Keepers of the Flame (24 page)

“If
we leave here within the next few minutes, and considering the strength and
Power of our volarans and how much Distance Magic we use, I’d say two and a
half hours.”

Elizabeth
let the sentence with more strange concepts sink in, breathed deeply, and
replied, “Hawaii is three hours behind Denver.” She flipped to the list she’d
made. “If they follow the reservations I made, they will be touring the
Byodo-in Temple on Oahu then. Dad is the Dean of Anthropology at the University
of Denver. I arranged a special individual tour. They’ll spend some time there.”
Elizabeth drew out the information and printouts of the Temple.

One
of Jaquar’s long, elegant index fingers tapped the blurry picture. “What is
this?” he asked sharply.

“Huge
bell, like a gong,” Marian breathed.

“Gong?”
Elizabeth questioned, then got it. A shiver sifted through her. “It’s a big
bell.” She fumbled for recollection. She hadn’t printed anything out about the
bell. “But not silver, I don’t think.”

“Sound
from a massive bell is much like a gong,” Jaquar said. “That would help
Bossgond find the location. What are the chances of your father wanting to ring
it?”

Elizabeth
closed her eyes. “A certainty. People are encouraged to ring it. He won’t just
do it once, and he’ll make sure Mom rings it, too.”

“Some
sounds can cross worlds,” Jaquar said. “They are there today. It is fated, I
think.”

19

P
eacocks!
squeaked a
little voice. It took Elizabeth a couple of seconds to understand that the word
came to her mind from the hawk now perched on the edge of the table.

“Tuckerinal,”
Elizabeth said coolly. She hadn’t forgiven him yet for eating her cell phone.
Her fingers curled tight on her organizer. It was a good thing that she hadn’t
gone electronic with her life, like Bri had.

She
stared with narrowed eyes at the ex-hamster. “I had photos from my Dad’s
birthday party on my phone. Show them to Marian and Jaquar. They’ll be looking
for our parents in the dimensional telescope.”

The
bird’s eyes rounded. It blinked, seemed to consider, then projected two smiling
heads close together.

A
moan came from Elizabeth. Her parents had never looked so happy, so solid, so
loving—of each other and of the people their eyes were focused upon—the twins.

To
her surprise, Jaquar’s arm came around her shoulders and he supported her.

Another
photo appeared. This one showed her parents standing together in the
wooden-paneled den. Her father’s arm was around her mother’s waist and in his
other hand he held the leather wallet with their trip information and tickets,
the twins’ gift. Her mother’s arm was around his waist and she leaned into him.
Again they beamed with happiness.

Elizabeth
simply stared. Finally she rasped, “Bri will have more,” she whispered. “She
brought a digital camera.” How glad Elizabeth was they had that!

Jaquar
said, “These two will do fine. Tuckerinal?”

The
hawk hopped to a sheet of paper, shut its eyes, swayed. Elizabeth watched in
amazement as color images appeared under him. They were large, larger than
eight by ten, and the resolution was as good as professional studio shots, not
grainy as they would have been if she’d printed them out. She made a sound in
her throat. He opened his eyes and staggered a little to the side.
Power.
Part of my payment for eating your nut.

Marian
cleared her throat too, and Elizabeth saw her misty eyes. “I apologize again
for the terrible fright yesterday morning. Consider this little trip of ours
repayment.” She gave a half-smile. “I can see why you want to check on them.
I’ll reiterate something else. We Exotiques stick together. I wouldn’t have
knowingly hurt you and this is the last we’ll talk of repayment and favors or
anything else.”

“Fine,”
Elizabeth said. She nodded to the photos. “May I have those after you use
them?”

“Of
course. And Tuckerinal will make a set for Bri.”

“Bri
is fun to be with,” chirped the hawk.

They
heard a choked sound behind them and found Bri, hands at her mouth, staring at
the photos. Behind her was Sevair. Bri’s hair was touselled; she smelled like
the scent of volarans, amber resin.

“They’ll
help?”

“They
think they can check on Mom and Dad. Did you bring your digital camera?”

“No,
I didn’t think of it. Why?”

“Marian
can explain. I take it you haven’t read the
Lorebook of Exotique Circlet
Marian,
either?”

Bri
gulped. “I’ve started Alexa’s.”

“Perhaps
later you can try to sense your parents,” Marian said.

Eyes
firing, Bri said, “We’ll do that.”

The
Citymaster cleared his throat. Bri flung out a hand. “Sevair very kindly
brought me.”

“I
board her volaran,” he said. “I would like to hear how the Circlets can contact
Exotique Terre. It has always been our understanding that such a thing is
impossible.”

Now
Jaquar smiled toothily. “Bossgond. We will be leaving very shortly. You can
come if you want.”

Sevair
hesitated, then smiled. “I have heard he is as irascible as a retired Master
merchant who hoards his gold and knowledge and whose gout pains him.”

“That’s
right,” Jaquar said. “Coming?”

The
Citymaster glanced at Bri, who was still a little shaky, and Elizabeth who felt
wrung out and probably looked it. “Not this evening. But you can tell the great
Circlet Bossgond that I will accept your invitation in the future.”

“We
must leave,” Marian said, whisking toward the door. She didn’t open it in time
for the hawk and it flew through it. Then she and Jaquar left.

Bri
rubbed her eyes. “I thought I saw—”

“You
did,” Elizabeth said.

“I
knew he was magical, but….”

“I
suggest we leave here.” Sevair scanned the room. “I don’t want to be alone in
Circlets’ chambers.”

“Nope.
Ttho,” Bri said. “No telling what would happen if we touched the wrong thing.”

Elizabeth
handed her the yellow bottle. “The language potion.”

“Suppose
we’d better.” As soon as they were in the hallway and the door locked behind
them, Bri uncorked the bottle and drank. Her lips curved as her tongue swiped
them. “Good. Tastes as good as it smells.”

She
stared at Elizabeth. Elizabeth would have preferred to wait until her speaking
and comprehension skills had actually faded until taking the potion, but Bri’s
gaze was challenging and Sevair was watching. Elizabeth opened her own. “It
smells better.” Tossing it down, she licked her lips.

“Jaquar
must have refined them,” Bri said.

“Yes.”

As
they walked to Elizabeth’s tower suite, Bri asked Sevair, “Can they teleport?”

“What
is this teleport?” Sevair said.

“Moving
instantaneously from one place to another,” Bri said.

Sevair’s
eyes widened. “Why would you even think of such a thing? Who told you—”

Elizabeth
slipped an arm around Bri’s shoulders, squeezed, and answered. “In the magical
Songs of Exotique Terre magicians sometimes have this power.”

“Tel-e-por-ta-tion,”
Sevair said, as if tasting the word. A corner of his mouth quirked up. “Fairy
Songs for children.”

“Guess
so,” Bri mumbled.

“Let
me tell you about the dimensional telescope,” Elizabeth said. “Come to my rooms
and we’ll see if there’s a picture in the famous and fabulous
Lorebook of
Exotique Marian
.”

There
was. It sprang off the page, a three-dimensional hologram. The telescope was
set before an infinity of mirrors. Then the image pivoted, the gears moved, and
they were looking through the eyepiece at a small, book-laden apartment.

“Fabulous,
indeed,” murmured Sevair.

Elizabeth
couldn’t say anything. Everything she’d experienced caught up with her. Her
mouth went dry. A dull thunk reverberated throughout her body. Finally she
understood to the marrow of her bones that this was not a dream.

Everything
she’d experienced was true.

She
was trapped in another dimension.

B
ri couldn’t help
it. After the usual exhilaration of the volaran flight from Castleton to her
house, she crashed. Sevair held her arm and she leaned on him, feet dragging.
Evidently he didn’t believe her cheery forced smile.

“You’re
tired,” he said.

“Not
really. I’ve had a nap.” Even though her sleep had been a series of nightmares.

“Really,”
he said firmly and led her straight to her bedroom, pushing her gently onto the
bed.

She
sank into the feather mattress. Another slight shove on her shoulder and she
was flat on her back, tugs as he removed her shoes. “Maybe I can rest my eyes
for a moment.”

“Rest
your eyes.” He rolled the words out, sounding amused. Maybe they didn’t have
that saying here. Her lashes had already closed, but she sensed his smile. That
was good. The man didn’t smile often enough. Her last thought.

A
tinkling bell woke her up. The water clock. She’d adjusted it to ring at
twelve-hour intervals, the least amount of settings. Groggily she stared at it.
Six p.m. local time. Of course they probably didn’t say p.m. Frowning, she
recalled them saying “of the evening” or “of the morning.” Then fuzziness
vanished and she sat up, irritated at herself.

She
didn’t believe in naps. They were a waste of valuable time when she should be
off doing something new and exciting, but two days in a row she’d fallen asleep
in the afternoon, and today, twice! Yesterday, she could justify the sleep
after the long day she’d put in the day before, but today….She slipped from her
wrinkled clothes and dressed in fresh ones, bundling the others down a laundry
chute. Her mind provided rationalizations: she was still recovering from the
time changes, Sweden to Colorado, Denver to Lladrana; she’d worked hard and
needed rest; she was coping with an entirely new situation and dealing with
many emotional shocks; she wasn’t connected to Mother Earth, and for some
stupid reason tears flooded her eyes.

A
crash came from downstairs. Tentatively she probed the house with her senses.

Zeres.
Messing around in the kitchen. Probably eating
her
food, and she was
starving. She grabbed her shoes and put them on and headed downstairs.

He
was munching a sandwich and vegetable salad in the dining room and she simply
stopped to take in the sight. Big, unshaven, barrel chest and beer belly,
shaggy hair, though it didn’t appear as dirty. In fact he looked well scrubbed.

Light
streaming through the windows lingered on the rough old man and the gleaming,
perfectly fashioned table, the delicate china. He didn’t look right here.

Hands
on hips, she said, “Make yourself at home.”

He
grunted around a mouthful of food, swallowed, then his keen dark-brown gaze met
hers. “
Merci,
I will.” He raised his brows at her scowl. “I am your
mentor. You accepted me and sent the rest of those red tunics away.” Pointing a
finger at her, he continued. “Despite all your successes, little girl, and your
confident words, you need a mentor here.”

Unfortunately
he was right. She looked at him, then around the room, thought of the pretty,
fussy bedroom, the purple guest room she’d already given him, all the elegant
and expensive furnishings. “You don’t really fit here.”

He
glared, but, mannerly, he didn’t answer since he was chewing. Shifting from
foot to foot, she realized that not only did he look out of place here, she
felt strange. The house was beautiful, filled with beautiful things that
intimidated her. What if she broke that china, scarred that table? She
understood that everything was hers, or hers and Elizabeth’s, but it felt like
a big responsibility. She had enough big responsibilities right now. And the
house wasn’t her style—it was traditional, fashionable with the most elegant of
the past. Elizabeth and their mother would prefer it.

Furthermore,
she felt a small
pull
, a hint of knowledge that there was some
other
place that called to her more. She’d had feelings like this before, walked a
city until she found the neighborhood, the building she felt most comfortable
in. Sometimes lodging wasn’t available there, but often it was. She’d been
lucky more than once. She wondered what sort of place in Castleton would pull
at her. No harm in finding out after dinner.

So
she fixed food and ate. Zeres apparently took his mealtimes seriously and
didn’t speak. When she was done and Zeres swallowed the last of his apple
cider, she pushed her plate aside and leaned over the table toward him. “We
aren’t staying here.”

“No!”
He drew the smooth, pretty cobalt-glazed pottery mug toward him. “I want to
stay.”

Now
she leaned back in her chair, the carving of the heavy back pressing into her.
“This place isn’t my style.” Even the fancy patient room was too upscale. She
wasn’t a doctor, she was a healer.