“Everything hurts, actually: my legs, my head, my stomachs. If it didn’t seem so very unlikely, I’d think I was coming down with influenza. I was feeling quite energetic after your father’s spell, but … I suppose I overdid things after that.”
“No doubt.” I retrieved my pack and got out the squares of gauze and brown plastic bottle of peroxide and began to blot his wounds. But the peroxide didn’t foam up as I expected it to. Had Bettie given us an expired bottle? I poured a little on the back of my flesh hand, and the solution frothed vigorously when it mixed with Miko’s dried blood. Weird. If Pal’s ulcers weren’t the result of a bacterial infection, then what was going on?
“Listen,” I said, feeling anxious at the thought that there could be something seriously wrong with him. “Just stay here for a while and rest, okay? I’m going to go sneak back into the hotel and see if I can find someone to take a look at you. Maybe Poppy or Callie can help.”
“Okay.” He curled up on the sand, looking perplexed and unhappy.
I gave him our third-to-last bottle of Aquafina to tide him over and walked back to the empty space where the portal was. My ocularis showed the outline of the doorway, seemingly just the same as we’d left it. I pulled off my glove, stuck my fingers in the edge, and pulled.
Instead of the lobby of the Saguaro Hotel, I faced a featureless plate of rolled steel. The surface hazed over for a moment, and then Callie and Poppy’s images resolved in the mist. They weren’t quite lifelike, and they didn’t seem to actually see me. Magical recordings, I realized. Both women looked solemn.
“We’re so sorry, girl,” Poppy said.
“We distracted them, but the Regnum agents were going to find this portal before long,” said Callie.
“So we had to block it and hide it.” Poppy pursed her lips. “For your sake and ours.”
“We hope you can find another way to wherever you’re going.”
The apologetic recording looped and started over. I punched at the magical steel with my flame hand and pried at the edges with my fingers, with no effect. Next I closed my eyes and tried an opening chant. Nothing happened. So I took a deep breath, took a moment to gather all my wits, and tried for truly ancient words, more powerful opening magic. Nada, zilch, zippo. Their blocking spell was good and strong.
“Well, crap,” I muttered. I shut the portal and turned away, scanning the beach.
Pal had fallen asleep. The only company we had was the fiddler crabs and a few sandpipers dancing away from the surf. I walked closer to the water so I could look up and down the beach. No buildings were in sight.
The compact mirror in my pants began to vibrate. I pulled it out and opened it.
Randall grinned at me broadly from the metal. “The guys finally got out of their meeting with your local boss lady, just like two minutes ago. It looks like everything’s good now. Cooper and the Warlock wanna go with the kid to his new home and make sure he gets settled in okay, and then we’ll be heading back to Cuchillo to meet up with you.”
“Um. Wait. There’s been kind of a problem.” I told him what had happened.
Randall frowned, his expression a mixture of worry and disbelief. “Wow. That Sara chick is really crazy.”
“Pretty much, yeah,” I agreed.
“Do you think she’s a danger to the town?”
“Well, yeah … I mean, she’s not a monster like Miko, but she’s certainly possessed by a devil. Devils, I guess I should say. It seemed like Poppy and Callie were making some headway with her, but who knows what’s going to happen now that the Regnum’s there. Maybe they’ll get her under control, but maybe they’ll just make her worse. I don’t think the safety of the people in Cuchillo is much of a priority for them.”
Clearly it wasn’t; otherwise the Regnum would have done more than slap an isolation barrier over the area when Miko took over.
“Damn.” Randall drummed his fingers on his chin; I could practically see the conflicting thoughts knocking around inside his cranium. “Dallas Paranormal might be able to get a sociomancer out there to help … gotta mirror Javier … but we need to get to you and Pal, too. And I don’t have clue one where you’re at right now …”
My brother trailed off and was silent for just a moment. Then a look of determination crossed his features. “Okay. I’m gonna call Dad and see what he thinks. He can probably figure out where that beach is. Sit tight for a few; one of us will call you back.”
“Okay …”
The mirror went dark as he cut the connection. I closed it and sat down on the sand to wait, watching seagulls wheeling in the distance. I pulled off my jacket and boots. The smell of the blood was really getting to me. I spent a few minutes scouring my dragonskins with handfuls of dry sand; not all the crud came off but most of it did. Until I learned Pal’s cleaning charm myself it was likely the best I would be able to do. If I had the money or the opportunity, at that moment I would have gladly spent two grand for a nice hot hotel shower. But clearly that wasn’t going to happen.
Feeling gross and itchy, I stared out at the rolling ocean waves. Maybe in a few hours I could wade out and scrub my shirt and face and hair off. The sun was still high in the afternoon sky, and I didn’t want to burn during my skinny dip. Dry seawater wasn’t going to smell very good, but I decided I’d rather stink of seaweed and salt than of Miko’s rancid gore.
Just as I was starting to wonder if I had the materials to craft a decent surf fishing pole, the mirror started vibrating again. I popped it open.
My father smiled at me. “Well, you’re certainly having a busy day, aren’t you?”
“They’ve all been pretty busy lately,” I replied. “Do you have any idea of where I am?”
“You’re on Lorikeet Island, a hundred nautical miles to the north and east of the Pitcairn Islands.”
I wracked my brain, trying to remember my South Pacific geography. Perversely, all my brain could summon was the image of Vin Diesel whispering “Bora Bora” at the end of some action flick. “I … haven’t heard of that one.”
He laughed. “Practically no one your age has. It used to be the domain of a line of powerful Polynesian shamans who permanently hid the island from mundane eyes once the British showed up. A decade or so later, they allowed wealthy Western talents to use the beaches for parties, but all that stopped about sixty years ago when the last shaman died in a duel. Since then, there’s been a legal wrangle among his distant relatives about who gets to possess the island. All that’s quite tedious, if you ask me, but the upshot is that the island you’re on is outside the Virtus Regnum’s jurisdiction. I’ve been taking some steps on my end to make sure they don’t detect you there.”
“Oh. Wow. So … what now?”
“I believe that once your brother and your swain have done what they feel they must to fulfill their respective duties, we should all meet here at my castle. I’ll send your brother to fetch you once he’s finished.”
“How? The portal’s blocked.”
“Don’t worry, it can be reopened, and even failing that, there are other portals on the island. And we have other transportation at our disposal. Your familiar can fly, can he not?”
“Right now, no, he probably can’t,” I replied. “He’s gotten sick; I guess your healing spell didn’t take as well as we thought it did.”
“What?” My father frowned. “That seems highly unlikely. Show me.”
I got up and walked over to Pal and turned the mirror on my sleeping familiar.
“Closer to those wounds on his legs, please … hmm, most curious. Let me see your face.”
I flipped the mirror back around, anxious. “What do you think?”
“I think we must wait to see how his illness progresses before I can make any sort of useful diagnosis.” He frowned thoughtfully; clearly Pal’s mysterious illness had set Magus Shimmer’s mental gears turning. “I suggest you camp there on the beach for the night; you should be safe where you are.”
My stomach twisted. “Are
you sure that’s a good idea? He’s already hurting, and what if he gets worse?”
“You can mirror me at any time if there’s an emergency,” he replied. “And I will send a potion that should make him more comfortable.”
“Can you send a shower with hot water, too?” I asked, joking.
“Certainly,” he replied. “And you look like you might enjoy a proper bed and a change of clothes, as well. Hang on.”
There was a blue flash in the sky, and suddenly a small tan box was falling gently toward the beach as if supported by an invisible parachute. The box landed a dozen yards away from me, high on the beach near the palms. I ran over to it; it was about the size of a footlocker, featureless except for a waxed cotton cord poking out from one corner. Attached to the cord was a small cardboard tag that read “Pull Me.”
I paused. Then I grabbed the cord and gave it a good hard tug. The sides of the box opened with a pop and a structure inside began to unfold and rapidly expand like a self-inflating raft. But this was much bigger than a dinghy, and I had to hurry backward to avoid being bowled over.
When the structure’s walls and roof finally snapped into place, I was looking at what appeared to be a garage, maybe fifteen feet wide and twice as long and about ten feet high, with adobe walls that matched the color and texture of the beach sand perfectly. The wide sectional door in front of me had matte-finish windows that wouldn’t reflect any sunlight. I grabbed the tan handle of the door and rolled it up into the building’s ceiling.
Inside was a split-level living area. The ceiling was made entirely of skylights, which I assumed were also made from nonreflective glass. The walls were covered with screened windows that let in the ocean breeze. The nearest, lowest area had a kitchenette on the left-hand side along with a small round café table and two folding chairs. The right side of the low level was mostly taken up by a short wooden platform with a round tufted futon that resembled a huge papasan pillow. It appeared to be just the right size for Pal to curl up on, and a cork-stoppered blue potion bottle lay in the middle of the cushion. Past the kitchen and futon platform the tan carpeted floor stair-stepped up to the higher level. It was dominated by a queen-size futon and garment rack with hanging shelves that held a variety of clothing that looked to have been chosen with my personal preferences in mind. Past the bed, I saw a half-open door that led to a tiled room that had to be a bathroom.
“Does this meet with your approval?” Magus Shimmer’s voice was muffled; in my awe and surprise I’d let my mirror hand drop to my side. I still wasn’t used to dealing with wizards as powerful as my father.
“Oh, yeah!” I quickly brought the mirror back up. “This is great, thank you.”
“Excellent.” He paused. “Well, I’m afraid I must attend to a few other concerns … have a good evening, and please do not hesitate to mirror me if your familiar’s condition worsens.”
I said good-bye to my father, closed the mirror, and started thinking hard as I retrieved my backpack and shotgun and set them on the café table. Had my father’s spell gone bad and made things worse? Maybe Magus Shimmer hadn’t taken Pal’s alien physiology into account. Or was it something else entirely? The thought that Pal might be ill—seriously ill, injured or infected beyond the help of an expert healer—terrified me.
“Hey, Pal, wake up.” I jogged over to where he lay curled up in the sand and gently shook him. “Come on, we’ve got you a better place to sleep.”
“No, just a little while longer.” His eyes were getting cloudy. He curled up tighter, his telepathic voice strangely distorted.
Clumps of his thick, shaggy fur came away in my hand when I shook him again. “C’mon, there might be sand fleas out here or something. Let’s go inside.”
He was far too big for me to haul to his feet, but with some more shaking and encouragement he finally stood up, his legs trembling as if they almost couldn’t support his weight. I walked beside him, my hand on his back, as he crept toward the beach house.
His slow, uncertain gait and tremors reminded me of a wolf spider I’d found years ago in the garage; my stepmother had given it a not-quite-fatal blast of Raid. I’ve always kinda liked spiders, and I felt bad that I couldn’t do anything better for it than a quick death under my sneaker. Had I known about my Talent back then, I might have turned into the neighborhood spider and lizard resurrectionist. And of course I probably would have found myself kicked out of my stepparents’ house even sooner.
Suddenly tears were running down my face, and I felt as if I was going to break down and sob like a little kid. Pal had stuck by me through all kinds of horrors that would send most other so-called friends running for the hills. I owed him my life several times over, and if I couldn’t do anything to save him from whatever was happening …
No. I couldn’t go there. Not now. Nothing worse than being sick and having your only caregiver turn into a blubbering, useless wreck. Well, dying would probably be worse … no. Wasn’t going to go there. I took a deep, shuddering breath to try to regain my composure. “We’re gonna get you healthy again, I swear.”
I brushed most of the sand out of his fur before we went into the house. It seemed as if he was shedding more and more; patches of mottled gray skin were showing through his ferrety coat. Pal lurched through the door, tottered the few feet to the futon platform, and collapsed, half on the cushion and half on the floor. He looked exhausted and disoriented.
Fortunately he hadn’t fallen on top of the potion bottle. I quickly retrieved it and pulled the cork. The liquid inside was a dark purple concoction that smelled like licorice and wintergreen, as if it were NyQuil for magical creatures. The paper label pasted to the front read “Dose: one bottle administered in single gulp.”
I held the bottle up in front of Pal; he blinked at it blearily.
“My father sent this for you,” I told him. “It should help you feel better. Well, I hope it will help you feel better.”
Pal responded by tilting his head back and opening his mouth wide on the cushion. His teeth were loose in their sockets, his gums bloody around the roots. Canker sores pocked the back of his tongue. I poured the potion down his throat. He gave a little shudder as he closed his eyes and jaws and swallowed. When he opened his eyes again, they looked much clearer and healthier. The ulcers on his legs seemed less inflamed, too.
“That brew has a rather cloying flavor,” he remarked, his telepathic voice getting stronger with every word. “I dare say Mother Karen’s potions taste better than your father’s.”
I smiled at him, feeling relieved. “Do you want some water to wash it down with?” I started digging through my pack to find the other Aquafinas.
“That would be lovely, thank you,” he replied.
chapter
twenty
Come Clean
I cracked open two water bottles for Pal and then turned to survey the kitchenette. It had a small oven with three burners and a roaster above; a full-size white refrigerator occupied the space to the right of it. I spotted what looked like a second oven set into a wall alcove on the bedroom level just a few feet from the wardrobe rack. But when I stepped closer to it, I realized it was labeled Clothes Cleaner. Huh. That I would definitely have to try out.
Just then, the folded mirror began to jitter in my pocket. Had Randall or my father learned something new? I pulled out the compact and pulled the halves open—
—and was surprised to see Cooper smiling back at me. I could tell by the wallpaper that he was sitting on the bed in Mother Karen’s downstairs guest room.
“Sweetie!” I exclaimed.
His face fell as he saw my bloody hair and face. “Holy crap, are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I replied quickly. “It’s Miko’s, and before you ask, no, I didn’t kick her ass. Or it didn’t stay kicked, anyway. I … kinda went sailing on the failboat today.”
“I’m so sorry, honey … do you want to talk about it?”
“I do … but I also kinda don’t, you know
? Not right now. But hey, where did you get a mirror?” I asked. He and the Warlock had never been big on mirrors; both men preferred the ease of cellphones, and neither of them was much good at communications magic.
“It’s Randall’s,” Cooper replied. “He and the Warlock were going to run over to the bar to check on Opal, and I asked if I could borrow it so I could talk to you.”
“Oh, cool.” Ask and ye shall receive, apparently.
“Speaking of the Warlock.” Cooper paused, looking serious. “I know some … stuff happened between the two of you. And I beat the hell out of him for the part I saw, which I feel terrible about. Yeah, Miko was tampering with all our emotions, but I have to own what I did. I can’t just say, ‘Oh, the Bad Lady made me do it,’ because even if it might be halfway true, it sounds like bullshit in my own head. I’m done ditching responsibility for the stuff I do that affects my family.”
Cooper took a deep breath. “The Warlock and I talked about the fight … I think he’s okay with me now, but he doesn’t seem okay with you. Like, seriously not okay. And he won’t say why. Can you tell me?”
“Yeah.” I bit my lip. It was hard to tell him what had happened. But I especially didn’t want to tell him over the mirror; if my father could cast spells through it, he could be recording my conversations for all I knew. The notion struck me as a little paranoid, but after Randall’s tales of keyloggers and viruses I couldn’t dismiss it. And I definitely did not want my father knowing the squishy details of my sex life. Some things parents just don’t ever need to know. The thought of him knowing even a fraction of what the Warlock and I had done to each other made me queasy.
“Look,” I finally said. “Can we talk about it when we’re together again?”
He nodded, still looking serious and a bit concerned. “Okay. Randall’s been talking about us all meeting up at your father’s place.”
“Yeah,” I said. “It shouldn’t be too long before that happens.”
“I hope not. The universe keeps finding new ways to screw with us and keep us apart.” Cooper rubbed his face. “Where are you now?”
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