It was good to be home.

  She paused in front an old oak door marked with the sign of the rat and pressed her hand to the black paint for a moment. She knocked three times, then one time, then three times, then one more time. Almost immediately, bolts slid back on the other side of the door.

  "Reed!"

  The cry of welcome was taken up by a dozen other throats as the door swung open, admitting one of the Ratlings' favorite members.

  Candles flickered, lighting the dark domed space. There were fifteen or twenty people clustered in the domed subterranean club, sitting about smoking, playing cards and dice games. They were a disparate mish-mash of genders, ages and races, but they were united by their animal hide clothing. There was also a great deal of make up being worn, eyes lined with all manner of designs and colors, lips made bold.

  A young woman with kohl smeared about her eyes in jagged lines approached Reed with an ebony smile. "What are you wearing?"

  "Mace, I'll give you a quarter ounce of the best stuff I have if you'll get me some proper clothes."

  The woman grinned. "Sure. Give me a second."

  Reed drew out a handful of Blue Lady, ready to trade. There were titters of amusement as the others took in her garb.

  "Pretty dress, Reed!"

  "Shut your face," Reed beamed.

  A youngish man in a rabbit skin vest stood up and sauntered over. He had long dark hair tied back at the nape of his neck, coffee colored skin and a light smattering of facial hair about his chin. His deep brown eyes, rimmed with black lashes and perhaps just a little touch of dark liner, creased in amusement.

  "What happened to you?"

  "You'll never believe me, Chief Rog. You'll never believe me."

  "Tell me," he said, sweeping a chair around and sitting on it backwards. Leather bands pulled tight about his arms as his biceps expanded with the motion.

  "I was kidnapped."

  "Hah!" Rog laughed. More Ratlings gathered around, eager to hear Reed's latest adventures.

  "Who did it? Jailer Hide? The Empress?"

  "No. It was some... some Elf," Reed said. "This Elf lady. She kidnaps me. She puts me in this dress thing and then she hits me."

  The mood in the room shifted instantly. Angry looks were exchanged, breath was sucked between teeth and muttered threats skulked around the little crowd.

  "She hit you?"

  "With a stick," Reed elaborated.

  Eyes were narrowed around the room, Rog's especially. "She hit you with a stick?"

  "Yeah," Reed said. "Don't worry. I showed her what I thought of her and her stick." She paused and scratched her nose. "Listen," she said. "The woman. She might come here. She's got some kind of tracking spell on me."

  "Let her come," Rog growled. “She might find there are sticks destined for her hide.”

  "That would make us as bad as her," Reed pointed out. "Just make sure she stays out. She's the sort who has tricks up her sleeve."

  "All the tricks in the world won't save her if she invades our territory," Chief Rog replied. There was vehement agreement in the room. If the Elf lady who hit people dared show her face, she would find the wrath of the Ratlings unleashed upon her.

  *****

  Though it was nice to be among friends, Reed could not shake a feeling she was most unaccustomed to having – fear. In the face of it, she retreated to her bolt-hole, a tunnel that came to an abrupt end where she had made her bed. It was partitioned off with brightly colored cloth, providing sanctuary in the maze of tunnels that ran under Clitera City. Some were designed for sewerage, others for security and still others had been installed as part of an economic ruse to draw dwarven workers to the city. The prison at Lake Lac had been built by greedy dwarves, as had Reed's little hole of solitude.

  Stripping off the robe, she pulled on the dark leather vest and pants Mace had rustled up for her. It felt good to be back in her second skin. She felt more like herself, less like a clothy fugitive. Sitting down on her straw bed, Reed reached for her faithful pouch. She skipped the Lady in favor of some straight Bako. Rich brown slivers of shredded leaves all cut up in a way that made it easy to handle, Bako didn’t have the hallucinogenic effects of Blue Lady. It relaxed the body and it relaxed the mind – and that was what Reed needed.

  She packed a little wooden pipe with a good amount of it, then put a flame to the bowl and started puffing away. Smoke curled up to the round of the ceiling and hung there in a soft white fog.

  “Knock knock.” Rog’s voice came from behind the curtain.

  “Come in.”

  Rog stepped around the curtain and crouched down against the curve of the wall. His eyes were narrow with concern. “Are you alright?”

  “Yeah,” Reed waved her hand at him. “I’m fine. I got a fright, that’s all.”

  “You, frightened? I didn’t know that was possible,” Rog winked.

  “Everything is possible,” Reed replied. “Everything in heaven and earth and some besides.”

  “Now that sounds more like the Reed I know.” He reached out and patted her shoulder, glancing at the pipe in her hand. “I thought we agreed we were only going to smoke in the vented rooms?”

  “Give me a break, Chief,” Reed said, sliding down into her little bed nest. “It’s been a rough day.”

  “Rules are rules, Reed,” he reminded her gently. “If you don’t follow them, nobody does.”

  Reed rolled her eyes briefly, then capped her pipe. “Fine,” she said. “Happy?”

  “Ecstatic,” he said dryly. “I came to see if you wanted to come and see Granny.”

  A little smile rose to Reed’s lips. She liked Granny. “Sure,” she agreed. “Why not?”

  With the decision made, Rog and Reed set out through the streets of Clitera. The tunnels that connected the Ratling burrows were located all over the city. The exit Rog and Reed took happened to emerge in the High Lanes, which was always fun for observing the concern on the faces of the people who considered themselves far too good to have the likes of Rog and Reed in their midst.