A Path of Oak and Ash (22 page)

The inside was in worse shape than the exterior.  Within the main living space a hasty redecorating effort had been undertaken and promptly abandoned. A fresh coat of paint covered half of the beautiful mural on the back wall, several furniture pieces appeared to have been removed from the pock marks on the floor. A black shroud hung over a portrait in the corner. The furniture in the space was lavishly carved, yet not well cared for. A layer of dust seemed to lurk on virtually every flat surface aside from the cooking counter. Strange masks and pottery on display in various bookcases were likewise covered with cob webs.

"You live here alone?" Carrick asked, the place didn't scream bachelor as much as it did abandoned museum. The kind of stage more fitting for his favorite Saturday morning cartoon.

Quin glared at him while Starless growled. "Yes."

Carrick looked around awkwardly, trying to avoid eye contact with the brooding druid. He seemed far too offended at the simple question.  Then again, Quin always seemed offended.

"Oh lay off Quin, he dun know." Aodhan quietly chastised as he walked by.  He paused, giving Carrick a brotherly clap on the shoulder before settling onto a worn settee, a leg stretched over the right arm rest.

"I could fill the Ives with all the things he doesn't know." Quin grumbled in response, collapsing into a dark purple wingback chair by the fireplace. Carrick wanted to say something witty in return, unfortunately he didn't even know what the Ives was.

"Got annah mead?" Tadhg asked, opening and closing cabinets in the kitchen area.

"Bottom right." Quin responded, snapping his fingers. The logs in the great hearth glowing a brilliant blue bathing the wide common room in soft light.

"Bit early to be drinkin ya?" Conall raised an eyebrow. His voice always morphed from proper English to more of a hybrid when Tadhg was around.

"Mah father a'ways said," Tadhg pulled the cork out with his teeth, spitting it into his open palm, "no such thing." He took a swig directly from the jug.

"Well yah, he lived with your mum." Aodhan quipped.

The redhead threw a cork at him while the other's laughed. It of course, escalated into a tussle. Aodhan and Tadhg rolling around on the ground in the kitchen while Conall goaded them from the side. Even Quin smiled, cheering for Tadhg. Carrick likewise threw in his hat for Aodhan, laughing as he flipped the fiery redhead over, catching him in a chokehold.

"So ya gonna tell us what became so important ya missed Conall drinkin himself into the serpent twins." Aodhan asked him, after freeing Tadhg from a headlock.  The victor took the bottle Tadhg had been consuming back to his previous seat.

Carrick was momentarily thrown off.  "No!  Really?"  The blush on Conall’s face was all he needed for confirmation.

The young Slaine shook his head, focusing.  "Well long story short. I trusted a nymph..."  He filled them in on what had transpired; the cabin, the fell, Selene.  By the end of his tale every druid in the room sat silent as stone.

"What is it you need from us Carrick?" Aodhan's expression was as stoic as his voice.

"I'm going to do something reckless, dangerous actually. So much so that, in fact, I'm probably going to get myself killed."

"Now that's how I like to start the day." Quin quipped, Carrick ignored him, pressing on.

"There's a book, one that belonged to my father, that was at my house in New York when they came for me. I don't know what is in it, only that the fell want it badly."

"How'd ya know that?" Tadhg asked.

"Lorcan told me himself."             

30

Elizabeth Waters whirled around. Not only had the waitress locked the door but she blocked it with her body. "What are you doing?" Prepared to claw, scrape and bite to get past her, Liz rallied the last bit of her strength as she took a step forward. “Let me ou-

The telltale sound of a pumped double barrel shotgun stopped her in place. The cook had it aimed directly at her torso. Facing him she raised her arms high in the air.

"Don't shoot, please don't-"

"I think it’s best you stay still friend." He drawled in labored English. "and get to talking about how you know Juan."

She shook her head, the motion making her dizzy due to dehydration. "I don't I-"

"Ella es una de ellas." The waitress hissed quickly.

"Callarse. dejar que la conversación de chicas." Despite his calm words, the gun waivered in his hands. Behind her the waitress chewed her lower lip, her feet backed up as close to the door as possible. Body language was all wrong. They weren't aggressive. They were...terrified. Of her. Liz's eyes widened as she processed that epiphany. There had to be something she could say...oh why hadn't she taken Spanish class...

"Estevan! Your Tilapia is burning my friend. Estevan?" Another male voice called from the back room. There was a clatter of pans, swearing. "I was only gone twenty bloody minutes!" The double doors to the kitchen swung open, although no one was visible over the high counter. "Consuela do you know where-oh. Are we being robbed Estevan?" He said it was plainly as one would ask if it was raining, partially disinterested.

"No Senior."

"Then you really have no excuse for burning such choice cuts of meat. An animal gave its life for that you know." Mid lecture, a man rounded the edge of the counter. One she could only assume was Juan, for the man was a pituitary dwarf. Caucasian, a crop of curly dark brown hair topped his head while a perpetual smirk decorated his face. His tacky lime green Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts and Birkenstock combo made him seem both non-threatening and like a tour group run away. All he was missing was the fanny pack.

"Sorry Sir. This girl was asking for Small Juan." She blushed, feeling very embarrassed for such a crass nickname.  "She's got a gun."  Liz's eyes widened as she looked down at her waist.  She had completely forgotten about the metal death instrument that man had given her that she had shoved in her pants.

"This girl is my niece." The dwarf shot her a million dollar smile, literally. His teeth appeared to have all been capped, they dazzled in an almost glowing pure white against his tanned skin. "Bethany dear, come with me to my office. Let’s get you cleaned up. I told you to be careful riding ATV's on the trails around these parts." He let out a short laugh. "Kids...am I right? Consuela open the cafe back up please, dinner rush will start soon. Estevan, bring my darling Bethany here a plate of fish tacos if you would. I'm sure she's famished. You do like fish tacos don't you honey?"

Liz's head bobbled. "Good. Come with me." Gently taking her hand, the smaller man led her through the kitchen into a cramped six by six foot office. Overflowing with papers, there was barely enough room for the desk and two metal folding chairs that had been shoved into the space. While she tried to carefully avoid trampling all over the invoices, catalogues and various fliers, he tromped right over everything. As he walked by her he grabbed the hand gun from her belt in a quick fluid motion before she could protest.  Taking a seat behind the cheap particleboard desk, he offered her the other chair. "Please sit."  The man tossed the gun on the table with little regard.

She remained standing. "My names not Bethany."

"It is now. Please. Sit before you fall over."

Acknowledging she was listing to the side she took a tender step forward, collapsing more than sitting on the cold metal chair. It reminded her too much of her cell in that prison. The feeling alone made her want to get up and leap from the little room. It was too small, too cramped too...

"You look like hell." He threw her a package of wet wipes from one of the desk drawers.

"I am in hell." She accepted his offering, tenderly wiping layers of dirt and blood from her battered skin.

"Fair enough." He pulled out a small baggy and an envelope of cigarette papers. When he pulled some of the green leaves out of the bag, they didn't smell like her uncles cigars.

"Is that?" She asked, wiping the dried blood off her arms. The dirt on her face took four towelettes to clear. Even then she still felt foul.

"Medical Condition." He smirked, sprinkling the fresh smelling ground leaves on the paper.

"You don't look sick."

"Well I am a dwarf, most would consider that a medical condition in itself."

She frowned. "Oh if you start spouting corporate propaganda at me I daresay we will be off on the wrong foot. Besides," he paused to lick the wrapper, "this is for you mostly." Leaning back on the chair he lit the joint, taking a deep pull before passing it across the table to her. "It will help you get your nerves under control. You're dehydrated, malnourished, fractured and pretty much mind screwed at the moment. So this," he held it out further, "is honestly the least of your worries."

What the hell
, she thought as she accepted his offering. She took as deep a drag off the cigarette as she could, erupting in a coughing fit that had him laughing and slapping his knee.

"Easy now kiddo. You don't have to be so zealous."

A few passback's later; her toes tingled, a grin had been delightfully embroidered onto her face and her stomach was doing flips in anticipation of food.

"Where am I? And who are you? Who was that man who helped me?"

There was a knock at the door that made her jump. Consuela poked her head in long enough to set a tray atop the paper covered floor and shut the door behind her. Soon as the food was placed in the room, she lost her train of thought completely, regressing to her most basic needs. Food beat information, just ask any biologist. Liz couldn't believe she was salivating, the brightly colored tacos were packed full of vegetables, coleslaw, fish and beans. As embarrassing as it was, she lunged for the tray and wasted no time stuffing her face. Her mother would have been so ashamed. All those lessons on manners and etiquette, all those fancy dinners for her Dad's business partners, all that preparation for a privileged life...gone.

Honestly, she didn't miss it at the moment. She was alive, eating and feeling surprisingly carefree. Juan sat across from her, finishing off his cigarette, smiling while she picked the last bits of coleslaw that had fallen off onto the plate.

"Still hungry?"

Her cheeks flushed. "I think I'm okay now. Sorry."

"Why would you be sorry?"

"That wasn't exactly ladylike." Her mother would have sent her to her room for that little stunt. Margery Waters had obtained her education through various private schools in Great Britain, she still subscribed to traditional English elegance in table manners. Food was to be cut, the fork then transferred transferring the fork to your dominate hand.  It kept one dainty at the table.

"Nor was what happened to you. I'd say it's a wash." Pulled a cell phone out of his pocket, he muttered. "Speaking of wash, we need to get you some new clothes." Liz wrinkled her nose. True she was still in her jogging shorts, sports bra and tank top, but that was hardly a priority. Although, it dawned on her with all the dirt and dried blood she probably smelled like a zoo.

"Why are you helping me Juan?" She asked him as he texted.

"Mutual friend, and please, call me John."

"Where are we John?" She pressed.

"Bekapaika, Madagascar." John set the phone on the desk next to him.

Liz frowned.  "No, we aren’t."

He kicked up an eyebrow. "No?"

"How could we be?" She scoffed. "Consuela and Estevan? They both speak Spanish, the sign out front is also in Spanish. Madagascar is predominately French. Also the vegetation is all wrong."
Never argue social studies with a girl who had Mr. Tullam for both AP SS and Geography
, she thought. Madagascar had been her freshmen semester project. She kind of had a thing for lemurs.

Her slap dash explanation seemed to delight her host. Who clapped once, be it mocking or sincere she was too tired to care. "Bright, tough and pretty! Aren't you just a total package."

She glared at him, to which he held up his arms in defense with a playful laugh. As his wrist came up, something caught the light.  A small leather bracelet on his left hand with a gold center piece. The golden circle had been carved with three lines that met in an apex. The same symbol that had been on the inside cover of the book. Her heart skipped a beat, be he fiendish or angelic he was definitely involved in this sordid affair.

"Alright alright, you win. We're outside Lanquín, Guatemala."

"Why didn't you just say so?"

John laughed. "Where would be the fun in that?" Leaning forward in his chair, he lowered his voice. "You never really know a person until you disturb their reality. Work, Home, Sleep. Class, Study, Sports. You remove the repeatable mundane, introduce chaos and the core of the individual shines through."

"How did they get me out of the states..."

"Please...you know the answer to that as well as I do. Money. Money breeds power and when you have both all the rules just flitter away. Smuggling a girl into Latin America? Cake. How many thousands do you think get taken against their will every year on this increasingly vile planet? Girls just like yourself turned into slaves, prostitutes or worse. If they have the resources to declare you dead and bury a body, getting you out of the states was childs play. Hell, they probably flew first class and used you as a footstool."

"I want to go home John." Her eyes blurred at the word, so she closed them.

"Afraid you can't princess. See, you're dead. Police say you're dead and they do hate to be wrong. Now while the papers might momentarily enjoy the increased ratings due to your resurrection, the folks that reported your original status will be hard pressed to return you to your prior state. Not to mention the danger that would represent to your remaining loved ones."

"They're going to be in danger anyway when they found out I lied."

That got his undivided attention. "Did you now?"

"I'm surprised you haven't asked me about the book." She didn't mention his bracelet, although she did consider it.

"Figured dinner first, then we'd work our way up to that. However, since you brought it up you save me the uncomfortable embarrassment of becoming an impolite host."

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't. But, for the record, I'm not trying to kill you."

"So far."

John shrugged. "Fair enough. Even so, let me assure you your family is quite safe the farther away you stay. Which is why your name is now Bethany Blair and you are my niece, on your mother's side. You grew up in southern California and you're here to visit for the summer. You don't speak the language so this should be fairly easy. Just smile and nod whenever anyone tries to converse with you, which should be never."

"Who is our mutual friend?"

"You're direct. I like that."

"That's not an answer."

He shrugged. "The answer would mean little to you, honestly."

"If I am to trust you, you need to trust me as well. I want to know who is pulling the strings. Was it the man who shot the guard? Or is he just another pawn in someone's game?"

John just blinked, his manicured hands folded neatly on the desk.

"You tell me...and I'll tell you everything I know." She offered. He stared at her for a long while, the left corner of his mouth eventually kicking up into a sly grin. She watched in silence as he prepared another joint.

"Our mutual friend," he paused, lighting the rolled paper pursed between his lips, "is Richard's father."