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As I gazed at him, I realized that they were all scared for us—really, truly frightened. I brushed his cheek with a kiss. “For luck. For all of us. If Smoky returns while we’re gone, tell him we had to leave.” If, not when. I still wasn’t sure how long Smoky could resist his father’s demands.
“And you, golden priestess?” Roz dropped to Iris’s side, kneeling to stare her in the face. “Do you have the weapons you need?”
She slowly nodded. “I have my wand and my daggers, and my charms and spells. But do me a favor. If Bruce calls, please tell him that I’m going to . . . to check on the obstacles that face us. He’ll understand what I mean.”
Menolly gave Iris a steady look, but Iris wouldn’t meet her eyes, and Menolly didn’t press the issue. “Come, I’ll drive you to the portal” was all she said, grabbing her keys.
We followed her out to her four-seater Jag. As we sped toward the woods where Grandmother Coyote lived, a volley of raindrops spattered the windshield. I glanced at Morio, and he took my hand, squeezing tightly. But the mood had shifted from excitement to foreboding, and as we silently waved good-bye to Menolly and began our trek through the copse toward Grandmother Coyote’s portal, I wondered what we’d be coming home to.
I looked up in vain, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Moon Mother, but she was hiding behind the clouds. I whispered a silent prayer to her that Stacia Bonecrusher would remain cloaked. At least until we returned home to help with the impending battle.
The portals were an interdimensional elevator, shifting us sideways through time and space. No “Beam me up, Scotty” buttons or gadgets needed, but still, the theory seemed to be the same. What Arthur C. Clarke had said about any sufficiently advanced technology being indistinguishable from magic held true, only it played the other way, too. Magic could mimic tech, even as technology mimicked magic.
The portals were set up to keep the demons where they belonged, and they were fueled by the power of the spirit seals—at least the artificial portals—but now they were breaking down. The unnatural division between the realms, which had been forged during the Great Divide when the Fae had sundered the mortal realm from Otherworld and ripped the worlds apart, was wearing thin. Even though the spirit seals were still functioning, their magic was warping, mutating, and rogue portals had been opening up all over the place.
Queen Asteria—the Elfin Queen to whom we delivered the spirit seals as we found them—and Queen Tanaquar—the new Court and Crown of Y’Elestrial, our home city-state—had set a contingent of techno-mages to try to repair the rifts that were forming, but so far, they weren’t having much luck. And so the best they could do was to set guards at each portal.
One or two of the portals had imploded with their efforts. It was dangerous work and last we’d heard, one of the breakdowns had worsened the rip in the fabric of space. And the fact that Shadow Wing had one of the spirit seals didn’t help matters any.
As we approached the portal, Grandmother Coyote was waiting for us. She gazed at us implacably and I swallowed, trying to wrap my mind around the fact that Morio’s father had spent time living with her when he was a child.
She motioned to me and I stepped forward. Hell, what had I done now? The steel-tooth crone had a certain magnetism that made her alluring in a run-to-your-death kind of way. Her face was a topographical map, ridged with the ravines and valleys and mountains that time forged in flesh.
And in truth, no one but the other Hags of Fate would ever know if Grandmother Coyote had ever been young. Or if she’d been born at all. The Hags, along with the Elemental Lords and the Harvestmen, just were. The only true immortals, they’d existed long before the planet was formed, and they’d live on after the Great Mother turned to ashes in the flare of the sun’s death throes.
I knelt. She tweaked her finger, motioning for me to join her. “Camille, my child, you wear a cloak of heavy magic into your homeland.”
With an inward groan, I trotted over to her side. Grandmother Coyote had a habit of handing out unasked for advice that came with a steep price, but no one in their right mind skipped town on the payment.
Sighing, I decided to skip the small talk. “I know. The unicorn horn and the cloak, but my gut warned me to take them.”
“You are right to heed your intuition,” she said. “But no. I’m speaking of your connection to my grandson here. The Soul Symbiont ritual. It was in your destiny to bind yourself to him and the dragon, but now the ritual will be strengthened, and so will you. Be cautious.”
Oh great. Warnings. Danger, danger, Will Robinson. “Is there anything else I should know?” I finally asked. She’d extract payment regardless of the number of questions, so I might as well learn all I could.
Grandmother Coyote smiled softly—or as softly as the steel-toothed seer could. “Yes, as a matter of fact. There is. Illusions—both bred of magic and bred of your own fears—surround you. When you get to your home, remember this: What seems born of shadow and fire may turn to brilliance and become the path to your future. And what appears lovely and fair and wise on the outside might just be harboring dark secrets that could be your undoing.”
She paused, then added, “On a separate note from the rest, walk softly, Camille. You have made an enemy and he will not easily forget you, nor what he sees as a betrayal that was inspired by you.”
My heart skipped a beat. This was sounding worse and worse. The more I thought about it, the less I was looking forward to the coming trip. The Hags of Fate were seldom wrong. “Not Trillian?”
She flashed me a cagey smile, her teeth gleaming under the ripening Moon. “No, my dear, not your beloved Svartan. But I fear there will be much danger in the approaching months for you, and not all coming from the demons. There are several ways the Wheel can turn, and one of them holds an ugly and painful future for you. Be on your guard. Don’t discount what has been—or what will be—threatened. You and your loves are powerful, but there are crafty agents at work who have lived far longer than you and who have no scruples.”
That was the longest and clearest warning Grandmother Coyote had ever given me, other than the first time we met. I swallowed the gorge rising in my throat, not wanting to think about yet another enemy on my tail. I waited to see if she’d say more but she fell silent.
“Okay, what do you want for the information?” The cost would likely be as steep as Everest, and almost as daunting.
But she surprised me again when she shook her head. “This was a freely given gift. Because I truly fear for you, girl. Morio, watch over her well, especially when you return from Y’Eírialiastar.”
The fact that she hadn’t asked for a price, and that she’d used the formal name for Otherworld sent a river of ice careening through my blood. The Hags of Fate didn’t always see the complete picture, or if they did they kept it quiet, but they were never mistaken about the possibilities that lay ahead.
I said nothing, just gazed into her luminous eyes. And in the whirling reflection that gazed back at me, I saw myself careening into a treacherous cycle. I tried to look away, but it was too late. A catalyst had been set in motion and, whatever it was, was aimed directly at me. Wondering if there was a way to get off the not-so-merry-go-round, I opened my mouth to ask her for specific guidance, but she turned away and blended into the shadows.
Morio pressed his hand against my lower back and motioned to the portal, which was hidden within a large cedar. As we approached the trunk, the bark wavered and vanished and we were facing the brilliant static that surrounded the energy of the portal. It was time. Time to see my father again. Time to reunite with Trillian. Time to find out what Iris’s vision was all about.
I glanced back at Iris and Morio. “Are you ready?”
They nodded. The Talon-haltija had remained silent throughout most of the journey and when Grandmother Coyote had been talking, her face had gone white as a sheet. She still looked scared spitless, but I had a feeling it wasn’t for herself. And yet—she herself was traveling to face something from her past, something dark that she couldn’t yet talk about.
