Shadow of the Avatar

Chapter 18 -- Kiss and Make Up

Ziedra was always sweet on me. Nice as she was, pretty as she was, I was never sweet on her quite the same way.

--Wren

Wren lay in the alley, arms wrapped around Desiray, kissing the woman to prevent her from speaking. Wren's stomach tightened, she felt she would die of humiliation. With torchlight flickering through her hood, Wren could see the startled woman's eyes. It had been the thug's finger snap that brought Desiray around. Something sharp and unusual that dispelled whatever dream she'd been experiencing.

Desiray tensed, an explosion ready to happen. Wren could do nothing more than plead with her eyes. Hope somehow the mistress would understand they were in danger.

The man snapped his fingers again.

The mistress' eyes narrowed. Wren saw comprehension dawn on her face. The woman's body tightened. Wren pulled her lips off Desiray's mouth, thankful for being able to do so.

Men shifted in the darkness.

Desiray nudged Wren's cheek with her chin. She focused on the woman's eyes and felt the tingle of probing go through her.

It sounded as if Desiray shouted in her ear. <Wren?>

She jerked then forced herself still, realizing that if Desiray had vocalized, the men would have jumped too. Another man moved up next to the first. Wren felt her cloak draw tight against her throat. Sweat trickled down her forehead and along her cheek. It splashed on the mistress' face.

The woman's eyes became slits. <Wren, you hear me?>

She was using mindspeak like Cassandra had used. Wren nodded that she heard.

<Speak back like you did with Cassandra.>

It seemed like a century ago when she sat in the tower across from the gold-skinned mage, the woman's fingers against her temples. How did she do it then?

<Like this?> she tried.

She felt Desiray's surprise. <Perfect. How many men?>

Wren listened for anything that might contradict her initial assessment; rummaging rats, skittering roaches, breathing men. Nothing had changed.

<Four.>

<Fine mess, damn it.> She felt several emotions roll through Desiray.

She couldn't read the mistress' thoughts, but she could sense them beneath the surface. Enemies all around, lying on her back in an alley with another woman on top of her.

Wren could relate.

<If I could get my hands free,> Wren thought to her. <I might be able to throw my daggers at a couple of them.>

<Your hands?> It took Desiray a moment to puzzle that out. She shifted her head, allowing Wren's fingers to come untangled from her hair. <Don't risk it.>

The man twisted again on the cloak. Any second now, the fool would get his foot tied up in it and he would fall on them.

<They'll find us!> She felt another drop of perspiration slide off her face.

Desiray flinched. <Stop sweating on me, will you?> A pause. <They won't find us. Need a distraction is all.>

Wren felt the mistress reach out telepathically. In an instant, she sensed dozens of tiny psyches, scampering at the edges of her mind's eye. Desiray focused, broadcasting a single impression.