by Emily Mckay
She scoffs. “Um. No. Almost anyone can do it. It’s so common. Most royalty of the seven High Courts hire teams of shifters to reshape their kingdoms. It’s a power people curate out of their bloodlines, not one they put in.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what to say to this. It’s not like I have any power royalty would envy, either.
She sighs. “Whatever. I was just hoping the fictional me would have cooler powers.”
I don’t quite know what to say here, because no one wants to be lowest on the totem pole. And Ro definitely is—at least in terms of power.
“Do I have any other powers? Any secret abilities I keep hidden? Any mad fighting skills I pull out in the heat of battle?”
“Um…no.”
“Oh.” She gives a sage nod. “That’s okay, I guess. Just so long as I’m funny.”
Something in my expression must give me away.
“Oh, come on!” She throws up her hands. “Don’t tell me I’m not even funny!”
I really don’t want to disappoint her, so I say brightly, “You rescued Kane from an avalanche once.”
“Hmmm,” she grumbles, obviously not placated. “But I’m not funny?”
I cringe. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s not your fault,” she says with a beleaguered sigh. “It’s just…I’m funny and I’ve got fabulous hair. Those are the only two things I have going for me.”
“Those aren’t the only two things,” I say quickly. “You’re gorgeous.”
She makes a phfft sound and waves away my compliment. “I don’t have any affinity for carbon, so that means no glamour at all. Which sucks. Besides, who cares about looks?”
She looks so crestfallen.
I reach out and put my hand on her arm. “I promise you that when I get back to my world, I will track Chuck Wallace down and tell him how funny you are.”
There are a lot of things I need to set him straight on. Which, I’m sure he’ll be totally into. Because who wouldn’t want a deranged teenager showing up on their doorstep, ranting about their imaginary world?
Still, Ro beams at me, looking a little misty-eyed. “Thank you.” She squeezes my hand, then sighs. “That’s going to make this so much harder.”
“What?”
“Healing your ankle.”
“But you’re not a healer.”
“Oh! Of course not!” She smiles gently. “Not with any of the soft tissue, at least. If my parents had enough money to curate my blood for an affinity to carbon, I could numb your pain receptors and—” She snaps her fingers. “You wouldn’t feel a thing when I heal your foot. Which I totally can do, because of my affinity to calcium. All those little calcium atoms… I can make those do anything I want. The really good healers have affinities to calcium, carbon, even oxygen and nitrogen. Instead you’re stuck with me.” Her frown deepens. “Ugh. I hate hurting people.”
I laugh at that.
Which only makes her frown deepen. “I’m serious! It’s really going to hurt.”
“I believe you. Whatever you’re going to do, I can take it. I promise.”
“Maybe.” She shifts her gaze from mine. “But nobody likes people who cause them pain. And I was kind of hoping you and I would be friends.”
I put my hand on her arm again. “It’s okay. I promise, we can still be friends.”
It’s a little crazy—me, reassuring her. Comforting her. Usually, it’s the other way around. Nurses, doctors, therapists—reassuring me. You can do this. You’re stronger than you think. This scar will fade. Your father still loves you in his own way.
I was never good at telling the truth from the lies, but I was great at forgiving the liars.
Ro is right. It does hurt.
It’s a bone deep burning, like nothing I’ve ever felt.
Which totally makes sense, since she’s rearranging the cells in my ankle, actually stitching them back together.
I try not to show it, because I don’t want to freak her out. When it gets so bad I can’t catch my breath, I pull over a pillow and press my face into it. So she can’t see my tears.
Then, slowly, the fire in my ankle cools to a steady warmth. I force my facial muscles to relax before lowering the pillow to squeeze it to my chest like a stuffed animal.
Ro is still beside me on the bed, her hand is still on my ankle. Tears stream down her face, as she mutters, “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I say, between gasping breaths.
“It was worse than I thought.” She turns and glares behind her. “You said it wasn’t that bad.”
I follow her gaze to see Kane standing in the doorway, his shoulder propped against the doorjamb.
I drop the pillow and push myself up against the ones at my back.
“I didn’t think it was that bad. She was walking on it.”
Ro glares at me and then back at him. Her glare is about as forceful as a kitten’s. “Well, she shouldn’t have been. She’s lucky she didn’t do any ligament damage. I couldn’t have fixed that.”
Kane tips his head toward me. His mouth twitches, almost like he’s trying not to smile. “Hear that? Next time, don’t try so hard to be tough.”
“Are you laughing at me?”
“Never.” The twitch doesn’t go away.
“You’re definitely laughing.”
“This expression is amazement. Not humor. Ro has done this to me before. Two ribs and my clavicle. I know it hurts.”
“You know it hurts and that amuses you?”
“No. Last time she healed me, it took four guys to hold me down.”
“Oh.” I don’t know what to say to that. Or how to respond to the grudging respect in his eyes. After a second, we both look away.
That guy you think you know. I’m not him.
I know that.
But do I?
I should be better now at telling the truth from the lies. But am I?
Because I may not be able to forgive myself if I’m the liar.
Excerpt from
Book Five of The Traveler Chronicles:
The Traveler Undone
You think I seem a bit young to be a hardened criminal?
You think a guy who is nineteen is a bit young to do whatever job you’re hiring for?
Maybe you’re right.
Or maybe I have an advantage you haven’t thought of. After all, everyone underestimates a nineteen-year-old. You just did, didn’t you?
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Thank you,” I say to Ro. “What you did was amazing.”
She waves the compliment aside. “It’s nothing. Any mud slinger could have done it.”
“Mud slinger?” I ask, but then realize she’s using it as an insult for her own talents.
She gives a sardonic smile. “Thankfully, Morgan feels guilty that our parents spent their entire fortune curating his affinity. So he spoils me.”
“Well, maybe any mud slinger could have done this, but I think you’re a miracle worker.”
She beams. “I think I’m going to like being friends with you.”
She brushes my hair off my forehead in a way that’s vaguely maternal, then pats my hand before turning to leave.
“So that’s Ro,” I say once she’s shut the door behind her. I scoot to the edge of the bed and swing my legs off.
“I take it she’s in the books, too?”
“Yeah, she—” I cut myself off. In the books, she has a crush on Kane. I guess it’s reassuring that the fight with the Kellas cats isn’t the only thing Wallace got right. “She’s prettier than Wallace describes.”
No, I am not fishing to see if this Kane feels differently about Ro.
But all Kane says is, “She does good bone work.”
“How did you know it was fractured?” I ease my weight onto my foot.
“I didn’t. Not for sure. But the more you walked on it, the worse it seemed to get.”
I took a tentative step forward and felt no pain. My ankle was as good as new.
As much as I would love marveling at Tuathan health care, I have a job to do here in the Kingdoms of Mithres. Knowing this conversation is not going to get any easier, I blurt out, “I know you’re not him, but—”
“There is nothing after the ‘but’ in that sentence.”
“Yes, there is. You may not be exactly like that guy in the books, but you are supposed to be king.”
“I was wondering if that was in there.”
“It’s not just in there.” I make air quotes around the words “in there.” “It’s the whole point. The entire series is your journey from boy-who-would-be-king to King.”
“His journey,” Kane corrects me softly.
“Your journey. Your mother was queen, right?”
He gives an obviously reluctant nod.
“When she presented you to the king for the naming ceremony, he recognized you as his heir, right?”
I see the truth in his eyes. There are things Wallace got wrong, but that’s not one of them. “The power of the high king is bound to you. If you don’t—”
“Why doesn’t he do it?”
I am so surprised at Kane’s interruption, it takes me a second to understand his question. “He’s a changeling. He doesn’t think people will accept him. Or that he’s worthy of power.”
“No offense, but your Kane sounds like kind of a douchebag.”
“He is not a douchebag.”
“Really? All the Kingdoms of Mithres are descending into chaos, civil war is about to break out, and he doesn’t step up because he’s wallowing in angst?” He gives a shrug. “Sounds kind of douchey to me.”
“Okay, then.” This is a common topic of debate among the fandom. But hearing it from Kane (this version of Kane, anyway), well, it stings a little. “So what are your reasons for not taking power?”
“My reasons…” He lets the words hang there in the air between us for a second. “Are none of your business.”
Ouch. That stings. Still, I’m not letting him assassinate Kane’s character. “The point is, Kane…I mean, my Kane… In the end he steps up. He does the right thing.”
Kane looks as if he is about to say something else, but before he can, Morgan walks in carrying a drink.
“Ah, Cupcake is alive and well.”
Kane takes the opportunity to bug out, and he’s gone before I can say anything else. Damn it.
“I can tell from your expression that Kane is being annoying. Don’t take it personally. It’s what he does best.”
I jab a finger in his face. “You have no room to talk.”
Morgan holds up his free hand, in a universal sign of surrender. “Whoa, there. Whatever I did, I apologize.”
I give him the stink eye.
“Mind telling me what I’m apologizing for?”
“You were supposed to save him!”
“Ah. That.” Morgan holds the drink out to me. “This is for you. I thought you might be thirsty.”
“No, thank you.” Like I’m going to trust an assassin to pour me a drink.
Yeah, I’m taking out my annoyance with Kane on Morgan. Maybe that’s not fair, but it’s not like he doesn’t have it coming. He takes a sip of his drink. “You know, you impressed me. Not many of the Tuatha would fight a Kellas cat and win. I’m guessing even fewer Dark Worlders could pull it off.”
“I did what I had to do to protect Kane. In the book, you save him.”
He smirks. “You should be thanking me.”
“Thanking you?” I ask in disbelief.
“Of course. Kane already trusts me. He knows I have his back.” Morgan pauses to waggle his hand. “More or less.” He takes another sip before tipping his glass in my direction. “But you? You were an unknown. A potential enemy. Until you jumped out of the car to fight by his side. Now he believes you have his back, and he knows you’re competent in a fight. After all, any girl who can hold her own against a Kellas cat…”
“Yeah. You said that already. You expect me to believe you did this on purpose?”
“I guess it all depends on how smart you think I am,” he says with a smooth smile.
In the books, Morgan is very smart. But you never really know if he’s on the up and up. Kane may trust him, but he’s still an assassin. And a damn good one, if the size and elegance of this house is any indication.
“Cupcake,” he says softly. “I’m on your side here. Just like you, I want Kane to go to the island. Just like you, I know he has to rescue the princess.”
I suck in a breath. “Did you know this was going to happen?”
“I can travel through time, not see the future.”
“What else do you know? Do you know who his mother is?”
“Are you asking if I know his mother is Queen Nerida? I do.”
“Then you know he should be king.”
“Yes.”
There is a hesitancy in his voice that I push right past. “He has to be king,” I insist. “Everything in his life has been leading up to this. Together we can convince him—”
“Let’s just get him to the island first. We’ll worry about what happens next after that.”
It’s not a comfortable thing, looking at a person who is so unnaturally beautiful, but I force myself to meet his gaze as I ask, “Do you give me your word your goal is to help Kane rescue the princess and the Curator?”
He doesn’t even blink. “I’ll do everything I can to help.”
“Well then, it’s a good thing you’re rich. Because the two of us can’t get Kane to that island on our own. We’re going to need to hire people. If you want to help Kane, you can bankroll the operation.”
Morgan’s perfect lips curve into a wry smile. “Well, you are a clever girl, aren’t you?”
“So you’ll do it? You’ll pay for everything?”
“I did just promise, didn’t I?”
“I still don’t trust you,” I warn him.
“I wouldn’t expect you to.” He takes another sip of his drink and as he lowers it, he murmurs, “Smart, tough, and naturally suspicious. One would almost think you were Tuatha.”
And then, without saying anything else, he leaves.
Excerpt from
Book Five of The Traveler Chronicles:
The Traveler Undone
They say nothing good lasts forever. I guess that’s true. No matter how good a bit of magic is, no matter how clever, how refined, or how strong, dawn and dusk always wash it away. Except for some very powerful rune magic, nothing stands up to dawn and dusk. Ancient Tuatha thought there was magic in the pink light of dawn and dusk. Turns out, they weren’t wrong. It’s something about the UV light spectrum. If you want more info than that, you can ask a scientist. I don’t really understand it, but I know this: whatever magic spell you’re working on, finish it by dawn. Because once the light changes, you’re screwed.
I guess the upside is that if nothing good lasts forever, nothing bad does, either.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Alone in the guest room, I take a minute to emotionally and physically get my shit together.
I find my messenger bag, which also looks like it got the Tuatha-cleaning-service treatment. The spot where the stitching was pulling out has been fixed and the three-year-old Cadbury Crème Egg stain is gone. Besides that, it’s fine. All my stuff is still in there.
I put everything back in the bag and sling it over my shoulder before going to look for Kane.
Morgan’s house is as big as it seemed at first glance and I wander around, moving through one vast room after another before I catch the sound of conversation and follow it to the kitchen. I pause in the doorway, my nose
twitching at the scent of the ocean lingering in the air.
Ro is puttering around in the kitchen. Kane and Morgan are at the table, and they stop talking the second I walk in. There’s someone new at the table with them. I recognize him as easily as I did Morgan and Ro.
It’s an understatement to describe the newcomer as grubby. His nose is bulbous, his chins numerous. He’s wearing a voluminous trench coat and a dingy fisherman’s cap.
Yet, there is something likable about him. Maybe it’s his friendly smile or the merry twinkle in his eyes. He looks like Santa Claus, if Santa had retired to spend his days fishing and drinking in Florida.
I’ve stared at him too long, so I say, “And you must be Mr. Crab.”
Before he can answer, Morgan says, “Yes, this malodorous gentleman is indeed Crab. However did you guess?”
Crab stands up and he’s hardly any taller standing than he was sitting. He pulls the cap from his head with a nod. “Pleased to meet you, darling. And what might your name be?”
“I’m—”
“You can call her Cupcake,” Kane interrupts before I can answer.
Crab smiles as he glances down at my T-shirt. “Ah, yes. Of course. Understand completely. Not offended at all.” He rotates the hat in his hands as he speaks. “I’m honored, I am, to be included in an endeavor such as this. Why, I was saying to Mr. Morgan here just a moment ago—”
“Easy there,” Morgan says gently.
“Yes, yes. Of course.”
He holds out his hand and, when I step close enough to shake it, the briny scent of ocean water clogs my senses.
“Good to meet you, Mr. Crab.”
“Just Crab’ll do, if you don’t mind.” Instead of just shaking my hand, he clasps it in both of his.
I expect his skin to be cold, clammy. Instead, it’s warm. Despite his obsequious manner, he’s charming. Comforting, like a favorite uncle. A pleasant childhood memory. A secret hope held close to my heart.
“I’m so very pleased to be included in this grand scheme of yours, m’dear. Thank you ever so much.”
“No. Thank you.” He’s still talking. Still holding my hand. Still luring me in. And I don’t mind. Not at all. I could listen to the gentle cadence of his voice for hours. I’ve had such a long day. How nice would it be to just relax for a few minutes?