Moon In The Mirror: A Tess Noncoire Adventure

by P. R. Frost

  He’d done something awful with his martial arts and regretted it daily.

  The Gollum I knew didn’t fight. He observed others fighting and took notes.

  But there was the time last autumn when Marines and Homeland Security had arrested us. I was in trouble from a strange reaction to their tazer. The medic wanted to give me tranquilizers to calm my convulsions. The drugs would have killed me. My brain operates a little differently since my bout with the imp flu.

  I came back to consciousness to find three Marines down and Gollum’s hands on the throat of the medic.

  “How’d you do that?” I choked out.

  “I work out.” He shrugged off my query into his abilities. As he shrugged off any questions about his past. “Mostly aikido these days.”

  I’d heard of that martial art but didn’t know much about it. Something about using an opponent’s energy against them.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t ask you what is wrong, Tess,” he said quietly. “So I’ll just tell you to talk. What happened to get your knickers in such a twist?” Steel entered his voice, like I’d never heard before. What had happened to the Casper Milquetoast I thought I knew so well?

  Homeland Security had asked a lot of questions about the time he spent in Africa while in the Peace Corps. He’d just admitted to knowing martial arts. Something had to connect the two. I knew it in my gut.

  Shocked into truthfulness, I blurted out my conversation with Donovan and . . . and WindScribe’s infuriating response to it.

  “So are you considering having children with Donovan? ” he asked, blinking away the scary stranger he’d become and replacing him with the familiar quirky nerd.

  “Not on your life! What’s my guarantee that they’ll be human? What’s my guarantee that he’s not some kind of black widower who will kill me—most horribly— as soon as I push out the required number of brats?”

  “Good points. So do you feel the need to have children any time soon? Because if you do, we could do it together.” He blinked again, and something I couldn’t identify crossed his face.

  “Children? The way my life is going, I have no guarantee that I’ll still be alive twenty-four hours from now. I’m not about to bring a kid into this crazy life with women falling from the sky, a demon marrying my mother, pandimensional prison wardens challenging me to a duel.”

  “None of us have a guarantee that we’ll still be alive in the morning, Tess. Life is uncertain.” That blank face again. Like he needed to forget something to keep his sanity.

  “So, eat dessert first.”

  He grinned.

  We both relaxed. The terrible pressure of the shaft relaxed against my throat.

  “Want to let me go?” I asked, gesturing to the Celestial Blade. “I’m calm now. I promise not to hit you.”

  Don’t believe her, Scrap chortled.

  I stuck my tongue out at the imp.

  “Just remember that when you do feel your biological clock ticking, I’m available.” He gently traced the scar on the right side of my face from temple to jaw with the little finger of one hand while still holding the staff in place.

  I didn’t yet understand how he could see the scar when no one else could. It was as otherworldly as Scrap. He couldn’t see Scrap. Very little about Guildford Van der Hoyden-Smythe made sense.

  Maybe the aikido had some spiritual discipline that gave him insight into the otherworldly but not full access.

  So what do you say to the man’s proposal? Scrap took flight, dusting himself off from the dirt on the floor and the bruises of our fray.

  In my mind’s eye, I could more easily picture Gollum as a father of my children than as my lover. The idea didn’t suck, though.

  A gentle warmth trickled through my breasts and down between my legs.

  Would he be a kind and considerate lover? Or was he a slam-bam-thank-you-ma’am-think-only-of-himself lover?

  That question brought memories of the one night I had spent with Donovan, before I knew of his nefarious schemes and questionable heritage. Warm and delicious memories of passion shared. We’d taken hours to explore each other’s bodies, culminating in explosions of multiple orgasms. I smelled again the dry musky scent of his skin. Felt the strength of his hands as he kneaded my breasts. Tasted the saltiness of his . . .

  The anger wanted to boil in me again. I didn’t have any left.

  I had only Gollum’s mild blue eyes, magnified by his glasses, staring at me, demanding some kind of answer. Not daring to hope.

  I couldn’t hurt him.

  I couldn’t encourage him either.

  “I’ll think about it. When my biological clock ticks loud enough and long enough, I’ll let you know and we’ll make a date with a turkey baster.” Ungently, I thrust the staff back at him.

  He stumbled just enough for me to slip free and bound up the stairs.

  I trusted Gollum to put the thing away and properly lock the door. That was more than I could say for anyone else in my life at that moment.

  Chapter 27

  Celtic people of Europe revered rivers, lakes, and ponds, and in particular springs. They were especially sacred to Eostre, the Goddess of the Moon, fertility, and healing. They cast votive offerings to the Goddess into water sources, a tradition held over in the wishing well.

  AFTER MY ENCOUNTER with Gollum in the cellar I didn’t want to be alone, where I’d have to think about our conversation. So I stopped in to see my aunt.

  “I want to go home,” MoonFeather stated the moment I poked my head inside her door.

  “That’s not such a good idea, MoonFeather.” I sat on the edge of her mattress and looked deeply into her eyes.

  She’d banished the fogginess of the pain pills. New creases at the corners of her mouth told me she still hurt. A lot. But didn’t want the drugs to interfere with her thinking.

  “I can get around my house as easily as I can here on crutches. More easily since my floors are level and I don’t have to go up or down two inches every time I move from one room to the next.” She crossed her arms in a huff.

  “That’s part of the charm of living in an old house.” I tried to dismiss her concerns with a blasé gesture.

  “It’s a pain in the ass,” she snorted. Her sense of humor began to shine through. It still had several layers of pain and willfulness to peel away though.

  “I may be able to speed the healing a little if you will trust me,” I offered cautiously.

  “How?”

  “Scrap.”

  “The imp?” Her focus narrowed to my left shoulder, and I wondered, not for the first time, if she could see him.

  This was getting spooky. I wondered if our lengthy stay in the world outside the Citadel thinned the layers of invisibility around Scrap.

  “Yes,” I said cautiously. “Scrap, can you lick MoonFeather’s wounds to negate some of the Orculli toxins? ”

  Don’t know, babe. I can do it for you. We are bonded.

  I translated for my aunt. "MoonFeather and I share common blood origins. Will that help?”

  I can only try.

  “Just a little to begin. How long should we wait to see if it affects her negatively?”

  Not long, dahling. If I’m toxic to her, she’ll feel the first drop of imp spit.

  “Go for it, Scrap. Remember, just a little around the edges to begin.” I lifted one corner of her bandages, exposing two stitches that closed the horrible gash. A little blood seeped around the sutures and a surgical iodine solution stained her skin a hideous orange-red.

  Scrap dropped to the mattress. He cocked his head, staring at the wound for three long heartbeats. His little snubbed nose worked, separating the individual scents of blood, skin, antibiotics, painkillers, and whatever mixed in MoonFeather’s blood. Then his forked tongue whipped out and in. One drop of dried blood disappeared.

  Tastes weird, Scrap confessed. It’s you but not you. He looked immensely satisfied.

  I watched MoonFeather’s face for any trace of change i
n color or texture.

  “Well, what’s happening?” she asked impatiently.

  “I think Scrap can continue. But take it slow, buddy, in case we’ve missed something.

  Too eagerly, he lashed the wound with flicking lick after long savoring lick.

  I exposed the entire wound.

  “That feels good. It needs air to heal. Doctors don’t always know what’s best,” MoonFeather sighed and leaned back on her pillows.

  I plumped them a little for her.

  “So, will you take me home, or do I drag Josh out of his office and make him come get me?”

  "MoonFeather, can you wait one more day? Please?”

  “Why?”

  I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, and told her about the upcoming battle with King Scazzy.

  “Noon on the day of the full moon. Palm Sunday. Good instincts on Gollum’s part. Two forces draining energy from the prison warden.”

  “How did you know about him being the prison warden?”

  “I have my own research tools.” She pointed to a load of books Josh had brought her now scattered across her bed. “I also spent some time talking to your Gollum in the middle of the night.”

  “He’s not my Gollum.” Or was he? Our strange conversation in the cellar seemed a whole lot stranger now that I thought about it.

  I shuddered and shivered and banished any thoughts I might harbor of taking Gollum as a lover. Or a husband. Or as the father of my children. We were friends. Why complicate and possibly endanger with sex my only normal relationship?

  “So what is your strategy for fighting off this King Scazzamurieddu?” MoonFeather brought me back to reality.

  “I’ll fight him like I did the Sasquatch. He’s a demon. Right.”

  “Not quite,” Gollum added from the doorway. His face reflected some dark emotions. How much was left over from our encounter in the cellar I couldn’t tell.

  Scrap, having finished his ministrations in short order flitted behind Gollum’s left shoulder, in the place tradition assigned to death. The imp looked just as grim and subdued.

  If Scrap was worried, I should be, too. My stomach cramped with anxiety.

  Both MoonFeather and I looked to Gollum for an explanation.

  “King Scazzamurieddu is the prison warden of the universe. He has a job to do. He’s doing it in trying to retrieve WindScribe. He doesn’t judge her. That’s for other powers. He enforces that judgment. By thwarting him, we are going up against some mighty powerful forces, disrupting the cosmic balance.”

  MoonFeather blanched. “That, Tess, is something you do not want to do.”

  “What can I do? I’m pledged to protect the girl. In a way, I rescued her. Therefore, I’m responsible for her.” WindScribe’s words came back to me. Yes, there was some sort of cosmic law that made me feel as if I had to defend her. Once she was safe she had to look after herself. Until then, I had to protect her.

  “You must look to your Goddess for inspiration,” MoonFeather said solemnly.

  “But I don’t believe . . .”

  “You may not believe in your Goddess, but she believes in you.”

  A sense of power and mystery swirled around us. Reality tipped slightly to the left. The subdued colors in the room took on more vivid hues.

  “Tonight, at midnight, just before the moon sets, it will be close enough to full for our purposes,” MoonFeather whispered in that otherworldly voice that carried the wisdom of the ages.

  Chills ran all over me. I sat, awestruck, listening.

  “Go out to Miller’s Pond where it marks the edge of your property,” she continued. “There you must cast into the deepest waters that which you treasure most. Murmur a prayer, any prayer that feels right, conclude the prayer with the words ‘Blessed Be.’ When the moon sets, it will look as if she has eaten your votive offering.”

  I returned to my kitchen to find Mom fixing lunch. A rich soup filled with vegetables and chunks of chicken simmered on the stove. She sliced cheese and bread at the center island with her back to the table where Darren and Donovan glared at each other.

  I flipped on the radio to the easy jazz station. I didn’t like the house too quiet. When only silence surrounds me, I listen for things that are not there, like Dill’s step or a Windago hovering in the wind.

  “Thanks for cooking, Mom.” I kissed her cheek, and took the opportunity to scrutinize her expressive face.

  Like me, she wore her emotions openly. I sensed less strain in her than this morning. The tension was across the big room in the nook between her husband and his foster son. And her eyes were clear. She was happy for herself, not because Darren commanded it.

  “Did you have a successful morning?” I asked her brightly.

  Behind me, Gollum helped MoonFeather navigate the narrow butler’s pantry with its tilted floor and then the two-inch step down into the kitchen.

  I had no idea where WindScribe had taken herself. Silence above stairs, so she wasn’t watching television.

  Scrap, check on her for me, please.

  She’s rooting around the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. Won’t find anything stronger than aspirin in there.

  Mom’s migraine meds?

  In the cottage and her purse.

  I sighed in relief.

  “We found a darling house,” Mom said. She turned the full force of a genuine smile on me.

  “Damn near as big as this place,” Darren added. His smile looked like a gloat. “Newer, too.” Like that was a plus in a historic area where status came with the age of one’s dwelling. “More efficient design, doesn’t ramble like this one. Not hard to change the zoning if we decide to do that B&B thing.”

  “But it’s not in as good a shape as this house.” Mom handed me the platter of bread and cheese to put on the table. “D, will you help me with the soup pot?” The look in her eyes was as full of infatuation and admiration as it had been yesterday.

  Darren had worked his mojo on her again. I wondered why he hadn’t this morning? Maybe he needed time between bouts to recoup his powers. A weakness, perhaps? I’d need every advantage when it came time to fight him.

  “It’s the old Milner place,” Darren said, lifting the big kettle from the stove and carrying it to the table as if it weighed no more than a loaf of bread.

  I paused to breathe. WindScribe’s name before she took a craft name had been Joyce Milner. I looked around for evidence of her presence and her reaction to that bit of news.

  A flicker of movement in the dining room might have been her. Then again it could have been one of my ghosts, benign or otherwise, or even Scrap. No telling among these creaking old timbers.

  “We’ll need to do some remodeling, since the house has been empty for almost three years and hasn’t been updated since the forties,” Mom continued. “But we can get it for far below market value.”

  “We’re going to make a cash offer this afternoon.” Again Darren nearly gloated. “As soon as I call my banker.”