Page 4 of Mystic Wonderful

He and Rose had been the only Walkers onboard. The other passengers, unfastening their harnesses and gathering bags, were all lower ranking personnel: a blend of infantry and med staff.

“Come on.” Rose elbowed him as she stood – her face looked almost eager in the fading twilight – and Francis climbed up on nerve-weak legs and followed her.

The base, when they were on the tarmac and walking toward it, resembled the one they’d just left: low-slung, unadorned concrete with blue-white lights set at intervals along the roof, cones of light beaming down onto the ground. But the landscape was different.

The base sat on a hill that looked like it had been scraped flat by earthmovers, long ago, an unnatural plateau. The land sloping down away from it on all sides was treeless, muddy, and, he noted, squinting against the rain, studded with dark mounds. He noted sticks at the heads of each. A few crosses…

They were graves.

He gulped.

Beyond, the Rockies loomed like jagged teeth, their snowy peaks hidden in a veil of low, leaden clouds. Lightning danced, far in the distance.

Francis ducked his head and hurried along beside Rose, toward the gate, and the doors, and – the knots in his stomach tightening an impossible fraction – Tristan Mayweather.

A young ensign met them at the doors, clipboard in hand. She checked their IDs against her own list, nodded, and led them briskly along a sterile, painted concrete and tile hallway to an office. The placard outside the door readCpt. Jean Bedlam, and the last name suited her, Francis thought, once he was seated across from her and meeting her steely gaze head-on.

Though she was stern and unsmiling, frown lines etched at the corners of her eyes, he liked her instantly, mostly because she reminded him of Rose, in a way. She had a distinctive air of no-nonsense. This was a woman used to making tough decisions, and she had no patience for bullshit, he could tell. Neither did she possess any boastful, sales-pitch enthusiasm about the task that lay ahead of them. He found it all very reassuring.

His first surprise of the evening was the broad-shouldered, handsome Rift Walker who leaned into the office doorway a few minutes after their arrival. Francis knew him at once; had seen his slightly-too-long-on-top for reg dark hair, his dark eyes, his strong jaw in posters and magazines. Lance du Lac, the heartthrob of Gold Company.

He was even better looking in person; realer, his expressions mobile and life-affirming in a way that made him seem both more commanding and comforting than his awkward, posed magazine shots had suggested.

And, judging by the shock writ large across his face, he knew Rose.

He didn’t seem pleased to learn that they would be joining his company – though Francis thoughttheyan overstatement. Du Lac gave him only the most cursory glance, the lion’s share of his attention – and displeasure – aimed at Rose.

When du Lac had gone, and Bedlam turned them loose, and they were walking down the hall toward the mess, Francis whispered, “Why didn’t you tell me you had history withLance du Lac?”

Her expression was stony. “Keep your voice down.”

He halted her with a gentle hand on her arm, and she lifted a single brow.

One that didn’t cow him anymore, not after going through camp together. “But why didn’t you?”

She sighed. “It’s nothistory.”

“Well, that’s sure what it looks like.”

Her jaw worked a moment, and she stared off to the side, at a point on the wall. A group of chatting ensigns passed them. When they were gone, her voice low, she said, “I had a run-in with him. A while back.”

“Sounds ominous.”

Her expression darkened. “You know how he was working undercover before he became a poster boy for the Walkers?”

“Yeah, he busted –no.”

Her smile was bitter and furious, the hurt glittering in her eyes still very fresh. “There’s only one thing – one person – who kept me from getting sucked down with Beck that night.” From her tone, she didn’t see Lance as her savior.

She glanced away again, shaking her head, anger tightening her thin face. “He tried to play the white knight.” A humorless snort. “Gold Knight, I guess. He was the one who suggested I join up.” Her lips twisted in an attempt at a smirk. “I think he thought I’d shoot for med staff. A gopher or something. Didn’t think I’d join the Walkers.”

“Proved him wrong, I guess,” Francis said, and couldn’t quite mask his concern. Rose really was exceptional, but the more he thought of her as a friend, rather than simply a colleague, the more he worried about her. Mentally, he thought she was headed down a dark road, and he didn’t want to have to be one of the people shaking his head sadly and sayingI knew this would happenafter it was too late.

“Hm,” she agreed, without any obvious pleasure.

They proceeded on, found the mess hall, already filling up with soldiers and doctors and tech operators, steam issuing forth from the glassed-off buffet line where staff in aprons, hair nets, and gloves scooped semi-edible smelling food onto trays.

They took their own loaded trays to an empty end of a table, settling side-by-side, facing the door. He no longer had to ask Rose whether she wanted her back toward the wall; that was just a given at this point.

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