Forest Moon Rising (4 page)

I trust Allie to take care of my babe. She’s one of the good gals. Maybe if I scoot through the chat room and back to Cape Cod for a bit I can purge the drugs from my system.

Some people call the chat room limbo. To others it’s purgatory.

Not just anyone can slip through the chat room from here to there or now to then. But I’m an imp. A special imp because I’m bonded to a Warrior of the Celestial Blade. I know ways around the guards the dumb beasts never thought of.

If the adrenaline rush of a quick trip through the chat room doesn’t help cure me of the numb sleepies, then maybe I can take a bit of a nap with Ginkgo, my life mate. He and his warrior, Gayla, run the Citadel where Tess took her training.

Hmm, just a little nap with my lover to watch over me. Then I’ll listen in on the gossip in Cape Cod. I promise.

“We have to ask her!” I heard Raquel’s voice from a long way off as I swam up through layers of drug-induced sleep. Pain meds, my cotton ball stuffed mind sort of remembered. Just a little something to take the edge off while they twisted and folded my ankle before slapping a cast on it.

That “just a little something” became three increasingly strong doses as my body rejected the first one and most of the second. I have weird reactions to drugs.

“What can she do? She can’t even stand on her own two feet,” JJ snorted with disgust.

“There are rumors in the SciFi community that her books are based on a real-life Sisterhood of Warriors,” Raquel whispered. “They fight demons all the time.”

“We’re not dealing with a demon. We’re fighting a dark elf.”

How did they know? Unless they’d had a child stolen.

“Same difference,” I muttered. Oops. Not supposed to let on to civilians about that sort of stuff. Curse those drugs. But the sleep felt so good. I wanted to drift away on worriless clouds.

I heard Scrap giggling in the background. He loved it when I stuck my foot in my mouth (figuratively of course) or fell flat on my face.

“See,” Raquel said excitedly. She dragged her husband over to my bedside, back in the curtained cubicle in the ER after a stint in the X-Ray room and then the cast room.

I thought Steve and Allie were over at registration filling out reams of paperwork to spring me from the hospital. Takes longer to complete the forms than it does to treat the emergency.

I noted with some despair that my incredibly heavy left leg was propped up on a wedge shaped pillow. It was also decorated in pink and lavender swirls. Nothing discreet about that fiberglass cast. Dr. Sean meant business in keeping me off that foot. Allie must have picked out the colors.

Or Scrap. Did I mention his penchant for pink feather boas along with his black cherry cheroots? He’s normally more tasteful in picking out my clothes and accessories.

Where was the brat anyway? He shouldn’t be able to get very far from me when I’m hurt or sick or wounded.

“Can you help us?” Raquel asked desperately. As she leaned over me I caught a hint of a tummy bulge I wouldn’t expect in a thirty-something woman as fit as she seemed to be.

Inspiration hit me like a two by four between the eyes. The Nörglein had victimized her, probably four or five months ago. So how come she
remembered?

“I don’t know if I can help, until I know the problem,” I hedged. “I also seem to be in less than fighting shape at the moment.” I tried lifting the leg with the cast but that was beyond my strength at this point. So I waved at it weakly.

“We didn’t say we needed you to fight anything,” JJ said sourly. He stood very upright on the other side of me.

More foot-in-the-mouth-itis.

“You were hunting that awful dark elf in Forest Park this morning, weren’t you?” Raquel insisted.

“This isn’t a Tolkien novel,” I hedged.

“I’ve done some research,” JJ said. He pulled a battered trade sized paperback book from the inside pocket of his black windbreaker.

I recognized the book. Guilford Van der Hoyden-Smythe (Gollum to his friends), my once-upon-a-time archivist, short-time lover, and missing friend, kept one just like it in the glove box of his battered van. I had my own newer copy of the “
Field Guide to Gnomes, Trolls, and Ogres
.” In fact, some of the green sticky note tabs on this book looked remarkably like the ones Gollum used.

And that illegible scrawl ...

“Where did you get that?” I grabbed the book from JJ. Sure enough, it fell open to the page describing the Nörglein, complete with a drawing that looked like a copy of an antique woodcut. The black and white rendition showed the moss-covered Tyrolean jacket and three-cornered hat, fat bare feet covered in frondlike fur, full beard of more fern fronds beneath a long hooked nose, and strong body. It didn’t show the deep red eyes or rows and rows of razor sharp teeth.

I was more interested in the notes scribbled in margins and on those sticky squares.

“I spoke with a folklorist at McLoughlin College. He loaned me the book.” JJ snatched it back as if it were his most treasured possession.

My temper roiled up from the ache in my foot to the crick in my knee to my very empty stomach.

Calm down, babe. JJ and Raquel are victims not the source,
Scrap reminded me on a deep yawn. He sounded far away.

“Did Dr. Van der Hoyden-Smythe tell you to look me up?” I ground out.

“No, he didn’t. Say, how do you know ...”

“I knew him a long time ago.” A lifetime of memories crammed into two days and one night of loving each other. “Don’t suppose you’ve got his phone number?” I’d deleted his cell phone from my speed dial. I didn’t need the temptation to call him, just to hear his voice mail message.

“I have the number at home. I can call you later to give it to you,” Raquel offered.

“Do that. I’m in the book.”

“Does this mean you’ll help us?”

“Not today.” I waved at the cast again. “First tell me how you know about the Nörglein?”

“I—um—” Raquel blushed.

“We went hiking last spring. A thunderstorm blew in suddenly. An unpredicted storm. We took shelter beneath a rocky overhang. Next thing we know, I’m tied up with blackberry vines and this ugly guy is raping my wife,” JJ spat out.

“Crime of opportunity. No time for seduction or spells or whatever he uses to block memory,” I mused.

“That about says it all,” JJ said. “I called the police and they just looked at me blankly when I described the guy. They said I was delusional from the shock of spending a night in the cold.”

Or they’d been blackmailed, coerced, bespelled, or bribed to consider reports of the Nörglein delusions.

“I want to kill the monster!” Raquel cried. “I just don’t know how. I should have aborted the baby. But I couldn’t kill it. I just couldn’t.”

“I promise you I will end that little monster’s reign of terror before you deliver your baby.”

That didn’t give me a lot of time, considering I’d be out of action for six weeks at least.

“W
HO ARE YOU and why did you kidnap my friend?” Allie asked just inside the doorway of my third story condo on the Willamette River.

“I’m too tired to play head games with you, Allie,” I muttered as I heaved myself up the last step on crutches, being careful not to let the cast on my left foot touch down. I had to stop, five steps short of my doorway. My lungs felt on fire and the wide elastic bandage around my ribs couldn’t contain the bruises. I had to stop and breathe, carefully, shallowly, letting my heart rate calm.

And I was damp from the last onslaught of rain that blew down the river into my face the moment I lurched out of Steve’s rental car. Copious sweat from the exertion of getting up the stairs didn’t help.

Call you Miss Cranky Pants,
Scrap taunted.

“Don’t push, Steve,” I pleaded as he applied gentle pressure to my lower back. “I can’t go any farther yet.”

“Want me to carry you this last little bit?”

“No. You’re a computer geek, not a super hero. You’d drop me and then Allie would have to take us both back to the ER.”

I hadn’t experienced this kind of fatigue since I’d become a Warrior of the Celestial Blade, dropped fifty pounds, and taken up running and fencing as hobbies. Speaking of which, I needed to call my coach and explain why I wouldn’t be in class tonight.

“This place is
clean!
” Allie protested. She stood in the open doorway, hands on hips, a scowl marring her strong face. “Not a single piece of dirty laundry or moldy coffee cup littering the place. No research books strewn across every flat surface. No piles of unanswered mail. I mean, Tess, this can’t possibly be your home.”

Not home. Just a temporary lodging. I didn’t know where home was anymore.

My hand went to my throat. No pearls. My talisman, my last connection to my mom wasn’t there.

“What did you do with all your furniture?” Steve asked as he peered inside at the same time he prodded me forward.

“I sold most of my stuff along with the house to Dad and Bill. They needed furnishings to open a Bed and Breakfast.” The mahogany dining table and twelve chairs had come with the house when Dill, my deceased husband, and I bought the two-hundred-seventy-five-year-old monstrosity. The earnest money agreement included the appliances, the curtains, and the ghosts. I made sure Dad and his life partner bought them too.

Taking a deep breath, I muscled my wobbling way inside. Then I stopped again, more because I saw my condo as my brother and best friend did than because I couldn’t take another step without rest.

“I guess it is kind of minimalistic,” I half apologized.

“Not minimalistic. Stark,” Steve clarified.

“Try stark naked,” Allie added in disgust. She took the bag of groceries she carried toward the galley kitchen.

I usually ate at the countertop with barstools that separated the kitchen from the dining area and sunken living room. That eliminated the need for a table and chairs. The empty space spread wider than I remembered. The parquet floor was as new and unscuffed as the day I bought the place. A simple banister of Craftsman styled pale wood protected the upper level from the drop-off. Two steps near the entry hall and another two steps in the corner from the dining area were covered in the same textured carpet in mottled cream, seafoam green, and stone blue as the main floor.

A wall of windows overlooking the river and marina dominated the spacious living room, almost half the square footage of the apartment. A white stone chimney with a raised hearth and a gas log filled the adjacent wall. My one piece of good furniture, a comfortable sofa with foldout footrests, sat before a big screen HD TV with surround sound.

The kitchen at least got used more than the rest of the house. Even then a single sparkling wine glass occupied the hanging rack over the counter in a space for two dozen.

“You never watched TV much,” Allie said cautiously. “Only two sets in the entire rambling house designed to house three generations.” She rummaged around the kitchen, opening and closing every cupboard and drawer. She only paused when she stuck her head into the fridge. “And you never cooked much either. You’ve got all the makings for a dozen gourmet meals stockpiled.”

“I have more time now that I’m not maintaining a colonial era house that sprawled in uneven levels and up three stories,” I grunted. “Dad and Bill seem to be making a go of their B&B in the place though.” I flopped onto the sofa and did some sprawling myself.

Allie creased her forehead and looked at me strangely. But she kept her mouth shut.

“What’s going on here, Tess? This isn’t like you.” Steve crouched beside the sofa at my eye level.