Boundary Lines (12 page)

Chapter 20

I called Magic Beans to check in with Maven, as instructed, but she wasn’t in yet. It was a little early, but I drove straight to the meeting spot I’d arranged with Simon, feeling simultaneously angry, embarrassed, and maybe a little wistful. It had been stupid of me to try and make nice with Morgan and Sybil; I shouldn’t have let Lily talk me into it.

At the same time, in a weird way, the whole nasty scene at the Teahouse had made me miss Sam even more. Morgan and Sybil might have been assholes, but they were also trying to protect their little brother and sister. It reminded me of what I’d lost—and, somewhat ridiculously, got me thinking about the few times Sam and I had fought,
really
fought. It had always been over stuff like this—one of us wanting to keep the other safe, certain we knew the best way to do it. I hadn’t wanted her to go out drinking the night before the SATs. She hadn’t wanted me to join the girl’s hockey team because she thought I would get hurt, and it would scare boys away from me.

Okay, she’d been right on both counts. The point was, I could kind of see where Morgan and Sybil were coming from, even if I didn’t like it. But I had no idea how to show them I wasn’t dangerous.

Yeah, it would probably be a little easier if I was more confident about that last part.

But setting all of that aside, there was still the matter of Sybil’s suggestion that I was ruining Simon’s relationship with his girlfriend. That hurt me, in a way that pierced my usual defensive anger and shot straight to a place of real anxiety. Had this come from them, or from Tracy? Could any part of it be true? Quinn was the person in my heart, I was sure of that. He was the one I thought about, the one I wanted to go to when I felt upset. But at the same time . . . hadn’t I been thinking more about Simon since Atwood’s barn? Didn’t I worry about him more?

Was I just more invested in his welfare because I’d saved his life? Or could it be that my magic was drawing me to him, or him to me, now that he’d crossed the line and come back? For about the fortieth time, the enormity of what I’d done to Simon struck me. I’d brought him back from the dead, and I had no idea what that might mean for either of us long-term.

Unfortunately, I reached the rendezvous point long before coming up with any answers. Simon’s Chevy was already parked at the curb when I pulled up, so I pulled in behind him. I’d intended to go straight to his door so he wouldn’t have to do any unnecessary walking, but he’d already gotten out of his car and was limping toward me when I climbed out. He wore a slightly beat-up-looking backpack, the kind with a cross-strap over the chest to secure the weight for long hikes. He seemed to be leaning a little heavier on his cane, though that might have been my imagination.

“Whoa,” Simon said when I stepped out of the car. “Where are
you
coming from?”

I looked down at myself, remembering the dress. Right. “Tea with your sisters,” I said sweetly. Simon’s mouth dropped open, which made me laugh. “Did the doctor give you the okay to drive?”

“Only when I’m not on the painkillers,” he explained. Ah. That might explain why he looked in rougher shape than before.

He was obviously about to ask me questions, so I held up a finger. “Hang on a second, I’m gonna change.”

“Where—oh.” Simon turned his back as I climbed into the backseat with my bag of clothes. I heard him whistling purposefully, to protect my modesty, and laughed again. The sports bra and panties I was wearing provided more coverage than most bikinis, but who was I to stop Simon from being a gentleman?

When I climbed out of the car, it was in jeans, a T-shirt, and low hiking boots that were flexible enough for running. Simon was leaning against the hood, still whistling. “Did you hear from Quinn?” I asked him, heading to the back of the Subaru. Simon followed me.

“No, I figured he’d call you first,” he answered.

“I left a message at Magic Beans, but he hasn’t called back. Maybe he just hasn’t gotten it yet.”

I glanced over at Simon in time to see an uneasy look flicker across his face. “Quinn’s usually pretty good about returning messages right after sunset,” he said hesitantly. “Do you think he’s still cleaning up the mess from the thing at the Walrus?”

I hadn’t thought of that, but I supposed it made sense. “That’s probably it.”

“Did you really have tea with my sisters?” he said disbelievingly. “All of them?”

“I really did. Hold this for a second.” I handed him the light knee-length jacket I’d packed with my clothes—although the day had been warm, the temperature was dropping with the sun. After looking around for cameras or witnesses, I unlocked my new safe, loaded the Smith &
Wesson revolver, and secured the weapon in the quick-draw holster, which I strapped around my waist. Then I picked up the Ithaca shotgun, loaded it, and attached the three-point sling to the mounts at the bottom of the grip. I slipped the sling over my shoulder and took my jacket from Simon. After shrugging it on, I shoved extra rounds into all the pockets and tied the strap closed at my waist. There were buttons on the jacket too, but if I secured them, I wouldn’t be able to get the shotgun out quickly. Finally, I tugged out my earrings, tossed them into the trunk, and snapped the trunk shut. I looked at Simon and held out my arms. “Well?”

“Um, you look really good?”

I rolled my eyes. He obviously had a lot of sisters. “No, dummy. How obvious are the guns?”

“Oh.” He studied my jacket. “Everything’s covered. You’ve got some suspicious lumps, but I’m sure it’ll be fine from a distance.”

“Cool. Ready to go?”

He nodded. “I stopped by the ranger cottage today while you were at work, talked to some of the cops,” he said. “They didn’t want to let me into the park while they were investigating, but given my previous involvement they were willing to talk to me.” He dug a map out of his jacket pocket, unfolding it on the trunk. I used the flashlight function on my phone to illuminate the map, which turned out to be a satellite view of the park. I knew the trails, of course, but it was good to see the bird’s-eye view.

“Based on the dogs’ reactions, they think the kid disappeared about here,” he said, pointing to where the Flatirons Loop intersected with the Royal Arch Trail. “And the pellet was found over here”—his finger slid down close to the trailhead, just off the Bluebell Mesa Trail—“which is also where I found the displaced dirt when I stopped by yesterday.”

I studied the map. The two spots were relatively close together, which was good for us. “So you just want to kind of hang out in between the two?”

“More or less. The police have the parking lot and the trailhead closed off, but there’s not much they can do about us walking into Chautauqua itself. If we go in south of the trailhead, through this neighborhood, we’ll end up at Bluebell. If I’m remembering right, there’s an outcropping of rocks where we could wait.”

I nodded absently. Chautauqua is right on the edge of the busiest part of the city. This whole stakeout idea had seemed like a smart move on the phone, but now that I was standing next to a heavily populated area, running around at night wearing lipstick and two guns, well, I felt more than a little ridiculous.

On the other hand, what was the harm? If we got caught by the police, I’d say I was there to protect Simon, who was investigating the sandworm. If there really was a sandworm.

Then I realized I was thinking about using the word “sandworm” with regular humans, and decided we better get moving before I came to my senses.

We had to go slowly because of Simon’s cane, but I tried to keep my body language relaxed so he wouldn’t think I was impatient. Still, I couldn’t help checking on him out of the corner of my eye. It was getting darker every second, but there was still a little light from the setting sun, and the glow in the sky from Boulder kept the area around us more or less visible as we hiked in. As soon as we got farther from the main roads, I switched on the red-lens flashlight I’d stuffed into my jeans pocket, illuminating the path in front of us. I also opened up my jacket to make the shotgun more accessible.

After about half a mile, Simon caught me looking at him and grunted with frustration. “I know, I know. I’m slow.”

“It’s not that, I just . . . I worry about you doing more damage to your nerves.”

Simon snorted. “Don’t be. I’ve got enough people fussing over me
already. I was counting on you to be the one who just had my back.”

“If I’d had your back two weeks ago, it might not have gotten messed up in the first place,” I muttered, but he didn’t hear me.

We walked a little farther, and then I checked my phone for the thirtieth time since sunset. I was getting reception, even up here, but there were no missed calls from Quinn or Maven. “I’m gonna try the coffee shop again quick,” I told Simon.

He nodded, and I listened to the phone ringing at Magic Beans. After half a dozen rings, a recording of Maven’s voice kicked in. “Thank you for calling Magic Beans, located in Boulder’s historic Pearl Street district. We are either closed for a private party or unable to come to the phone . . .”

I left a message there, too, just in case, and jammed the phone back in my pocket.

Simon offered, “We could go back, if you want. Check on him. Them.”

I blushed, glad that the darkness would hide it. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

Simon made a noncommittal noise, and then said, “There. That’s the spot I had in mind.” He nodded forward.

I panned the flashlight and spotted an outcropping of flat rocks, big enough to sit on. Simon had chosen well. “Looks good to me.”

As soon as we reached the rocks, Simon sank gratefully down onto the biggest one and peeled off his jacket. He was sweating from the exertion of walking with a cane, which I could sympathize with. I’d had my share of sprained ankles and broken toes as a kid. After taking off the pack, he unzipped it and pulled out a heavy-duty camp lantern. It looked familiar, and I couldn’t hold back a little smile. “Did you and Quinn go shopping for those together?” I teased.

“You mean that vampire scum? Hardly.” Simon sniffed imperiously. “One of us
may
have called the other to inform him about a sale,” he said airily.

I laughed. He switched on the light and set it a few feet out from the rocks, so it lit up the whole immediate area. I glanced around a little anxiously, but I was pretty sure the tree line hid us from any cops patrolling the trailhead. Either way, I figured it was worth the risk to be able to see the sandworm coming.

Simon also pulled out the promised thermos of coffee, took a sip, and offered me some. I turned off my flashlight and put it back in my pocket to preserve the batteries. And to keep my hands free for coffee and my shotgun, which I cradled across my lap.

“I swear I could fall asleep on these rocks,” Simon muttered. I took a closer look at him. Underneath his wire-frame glasses, Simon’s eyes were red with fatigue.

He’d texted me at four in the morning to tell me about the missing CU student, I remembered. He obviously wasn’t sleeping. “Nightmares getting any better?” I said nonchalantly. Simon just shook his head. “Can you tell me what happens in them?” I tried.

He was silent for a long moment, surveying the landscape in the dimming light, and I didn’t think he was going to respond. Then abruptly, he began, “There are a couple of different recurring dreams, but in the one that really gets to me, I’m on my way home and I’m hurrying, because something important is happening. I don’t know what it is, but there’s this sense of
urgency
, like when you’re running late and you know you’re gonna miss an appointment, but there’s nothing you can do except go through the motions of trying to make it there in time.”

I nodded. I had certainly done that. Hell, I’d done it this afternoon on the way to the Teahouse.

“Anyway, I’m running to get there, and I’m excited, because something big is happening. Then I start to remember that I’ve had this dream before, and I realize what’s coming, but by then I can’t stop running. And there’s suddenly this
ripping
.” He shuddered. “It’s like I’m being torn in half. Maybe I get hit by a bus or something? It’s always really vague.”

I considered that for a moment. “You said you’re going home in
the dream. Do you mean to the townhouse? Or to your mom’s farm?”

Simon’s eyes went distant as he thought about that for a moment.
“I . . . I’m not sure,” he admitted. “It’s not so much that I’m picturing a destination. It’s more like I’m picturing the sense of safety I’ll have when I get there. Home.”

Oh, God. My heart sank into my stomach. I had never put much stock in dream theory, but that was before I started using them as a rendezvous with my dead sister. And even a simple analysis of Simon’s nightmare was pretty telling.

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.

His brow furrowed. “Why?”

“Because I ripped you back,” I said softly, and Simon went very, very still, his eyes going wide as he put together what I was saying.

“You think it’s a memory,” he said disbelievingly. “That I’m remembering my
death
?” Letting his cane fall to the ground, he scrubbed his palms through his shaggy hair, as though he could scrape the idea out of his brain. “Is that what it was like for you, when you died?”

“No, but . . .” I held up my hands helplessly. “Each time I died, there was never really the possibility of moving on to another place, you know? My magic wouldn’t let me cross the line. But maybe those dreams are your mind replaying the trauma of crossing the line and being dragged back.” I felt tears sting my eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

“Oh. Hey.” Awkwardly, he scooted off his rock to mine and enveloped me in a hug. His lean swimmer’s body was warm, and I allowed myself to accept the comfort despite the way one of the weapons was now digging into my side. “In case it wasn’t obvious, I’m glad you brought me back.” He moved back and pushed up his glasses, giving me a slightly crooked smile. “I wasn’t ready to die, Lex.”

“But maybe there was a cost,” I whispered. “The things that have been happening—the sandworm, the vampires—is there any way they’re related to me bringing you back? Like I threw magic out of balance, or something?” During the hunt for Charlie’s kidnappers, I’d accidentally pulled too much magic into myself, throwing my whole body out of whack, threatening my life. It was the reason Lily had given me the tattoos, to help me channel my magic. Could all the strange things that had happened lately be a larger-scale version of that?