Blue Moon (9 page)

Bronwyn bowed in her direction, her hand over her heart.

So, they sailed toward the Americas. Bronwyn took her crossbow out of the hold and cleaned it. She gave it a new string, and the smith forged her new bolts for her quiver. She sharpened her knife and spent every spare moment with Dare.

"We should not have waited for the winter moon to marry,” he grumbled when they were out of everyone's hearing.

'Relax,” she whispered. “The winter moon is propitious for us. I will be back in time to celebrate it."

"You had better come back,” he said, kissing her fiercely. “You are to bear my child."

"Aye,” she whispered against his lips. “I promised it."

Zorovin wandered through the forest. his eyes were closed, but he could see everything. The trees were spikes of green energy, and he avoided them without trouble. He only had to make sure he picked his feet up as he walked and he was perfectly safe.

His mind was open, spreading his consciousness across the land. He could not look for his son by sight, but he could search by feel. The ley lines beneath his feet were dry, for the most part, but he could tap some of the magic here and there, like a beggar digging into a muddy riverbed hoping for the last dregs of water. He could see them on a map in his mind. It was an old map, part of a body of knowledge so ancient that most dragons did not bother passing it on to their children. Zorovin was grateful for it, and he added to it, made small amendments here and there.

Dragons did not learn from books but passed knowledge on in unadorned chunks by touch and thought. It was once said that dragon kindred were so close mentally that when one dragon saw or experienced something, they all did. He wished this was true, for then all he would have had to do was tap into his son's mind and the quest would be over.

The map Zorovin visualized changed as he explored, but he always knew where he was within it and in relation to the ley lines. Small pockets of trapped magic showed white, and if there were any magical beings, human or no, he should be able to see them or the speck of their magic on the map.

He'd been following such a speck, and he was getting impatient. The spell that allowed him to track within the map was fading, and soon he'd have to rest.

He was in a park with a playground serving a cluster of houses just out of sight to his left, beyond the trees. He sat down gingerly on a swing and began rocking gently. His eyes hurt from visualizing the map, and his head felt muddled. Perhaps he'd give up for now and try to find a place to rest. The coming night promised to be warm enough. He could find a place out of the way, make himself unnoticeable and sleep. He was certainly looking forward to it; he did not like this form. He was not used to it, and walking around in it all day made his knees ache.

He would sit here, he decided, until the stars came out. If his son knew who he was, and wanted to be found, perhaps he would send a sign by the stars.

As Zorovin looked up at the sky, he was struck by how much he missed his son. He remembered Toranith's birth. He had wrapped his body around the egg, keeping it warm as the small copper-brown body, so shiny and soft, broke through. He and Fadima, his mate, had taken turns then encircling the child. He could still feel his son's breath and the rush of blood and beat of heart through the thin hide, before the scales hardened, against his stomach and chest. Dragons do love their young, Zorovin had to admit. Probably more than they loved anything else, even gold. And probably more than was good for them.

"A little old for that, aren't you?"

He turned and looked at the woman, and found the spot of magic he'd been searching for. She carried a basket on her arm, and he could smell the fresh herbs in it.

"Do not mock me, witch woman,” he growled at her, insulted by her amusement. He was tall, and his knees practically touched his chest.

She jumped a little. “What do you mean?"

"I am not blind. Your power glows fairly bright for one of your kind.” He decided it would not be wise to admit he had been following her.

She approached him slowly, fascinated. “Do you really think so?"

He looked away from her, down at the oval rut beneath his seat.

"I am not in the habit of lying.” He paused. He could see her desires. They stood out like a shopfront display. She could be of great use to him in his search, but he was afraid she would require more in return than he was willing to give. What she wanted was not entirely legal.

He decided he had no real choice.

"Your power will not do you much good in this world."

"I know,” she said. “But we do what we can."

As he'd said, he was not in the habit of lying, but he was not so certain he wanted to tell her an awful lot.

"What are you seeking?"

"Herbs,” she said. His lack of answers made her suspicious, he could feel it. “How did you know of my abilities?"

"I can see auras,” he said, a truth covering other truths.

"What else?"

"Why so many questions, wizard woman? I am not interested in harming you.
You
came to
me
.” He started rocking again. “I was perfectly content."

She stepped closer. “Can you teach me things?"

He looked inside her, saw the reason she was gathering herbs. He gave her a carefully made smile, hopefully more friendly than feral.

"There are small magics that work in this world. Some of them you might already know, but I would be willing to share them for some food and a place to sleep. And stories. I can tell you stories of the other world."

She looked at him a long time, suspicion and desire warring within her, nothing showing on her cool face.

"Is it true, then? There is another half to this world? Can you take me?"

He stood up and stretched. “It is true,” he said.

"Yes. All right, then. But, you know, I can take care of myself so you better not try anything."

Zorovin bowed gracefully. “You have my word of honor that no harm will come to you through my actions."

She studied him again for a moment. “Okay. Come with me."

He followed her off the path and into the woods again.

"I am called Zorovin,” he said. “What may I call you?"

"What? You're not going to stick to ‘witch woman?'” She laughed. “Alright, then. I'm Sierra Morgan."

"Morgan,” he whispered, tasting the name for negative feelings. There was sadness to it but nothing else. He had known another by the name of Morgan and had not liked her at all.

"Something wrong?” she asked, and he knew he could have the answer to why she asked with such suspicion but chose, suddenly, not to look anymore.

They crossed a small field. He stopped her once, plucking up a small sprig and handing it to her.

"I don't know what you call it, but it smells like an herb I've found useful in the past."

"I don't recognize it,” she said, looking at in the dim light. She added it to her basket.

At the edge of the field was a tall cast iron fence. She used a key to open a gate and let him inside.

"A castle,” he said, looking at the encircling fence and the house before him.

"In a way. My husband was ... well-off."

Again, he felt her sorrow. “He is no more?"

"Yeah, he's dead."

They reached a gravel path. Her sorrow was enough like his own—for in his heart, he thought his son was quite likely also dead—that he felt a closeness to her, and it made him speak before he thought it through. He tapped gently into her thoughts, not reading them but trying to sense her feeling toward him and what he was saying.

"I am not from around here,” he said as they approached the house. “I am looking for my son, and this is his last known location."

"That's why you need a place to stay?” She smiled at him, and he could feel her empathy. “You can stay with me for awhile, then, as long as you behave yourself."

"I would be grateful. And you will not regret it."

"I'm sure. So, what does your son look like? Is he much like you?"

Zorovin was silent a long time. He would not know what his son looked like as a human. He would be a male, probably, though if he completely lost his sense of self during the change, the planet could have put him into any human form.

"He may have changed,” he said reluctantly.

"Ah,” she said, and the words
Glen or Glenda?
flashed across her mind, too quick for him to catch their meaning. “I'll help you if I can."

"Again, I would be grateful."

Her house loomed large in the darkness. She looked at the smaller one beside it.

"Too bad Raul's not home. I should introduce you two."

"Raul?"

"My security guard."

Liar, he thought, but it did not bother him. Lying was a human device. Right now, he almost wished he had the luxury of prevarication.

"Welcome to my palace,” she said, unlocking the door.

He stepped into a wide front entryway, looking up at a chandelier hung with crystals, at a sweeping staircase. She locked the door, and he could feel her grow fidgety and uncertain. Questions like “Where is his luggage?” and “Where is his car?” flashed through her mind, but her desire to learn—for apparently, he had impressed her much knowing she possessed magic—kept pushing doubts aside. Still, he could feel her uncertainty begin to dominate. He was afraid if he didn't do something soon she would kick him out.

"It will be good to sleep under a roof tonight,” he said. “I am embarrassed to admit it, but I was sleeping in my car.” He paused over the concept, trying to decide if it was possible to sleep in a car. “And I was robbed."

"You were carjacked?"

He nodded once, slowly. “Yes. I was. I was sleeping in the mall parking lot, and some man tapped my car...” He looked into her mind and got an image of a car, and an idea of what a carjack was. “...window and said, ‘I have a gun and I will use it, get out of the car.'” He shrugged and looked sheepish. “I did."

He looked at her intently to see how his first lie ever went over.

Her mind was blank for a long moment, then she began laughing. “You have got to be the worst liar ever,” she said.

"I do not lie,” he said, affronted.

She put her hands on her hips. “That I believe. If you'd had any practice at all you would have figured out something better than that."

"No,” he said. “That was my first and only attempt.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I could sense your growing unease, and indeed, I can understand it. You have invited a strange d—man into your home. I wanted to put you at ease."

She smiled a little. Homeless, she thought with pity that rankled him as much as it relieved. She patted his shoulder.

"I'll keep my door locked,” she said. “Right now, I think I'll fix you a bite to eat in the kitchen."

"Sounds great,” he said.

She held up her index finger. “Might as well show you your room. It's on this floor."

She passed the staircase to the right, past a room lined with shelves ("Later,” she said, “You can come back and get a book.") past a room filled with couches and chairs ("Feel free to use the television.") to a hall lined with doors.

"I guess these were meant for servants once. You can get to the kitchen from here. We fixed them up. There's one that's practically an apartment that should be great for you. Has its own full bathroom and everything."

She opened the door and flicked a lever next to the door. She went inside then pointed it out to him to make sure he knew where it was. He nodded wisely.

He liked the room. It was large—a very good thing because he hated small spaces. It had two windows set together, their blinds already pulled, and a large bed. He touched it suspiciously, wondering if he'd be able to stand sleeping in it. It was spongy and soft.

"I'll leave you to wash up,” she said. “Go back the way we came, left at the staircase and just keep on down the hall until you're in the kitchen. I'll make us something to eat."

"Thank you,” he said. “I look forward to seeing you again."

She smiled and closed the door behind her.

He took off his coat and folded it and placed it on the wide mirrored piece of furniture. He looked at himself for a long time, wide-eyed and not happy. He thought of the thoughts he'd garnered, primarily from female minds.

This is attractive?

He had already known his hair was silver because it was just long enough he could grab some and pull it around and see it, which he had done shortly after his transformation. He thought his face was too thin and his pale gray eyes too close together. No wonder his range of vision was so narrow. He shuddered and turned away.

He took off his boots and noticed a door next to the one he had come in through. He opened it. It was a very tiny room cut across with a stout bar at the perfect height to make entrance impossible. It had a few metal things hanging from it that clattered when he touched them. He shook his head. Humans were so odd. He went and got his coat and put it and his boots on the floor of this tiny room and shut the door. At least they were out of the way. He wanted to leave the room she was lending him as neat as possible.

He flipped the tiny lever on the wall three times because it was a novelty. He played with the knobs in the bathroom. The bathrooms were a little different from the ones the humans had at home, but not by much. Zorovin's first human bathroom experience had been at the mall last night. He tried remembering what his son had told him about them.

Zorovin usually saw humans on his own terms, and since the times he took human form were both rare and brief it was all strange to him. But his son had loved going among humans.

He sighed and occupied himself with a white cloth, soap and water. He had gotten grimy during the day and wanted to look his best for his meal.

Alex entered his hotel room then closed and double-checked the locks on the door, feeling a bit like he was imitating Libby's earlier paranoia. Perhaps he'd move something in front of it. He looked out of the window, watching the traffic go by. He realized he missed Libby. He was sorry she was gone, not only because he enjoyed her company, but because he really didn't want to be alone right now. Alone was vulnerable. Alone was shot/kidnapped/otherwise harmed without anyone knowing or caring. Alone was a lot of awful things. He sighed, took out a prepaid phone card and called his ex-fiancee.