“Is she dead?” Amy whispered.
It had taken only one line and one look to chase off the men that had stood on the porch, and all Medea had had to do was show Amy Bast’s comatose body. They were seated on the sofa, Bast on the seat between them.
“Can you not tell?” Medea asked her, taking Amy’s hand and pressing it gently to the Cat-Goddess’ flank.
Amy pursed her lips and furrowed her brow as deep as she could manage. For a moment there was nothing, and then Amy yanked her hand back.
“What is it, child?”
“She’s not there,” Amy whispered, “it’s all empty inside.”
Medea’s eyes narrowed. This was not something she had expected. Bast was not bound to Zeus’ Ban, the law set down after Troy, or even hampered by the Rift; with her followers, she could go where she wanted. If Bast was not in her physical form there was only one place she could be, and it was that very place that Medea had spent her many centuries avoiding.
“Miss Medea, where is she?”
“I’m not sure,” the Witch lied, an easy thing, especially to the child.
She made to light her cigarette, glanced at her companion and got to her feet.
“I’m going to go smoke and think on this, girl, stay here, maybe feed her a little blood.”
“Blood?”
Amy pulled a face.
“Yes, blood. You are a Dreamer, it might help her,” Medea said, slipping the cigarette into the filter and tapping her lighter impatiently.
“Oh.”
“Don’t go crazy though, child, just a prick to your finger. I can do it for you if you like, after I have had time to think….and smoke.”
“Smoking is bad for you,” Amy said softly, a little worried.
“So they keep telling me.”
No comments:
Post a Comment