Grail of the Summer Stars (Aetherial Tales) (42 page)

“Where are you? Stevie, you sound terrible. Can you call the police, or something? I’m not feeling great … I’m really hungover and I’m s’posed to be at work.”

She took some deep breaths. “I’m sorry, Patrick. No, I can’t call the police. I know we barely know each other, but I don’t know anyone else to call. I’m stuck in the Mojave Desert. I was hoping maybe you could come and get me. Really sorry.”

“How the hell d’you manage to get stranded there?”

“I, er … it’s complicated but I’m really desperate.”

Another silence. “Shit. You know I live on the coast, right? I’m in San Luis Obispo.”

“I knew it was San something.”

“You’re talking two hundred miles, minimum.”

“That’s okay,” she said hoarsely. “We’ll think of something else.”

“No, wait.” His tone changed. “Stevie, of course I’ll come get you. Don’t worry, that distance is nothing in the States. You need to tell me exactly where you are. Five minutes for shower and black coffee, and I’ll be on the road. But you know it’s going to take me three or four hours to get there?”

“That’s okay.” Tears ran freely down her cheeks. She told him the location, as detailed by Glenda. When she finished, she said, “There’s a restaurant we can sit in. Thank you, thank you so much.”

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Crazy story. I’ll explain when you get here.”

*   *   *

Slipping past the queue at the “Please wait to be seated” sign, Stevie found Mist in the diner. He was in a booth with cushioned seats and a red gingham tablecloth. Country music played in the background and the place had a nostalgic ambience that seemed to please the truck drivers and families who were slowly filling the place.

Mist looked up, his face pallid beneath unkempt raven hair. There was orange juice and coffee on the table. Stevie seized a glass of juice and drained it. Freshly squeezed, it was the most divine liquid she’d ever tasted.

“I asked for the best breakfast they make,” he said. “The waitress grinned knowingly. Heaven knows what we’ll get.”

“As long as it’s hot, I don’t care. I found out where we are.” She placed the folded map on the table. “And Patrick is coming to pick us up. We just have to wait.”

“Who’s Patrick?”

“Oh—you remember Fin at the museum? He’s her brother. But he’ll take a few hours to get here.”

“Did he mind?”

“At first. He was no grumpier than I would have been, woken up by someone I barely know. But he’s on his way.”

Mist nodded in tired relief. “Stevie, thanks. I wish we didn’t have to involve someone else. Again.”

Rosie, Luc, Sam.
Stevie shuddered. “I, I know, but even if they rented cars from here, which they don’t, you can’t rent a car without proper ID, like a passport and driving license. I know that much.”

Breakfast arrived on huge plates containing omelettes stuffed with cheese and ham, hash browns and pancakes, toast on the side. Stevie’s eyes widened. Surely there was enough here for four people who hadn’t eaten for a week. She began to pick at the omelette, feeling guilty about eating while Rosie and the others were frozen, imprisoned, left for dead.

“Try to eat,” said Mist. “We need all our strength.”

“According to Albin, proper Aetherials don’t need food.”

“Albin is deranged.”

“Do you know how cold it was last night? If we were human, we might have frozen to death.”

Mist poured coffee into her mug. “That’s our trouble. We’re Vaethyr; Aetherial enough to survive hardships, but human enough to collapse in a heap at the end.”

“So let’s resign ourselves to needing Patrick’s help.”

“I should have come to terms with it by now.” He gave her a wan but tender smile. “You’re right, we would’ve been mad not to come in here. Forgive me for being stubborn.”

“Forgiven,” she said. “I’ve never seen such vast portions of food. I never thought I’d be in the States … mind you, I imagined a beach in California. Not this. I can’t stop thinking about…”

“I know, but we won’t help them by starving ourselves.”

She obeyed, eating steadily until the plate was three-quarters empty. The overstuffed omelette was luscious; the pancakes, drenched in maple syrup, obscenely good. A waitress came past and refilled their coffee mugs, dropping half-and-half creamers on the table.

“You guys okay?” she said. “You need anything else?”

“We’re fine, thanks.” Stevie managed to produce a smile. Everyone was so friendly and solicitous. “Only … is it okay if we stay for a couple of hours? We’re waiting for someone to collect us.”

“Oh, you got car trouble?”

“Er … yes. Broken down. It’s okay.”

“No problem, you can stay right there unless we get super-busy. I’ll keep the coffee coming. I thought you looked a little frazzled when you came in.”

To Stevie’s surprise, a huge man sitting a couple booths away turned to them. He had long hair straggling from beneath a cowboy hat, a wild mustache, forearms black with tattoos. “Hey, ma’am, I’m driving a tow truck. Can I look at your vehicle for you?”

The kindness of strangers. Stevie opened her mouth, speechless. Mist spoke first. “Thank you, but we ran off the road into a dip and it’s a mess. You’d never find it, and even if we did, it would be impossible to pull out.”

“It’s all right, I’ve called my, er, my brother,” Stevie added hurriedly. “He’s on his way. But thank you so much for offering.”

“Well, you all just let me know if you change your minds. You called the cops about the accident?”

“My brother is a cop,” Stevie lied by reflex. “We’re fine, but thank you.”

He tipped his hat and turned back to his breakfast. Stevie and Mist stared at each other in vague alarm. It was so easy to become entangled in a mire of lies without even thinking. She prayed no one else would start asking friendly but awkward questions.

“Why did you say we ran off the road?” she whispered as the trucker left.

“Why did you say your brother’s a cop?” he retorted. “I think we need to say as little as possible.”

“I should have said you’re a gambling addict who can’t pass a slot machine without playing for hours while I sit stewing with frustration.”

“What is a slot machine?”

“Didn’t you see, near the restrooms, the arcade area with flashing lights? Never mind.”

“I’m not averse to gambling,” said Mist. “Perhaps I’ll give it a try.”

“Perhaps you’re more like Rufus than you realize,” she remarked.

His eyes narrowed, very dark. “Don’t say that, even as a joke.”

“It wasn’t a joke. It was sheer nastiness, because I’m tired and pissed off. Sorry.”

“You’re angry with me?”

“Yes and no. Yes, because you saved me but not the others. No, because the situation was Albin’s fault, not yours. I’m just … exhausted and scared.”

“And so am I. Don’t let’s argue. I’d have rescued them too, if I could.”

“And so would I.” Stevie ate a piece of buttered toast and sipped her coffee. Guilty heaven. “What are we going to do?”

“Find Rufus, as we planned.”

Mist’s eyes took on a strange expression, cold yet burning. Stevie wasn’t sure that he was entirely sane any longer. Any mention of Rufus made him look as driven as Albin.

“And Daniel,” she said softly. She was silent for a moment, then added, “I feel terrible that Rosie and Sam and Lucas got involved.”

He reached across the red gingham and gripped her left hand. “I know, but even if we could go back this minute, how could we help them? I don’t even know how I got the two of us out. Albin had a hold over the others that he didn’t have on you and me. I repelled his attack, grabbed you and jumped. It happened so fast.”

“Well, Iola’s on her way to the Spiral Court,” said Stevie. “Let’s pray to Estel—is that the goddess’s name?—that she makes it. That someone can help them.”

“Estel the Eternal,” he murmured. “Not a deity, exactly, but she’s said to be the very first of us. Which makes her goddess-like, I suppose.”

“In the non-intervening sense?” She rested her head on one hand and stirred her coffee. “I don’t know why people get so excited about gods, because they never bloody do anything.”

Mist laughed, giving the quick, beautiful smile that made her heart twist. The smile vanished as fast, as if darker thoughts had snuffed it out. Through a window, she saw a police car cruising slowly across the car park.

“Mist,” she said, “when we find Rufus, what are you actually going to do?”

He became very still and looked straight into her eyes. “I intend to kill him.”

“Oh,” she said. “Oh. In cold blood?”

“Not cold, when it’s been brewing for centuries.”

Stevie broke the gaze. She asked herself,
How am I supposed to travel with someone who means to kill his own brother? Will that make me an accomplice to murder? If I stay with him, it’s like I’m condoning it. But I can’t not go. If anything, I must try to stop him … or at least to rescue Danny. If he wants rescuing. If he’s even there. If, if, if.

“Has it occurred to you that Rufus is exactly who we need to help us against Albin?”

“I already asked for Albin’s help against Rufus. He brushed me off.” Mist shook his head. “It won’t happen. Rufus never helped anyone but himself, in his entire existence.”

“But isn’t Rufus … unkillable?” She dropped her voice to a whisper.

“I can sever him from
this
life, at least.”

“But you can’t simply execute him. What if he kills you?”

“Then we’ll die together.”

Stevie stared, resisting a desire to throw something at him. “Will you please cut out the melodrama? Is it too much to ask that we sort things out in a civilized manner?”

Her heart jumped as she saw a policeman at the restaurant entrance, talking to their waitress. She heard the officer say, “Highway Patrol, ma’am. A truck driver flagged us down to report that a vehicle had skidded off the road into a ravine? He said the driver and passenger were here, waiting for help? British tourists?”

The waitress waved in the direction of their booth.

Mist’s eyes locked onto Stevie’s in mutual alarm. Before she knew what was happening, he was rising, grasping her elbow, and the world was rushing past in a strange shimmery blur. She heard the waitress respond, “That’s weird, they were right there a moment ago.”

*   *   *

They slipped out the rear entrance and paced around the parking lot, looking at the desert. Mist, acting faster than thought, had pulled her into the Dusklands as they fled the restaurant, and they were still hiding in that realm, which gave the world an eerie patina of ultraviolet tones. A sensation that Stevie previously dreaded as a frightening temporal-lobe storm, full of hallucinations, now felt welcome.

In the Dusklands, human eyes could not see them.

“Why did that truck driver have to call the police?” she groaned.

“I suppose he was trying to help,” said Mist. The purplish light catching his face and ebony hair accentuated his unearthly beauty. His eyes and teeth shone very white.

“Did you pay, by the way?”

“I left a hundred dollars on the table. Was that enough?”

Stevie uttered a gasp. “About four times more than we actually owed. They’ll be happy with that.”

Twenty minutes passed before the patrol car pulled away.
Come on, Patrick, come on
, she thought, frustrated to know he would be at least another two hours. Shaken, they moved cautiously back to surface reality and went inside again to wait. In the store, they bought a selection of cheap T-shirts, jeans and sweatshirts—and a bag to carry their damp stuff—so they were able to change into fresh, dry clothes. She added toothbrushes and other basic toiletries, bottled water and some unhealthy-looking cakes that resembled yellow sawdust filled with shaving cream. Looking around at other travelers, who were peacefully choosing magazines and candy bars, she thought how comfortingly mundane this felt. She didn’t want to leave. How wonderful, to feel normal and human for a while.

By now, a new shift of staff had taken over. Anonymity was restored, but she stayed on edge for the remaining hours. They spent awhile in the amusement arcade, gambling away twenty dollars and winning back twenty-two. Then Stevie noticed a small glass-partitioned room with a row of computers. She slipped in and paid for half an hour’s Internet use, but was out again within ten minutes.

“Are you okay?” Mist asked. “You’ve gone pale. Was there an email about Frances?”

“Yes. She’s still the same.” Stevie took a deep breath and exhaled. “But it’s Daniel; his file storage site has disappeared completely. Does that mean they found the message he left for me?”

“We’ve no way to find out,” Mist said firmly. “Don’t jump to conclusions.”

“Well, what else could it be?”

“Perhaps…” He shrugged. “If Daniel created the site for
you
and got found out, yes, he might be in trouble. But what if the images were put there for some other, unknown person to look at? If they’ve seen them, the site wouldn’t be needed anymore, would it?”

“Some accomplice of Rufus?” She shook her head, trying to blink away the gritty tiredness in her eyes. “Mist, my head will explode if we try to figure this out now. Believe it or not, I’m hungry again. Do you think it’s safe to go back in the diner?”

This time they sat on stools at a long counter, drinking more coffee and sharing an enormous triple-decker of bread stuffed with chicken, bacon and lettuce. She was beginning to feel they were doomed to spend the rest of their lives at a truck stop, spirits in limbo. Then a hand came over Stevie’s shoulder and stole half the sandwich.

“’Scuse me. I am fucking starving. You don’t mind, do you?”

Patrick.

She’d worried that she wouldn’t recognize him, but she knew him immediately: dark hair cut short, stubble darkening his pale complexion, a broad, good-natured face like Fin’s. Stevie turned and flung her arms around him.

“Woah,” he said. “I’m pleased to see you too. Bloody hell, what a drive. I didn’t stop once.”

“You look knackered.” She released him, shaking with the urge to cry from sheer relief. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. You’re a hero. Oh, this is my friend, Mist.”