Forest Moon Rising (9 page)

At least one of us hadn’t changed appetites. And he hadn’t tried to change my order to something more substantial. Donovan would have, in the name of taking care of me.

As I dropped into a seat ungracefully, Gollum gently raised my injured foot to rest upon the extra chair. “That should be more comfortable for you.”

“You’ve talked to JJ and Raquel so you know what happened.” I fingered the pearls nervously, wondering if I’d have had better luck in the forest if I’d worn them.

“Yes.”

We stared at each other in uncomfortable silence.

“Do you still have Gandalf?” I asked about the long-haired white lump of a cat Gollum took everywhere.

“Of course. He’s quite the elderly gentleman now. Spends more time sitting on the windowsill looking out than anything else. But he has become quite attached to Julia. She needs him.”

“Oh.” His wife again.

“What are you teaching this term?” I finally asked just to break the silence.

Bill brought us big eggplant-colored pottery mugs and an emerald thermal carafe of coffee—freshly ground beans, dark roast, the house specialty. A ceramic cream pitcher in Bill’s colors and a clear sugar dispenser were already on the table along with cutlery wrapped in printed, paper napkins also in the same deep colors.

We fussed with the details of pouring and accessorizing our drinks.

“Oh, Tess, I almost forgot.” Bill came back with a second pitcher, this one in beige plastic. “I laid in a supply of soy coffee creamer. You aren’t my only lactose intolerant customer. Try it. If you don’t like it I’ll get you a fresh cup. Your orders will be up in just a minute.”

He left us alone again, too busy to chat. Although with the six booths and three tables nearly full we weren’t really alone. Not the best place to carry on a private conversation about otherworldly critters I needed to fight with the Celestial Blade.

Gollum took a sip of his coffee, smiled and nodded at the excellent brew, then answered my question. “McLoughlin College hired me to teach all levels of anthropology, including a class on the persistence of old folklore into modern urban myths.”

“Your area of expertise.”

He nodded, falling back into silence.

“Why McLoughlin? With your credentials you could go anywhere.”

“When I knew for sure I’d have Julia with me, I needed more than adjunct work, a term here, a year there. I applied to fifty different colleges. McLoughlin was the only one to offer a tenure track position. And it’s three thousand miles away from Julia’s mother. And mine.”

“So tell me about your wife’s breakthrough.” I had to know just how well she’d recovered after fifteen years of institutionalization. Maybe if I knew she was fully functioning in modern society I’d finally accept that Gollum was lost to me.

But if she were fully functional, why did she have a nurse? Why couldn’t he leave her alone for more than a few minutes?

A small niggle of hope burned in my heart.

I squashed it.

“Julia’s caregivers noticed years ago that on Wednesdays she was bright, cheerful, and coherent. Then on Thursdays her mother visited—blew in and took over. Within the hour Julia reverted to mute wandering, and refusing to acknowledge her surroundings, or other people. By the following Wednesday she was on the road to recovery again.”

“Until her mother descended and convinced her she was useless, a hypochondriac, and a drain on her resources,” I finished the thought.

My own relationship with my mother had been weird, but at the end we’d found rapport. Mostly I’d given up running my life in a futile attempt to win her approval. She’d never acknowledge that I could do anything right until ... until after Donovan’s foster father died. But she depended on me to take care of her, no matter what guise she put on her actions.

“How’d you get her mother to stop exerting control over Julia, keeping her dependent and useless?”

“Bridget found a new charity. She’s turning vacant lots into mini parks, planting trees and community gardens, and commissioning murals on ugly walls. She doesn’t have time to run up to Boston every week.” He flashed a half smile. Just a brief glimpse of the warped sense of humor we shared.

“Are you well? Other than the bunged up ankle that is?” he asked before I could pursue the topic of his wife.

“Mostly.”

We fell back into silence that lasted until Bill brought our plates. He fussed about for a moment, refilling coffee mugs, grabbing extra butter, and satisfying himself that we wouldn’t starve in the next few moments if he left us to tend other patrons.

“I found a psychiatric nurse who works swing shift at the local hospital,” Gollum blurted out between bites. “I give her room and board. She gives Julia companionship when I’m tied up at the college.”

“Precautionary or necessary?” No polite way to ask that.

“Necessary. Julia had a couple of relapses early on, short-lived, but scary when they happen. Nothing serious for nearly three months now.” He stared at his half finished meal.

I wanted to ditch my toast. Bill had put too much butter on it.

We both found solace in coffee.

“I’m not sharing her bed,” Gollum finally said. He kept his mug close to his mouth, muffling his words.

My heart skipped a beat and my breath caught in my throat. I don’t know why. I was the one who ended our affair. I couldn’t carry on with a married man and I couldn’t ask him to divorce the woman who always asked for him first during her moments of coherence.

“I’m sorry, Gollum, I can’t do this. I need all of you or nothing.” I knew that he was safe if not happy.

More than I could say for myself with the Nörglein preying on women in the hills above Portland.

I fumbled for my crutches and ended up losing my balance, banging my cast on the floor and nearly falling off my chair.

Gollum was right there helping me with a strong hand. He settled me on my feet and escorted me to the door after flinging money on the table. More than enough to cover the bill and a generous tip.

“Take this file, Tess. I printed out something that might help you. Call me if there’s anything else. But please, I beg you, don’t go deeper into this until you heal.” He handed me a manila file folder from the folds of his leather jacket.

“I’m going to High Desert Con in three weeks. I should be mostly healed by then,” I mentioned the science fiction convention in Pasco, Washington where we’d first gotten to know each other and begun our adventure with Sasquatch and hellhounds out of Indian legends. “I won’t do anything about the Nörglein until after that.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” He kissed my cheek and ran off into the rain, disappearing into the mist rising from the river. As substantial as a dream.

“I
’M IN A HOLDING PATTERN,” I told myself.“Just waiting. I can’t do anything about the Nörglein until I’m fit and cast-free again.” I repeated the mantra later that week at dawn as I watched the sunrise behind Mt. Hood from my balcony. This morning I watched a lessening of the dark more than an increase in light.

Winter approached.

Maybe if I said the phrase often enough, I’d feel less frustrated and channel all my energy into writing. Two pages yesterday. That’s all I managed.

But that’s two more pages than you’re used to doing,
Scrap reminded me.

I cradled my hot cup of coffee in my hands and repeated my words.

“If I have to stay cooped up in this apartment I’ll go crazy.”

Crazier,
Scrap commented from his perch on the railing.

“I need to do something,
anything.
What do you think about contacting Doreen Cooper to get those photos?”

“No. I know I can’t confront that nest of Damiri demons on my own. What about neutral territory? I’ll meet her for coffee at Bill’s.” I hadn’t been back to my favorite café since meeting Gollum there. What better image to banish his association with the place than my wicked sister-in-law?

Scrap just shrugged. He shifted to straddle the railing and stare at the depths of the river. It ran swift and dark today, swollen by recent rain. He reminded me of a curious cat.

“See anything interesting out there?”

The cell phone in my pocket droned a phrase from “Dance Macabre.” I’d changed it back to the
Star Wars
theme but somehow, no matter what phone I had, the ring tone changed daily to the weird and weirder.

“Speak of the demon.” I recognized Doreen’s private number on the screen. The ring tone fit. It always did.

“Why are you putting me off, Tess?” she asked without preamble.

“I’m not anymore.” I gave her directions to Bill’s.

“I’m in the area. I’ll buy you breakfast. Twenty minutes.”

“Make it thirty.” The thought of the long trek on crutches didn’t appeal to me in the least. Next week I’d get a boot over the cast or something so I could actually walk. Today, I was still handicapped.

You’re building upper body strength,
Scrap reminded me cheerfully as I dressed in navy blue sweats—the only slacks I could pull over the cast.
When you’re fit again you’ll be swinging the Celestial Blade around like a toy.

I snorted something impolite.

One half minute before the appointed time I wrestled with the swinging door at my favorite café.

Donovan of all people jumped to help me.

“You? Why are you here?”

He shrugged and motioned me toward a booth in the back corner.

“How long before I can expect my favorite customer to manage the door on her own?” Bill asked from behind the prep counter.

“Soon. I miss this place. And you.” I gave him a genuine smile.

“That’s my girl. Coffee, of course. Something more substantial?”

“Don’t know yet.”

“Someone is waiting for you,” Donovan reminded me.

“She commandeered the back corner booth like she owned the place,” Bill whispered as I stumped past him. “He seems to be taking orders from her.”

Totally unlike the Donovan I knew. My hackles rose. “Careful or they might leverage you out,” I replied sotto voce.

“Is that worse than ‘careful or I’ll put you in my novel’?”

“About equal.” This time I wasn’t joking. More than one Kajiri demon had been embarrassed by a thinly disguised, not very flattering, version of themselves in one of my books. A few normals, too. Nothing I could get sued over though.

“I’ll leave you two to talk. Call me when you’re ready to leave, Doreen,” Donovan said. He leaned over and gave her a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

Huh?

Doreen lifted her gaze from the depths of her coffee cup, black, no sugar or cream to add extra calories, and with a jerk of her head granted me permission to sit.

I did. Awkwardly. But I had a better vantage point to study her.

Her espresso-brown eyes tracked Donovan to the door and along the window line to his car in the back of the lot.

That was why I hadn’t seen the distinctive vehicle before I entered the building. That, and being preoccupied with the cumbersome crutches.

Dill’s sister had twisted her thick mane of black hair into an intricate knot on her nape. A white streak from each temple drew dramatic lines up and away from her full cheeks, making her face look thinner than it was.

Her elegantly cut black slacks and blazer over a pale pink blouse disguised her robust curves, bordering on Junoesque. Two-inch heels on her sensible pumps would add to her above normal height, furthering the illusion of slenderness.

She looked Damiri through and through.

Except for the pearls, so fine and translucent, they picked up hints of pink from her skin and her blouse. Her strand appeared to be a duplicate of my own. I touched mine through my sweatshirt just to make sure Doreen hadn’t stolen them.

The hair on my nape rose and my Warrior scar throbbed.

“Oh,” she said flatly as I scooted and shifted to find a comfortable position with the leg elevated. Her gaze remained fixed on my cheek. She could see the scar. That confirmed her demon ancestry.

Not all half-breed demons are menaces to normals. A lot of them want to blend in more than they want to highlight their otherness.

Scrap remained transparent. No hint of pink or red to warn of danger.

“Just, oh? No hello? No, ‘how’ve you been for the last four years’? Just, oh?”

So much for family reunions. I noted that she no longer wore a wedding set on her left hand and wondered what had happened to the husband she clung to at Dill’s funeral. I couldn’t even remember his name or what he looked like. Just a vague shadow. But then I’d been so filled with grief, and the beginning of a raging fever, I barely remembered my own name at the time.