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Jeremy shut the door behind him. "No, Paige wasn't able to make contact. She thought she did, but something went wrong."
"And aren't we all shocked to hell. You're entrusting Elena's life to a twenty-two-year-old apprentice witch. You know that, don't you?"
"I know that I'm willing to use any tool possible to find Elena. Right now, that apprentice witch is our best hope."
"No, she's not. There's another way. Me. I can find Elena. But you won't believe it."
"If Paige is unable to reestablish contact--"
"Goddamn it!" Clay grabbed a book from the nightstand and whipped it across the room, denting the far wall.
Jeremy paused a moment, then continued, voice as unruffled as ever. "I'm going to get you something to drink, Clayton."
"You mean you're going to sedate me again. Sedate me, shut me up, keep me quiet and calm while Elena is out there--alone. I didn't believe it was her talking through Paige and now she's gone. Don't tell me that wasn't my fault."
Jeremy said nothing.
"Thank you very much," Clay said.
"Yes, you're to blame for us losing contact that time, though it probably doesn't explain why we can't recontact her. We'll keep trying. In the meantime, perhaps we can discuss this other idea of yours in the morning. Come see me if you change your mind about that drink. It'll help you sleep."
As Jeremy left, the dream evaporated. I tossed and turned, thrown back into the channel-surfing world again. Snap, snap, snap, bits of dreams and memories, too scattered to make any sense. Then darkness. A knock at the door. I was seated at a desk, poring over a map. The door was behind me. I tried to turn or call out a welcome. Instead, I felt my pencil move to scratch a few words on a pad. I looked at the writing and, with no surprise, recognized Clay's scrawl.
The room swirled, threatening to go dark. Something tugged at me with the gentle insistence of the tide, reaching out to pull me back. I fought it. I liked where I was, thank you very much. This was a good place, a comforting place. Just sensing Clay's presence made me happy, and damn it, I deserved a bit of happiness, illusory or not. The tide grew stronger, swelling to an undertow. The room went black. I wrenched myself free and slammed back into Clay's body. He'd stopped writing now and was studying a map. A map of what? Someone knocked again at the door. He didn't respond. Behind him, the door opened, then shut.
"Clayton." Cassandra's voice, butter-smooth.
He didn't answer.
"A grunt of greeting would suffice," she murmured.
"That would imply a welcome. Don't you need to be invited into a room?"
"Sorry. Another myth shot to hell."
"Feel free to follow it."
Cassandra chuckled. "I see Jeremy inherited all the manners in the Danvers family. Not that I mind. I've always preferred honesty and wit over polish." Her voice drew closer as she crossed the room. "I noticed your light on and thought you might care to join me in a drink."
"Love to, but I'm afraid we don't share the same taste in fluids."
"Could you at least look at me when you turn me down?"
No answer.
"Or are you afraid to look at me?"
Clay turned and met her eyes. "There. Piss off, Cassandra. How's that?"
"She's not coming back, you know."
Clay's hand clenched around the pencil, but he said nothing.
I felt the tugging at my feet again and braced myself against it. Somewhere in my head Paige called my name. The undertow surged, but I held firm. This was one scene I definitely wasn't leaving.
"They won't find her," Cassandra said.
"According to you, we should stop trying."
