Forest Moon Rising (7 page)

“Where do you think I got the idea, Steve? I may be a bit crazy but I’m not delusional. You know me. I changed the situation in my books to a post-apocalyptic world to protect the guilty from witch-hunts. Last time that happened a lot of innocent women died horribly,” I said nonchalantly, as if everyone should know about my secret life.

“So where’s the imp?” he asked.

“You
have
read the books!”

“Only the ones you’ve had published, not the one that’s a year overdue,” he replied.

That was hitting below the belt. I had my reasons for not writing a word since Mom died and Gollum deserted me. But I had this mental block. Every time I sat down to write, the words evaporated. Nothing. Nada. And I was running out of money.

What would I do if I never wrote again? I felt like only half a person without stories and characters running rampant through my brain demanding I give them life through words.

My checking account was also growling like an empty stomach.

I could tap the money Mom left me. But that was blood money. I didn’t feel like I had a right to it.

The rain evaporated and the clouds thinned. A bit of bright sunshine peeked through the tattered remnants of mist.

Donovan wove deftly through traffic headed east toward the mountain. Most of the cars turned off into the farm country, probably looking for corn mazes and harvest festivals. And don’t forget the wineries and microbreweries.

Not once did Donovan ask for directions. He drove like he really knew his way around, getting into the proper lane on the freeway well before interchanges and exits.

“Did you drive all night from Half Moon Lake?” I asked when the conversation wound down and he turned uphill from the freeway toward the Mount Hood Parkway and took the quick left turn onto Elsewhere Avenue. This was the back way into Cooper’s, not the simpler, but longer route offered by the road signs.

He’d been here before.

“I was in town already,” he growled. “I have business and friends in this town other than you. I even have a new girlfriend. But I’ll dump her in a minute if you take me back.” He flashed me an almost sincere grin in the rearview mirror.

A hay wagon pulled out in front of him and crawled at twenty-five miles an hour in a forty-five zone. It shed bits of straw like a long-haired cat snoozing before the fire. Donovan backed off to avoid soiling his lovely car.

“Who is she? I want to give her my blessing, or warn her about you. I’ll have to meet her before I decide which,” I riposted brightly. I didn’t dare settle back in the luxurious seats. I might get too comfortable and let someone else make decisions for me.

Me, a control freak? You bet your sweet patootie I am. For a good reason.

“You’ll meet when I decide you deserve to meet her. Mostly, I’m here on business.” He clamped his mouth shut, a clear sign that he didn’t want to talk about it.

“Halfling Computer Games business, family business, or Cooper’s business?” I never know when to shut up.

“You work for Halfling Computer Games?” Steve asked in awe. “I love their games.” Donovan might legally be described as our stepbrother. His adopted father married our mother then got himself murdered thirty-six hours later. I don’t think Steve and Donovan had met any time other than Mom’s funeral. Steve normally lives in Chicago, far enough away that our wacky family couldn’t just drop in on him but close enough to get home in an emergency. Donovan only showed up to Mom’s funeral because he was executor of the massive fortune Mom had inherited from his adopted father. Most of that money was supposed to come to me now.

I couldn’t bring myself to touch one filthy dollar.

“I own Halfling,” Donovan said proudly.

“Wow, if you ever need a beta tester, let me know,” Steve replied eagerly. The two men rolled off into geek speak about various role-playing games and the logic puzzles of programming them.

I sighed. No more information coming from Donovan.

I let the luxury car cradle me and turned my attention to the autumnal colors beginning to show on the trees, mostly golden cottonwood and brown alder in the foothills, with just enough splashes of red vine maple to delight the eye. With the sunshine breaking through the broken cloud cover, those crimson leaves nearly glowed from within. They looked like something a faery would paint.

The last time Gollum and I had been together we’d helped some lost faeries get home.

Don’t go there. Don’t even think about those few magical days with Gollum.

“The place looks closed,” Donovan said almost happily as he pulled into the gravel parking area in front of the single story building. Blinds covered the multitude of windows beneath the flat roof. A big sign nearly filled one corner. CLOSED. No hours of operation. The brick house behind the store had plywood nailed to all the windows and doorframes. The door of the barn/garage sagged, showing three empty bays.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say this place had been deserted a long time,” I said. “But I drove by two weeks ago. It was open and well kept.”

Maybe it’s not deserted
, Scrap whispered to me.
I smell demon glamour. Like they knew you were coming and disguised the place. Like someone tipped them off.

Someone like Donovan?
I whispered back to him.

Someone like the Nörglein
.

“S
TOP THE CAR, Donovan!”

“No.” Gravel spewed out from his tires as he peeled out onto the road between a twenty-year-old tank of a sedan and a tail-gating oversized pickup.

“Scrap smells the Nörglein. He’s here. We have to stop.” I leaned forward between the seats reaching for the steering wheel. Too far. I needed to put both feet down and push my body halfway through the gap.

“The man said no.” Allie grabbed the back of my sweatshirt and yanked backward.

At the same time, Steve put his arm across the divide.

“But he’s here! The Nörglein is here. He’s disguised the place to keep me from finding him.”

“What can you do about it, Tess?” Donovan asked calmly. He let the pickup pass with a flash of lights and a blaring horn. “This elf is tricky. He’s smart. He’s mean. And he’s a shape-changer. For all we know he could be that big leaf maple tree ready to drop a thousand pound dead branch on us.”

“I agree. We can come back when we have more information and you are fit again.” Allie refastened my seat belt, and planted my cast back in her lap.

“You are in no condition to fight,” Donovan continued. “I can’t take this guy down with mundane weapons. And we have two humans on board who won’t survive a confrontation with a dark elf. Especially one as nasty as this one.”

“I beg your pardon. I know exactly how to fight a dark elf,” Steve interjected. “I’ve made it through all six hundred sixty-six levels of
Halfling
. I know how to wield every weapon in the game arsenal.”

Donovan and I both snorted in derision.

“It’s not the same, Steve. Believe me,” Donovan replied.

“Scrap . . .”

“Doesn’t like me. And I don’t like him. I can’t and won’t use him as my weapon.” Donovan clamped his mouth shut and sped around the ambling old Dodge.

“You’re going the wrong way.” I couldn’t let him get the last word.

“No, I’m not. We’re going to drive until you calm down. Besides, you need to show Steve and Allie the sights, like a good hostess. How about a late lunch at Timberline Lodge, then we continue around the mountain and take in the waterfalls of the Columbia River Gorge? Maybe dinner at Multnomah Falls Lodge. I’ve got a camera in the glove box. We can take lots of fun pictures. Then email them to your father.” He set his course.

“Tess,” Allie said hesitantly once Donovan had turned onto the major highway again. “Maybe we should call Gollum. He’ll know what to do.”

“I hate to admit it, but I think she’s right,” Donovan agreed. He didn’t look any happier than I did at the prospect. “Where is your boyfriend anyway?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.” But, oh, how I wished I had the right to claim him as mine.

Donovan raised his eyebrows at that and peered at me through the rearview mirror. “He was your boyfriend in Las Vegas last year.”

Allie squeezed my knee in sympathy. She knew the whole story. Steve studied the autumnal colors, carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone. He must have learned about Gollum’s loyalty to his crazy, fragile, dependent wife from Allie.

“Where is he, Tess?” Donovan demanded.

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. I know you. You wouldn’t let him disappear completely.”

But I had. Until yesterday.

“Leave her alone, Donovan. Gollum gave me an emergency number before he left Cape Cod,” Allie said. She whipped out her cell phone and pressed the first name on her speed dial. “Damn, no signal up here.”

Scrap laughed
. Not yet, Allie. Not yet. I’ll let you call later. But not yet.
What was
he
up to?

Protecting your heart as well as your ass
. With that, he winked out in a puff of black cherry smoke.

“Look, dahling, do you really want Allie, or worse, Donovan, to be the first one to call your Gollum?” Oh, the things I found out while Tess and clan were touring the grand sights. I got caught up in watching and forgot to go home until almost midnight.

Normally, I’d love to tag along on sight-seeing trips. There’s something exhilarating about playing with the water gushing off our mountain and then tumbling over steep cliffs, spraying droplets hither, thither, and yon, moistening neon lichens or carving rivulets in rock. Then there are the ones that careen down broken inclines, twisting and turning through channels gouged over aeons. Always the same, ever changing. A philosophy of life. Sacred since time began.

Water droplets forming rainbows in the sunshine are perfect hiding places for imps. Gives me practice in changing colors at will to match the arcing prisms.

Sigh. Another time I’ll wax poetic about waterfalls and bright leaves.

“What do you mean, Scrap?” Tess roused from her computer. Sunday night and she’d only written three new pages. But that’s three more than she’s written in ages and ages. This from a best-selling author who churned out a fat, fat, fat book every nine months or so until the dark side of life caught up with her.

I shouldn’t interrupt her, but this is important too. I’m hoping that once she’s talked to Mr. tall, lean, scholarly, and absent, she’ll feel better. At least maybe that huge gaping hole in her soul will shrink a bit.

How can I find true and utter happiness with my Ginkgo when my warrior is so sad and empty?

How am I going to find the time to spend with my beloved if Tess isn’t occupied with her writing? Her lack of a love life is putting a strain on mine.

“Letting Allie call him is the coward’s way out.” I feel like whispering because I know Steve and Allie are asleep in the next room. No sense waking them to share in this very private conversation.

“Calling him at all is the coward’s way out.” Tess plants her face in front of the computer screen and pretends to type.

I insert my cute little body behind the screen and peer out at her making funny faces.

She jerks away with a gasp. “Warn me next time you do that,” she snarls.

“If I warn you, you wouldn’t pay attention,” I pout with just a perfect bit of jutting lower lip that Ginkgo finds irresistible. Then I waggle the tip of my black and silver boa in her face. Pink is fine for daytime wear, and my favorite. For evening calls the black and silver is proper attire.