Authors: P. R. Frost

Forest Moon Rising (21 page)

BOOK: Forest Moon Rising

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Then I had a quick flashback to the kitchen nook furniture Dill and I had picked out for the house on Cape Cod. The extra leaves in the table allowed us to seat eight. We’d planned on having breakfast there with a whole passel of children. Mom and I had made seat pads, café curtains, and matching place mats in a delicate blue and brown calico.

Gone now. All gone. First Dill died in a fire. Then I’d burned the table and chairs and calico after being contaminated with Orculli troll blood. Then Mom had been murdered.

A wave of grief and loneliness nearly drowned me.

I must have staggered as I clutched a chair back. Doreen grabbed my elbow to steady me. “Dill selected that line of furniture for the store. It’s one of our most popular,” she said flatly. She fought as much emotion as I did. Dill was her brother. The humanity in their bloodline dominated when it came to family.

“Maybe something more Craftsman for my new place. I don’t need reminders of what I lost every time I sit down to eat.” Looking everywhere but at the table, I saw a basket of glass balls on a lamp table beside a more suitable sofa, loveseat, and wing backed chairs that would complement my parquet floors and simple wood railing.

Not just any glass balls. At least one of them had the milky swirls of true beryllium.

Power radiated from it. I’d tasted that power before.

Without thinking my feet marched over to the basket. I reached for the crystal ball, anxious to truly hold it, caress it, bond with it, make it my tool and my companion.

Scrap added a layer of green lust to his pastel pink. Not a good combination.

Doreen moved to intercept me. “Those are not for sale,” she whispered. She kept a wary eye on my imp.

Who was she hiding that information from?

“Not for sale? Or not for sale to me?” My feet adjusted to
en garde
without thinking. I had to shift my weight forward into a half lunge, taking pressure off the newly freed and still weak left ankle. I caught a glimpse of my profile in a mirror on the far wall. The pose made me look more aggressive than I felt.

Doreen backed off, the crystal ball in her hand. The other bits of blown glass in the basket remained inert.

“You really, really don’t want to push this, Tess,” she hissed, still keeping her words quiet and private.

Ask her if she knows the history of the ball,
Scrap ordered. He’d lost his cigar and poised on his hind legs, ready to jump to my hand and transform if I commanded.

Something crashed in the back room followed by a series of smaller thuds. It sounded like a bookcase turned over, spewing books to the far corners.

Then the angry stomp of heavy feet. Multiple heavy feet, like four or five sets of them.

“Doreen!” a shrill female voice screamed. “Get back here now.”

Doreen paused, staring at the prized crystal. Her gaze rose to meet mine.

“A woman came in yesterday. She said she’d been threatened and needed to turn this over to them. They trashed her storeroom looking for it, broke a lot of stuff. She had a black eye, favored her ribs, and limped when she came in,” Doreen explained, just as quietly as before.

“Starshine?”

“Maybe. I bought it from her for a fraction of its worth. One thousand. Mom doesn’t know I spent that much. It was my own money.”

“Doreen, where the hell are you? I need your help,” the other woman screamed. “Get out, weed-ridden, tattooed vermin. Get out of my shop and my home.”

Uh oh. I only knew of one tribe that fit that description and had the audacity to invade another demon’s territory.

“Scrap!” I held out my right hand, ready to charge in and fight the Nörglettes.

“Take it!” Doreen thrust the treasure into my hand. “I freely gift it to you. Take it and get out. Never come back. Especially with the imp. This is not your fight. It’s mine! I don’t want or need your help.” She dashed for the back room.

I gimped toward the opposite exit as fast as I could and still retain my balance.

That went well
, Scrap mused, peering closely at the ball.

“Time to hit the mall and get you a new boa,” I groused as I put the car in reverse and fled. The ball nestled safely in my jacket pocket, absorbing the warmth of my body and reflecting it back.

Chapter 19

In 1805 William Clark of Lewis and Clark named the bottomland on the South bank of the Columbia River for his sister: Fanny’s Bottom.

A
FEW BLOCKS AWAY from Cooper’s the sun broke through the thinning clouds. Heavy showers nestled up against the foothills, but for a short time, I had light and a remembrance of warmth.

“We’re stopping at the park,” I told Scrap. He crouched in the back window watching for signs of pursuit.

Is that wise?
he asked.
We don’t want to get caught in a deserted spot of green when the Nörglein comes looking for you. They can manipulate green, if you remember the blackberry vine that tripped you.

“We’ll be safe enough at Lewis and Clark State Park. It’s a block from the freeway. The guys fishing the Sandy River always fill the parking lot with their pickups.”

Fishermen in this weather?
Scrap flitted to the dashboard. He waggled his thinning boa at me.

“Fishermen fish in any weather, any day of the week.”

He harrumphed and grumbled.
Don’t forget you promised me a trip to the mall.

“I won’t.” I pulled into a narrow space between a giant SUV and a rusting pickup that had seen better days about thirty years ago. My little hybrid looked out of place here, but it wasn’t readily visible to the casual glance either.

We sat in the car in silence for many long moments. The crystal ball almost burned, begging me to take it in my hands, gaze in wonder at the miracles it could reveal. “You ready for this, Scrap?”

As ready as I’ll ever be
. He crawled to my shoulder and wrapped his tail around my neck in a choke hold worthy of a professional cage fighter on steroids.

I cupped my hands around the ball. But I watched a drop of rain caught on a sword fern reflect a rainbow in a tentative beam of light. I hoped its invitation proved stronger than the clouds threatening to fill in the pockets of blue sky.

Look at it, Tess. We’ll never know for sure what it is, what it can do, if we don’t look.
Scrap leaned forward, nearly falling off his perch, eyes glued to the crystal sphere. He was totally entranced.

“Okay.” I drew in a deep breath and shifted my gaze to the milky swirls. I traced them, learned them, followed them in, deep, deep, deeper.

I caught a tendril of floating minerals and rode the trail with the power of a celestial wind in our light sail.

Light squeezes against me. I twist and slide, dragging Tess in my wake.

The strange mineral deposits inside the ball twine around us and drag us around and around. My head spins faster than my senses can keep up.

I need to close my eyes. The real estate inside the ball passes by so fast I’m getting dizzy.

But If I don’t watch and memorize it, I may not be able to get us home.

“Where are we?” I ask Tess as we slide around and around.

“I’m not sure. In a way it smells a bit like the mutant faeries. A bit of rot overlaying something that used to be sweet and pure.

“Yeah, it does smell like that.”

Strange that her nose is more sensitive than mine in here.

We come to a stop with a thump that jars my neck and gives me a headache. At least we have solid ground beneath our feet.

We turn around and around taking in the landscape. I recognize the winding creek as it chuckles over a three-foot waterfall. The spreading, patriarchal oak with mistletoe in the upper branches looks familiar too. But it’s bassackwards.

“Am I still dizzy or is everything fuzzy around the edges, like it’s not fully formed yet?” Tess asks.

“Fuzzy. That’s what’s wrong!”

“You sound happy, is that a good thing?”

“I have a theory. Close your eyes and think about what that tree should be like.”

She does. “You mean like the oak in the front yard at home—in Cape Cod home, not Portland.”

“The one with the swing,” I remind her.

Sure enough, as her mind re-creates the beloved image of happy summer days lazing on the simple board swing dangling from a stout branch ten feet up, the tree firms up. The vague smudges of green resolve into sprays of broad leaves. Clumps of acorns tip the ends. The bark ripples and mottles into the appropriate shades of brown.

When the swing drops down from the upper branches, complete with the thick splice in the rope about five feet above the board, I nearly fall off Tess’ shoulder.

While I flail for balance I notice the creek. The water takes on definition. It loses the artificial feel and smell of a computer generated painting where only a few things move.

A breeze springs up, completing the picture.

But it’s still upside down or twisted right to left.

Left to right.

I hang upside down on Tess’ shoulder and view it all from a different perspective.

“Um, babe?”

“Yes?” Tess is gazing around in wonder. As her eyes light upon a too-bright blue jay in the tree, it begins to move as if released from a spell that froze it in place. It scolds us angrily, then flies off.

Sounds begin to form, insects, birdsong in the distance, wind in the tree canopy.

“Tess, dahling, I think we need to go home. Like now. Right now, before we do any more damage.”

“Damage? It’s like we are creating the place just by being here.”

“That’s what I mean. We shouldn’t be here. This dimension isn’t ready for us yet.”

“You mean it’s a brand-new dimension?”

“Still forming.”

“How?”

“Don’t know yet. But I got a theory.”

“Care to share it?”

“Not yet. I need to do a little research.”

“You aren’t going back to the chat room by yourself! Remember what happened last time.”

“All too well, babe. There are other methods of research closer to home.” Like Gollum. I owe him an email. Good thing I figured out how to invade the innards of a computer.

“As long as you don’t endanger yourself and therefore us.” She sighs in resignation.

“Hang on tight, babe. We’re going to ride the crystal ball home, the same way we came in.”

I close my eyes, grab hold of an imaginary trail of swirling minerals, and slide down a sunbeam right into the driver’s seat of Tess’ car.

“Whew, what a ride.” I wipe imaginary sweat off my brow.”

“Yeah. Quite a ride. I’m exhausted. Let’s go home.” She turns the key in the ignition and engages the clutch.

“Remember, you promised a stop at the mall,” I whine.

“One stop. And only one stop. You may buy one feather boa and nothing else.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I work at it.”