Chapter 37
Pretty Pictures
After that, Ezra's life fell back into a comfortable rhythm. Early morning hand-to-hand practices with Liza and, once she was back, Gal. Breakfast at home while he caught up on whatever news Kirsten found appropriate or applicable. Research until lunch, keeping up appearances in case Miss O'Donnell got suspicious. Sword training with Mat later in the day. True to his word, Mat had Ezra practice his foot work until he was certain that nothing short of divine intervention could get his feet tangled. Liza was happy to disabuse him of that certainty each morning, but according to Gal, Liza was some kind of ass-kicking savant, so he stopped feeling too bad about it.
It was almost enough to make him forget that he was a prisoner.
“At least you have stuff to do,” Mat grumbled during a training session a few months into their captivity. “Mr. Blair's got Sarah and I stocking supplies, checking maps, and running maintenance on weapons this week.” He sighed dejectedly, catching Ezra's swing and sliding a step in, forcing him off balance. Mat arced two lightning fast fakes at Ezra's head and knee, only to snake a devious thrust at his mid-section. “But that's not even the worst of it,” Mat scowled as Ezra somehow managed parry the thrust, skipping back a step. “Sometimes he has us monitoring incoming calls from field teams. It's bad enough being stuck here, without the constant reminder, you know?”
Ezra readied his practice sword, keeping an eye on Mat's center. “How, um... is Sarah doing... well?” he finished lamely.
Mat launched into a series of sweeping strikes. Head! Shoulder! Knee! Torso! Shoulder! Ezra backpedaled, trying to stay ahead, and Mat gave him a sad little smile. “Give her time, man.” He turned aside Ezra's counter attack with a flick of the wrist and swept his legs on the back-swing. Mat shook his head. “It just takes time.”
Outside of the gym, Jeffries was a constant nuisance. When he wasn't making wild accusations as publicly as possible, he was hunting down anyone who knew Ezra and pumping them for information. He once arrested the cook for no discernible reason and held him for twenty four hours, then released him with a cryptic message for Ezra about wanting to see him sweat. Every new crime in the city was suddenly traced back to the Hawkins estate, and every one of the detective's visits ate up hours and left Ezra feeling drained and disgusted.
Most nights were spent with the mission reports, with Ezra trying and failing to find a some missed fact or noticeable pattern behind the elementalists. That is, until Gal discovered that taking her out to upscale restaurants and social functions was, as she put it, 'a necessary and previously neglected part of his cover story.' It seemed like every other night found him at some new and happening night spot, Gal looking glamorous on his arm as she whirled him through a blur of overindulgent Legacy parties, vintage movie screenings, and extravagant galas that would make even the most jaded socialite weep tears of joy.
Ezra hated it.
“Wait, I just need to get to the end of this report!” he protested when Gal came to pick him for some art exhibit opening at the Webatorium.
“Ezzy,” she said seriously. “I don't think you're taking into consideration just how much this dress flatters my legs.” She pointed to where the hem stopped, right around the top of her thighs.
About a minute later, Ezra managed to tear his eyes away from her gorgeous legs. Had she asked a question? And why was he changing into a dress shirt? He glanced over at the mission report next to his bed. “But,” he moaned in despair, “this report deals with a water-seer. If I'm ever going to have a chance out there I'll need to know everything I can about them.”
Gal impatiently tapped her foot, pulled up a time display, and rolled her eyes in disgust. “Fine, I was hoping to save this for a special occasion, but I guess now will have to do.” A teasing a little smirk inched its way across her mouth as she stalked forward. “Take me to see the web comics of the early twenty-first century,” she whispered, the gleam in her eyes making his pants shrink two sizes. “And after,” she ran her hands over his chest and clasped them behind his neck, pulling her body against his and nuzzling his neck. “I'll help you find religion,” her voice was an irresistible coo in his ear. The scent of her threatened to rob him of his sanity, and he found himself helping her into the skiff waiting outside before he realized what was going on.
Three hours later, Ezra was staring at a three panel comic in mild confusion. “I don't get it,” he told Gal, who was busy beaming at everyone and everything while sipping champagne. “I thought this was supposed to be a,” he consulted the pamphlet he had picked up near the door, “'slice of life' comic. Did Gabe really own a unicorn?”
“Ezzy, please,” she hissed at him out of the side of her mouth, smile still fixed firmly in place. “It's not about the content. It's about the concept.” She laughed lightly and fluttered her hand in a psuedo-wave at someone out in the crowd. “Just like this party. I can't imagine all these people are really that interested in...” Her eyes scanned then room, then she gestured to the far wall. “Stick figures with amusing captions and an unpronounceable name.”
“That's probably just a bad translation.”
“It's about being seen, about the concept behind the art that gave it substance and meaning.” Gal took another sip of her drink, then glanced speculatively at a nearby exhibit, considering. “Except for the one with runt and the devil girls. That artist was a visionary.”
==
“Oh,” Ezra said, looking down. “This is... nice.”
“I really wanted to do something special for you, Ezzy,” Gal purred.
“Yeah, um, it really is... special.” He gazed forlornly at her little dress. It really was a very nice, flattering dress. Shame about how she was still wearing it. Ezra sighed in defeat. “Thank you, Gal. I never even thought to expect it.”
“And that's how well I know you.” She nodded self-assuredly, then stretched her arms up, fluid and sensuous and irresistible. Her eyes cracked open and she gave him a knowing smile. “Enjoy the... book.” Gal sauntered down the walkway away from Ezra's house, blowing him a kiss before climbing into the skiff and disappearing into the night. There was just no winning with that girl.
Ezra shook his head and walked inside, glancing over the worn cover of the book Gal had left him. The Will of the Elements. He didn't know how she had gotten her hands on a copy of the religious manuscripts from the outside world, but he recognized the significance. Gaav had insisted that his ability to move and shape the earth around him was rooted in this religion. This book could contain the secret to all of their powers. Some kind of ritual that they performed to awaken latent potential, maybe? The human brain was capable of so much more than the meager use mankind put it to. Or it could be some sort of indoctrination process that people with powers went through during their formative years. That would explain Gaav's blind devotion to his god, as well as the nearly universal belief in some mother goddess that was mentioned throughout the mission reports. He had even witnessed it himself; two very different towns, every single person thanking earth for a bountiful harvest or fire for the warmth they were sharing.
Ezra was about three pages and thirty conspiracy theories into the religious text when the house announced that someone was at the front door. His heart leaped into his throat. Had Gal changed her mind about... things? He quickly straightened his shirt and brushed at his hair as he raced for the door. Just the thought of her in that little dress, pouting at him, made his heart race.
He threw open the door to find... Sarah. Glaring at him. Ezra flinched back, falling into one of the defensive stances Mat and Liza had drilled into him without thought. “Sarah... um... hi?”
Her icy blue eyes stared at him in annoyance for several seconds, then she jerked her head to the side. “Come with me.”