Tristan wiped my tears away and whispered in my ear, "At least we're together."
I nodded against his chest.
Those were the last words spoken for nearly two hours as Bertha bumped through the wilderness, her rusty moans and creaks filling the silence. Dorian fell asleep in my lap, my body cushioning him on all but the worst of the bounces while Tristan's body cushioned mine. After grieving for the Amadis we left behind, my thoughts switched to our escape, and I hoped Tristan was concentrating on the best solution to get us off this God-forsaken continent. My experiences so far marred my perception of Australia–wild, dirty and frightening.
Owen must have grown bored after two hours of driving through the barren terrain–he broke into song. He had an unbelievable voice I never knew about, imitating the singers perfectly, from Elvis to Chester Bennington, and even the instrumental parts. It was the closest we had to a radio, so we didn't mind. As he finished
Shadow of the Day
, the sun already low in the western sky, he slowed Bertha, eventually bringing her to a stop.
"Is this it?" Owen asked.
I opened my eyes and almost whooped out loud when I saw the homestead. Bertha sat in front of an old farmhouse, facing a faded red barn. My mind was already inside, drinking a cold glass of water and then standing under a hot shower. But as I looked around more closely, my heart sank to my lap. Siding hung off the dilapidated barn, and the roof was caved in. The fields and stock pens were overgrown and unkempt. Paint peeled off the walls of the house, and grime tinted the windows a yellowish-brown color. A tiny, old airplane sat at the end of what once may have been a dirt runway, but now was littered with overgrown weeds and potholes nearly the size of Bertha.
This can't be it.
"Yep, this is it," Tristan said, pushing me forward so he could stand up.
Owen turned in the driver's seat, and his face looked how I felt. "Dude … seriously? I think the owners abandoned this place decades ago. Probably ran away scared."
"Perhaps. I haven't been here in … a lifetime." Tristan hopped out of the truck. "Come on. Let's check it out. There's nothing here
you
can't fix, Scarecrow."
"True," Owen agreed, sliding out of the driver's seat, "very true."
Somehow, Dorian slept through the loud screech and bang of the truck's door closing. I stayed with him in the truck bed and listened while Tristan and Owen explored. Their discoveries didn't sound good. Based on their comments, Owen was right–the owners apparently took off years ago, leaving everything behind as if they were going to the store, including trash and dishes in the sink. The pipes creaked as they tried to turn the water on, but it sounded as though only a few drops actually dispelled from the faucet.
So much for a drink or a shower
.
Tristan suddenly appeared beside the truck, and various screeches, pops and bangs came from the house. I stiffened. It sounded as if Owen was
fighting
something.
"You left him in there?" I whispered anxiously to Tristan.
"Sure," he said with a shrug. "He's fixing it up."
Of course
. Some things–such as Owen being a warlock–I still had a hard time remembering as real. To me, he was simply …
Owen
.
"Running water?" I asked, my voice mixed with doubt and hope at the same time.
"That's most of the noise–the pipes are a disaster. If Owen can't fix it, though, no one can."
"Good to go," Owen said, emerging from the house. He raised an eyebrow at me, questioning my doubt in him. "Including running water."
"Dibs on first shower!" I handed Dorian to Tristan and scurried out of the truck.
The house still looked the same on the outside, but when I walked through the front door, it could have been a model home … from the 1970s. Though outdated, the plaid-upholstered furniture appeared as though it'd just come off the delivery truck, and the avocado-green carpet as if it'd recently been laid. The orange kitchen appliances gleamed, and water poured out of the faucet … brown water.
"Ew. Can you fix that?" I asked.
"You sure do ask a lot," Owen teased with a grin. "It already looks better than it did. Just give it a few minutes."
The water eventually ran clear and hot, and I finally became clean and felt human again. Well, as human as I could be. With the dirt scrubbed away, my face looked perfect–no more bruises or any sign I'd been whacked by a kangaroo.
Whew
. A raccoon face wasn't the best disguise for our escape–a little too memorable. The gash on my arm from the morning's fight had also disappeared. I was as good as new … almost. Some decent sleep would take care of the rest.
Dinner consisted of snack food Owen and Dorian had in the truck, and as soon as he finished eating, Owen crashed in one of the bedrooms. Besides Dorian, he'd need the most sleep, and we had to leave in the middle of the night and travel in the dark. After putting Dorian to bed, Tristan and I loaded the luggage Owen had brought for us in the six-passenger airplane. I didn't know how it would ever get off the ground–it looked as though it'd been sitting for decades. Tristan and Owen had worked on it while I showered and then bathed Dorian, but they could do nothing about the old fuel. Tristan told me to have faith.
Though a little crowded in the queen-sized bed with Tristan and Dorian, I slept amazingly well and was wide awake after four hours of sleep, my body feeling completely regenerated and renewed. The guys could sleep another hour before we had to take off, so I crept outside and sat on the front porch steps. I gazed at the unfamiliar sky with more stars than I'd ever seen, feeling close enough that I actually reached up and waved my hand across the sky, nearly expecting to scatter the sparkly jewels. Of all the places in the U.S. Mom and I had lived, no starry night compared to that of the Australian Outback. The beauty mesmerized me.
But the diamond-studded sky couldn't distract me from the anxiety of the search. I couldn't wait to return to the States and begin looking for the girl. For our daughter. The last four days of escaping the Daemoni were four more days lost, four more days we were separated. Every day seemed to count now.
Just as Dorian had celebrated his seventh birthday less than three months ago, so had she. Seven years …
How long would they have let it go? Would I have ever known?
Surely I would have learned at some point, but they might have kept her hidden until she went through the
Ang'dora
–thirty, forty, even fifty more years.
I licked my lips and tasted the salt of stray tears. I still couldn't believe the betrayal by Rina and some of the council. And then the sadness turned to quiet anger. Those same council members who hid our daughter suspected both Tristan and me as traitors. They accused
us
of betrayal when
they
hid the hope for the Amadis' future from the very people they served, the people whose lives depended on that future.
I heard a soft catch of the door's latch behind me and expected Tristan, but Owen sat next to me.
"Pretty insane stuff going on, huh?" he said quietly when he saw me wiping my eyes.
"It's nothing like I expected. I knew we'd be on the run a lot and I knew we'd have to fight to be together, but I never thought it'd be this bad."
"It won't be for long. The Daemoni are still throwing their tantrum after Tristan's escape. They'll get bored, quiet down and abandon the hunt, especially when they won't be able to find us."
"That would be a relief. We have other things to focus on without worrying about them." I sighed. "They're not the only ones we have to fight for our love. Some of the Amadis don't want us together. Some don't want us at all. They'd probably celebrate if the Daemoni captured us."
"I wouldn't go that far …"
"They think we'll betray them, Owen. For some reason, they think I have more loyalty to the sperm donor I've never met than to the Amadis, to my only family. And they think Tristan will go back, too. Why do they doubt us?"
Owen scrubbed his hand through his hair and scrunched his eyes. When he spoke, the seriousness of his tone and his word choices gave a rare indication of his true age. "There are some who always worried about both of you. You have strong Daemoni blood. So does Tristan. Some believe that even if he
wanted
to convert, it's not possible. When he tried to kill you after the
Ang'dora
… that only fuels their beliefs there's still something under the surface, waiting for another opportunity to attack. And then there are a few who think he never wanted to, that he's pulling the ultimate spy job on all of us … and that you'll go along because you love him so much."
"
What?
That's completely absurd. How
could
they …?"
He shrugged. "He was such a formidable Daemoni warrior for so long, attacking our people, humans …
innocents
. That's how they remember him and they can't believe he could ever change."
"That was Seth, not Tristan," I said.
"You and I know the difference, as do most of the Amadis. The ones who don't knew him much longer as Seth. Some served him before their own conversions and saw the worst of him."
"But he didn't like himself then. He
never
wanted that life. You'd think they'd know more than anyone how much he wanted out of it."
Owen cut his eyes sideways at me. "Alexis, the Daemoni are cunning deceivers and Tristan was the best. He did what he had to do to make them happy just to stay alive. If you think he sulked around and defied them all the time, you're fooling yourself."
I pressed my fingers to my temples and squeezed my eyes shut, pushing away the images trying to surface–images of Seth's horrible acts, which Tristan had inadvertently shared with me the night I tried to save Sheree, the were-tiger. "I don't want to talk about this. My point is that's not him
now
. How can anyone not see that?"
"Some people need time. Others … well, they might not ever believe. They might not
want
to believe. Just as in the Norman world, there are always a few who like to stir the pot."
"I don't get it, Owen. I thought the Amadis were all
good
."
"We
are
good. We find good, and we protect it. But it doesn't mean we're all perfect, that we don't screw up." He shifted, turned toward me. "Listen. We'll find out what's going on and take care of this mess, and I'll bet you the
truly
good people will be proven right … including you and Tristan and Rina. Remember what I keep telling you … in the end, good always wins.
We
always win." He patted my knee. "Have some faith, Alexis."
That was the second time I'd been told to have faith tonight. But my faith was waning.
***
After Tristan strapped a sleeping Dorian into his seat, Owen rubbed then thrust his hands at the airplane's propeller to start the engine, at which point I had no choice but to at least have faith in him … because we were going to fly with magic as our fuel.
As I walked through the house one more time to make sure we left nothing behind, Tristan came jogging in.
"Thought I should leave a note, tell them where their plane is," he explained, finding a scrap of paper and a pencil nub in a drawer.
"Um, I could be wrong–I usually am anymore–but I really don't think they're coming back," I said.
He shrugged. "With these people, you never know. They're kind of like that."
He wrote a one-sentence note detailing the town and country where the plane would be and then paused before signing it–as Seth. I lifted an eyebrow, trying to ignore the tingling down my spine. He grimaced.
"Trust me–that was harder for me to write than for you to see. But that's all they know me as."
I nodded silently then flashed to the plane, trying not to think about it. But I couldn't help it, especially since Owen and I had just been discussing Seth. I held an entire, silent conversation with myself, trying to convince myself that it meant nothing more than he knew the owners a long time ago. But the paranoia gnawed at me for most of the flight.
He wouldn't … would he?
He looked back at me from the front seat right then, as if he'd heard me ask myself that question, but our minds weren't connected. I mentally slapped myself when I looked into his eyes. He loved me. The look in his hazel eyes, all over his face, made it perfectly clear. I smiled warmly at him, and he grinned and winked. I forgot my doubts.