"You set it up and I'll put another fire in the hole at the popcorn machine. "
"Deal. "
As they both rose and headed for the back, him to the candy and soda counter, Lassiter to the control booth, Tohr stopped the guy.
"Thanks, man. "
The angel gave him a knock in the shoulder, and then went about getting some yippee-ki-yay-motherfucker on deck. "Just doing my job. "
Tohr watched the angel's blond-and-black head duck through the narrow doorway.
Fuck free will was right. And as for him and No'One?
It was tough to think about what was coming next. Hell, when he'd first hooked up with her, it had taken the hide right off of him to ride through all the emotions just so he could accept her vein, give her his, and be with her to the extent he had.
If he took this any farther?
The next level was going to make that shit look like a walk in the park.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
It was twelve noon when Xcor's cellular device went off, and the soft chiming roused him from his light sleep. With awkward jabs, he hunted and pecked around for the green send button, and after he hit it, he put the thing to his ear.
In practice, he hated the damn things. In practical terms, they were an incredible benefit, one that made him question why he had ever been so resistant.
"Aye," he demanded. When a haughty voice answered him, he smiled into the dim candlelight of the basement. "Greetings, gentlemale. How fare thee this day, Elan?"
"What. . . what. . . " The aristocrat had to marshal more breath. "Whatever have you sent me?"
His source on the Council had a rather high voice to begin with; the care package that had obviously just been opened lifted the male's tone into the stratosphere.
"Proof of our work. " As he spoke, heads began to lift off of bunks, his Band of Bastards waking, listening. "I did not want you to think that we had overestimated our effectiveness - or, the Scribe Virgin preserve us, been untruthful with respect to our activities. "
"I. . . I. . . Whatever shall I do with. . . this?"
Xcor rolled his eyes. "Mayhap some of your servants could parcel it up and share it among your fellow Council members. And then I imagine your carpet will need to be cleaned. "
Inside the three-foot-by-three-foot cardboard box he'd had delivered, Xcor had put some of the souvenirs of their kills, all manner of bits and pieces of lessers: arms, hands, that spinal column, a head, part of a leg. He had been saving them up, preparing for the right moment to both shock the Council. . . and prove that the job was getting done.
The gamble was that the grotesque nature of his "gift" would backfire and they would be viewed as savages. The potential payoff was that he and his soldiers would be seen as effective.
Elan cleared his throat. "Indeed, you have been. . . rather busy. "
"I realize that it is grisly, but war is a grisly business that you should merely be the beneficiary of, not a participant in. We need to save you - " Until you are no longer useful. " - from such unpleasantness. I should like to point out, however, that that is but a small sampling of the very many we have killed. "
"In truth?"
The bit of awe there was gratifying. "Aye. You may be assured that we fight every night for the race, and we are highly successful. "
"Yes, clearly, you are. . . and I would stipulate that I require no more 'proof,' as it were. I will say, however, that I was going to call you late this afternoon anyway. The final appointment with the king has been scheduled. "
"Oh?"
"I called the members of the Council because I have scheduled for this evening a gathering - keeping it informal, of course, so that there is no procedural requirement to include Rehvenge. Assail has indicated he cannot attend. Clearly, he must have an audience with the king - or he would come unto my home. "
"Clearly," Xcor drawled. Or rather, clearly not. Given Assail's nightly pursuits, which had only intensified since the summer, he was likely busy enough. "And I thank you for the information. "
"When the others arrive, I shall exhibit this. . . display," the aristocrat said.