“How long have you been using this cane?”
I’d assumed the cane was a later addition, a supportive necessity as his light, elvish bones began to show their age, but these photos suggested otherwise.
Ronald’s eyelids struggled to open. His cracked lips opened and closed, like a fish out of water.
“I think your dream visit tired him out,” Dr. Adam said.
I returned the photograph to the dresser and picked up the cane that currently leaned in the snug between the wall andthe bed’s headboard. It was beautifully crafted, like smooth seashells had been blended together to form a sturdy staff.
Ronald seemed to sense foreign hands on his cane. With great effort, he managed to turn his head toward me. “Mine,” he rasped.
“I’m not taking it from you, I promise.” His response solidified my theory that this cane was more important than it appeared. “Can you tell me where you got this? Do you remember?”
Ronald’s nod was slow and heavy, as though it took every ounce of his strength to move his head. Maybe it did.
“Me,” he said in a hoarse whisper.
“Do you think this cane is connected to his condition?” Dr. Adam asked.
“Yes,” I said, although I couldn’t yet explain how or why; that would take a bit more research. The photos showed that Ronald had been in possession of that cane for decades.
“What’s it made of?” Dr. Adam asked. He picked up the cane to examine it more closely. “Looks like pink and blue seashells.”
“Actually, I think they’re bones.”
Many others would’ve dropped the cane at my revelation. As a healer, Dr. Adam wasn’t one of them. “Interesting. His?” The druid’s brow furrowed. “No. These aren’t elf bones, are they?”
“I’m not sure. There’s a mixture here.” It was possible this cane was the only reason Ronald was still alive right now.
Dr. Adam glanced at the patient. “Can you slip back into Ronald’s subconscious and ask him about it?”
“Not right now. The cord snapped and it’ll take time to be able to regenerate it.” My powers worked differently from Leanne’s, but I didn’t want to get into the details. Questions would beget more questions.
“Then what?”
I thought of all the dead ends I’d encountered during the course of my previous career. “We work another angle.”
Chapter
Eleven
The inside of my cottage reeked of tuna. To be fair, it was my own fault for leaving the empty can next to the sink. Lesson learned. I opened the kitchen window and drew in fresh air, much to Jinx’s dismay. The cat cried in protest as I rinsed the can and tossed it in the recycling bin.
Next, I sat on the sofa and sketched a picture of Leanne before my memory of the faerie had time to dim. Now that I had a name, a species, and a somewhat recognizable image, I could start the hunt for Ronald’s tormentor. I took a photo of my artistic effort and sent it to Vale, along with a brief message. If this faerie was anywhere in the demigod’s territory, which I strongly suspected, his team should be able to find her.
My phone rang almost immediately. I tried not to read too much into his lightning-quick reply. He was the Protector. It was his job to care.
“Pretty,” Vale’s voice rumbled through the speaker.
“I’m sure she’d be more than happy to make your acquaintance.”
“This is the woman preying on the elf in your message?”
“Ronald, yes.”
“He’s still alive?”
“Surprisingly, yes. I think Ronald has a tether to this world that’s keeping him alive.”
