“Flowers, actually. It’s not the same thing. I am a trained herbalist, but I prefer to make up tinctures based on ancient natural remedies. Is there something I might be able to help you with?”
“Necks,” he said. “How are you with them?”
“How many are we talking about?”
“Just this one, here.” He tapped his shoulder. “I do a lot of computer work.” He wiggled his fingers to indicate a keyboard. “Always getting stiff.”
“Then it’s possibly just your posture, the way you’re sitting.”
“Tried all that,” he said, looking around. “Chair height. Rests. None of it seems to make a difference. I get headaches, too. I work long hours. I don’t believe the spin my doctor gives me. That’s why I’m here — on the trail of something … different.”
Zanna reached for her datebook. “I’d have to book you in for a consultation.”
“And what would that involve?”
“I take your information, do a little basic reflexology, make an assessment. If I think you need a tincture, I’ll have one made up.”
He hummed indecisively. “Sounds sort of deep. I was hoping for something over-the-counter, actually.”
“Then there’s a drugstore just down the road,” she said.
“Ouch.” He reeled, smiling, with a hand across his chest, giving Zanna a chance to take him in fully. T-shirt. Jacket. Designer jeans. Casual, but street-smart. Messenger bag. Trendy.
“That was my ego hurting, not my neck,” he offered. “Didn’t mean to offend. How much do you charge for a consultation?”
Zanna considered his question a moment. His humility was genuine, she was pretty sure of that. “Give me your right hand.”
He offered it, palm up.
She pressed the tip of his little finger, working down it with short intense bouts of pressure.
“What’s this you’re doing?”
“Zone therapy,” she answered, leaning forward. “Each organ of your body is represented by a specific point on your hands. By feeling the points I can detect which parts of you have a blocked energy flow. If I massage the blocks, I should be able to stimulate the production of nutrients and blood to those zones.”
He nodded, taking the opportunity to look around a little more. “How did you get into this? I mean, where does a young woman go to learn the science of ancient medicines?”
“Scrubbley College, two evenings a week,” she muttered, looping her hair behind her ear. She pressed her thumb hard into the center of his palm.
“Ow, that hurt!”
“Hmm. That area needs attention.”
“Is that my neck zone?”
“No, your liver zone,” she said. “I can’t find any problems in the region of your neck.”
He sighed and held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, I give in. That’s pretty impressive. I confess, I was testing you about the neck thing.”
She crossed her arms. “And why would you do that?”
He smiled and tilted his head a little. “Maybe we can talk about it over dinner?”
In the kitchen, Gretel scrunched a nettle in her paw.
“Are you asking me out?” Zanna’s volume was raised, her tone incredulous.
He glanced at her hands. “Don’t see a shiny ring.”
“I’m spoken for.” Her tone was as flat as a wall.
“Absolutely no chance?”
“None. I have a daughter.”
The blue eyes flashed. “Daughter? Really? Just a baby or —?”
“She’s almost five,” said Zanna. “And we seem to have gone off the subject somewhat. If you’re here to flirt, you’re wasting your time. If you’ve got something you genuinely wish to consult me about, then make an appointment. Otherwise, have a nice day.”
Tam pushed back his glasses. His tongue made one swift tour of his lips. “Consultation. Right. Can I think about it?”
“Naturally.”
He nodded and glanced at her arm. Other than her bangles, it was bare to the elbow. On her fair skin, three distinct welts stood out. “That’s a pretty nasty scar.”
Zanna lowered her sleeve. “Playground accident.”
“Right,” he said again, and stepped back a pace. As he did, his gaze dipped toward the glass display case. “How much are the dragons?”
“Thirty dollars each.”
“Did you make them?”
“They’re done by a local artist.”
“They’re cute,” he said. (In the back room, Gretel winced.) “My, uh, niece would like those.”
“They’re very popular,” said Zanna, trying to retain a professional air. “I’ve got one myself.”
Tam stood up, tapping his fingertips together. “I’ll take him at the back, with the green soppy eyes.”
Zanna unlocked the case. She took out the dragon and let him inspect it. “That’s a female, actually, from an exclusive run of twenty.”
“Gudrun,” he read from the tag on its tail. “Is that Norse?”
“No, it’s from the south side of Scrubbley.”
He chuckled and put the dragon down on the counter. “Thirty bucks, right?” He opened his wallet and counted out the cash. “I suppose you could say you’d given me a ‘gud run’ for my money?”
Zanna rang up the sale.
While she covered Gudrun in two layers of bubble wrap and chose a suitable box, Tam asked, “So is that where you make your tinctures, through there?”
Zanna glanced over her shoulder at the bamboo strips. “Yes. Why?”
“You said if I needed one you’d have it made up, as if you order them. Or was that just a slip of the tongue?”
More questions. Zanna broke a piece of tape off the dispenser. “You’re a very inquisitive man, Mr. Farrell.”
He gave a blameless shrug. “Always had a curious streak. Good thing I’m not a cat. I’d be long dead, I guess.”
That produced a twitch in one corner of her mouth.
“Sorry, I think I might have amused you.”
Zanna allowed herself to smile properly. He was smart, she had to give him that. She sealed the box and handed it over. “I have an assistant who helps me, parttime. She makes up the tinctures. Will that be all?”
“I’ll think about that consultation,” he said, and finally he turned away, but not for long. “Oh, poetry. Almost forgot.”
“Poetry?” she repeated, looking blank. He flipped his satchel open and took out a flyer. “Allandale’s book shop. They have readings in their upstairs room on Sunday evenings. Nice atmosphere. Good people. Tea and nibbles.” He put the flyer on the counter and pushed it toward her. “Thought you might like it.” He nodded at the wall behind her head.
On a poster were the words:
… until the stars have blinked their last,
wherever on this Earth you walk,
he will arouse, excite, inspire,
my Valentine, my one dark fire …
“No strings,” he said. “Bring your partner.”
He noted her shudder. Then he turned and walked silently out of the shop.
6
A GIFT FOR THE GARDEN
He asked you out?” gasped Lucy, almost jumping from her seat.
Liz turned the car into a parking spot near the entrance to Benson’s Garden Center. “There’s no need to sound so horrified, Lucy. You don’t become an old maid at the age of twenty-five.”
“Six,” said Zanna. “I’m twenty-six.”
“And very attractive at that,” Liz added. She opened the door above a large gray puddle. A shower of sleet drummed ripples in its surface. More “weather.” More false predictions from The Weather Channel.
The three of them stepped out of the car together. Lucy, on tiptoes, avoiding puddles, picked her way across to Zanna. “So what did you say?”
Zanna thought about using her umbrella, but kept it closed. “I said no, of course.”
Lucy chewed her lip and nodded. “What else did he ask?”
“Wh
y? What’s it to you?”
“Just asking.” Lucy bristled. She folded up and shivered. “It’s not a crime, is it?”
“Don’t start, you two.” Liz was striding on already, getting out of the rain. “We’re here to buy plants, not start a small war.”
“He bought a dragon,” said Zanna.
“Good for him,” Liz said. “The man can’t be all that bad then, can he?”
“Was he handsome?”
“Lu-cy?” Zanna stared at her, hard.
“What? Why don’t you want to talk about it?”
“Because it’s meaningless.”
“Yeah, so why’d you bring it up in the first place, then?”
Liz stopped at the entrance and turned to face them, her feet rustling in the thick bristles of a welcome mat. “You know, the way you two squabble, no one would ever believe that you weren’t actual sisters! I suppose I should be grateful that there’s only a sliver of a family connection or we’d never see a day without bloodshed on the Crescent. I’m not going in here with the pair of you bickering like a couple of … gnomes!”
“Gnomes?” said Lucy. There was a group of them for sale on a pallet nearby.
“Liz, gnomes are gentle,” Zanna pointed out.
Liz thought about it quickly. “Not if you steal their fishing rods,” she said, causing Zanna to erupt with laughter.
“This is dumb,” Lucy tutted. “You two are insane.”
“Hey!” Liz scowled at her hard for that.
“Okay, truce,” said Zanna, knuckling Lucy’s back. “I admit I found Tam interesting. He was witty and yes, quite handsome in a … hipster kind of way. But my commitment is to David and always will be.” She picked up her skirt and jumped for dry land.
“So why won’t you try harder to find out where he is?”
“Lucy, not here,” her mother said quietly.
A ringtone sounded in Lucy’s pocket. She was standing in the rain like a little lost child and her eyes were tearing up when she spoke again. “Maybe he needs us to make the first move?”
Zanna looked sideways and saw, of all things, a caricature sculpture of a smiling gray squirrel. “Your phone’s ringing,” she said quietly, and pushed the door of the garden center open.
Despite its war zone of a parking lot, Benson’s was a comfortable, easygoing store that sold a wide variety of plants and trees, plus every kind of accessory the home gardener could wish for. As well as tools and foliage, there was a well-stocked gift area selling everything from candles to spiced pears in syrup. It was here that Liz caught up with Zanna.
“You OK?” she whispered. She looped her arm and tugged.
Zanna sighed. “Why won’t she let go of it, Liz?”
“Because she’s sixteen. It’s her job to be awkward. Every year she sees you writing a valentine to David and she feels left out, so she has to compete for her own little part of him. She misses the man who wrote charming tales for the little girl that’s still inside her. He’s her hero and she loves him. End of story.”
“But it’s not, though.” Zanna threw up a hand. “I love him dearly, you know I do. But I’m not forever trying to, you know …”
“Resurrect him?”
A bright tear rolled down Zanna’s cheek. “I want him back as much as anyone, she must know that. But he’s never going to come back, is he? Is he?” She sobbed and fell against Liz’s shoulder.
Liz turned her aside, guiding her away from the eyes of an over-inquisitive cashier. “Shall I drive you home?”
“No,” Zanna said, recovering quickly. She sniffed and cut the air firmly with her hand. “This has to be faced. I have to deal with this and just think about Lexie. If David is anywhere he’s in her, right?”
“Absolutely,” said Liz, handing her a tissue, “and Lexie is a wonderful reminder of him … but you have to think about yourself sometimes. David would expect nothing less, I’m sure.”
Zanna blew into the tissue and tucked it in her sleeve. “I don’t understand. What are you saying?”
Liz picked up a gift set of bath oils and soaps. “Maybe you should go to this poetry reading. What harm could it do? You’re not betraying David if you go to a public event now and then.”
“I don’t think Lucy will see it like that. Anyway, I’m slightly wary. Call it that old sibyl sixth sense, but I got the feeling Tam was checking me out somehow. I don’t mean there was anything shady about him, but he knew who I was and what kind of stuff I did. I got the impression he knew a bit more than he was letting on.”
“Perhaps he knows someone you’ve treated in the past?”
“Maybe,” said Zanna, dropping her shoulders. “Whatever. Come on, let’s buy plants.”
“No, let’s buy this.” From a nearby shelf, Liz picked up an ornament, an arch-shaped door about a foot tall, with a mint green frame and two working copper hinges. It was painted with autumnal leaves and flowers to give it a rustic, woodland look.
“What’s that for?” asked Zanna, opening and closing it.
“Fairies,” Liz said, grinning like a child. “You pop it in the garden, up against a wall, and the fairies come and go as they please.”
Zanna rubbed her brow in despair. “Liz, you’ve got to stop buying Lexie presents. She’s spoiled to high heaven as it is.”
“It’s not for Lexie, it’s for the garden,” Liz said. “But she’ll be free to play with it, if she wishes.” She popped it into a wire basket. “There, done. Now we’ll buy plants.”
For the next forty minutes, Zanna and Liz trawled around together, chatting about nothing in particular. They managed to purchase an outdoor wind chime and a pair of thermal gloves for Arthur, but not a single plant made it into the basket. Liz was commenting on this irony when they walked into the café in search of Lucy. “Thing is, when is the right time to plant anything now? You think you’ll get frost and you wake up to butterflies. You think you’re in for rain, and you end up watering. On the news last night they were warning us to expect winds at up to ninety miles per hour. We might see tornados. Tornados. Here!”
“It’s Gaia,” said Zanna. “The planet’s kicking back.”
Liz shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s very worrying. Ah, there she is, on the phone as usual.”
Zanna dropped a shopping bag on the seat beside Lucy, who almost knocked her milk shake over in surprise.
“Whoa, what’s with you?” Zanna said.
“Nothing,” said Lucy, hiding her phone. “Do you mind not creeping up on me?”
“If we’d known you were having a private conversation we’d have left you in peace,” Liz said.
“I was texting,” Lucy said.
“Of course you were.” Liz sighed and dropped her bag onto a seat as well, only for Zanna to say, “I don’t think I want that cup of coffee after all.”
“Oh, great,” said Lucy. “So it’ll be my fault you didn’t get your caffeine hit?”
“What is it with you?” Zanna said, squaring up.
This time Liz did not intervene, and when Lucy realized no support was forthcoming, she stormed away saying, “I’m sick of you two. I want to go home!”
As she swept past the registers, she checked her cell phone connection again. The link was still live. One message, from Tam:
OK. Met her. David’s partner, right? Baby by him?
Good lead, thanx. Checking her out. Tam. PS
What’s with her scars? Real or self-harmer?
And for the umpteenth time, or however many times one can change a text message in forty minutes, Lucy tried again, this time deleting everything she’d written in favor of one word. She read it back, heart pounding, then posted it into the ether. She was doing this for David, she reminded herself. Someone, one of them, had to make a move. But even as SENT flashed up on the screen, she wished she could have clawed the message back. Just one word. Maybe Tam wouldn’t get it? Or maybe he would.
One small word.
One legend.
Oomara.
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br /> 7
ARCTIC ICE CAP, NO SPECIFIC REGION
For the first six or seven years of his life, the ice bear, Avrel, had led a fairly commonplace polar existence. The smaller cub of a two-litter family, he had never stood out or troubled his mother, and had easily survived his yearling stages largely by virtue of learning through obedience. Born into the seal-rich waters of Svalbard, he had rarely had to cope with lasting hunger. Even in the summer months, when only the most careless of seals could be stalked, he had always grubbed for rodents in the shoreline vegetation or settled for grinding his teeth on kelp. And because the hunting had always been plentiful and serious hostilities with other bears few, he had never strayed far from those sketches of land.
All this changed on the day he met Ingavar.
It had been one morning, during the very late spring, when the sea birds were squawking and the space between the ocean and the clear blue sky was growing ever more hazy with heat. Avrel was wandering the drifting pack ice on a pessimistic lookout for any blubber-rich seal that would care to ease his stomach through the oncoming summer, when he’d picked up the scent of an unfamiliar animal. It was weak in strength, which meant the animal was small, but as pungent in its way as the foul-smelling walrus. He tested the wind with a bob of his snout. The creature was behind him, lost in the slight miasma of haze that sometimes settled between the ice and the sky. It might even be following him.
Curious, he turned and rose up slowly. The ice field was relatively flat and sea-washed, but away to his right a small cluster of undissolved ridges offered visual protection for anything less than the size of a bear. In this direction, the scent was at its strongest. So he set down and slid himself into the water, swimming between floes until he neared the ridges. There he saw it. A small creature with grayish-blue fur and a tail half the length of its skinny body. Thinking at first it was a free-running dog, he grew wary and looked around for signs of men. But the animal did not move like a dog, it trotted along in playful steps, keeping its snout very low to the ice, obviously hunting for scraps of food.
Calculating no threat whatsoever, Avrel hauled himself onto the floe. The creature paused. Avrel must have seemed like a monster to it, dripping wet, thickset, heavy of claw. Yet the thing merely looked up as though it had been expecting him. It had an elegant face and remarkably small ears. There were barely five mouthfuls of flesh on its bones, but in the absence of seals, it would have to do.
The Last Dragon Chronicles #4: The Fire Eternal Page 3
