The Parting Glass (Caitlin Ross Book 4) (20 page)

“Insatiable? Me?”

“Mmm-hmm.” He nibbled my ear.

“You didn’t know about me before you left Portland. If you had, you’d have stayed there.”

“Like as not,” he agreed, his lips moving down to my neck. “That would have been a pity.”

“What did you tell Sage to make her back off?”

“Och, that.” He raised his head. “I made her a binding oath that if I ever hurt you so badly again, she had my permission to rip my sack off and stuff it down my throat.”

“Timber!” I pulled away from him, shaken. Promises of that kind could backfire all too easily, more than ever where magic was concerned. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not, though,” he said, serious. “She wouldna hear me otherwise. Dinna fash. I have no intention of breaking my word on the matter.”

“You might not be able to help it.” I understood too well that sometimes things just happened. They weren’t anyone’s fault and no one planned them. That might make them less likely, but it didn’t make them not come to pass.

“Caitlin. Stop.” Unsmiling, he placed a hand on each of my cheeks and looked deep into my eyes, impressing on me the gravity of his words. “I’ve made my choice. No power on earth can change me now.”

He held my gaze until I gave him a reluctant nod. Then he released my face and tugged my hand.

“Come on. Let’s find some food. I’m famished.”

I believed him. From the bottom of my heart, I did. But I also knew that, as a witch, I faced powers not of this earth every day.

And, as a shaman, Timber did too.

We grabbed a burger at a bar and grill on Pearl, and then hung around the Mall for a couple of hours, checking out the shops that were open late, watching the street performers, and just taking in the ambience. It was almost like a date. I’d been on very few real dates in my life; I always seemed to get involved with guys who didn’t grasp the concept, or who thought dates were stupid or unnecessary. I wondered if Timber would turn out to be one of them. Then, while we were listening to a wretched guitarist butcher Neil Young songs, he disappeared. When I missed him, I supposed he couldn’t take any more of the singer’s off key warbling, and would turn up in a few minutes. And indeed, as the crowd began to disperse, he did, bearing a red silk rose, which he presented to me with an absurdly shy smile.

I smiled back. Timber did dates. Good to know.

“One thing I don’t understand, though,” I said as we at last made our way back down to Eleventh Street, skirting mobs of tourists bent on absorbing the “Boulder Lifestyle.”

“Only one? You’re fortunate.” We paused for traffic at Thirteenth. Timber took my hand.

“How in the world did Stonefeather know to contact you?”

“I wondered that myself,” he replied with a shrug. “It’s not inconceivable he should know of me. He and Mitch are acquainted. He’d know Mitch had a student. The old men at gatherings, they talk.”

“Have you been to many? Gatherings?” We stopped for a minute to listen to the saxophonist outside the Boulder Café do a splendid rendition of “Ain’t No Sunshine,” then moved on.

“One or two. They aren’t comfortable for me. Some of the Native People dinna exactly welcome me with open arms, ken. Mitch has a good deal of respect, and he stands behind his choice, but… Well.” He shook his head, clearing his face of a momentary distress. “As for the other, Mitch did see Stonefeather on the paths, when this all began. He’d have told him he meant to send me. Stonefeather may have done just as you did, and looked in the book. Or he may have used another way to find me.”

“Then why didn’t he…umm…
find you
there? It’s not as if you haven’t been looking. And why now?”

Timber shrugged again. “Dinna ken. I expect we’ll hear about it when we see him. If it’s important.”

We pushed through the crowd just leaving the Boulder Bookstore after a poetry reading and reached the cab stand. A steady stream of yellow vehicles pulled in and out from the curb, leaving fares at the Mall and picking others up for Friday-night merrymaking elsewhere. One cab stood a little behind the main action, apparently on a break. Its operator, a nice-looking man of about thirty, with long, sun-streaked hair and a blue beret, leaned on the hood, smoking a cigarette. I’d seen him before. In fact, I’d seen him at Beljoxa’s Eye; he’d been a customer. Runestones. Not one of the expensive gemstone sets, but the plain ceramic kind. The kind meant to be used, not just displayed. Interesting.

“I’ll be back on in a minute or two, if you want to wait,” he informed us as we approached. He took another drag on his smoke, and I noticed a double strand of crude wood beads, strung on a red thread, wrapped about his left wrist. Prayer beads or worry beads of some kind. Even more interesting.

Timber nudged me forward, indicating that he considered this my area of expertise. Somewhat reassured by marking the cabby as a man of magical interests, I stepped forward.

“I don’t know if we want a cab, exactly,” I said. “We’re looking for someone, and we hear she takes cabs a lot. A woman named Marilyn. She wears white all the time and she…”

I didn’t get any farther before the cabby interrupted.

“Oh, Moon Pie.” Something in his voice gave me the distinct impression that the nickname had originated with the cab company. “Sure. I haven’t seen her tonight, but she’s always out on Fridays. Hang on.”

He reached in the open cab window and pulled out the handset of a radio unit.

“Fifty-five,” he said, depressing the “talk” button. Before long, the dispatcher’s voice crackled back.

“Go ahead, Fifty-five.”

“Dispatch, has anyone seen Moon Pie tonight?” As he spoke, the cabby gave Timber and me the once over, and I saw him recognize me. He looked up at Timber again, and then back at me, puzzled. Speculating on what we wanted with Moon Pie, I decided. Before he could put the pieces together, the radio crackled for his attention.

“Why, Fifty-five? You looking to be enlightened?” the dispatcher inquired, deadpan. Sage had been right; the cab company knew all about Moon Pie.

“I’ve got a possible fare who needs to locate her.”

The dispatcher passed along the message through static-filled silences. It was odd, hearing only one side of what had to be a many-voiced conversation. While we waited, the cabby finished his smoke, ground it out on the pavement, and pocketed the butt.

“Didn’t think you’d be the type to go looking for Marilyn,” he remarked. His smile invited confidences.

“Oh?”

Just then, the dispatcher came back.

“Fifty-five.”

“Go ahead, dispatch.”

“Forty-two says she took Moon Pie to the Clarion about an hour ago. No one’s picked her up.”

The cabby hung up the radio. “Moon Pie hasn’t selected a disciple for this evening. If you want to catch her, I can take you.”

I climbed into the back of the cab. After some hesitation, Timber slid in beside me, muttering.

“I dinna like being a passenger.”

“Remember that thing about giving up control?” I poked him with my rose.

“I didna think it would apply to being carted about like a parcel.”

“The wise man looks at all possibilities.”

He scowled at me.

The cabby got in and picked up his radio again. “Fifty-five. I’ve got a fare from Pearl Street Mall to the Clarion.”

“I’m not surprised, Fifty-five,” the dispatcher returned in the same droll tones. “Call in when you get there; I may have a pick up for you.”

Punching the meter, the cabby pulled away from the curb. I relaxed into the big back seat, enjoying the unaccustomed luxury. Timber sat stiff as a board, his thigh pressed against mine, enduring it.

After a few blocks, I became aware of being watched, and glanced up to see the cabby’s eyes examining me in the rear view mirror.

“You run the Eye, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Next to me, Timber stirred, restless. I sensed something going on with him, something more than irritation at being a passenger in a cab.

“It’s a good place. It has grit.”

“Thank you.” Weird compliment. But then I reflected on some other metaphysical shops I’d visited, and it didn’t seem so weird, after all.

“So, what
do
you want with Moon Pie? If you don’t mind my asking.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but Timber cut me off.

“We mind. Drive, aye?”

In the mirror, the cabby raised his eyebrows at me in question. I gave a microscopic jerk of my head toward the glowering Scots monolith at my side. The cabby slid his eyes toward Timber, shrugged, and shut up. I was sorry for it. He seemed nice, and I thought it might be useful to have an ally of sorts among the cabbies.

As we pulled into our destination, our driver picked up his radio.

“Fifty-five. I’m at the Clarion.”

“Stick around, Fifty-five,” the dispatcher replied, droll as ever. “And by the way, your lady friend here says if you end up with Moon Pie, stay out of trouble.”

The cabby laughed. “No problem there. She’s the phone operator,” he explained over his shoulder. “Anyway, I may still be here if you need a ride back.”

I peeked at Timber. He didn’t seem overly pleased at the prospect.

“We’ll see,” I said, handing over the fare, along with a hefty tip for the man’s troubles.

“Good luck with…whatever.”

Timber got out of the cab, slamming the door with more force than necessary. I leaned over the seat to touch the cabby on the shoulder.

“Don’t mind him,” I said in an undertone. “He’s not always like this. I don’t know what’s put a bug up his ass.”

The cabby let out a snort of amusement. “Don’t you? Well, far be it from me to…uh…enlighten you.”

When I exited the cab, feeling more than a little perplexed at the whole situation, Timber grabbed me and dragged me into the hotel lobby by main force.

“What’s eating at you?” I spluttered, wrenching my arm out of his grip.

“That gobby wee shite,” he growled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the cab.

“He wasn’t exactly ‘wee,’ Timber MacDuff. Not as big as you, but not ‘wee.’ What about him? I liked him.”

“Aye, and he liked you. All too well.”

“What?” Inside, I didn’t know whether to laugh or squeal with joy. He was jealous! Now that I understood, I found it kind of cute, if somewhat alarming. “You can’t be serious.”

“Aye, I am. I was glad to hear he had a woman already. You’re mine.” Stopping in his tracks, he heaved me around to face him and kissed me without mercy. “You dinna ken, do you? What you do to me?”

I raised a finger to my bruised lips, feeling the fire start up deep in my belly. Timber’s passion was contagious. I’d never been involved with anyone so confident in his masculinity, who hadn’t been a total prick. I liked it. A lot.

“I’m getting an idea, I think,” I said.

That settled, at least for the moment, we headed into the bar. It looked like every hotel bar I’d ever seen. It had the usual dim lighting, dark woodwork, and a theme—this one seemed to be mountaineering, combined in some idiosyncratic way with fish. Understated easy listening music played on a hidden sound system.

I spotted Moon Pie right away, a petite, brown-haired woman in a draped white silk dress and white leggings. Someone’s idea of guru chic, no doubt. She had earrings like crystal chandeliers, a chunky crystal bracelet, and a great big crystal in a silver setting around her neck. She was alone.

Timber glanced at me, a question in his eyes. I nodded. We each took a deep breath and started our approach.

“Moo… Uh, Marilyn? I’m Caitlin Ross,” I said when we stood beside her table.

She’d been staring at a picture of a leaping trout on the nearby wall. At my words, she raised her eyes. They were a soft, deep brown, filled with somewhat glazed faith.

I nudged my partner. “This is Timber MacDuff. We’re hoping you can tell us where to find someone. John Stonefeather. We heard you saw him last Saturday.”

“I know.” She had a high-pitched, breathy voice that nonetheless held a note of discernment. Her brown eyes passed over me, scrutinized Timber, and sharpened almost imperceptibly.