All six attendants were the Wyr’s version of Special Forces. The only Wyr more dangerous were Dragos’s sentinels and, of course, Dragos himself.
Her psychos were the strongest and deadliest of Dragos’s dogs of war. All were canine Wyr of some sort—wolves, mongrels or mastiffs. They came from the unit that was the most gifted and volatile in the army. They were the first into any conflict and acted as advance scouts, the rangers sent in to places too dangerous for the regular troops. They were the ones that patrolled the shadowed corners and slipped past enemy lines to take down their opponents from behind.
They were not good at conforming. They never wore a uniform, they didn’t salute, and they didn’t bother to hide their opinions about things. And it was clear they didn’t think much either of Pia or of the babysitting job they had been shackled with, which meant they were all in for a shitty trip if things didn’t change.
Pia slouched in the back behind the driver’s seat, arms crossed as she watched the dirty white, winter scenery scroll by. She could feel Dragos flying overhead, although they didn’t talk telepathically. Everything had already been said, shouted and argued out a while ago. After following the two-car cavalcade for about forty minutes, she could sense him wheeling and beginning the return flight back to the city.
She shifted restlessly in her seat. Her head pounded. On the sound system, 2Pac rapped “Ballad of a Dead Soulja.” Beside her, Daniel slouched in fatigues and T-shirt, his light brown hair pulled into an untidy ponytail, absorbed in playing a handheld game.
Eva drove while James rode shotgun, literally, with the butt of a late model SCAR (which, Pia had been told, stood for Special Operations Forces—SOF—combat assault rifle) resting on the floor between his boots. Eva’s kinky black hair was cropped short, emphasizing the graceful shape of her skull. As Pia looked at the rearview mirror, her gaze collided with the reflection of Eva’s contemptuous glance. Pia’s already strained temper gave up trying to control her behavior. It slunk away and took her better half with it.
She said, “I want to listen to Kenny G now. Or maybe Michael Bolton.”
Daniel’s head came up. James twisted to look at her.
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Eva said. She turned to James. “Tell me she’s fucking 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 fucking 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.
The morning 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 interstate traffic, 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 Wyrs’ most effective, if surly, bodyguards, 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, Pia 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 freaking day.”
“It’s none of your fucking business why we’re driving instead of flying,” Pia said icily. “And princess here doesn’t give a shit where we stop, as long as we do in the next ten minutes. Got it?”