by Rowan, Cate
They opened the vehicle’s doors and it responded with metallic groans. The woman climbed into the backseat.
They’re heading south to the hill-walking trails near Ballalaroch and Glencoe! Jilian stepped from the lane toward the car. “Hey, can I have a lift?”
The driver, already halfway in his seat, stood back up. He eyed her clothing. “Whoa, that’s some costume.”
“Uh, yeah. I…like to sew.”
The second guy poked his head out the passenger window. “You wear that stuff all the time?”
“Um…nope. Renaissance Faire.”
“Oh.” Both guys nodded. “Right on.”
The woman in the cramped backseat flashed impatience. “So let’s give her a ride and go. I wanna get out of civilization.”
“Hop in,” the driver said. “Where’re you headed?”
“Ballalaroch.”
“That’s it—that’s the name,” he said, slapping his thigh. “Couldn’t think of it.”
Yeesh, Jilian thought. These three were stumbling around looking for a trail near a town they couldn’t even remember? But at least there’d be mercy for her feet and a quick escape from Fort Nevis.
The driver yanked his seat forward and she climbed into the back—where the scent of marijuana rose in waves. She nodded at the woman, who cracked her lips in a grudging half-smile.
Feeling conspicuous, Jilian pulled her full skirts as close to herself as she could. The woman surveyed the material and rolled her eyes. Jilian peered sideways at the woman’s tattoos and nose ring.
The car sputtered to life with blaring screeches from its stereo system—something with lots of screams and metal. She sighed under her breath. At least it would be a relatively short trip.
She looked at her watch. 11:30 a.m. She’d be in Ballalaroch before noon—then she’d only have to hide and wait for Alvarr to return for her. Varene’s healing trance and syrup would have to do their job in the meantime. I just hope they don’t pump Mom’s stomach… She leaned her head despairingly against the car window.
Alvarr. God, she wanted the comfort of his arms around her after a day like this.
The car crept out onto the main road and they entered the traffic circle. “A roundabout. Woohoo!” shouted the driver. Banging his head to the music, he passed right by the exit to Ballalaroch. The blond guy in the passenger seat smiled, cackled in response, and banged his head simultaneously. Raising his fist, pinky and thumb in a “y”, he waggled it triumphantly as they continued around for two more full circuits. Jilian slumped in her seat. The other woman simply stared out the window, jaw tightening.
When at last they drove onto the long, straight stretch of highway, Jilian turned her attention to the mountain scenery, which awed her. She just wished she could enjoy it in silence.
Apparently, so did the other backseat passenger. “Aren’t you sick of that CD yet?” the woman yelled over the music.
“No, dudette, I’m not,” the driver shouted back.
Jilian closed her eyes. Last week she’d been climbing the exotic landscape of Teganne on a six-legged fydd. This week she was driving through the Scottish Highlands with head-banging strangers in a rust-bucket car that reeked of pot. Life wasn’t normal anymore.
Nor was the driver’s technique. He tended to wander. The painted lines are there for a reason, Jilian thought, gripping her seat and staring at the back of his head. I guess the pot smell is fresh.
Ten minutes later they crossed the Ballalaroch Bridge. Thank God! She’d be at the house soon, and then Alvarr would come…
The car began to sputter and shake.
“What the—?” Jilian yelped, clinging tightly through the shudders.
“Damn,” the driver said. “Not again.”
“I thought you fixed that!” yelled Jilian’s seatmate.
“Take it easy, dudette—so did I. I’ll just have to fix it again.” He pulled the rattling car to the side of the road.
Jilian looked out the window at the trees lining the highway. It was an easy walk home, with cover for her garb. She’d simply leave this vehicle of death to its rightful passengers.
The guys in front got out and the driver shut his door, blocking Jilian’s exit.
She glanced at the other door, still open. NoseRing Woman sat back, sneering as she watched the men open the hood of the car.
It was too cramped to climb out without crawling over her seatmate. “Um, could I get out?”
NoseRing Woman eyed her grumpily, then heaved herself out of the car. Jilian clambered out behind her, nearly tripping on her skirt. NoseRing sniggered.
Off we go, then. “Thanks for the lift, guys.” She waved and took a step toward home.
At the sound of another vehicle pulling up behind them, she turned her head.
It was a police car.
She froze.
How did they find me so quickly? She sucked in a shuddering breath. Should I run, or will that make it worse? Do the UK police have guns?
The officer locked eyes with her as he emerged from his car. Oh God. This is it. I’m toast.
Then he smiled. It was a minute change in his expression, but she noticed—and was stunned.
She couldn’t mistake that moment of male appraisal.
He strolled toward the others—who looked distinctly uncomfortable.
“So. Yer car’s having problems, eh?” His voice was deep and authoritative.
“Uh, yes, sir,” the driver said. “But I think I know how to fix it. It’s nothing, really. We’ll be fine.”
“Is that so? Because I noticed a little—” he raised his hand and waggled it from side to side— “weavin’ of your car back there.”
“Uh, yeah, well, the tires aren’t too good. I’ll get new ones right away, sir.”
“Mmm,” the officer said noncommittally as he moved toward the rust bucket.
Just as Jilian thought of slipping off, he glanced at her. She stilled and offered a wan smile.
The officer poked his head in the car and sniffed. Then he straightened and folded his arms across his burly chest. The driver and passenger began to fidget. NoseRing stood still, looking deliberately bored.
“I smell somethin’ that shouldn’t be there.” He closed in on the three of them, sniffing the air. “And something on you, too.”
“Really?” The driver feigned surprise. “Um, what would that be?”
The officer’s frown deepened.
“Uh, yes, well, you see, Officer, Sir, my brother here—” the driver lowered his voice to a whisper and clapped his hand on the male passenger’s shoulder— “uses cannabis for medicinal purposes.” The brother looked startled but willing, and nodded multiple times.
“Is that so?” Officer Burly pinned the brother with his gaze. “What disease?”
The brother twitched in alarm. “Ah, um, er…Marfan’s Syndrome.”
“Marfan’s Syndrome? Marfan’s…” He did a double-take. “What yer President Abraham Lincoln had?” Officer Burly guffawed down at the brother. “That’s for tall folks—yer far too short for that, laddie. Not to mention that I’ve never heard of cannabis bein’ a medically recommended treatment for it—and I’ve heard a lot of excuses. Fact is, I’m not keen on you driving through my lovely highlands while under the influence.”
He checked their identification and squinted at each passport and its owner in turn. He took their measure of the other three, and Jilian could almost see him calculating their level of wastedness. When his gaze reached her, he narrowed his eyes, but gave a little nod as if satisfied. “And where’s yer passport?”
“Ah…I’m afraid I don’t have it with me, but I’m a dual citizen and was born here. I’ve just moved back to Scotland.”
“Have ye, now?” His dark brows rose.
“I—I could get it for you. My house is just over there…” she pointed vaguely toward it, not sure how much to say yet. Her heart sped at 90 miles an hour and she wished her feet were doing the same toward home.
/> He squinted one eye at her, then faced the others. “All right, ye can do this the easy way or the hard way. The easy way is that we’ll sort this out at the station. If you’re lucky, you’ll jes’ get off with a warnin’, but that’s at my discretion, so keep your noses clean. Come on then, in you go, all of ye. “ He swept his hand toward the police car.
With reactions ranging from slumped shoulders to grumbles, the other three passengers trudged to the car. Jilian’s mouth popped open, then snapped shut as Officer Burly looked straight at her and said kindly, “You too, lass. Sorry, but those are the rules.”
Oh yes, rules. Amazing how important they are today.
So the police were taking her in after all. The only good part was that it wasn’t for killing her mother.
Yet.
The three others crowded into the back seat of the patrol car. Apparently none of them wanted to be next to Officer Burly. That left the front seat to Jilian. She pulled her skirts in so they wouldn’t be caught in the door. Burly glanced at her sidelong, clearly wishing to inquire about her attire, but mercifully, he refrained.
I suppose he’ll ask about that in the interrogation, ha ha. But her internal joke fell flat. Just what were the procedures regarding pot arrest in Scotland? She stared out the windshield, watching the path to her father’s home, and to Alvarr, disappear.
Alvarr arrived in Sara’s study as promised, eager to scoop Jilian into his arms, but the only greeting he received was an empty room and silence. Not exactly the welcome he’d hoped for. She must be on her way.
He frowned and strode to the window. A sky of deepening rose silhouetted the thrust of sturdy mountains; the peaceful lake at their feet reflected the sunset’s glory. It was enchanting; no wonder Sara had stayed in this place.
But where was her daughter?
He glanced around at the room’s sparse furnishings and his gaze fell on the cot. The blankets were rumpled in the same way they’d been when he’d first Crossed here to take Jilian back with him to Teganne.
The dust on the leather chair was thick and undisturbed. Since the cot bedding hadn’t been touched either, Jilian hadn’t spent any time in this room since she’d returned this morning.
His frown deepened and he stepped into the darkened hall, listening for voices or footsteps.
Several doorways led from it. One chamber held wooden shelves that overflowed with books, much like Rokad’s library. His friend would probably love this place. Maybe someday Jilian would let him visit her home. Her old home, he amended. She belonged with him in Teganne now.
In the following room he found more books lying on a table beside a meticulously made bed. There were no creases in the surface of the blanket. Jilian hadn’t been here lately, either.
Next he entered what, by the scent of it, was the kitchen. Strange white boxes of various shapes and sizes with metal handles lined the walls. What were they?
And there was no fireplace. Without a fireplace or magic, how did Earth people cook? Curious.
He tugged on the handle of the largest box and cold air rushed out. A light within shone on oddly-shaped and brightly marked containers of what smelled like food—some of it on the spoiled side, judging from the odors. Ingenious—a cellar-box that wasn’t in the cellar. Too bad it didn’t work very well.
A window by the kitchen door showed dusk illuminating little more than hills and trees, as pretty as they were. This was a cottage, a small and simple home—though with queer furnishings. He made a mental note to ask Jilian about them later. He pulled out a chair facing the door and sat down to wait.
The room darkened until only shadows and fears kept him company.
He began to drum his fingers on the table. Was Jilian still with her mother? If so, he couldn’t really blame her—but he couldn’t wait much longer, either. He and Thoren had been at work on a particularly tricky repair, and he didn’t like the thought of his great-uncle, the only full mage left in his Council, trying to do it alone. Bhruic was clearly planning something, and given the tattered state of the weavings in certain places, what might happen in Teganne while he waited here for Jilian?
He chewed on his lip and stood up to pace. No one in Teganne had the power to contact him while he sat here on Earth. With Rokad, Findar, and Nenth emptied of their kyrra, only he and Thoren had the strength to withstand a mage assault—and even then, it would be a regrettably quick defense. Alone, Thoren wouldn’t last long. They’d need Jilian.
So where was she? Perhaps he should have gone with her, to ensure she was safe…
Safe? He shook his head at his own arrogance. This was her world. Surely she was safe in it.
But he belonged in his world right now. Teganne needed his protection.
Returning for Jilian later meant two more Crossings without Jilian’s power. He should have enough kyrra, but…
Closing his eyes, he risked a hunt with his mind-sense to the crest of the hill he spied from a kitchen window and back to the lakeshore. It took energy to search every square foot of that area, too much, and the only human he’d sensed was an old man shuffling down a path toward the water.
He sagged against the window, panting. By Fate, he’d have to be careful, or he wouldn’t have the power to come back.
Where was she?
The house was silent—almost forlorn. The silence mocked him.
His cruelest fear rose up, spearing his heart. His throat closed in denial. She wouldn’t leave me. She loves me.
And yet I long suspected her of lying…
He shook his head, inadvertently rustling the window curtains. She gave her word…
But I trusted my parents to return, and they didn’t, either.
He fisted his hands. He had to get home to Teganne; waiting here was straining more than his energy.
He strode back to the room of books and took an odd-looking stylus from a mug on the desk, but saw no script-leaves. Opening the desk drawer, he spied a small, square pad of yellow ones all stuck together with some sort of glue along one side.
What use was that? Who’d want their script-leaves glued together? Curious, he pulled at the top leaf. It came off easily—just a slight tug was needed to release it from its neighbors. He felt the underside. The glue was still there, but didn’t stick to his fingers. More strangeness.
He placed the leaf back on the pad. There was no ink pot, but he found that he didn’t need one because the stylus worked anyway. Jilian had said her world had no magic—perhaps the stylus stored ink? There might be some things his people could learn from hers.
If he found her again.
Frowning, he wrote, I will return for you at two hours past midnight, your time. He paced down the hall to the room in which he’d arrived and looked about the dusty space for a place to leave the note. He decided on Jilian’s cot.
One more glance out the window showed only the hints of a dark landscape.
She’d be here. By Fate, she had to be here.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Jilian stared in growing horror out the small window that was positioned higher than most. She had to peer around the bars, but she figured such was standard fare for a holding cell in a police station.
What made her insides ache was that through the window, the sky was dark. Night had arrived, assassinating the sunset of her promised rendezvous with Alvarr.
Was he still waiting for her…or had he given up and returned to Teganne? Her heart trembled at the possibility he might never come back.
A phone rang in the main room of the small station house, just beyond the cell’s floor-length bars. Out there was freedom and control, both of which she’d taken for granted hours ago. She walked longingly toward the barrier.
The movement caught the arresting officer’s gaze. He winced and nodded at her, then looked toward his dour-mouthed supervisor, who seemed to want to teach the drug-infested Americans how to behave in his clean, quiet community. Maybe she couldn’t blame the guy—but she’d already spent hours in the cell, a
nd she hadn’t smoked a thing in that car.
Worse, the nurse at the hospital had wanted to call the Fort Nevis police—and here Jilian stood, conveniently stashed inside a station half an hour away and not exactly incognito, considering her garb.
The officer walked toward her. “I know you’ve been here a long while.”
Jilian smiled wanly and peered at his badge. Macauley. “Yes, Officer Macauley. It’s as I told you—I was only getting a ride with them. I didn’t smoke anything. And if they had something, I didn’t even see it.”
He glanced at her cellmates, who were in various stages of boredom or stupefaction. “That true?”
NoseRing seemed to be the only one able to process that question, as well as its potential gain to herself. She pushed away from the wall and uncrossed her arms. “Yeah, she’s right. She just hitched with us from Fort Nevis. She’s not our type.” She shrugged. “And she didn’t see anything—because there was nothing to see.”
He gave NoseRing a skeptical stare. “My snout said otherwise.”
“Look, she’s practically an independent witness.” NoseRing turned to Jilian. “Did you see anything illegal?”
Jilian carefully noted that “see” was the verb. “No. Nothing.”
She doubted that Officer Macauley missed that particular verb either, but he seemed inclined to accept the wording as the truth.
“I’ll do what I can.” He glanced doubtfully at NoseRing, then his gaze settled again on Jilian. His lips twitched in the ghost of a shy smile before he walked away.
NoseRing poked Jilian in the ribs and jerked her head meaningfully at the officer, as if ordering Jilian to use him to speed up their release.
Jilian stared at her and fingered Alvarr’s pendant around her neck. It wouldn’t be fair to flirt with the policeman to get out of here.
Then again…
She was stuck in jail, presumably a wanted criminal in a neighboring jurisdiction, and the man she loved needed her help to save his people from a megalomaniac.
Did fair matter?
