by Rowan, Cate
She let out the breath she’d been holding. Varene and Rokad had both said time was the same length in Teganne as on Earth, but she couldn’t help feeling that she was Rip Van Winkle, awakened after a hundred years asleep. She grabbed the keys hanging by the door. The Citroën was hers now, but she’d only need it for a little while longer.
As she slid into the driver’s seat, she eyed her cranberry and gold court dress that trailed in folds to the ground. Yikes. Should I change?
But the longing to be sure the most important part of this world was still here—her mother—propelled her to yank the fabric into the car and turn the ignition.
“Ms. Stewart’s doctor is in surgery. He can’t approve an exception to visiting hours at the moment.” The sour-faced woman pulled a chunk of sheets off her clipboard and began flipping through them. “T’isn’t my regular post; this station’s short-staffed today and I’m doing the best I can.” She eyed Jilian’s unusual clothing and sniffed her disapproval. “Afternoon hours are from two to five and I’m sure I’ll have yer exception by then.”
“What?” Jilian stammered. “But—”
“Two o’ clock.” With one last doubtful glance at Jilian’s attire, the receptionist turned away.
Jilian froze, all her thoughts at war with themselves. At least Mom’s still alive. But this delay is insane—they can’t keep me from her! She slammed her keys on the counter, then slumped to the floor, her back against the desk.
I should have changed. Looking like a character from a Renaissance faire hasn’t helped. Especially with Ms. Rules-Are-Rules. She eyed the double doors to the right of the reception area. They were primly closed, and the polite sign next to them stated the visiting hours again.
Buck up, Jil, you can’t stop now. Try persuasion. She scrambled up and planted her hands on the counter. The receptionist shot her a wary look. “Listen, I’ve been away for a while and I’m sure my mother’s been very worried—and ill. I need to talk to her.”
“You’ve been gone and haven’t called your mum in hospital?” The woman clucked her disapproval. “Ye’ll want to apologize to her, no doubt. And ye can do that this afternoon.” And with that, she picked up a clipboard and walked through a nearby door. And presumably, away from the crazy lady at her desk.
Good God. Call? Well, you see, ma’am, I was stranded on another planet. Where there were no phones. Yeah, that would certainly help.
Wait just a minute. I could call her.
Jilian checked the walls for a house phone. She spotted one to the right, just next to the double doors. She hastened there, conscious of every rustle of her skirt and the curious gawking of hospital workers and visitors. Great, just great. Well, I suppose I’m the local color for the day—only not so local.
She scanned the instructions next to the phone, but couldn’t read them—her brain refused to process the information under the assault of adrenaline. Giving up, she pressed a button for the operator. “Room 309, please.”
“One moment.”
She screwed her eyes shut and bounced twice on her heels. Finally she heard the first ring. She gripped the earpiece and twisted the cord in her other hand.
The telephone rang a second time.
And a third.
And again and again. No one picked up.
After the tenth ring, she slammed the handset into its cradle and put her head in her hands. I’ve got to see her. How can I wait until this afternoon, when she’s just a few floors above me?
The double doors swung open and a nurse’s aide emerged from the hall with a cart. “Mairi,” the aide called to the receptionist, “Mr. Mackenzie in 205 spilled water on his newspaper and needs another one.”
Jilian turned to see Ms. Rules-Are-Rules, now known as Mairi, back behind her desk. “Aye,” Mairi said grumpily, “I’ll get one for ‘im.”
The aide rolled her cart to the wall, parked it, and walked into the ladies’ restroom.
Gotcha.
Jilian rose to her feet and slipped into the restroom, which had two stalls. The door of the first had just closed, and the second was a large one for the disabled. Jilian entered it.
She leaned back against the wall, staring at the beige divider between the stalls. What she had to do was…knock the aide out, take her clothes, and get to the third floor.
Oh, is that all? Hysterical laughter echoed around her brain, and suddenly she felt nauseous. She’d never done something like this. How did one knock someone out, anyway? In the movies it always looked so easy. And Spock had the Vulcan nerve pinch.
Why couldn’t she have been a mage like Alvarr? He’d know what to do. He could have put the woman into a quick sleep with a twitch of his fingers.
Jilian hands balled into fists. She had tremendous power, but without Alvarr, it was useless. Perfect, just perfect.
In the next stall, the toilet flushed and the door creaked open. Beneath the stall dividers Jilian saw the woman’s white, sensible shoes walk away.
She sagged. Well, that settles it. So much for intrigue. I’m not cut out for it anyway. Definitely don’t have the stomach.
Right then, Plan B.
Plan B.
If only she had one.
Well, how hard could this be? She just had to get past Mairi and those stupid double doors unnoticed and up to the third floor.
She looked down at her clothes, which were the exact opposite of inconspicuous.
Fine. If concealment wasn’t an option, she wouldn’t even try it.
She rose up, squared her shoulders, and unlocked the stall door.
Head held high, she marched from the restroom and straight toward the double doors. Ignoring the startled “Hey! You can’t go in there!” from Ms. Mairi Rules-Are-Rules, she pushed them open.
Nearing the elevator, she heard a commotion about her untoward behavior. Ms. Rules-Are-Rules was enlisting help.
A slow elevator might hinder her. She entered the stairwell instead, picked up her skirt, and headed up the stairs.
She then cursed the skirt, because if she’d worn sensible pants she’d be able to take the stairs two at a time.
At the third floor, Jilian pushed into the hall and hustled to the right. 303, 305, 307, 309… She drew a deep breath and turned the door handle.
There was her mother on the bed, eyes closed and face as pale as snow. Her close-cropped gray hair stuck out at odd angles from the pillow and her hands lay stiffly by her side as if she’d been laid out for a funeral. Tubes and wires hooked her to monitors that glowed dots and numbers into the still room.
Jilian’s heart shivered. The last time she’d seen her mother, she’d been tired, yes, but awake and aware, able to joke, to laugh…
“Mom? It’s me…I’m back.” Jilian sat on the edge of the bed. “Can you hear me?” She took a frail hand and caressed the soft, wrinkled skin.
Her mother’s eyelashes fluttered open, and she slowly turned her head. “Jilly?” she whispered, barely audible. Her voice sounded dry and paper-thin.
“I’m here,” she responded. “I’m here.”
Sarah’s leaf-green eyes turned toward Jilian, but seemed not to focus. Her hand lifted a short way, wandering in a weak circle before falling back to the bedspread.
Tears welled and spilled down Jilian’s cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m so very sorry. You’re ill, and I haven’t been here with you…”
She felt the faintest squeeze of her mother’s fingers.
Please, please, let it not be too late… Jilian wiped her tears with the back of her golden sleeve. “I brought you something from far away. It’ll make you better.” She didn’t mention Teganne for fear it might distress her mother and sap what little energy she had left.
Jilian pulled the cord of the silk bag over her head and withdrew the cool flask. The lolly leaf came off with a twist.
She slipped an arm behind her mother to cradle her. “Swallow this.” Sara’s ashen mouth opened and the purple liquid slid in.
Jilian smoothed the hair
from her mother’s face. “I love you. Always. You’re going to sleep for a while, but then you’ll be better. I promise.” Her voice cracked and cold tears spilled over her cheeks. The empty flask slid to the bed, remnants of purple fluid clinging to the glass.
Sara raised her eyes to Jilian’s. “Love you, Jilly,” she whispered. Then, bending to the will of the sleep spell, her eyes closed.
Jilian leaned down and kissed her forehead, all her love in the kiss. “When you wake up, I’ll have so much to tell you.”
She released her mother and stood to gaze at the woman who’d brought her safely through stormy waters for so many years. Lying so still and small on the bed with her pale face sapped by illness, Sara resembled an aged dove.
Jilian moved to a chair against the hallway wall and watched her breathe in and out.
Such a simple movement, but so profound. It meant life.
The last time they’d spoken, her mother had reached out and clasped her hand… “Jilly,” she’d said, “there’ll be someone else for ye. Give it a chance.”
How right she’d been.
Mom, she thought, I did find someone. I want to tell you all about him… And ask you about Teganne.
Because you’re not a Scots mum; you’re Tegannese. And so am I. I need to share that with you.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and the door swung open. “What…”
Jilian looked up at the intruder. It was a nurse—who gaped at her mother with an increasingly shocked expression.
Perplexed, Jilian followed the line of her gaze. Sara was deep in the healing trance, her mouth open peacefully in sleep.
The nurse rushed to the bed and checked the pulse of her mother’s limp arm, then turned back to Jilian, eyes wide and accusatory. “What did you do?”
Unnerved, Jilian stared at the scene. Her sleeping mother, an angry nurse. It didn’t compute. What’s her problem?
It was only then that Jilian noticed the machine beeping an alarm. The nurse pointed at the empty flask on the bed, with the purple elixir pooling in the bottom—a purple matched on Sara’s lips.
“Oh, that. It’s…” Jilian said, and stopped. How could she explain a sleeping spell and herbal elixir from another world?
The nurse picked up the phone and punched three numbers. “Security to Room 309. And contact the police!”
“What?” Jilian rose from the chair. At last the horror on the nurse’s face painted the missing picture. She thinks I’ve poisoned my mother.
Assisted suicide? Or even…murder? Either way, not good!
With one last look at her mother’s still body, she reached for the door handle and sped out.
What now?
As she bolted down the hall, the elevator opened—but she didn’t need to study the brawny, uniformed man emerging from it to know she was better off going down the stairs.
She pounded down them, fearful she’d trip over her own damn skirt. Her raucous breaths whistled in her ears. At the main floor, she hauled open the stairway door and careened out, then burst through the double-doors to the reception area and made a beeline to the exit.
“Hey!” shouted a strident voice.
Run, she commanded her feet, but her head turned toward the sound. Ms. Rules-Are-Rules was pointing at her, and a portly man with a badge started towards her.
She shoved through the main door, grunting from the impact.
The sun almost blinded her. A rare sunny day in Scotland. Figures. She scrambled toward her car, grateful she’d parked close, and reached into the right pocket of her gown for the car keys.
Then the left pocket.
Where are my keys?
Oh God oh God oh God.
Twisting, she looked back and saw the guard rushing at her.
No keys, no car. Just keep going! Get someplace else. Somewhere you can catch your breath and think.
Jilian charged past her Citröen, out the parking lot, and down the street.
She risked another quick look behind her. The man swung his elbows up, chasing gamely, but his heft worked against him. His mouth hung open and his wide eyes took on the blank stare of defeat. At least he doesn’t have a gun on him, Jil. Be thankful for small mercies. Not that I’d like to be within arm’s reach of that nightstick, either.
She ducked down an alley. Certain he’d seen, she broke to her left at the first junction, past a small, rusty car and two more narrow lanes, then down the next alley to her right. She snatched a stained, flattened cardboard box from the pavement, crawled into the space between two large trash cans, and propped the box in front of her for cover.
From behind the trash bins she spotted the guard, wheezing now as he dragged himself up the street. He glanced down her alley, but kept going.
Jilian leaned her head against the brick wall behind her and fought to quiet her breathing. Guess they don’t really need athletic hospital guards in rural Scotland. Of course, they probably didn’t imagine a run-in with a lunatic mother-killer.
She burst into tears.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Alvarr stood at the head of the ancient Council table and glanced around at the solemn faces gathered near. “Thoren senses trouble with the wardweavings on our eastern border. He believes it’s Bhruic’s doing.”
Disquiet snaked through the room. Alvarr’s gaze came to rest on Findar, and his friend’s clear distress carved a slice from his heart. “There’s nothing you could have done, ‘Dar.”
The former mage shook his head. “It was my responsibility—”
“Until Bhruic stole your magery. How could you protect the borders after that? It isn’t your fault. If anything, it’s mine.”
Nenth stared at Alvarr and spoke in a low voice. “How so?”
“I should have watched the weavings more carefully. I’ve been fixated on the western border, not the east.”
Rokad’s rejoinder was firm. “You’ve only so much strength, and you’ve been on a journey far from Ysanne. You can’t do it all.”
“Rokad’s right,” Findar said. “Jilian’s here now, isn’t she? Can’t she help?”
“I’ve sent her back to her world with the herb we found. She’s trying to cure her mother.”
Nenth’s eyebrows rose. “Sent her back permanently?”
“Only for the day. Our needs are urgent, but so are hers. We traveled far for that herb, for Sara’s cure.”
“Will she bring Sara with her?” Thoren asked.
Alvarr shook his head. “Sara was dying, and may already be gone. Perhaps the herbs will work, but we’d best leave Sara out of the equation. Jilian will return, though.”
“When?” Worry threaded Thoren’s voice.
“Near midnight, our time—sunset in hers.”
Thoren frowned, so Alvarr caught his eye. “I made a promise to her about Sara, Uncle, and it wasn’t right to break it.”
Thoren relented with a nod.
Alvarr leaned on the table, gaining solace from the smooth wood, which had witnessed ten generations of his lineage conquer dangers to Teganne. “When I took the throne, I called each of you to the Council for your magery, yes—but that was not the total of your skills. Findar, please search the Old Letters for any hints of stronger spells we might use to repair the weavings. Thoren, you and I will do a preliminary patch while Jilian is away. Working with her has refilled some of my power, but I’m not at full strength. Rokad and Nenth—that is, if you’re well enough, Nenth?” At her murmured assent, he continued. “Mull over Bhruic’s new strategy. We need to learn what he’s doing, and why.”
He scanned their eyes for agreement. “That’s all, for now. Keep your senses open.”
As his Council departed the room, he stayed behind, gazing at the stone wall but recalling a world far away. I hope things are well for you, Jilian, and for Sara, too—because I’ll need you home soon.
All right, Jil, hold yourself together. Time to think.
She took a deep breath, wiped the tears from her cheeks, and lifted her h
ead to peer up at the sun shining into the alley.
Her house in Ballalaroch was just twenty minutes away by car—fifteen miles or so—but now she had no car. Damn those keys. She must have left them on the desk of Mairi Rules-Are-Rules. Should she go back?
No, too risky. Besides, Mairi had likely confiscated them by now.
She slumped against the wall. Would the police analyze the remnants of the syrup and discover it wasn’t poison?
Ha, who was she kidding? They wouldn’t be able to figure out what it was. Yeah, take that, crime lab! Let’s see you decipher the chemistry of an alien plant.
She had to get home before Alvarr returned—but how? Fifteen miles, on foot, in broad daylight, with the police looking for her? And the road between here and Ballalaroch was a busy highway.
What a mess.
This was all because she couldn’t wait to see her mother. If she’d just been patient, waited until visiting hours…
No. Her mother had deserved to get the herb as soon as possible. She’d done the right thing!
She just hoped it wasn’t too late.
Okay, best get on with it… She moved the box, stood, and tried to figure out which direction to point her feet—but she only knew the one road back. She’d have to take it.
After a deep breath, Jilian crept part way up the alley, then down a narrow lane to stay out of view. But the lane ended only a few blocks farther, near where the road from the hospital merged with the highway at a traffic circle. She hung in the shadows, trying to dig up the courage to step out.
“No way, man, really?”
The American accent turned Jilian’s head. Three scruffy backpackers, two men and a woman, clustered next to a rusty junker car.
“Dude, I’m telling you, she said it’s got great views of Leven. And it’s only twenty minutes away.”
Leven? Loch Leven? Ballalaroch is on Leven…
“Cool! We’re there,” the first man said. “Come on, Nessie.” He patted the car. “We’ve got a trail to check out.”