Now and for Never (28 page)

“Milo?” The urgency of Clare's tone dragged his attention back to her. “I want you to listen to Connal, okay? He has, um, ritual instructions. Goggles?”

Piper jumped and almost dropped Milo to the floor again. “What? I mean, yes?”

“Get Milo something to hold on to that isn't you,” Clare said. “And maybe, I dunno, take notes or something.”

“Right!”

Piper disappeared from the reflection only to reappear moments later with the coat stand from the hall that she thrust into Milo's fist as if it were Gandalf's magic staff. He felt like a bit of an idiot clinging to the wooden support like that, but it helped. Piper disappeared again and then popped back into the mirror frame holding a notepad and pencil. With her goggles down over her face and her tongue stuck out the side of her mouth, she furiously scribbled down details as Milo relayed them to her, translating from Connal's Iceni language.

“There is a hill,” Connal was saying (and the effect in the mirror was disconcerting, the double image of his face overlaying Milo's, both their mouths moving, green/blue eyes staring wildly), “a big one, near the centre of the island.”

“Yeah. I saw it on the map.” Milo tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace. “It's called Big Hill.”

“That's original,” Piper muttered, scribbling away.

“You have to meet us there,” Clare said. “At sundown.”

Milo tried hard to block the strange pain of the mystic connection and concentrate on the message, but it was getting harder by the second. “Okay …” He ground his teeth together again and tried to concentrate. “Why there? Why then?”

“Dusk is a time of worlds between worlds,” Connal said. “And that hill is where we will open the spiral pathway, you and I.”

Milo felt a surge of fear mixed with excitement. “What do I have to do?”

“Wear the sacred symbols,” Connal continued. “The same ones I wear.”

“I sent you a picture,” Clare said helpfully.

“Got it.” Milo nodded stiffly. “Your message triggered this little conference call, I think.”

“Oh! Right!” Clare nodded. “That's actually what I meant to happen! Yay, me!”

“Clare tells me you've opened a way—a portal—before,” Connal said, leaning forward and blinking rapidly to keep his focus.

Milo could only nod in return and gasp out for Piper what Connal told him: that they'd be doing essentially the same thing again, only under Clare's specific direction, as she seemed to be the resident expert on blood-magic time travel. After a few minutes of Connal's instructions—about how best to protect himself and how to strengthen the conduits they'd create using the blood Maggie had stolen—Connal leaned back a bit, nostrils flaring as he gulped breath.

“Clare,” Milo rasped in the silence, “where's Allie?”

Clare hesitated. “She's okay.”

“I saw … pictures of creatures …”

“Oh.” Clare winced. “I probably should have deleted those …”

“Monsters …”

“It's okay! They're just a bunch of werecougars and Mallora told me—”

The mirror seemed to ripple and distort.

“What?” Milo leaned forward, desperate to hear. “Mallora told you what? Clare?
Clare!
”

But Clare couldn't answer. Milo reached for her, let go of the coat stand, and fell forward. As he thrust out a hand to save himself the mirror shattered beneath his palm, breaking the mystic connection and leaving Milo with only shards of glass and uncertainty.

19

T
he weather in the wake of the storm was unsettled, with a brisk wind off the ocean. Comorra had found a spare cloak to lend Clare and had shown her how to fasten it with a silver penannular brooch. It helped cut the chill as she stood at the top of the cliff she'd just climbed, leaning on her hands and knees and gasping for breath from the exertion.

Down below on the beach, Connal and Comorra were directing some of their Iceni pals in the rigging of a makeshift lift system, using one of the smallest boats—not much bigger than a canoe, really—as a kind of dumbwaiter so that they could lift the bags of Druid loot topside and ready them for transport. Marcus and Clare had talked about sending just the torc back, but both were wary about leaving that much Celtic loot kicking around prehistoric Canada. And then Marcus remembered that, in the museum back in London, he'd read about all the other small hoards that had been found in and around the Snettisham area—about a dozen or so he seemed to remember—and they figured it must have been the gold stolen from Mona.

“It all has to go,” she'd told Morholt. “To be safe. You can visit it in the museum when we get back, okay?”

She'd thought he might cry.

Now he was hovering around the edges of the operation,
eyeing the canvas bags as they were piled into the lift boat and sighing loudly. They'd use the boat as a kind of sled, dragging it across the grassy hills. Some of the Celts from the galley would go with Llassar through the portal to help him bury the hoard when the time came. Never mind the fact that Llassar was Paulinus's prisoner. Minor detail, Clare thought, deperately hoping that when the time came they'd figure out just exactly how to make that happen. Al would have ideas.

Meanwhile, Clare and Marcus would hunt for Al.

“Let's
go
!” Marcus urged as Clare wheezed and silently chastised herself for not staying in better shape. He, of course, hadn't broken so much as a sweat or a fingernail on the arduous climb.

Stupid Legion training.

She'd just opened her mouth to snark at Soldier Boy when a startlingly loud crackle of static filled the air and Clare almost jumped out of her skin.

“What the hell?” she yelped.

“Cla—
skrksks
—re! Are you—
srssrkssk
—there?”

“Al!” Clare batted at the folds of her cloak, grabbing desperately for her bag and fishing in its depths for the Korg 70,000
BC
walkie talkie. “Al?” she said, depressing the Talk button on the brown plastic handset. “Al—is that you?”

“Allie!” Marcus cried and rushed over.

“Yes! Clare? It's me—
sksrssss
…”

“Al? Can you hear me, Al?” she called frantically.

Marcus looked like he was barely managing to restrain himself from tearing the thing from Clare's hands. But, really? Clare had dibs. Although she did shift the walkie to the other side of her head so they could both hear.

“KKrksssk ….”
The walkie crackled and hissed some more. And then: “Clare? Clare! Can you hear me? I can hear you!”

“Al! Yes! Where are you?”

“Um.” Suddenly the static cleared and Al's voice came through loud and clear. “It's a little complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it,” Clare said.

“Okay. I'm kind of a prisoner in a Roman camp. Again.”

Clare blinked, stunned, and exchanged a blankly incredulous glance with Marcus. “Where?”

“On the other side of the island from where the caves are,” Al said. “The terrain slopes down to a wide beach there and that's where Paulinus and his buddies made camp.”

“On
this
island? That's not good. Comorra told them not to set foot on it. I think she was pretty serious.”

She heard Al snort. “Yeah, our pal Paulinus? Not so good at taking orders. Only giving them.”

“Okay,” Clare said. “Explain. Last we saw of you, there were … things.”

“The manimals,” Al said. “Yeah, I know.”

Clare raised an eyebrow at the walkie.
“Manimals?”

“Cut me some slack—I can't actually pronounce the word they call themselves. But they're the guardians of this place. The ones Connal and Mallora were talking about.”

“The others.” Clare nodded. “Right. And by the way? Mallora did an end run around us and summoned them. She says she was trying to save you from having to get involved but—”

“No no!” Al said. “She was telling the truth. At least, that's what these guys have told me. She tried to do it on her own, but when she wasn't able to call enough of them they thought I could be useful after all and decided I should join the party. They just didn't bother to invite me first.”

“You've
talked
to them?” Marcus asked, ever the curious linguist. “How?”

“The zot-magic works on them, too,” Al said. “One touch and wham! Suddenly I'm hearing translated other-speak in my head. I mean, not when they're furry—then it's just all growling and snarling—it only works when they look human.”

Growling and snarling,
Clare thought.
Mentioned casually.
Allie had clearly developed nerves of steel over the course of their adventures.

“So you
know
they're, like, weredudes, then?” she asked.

“Hence my technical term, ‘manimals.'”Al sounded as if she was grinning. “Which is kinda funny because their leader's name is actually Manaw … Heh. Manaw the Manimal. Clare— you should
see
this! They can turn into wolves and bears and I think one guy is, like, a muskox or something. Manaw turns into a cougar when he shifts. It's kinda, well … it's pretty cool.”

Clare thought she'd heard something in Al's voice. “He's totally hot, isn't he?”

“Um. No. Well, yes.” Clare just knew Al was squinching up her face in an effort not to audibly blush. “But, you know, I'm totally—”

“Taken,”
Marcus interrupted her emphatically.

There was a moment of silence. Then Al said, a bit breathlessly, “I am?”

“Yes.”

Clare glanced heavenward and took back the walkie. “Fine,” she said. “Now that
that's
settled, can you
please
explain what the hell you're doing back in Paulinus's nasty Roman clutches when you were kidnapped by Hello Hottie-Kitty?”

“Manaw and his guys set it up,” Al said. “They figured if I could infiltrate the camp I could get intel on what the Romans were up to. So they got me close to the beach and then we made it look like I was being chased by a bear and I ran straight for the camp. I guess Junius the legionnaire was feeling all charitable and stuff after we saved him from drowning, because he chased off the ‘bear' when he saw me. Of course, then he hauled my butt into camp, threw me in a tent, and put a guard on me.”

“Great.” Clare didn't see how this situation would be the least bit helpful. “So now what? I mean, we've arranged with
Milo and Piper to meet at the top of the island, on the big hill, at sundown—”

“You did?” Al asked. “How?”

“Connal. Magic. I'll explain later,” Clare said. “But it's not like we can leave without you. Or even manifest shimmer conduits unless we've got Llassar to send through with the torc. Now you're
both
Paulinus's prisoners and this is a disaster! Stupid interfering manimals. Stupid Mallora. How on earth can you help the weredudes when you're a prisoner? And what kind of help could they possibly need beyond all the muscley shirtless huge fangs and claws and speed and freaky animal magic they've already got going for them? I mean, you're awesome, sure, and a wicked-mad techno ninja, but let's face it, a little handicapped by the lack of a wireless router and an electrical outlet!”

“Whoa … whoa. Hang on a second, partner,” Al interrupted. “I have a plan.”

“You do?”

“Of course I do. Junius said Paulinus is on his way to talk to me,” Al said. “If I can work out a way to rig the Talk button on my Korg to stay down while he's here, I figured I could—”

“Use the walkie and let us in on the conversation!” Clare blurted. “And then—”

“Try and get him to spill the beans on his plans!” Al said. “Exactly! And
then
—”

“See if we can't somehow use that to our advantage,” Clare continued, “while you break Llassar out of Legion jail and get him to the rendezvous so that he and the gold can get home—”

“And send Paulinus packing at the same time—”

“Right! Awesome! You're—”

“We're—”

“Geniuses.” Clare grinned widely. “I know.”

Marcus, his jaw hanging open, looked back and forth between the Korg 70,000 and Clare. As if he'd found himself
in the presence of sorcerors. “Do you two do this kind of thing all the time?”

“Since grade school. Yeah.” Clare waved her hand airily. “You might wanna get used to it. So?” she said into the handset. “Can you do that? Rig the walkie?”

“Uh …”

They heard the sounds of Al rummaging around.

“Yeah,” she said a bit breathlessly. “I have band-aids and a hair elastic. I think I can do it with that.”

“That's my genius sidekick.”

“Partner in crime.”

“Time crime.” Clare grinned despite her trepidation. “And time's a wastin'. Get to work, partner.”