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“Well, better to focus on the here and now. Do one thing at a time, and you’ll never end up having to redo anything.”
I let out a long breath, then inhaled deeply and tried again, this time keeping my thoughts on my work.
We were finished by midafternoon, and it was time to head back. As we aimed in the general direction of the path, once again I forged a trail using my dagger as a makeshift Weedwacker. I couldn’t decide whether I was happy to be leaving or not. It wasn’t that I liked Darkynwyrd. I’d be altogether delighted when we emerged from the shadowy depths. But once we worked our way through the woods, it would be time to head over Earthside. That’s where my heart was torn.
I really wanted to stay in OW for a while. To go someplace comfortable and lean back and relax. But thoughts of Menolly and Maggie, Chase and our home Earthside intruded, and I realized that home in Seattle meant almost as much to me now as did home in Y’Elestrial.
Indecision flickered: OW, Earthside; OW, Earthside . . .
Hell. I snorted. When I really thought about it, I realized that I had no idea what I wanted. As usual. When Iris first came to live with us, she was always complaining that when I was in cat form, I’d stand at the door mewing until she opened it. Then I’d stop smack in the middle of the threshold, unsure whether I wanted in or out. That’s why she installed the cat door.
As we stumbled out from the overgrowth onto the main path, Camille looked around, frowning. “Hey, we’re not where we were when we went off the trail. I don’t recognize this point in the path. Want to make a bet we overshot and are farther up the road, deeper in the forest than we were when we headed toward the pond for your plant?”
I gazed at the surrounding trees. “You’re right. Which means we have more distance to backtrack. I hope it’s not too far.”
Iris, who was excellent with navigation and directions, made sure we were heading in the right direction, and we set off. The sun—and Morio’s watch—told us that it was three P.M. If we hadn’t traveled more than a mile or two off course, we’d reach the meadow and the portal around five and be home in time for dinner.
As we rounded a bend in the path, Camille stopped, pointing off to the right. There, tucked back about twenty yards along a dirt path, sat a small cottage. Surrounded by a sturdy wooden fence, the land enclosed within had been cleared, and in place of the knee-deep brambles, a vegetable garden and an herb patch thrived. Large crystals guarded the gate—one to each side—and even I could sense the magic that ran between the smoky quartz spikes. They stood a good three feet high, points aimed toward the sky, and must have weighed several hundred pounds each, easily.
A figure standing near the fence stared at us. I reached for my dagger, but Camille suddenly let out a shout and raced toward him.
“What are you doing? Are you out of your mind—” I started to say, but she was waving. The man—a Svartan by the look of him—waved back. He was ruggedly handsome, looking far less civilized than Trillian, but the jet color of his skin glimmered appealingly, and his eyes were the same pale blue as Trillian’s. His hair was far shorter, barely skimming his neck, and he had a good mustache and goatee going.
Of course, the moment Camille raced off, Smoky was right on her heels, as well as Morio. I glanced at Iris, shrugged, and we followed, jogging to catch up.
Camille was babbling like a fountain on overdrive. “Darynal! I can’t believe it’s you.” She skidded to a stop two yards from the gate and looked at the crystals. “You got any wards up that I should know about?”
He flashed her a lazy grin. “If it isn’t Trillian’s woman. Camille, it’s been a long time, you gorgeous wench. I’m not surprised to see you, though.” He leaned on the fence post and closed his eyes, waving his hand over a sigil painted on the front of the gate. “There, it’s safe now. Come in, and bring your friends.”
Camille motioned for us to follow her. Smoky looked none too pleased. Frankly, neither was I. Any friend of Trillian’s was bound to be suspect. But we silently filed through the gate and joined them at the house, where Darynal opened the door and stood back, waiting for us to enter.
As soon as I stepped through the door, I looked around, searching for any signs that this was some sort of a setup. Maybe my sisters had been rubbing off on me too much, but I didn’t trust someone whom Camille hadn’t seen in over a year. And far more time than that, if Darynal thought she was Trillian’s woman, unless the two men had talked in the past few months. Camille and Trillian had broken up several years ago, before Trillian showed up Earthside, and they picked up where they left off.
Too much could happen in that amount of time. Allegiances could be formed . . . and broken.
There were three rooms that we could see. A kitchen, living room, and what was probably a bedroom. Built from sturdy logs, the cabin had a solid feel to it, a ruggedness I’d never associate with Trillian.
A row of antlers attached to the walls provided handy tines to hold various bags and clothing. Functional trophies, I thought. A faded, overstuffed divan and chair sat at one end of the living room, a rough wooden desk and chair at the other. A bookshelf filled with scrolls and volumes buttressed the desk. Apparently Darynal could read.
The fragrance of soup drifted in from the kitchen, and my mouth watered. We hadn’t eaten in hours. I sniffed, the scents of carrots and warm beef broth filling my lungs. Maybe Darynal wasn’t such a bad sort after all. I mean, a man who could make soup that smelled like heaven in a pot couldn’t be all bad, could he?
“That’s not beef soup I smell, is it?” I blurted out, my stomach rumbling.
Camille shot me a long look that spoke volumes about my lack of manners, but Darynal just grinned.
“Indeed it is. Delilah, isn’t it? Won’t you all join me for a late lunch?” He nodded toward the kitchen.
“How do you know my name?” I said, freezing.
“Trillian told me all about you,” he said.
So he had talked to Trillian within the past few months. “Then you’ve seen him lately?” I asked.
Darynal inclined his head. “He stays with me sometimes, when he comes back to Artanyya.”
Artanyya . . . the Svartan name for Otherworld.
“He isn’t here now, is he?” Camille glanced around, a wild hope flickering on her face that maybe somehow we’d lucked out, that maybe Trillian was alive and well and staying with his best buddy.
