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"I think I can manage." I stepped to the bike and tried to figure out where to grab on.
"This is quicker." Bain grabbed my waist and picked me up. His hands brushed over my hips and sent a jolt through my whole body. If he wasn't careful, I would slide right off the seat.
I swallowed at his touch and scent and forced myself to focus. If my power let me fly, I would take off from the smell of him, even though it was negated somewhat by the stink of oil and fuel.
He lowered me onto the back of the bike at such an angle I almost slid off the other side. At the last moment, I drew on my power and wound it like a shield to stop myself. I bounced against it lightly and came to rest with my hands on the leather of the seat.
"Interesting." Bain stepped back.
"You did that on purpose?"
His eyebrows twitched upward. "Not at all." He looked like he might say more, but his gaze flicked toward the door and he gave a faint nod.
He mounted the bike in front of me. "Put your arms around me and relax. You don't need to do anything but stay on."
"I'm surprised you don't ride horses around the Vault," I remarked.
"Who said we don't?" he replied.
At the same moment, two more bikes and riders stopped outside the garage.
"Here's the rest of the entourage." Bain started the bike and we moved slowly toward the door.
"The rest?" For some reason, I felt a knot of disappointment. I shoved it back down. We were on the Keeper's business. It stood to reason it wouldn't only be the two of us.
Idiot, I told myself. What was with the disappointment anyway? It wasn't as if he was interested in me. He might laugh at the idea, or be pissed. Part shifter still meant a whole lot of witch. He probably went home at night and didn't give me a second thought. Where did he live anyway? Somewhere in the residence, I guessed, but I could be wrong.
No, I told myself,he might not be interested, but alone, he might give me answers he wouldn't give with others around.
I didn’t know any of the four shifters who sat on bikes outside. They fell in behind us when we roared out into the heat of the morning. They nodded to Bain, then almost as one, we pressed helmets onto our heads and fastened them in place.
Engines rang in my ears as we rode toward the gates which opened slowly as we drew closer.
The Vault looked different from the back of a bike. Without the worry of slavery or death, I could drink in the sights and smells.
The Vault, I decided after a short time, wasn't that different to any other part of Sydney. Except for the whole desert thing. The smells were the same: plants, people, bustle and crap.
The house and buildings near the Keeper's residence, each with terraces and balconies to catch the sea view, were pressed closely together. The smells were slightly masked with row upon row of roses, freesias, jasmine and a dozen other flowering plants I didn't recognise.
Frangipani trees towered over most streets. Their twisted trunks looked like sculptures of tortured souls frozen in time. Was that what shifters did with their criminals? I was only half joking. They certainly looked like people trying to escape.
We rode past several small parks, each with a fountain in the middle and statues dotted here and there, seemingly at random. None were as explicit as the ones in the Keeper's residence, but most were of some naked god or other.
The further down we went, the statues began to crumble, or be missing limbs or even a head or cock. One looked to be dotted with paint, or was it bird shit? Either way, it didn't look like it was cared for.
Was Dex aware the lower city was so grimy? Chances were, he was, but the Vault's coffers didn't extend this far. In my experience, they rarely did. Human, witch or shifter, if the rich couldn't see it, then it could be ignored in favour of more important stuff. Like war, or hunting sand dragons.
Near the base of the hill, closer to the harbour, the crowds became thicker and more diverse.
A pale faced woman with a high collar and sleeves which hung halfway over her hands skirted around a darker skinned man in a brown leather jacket.
Several children wearing tall, conical hats stepped carefully under a sign for electronic devices, and ducked under another outside a bar. They looked like stereotypical witches. Bizarre for inside the shifters' Vault.
How did they keep them on their heads? And why? This place was weirder than I suspected.
Everyone, regardless of strange hats or clothes, moved out of the way to let the bikes through. Some paused to look, others hurried to the side, without so much as a glance.
A young girl tugged her dog out of the way by its collar and stood wide-eyed while we passed.
