The sound of whooshing air announced the arrival of the light carriage. It sat reflecting the sun, its bauble-like exterior accented in gold, making me shield my eyes. My stomach dropped as I stared at the carriage. As soon as my companions left, I would be on my own again. I debated on making Kull come with me, but the memory loss and negative side effects were something I was sure he wished to avoid. Besides, he had a kingdom to rule and an ancient castle to find, and I knew searching for a mentally compromised weatherman was beneath him.
The carriage doors opened and Maveryck and Heidel climbed inside. Kull gave me a brief kiss good-bye and then entered the carriage. Dust billowed as the carriage sped away, leaving me alone in the endless expanse of desert.
Chapter 21
I woke from the crossing with fifteen pounds of cat on my face. My head spun as I pushed Han away, sat up, and tried to recall the past half hour. I remembered the others leaving on the light carriage, and then I’d opened my box and created a portal, but my memories after that were fuzzy.
Had I passed out? Usually I could withstand the side effects better, but things weren’t the same as they used to be, and I wasn’t the same person. Having a piece of Theht’s consciousness inside my mind had changed me in more ways than I cared to admit, and not being able to tolerate the side effects from the portal crossing was proof of it.
Han rubbed against my face, his silky gray fur tickling my nose, and I scratched his head. Poor thing deserved a better life than what I gave him. Thankfully, I had a charitable ex-boyfriend who checked on him, or else I was sure he’d have gone feral.
I stood slowly and made it to the bathroom where I showered, changed clothes, and then collapsed on my bed. I knew I had things to do, people to find, and a world to save, but I was bone-weary, and being back on Earth made all those problems seem so far away. Almost as if they didn’t exist. Plus, it was half past two AM, and I wouldn’t be tracking down any weathermen at this hour.
Sleep wouldn’t come. My mind kept replaying my conversation with Kull. In my half-conscious state, I couldn’t think of anything else, and his words kept repeating over and over again. He shall kill the one he loves, for love shall bring her end.
At half past six, I crawled out of bed, feeling more worn down and tired than when I’d lain down. I put on my tennis shoes and headed outside, hoping the sea air would help to clear my head. A few stray stars dotted the slate-gray sky. A chilly breeze gusted past, but I didn’t mind it as it helped to clear the cobwebs from my head.
Waves crashed along the shore. Even here, fifteen feet up and away from the beach, sea spray flecked the sidewalk and splattered cold drops on my skin. Going from Faythander to Earth always took a bit of adjustment, and the cars passing by, coupled with the sounds of running motors, electric lights, and the absence of Faythander magic, made me feel as if I were missing something—a part of myself that I only found when in Fairy World.
When I’d finished my jog, I felt more like myself again, so I made my way back to my apartment and got to work. I found my file on Zack Zimmerman and studied it, looking for anything I may have missed, or any clue that would tell me whether or not he’d actually come into contact with the vachonette egg. Nothing new stood out. He was a typical guy from the Houston suburbs. Married with two kids. Didn’t have a history of mental instability until recently when he’d started having panic attacks and a compulsion to buy very specific Fabergé eggs—of the black and gold variety.
Other than that, I couldn’t find any useful information and knew my next step would be to set up another appointment with him, assuming he ever wanted to speak to me again. The last time I’d seen him, I’d gotten the impression he hated me. Call it a hunch.
I found my phone and dialed his cell, but he didn’t answer and I was forced to leave a message. He’d listed his wife, a Mrs. Andrea Zimmerman, as his alternate contact, so I tried her next. She picked up on the second ring.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Hi, Mrs. Zimmerman. My name is Dr. Olive Kennedy. I worked with your husband not long ago, and I wondered if I might speak to him?”
“Yes, I remember you,” she said, though I couldn’t mistake her unfriendly tone. “Zack isn’t here.”
“Do you know when he’ll be back?” I asked.
“No, sorry. You misunderstand. He’s gone. He doesn’t live here anymore.”
“Oh. I see.” This complicates things.
“I tried his cell, and he didn’t answer. Is there another number I can reach him at?”
“Sorry. If he has another number, I don’t have it.”
“I see. Thank you for your time.”
“Of course.”
She hung up without another word. I stared at my phone, wondering what had happened to Mr. Zimmerman. Had he split from his wife? It seemed the logical assumption. If that were the case, how would I ever find him?
Scanning his files again, I tried not to let my frustration win out. There had to be some way to get into contact with him, but as I looked from one page to the next, I couldn’t find a single clue to help me. If I didn’t find him, then I’d have no way to locate the vachonette egg, and my stepfather would be lost to me forever. I couldn’t let that happen. Not only would the entire continent of Faythander suffer because of his absence, but my heart would be irreparably broken. He was the only being who’d ever been a parent to me, and if he died on my account, I would never forgive myself.
A hard lump formed in my throat as I searched desperately from one page to the next. I bravely tried to keep from crying, but deep inside, I knew the reality of my situation. The silverwitch wouldn’t let my stepfather live a moment longer than necessary, and unless some miracle happened, I didn’t know where else to turn.
The phone rang on my lap, startling me, and I was surprised to see Mrs. Zimmerman’s number on the screen.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Dr. Kennedy, this is Andrea Zimmerman again. I called back because I thought you’d like to know something.”
“Go ahead.”
“Zack is still working at the station. You may be able to catch him there.”
She gave me the address, and I found a scrap of paper and scribbled it down, thanking God for small miracles.
“He’s there until noon working on the hurricane story, so you may be able to catch him today. Also, there’s something else,” she said.
“Yes, what is it?”
“I’m not sure how to say this, but… we’re expecting another baby. He was so excited when I first told him. He—he’d always wanted a big family. I don’t know why I’m telling you this, but if you can get through to him, will you tell him we love him? Will you… will you tell him I love him?”
“Yes, I’ll tell him. I promise.”
“Thank you so much. That means a lot to me.”
She ended the phone call. I didn’t want to waste another minute, so I grabbed my keys and mirror case and then rushed to my car.
Outside, gray soupy clouds blanketed the sky, casting a pall over the cracked asphalt parking lot. I found my car, a 1971 T-bird, black with yellow stripes down the sides. I’d almost thought the thing would have been stolen by now, but I had no such luck. The car was a creature of deceptive beauty—a classic on the outside, a disaster under the hood.
The door squealed as I opened it and climbed inside. I sat in the car but didn’t crank the engine as feelings of nostalgia tried to overwhelm me. The car reminded me of my old life before I’d returned to Faythander. I’d been a different person then, before I’d met Kull, before I’d encountered Theht.
Yes, I’m changing you.
Pushing the voice out of my head as best as I could, I attempted to start the car. After half a dozen tries, some praying, and then some cursing, the engine cranked. I drove away from my apartment complex and onto Seawall Boulevard. Beyond the seawall, the Gulf was calm with only a few rippling waves moving the water, not enough to break its surface. The sea reflected the sky, a mirror of
silver against gray. I’d only seen the water that calm a few times before, and it was usually followed by a hurricane.
Hadn’t Mrs. Zimmerman mentioned something about a hurricane?
I would have tuned into the local weather station, but my radio was busted. I figured since I was headed to a news station anyway, I was bound to find out what was going on. After merging onto the freeway, I made good time, even after crossing the Houston city limits. The traffic was unusually light, and I found myself wondering where everyone had gone. Had the storm scared them off?
I exited the freeway and drove into the heart of Houston’s downtown district. Skyscrapers overshadowed the narrow roads, keeping the streets hidden in their never-ending shadows. I finally made it to the news station and found a parking spot on the third level of the garage. By the time I grabbed my mirror case, rushed out of the car, and locked the door behind me, it was five minutes till noon.
“Please still be there,” I whispered as I dashed for the stairwell and made it down the steps, then to the bottom floor, across a street, and finally into the building’s lobby. The news station was on the fifth floor, so I searched for the elevators. I navigated across the marble floor in my scuffed Doc Marten boots, and then past the elegant indoor waterfall feature as it trickled down a modern-looking, glass-tiled backboard.
I pulled the knit scarf tighter around my neck, feeling inadequately dressed in jeans with holes worn through the knees and my The Wand Chooses the Wizard T-shirt. Someday, I would have to seriously consider upgrading my wardrobe. If Mr. Zimmerman didn’t take me seriously before, he certainly wouldn’t do it now. But now wasn’t the time to worry over my clothing choices.
I found the elevators and hurried inside before the doors closed. A few professional-looking men and women, dressed in business suits and skirts, stood in the elevator with me as we rode up to the fifth floor.
When the door opened, I followed a few of the people out of the elevator and into the lobby of the news station. Beyond the main desk, a large white star and the red letters KHTX took up the back wall.
A young woman in her mid-twenties sat behind the desk, and she looked up as I approached.
“May I help you?” she asked.
“Yes. I’m looking for Mr. Zimmerman. Is he still here?”
“Let me check.” She smiled, then picked up her phone and pressed a few buttons. After a pause, she spoke into the receiver. As she spoke, she scribbled something on a notepad and then hung up. “I’m afraid he’s out in the field,” she said. “He’s covering the storm. I’m so sorry, but you just missed him.”
“Oh.” My heart sank. Was it too much to ask for something to go my way just once? “Is there any way I can get in touch with him?”
“Sorry, no. When our meteorologists are covering a dangerous weather situation, they’re not allowed to take anything but emergency calls. It’s for safety reasons. But he’ll be back at work next Monday. That is—assuming we’re all still here. Would you like to set up an appointment to meet with him?”
Next Monday? That was in three days. In three days, Fan’twar could be dead. “That won’t be necessary,” I said. “Please, isn’t there any way I could get in touch with him today? It’s really very urgent.” I hoped she heard the desperation in my voice.
The lady sighed, looking annoyed, then glanced at her phone. “I guess I could make another call,” she said, picking up the receiver. She glanced up at me before dialing. “I wouldn’t get my hopes up if I were you. Zack’s been really off lately. It’s no wonder he got put on field crew, what with all the drama he brings to work with him every day. It’ll be a miracle if he even shows up next Monday. I just want you to be prepared in case I can’t track him down for you.”
“I understand.” But I didn’t really. First, he’d left his pregnant wife. Now, he was in danger of losing his job? Zack Zimmerman was more mentally unstable than I’d thought. A feeling of guilt weighed on me. If I’d diagnosed him when he’d first visited me, none of this would be happening. But I’d had no way of diagnosing him then and certainly no way of helping him. I only hoped I wasn’t too late to help him now.
The receptionist dialed another number and pressed the receiver to her ear. She spoke softly, but with my elven hearing, eavesdropping came naturally.
“You’re sure?” she said. “But that’s suicide. What’s he trying to prove?” She paused. “What about severance pay and breach of contract? No? All right. I won’t say anything yet. You too. Thank you.” When she hung up, she glanced at me with worried eyes. “I’ve gotten word that his news van was parked at the Conoco in Jamaica Beach. I have no idea why he went there. He knows full well what happened to that place the last time a storm came through.” She let out a nervous laugh. “I’m not sure if you want to go down there with the storm and all, but that’s where he is.”
“Storm?” I asked.
“The tropical depression is due to make landfall this evening. Didn’t you know?”
“I’ve been out of town for a while.”
“Oh, then you should be warned that there are damaging winds and waves predicted, plus a severe tornado threat. Why Zack decided to park his van down there is a mystery to me. But he is a meteorologist. They’re not known for being cautious around storms, are they?”
“I guess not.”
“I’m really sorry about all this,” she said with a brief smile.
“No, it’s okay. I’m sure I can find him at the beach.”
She raised an eyebrow. “You’re still going to the beach?”
“I don’t really have a choice.”
“I told you about the tornadoes, right? And the winds—up to seventy miles per hour predicted. Not to mention what the waves and flooding will be like.”
“Yes, you did.”
“Ma’am,” she said quietly. “I know this isn’t really my place to say, but Zack’s been really depressed lately, as in suicidal depression. He’s been volatile at work to the point of violence. It’s a dangerous situation, and I can’t even imagine how much more stirred up he’ll be down on that beach. I wish you would reconsider.”
If Zack was suicidal, then I didn’t have a moment to waste. “I understand, and that’s the reason I have to go.”
Chapter 22
The wind lashed out, making the steering wheel jerk as I drove down I-45 toward Galveston. A few large raindrops splattered my windshield, followed by a resonating rumble of thunder. As I crossed the causeway over the bay, only a few cars traveled along with me. For the second time today, the traffic hadn’t been a problem, but I wasn’t so sure that was a good thing.
After crossing onto the island, I took 61st Street toward the seawall and then drove west toward Jamaica Beach. The clouds churned in a roiling gray soup as lightning burst through the thunderheads. The waves, no longer the mirror of calmness, had erupted into frothy, churning walls that crashed with violence on the sandy shore.
My palms grew sweaty as I clenched the steering wheel. Magic tingled under my fingertips. Storms like these had a nasty habit of interfering with my magic. Mr. Zimmerman couldn’t have picked a worse time to go AWOL.
The seawall ended, and I drove onto Highway 3005 toward Jamaica Beach. As I left the protection of the seawall, apprehension came over me. Zack must have known how incredibly dangerous it would be out here away from the seawall’s protection. The storm of 1900 had claimed more than a thousand lives, and that was before the seawall had been built. Out here, past the seawall and civilization, we were subject to Mother Nature.
The wind picked up, making a shrill wail as it whipped my car back and forth. After fifteen minutes of white-knuckle driving with my heart thudding in my chest, I finally found the gas station. As I pulled into the lot, I spotted a white news van with a large red KHTX painted on the side and a small satellite dish on top, speeding away from the Conoco and down a road headed for the beach.
I pulled my car out of the gas station’s parking lot and followed the van, trading asph
alt for sand as I pulled onto the drive leading toward the beach. The sand shifted beneath my car’s tires, and I prayed I didn’t get stuck. I found the news van stopped near the shore, and I parked my car, shut off the engine, and then climbed outside.
The beach looked much more intimidating from this angle, with the waves towering over me. The wind almost knocked me down as I struggled to walk across the beach toward the van. Sand and salt, carried on the air currents, stung my eyes. I approached the news van, looking for Mr. Zimmerman or his cameraman, but found no one outside, so I went to the driver’s door.
Mr. Zimmerman sat perfectly still in the seat as he stared at the approaching storm, not blinking an eye, making me wonder if he were alive. But when I knocked on the door, he jumped and then rolled down the window. His eyes widened as he looked at me.
“Dr. Kennedy?” he yelled over the wind. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I need to speak to you. It’s sort of urgent.”
His expression turned sour. “Now?”
“Yes. As I said, it’s urgent.”
“I can’t talk right now. The storm’s coming in, and I have to document it. You really should go. It’s not safe.”
“It’s not safe for you, either. Can’t you at least come back to the gas station with me so we can talk?”
“Talk about what? You said you couldn’t do anything to help me.”
“I know, but I’ve had a few developments come up that I think you’d like to hear.”
He shook his head. “I won’t leave!”
“Not even if I can help you?”
“Help me? You ruined me! I should sue you is what I should do. You said you’d never failed to cure a client, but you failed me. My life is a total, screwed-up disaster. Now, will you please leave?”
The waves came closer, crashing with a thunderous fury as the sea level rose. Bits of foam flecked the air. Cold droplets splashed my skin. I tasted their salty brine on my tongue. It didn’t take a genius to realize that the water would soon rise to where I stood. What in the world was the man thinking?
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