Mind Magic (40 page)

All of them dropped their gazes immediately, even Bert. Perhaps Rule didn’t have his anger hidden as well as he’d thought. “We’ll sleep in the hollow tonight. It should be warm enough that humans won’t be uncomfortable sleeping out-of-doors, and the skies are clear. Little John and I will split the watch. In the morning . . . if I’ve led us right, we’re between five and ten miles from the brownie reservation.”

Bert looked disappointed. “From the private section of the reservation maybe, but that’s no help. They only let visitors into the public section, and that’s on the east side, and we aren’t. I may not know where we are, but I’ve taken one of their tours, and I know what that section looks like. There’s a small lake and—”

“We’re northwest of the reservation.”

“Whatever. They don’t let anyone into that part.”

“No, they don’t. Not even law enforcement. It’s in their charter.”

Bert snorted. “Which might be useful, except that we can’t get in, either. They’ve got those magical whatsits—wards—to make sure no one wanders onto their land.”

“I can get in.”

Bert still looked skeptical. “You think they’ll invite you?”

“It doesn’t matter. I can get us in.”

“That’s a bad idea,” piped up another voice.

He sat on a small rock on the other side of the narrow creek, a cocoa-colored little man dressed in brown. His eyes were large and green. When he smiled, dimples popped up in his round cheeks.

He wasn’t smiling now. “A bad, terrible, awful idea,” he went on. “If you—eeps!”

Brownies are fast. Rule was faster. He sailed across the ten feet separating them, arriving just as the little brown man vanished. Rule’s right hand closed around one small leg as he hit the dirt and rolled, ending up on his feet with an armful of squirming, invisible brownie.

Dul-dul doesn’t work on touch.

“Dirty Harry,” Rule said, showing his teeth in what might be called a smile, “how good to see you again, however briefly.”

“Harry!” Danny sounded amazed. “That’s Dirty Harry, Rule! He’s my friend. You can let him go.”

“I don’t think so. You might as well let me see, Harry. I’m not turning loose of you.”

Dirty Harry popped into visibility. His round face, only inches from Rule’s, was screwed up in indignation. “What kind of way is that for friends to say hello? I came here to help you!”

“All right. Help me. Where’s Lily?”

“I can’t tell you that, but—eep!” he said again as Rule squeezed. “Don’t do that! And don’t show your teeth at me that way! I came here to tell you that she’s okay. Well, first I went to the government city, but you weren’t there. Trust you not to be where you’re supposed to be! You’d been told, but did you listen? No, and I had to hunt and hunt—”

“Harry.” Rule squeezed again—not hard, but enough to make his point. “I’m a little on edge. I’ve had a bad day. My men have been fired on. Some are probably dead. And my mate is missing. Kidnapped. But you know that, don’t you? And you know where she is.”

“I—I kinda sorta do. Not exactly, but—Rule, I
can’t
tell! It’s like a pinkie-swear, only more so!”

Rule’s voice lowered to a growl. “You made a pinkie-swear deal with my enemies?”

“But it’s not your enemies who have her! I can’t tell you who does, but I swear that it’s not your enemies.” He paused. “Uh—just who are your enemies this time?”

“The NSA. Homeland Security.”

“Those are government people.”

“Yes.”

“That’s not good. They probably have a lot of guns. A lot of people to shoot them, too. But they don’t have Lily. I’ll pinkie-swear about that.” He tried to tug one imprisoned arm free, with a predictable lack of success. “At least I would if you’d let me.”

Rule didn’t loosen his hold. Brownies might be small and seem helpless, but they were incredible escape artists. He didn’t need a pinkie-swear anyway. He believed Harry. It made no sense. Who else might have grabbed Lily? And yet he believed Harry. “Everyone,” he said, turning to face them. “I apologize for the change in plans, but we’re going to have to go on to the reservation tonight, if you’re up to walking. No rides available this time, I’m afraid. If you’re not up to the hike—”

Bert pushed to his feet. “I couldn’t miss seeing how this ends up.”

Danny scowled and stood. “You shouldn’t be treating Harry this way, Rule.”

Little John and Mike simply rose to their feet. Three feet, in Mike’s case.

Harry sighed as deeply as his constricted position allowed. “This is such a bad idea.”

THIRTY-THREE

LILY
woke suddenly. She hadn’t been asleep long—just long enough to slide into a dream she wanted back. A dream that left her body warm and aroused and tingling in places that made her think of . . .

Rule. She sat up, wide awake now.

There
.
He was
there
, a point as clear in her mind as if she’d been able to see it. And he was less than three miles away. That was close, achingly close, but well beyond the limit they’d been living with during her “period of adjustment.” Less than three miles and headed her way—not straight at her, but in her general direction. He was moving slowly. Walking, she guessed, and she waited, every muscle tense, for her sense of him to jump, splinter, go wacky again.

It didn’t. Her mate sense was working properly. Which wasn’t as huge a surprise as it might have been.

She could mindspeak now.

Not well, not easily, and at this point it went only one way—she could speak but couldn’t listen. Surely that meant her brain had finished adapting.

“Charles,” she said in a voice that sounded much calmer than she felt. “It’s time.”

The old wolf awoke. He stood and shook briskly, as if shaking off sleep.

She leaned close and spoke so softly she barely heard herself. “He’s three miles away. Let’s go.” She rose and laid a hand on his back, turning her attention to her new sense.

She’d practiced for a long time before going to sleep. Hard to say how long, without a watch or clock, but it had left her exhausted. No headache, though. That was encouraging. And no hallucinations. She hadn’t had one since she woke up here the first time. She must have finished adapting.

Practicing had taught her a lot. First, she could only clearly sense minds that were very close. With effort she’d sensed some that were more distant, but it was like groping through sand while wearing thick gloves, hunting for tiny pebbles. Muffled and frustrating, in other words. That made sense, considering how much rock and earth were around her.

There was one exception. It did not make sense. In spite of all the rock between them, Mika’s mind was so tactilely vivid that it took real effort to focus on anything else. It was like looking away from a forest fire, or trying to ignore the mountain lion crouched overhead. Possible, but not easy.

The rest of what she’d learned . . . or thought she’d learned, because she was guessing about some of it. But the mindspeech part was definite. She’d had a hunch her new sense was good for more than seeing/touching other minds. She’d been right, though she’d stumbled across the trick more by chance than design. But the important part couldn’t be tested, so she was relying on a smidgeon of experience and a big guess.

She’d find out soon if she was right, wouldn’t she?

Practice had also taught her how to use her new sense more gently, not so much reaching with it as allowing it to unfold. Using it now felt as if something had been curled up snugly inside her, and she had only to give it a nudge for it to uncoil, stretch . . . and
there
and
there
were the bright little plums that were brownie minds, slick-skinned fruit she could sense but not affect. They were in the tunnel outside her chamber, about ten feet away.

When she and Charles left that chamber, two brownies turned startled faces toward them. “Do you need something, Lilyu?”

That was Hergrith, the one who’d led her through the woods to a clearing where Mika could zap her into sleep, then snatch her. Lily had learned her name when they teamed up against a trio of brownie matriarchs in a knock-down, drag-out water fight during their joint bath. “I need to leave,” she told them.

“Silly. You can’t leave,” said the brownie with Hergrith, a one-braid Lily hadn’t met.

She used one of Rule’s favorite responses. “Mmm.” And kept walking.

“You’re acting funny,” Hergrith said, more puzzled than suspicious.

“It’s not you who’s keeping me prisoner, though, is it? So you won’t try to stop me.”

“Mika will,” the one-braid said.

Hergrith nodded. “And she’s very good with fire, no matter what mind she’s in.”

“I remember.” They’d reached a juncture with one of the other tunnels—a narrow, twisty worm of a tunnel. Charles paused, sniffed, and turned into it. Lily ducked down to follow him. Wouldn’t you know? This was the lowest one yet.

Both brownies shrieked—first just noise, then words as they pattered after Lily.

“No, don’t!”

“You’ll get burned!”

“Come back!” That was accompanied by a tug on Lily’s shirt.

Lily ignored them. Their presence was helpful, though. They’d brought their mage lights with them. “Charles,” she said firmly, “stop and let me get in front.”

The wolf did stop, but he was still blocking her. He gave her a stern look over his shoulder.

“You know why.” Mindspeech was still too difficult and inconsistent—not to mention one-sided—for her to use it often, so before they went to sleep, she’d used her softest voice to explain her plan to Charles. Talking softly shouldn’t make a difference when there was a dragon around; it was hard to keep secrets from a telepath. But Mika wasn’t in her right mind, was she? “Scoot over.”

Reluctantly, he did. And thank goodness for that. Ten more steps and a sheet of fire sprang up, close enough for her to feel the heat.

Her mouth went dry. She was suddenly sure she was insane to do this. And yet she let her sense uncoil a little farther, until it brushed against the bright, burning fascination that was Mika’s mind. “You need me.” She said that out loud, but at the same time she felt her new sense ripple with the words, ripples that washed over that other mind . . . “I’m going to walk forward. If you want me to live, you’ll remove the fire.”

She took a step forward, hunched over so she wouldn’t hit her head. The fire still burned.

What if she was wrong?

The logic seemed inescapable. Mika needed her alive for some mysterious purpose; therefore, Mika would not burn her. The fire was a bluff. She’d thought out every angle she could, and had come up with one possible flaw in her simple plan. Dragons could and did set up automatic defenses. If the fire was on autopilot, something Lily’s presence triggered, she could get crisped whether Mika intended that or not.

So she had to make sure Mika was paying attention. That’s why she’d practiced and practiced . . .

Lily took another step. She was feeling sunburned.

The only one she’d been able to practice on was Charles—whose mind was nothing like a dragon’s. Not to her mindsense anyway. But that was all to the good. All that texture she perceived in Mika’s mind—that was what
took in
what she sent. She felt intuitively sure of that.

In other words, she was guessing. But her guess was based on some experience. She couldn’t mindspeak a brownie. She’d tried. Their mental frequency, to use what Sam had always considered a poor metaphor—she could see why now—made their minds completely slick to her. But Charles’s mind was fuzzy. Practicing with him had seemed to confirm her theory; the fuzziness meant it was possible for him to receive what she sent with those ripples. Not easy, but possible.

Learning to send those ripples had been surprisingly easy. Doing it consistently was hard. She had to pay close attention to two things at the same time—her mindsense and the words she wanted to send. It helped to speak those words aloud. She’d done it by accident the first time when she started cursing in frustration and felt the way her sense rippled, then the way those ripples found purchase in the textured surface of Charles’s mind.

Charles had felt it, too. He’d jolted and given her such a look.

Just now, it had felt as if her ripples had reached Mika, as if they’d sunk easily into the rich texture of his mind. Her mind. Whatever. But what if the dragon was so far into her primitive mind she couldn’t think rationally anymore?

Another step.

The fire vanished—and a word exploded in Lily’s mind. Not a normal word, not an intellectual abstraction meant to convey a concept. This word was the direct and immediate carrier of meaning—a howling, primitive vastness of meaning—

NEED!!!

Lily found herself on her knees. “Yes,” she whispered, then remembered to send that word out in a ripple . . . “Yes, I understand.” She stood, shaky. Now her head did hurt, pounding like it was trying to detach itself. “I have to go.”
Rule. Rule is so close . . . “
But I’ll come back.”

*   *   *

THERE
were many kinds of wards. Rule had listened to Cullen discuss the subject enough, often in great detail, to claim some familiarity with the various types. The ward around the brownies’ private zone was a simple keepaway—simple, but powerful. Most people wouldn’t be able to come within ten feet of it. A man with great determination might get closer, but a point would come when he could not take another step.