Forest Moon Rising (10 page)

“I ... I expected ... I don’t know. Maybe this was a mistake.” She rose as if to leave.

“Not yet, Doreen.” I blocked her exit from the booth with a crutch.

She settled back with her coffee.

Scrap took a seat on the back of Doreen’s bench. He stuck his tongue out at her, then reclined, crooked his arm to support his head, and settled in to listen intently.

He faded so transparent and remained so still I had trouble seeing him. Clear evidence that I could forget his presence and we’d compare notes later.

Doreen offered me no threat.

Bill came over with my coffee and soy creamer. He helped me twist and leverage the cast onto the seat beside me. I thanked him and took a sip of his excellent brew.

“Can I get you ladies some biscotti, or pie? Maybe a late breakfast?” Bill hovered a little longer than necessary. A friend showing caution around an unknown.

“Nothing for me,” Doreen said. She didn’t have to look at her full hips. All Damiri developed weight problems in middle age. Only the most rigorous diet and exercise kept the pounds off.

When I’d known Dill, he’d still been young and active, maintaining a slender and well-muscled body. A lovely body. And a keen mind.

I ached with missing him.

“I’ll have the huckleberry pie.” I loaded another spoonful of sugar into my coffee.

“You have pursued me, almost to the point of stalking for several months, Doreen. Why?”

“Donovan says I need to give you these.” She handed me a large manila envelope. “I’m not your enemy, Tess, no matter what impression my parents have given you.”

“They haven’t done anything hostile, just ignored me; pretended my marriage to Dill never happened.”

“I loved Dill. We were very close. Circumstances ... I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to know each other when he was alive.”

I accepted her apology with a nod. Then I peeked inside the envelope. Sure enough there were a couple of faded photos of me and Steve and our sister Cecilia from our teen years. As usual Cecilia managed to give the illusion she stood separate from Steve and me.

But there was also a picture of me and Dill, arms draped around each other, staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. The rough, violently sculpted terrain behind us belonged in the high desert of central Washington State. I pulled it out and looked closer. Of our three months together, only one week had been spent rock hounding on the Columbia Basin Plateau. I wore my hair longer then, pulled back into a tight ponytail. A few unruly curls always escaped, framing my face in corkscrew tendrils. I hadn’t Doreen’s grace to disguise the fifty extra pounds I’d carried then.

Delicately I traced the line of Dill’s jaw with my fingertip. Almost reverently I brushed the same finger over the few white hairs at his temples.

Then I closed my eyes against tears I thought I’d forgotten how to shed.

I recognized Dill’s plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up over tanned and muscular forearms.

My breath caught in my throat.

“You okay?” Doreen asked. She looked almost concerned.

I handed the photo back to her. “Where did you get this?”

“It was in the stack with the others.”

“No, it wasn’t. I’ve never seen this photo before. It was taken the day before Dill died. I don’t remember posing for it. I don’t remember anyone being around to snap it five miles from nowhere in a deep arroyo between gouged cliffs.”

“Shit! That’s why Donovan said you needed to see it.”

“Shit is right. Who took this photo and why do you have it?”

“I don’t know who took it. My guess ... only a guess but based on other information ... it was Darren Estevez. Probably through a high-powered telephoto lens.”

“Donovan’s foster father.”

“Your stepfather.”

I snorted at that. “Darren’s marriage to my mother only last two and a half days before he was murdered. Now my mother is dead too. Donovan and I have no more connections. How’d the photo get mixed up with the others?”

“Planted among Dill’s books and academic papers along with the legitimate photos. Darren needed us to know he was the one who set the fire.”

“He had an accomplice.”

“How ...?

“I was there.” Actually, I didn’t find that out until I went back. Imps can time travel if they have to. Scrap didn’t want to do it, but he’d taken me back to that fateful night so I could see who had murdered my husband. I’d seen Darren clearly. His helper remained in the shadows behind him.

“I have no idea who worked with Darren then. Oh.” She paused and put her hand over her mouth.

“What?”

“My guess in that area isn’t as well-educated.”

“Donovan comes to mind.”

“No,” she said emphatically. “More like his assistant, Quentin. His loyalty has always gone to the highest bidder. Darren could buy and sell Donovan twenty times over.”

I spread the full contents of the envelope on the table. Two printouts from a Web site followed the photos. Duplicates of the information Gollum had given me about the Nörglein, including the critter’s full name.

Names have power. Knowing it could be an advantage. If I chose to use it.

“Want to explain that?” We both knew this was why she’d pursued me so relentlessly. The photos were just an excuse, or a diversion.

“No. I suspect it’s information you need. Donovan prepared the envelope.”

I met her gaze with silence.

“Okay, he said you needed that information when I saw him using my computer and printer. He had the information on a flash drive. Is he,” she tapped the printouts with a long fingernail painted pale pink to match her blouse, “the reason you’re on crutches?”

“Yes.”

“Then, I’m sorry. You can’t help me. I need a Warrior capable of standing on her own two feet.” She stood up and threw a ten dollar bill on the table. “Enjoy your pie. It’s on me. I won’t bother you again.”

As she strode gracefully toward the door I detected a trace of moisture in the corner of her eye.

“Bother me. How and why are you connected to ... this person?” I held up the printout.

“Not today.” She exited with less grace than I’d expect from her. Donovan pulled into the parking lot after circling the block a couple of times. He got out and helped her into the passenger seat, fastening the seat belt for her.

“What do you make of this, Scrap?”

“Obvious.”

W
HEN I FINALLY GOT HOME AGAIN, damp and exhausted, I flopped onto the sofa, foot propped up on three pillows. Allie brought me soup and crackers at about noon.

Days passed. I wrote a little. The manuscript grew slowly. Too slowly for my liking. When the words refused to budge out of my brain I retreated to the balcony. I had things to think about. Doreen left me more puzzled than informed. She needed help. From a Warrior of the Celestial Blade.

Why?

Her demon blood should make us natural enemies.

Only another interdimensional creature could threaten her. The Nörglein came to mind. Why else would she bring me information on how to banish the bastard?

I knew the dark elf had some kind of connection to Cooper’s Furniture Emporium. What had he done that Doreen needed help getting rid of him?

The rain faded to a thick mist and the wind died down. A tug hauling three long barges headed north, toward the ports on the Columbia River. I followed it with my gaze as it disappeared into the thick air beyond the bridge.

Things lurked in the mist and shadows. Things more dangerous than gravel barges on the river.

I heard a car door slam. Nothing between me and the river but a public paved path and access to a marina. All the cars were parked on the other side of the building. Whoever disturbed the midday, mid-week quiet had packed some anger into the closing of the car for me to hear it so clearly.

Serious footsteps clanged on the exterior staircase; I felt the vibrations in the railing.

Knowing my neighbors and their routine visitors, I suspected I was the target of all that energy. With a sigh, I pivoted clumsily and wrestled with the French door that wanted to close too quickly in the increasing breeze at my back.

I had no idea if Allie had retreated to the bedroom or gone out to avoid my moody silence or not.

“Who is it, Scrap?”

Since I was out of action Scrap spent more time with Ginkgo than he did with me.

Jealous?
Scrap came through clearer.

“Get your ass back here. We’ve company of the unpleasant kind.”

I hobbled over to the door, opening it at the first trace of a knock, before the visitor could pound it to smithereens.

“Why, Donovan, how good to see you. Would you like a cup of coffee?” I hadn’t seen him since he’d dropped off and picked up Doreen from the café two weeks ago.

“How’d you do it, Tess?” he snarled. His fists clenched at his sides and his face darkened with suffused blood. The copper highlights in his skin grew dominant. His chocolate-colored eyes became deep holes of blackness.

The force of his emotions pushed me backward, almost physically. I raised my hand to the talisman of my pearls. They didn’t help. This must have been what Scrap felt whenever he and Donovan were in the same room before Scrap overcame the darkness in his soul; the repellant force field of an active gargoyle.

He’s human now
, I reminded myself.
He’s no longer a gargoyle.

I turned away and fussed with the coffeemaker in the kitchen rather than face him. “How’d I do what?” I returned.

“I’ve just come from my appeal on the custody hearing for my daughter.”

“I gather that it did not go well. MoonFeather retains custody.” My aunt hadn’t called in tears to tell me she’d lost the baby. Therefore, she hadn’t been forced to turn Lilly over to Donovan.

I added soy creamer and sugar to my cup along with fresh coffee. Donovan’s cup of black brew remained untouched on the counter.

“Your aunt has no right to my daughter. I’m Lilly’s father.” He moved closer, looming over me with barely controlled anger.

I had the crutches to fend him off if necessary.

“King Scazzy, prison warden of the Universe, ordered MoonFeather to raise WindScribe’s child,” I replied mildly.

“That has no bearing in mundane courts. Lilly is
my
daughter.”

“So, what did I do to push the courts to honor MoonFeather’s commitment to the baby? She is darling. Only nine months old and trying to walk already.” My aunt emailed me pictures every week.

“My DNA test. How’d you get it altered? According to the lab my genes aren’t even close to Lilly’s.” He wrapped his hand around the coffee mug like he wished it was my neck and he could strangle me.

“I did nothing. Perhaps Lilly isn’t your daughter. Perhaps WindScribe slept with someone else.” I shrugged and moved past him into the living room. If I had to defend myself I wanted space. “Rumor has it she seduced the king of Faery just before she killed him.”

Coming.
He popped into view behind Donovan’s head, his wings beating wildly enough to create a draft. He bared his multiple rows of dagger-shaped teeth and made ugly faces. Then he turned his hind end toward our guest and farted so loud and noxiously I was sure Donovan could hear and smell it.

If Donovan did, he didn’t let it divert him from stalking me.

Scrap landed on my shoulder, glowing pink. He prepared to turn into the blade and defend us. But he stayed pink, not vermilion. Donovan wanted to scare me, not hurt me.

“You and I both know that Lilly is mine.”

“WindScribe did not name you as the father. She did sign a paper requesting MoonFeather, her mentor and friend, adopt her child. The courts agreed.”

“I am Lilly’s father. How’d you alter my DNA test showing differently?”

“I didn’t.”

“You must have. No one else ...”

“King Scazzamurieddu has more reason than I to keep you away from the baby.”

“He wouldn’t dare.”

“Why not? What are you going to do, tattle on him to the Powers That Be?” My insides quaked in memory of my one and only interview with the board of seven beings, each from a different dimension, each with a different agenda, each shadowed deep within a robe’s cowl, and unidentifiable.

“Why have you dared breach our portal?” I heard again the deep booming voice. A ten-foot tentacle stretched across the tall judicial bench toward my throat. “What are you prepared to offer in return for your audacity?”