Forest Moon Rising (19 page)

“Rightly so,” boomed the one on the end.

“I want protection for my father and his partner. I want your guarantee that no one will use the land to open a new portal. That no other beings will try to take over the land. It must remain neutral.”

“And what will you give in return? If we agree to this.”

At that moment I knew why Scrap’s nose twitched so incessantly. Danger didn’t lurk here. Nothing lurked here. It was absolutely sterile. No dust, no mold, no growing things. Not even cleaning fluid invaded this chamber. No smell at all.

To my world filled with tiny odors and bad smells underlying the sweet scents of trees and grass and flowers and animal musk, this place smelled more dangerous than a charging black bear.

Or a lurking Nörglein.

Abruptly, I fell back into the present. I made the right choice going to the Powers That Be. I’d never had any doubts about that. Especially since I’d sent Gollum away and refused Donovan’s proposal.

Things change, Tess. A year from now that might not be the right choice. Think about the victims of the Nörglein. Think of the upheaval in their lives. Think of the choices they don’t have,
Scrap reminded me.

“I think about that every day. No woman should have to give her child to a monster. Not me, and not the victims of that horrible dark elf.”

I turned away from the churning, rain-swollen river that rushed toward the sea in its endless change that remained much the same.

“I’ve made the right choices. Now it’s time to get on with my life. I need to call Raquel Jones and the other victims I know about. I wish I knew how to contact Squishy. She should know about other victims. They need to talk to each other, make plans and preparations. But first I need to get rid of this cast.”

I’ll find an email address for Squishy. You make an appointment with Dr. Sean.
Scrap dove into the computer as if it were the familiar chat room.

“Does this hurt?” Dr. Sean asked as he gently rotated my left ankle.

After being in a cast so long my leg looked shrunken, wrinkled, and hairy.

“It’s stiff but not painful,” I replied. Yeah, there were a couple of twinges at the extreme end of each manipulation. Not enough to complain about and risk having the cast put back on.

As if he read my lie, the good doctor smiled and began massaging the weak muscles. He winked at me as if he shared the secret. “If you don’t injure it again, you should be fine now. Ribs okay?”

“Never were much of a problem. Bruises heal faster than sprains and breaks,” I replied. But the huge bruise on my spine that I shared with Scrap was taking longer to fade.

I needed to give the right answers to Dr. Sean so I could put on socks and shoes and
walk
out of the clinic. If the physician would just let go and stop that heavenly massage of my foot.

I could get used to this.

“You’ll need physical therapy,” the physician said. He paused his massage long enough to make a note on his order forms. “If you promise to follow up with that and do your exercises, I think we’re done here.” He placed my foot back on the exam table almost reluctantly. “I’ll just sign off on your treatment and you cease to be my patient. Until the next time you do something self-destructive.” He half grimaced as he applied pen to paper.

“Do you think I’m self-destructive?” I asked, suddenly alarmed.

“I think you’ve been depressed and not as careful as you should be. But I see improvement in the sparkle in your eye. It started the moment your brother and his fiancée walked into the ER.”

Gollum’s words came back to me. I couldn’t do it all alone. I didn’t have to. Was that part of the problem, just plain loneliness?

Dr. Sean cocked his head and looked at me with an appraising eye. “You do look a little pale though. Is your family feeding you right?” He ran a gentle finger down my cheek.

Anyone else and I’d have said he just wanted to feel the texture of my skin. My rational explanation was that he tested for fever and clamminess.

“I had a touch of ... of a tummy bug earlier this week. It’s gone now. I’m eating better.” Easier to explain my near coma and Scrap’s languish in the chat room as an illness rather than spill the very complicated truth.

“In fact, I’m eating better than I have for a year and a half.” I smiled brilliantly knowing that I still was not eating as well, or as much as I should. As Scrap healed, his appetite ruled mine less and less.

“Good. Wouldn’t hurt you to continue taking it easy for a few more weeks, rebuild the strength in that leg gradually. Use a cane if it helps. And do your exercises. Start with this one until you see the PT. Do it with both pointed toes and flexed foot.” He rotated the ankle in a full circle left and right. Then he handed me some paperwork. “You are officially dismissed and no longer my patient.”

That was the second time he’d used that phrase.

“Right.” I took the papers and read them carefully. Lots of strange codes indicating what he’d done today—mostly removed the cast, took new X-rays, and examined them. There was an order for his receptionist to make an appointment for me with physical therapy. No mention of massaging my ankle.

“Right. Then how about we do something about your eating and go to dinner tomorrow night?” He quirked a full smile.

My heart panicked. He wasn’t Gollum.

But I’d probably never see Gollum again. I needed to get out and ... and ...

Too soon.

“Okay.” I overrode my own arguments.

“Pick you up at six?” He handed me the spare shoe and sock I’d brought with me.

“Fine.” I pulled on the foot gear and lowered my pant leg to hide the ugly, shrunken,
hairy
leg. “My address and phone number are in your file.”

“I memorized them a year ago.”

What could I say to that? Instead of putting my foot in my mouth I let him help me down from the table and escort me all the way to the outside door of the clinic with his hand warming my elbow. “My receptionist will call you with the PT appointment. Don’t let that slide, Tess. You’ll be less likely to re-injure yourself if you work at strengthening and limbering those joints and muscles.”

And the glass door swung shut between us.

Now what have you gotten yourself into?
Scrap demanded

“I accepted a date with a handsome, intelligent man,” I replied blithely.

I spotted Allie in the parked car. She’d been on her cell phone the whole time I’d been inside, talking to Steve and other people she wouldn’t tell me about.

“True, Scrap. Maybe I need a strong dose of reality now and then. Especially after I host a meeting with Raquel and three others in my living room tonight. We need to stop at a bakery for desert for them.”

He’s not Gollum
, Scrap pouted, waving his cigar stub at me.

“No, he’s not. And I think that’s the point.” I slid into the car next to Allie, not nearly as happy as I should be.

“So what’s new with you and Steve?” I asked my friend, putting as much brightness into my voice as I could. Maybe if I pretended my heart wasn’t breaking I’d eventually convince myself it wasn’t and I could move on.

“Steve got a job offer in Hillsboro. I got a job offer at the community college not far from there. We’re getting married at Christmas! We both start work right after the holidays.” She whooped and threw her arms around me.

“I’m very happy for you. Do I get to be a bridesmaid?”

“Of course. I just wish you could find the right guy.” She paused. “One who’s unattached.”

“We’ll see. I have a date with a cute doctor tomorrow night.”

“Way to go, Sister.” She high-fived me.

“In two months you really will be my sister as well as my best friend,” I said somewhat awed.

“So, let’s go shopping for your matron of honor dress. Something lovely that you can wear again and again.”

“Then we’d better let Scrap pick it out.” Maybe that would brighten his mood. “Why aren’t you torturing me with the ugliest gown ever designed that costs way too much? That’s part of the ritual, sort of a test of how much I love you.”

“I’m buying you something lovely because I want you to love me after the wedding.”

Tomorrow I’d test that love to the limits by going off on my own, exercising my newfound freedom from the cast and do some investigative shopping.

“N
ICE TO SEE YOU OUT OF THE CAST,” Raquel Jones said upon entering my condo. She held a plate of cookies in one hand and half hugged me with the other.

“I’ll be fit again very soon,” I told her. “I have physical therapy tomorrow morning. You’re the first here. Did you have any trouble convincing JJ to stay home?”

“He’s downstairs walking the river path. Patrolling is more like it.”

“This will be easier if we keep it girl talk. Less embarrassing that way. My friend Allie is hiding in my office. She’s an ex-cop if we need her to talk about self-defense.”

The clang of footsteps on the metal stairs alerted me to the arrival of more guests. Four more, all I could find in a hurry for this impromptu meeting of a potential support group. Two of the other women, like Raquel, were pregnant. The other two carried tiny infants, no more than two months old. Squishy had sent them.

Scrap flitted about cooing and making funny faces at the babies. Both of them reached tiny hands up to touch him. No one else could see him. Interesting. Did the dark elf blood in the children allow them to see the imp, or just their innocence?

Raquel took charge when we were all seated in the living room with coffee (decaf in consideration of the pregnancies and nursing babies) and small pieces of rich chocolate cake, homemade chocolate chip cookies, and trail mix with chocolate nuggets. Hard topics always go down easier with chocolate.

“I don’t want my baby stolen,” Michelle whispered a little later, clutching her tiny boy against her shoulder where he drowsed, wrapped in the cocoon of a brightly colored blanket. She barely looked old enough or large enough to have given birth. Her perky short hair and rounded cheeks gave her a cherubic look. She was the mother who’d delivered in the ER with Squishy assisting.

“None of us wants the Nörglein to steal any more babies,” I affirmed. I passed around photocopies of the dark elf from the field guide.

Michelle and Annie, the two mothers, took one look at the woodcut picture and shuddered. Both dropped their papers, as if touching them was like touching the monster himself.

“I can’t believe I actually let him make love to me,” Annie said, burying her face in her daughter’s blanket.

“I knew he wasn’t my husband the moment he walked in the door,” Caroline said. At six months along, she and Raquel must have been victimized about the same time.

“How?” I asked.

“It was like my husband rode on top of a new core body. I can’t explain it any other way. He looked, talked and, moved just like Jeff. But, I don’t know, something was off. Then he sort of solidified and I forgot what I saw.” She shook her head.

Ask her what the guy smelled like,
Scrap said, hovering in front of the athletic woman in her mid-thirties with stunning blonde hair and bright blue eyes.

I did.

“Smell ... I never thought about that. But come to think on it, he smelled of pine. Jeff doesn’t use that aftershave anymore. Not since I turned up allergic to evergreens. We can’t have a real Christmas tree anymore because of it.” She paused to gulp back tears. “My baby will never have a Christmas tree.”

“But the Nörglein made you forget your allergies, made you forget that something was wrong,” I said. “He made you all forget that abortion is still a legal option for you.”