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“Then how am I supposed to save you?”
“It’s your world that is killing us. You, your new generation, have lost the ability to dream. Your dreams are being force fed to you by flashing screens and moving images. Your kind don’t think. They seek out numbness, retreat into drug fueled madness.”
“And what exactly am I supposed to do about that?”
“Change it.”
“How?”
“I’m not the One. That’s on you.”
“And if I refuse?”
He frowns and steps back. I take in what feels like the first breath I’ve had since he closed in.
“Then you’re no better than the rest of your kind.”
“And what does that mean?” I ask, pushing off the tree and stepping up to him. “You got some kind of smart response? What am I supposed to do here? I’ve been yanked out of my time, stuck in the past, and the people I’ve come to call friends are about to have their entire world destroyed. Most, if not all of them, are probably going to die and you want me to, what? Not care? Walk away and come help you do god knows what?”
“Yes,” he says. “That is exactly what I expect.”
“Then you can piss right off. Help me save the MacGregors.”
“You don’t listen.”
“I do listen. You want my help? Help me back.”
He spins on one heel, takes one step, and he’s gone. Everyone that was staring at our confrontation resumes what they were doing as if nothing happened. As if I don’t exist.
I turn a circle looking for him. He’s gone.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Anger burns through my body and surges with the pounding of my heart. I shake with frustration, trying to wrap my head around how Dugald can be such a jerk. What am I supposed to do now?
I close my eyes and count to ten, and at last the anger recedes. Now I feel burned out and alone. When I open my eyes, I’m still alone. I’d hoped maybe Dugald would return but now I’m left with nothing. I don’t know where I am or what I’m supposed to do. Find my destiny. How about you kiss my butt, jerk.
“How do I get home?” I ask, turning a circle.
“Home?” asks a voice so deep it feels like it rumbles in my bones.
I look around but don’t see who asked the question. None of the fae folk are that close and those that are nearby aren’t paying attention to me. I look up in the tree, but don’t see anyone.
“Who?”
“Down here.”
When I look down, a garden gnome stands in front of me. He’s under two feet tall. I blink several times to make sure I’m seeing what I think I’m seeing. I can’t believe this is real. The gnome is dressed in a bright red cap that matches the color on his cheeks and has a thick white beard. Blue shirt, yellow pants, and brown boots. He’s a garden gnome, except real.
“Hello,” I say, smiling and trying to cover my embarrassment at not speaking sooner.
“Right. You said home.”
“Uhm, yes. I need to get home.”
He narrows his eyes. “What are you willing to do for it?”
“What do you mean?”
