Dreamseeker's Road (18 page)

“I think so.”

“So where is he?”

A pause. “I think he's gone walkabout in the…woods.”

The ensuing hesitation suggested that Cammie was unconvinced. “Know anybody with a truck?” she laughed almost hysterically.

“Not that's available right now,” David replied with a heartiness he didn't feel, and hung up.

*

Alec was still cutting uppercase Zs when David looked in on him eight minutes later. In spite of an odd sense of urgency that was already toasting him around the edges (his middle remained very soggy indeed), he'd forced himself to stay cool long enough to make a pot of real coffee, chug a cup, and leave the rest for his roommate, along with a note—in the unlikely event Alec rejoined the living before he returned. He hoped the guy appreciated what he and Liz had done. Lugging a barely conscious comic-hero around wasn't fun. Nor was undressing one who'd tossed 'em all down his front, nor supporting one in the shower in hopes of getting him sufficiently clean and sober to put to bed. Any
one
of those things would have been tolerable, but the cumulative effect…well, that kinda got to a guy—'specially when he'd been more than a little buzzed himself.

No rest for the weary
, he sighed, and turned away. Giving his hastily scribbled note a “Stay there!” swat to affix it to the front door, he puffed his cheeks, eased outside—and headed for the battered '66 Mustang he'd long ago nicknamed The Mustang-of-Death.

He wished he hadn't called it that now. He'd already had too much dying.

* * *

Unfortunately, Whitehall was clear across town from
Casa McLean y Sullivan,
which was effectively in the country. And double-unfortunately, there was no quick way there. The bypass curved so far around that it took as long as cutting straight through town, with its only real advantage being a lack of stoplights—which was illusionary time-saving at best. David chose that route, however, because, with fewer distractions, it was easier to think.

He didn't
need
this, dammit! He had his own demons to quell, and they didn't include buds going psycho right and left. Shoot, it was like Alec and Aikin were suddenly two different people, with Aik manic as hell one minute and morose the next, and Alec's ongoing mooning over Eva suddenly maxed way past overload.

So what had changed? What had made two normally rational guys go stark raving bonkers? For that matter, when had all these changes occurred? When was their last, relatively speaking, normal day? Well, he'd been antsy about the anniversary of David-the-Elder's death, but had managed to keep that more or less under control—until the dream. Aikin had been—overtly—fine until they'd seen the deer. And Alec—

It was the ulunsuti!
It had to be! Everything pointed to that failed scrying last Saturday. Certainly his own nagging grief had resurfaced then, with the dream he'd had after the attempted divination. The A-Men had conked out then, too—and been strangely reticent thereafter. But if his own dream—vision, whatever—of David-the-Elder's death had been a function of the ulunsuti, was there any reason his buds couldn't have had
similar
dreams?

“It works best if you worry at it,” Alec had said over and over. And on that day, the anniversary of David-the-Elder's death, he'd certainly been…not so much worried, as preoccupied—which was much the same thing.

And what had Alec been worrying about? Eva—of course. And what had pushed his buttons again last night? Someone who looked like her!

Almost he turned around at that, for a coldness gripped his gut so strongly he well-nigh spewed his coffee. But no, Alec, at least, was okay. Ten minutes ago he'd been flat on his back in bed, dead to the world. Soon as he got back from this little errand, though, they'd have a talk, and he'd invoke the Vow, and they'd have a tiff, but all this secret angst would come out, and things'd be cool again. He'd have to spill his own guts too, of course, but that was the price one paid.

So what was gnawing Aikin? What, last Saturday, would have been his hidden obsession?
Faerie!
Specifically, his desire to experience that otherness firsthand.

But suppose the enfield had shown up again, as was perfectly possible. And suppose Aik had found it—again, quite reasonable, given how the critter had warmed to him—and suppose he'd tried to get it to show him how to
access
that place…

Yeah, that was it! Had to be…

Or maybe the little dweeb really was collecting leaves.

He floored the accelerator.

*

It was twenty minutes to Whitehall from
Casa McLean y Sullivan.
Five of those had elapsed before David's revelation. He made the remaining fifteen in ten.

Happily, the gate was open when he arrived, so he didn't have to either explain himself or park the car and run the remaining two miles to the cabin.

Even better, there was no one about. He'd been afraid Cammie had missed his request that she not drop by, and there was no telling
what
might be up with whichever neighbor had conducted that initial survey. And while Cammie's nameless friend might be spying from one of the nearby cabins,
that
he could handle. If affairs lay as he suspected, he'd not be around long anyway.

Still, his drive had given him time to work out a rough battle plan, and the coffee was finally kicking in enough to jump-start his logic, so that he was at once wired to the hilt and strangely calm when he ground to a halt in Aikin's yard.

A quick check of the windows proved that Cammie had been right about the costume: it was scattered around the room—floor and bed both, the latter evidently not slept in. David tried the front door, but it was locked and he had no key. Aikin's pickup wasn't, however, and he quickly found the suspect tape and confirmed the quote about the enfield. He thought of listening to more, since the key to this whole affair was almost certainly squirreled away in there, but one more thing needed checking first. Aik had said he would take
the
enfield. That implied he had it at his beck and call. Probably he wouldn't have stashed it in his room (nor was there any sign of that), but there were a number of other places he could think of right off that might do.

Scowling, he made his way down the still-muddy slope beside the cabin to its lower level. Yep, there they were: the fiberglass cages he'd remembered from his last visit. All were empty, but by the time he was in a position to inspect them, he'd also seen the open basement door—and the footprints: two sets of muddy sneaker treads that, by their small size, were surely Aikin's, one going in, one going out across the concrete porch. The second set was also more widely spaced, as though his friend had been in a hurry. And when David followed them, he found the third.

It had rained like hell Monday and Tuesday, and sprinkled again briefly Friday afternoon. There was, therefore, plenty of damp earth around—certainly enough to show the tracks of a four-footed beast that had obviously jumped off the porch and headed south toward the river. A beast with the hind paws of a fox and the forepaws of an eagle. Aikin's prints ran beside them and sometimes on top.

David paced them.

Aikin might have been called Mighty Hunter, but David was no slouch himself. And one of the many wood skills David-the-Elder had taught him was how to follow a trail. And if that trail was made by a guy in a hurry and a mythical beast with distinctive footsies, why, that was even easier. Besides, he quickly realized, the route was absolutely dead straight. He lost it briefly, when he was forced to skirt a patch of poison ivy, but found it again with no trouble: both sets of tracks (newly muddied) heading onto the dam—which had but one exit. And sure enough, more prints showed on the other side, angling directly into the woods.

A moment later, David found the Track.

He should've known!

Tracks went everywhere, though they didn't coincide with this World all that often. But it had never occurred to him that one might run near Athens. On the other hand, an enfield had obviously entered the Lands of Men somehow; and if he'd bothered to listen to his own arguments a few days back, he'd have known they weren't coming through the World Walls. Plus, those two Faery women he'd seen at the 'Watt last night had to have come from somewhere, and now, he thought, he knew where.

A Straight Track four miles from Athens. And more to the point, less than half a mile from the cabin of the one person in the whole town who would most appreciate that fact—and just possibly be reckless enough or frustrated enough to get on it.

Especially if it was activated.

He examined the ground thereabouts. Sure enough, the enfield's prints showed clear in a sandy patch near the obligatory veil of briars. Aik's were there too: facing the Track. Or more accurately, were there, and then
weren't
;
as though he'd simply disappeared. A check twenty feet either way along that strip of barren ground showed no sign anyone had stepped off again.

He stared one last time at the enfield's spoor, and straightened, willing the Sight to come, as it sometimes would. But all he got was an intensification of that itchy tingle the presence of magic always evoked.

So what now? Aik had obviously followed an enfield onto the Tracks, probably the previous midnight, if David knew his buddy.
He
had no means of accessing them any more than Aik had—without the enfield.

But there was a way he could locate the guy pronto.

Right. He'd just call up old hung-over Mister Dream and get him to drag his not-so-fuzzy butt over here with the ulunsuti. They'd do a scrying—close to the Tracks would be best—and that'd determine their next course of action. He already had an idea what that would have to be, but didn't want to think about it—mostly because there was bound to be a row.

But if Aik had got on the Tracks at midnight, and it was pushing noon now…well, that was an awfully long time for simple adventuring. And while David trusted his friend's resourcefulness—and his theoretical knowledge of things arcane as well—there was just too much risk when one stayed too long in Faerie.

And the longer Aikin stayed, the worse that risk would be.

All at once he was running.

*

The trouble with magic, David grumbled five minutes later, was that you couldn't talk about it to just anyone. Or in front of just anyone. That was why he'd resisted pounding on cabin doors back at Whitehall, and instead was calling from a pay phone in a shed by the gate. Happily, no one was about to inquire what a suspiciously long-haired nonmajor was doing hanging around the Forestry School's Holy of Holies. And certainly not one so wired he was dancing from foot to foot.

He was getting the flip side of his own telephone, too: having to suffer through all six rings. Which probably meant that Alec was still zoned—and
might
mean that he was going to sleep through the whole thing, message included. In which case he'd have to call Liz and get
her
to roust his roomie—which he didn't want to do, because then he'd have to explain everything all over again, which would take time he might not have. Plus, Liz would certainly want to be present for anything that happened, and while he knew logically that she could take care of herself in arcane situations, he'd become protective lately, and wanted to spare her as much of
that
as he could.

Only it didn't matter anyway, because
she
was the one who picked up between ring number five and six. He could tell by the way her voice quivered when she answered that something wasn't right.

“Liz, it's me. What the hell're you doin' over there?”

“Alec,” she shot back breathlessly. “He's…gone.”

“Gone?”

“He left you a note saying he'd gone onto the Tracks, and he's not here.”

David slumped against the wall; his empty stomach turned a long slow cartwheel. “Oh Christ, no!” Then: “You're sure? He was sound asleep when I left less than an hour ago.”

“Well, he's not in the house, the yard, or up and down the road; I've looked. I was writing you a note in case we missed each other, and then I was gonna come looking for you. What's up over there?”

“Aikin's gone too!”

A pause, then, “You're kidding!”

“'Fraid not. He evidently caught up with that enfield again and followed it to a Track I just found and—”

“Wandered right on out of the World,” Liz sighed. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Right—so I was callin' to get Alec to bring the ulunsuti, so we could use it to locate him. I couldn't think of anything else—”

“It probably
is
the only thing…but there's a problem with that.”

“What? You know where he hides it, so you can bring it, and we can use it to look for both of 'em. And—”

“It's not that simple, David; if you'll just listen!”

“What?”

“It's
gone!
The ulunsuti's gone! I came over with some hair of the dog for you bad boys, and let myself in, figuring I'd surprise you—brunch in bed, and that kind of thing. But when I got in, there was
smoke
coming from the bathroom, so I checked, and there was a little fire dying out in the tub—and stuff around it to indicate Alec had made a World gate. So I kinda panicked—'specially since you were gone too. But then I found your note—it had fallen off the door; I don't think Alec had seen it—and the one Alec had left as well.”

“Why didn't you think he'd seen mine?”

“'Cause I don't think he'd gate off somewhere while something was going on with one of his friends.”

“I dunno, Liz, you saw him last night. He was pretty fried over the Eva thing. Maybe he just woke up and couldn't stand wondering about her any longer. You know how that's been eatin' him. I think seein' those Faery women last night put him over the top.”