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He purses his lips, and I can’t help but notice how plush and full they are. I bet he’s a good kisser. Those lips demand kissing. Worse, the same sensation I get with Duncan is there. A teasing at the corners of my thoughts, that feeling I’ve known him for years.
I shake my head, trying to clear it of the stupid inane thoughts. He looks past me, staring off into the distance. I turn my head to try and see what he’s looking at but there’s nothing but empty grass.
“No,” he says.
“No? No, what?”
My pulse throbs in my temple as my blood pressure shoots up. A slow, cold smile forms and he shakes his head.
“No. It means negative. It means that I won’t answer your questions. Yet.”
“You won’t? Then why did you bring me here? What is the point of this? How do I get home?”
“You ask the wrong questions.”
“Fine. How do I stop this? How do I save them?”
“Them?”
I wave my hand behind me towards the village.
He smiles and shakes his head. “I’m sorry, wrong question.”
“Great. So how am I supposed to figure out the right questions?”
“You always do.” He sighs. “Sooner or later.”
“Enough,” I yell, clenching my hands tight. My nails dig into the palms and I’m sure they must be drawing blood. “Tell me how I got here. Tell me how to get home. If you can’t do that then tell me how I can save him.”
Damn it, that last bursts out of my mouth without thinking. Him. Duncan. It’s a truth that resonates like a gong in my soul. Damn it. I said more than I should have.
His smile becomes sardonic.
“You can’t,” he says. “Come, walk with me.”
He offers his hand. I glare at it, waiting for him to say something more. The moment stretches uncomfortably but he doesn’t move. I don’t even see him blink. He waits, patient as the standing stone behind him. Time is a thing that doesn’t matter to him in the slightest.
“No.”
He doesn’t react and doesn’t move. His extended hand hangs between us as if it's frozen in place. Frozen in time and waiting.
“Seriously?” I ask.
“I do not understand. Am I serious about what I’m telling you? Or am I serious about asking you to walk with me?”
“Yes, to both of them.”
“Then yes, I am serious. Please. Come with me. It is easier to show you than to tell.”
“Show me what?”
“Exactly.”
It feels like my body temperature is rising with each statement he makes. If he keeps going, my blood is going to be boiling me from the inside out. He has answers. I need answers. I’ve come this far; I might as well play along.
“Fine,” I say and take his hand.
His hand is cool, almost cold, and dry, but it sparks familiarity. As if I’ve held his hand many times and know its shape, its feeling well. He leads us towards the standing stone. A mist rises from the ground, growing thicker with each step. Fear makes my heart flutter.
