Of Drag Kings And The Wheel Of Fate Part 14

The wings arrived, Taryn and Eric took to out-machoing each other with the suicidal, Sandhya and Rosalind ate the medium and talked about their work. Halfway through the pitcher, Eric ordered another one and refilled Taryn's gla.s.s first. Sandhya was telling her about her work with the women's shelter and the new work going into prisons to confront rapists. She became engrossed in the conversation. It took her a while to notice that Eric and Taryn had their heads bent together and were talking military strategy.

"Julius Caesar, I'm telling you," Eric said. "Greatest general who ever lived."

Taryn snorted. "He was a politician who got into the army as a middle-aged man. He could manipulate the Senate, not fight. Alexander conquered the known world by the time he was in his thirties. And he had charisma, his mystery. His men loved him. He would lead in battle. They'd do anything for him. He was recognized as a G.o.d during his lifetime."

"He was a f.a.g, right? Sorry. Gay man."

"Yeah. His lover, Hephaistion, was one of his generals," Taryn said, taking no offense.

"Don't ask, don't tell, my a.s.s. The service would fold up if we drummed all the gay people out. I think it shouldn't matter who you sleep with, you know? If you can do your job." Eric poured more beer for Taryn and himself.

"Does though, doesn't it?" Taryn said, accepting the gla.s.s. They noticed that Rosalind and Sandhya had stopped talking and were paying them extravagant attention.

"Don't stop on our account," Sandhya said.

"I get the hint," said Eric. "We'll be debating tactics at Gaugamela next."

Dinner relaxed into a companionable silence, broken by the click of bones in the bowl in the center of the table. Rosalind asked Eric about his job. He complained for a few minutes about the ignorance of managers on all things technical. She watched Taryn out of the corner of her eye, glad to see that she looked less likely to bolt as the evening went on. She was silent during their discussion on family news and updates, but her attention didn't wander.

They seemed to have worked out a shorthand between them. He seemed more comfortable with Taryn, despite all the obstacles, than he had with Paul. Though he'd never said a word against her husband, Rosalind had always gotten the feeling that Paul had bored her brother to death. Taryn was many things, but boring was not one of them. She'd gotten absorbed in watching them interact and was surprised to catch a snippet of their conversation.

"Let me ask you something. You ever get ha.s.sled? In public. You know what I mean." Eric gestured with his beer gla.s.s, confident that Taryn would follow his meaning.

Taryn watched him for a moment as if reviewing his qualities. "Of course," she said at last.

"Because of how you look. You ever get jumped? Like, there was this guy in our unit. He went out one night, and he got the c.r.a.p kicked out of him by some other guys who didn't know he was one of ours."

"Yeah. I've been jumped," Taryn said, as if it were quite common.

Rosalind looked at her. She hadn't heard this tale, or tales. She wondered how many times it had happened. The way Taryn said it, it wasn't a singular event.

"See, I know about the guys," Eric said. "I didn't know if it happened to the girls too."

"It happens. I bet you and Sandhya have trouble," Taryn said, glancing at Eric's girlfriend.

Sandhya nodded to her. "Depends on where we are. If we're holding hands we get the most looks and comments. In the Indian community, people aren't comfortable with me dating a white, non-Hindu man. It's too modern. But Eric's family had the hardest time with him dating an Indian, non-Christian woman. We didn't tell them for a long time."

"Everybody's got a closet," Taryn said.

"Rosalind was great," said Sandhya. "She did all the smoothing over of the parents, until they came around."

"How long did that take?" Taryn asked.

"How long have you guys been together, six years?" asked Rosalind. "Took them a good four. Mom still worries what religion the grandkids will be."

She felt Taryn's leg shift under her hand and looked into her lover's face. "What's wrong, baby?" she asked, forgetting that Eric and Sandhya were still with them.

The look in Taryn's eyes was bleak. "Four years, to accept Sandhya. And she's a lawyer, she's...sorry. I got lost there for a minute." Taryn realized what she was saying, and stopped.

Rosalind took her hand on the tabletop, in front of her brother. "They've been warmed up. They'll accept you in no time."

"I love you," Taryn said, her voice vibrating on the word.

"I love you too," Rosalind said, her hand tightening on Taryn's. She knew that she had just declared herself in front of her brother. It felt good, better than good, to have him know just how serious this was getting. And it was worth it all to see the look in Taryn's eyes, the pride, when she was claimed, acknowledged. Rosalind had to fight down the urge to ask Taryn to marry her; the emotion was that strong.

They stopped and got a bottle of red wine to take back to Rosalind's apartment. Eric and Taryn strolled in together, talking.

Rosalind and Sandhya followed them, shaking their heads. "I was afraid Eric and Taryn wouldn't get along. Now I can't pry them apart," Rosalind said wryly.

"He hasn't had someone to male bond with in a while. The minute Taryn mentioned tattoos, then knew military history, it was all over," Sandhya said, smiling. "You might not get her back."

"One Olchawski is as good as another. You think they'd notice if we just kept walking on without them?"

"Not for a while. Taryn might notice first. She keeps her eye on you. I noticed that during dinner, whenever you were speaking, she'd keep looking over at you. Just checking to see if you were there, I suppose, but it was charming."

Rosalind looked at her back; the drape of the blue shirt gave just a hint of the curve of muscle beneath. "Charming. Yes. She sure is something," she said, with a wistfulness she couldn't check. Taryn paused, rolling up her shirtsleeve to show Eric the Alexander tattoo.

"We don't always find who everyone else expects, but we always find the right one," Sandhya said, taking Rosalind's arm.

Rosalind poured the wine, Taryn sat on the floor, Eric and Sandhya on the couch. Eric leaned forward, his arms on his knees, debating the finer points of kung fu films with Taryn. From the kitchen, Rosalind could hear the ongoing discussion and shook her head. Taryn was as bloodthirsty as her brother was.

"Jackie Chan. With Bruce dead, of course."

"No way. Jackie's a great stuntman, good charisma on film. But he's a comic," said Taryn. "Jet Li."

"Samo Hung," Eric offered, but both shook their heads after a moment.

"Okay. Best film?" Taryn asked.

"The Flying Guillotine. Can't beat that birdcage with knives thing. Thanks, Sis," Eric said, taking a gla.s.s from Rosalind.

"The East is Red," Taryn said. When Eric looked blankly at her, she snorted. "Come on, man. You haven't seen it? Asia the Invincible? You have to. Go rent it tomorrow, then try to talk to me about heroes." She drank the red wine, reaching out her free hand to take Rosalind's.

Rosalind sat on the edge of the coffee table, where she could stroke Taryn's back without effort.

"You do any fighting?" Eric asked.

"Only when I have to. Joe does. He shows me some stuff. Says I have a gift for it."

Eric leaned back on the couch and put his arm around Sandhya's shoulders. He sighed, a grin appearing on his face. "This was great. I never get to talk about half this stuff. You must bore Ros to death with it."

"She hasn't bored me yet. I'll let you know in a year or so," Rosalind said, lightly, but Taryn's head turned very quickly.

"So how did you two meet?" Sandhya asked Rosalind.

"I went out on a blind date, with someone else. Taryn was performing, I saw her on stage, and that was it," Rosalind said, her fingers tracing a pattern on Taryn's back. It didn't feel like it had only been a few days since she first saw the s.e.x G.o.d in the black suit, on stage with Egyptia.

"One of her friends sent me a drink. I went over to the table to say thanks. I sat down opposite this woman, looked kind of quiet and all. But then she looked up, and I saw her eyes. It was like staring into the sun. I went blind. I haven't been able to see anything else since," Taryn said with a glance at the woman next to her.

At the end of the bottle of wine, at the end of the evening, Rosalind walked Eric and Sandhya down to their car. She knew that the evening had been a success. She could feel it. It was something so different from anything she'd ever felt, this desire to have her brother like her lover. Paul...er...well, yes. That was a mistake. He had been so...acceptable. Eric had been polite to him, but never seemed to enjoy his company the way he enjoyed Taryn's.

"When I saw her, I wondered what a woman like you could see in somebody like her," Eric admitted, hesitating at the door. Rosalind glanced up to the window, where Taryn's silhouette waited for her.

"I know," Rosalind said. It was a reaction she'd have to get used to. Outside of the tight-knit community Taryn moved in, they wouldn't make any sense as a couple.

"I may not get it, but I like her," said Eric. "She's weird, but it's kind of cool."

"She makes me happy," Rosalind said, and hugged him.

"Then you should keep her around for a while."

Later that night, Rosalind dreamed. She saw a gate, a black eagle that launched itself into the sun, a flight of arrows. There was something she desperately needed to remember, something she needed to take back across the veil, but it turned to smoke in her fingers when she tried to carry it. Her spirit fell heavily back into her body; her arm flailed out, seeking her lover.

When her hand closed on empty air, she woke without transition, eyes jolting open. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest, feel the sweat cooling on her bare skin. Her eyes darted around the room, but Taryn was really gone. It wasn't just the dream; Taryn had wandered off sometime during the night. Rosalind threw back the covers and went into the house, trying to remain calm. It was only a dream, whatever it had been.

Taryn was in the kitchen, sitting on the windowsill, staring out. She wore her black pants and the blue shirt, open. In the morning sun the edges of her face were gilded, her hair was coal. In that moment of stillness, she looked older than her years. Rosalind's age at least.

The dark head turned and saw Rosalind, naked, standing on the kitchen tiles. "There's a sight for sore eyes." Taryn held out her hand.

Rosalind took it, sitting down on her knee. "You're up early." Rosalind felt the large hand roam over her back, the touch very warm and welcome after the clinging effects of the dream.

"I'm crazy about you. You know that?" Taryn said, as Rosalind slid her hands inside the open shirt, warming them.

"I know," Rosalind said, her voice honeyed, her certainty out of nowhere, but no less sure for that.

"I've known you for a week. Less. But you're becoming the whole world to me. That's weird enough. Know what's worse? I see the same thing happening to you. Like I'm becoming the whole world to you."

"You are." Rosalind curled her hands around Taryn's rib cage.

"I feel funny when you say things like that to me. It's like there's this ache in me, it's been there so long I don't remember being without it. And it only stops hurting when you speak to it." Taryn looked up into her lover's face, questioning.

"Maybe it's time for it to stop hurting."

"I'd rather believe it's all you." The grin came like a flash of sunlight on metal-quick, blinding, then gone.

"You can, if you like. I credit you with everything good that's happened to me, and there has been a lot," Rosalind said, spreading out her fingers across her smooth skin. If she tried, maybe she could claim all of her with her hands.

"You teach tonight, right?" Taryn's tone changed, withdrew a bit.

"Yes."

"So you'll get out late. You haven't had a lot of time to yourself. You said something like that yesterday. I know I can be...intense, and I don't give anybody s.p.a.ce. I've given this a lot of thought." Taryn broke off and took her hand away from Rosalind's back, fishing into the pocket of her pants.

Rosalind felt the warmth leave and protested immediately. What had possessed her to say a thing like that? Here she was, feeling like she'd jumped a hurdle in having Eric and Taryn meet, and she was pulling back. "I didn't mean-"

Taryn held out her hand.

Rosalind pulled one hand away from the safety of the blue shirt and took what Taryn was offering her. The bit of metal dropped into her palm, warm from Taryn's pocket.

"I won't expect it. But if you happen to crawl into bed with me, I won't kick you out."

The relief was enough that she nearly cried. She felt tears, gathered and ready, and blinked them back. "You won't, huh?" Rosalind held up the key. "Isn't this a little sudden?"

"Joe liked it. He wants you to move in already. If you were single, and he were, he'd fight me for you. It would be sudden if I told you to pack your gear and head for 34 Mariner. A key seemed like a good start."

"So you wouldn't kick me out of bed. If I showed up," Rosalind asked, her heartbeat doing an odd dance.

"I wouldn't kick you out of bed for eating crackers. I wouldn't kick you out of bed for eating peach flambe," Taryn vowed, hand over her heart. "But I won't expect anything."

"Be careful of what you don't expect," Rosalind said, and she kissed her.

Chapter Nine.

The night had been magic. There was no other way for Rosalind to think about it-from Eric and Sandhya's acceptance of Taryn, to the new intimacy they seemed to reach every moment they were together. It was almost too easy, the way the walls were coming down, the way Taryn exposed her heart. It was like they had done all this before, old lovers renewing their acquaintance. That thought kept nagging at Rosalind during the morning, from her late breakfast at a cafe near the campus, to a session of book shopping. The feeling of unease surprised her. Things were going beautifully. Better than she had any right to expect. Why should she be feeling so off balance?

The used bookstore offered a quiet place to hide. Rosalind browsed through the fiction shelves looking for books by Mary Renault. She found one of her Greek historical reconstructions but none of the Alexander books.

"Do you have any more Mary Renault?" she asked the clerk who was sitting behind the counter.

He raised his eyes and squinted at the shelf. "Just what's out. I can always order for you. Did you have anything in mind?"

"Some books on Alexander the Great."

"History texts are on aisle nine."

Rosalind thanked him and headed where he pointed. There was a surprising number; Alexander seemed popular for a man dead more than twenty-three centuries. A red leather-bound copy of Arrian's The Campaigns of Alexander found her hand on its own. The leather was worn smooth from generations of readers. It fit into her palm like the grip of an old friend. She turned it over, scanning the back for mention of the battles Eric and Taryn had been discussing. "I have a lot of catch-up reading to do," Rosalind said, amused. Greek history had never been her love.

A picture flashed into her head, a scene so detailed Rosalind gasped. She saw in an instant a room, a library or a study. The walls were lined with bookshelves; piles of books were stacked around the armchair. A fire was burning, and snow dusted the panes of the window. She'd never seen that room before, but she knew it. As surely as she knew that the book of Alexander's campaigns was open on the chair and the person reading it was about to step back into the room.

Rosalind dropped the book. She put her hands to her head, not sure if she were ill or crazy. Certain types of brain tumors could cause headaches like the one tearing her skull apart. They might be able to cause hallucinations as well. The walls of the bookstore closed in on her, choking her. She needed air; she needed to run like her heels were on fire. She could not leave without the book. The clerk quoted a price; she threw a pile of money on the counter and fled.

The street was lit with the clear blue light of a late September morning, harmless and without portent. Rosalind forced herself to walk very calmly down the street. It had been an intense night; things were getting serious with her new lover. That alone was enough to make a sane woman act mad. She'd been book shopping because she wanted to know more about what Taryn loved. She was, she told herself very calmly, in a highly irrational state, emotional and p.r.o.ne to suggestion. It was probably a scene from the dreams she'd had all night. She might be imagining things.

The thought was comforting until midmorning, when Rosalind was in her office. She managed not to think about what she and Taryn had used the desk for; she managed not to think about Alexander, or the book, or Marlon Brando, or Shiva. It was a perfectly ordinary moment.

The book sat on the corner of her desk, where she practiced not looking at it. Nothing to it. Rosalind graduated to practicing not touching it, but failed miserably. Her hand inched across the desk until the red leather slid underneath her fingers. No explosions, no sudden shift into madness. She breathed a sigh of relief and let her hand rest on top of the book.

"What in the world are you doing?" Ellie asked, causing Rosalind to jump like a cricket.

"Nothing." Rosalind tore her hand away from the book.

"Nothing?" Ellie nodded. "Looked like you were stretching out across your desk in a new form of yoga. Keeping up our flexibility for lovergirl?"