Page 52 of Rarely Pure and Never Simple
"Broke my heart, the beast." Shudder laughed as if a broken heart were of no more consequence than a broken plate.
The picture formed all too clearly for Damien. A young Shudder pleading for Blaze to join his cause, a young Blaze desperate to keep his lover from what he saw as a reckless game, and in the end, the argument escalating to angry recrimination. Each saw the other as guilty of cruel abandonment. Each hid the hurt under the masks they'd learned to wear as adults—Shudder the charmer, always laughing, and Blaze the perpetually angry.
Odd, to see something like that from the outside.
Blaze's head topped the rise as he strode back to them, unhurried, the frown creasing his forehead more pensive than worried.
"Well?" Shudder prompted with an impatient wave.
"They've seen kids. That much they admitted. But they won't ID which ones, and they won't give me a direction."
Damien puzzled over that before asking, "Why not?"
"I think they helped some of them. Which makes them protective. Very private people, the lu xing."
"Oh." That both answered and did not answer the question. There could have been kids heading this way or heading back again, impossible to tell now from the trails he followed. That there had been sightings only told him that, at the time, those kids who met up with the lu xing had not been under duress. Running, perhaps, but not in someone's custody. "Can we go on now? They know we won't bother them?"
Blaze cocked his head at Damien. "Don't need a rest yet?"
"No."
"They know. Saddle up, boys. Let's move."
They passed the camp at a respectful distance on the right. Two battered maglev trucks squatted in the center with a ragtag assortment of cobbled-together skimmers, old land triremes and jet bikes of various shapes and sizes scattered around. Nylon lines had been strung between the vehicles with a rainbow of cloth squares flapping in the wind.
"You see the red and orange ones?" Blaze nodded to the cloths.
"Yes."
"Those are for us."
"What are they?"
An odd half smile twitched at Blaze's lips. "Prayer flags."
Damien blinked at the riot of color. "Why?"
"Guess they think we need them. They said there's bad things up this way."
Bad things. Yes. Damien felt certain of it.
After a few miles over rough terrain, he spoke again. "Blaze?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't go armed."
"Figured that." Blaze shot him a worried look. "Afraid I'd insist on it?"
"Just wanted to be clear."
"Got it. Nah, it's okay, Twitch. I'm enough weapon for most situations, and the fucker traveling with us is a crack shot, I'll give him that."
"When did you learn?" Damien couldn't imagine Blaze without weapons. They seemed as natural and comfortable a part of his wardrobe as his boots.
Blaze rolled his head on his neck until he got an impressive crack. "Dad was a city enforcer. Pittsburgh. Retired now but still a real hard ass. Made sure I learned young. Think I was five the first time he took me to the range and put a handgun in my grubby, carpet-biter fist."
He had no point of reference, but even to Damien this sounded extreme. "Five? Could you hold it?"
