Lord's Fall (Elder Races #5)(2)

She said, “I want to listen to Kenny G now. Or maybe Michael Bolton.”

Johnny’s head came up. James twisted to look at her.

“You’ve got to be f**king kidding me,” Eva said. She turned to James. “Tell me she’s f**king kidding me.”

Pia felt childish, petty and vindictive. The drama queen had turned into a two-year-old, and the toddler was having a tantrum. She said to James, “Change it.”

“Woman wants it changed,” James said, expressionlessly. He punched buttons. Easy listening music filled the Cadillac.

“That’s just f**king great,” Eva muttered. “We’re going to be stuck in a goddamn elevator for the rest of the goddamn day.”

Pia hated elevator music too. She smiled and settled back into her seat. Now everybody else was almost as miserable as she was.

Time dragged along with the miles that scrolled behind them, and the urban scenery remained the same, dull brick factories, black railroad lines ribboning through dirty snow, rows of houses and the occasional shopping center. Nobody spoke, at least not out loud. The two Cadillacs wove smoothly through the sporadic Sunday morning traffic on the interstate, not always staying together to avoid drawing too much attention, but always keeping within sight of each other.

As Pia watched the passing landscape, she couldn’t help but think of the last time she had made this trip, seven months ago. The two trips were almost perfect opposites of each other.

Last May she had been on the run, frightened, exhausted and alone, while everything around her had been bursting into bloom. This time she was mated, pregnant—her hand curled protectively over her stomach’s slight bump—and surrounded by the most effective, if surly, soldiers in the Wyr demesne, and it was flipping cold outside, as winter held New York by the scruff of the neck with sharp, white teeth.

January in Charleston would feel positively balmy in contrast, with daytime highs up to sixty degrees and nighttime lows around thirty-eight to forty degrees. Mostly what Pia was looking forward to, though, was the lack of snow on the South Carolina coast. In late December, New York had been hit with one of the worst blizzards on record, and it would take months for all the mountains of snow to melt.

Ninety minutes into the trip, she stirred. “I have to stop.”

Eva glanced at her again in the mirror. “Does her?” said Eva in a baby-talk kind of voice. “Where would herself like to stop?”

James stirred and said, “Evie.”

“What?” Eva snapped. “We barely got on the road, and princess already wants to take a break. And while I’m on the subject, why are we driving and not flying? We could be there in a couple of hours, instead of the trip taking the whole goddamn day.”

“It’s none of your f**king business why we’re driving instead of flying,” Pia said icily. “And princess here doesn’t give a shit where we stop, just as long as we do in the next ten minutes. Got it?”

“Sure, doll-face,” Eva said. “Any little thing herself wants, herself gets.”

As Eva signaled and cut right from the fast lane to the exit lane, Pia watched the other woman in the mirror and thought, Imma have to kick your ass before the day’s out, aren’t I?

Yeah, it was shaping up to be a great trip so far.

And they were on a mission of diplomacy.

The other Cadillac cut across traffic to join their SUV, and the two vehicles took the next exit ramp. Their choices for stopping included two gas stations, a McDonald’s, a Denny’s and a Quik Mart. Eva pulled into the McDonald’s lot and parked. Pia stepped out and headed for the restaurant. The other six surrounded her so casually it seemed to happen by accident. The psychos had smooth moves, she would give them that much.

Feeling an increasingly urgent need, she found her way to the restroom, accompanied by Eva and Andrea. So far the seven-month pregnancy didn’t show much—a fact that pretty much freaked her out if she thought too much about it—and she could keep it completely hidden if she dressed strategically. But the peanut, bless him, was beginning to exert some influence on her bladder. That was going to get much worse before it got better.

The women’s restroom was more or less clean, and empty. She pushed past the other two women, slammed the stall door shut and enjoyed a few minutes of what was likely to be the only alone time she would get that day.

Resentment and antagonism were two of the troubles that had followed her. Pia hadn’t really gained acceptance from the Wyr over the past seven months.

Oh, she had from some of the sentinels. All the gryphons had embraced her, and Graydon had become one of her best friends. They also knew what kind of Wyr she was, and why she and Dragos kept it secret.

The gryphons were the only ones who knew. Not even the other two sentinels did, although that didn’t seem to cause gargoyle sentinel Grym any problems, but then it was hard to tell what he was thinking since he didn’t talk much. And she had achieved a kind of uneasy truce with the harpy sentinel Aryal—at least enough to spar with the harpy on the training mat several times a week, although they didn’t share confidences or socialize.

As far as all the other Wyr went, in the early days of her mating with Dragos, expectation had turned to puzzlement, and then suspicion as the whispering began.

She didn’t reveal to anyone what kind of Wyr she was because she was stuck-up.