The Best Medicine Ch. 02

"I don't think so," Jack said.

"What?"

"I remind you that it takes us longer to heal from fire and silver, and you buy a lighter with silver edging?"

"Can't blame a girl for trying." She sighed when he put the lighter back and then looked at her expectantly. "It's not so much listening to music in your head as letting it move through you. Battle, fighting, combat . . . it all moves in a rhythm. Beating hearts, stomping feet, gunfire, clashing weapons, all of it making a sound. Music. Like any music, it can become familiar, and you can figure out what the next note is supposed to be. We have a music playing inside our heads and in our hearts, and we try to impose our music on the music of the fight. Once we control the rhythm, we control the fight."

Jack looked like he almost followed, but not quite. "So if I had a song in my head --"

"It would be looking for your brain," Trina said firmly. "In vain."

"Ouch! You're almost as mean to me as Farmer."

"A girl's got to have goals."

"Well, she and I have sex occasionally --"

"But there's something to be said for blazing a new trail," Trina said, trying to control the warmth in her skin. Jack was a pretty nice looking man, with muscles in places that some doctor's couldn't identify. And he was so in-your-face enthusiastic and friendly. In a "Hey, me an my boss have kidnapped you and your princess" kind of way. "I thought that Alani and Farmer had a . . . thing."

"Oh, they both have things," Jack said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Are you, like, five years old?" Despite her complaint, she couldn't help but smile. A little.

"Farmer gets first pick, pretty much always. They like each other, but they fuck . . . well, pretty much anyone they like who's interested. And that's a lot of people. So, why wouldn't the song idea --"

"Because it has to be incorporated into your mental state over years of practice. Thinking you can translate that into battle-dancing is like sitting in a bathtub and thinking that qualifies you to swim in the ocean." Trina looked a little wistful. "The real thing moves you. You just need to know how to move with it."

Jack looked at her admiringly. "Okay, you really turned me on right now."

"Men!" she said, throwing her hands up in the air.

"And put the lighter back."

Trina grumbled about most men not being that observant and put the lighter back in the tray.

Vanesse poked her head over the candy isle. "Have you gotten the dark chocolate yet?"

"No," Trina said, looking around wildly. "I'm so sorry. I --"

"It's all right. You got the donuts, and that's a damn good start."

"I remember you saying just a few weeks ago that you missed donuts."

Vanesse smiled so big that her dimples were on full display. "If all battle-dancers had your memory, more of our nobility would be fat."

"I have some ideas that might help work off some of those calories," Farmer said, appearing from nowhere and tossing a startled elvish princess a huge bag of dark chocolate M&Ms. "And my version of exercise is pretty sweet." She stepped up close so that her body was just an inch from Vanesse's. "That was . . . well, kinda cold, by-the-by."

"You're a big girl," Vanesse said, trying to stay calm though she felt a slight trembling in her skin. "It probably wasn't your first cold shower, and it certainly won't be your last."

"You could always warm me up," Farmer whispered into Vanesse's ear.

Trina interjected herself, squeezing between the werehyena and the Princess. "Why don't you go finish yourself off? But touch the Princess and I swear --"

"Swear what?" Farmer said, her breath quickening and her eyes dilating.

"Trina, it's okay," Vanesse said, uncomfortable with this tense turn of events. "She was just being . . . her."

"It's not okay. She should show you a little more respect," Trina said. She was being stupid, since Vanesse seemed to be willing and able to handle herself. Heck, she even seemed to enjoy sparring with the woman. It . . . it just bothered her the way that Farmer was looking at Vanesse.

"Respect is earned, not given away because of whose womb spat you out," leveled Farmer. The werehyena found Trina was now occupying space just a centimeter from her face.

"Don't you dare insult her OR her mother like that," Trina said.

Vanesse was dumbfounded. She did not know how this had happened so fast, and she had never seen Trina so angry that she trembled with it.

"I will speak however about whomever I like," Farmer said, her nostrils flaring. "And you can just stand there and like it."

Trina clenched a fist. "If I hadn't given my Word --"

"You'd be bleeding by now," Farmer finished. "I think that I've been very polite so far. You do NOT want that to change."

"Or what? You'll scold me some more? You really think you can punish me?"

"Trust me, putting you across my knee could be enjoyable, but that's not what I had in mind."

"Just try it. Whatever it is you have in mind, just try it."

Suddenly, Farmer grinned again. "What, and let you out of your Word with a blank check? Oh, you're good. I lay one hand on you, and you're not bound to cooperate anymore."

It was a clever plan. It was also, Vanesse realized, wrong. Trina was not faking being angry, and what would be the point of winning their freedom here, so far from anywhere? The innuendos about Vanesse had angered the battle-dancer. The disparaging remark about Vanesse's mother had been the trigger.

"You can dictate the terms of the fight," Trina practically hissed. "It was part of my Word."

"So it was." Farmer looked down at her adversary. "You really want to do this?"

"Name your terms," came the firm reply.

"Jack," the pack leader said, "check the maps. Find me a campground or public park. Something nearby. It's time to teach someone a lesson."

"Wait, stop!" Vanesse said, her voice rising in panic. "This is ridiculous! Trina, I forbid you from carrying through with this. How are you supposed to protect me if you're hurt or . . . or worse? And you," she added pointing her finger in Farmer's face. "You said that you wouldn't hurt us --"

"I said that I wouldn't hurt you," Farmer corrected. "She's just along for the ride because I felt sorry for her, but I also didn't want her following us all over hellfire and creation. And your pet battle-dancer just called me out. I don't back down from challenges. Not now, not ever. So give her permission to fight, or I'm just going to beat on her until I get tired."

Vanesse just stood there and stared for a moment. "You are a monster," she whispered, her eyes wide open. "I didn't believe . . . you would do that, wouldn't you? Beat up someone who couldn't defend herself? That the spirits that WE at least have come a little further than our savage ancestry," the Princess continued, glaring daggers at Farmer.

"I know what I am," Farmer replied heatedly. "And I've been looked down on by better than you. And this cub needs to learn some manners. The two of you have had it easy thus far because I found you amusing. I'm not laughing now." She nodded to Jack, an unspoken message passing between them. The two elves were escorted out to the SUV without any of the odds and ends they had been requesting.

Farmer was different. She had always seemed so loose and relaxed, but now . . . now had purpose. She seemed more solid, more wild, and the air around her crackled with power. They passed a set of truck-drivers who reeked of . . . well, something. They gave each traveler a wary eye, but backed the hell out of the way when Farmer came through.

"Fuckin' goblins," Jack muttered when they got into the SUV. "Smell like hell."

Vanesse wanted to ask about that, but decided not to. She had forgotten that she was a kidnapped woman, but now her captors were reminding her of their true colors. But why had Trina gotten involved in this?

They pulled off into a picnic area not far down the road from the truck stop, and bikes quickly blocked off the entrances. The remaining individuals made their way to a flat spot behind the protecting tree-line.

"Okay, I'm letting you fight," Farmer said angrily. "We fight to incapacitate, so no killing blows. I don't want the Princess whining for the next week about how I killed her best friend. And we go until one of us can't stand up. Got it?"

Trina moved causally into her fighting stance. She wished suddenly that she had been able to control her temper. She had not liked the words that had come out of Vanesse's mouth regarding the werehyena. This was not about Farmer being from a "lesser species." It was about Trina's jealousy and pride.

"Oh, why don't we up the stakes a bit?" Farmer asked casually. "You win, I release you from your Word, and you and the Princess are free to go."

Vanesse and Trina both froze, almost literally. What was this about?

"But if I win," the pack leader continued, "then YOU must give your Word to answer any question that I ask with complete honesty for twenty-four hours."

Trina was suspicious, but even though she was sure she could win, she needed a stipulation. "Assuming that answering that question does not interfere with any Word I have currently given. And no, this is not me chickening out. Without that stipulation, I simply cannot agree."

"Done. Jack, get this party started."

"Lay on!" the tattooed man shouted.

The barking began almost instantly, that high, cackling, braying laughter of the hyenas as every present member of Joker's Wild began to cheer on their boss. Vanesse just prayed to whatever gods and goddesses that had not abandoned her to see Trina safe.

Farmer approached in a boxer's stance, throwing a set of blows that Trina easily avoided. The elf was pulling in the sounds, from the crunching of snow beneath their feet to the barking to the almost-silent breaths of her best friend. She could hear Farmer's heart beating loud and clear, and she could hear . . . she could hear music.

Trina rolled forward and kicked up with her feet, landing both heels in Farmer's gut, sending the lycanthrope flying off of her feet. Farmer rolled backwards and then landed on her feet. She was smiling again.

"Sorry," Trina said before she could stop herself.

"Sorry?" Farmer asked quizzically.

"I . . . fuck!" Trina said, moving on the offense. She always apologized when she hurt someone, even when she meant to.

She ran towards Farmer, who charged her in return. The werehyena went for a forearm shot, but Trina slid along the ground, performing a scissor kick that sent Farmer toppling to the snow. This allowed Trina to reverse directions, sliding over her opponent's back and elbowing her in the back of the head when the woman tried to raise her torso off of the ground. When Farmer tried again, she was met with a two-footed mule kick to the face.

Trina was surprised when Farmer bounced back up to her feet. That last kick should have at least knocked some teeth loose, but the werehyena's smile was intact, made obvious by that ear-to-ear grin.

"This is gonna be fun after all," Farmer said. Then she let loped forward, her charge like an avalanche that built momentum as it got closer. And it came fast, so fast that Trina had to block rather than dodge. That turned out to be a mistake. The werehyena matriarch's clothesline went straight into Trina's block, then proceeded to send her tumbling ten feet through the air, where she only barely landed on her feet.

'Fuck,' Trina thought, her upper arm throbbing in pain, 'that was like getting hit by a bull moose.' She watched as Farmer charged again. Trina listened to the beat of the footsteps, and she knew exactly when the next note would arrive. She jumped six-feet straight up in the air and drop-kicked Farmer in the face, flipping over and landing on her feet, then drop-kicking the reeling woman again, but this time in the knees. "Sorry!"

"Damn she's beautiful," Jack said admiringly.

Vanesse, who was sitting next to him, found herself concurring. She rarely got to see Trina practice, much less fight a serious challenger. Where Farmer was all power and aggression, Trina was so incredibly fluid, the epitome of motion in a perfect package.

Farmer rushed again, this time keeping her shoulder low and her eyes forward. She was hunting now. When Trina tried to kick again, she swatted the offending leg out of the way, then shoulder-blocked Trina in the side. Trina managed to spin to avoid the full brunt of the attack, but it obviously hurt.

"See," the werehyena said, "I'm NOT sorry."

Trina punched her in the nose. "I am, and you will be," she snarled.

"What is it with you and my nose?!" Farmer held her nose and came away with a bit of blood. "That's twice!" She threw a punch to the center of the elf's chest, knocking her for a loop. But when she tried to close the distance, the battle-dancer actually cartwheeled away, landing a heel kick on Farmer's jaw as she went.

The fight went on like this for a while, with Trina dancing and striking with speed and precision, while Farmer kept raining heavy blows whenever she could.

But Vanesse could see that her friend was getting tired, while Farmer seemed to be as strong as ever. She would periodically let out a bark to her adoring supporters --

'That's it!' Vanesse realized, 'She's drawing power from them. The more they bark, the stronger she gets. That's cheating!' But she had nothing to counter it. She was just a necromancer, and there was no magic she could cast that applied. "Trina, the hyenas are pumping her up!"

Trina had actually already come to that conclusion. All she could do was to try and take their noise and make her own music with it. But she was tired, and all the moves she had that might end this were killing blows. The symphony was breaking down, and she realized that she was missing notes. Things did not sound quite right, like the warbling of an elementary school band. That was when she heard the tolling of a bell, a single source of an infinitely deep ringing. It was the note that a battle-dancer heard in the last moment. Someone was about to die.

Trina's battered and bruised face looked up and around. Farmer was out of reach for a moment, so she was not the immediate threat. Where was the death note tolling from? She reached out with all her senses and just listened. There it was, the clapper of the bell. The clapper was made up of metal clicking, as the hammer of a gun was drawn back.

Farmer was utterly perplexed. She was winning, but she had still seen fire in her opponent's eyes. Damn, this woman was a fighter. But now, Trina was looking around wildly, confused but searching. Both women saw it at the same time . . . a small red dot moving across the snow towards --

"Vanesse!" Trina shouted, hurling herself towards her friend, jumping just before a shot rang through the cold Canadian air.

The Princess screamed as three holes appeared in her best friend, a small cluster that might otherwise have appeared in Vanesse's head. The hyenas all began barking in rage, looking towards the tree line. At least three figures took off, running for their dear lives.

"Bring them back!" Farmer snarled.

For as long as she lived, Vanesse would remember the sound that came next. Thirty werehyenas began to shift into their half-forms, huge, hulking monstrosities with the bodies of enormous humans and the heads of hyenas. And they were all laughing. They were laughing as they tore through the forests with those loping gaits, hunting their prey.

"Trina?!" the Princess shouted, running to her friend's side. The battle-dancer was not moving, and blood spilled from the holes in arm, shoulder, and chest. And from around the bullet-holes, there appeared to be dark, almost black veins emanating in every direction.

"Iron poisoning," Alani whispered, kneeling next to the other two. "What the fuck?"

"Iron poisoning?" Vanesse whimpered, reaching out to hold Trina's hand, almost vomiting when blood spurting from the woman's mouth.

"Yeah, it means whoever did this was coming to kill elves. Iron doesn't do shit to lycanthropes," Farmer said, her voice calm but tinged with rage. "Fuck it, you've never done healing?"

"No," Vanesse replied, crying openly. "Trina, stay with me. Please, stay with me. I need you! I can't do this without you!" she screamed, waving her other arm.

"Alani, let's get her to the car, and then the first aid kid out. I'll need some alcohol and a lighter also. Let's move!" Farmer shouted.

"What are you doing?" Vanesse said, helping to gently lift her best friend and guardian off of the blood soaked ground.

"If we can get the damn bullets out of her, she might stand a chance," Farmer replied. "Can you at least prepare for a Major Work?"

"I . . . but she can't pay a price, at least not now! She's already dying!" Vanesse whispered to herself as much as anyone, "and I can't pay it. The caster can't . . . oh spirits, I'd pay anything to keep her."

For all her bluster, Farmer's heart broke a little with that. This was no uptight, spoiled Princess no matter how much she pretended to be. No self-righteous noble would sacrifice anything for a servant, and Farmer realized now that Vanesse would probably sacrifice everything. "I'll pay it," she told the crying woman. "If it comes to that, I'll pay the price."

Vanesse was unable to move, and could only watch as the hyenas loaded Trina's unearthly pale form into the back of the SUV, the back seat hastily removed to make space. Farmer was ripping clothes apart while someone else started up the motor to get things warmed up. The matriarch was moving with a smooth purpose, making Vanesse realize that she had done this before.

"You know what you're doing?" she asked, climbing into the back.

Farmer nodded. "I'm a doctor."

"What? You mean . . . a real doctor?"

"Graduated from Johns Hopkins at the top of my class," the werehyena informed her, cleaning a spot around the chest wound and reaching into a substantial first-aid kit for a long pair of tweezers. She stopped to give a shot of pain killer to the patient, as Trina began to moan in obvious, intense pain. It took her a while, but Farmer got all three bullets, then she poured a liquid into the wounds, which got Trina to scream. A quick flick of a lighter caused a small fireball to appear around each wound, cauterizing them.

"She needs blood," Farmer said. "What's her blood type?"

"We don't have blood types," Vanesse explained, her eyes red and burning from her tears.

"Elves are universal donors," Alani explained to her boss. "It means they can take blood from anyone and give it to anyone."

"I need --" Farmer started to say, then saw Jack leaning over the middle seat and offering his arm.

"Go for it," he said.

"You can really do this here?' Vanesse asked, brushing hair from Trina's face.

"We've been in more fights in more situations than you can probably imagine. I've done this before," Farmer said, still all business. "Jack, I'll need you in the back, lying next to her. Vanesse, I need you to clear out. No arguments. Alani, find me a place for us to hole up for a while."

Being helpless was about as bad a feeling as Vanesse had ever experienced. She moved the middle seat and leaned over, watching as Farmer set up a system of tubes and pumps she had pulled out of a hidden storage area under the cargo area of the vehicle. Soon, blood was flowing from Jack to the ailing elf maiden, and all Vanesse could do was pray.

'No,' she thought, 'I can do more.' She reached out her hand to touch Trina's forehead, but Farmer swatted it away.

"If you even think of giving her pure life-force to help her get over this, putting you in as much danger as she's in, and so help me by whatever gods you hold sacred that I will slap you silly." Then Farmer's tone softened. "If you start pouring raw power into her, her system might not be able to handle it right now."