The Changeling (38 page)

My mind wandered back to Tse-xo-be’s disappearing trick. Then I remembered him telling me to practice combining elements. “Does Ozara know how to create them?”

Sherman smiled, “No. Ozara believes learning to create Quint and Clóca is the vocation of less powerful beings. Regardless of their properties, she believes them inferior to Aether.”

Victoria’s voice was full of concern. “Maggie, we cannot
directly
help you free your brother, but we need you to succeed and return to the Weald, and stand strong for your place here. I believe the Council will support you.”

“And Ozara?”

“With incontrovertible evidence of another Aetherfae, I can scarcely imagine a situation in which she would not support you. If nothing else, you may be her key to survival,” Sherman said.

Sherman’s words were full of encouragement, and I appreciated the sentiment, but I wasn’t as confident as him. In my gut, I believed she would send me away until she needed me.

“Sherman, I do need one thing from you.”

“And that is?”

“I need you to meet me in the parking lot of Mitch’s hospital at nine tonight. Can you do that?”

“Yes. To restore Mitch I assume?”

“And to remove Drevek.”

“Of course. I will be there.”

“Can I also get your guarantee on one other thing?”

He studied me for a moment and then nodded his head.

“No matter what happens over the next few hours, please see to it that the Unseelie don’t hear anything about me, you know, in case I go missing for a few hours.”

Sherman and Victoria exchanged looks, smiling. “We agree,” he said.

After three additional rounds of lectures on how to create the orange substance, and an equal number of queries concerning whether I was sure I could pull off the rescue, they finished with an emphatic reminder that I might have to destroy the Fae who stood in my way. I promised them I could.

Though it was a dark subject, killing Fae, and it was true that I’d never taken the life of anything other than an occasional mosquito, I was determined to get Mitch back at any cost. As I called Justice to follow me to the front of the Byrne’s cottage, I doubted my resolve for only a moment and hoped I would be as resolute tonight.
Get over it
, my inner voice chimed,
there won’t be any Fae there.

Sherman and Victoria stood with me and waited for the Council. After only a few minutes, Ozara showed up for our scheduled meeting. Each member of the Council took human form—Asian, African, Northern European, Eastern European, South American, Middle Eastern, and Pacific Islander. It was the first time they had done so since the night Gavin was nearly killed.

Ozara, as radiant as ever, glided to me in her shimmering silver gown. Justice wagged his tail and lay silently at my feet. The remaining council members formed a loose semi-circle behind her. I felt completely underdressed and exposed.
Should I bow or something?
Each was incredibly regal and even more beautiful to my physical eyes than they had been in my astral travel.

“Maggie,” Ozara said softly. “You wanted to see us?”

“Yes, I’ve…” I exhaled and then slowly pulled in a slow breath to calm my nerves. “I’ve made a decision.” A crease formed on her otherwise perfect forehead. “It’s a decision I hope you’ll all be comfortable with.”

“A decision?” Her expression took on the characteristics of concern.

“Yes. If I don’t have my brother back by 10 p.m. tonight, I will give the rogues what they want and allow you to take my memories. I will give up my place as Steward of the Weald. I will trust that you and the Council will get my brother back.”

The Council members began debating silently with one another while Ozara studied my face. I felt even more exposed than before, and awkwardly kept talking.

“I don’t want this. You know I don’t. I believe I have an important role…you know, should another Aetherfae ever emerge.”

The debating continued more vigorously, but Ozara never moved or acknowledged what they said. She had no idea that I could listen in. The majority urged her to talk me out of leaving. A few, however, seemed overjoyed by the news. Didn’t they know I was their best chance for survival? I caught bits and pieces of a conversation urging Ozara to tell me about the attack, and even more pressing her about the danger of allowing me to leave the Weald unprotected. She said nothing.

“I’d be happy to rejoin you…if the time comes that you need me,” I added.

Enough,
Ozara said silently. At once the debating stopped and all eyes focused on her.

“Are you
sure
this is what
you
want?”
Ah, making this seem like my decision. I’ll play along.

“Yes. I have to get Mitch back. We’re out of time. If we don’t have him back by tonight, I’ll meet you tomorrow morning, and you can…” I allowed my voice to trail off. It wasn’t totally an act. If something went wrong tonight, if I didn’t get Mitch back, I’d just painted myself into a corner. Worst of all, by the same time tomorrow, I wouldn’t even remember what happened. It only took the thought of not remembering Gavin, Billy, and Sara to turn the emotion into genuine tears.

“It’s a painless procedure.” Ozara tried to comfort me.

“It’s not that,” I said, turning my face away from them. I took several deep breaths, wiped the tears from my cheeks and composed myself.

“Then why wait until tomorrow?” she asked.

Tension filled the Council—I felt it more clearly than the morning air or the sunlight on my face. Her question stunned me. It was one that I hadn’t anticipated.

“Because I’m not ready to forget just yet…I guess I still hope you can work a miracle today. You are the Aetherfae…If anyone can find Mitch, my money is on you.”

Gratuitous brown nosing
,
yak!
But it worked. She smiled as I channeled sincerity and let it leak out of my brain.

“Today though, I’m going into town to be alone for a while, just wander around…
people
—no offense.”

“None taken.”

To my relief, Ozara accepted my improvised explanation and nodded.

***

After a quick trip back to the cottage, I grabbed the purse I’d packed earlier and left Justice at the iron gate. Smokey and Gusty followed me to Eureka. I tried to keep everything about my drive routine. I didn’t want to arouse suspicion. I let my mind leak images of Mitch and my concern for him.

In truth, I picked Eureka for a reason. It was Saturday and the height of the tourist season. I had to ditch my guards and this was the best place to do it. As I cruised down Main Street, people stopped and stared at my pink Thunderbird. I needed to park it and blend into the mass of people before I made my move. Smokey and Gusty were closer to me than usual as I crossed the street in front of the courthouse. I turned and stared in their direction, exuding anger and my desire to be alone. Both backed off beyond my
normal
range.
Good, it worked
.

Smiling and stutter stepping on the limestone sidewalk, I began weaving through tourists as I made my way to Basin Park, just up the hill. Moving slowly, I stopped periodically to peer into the store windows along the street.
A test,
I need a test
.

At a leather shop, I slipped inside and studied several purses. Selecting a rather hideous brown one with leather fringe, I bought it and shoved it to the bottom of my large designer bag. Neither Smokey nor Gusty drew closer. They were tracking me with their senses, not their physical eyes.
Good news.
I didn’t linger for long, and stepped back into the sunlight to continue toward my objective. My nerves began to churn my stomach. Up the hill from the Basin Park Hotel
,
the six-story stone hotel built into the side of the mountain, I saw a large group of people making their way toward me. That was my chance. I joined them.

Just as the throng crossed in front of the doors, I stepped inside the small lobby. Dark wood trim, darker carpet on oak hardwood floors, antique lighting, and Victorian era furniture—the lobby matched the hotel’s turn of the century façade. A narrow, steep staircase disappeared behind a small elevator on the back wall. To my right, a middle-aged gentleman wearing a pressed white shirt and black slacks manned the small front desk, and to his right was the doorway to a small coffee shop. Most importantly, there were people everywhere.
So far, so good.
Some sat on an antique sofa, watching a baseball game blaring from a small flat screen, and some milled about in deep conversation. I walked through the middle of the crowd to the coffee shop where even more people waited in line.

Attempting to blend into the crowd, I felt my breath come faster and concentrated on calming down. When I checked, Smokey and Gusty were well down the hill and across the street.
It’s time
. My heart began to race. Channeling energy from the lights and the temperature of the air, I quickly threw a barrier around myself, instantly erasing me from my guards’ view.

Beyond the lobby elevator, I bolted up the first flight of stairs before Smokey and Gusty had even moved. By the time I reached the second floor, however, they were streaking toward the hotel.
Climb, dammit.
A surge of adrenalin made my head spin and made my heart beat irregularly. My fear of being caught stiffened my legs and made my feet feel heavy and awkward on the steep, narrow stairs.

Smokey and Gusty had taken their natural forms for a moment, in an apparent attempt to track me.
Not going to happen.
They shifted back into physical form and moved through the lobby. They moved chaotically, catching me off-guard until I realized they were trying to locate me by sight. Did that mean they couldn’t track people the same way I had learned to track them? It might be true, because while I had learned to tell the difference between Fae by recognizing each one’s unique essence, I could not do the same with people. Maybe they couldn’t either.
God, I hope not
.

My goal was the fourth floor, but I needed to get out of the stairwell. The main corridor on the third floor was narrow and dark—exactly what I had expected in an old Victorian-era hotel. The building was arranged with a hall that ran perpendicular to the stairwell. The middle of the hotel was open to the bluff, and two wings extended the full height of the building from the street to the mountain. From the air, the Basin Park formed a “U” shape—I’d seen it the night before on Google Earth.

The third floor was decorated like the second: dark wood beams below a plaster ceiling; worn and dented doors with window transoms; and matching trim in the same dark color flanking burgundy paint below a chair rail. Small light fixtures and daylight through a glass door facing the bluff at the end of the hall lit the passage, but neither they nor the cream colored paint of the upper walls did much to brighten the space.

There was nobody on the third floor when I bolted toward the rooms in the southern wing. At the first door, I heard people talking inside. They were responding to something on television. I could hear an announcer talking about a player and his remarkable pitching. Streaking further down the hall, I let my senses wander inside the next room. It was unoccupied, so I popped the lock and slipped inside. It was completely vacant. “Crap!”

The next two rooms had occupants, and I began to panic, my heart racing faster and faster. I pressed my shaking hands flat against the material of my cotton blouse as I moved down the hall. Below me, Gusty searched the crowd on the street, but Smokey had begun systematically checking each room on the second floor. He moved around inside them in his natural form and then changed to physical form, as an insect I assumed, before moving on to the next.
He’s so fast!
In a few minutes he would make it to the third floor.

My heart pounded out of my chest when I reached the next empty room. Again, I popped the lock. Inside I found what I was looking for: a suitcase. It was open before I crossed the room—my invisible fingers worked quicker than ever before.

Pulling the first dress out of the bag, I winced. A hideous print and eight sizes too big, it looked to be from the 1970s.
Crap. Well, you don’t have to look pretty
. I shimmied into it, letting it cover my red top and shorts. With shaking hands, I fished for the platinum blond wig I’d smuggled inside my purse. It was part of an old Halloween costume I’d worn two years ago. Huge and bright, it made me look like a prostitute, a poorly dressed prostitute at that, but I yanked it over my scalp and tucked my black tresses under the webbing. In the tiny bathroom, I found Max Factor makeup and a bottle of Coty perfume.
My god, who is this woman
?

I sprayed a copious amount in my hand and rubbed it on my face, arms and neck. It was repulsive, especially in that quantity, but really, I’d hoped for as much. If Smokey and Gusty were trying to “sniff” me out, like Cassandra had, Coty would probably work like gunpowder on a dog’s nose. It was that pungent.

In the mirror, I put on a pair of enormous sunglasses that hid half my face and I teased the blond wig. I began to pity the room’s occupant when I uncapped the fire engine red lipstick and coated my lips.
She really needs a makeover.
A few deep breaths relaxed me as I grabbed the things I needed from my purse and hastily stuffed them into the leather one I’d just bought. I dropped my bag on the bed.
A Coach Legacy duffel is more than a fair payment for a table cloth with a hem
.