Blue Moon (29 page)

He sighed again, but he was smiling. “Sure."

She walked back down the steps then said over her shoulder, “By the way, I love where you put the bench. I wish we'd thought of it sooner.” She patted it on her way past and went inside the house.

She went upstairs to get her valise. In it, she had perfect, unmarked gold coins in different weights, some as thick as her thumb, others thin like a wafer. She also had some silver. It was a fortune, the bulk of all the money she had, and it fit in one men's black dress sock. It was a terrible shame. All the wealth she'd liquidated, all those zeroes and commas, and it came down to a handful of coins.

She stuck it in one of the sturdy boots she'd bought then packed them in the valise. Added underwear, some heavy skirts, pants, blouses—all plain, all unmarked. She also had a pair of comfortable plain slippers she tucked in at the sides. Her two grimoires, handwritten and carefully compiled with summarized facts she had gleaned from her books. A small pouch of keepsakes from this world, and another pouch of things like scissors and needles, things she thought she couldn't live without.

The remainder of the space was taken up by a woolen cloak.

She sighed and, looking around the room, nodded. There were temptations all around. A crystal vase that had once held two dozen of the most beautiful roses she'd ever seen, an emerald dress of silk as fine as air. She waved her hand in front of her, as if cutting off her ties to these things, breaking the fine webs of memory and desire that bound her to them, then went and changed into her going-away clothes.

Another pair of good boots, black pants, a dark silk blouse and black brocade bodice. Her only jewelry was a bracelet of stones that reminded her of a trip to a flea market long ago.

She grabbed her valise and headed to where her canoe sat. She tied the valise down inside and dragged the canoe onto a wheeled cart. Then she made herself tea and waited, worrying over what she was leaving behind.

She heard an engine, and looked out to see Raul's beat-up sedan turn the bend in the driveway. With a deep sigh, she opened the back door. The canoe was an awkward load, and it took much shoving and wiggling to get the cart outside. It rocked on the cart bed as she half-pushed, half-dragged it over the gravel drive and across the lawn.

Last full moon she had conducted a spell, looking for the ley lines. The boundary she'd found was marked with stones. She knew that when magic returned, she would be able to push her boat into the river of magic and paddle across into the land of her dreams.

She pulled the canoe off the cart, careful not to damage the glued-on bits and pieces. She checked to make sure her bag was secure, straightened the midnight-blue velvet of the mattress that lined the bottom then rolled the cart back to the house and made a last check to see if everything was in order. A second copy of her will was propped up against her husband's picture on the mantelpiece.

After trying to get food into a stomach queasy with anxiety and anticipation, she waited for night to fall.

Alex put Libby's suitcase in the trunk of the car. The box beside it had keepsakes like the jewelry box and photo album he'd insisted she grab. She'd packed some food for the dog, some medicine, and he had thrown the fireplace shovel in the trunk. It and the poker were real iron, forged by a blacksmith, she'd told him. Alex wished she'd bought more than one set, maybe thirty or forty.

He looked at her house for a moment and asked, “Do you want me to try and fix the door? It doesn't look real stable."

She shook her head, trying to think if there was anything else needed doing.

"It's good enough. It'll keep out the casual thieves. You can worry about it for me in a week, if you want.” She shut the trunk.

He got into the car and leaned back. Dashiel climbed over him and launched into the backseat. She joined them and started the engine.

"What now?"

"The worst things come out at night,” Alex said. “We can go to my hotel, eat, get some more sleep.” He opened one eye. “I have twin beds, and I swear you'll be safe from me, at least right now."

"More sleep?” she muttered as she looked both ways before pulling out of her driveway. “Two hours wasn't enough?” She looked at him. She could almost feel the fatigue radiating from him. She changed the subject. “Then, come dusk, we start the hunt? I mean, isn't that something you make fun of people in movies for doing? I know I've never watched a Dracula flick without thinking how stupid they are for going in the graveyard at night."

"True. But my million-dollar patented Merlin Stone sensor only really works effectively at night."

"You have one?"

"Yep. I look at your eyes, and depending on how bright they glow, we'll know how close we are. And we'll be able to feel it, a little, at night, while we won't be able to during the day."

"Because it's attuned to the moon?"

"Could be. Also because during the light of day no one believes anything can happen, while belief can be suspended after dark. The increased power of people's credulity, people who'll sit in a seance then who wouldn't during the day, people who hear a bump in the closet and suddenly think it's the boogey man—they lend a current to the atmosphere. Add in the people who are doing experimental spells as part of their religion or for fun, and the real magic-wielding sorcerers, and you've got a feel to the night that will allow magic-related things to generate energy."

"Like radio waves?” She jerked into the other lane when someone pulled out of their driveway without looking. Dashiel whined as he slid across the backseat.

"Strangely enough, yes. And I know you can talk, Dashiel, so don't keep silent on my account."

"Not during the day,” Libby said with relish. “We have a deal. During the day, he's just a normal dog. Ain't that right, poochie?"

Dashiel growled and glowered at her. Libby giggled. Alex turned to look at the dog.

"I think she realized before that you have no problems understanding,” he told him.

"Of course not!” Libby protested. “I have the smartest puppy in the world."

"Deer!” Alex yelled.

Libby swerved and pushed down hard on the brakes. Dashiel uttered a bark that sounded suspiciously like a curse word. Libby stared.

"Those deer are..."

Four deer trotted across the road in front of them. Two were normal—fawn colored—but one was fuscia; and the arrogant buck who stood proudly in the center was bright sky blue with a forty-point rack of ruby-tipped gold antlers.

"Don't.... make.... him.... mad,” Alex advised, sinking in the seat.

"I'll keep that in mind.” She tilted her head. “I hope they change color before hunting season."

The deer king, for such he must be with antlers like that, did not like something about the car. He lowered his crown and tensed. The fuscia doe trotted out of the weeds, her own ears dusted in gold, and made a soft sound.

Alex opened the door and got out, holding his hands in front of him. He said something. The king approached, snuffled at the offered hands, then turned away. He and the doe disappeared into the brush, and Libby thought their color might not be a problem after all.

"What was wrong?” she asked when Alex returned.

"He has a problem with cars."

"And I suppose he told ... No, actually, I know he told you that."

He nodded as he leaned back and closed his eyes again. “I've seen stranger things than that."

"You ain't kidding,” she whispered as she took the car out of park and continued their journey.

A few miles later, she touched his shoulder and woke him up. They were parked at a stoplight near where he was staying.

"What do you want to eat?"

They both decided they couldn't face sitting down at a restaurant and ordered a bagful of hamburgers and French fries from a fast food place. Libby put some canned food out for Dashiel and sweetened it with the guts of a double burger, no cheese. Alex was hungry enough that he ate the leftover bun.

"This is not a pair of twin beds.” She pointed to the double bed.

"I know. I forgot. I switched rooms, remember? But I'll take the floor. There're extra blankets in the closet."

"No.” Libby smiled. “If you try anything I don't like, Dashiel will just rip your thingies off."

"Thingies?” Alex picked up her book from the table and flipped through it. “Not my turgid manhood? Not my silken shaft..."

She grabbed the book away from him.

"Don't lose my place,” he warned. “I want to try that sometime."

"You wish. Fantasy is always far superior to reality."

He was laughing so hard that the only rejoinder he could come up with was “Hah!"

She gave up trying to stay serious and popped him on the head with the book.

"You are so too much, you know that?” She threw the book aside. “Now, don't look. I'm taking off my jeans."

"All right!"

"Don't get your hopes up, I can't sleep in them.” She paused. “Remember, your life's at stake here."

"Well, I better take off mine, too, then."

She threw him his pajama bottoms. “Here ya go."

Alex looked at Dashiel. “Now remember, she has to say no. Not ‘Oh!’ or..."

She slid into bed. “Alex, you're starting to annoy me."

Dashiel got up, shaking his head, and trotted to the bathroom. He kicked the door shut with his hind leg.

"Impressive,” Alex muttered. “If you change your mind, let me know, but not until I've had a few hours sleep, okay?"

He lay down next to her, shifting to get comfortable.

"I promise, if I get overcome by your manly presence I'll be sure to wait."

He laughed quietly, shaking the bed. She was forced to giggle herself.

"You're good for me, Libby."

"Thank thee."

"I think I'm in love with you."

There was a bit of silence, while she took that in.

"You think you're gonna die on me, Alex?"

"No,” he said.

"Good. Because I'm not letting anything happen to you."

"So let it be spoken,” he muttered, his sleepiness broken for only a second by a sharp jab in the ribs.

She opened her eyes slowly. She was using Alex as a body pillow, her arm and leg wrapped around him. He didn't seem to mind, and was snoring along gently. She caressed his cheek, and he stopped, took a sort of changing-gears breath then settled in, sleeping and breathing quietly.

She looked over his shoulder. Afternoon sun slanted through the blinds, and the clock said three.

A tongue laved her ankle, and she sat up carefully. Dashiel jerked his head toward the door. She got up, all unsteady legs and muzzy head, and opened it for him.

"Want me to come with you?” she whispered.

"No, I just want to take a walk, see the lay of the land.” He looked up at the sky. “I'll be back in an hour, maybe two.” He butted her thigh with his head. “I'll be careful."

She shut the door and locked it then turned back to the bed. Alex had rolled over—his arm lay in the warm spot her body had made. She was cold, so she slowly rejoined him. Just a few more moments of drowsing, she thought.

He opened his eyes and smiled at her sleepily. He put his arm around her and drew her close. Without really thinking, she started to kiss him.

He was very gentle, and sweet, and warm. She kept expecting pain, but none came. She felt safe, and despite his gentleness he had a solid strength she believed would keep her protected from harm. Thought disappeared, but she heard him whisper in her ear, and she repeated his words back to him, like a spell, or a ceremony.

"Your soul is my soul, your heart is my heart, your body is my body, your breath is my breath, your fate is my fate ... forever."

Forever.

Alex listened as she showered, lying there and thinking when he should be dressing. Just as humans used all their hearts and only half their minds, so dragons used only half their hearts and all their minds. The other half of Alex's heart was full of Libby—he could sense her feelings, feel the calm warmth of the water as it ran over her. He sat up. Dashiel would be back at any time. He should at least make himself decent.

Have I done right? he wondered, for he had bound Libby to him more securely than any ceremony or rite of love possibly could. He had bound her to him after the fashion of dragonkind, and if she were to reject him he would live the rest of his life alone. So powerful were the vows they had sworn that he would still feel her, even on the other side of the world.

He shook his head. Zorovin had not sworn such vows with Alex's mother, and Zorovin had loved Fadima greatly. Or as greatly as dragons love. So, once she was gone back to her land under the sea, his father did not share her feelings. He did not miss her. Alex would miss Libby no matter what happened.

And chances were that he would have to go home. He pulled on his pants and looked for his shirt, found it under the bed. He had to face the truth. Now that his father had found him, in fact, going home was a certainty.

Libby hummed, wondering more than thinking, since logic did not apply to her current situation. She wanted to exult over the recent lovemaking, wanted to relive the beauty and joy of it, which had completely blanked out the horror of her past. She didn't dare, partially from fear for the future but mostly because she had things she needed to accomplish before she could settle into a life with Alex.

If, indeed, he stayed with her like a hero in a story, and they lived happily ever...?

Where to go next? She ran “what if's” through her head. She was using story logic to examine the problem of the Merlin Stone, since so much of it seemed like a fairytale.

She poked through Alex's things, soaping herself with a bar of practical-smelling yellow soap. The shampoo smelled like apples and still bore an orange sale tag reading a fading fifty-nine cents. The smell of apples surrounded her, mixing with the steam. She saw her grandfather's orchard, and she stood in the center of it, looking at the oddly perfect trees among the overgrown ones, the smell of sunwarmed fruit heady. She blinked water out of her eyes and finished rinsing her hair.