Thoroughly Kissed (22 page)

“Was everyone all right?” Emma asked.

Michael nodded. “Bruised. But my car was totaled. It filled, almost instantly, with icy cold ditch water, which smelled pretty rancid. I have no idea what was in that ditch, and I don't want to know.”

“Were you in trouble?”

“No,” Michael said. “My dad said the loss of the car was punishment enough. I had put a lot of work into that car, and we'd only insured it for blue book at the price we'd paid.”

“So you lost money?”

“And time.”

Emma looked at him. “Why didn't you want to tell me?”

This time, he did flush. “I never told anyone this, not since I was sixteen. It was like my little secret.”

“Because you were looking in the backseat?”

“I had no business doing that.”

“And neither did they,” Emma said. “Not in your car anyway.”

He smiled. He hadn't told his father that part. He hadn't even spoken of it with his friend. Only Emma. And she, miraculously, had put it all in perspective.

“So,” Emma said matter-of-factly, “did you get to see any?”

He frowned. “See any what?”

“Breasts.”

Again his gaze met hers. In her eyes was a challenge, as if she wanted him to say something about the morning. “I think so.”

“You
think
so?”

“It was dark—there were hands everywhere, and a lot of white skin. I'm hoping what I saw was breasts.”

“I would have thought you'd have seen them after the accident,” Emma said.

“Nope. Somehow she managed to get her shirt back on before the rest of us came to our senses.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I got over it.” Michael paused. “Thanks to this morning.”

He was rewarded with her deepest blush yet. “I had forgotten that I sleep naked.”

“No need to explain,” he said. “It was my pleasure.”

She looked down, and he felt her withdraw. A moment before, he had felt that intimacy again, the closeness that they seemed to flirt with, and now it was gone. Why? Was he doing something wrong?

“Emma—”

“We should probably get going again,” she said in that prim little voice of hers. “Do you want me to drive?”

He sighed softly. The moment was gone. “No. I can do it. I promise to keep my eyes on the road.”

***

Rapid City had tourist trap written all over it. From the time they'd entered the Badlands to the time they left Wall Drug (which fascinated Emma to no end—Michael finally had to drag her out of there), Michael had the sense they were getting deeper into a world where no sane man would travel.

It all had a very 1950s feel—the signs, advertising attractions that would probably bore today's children within hours. Mount Rushmore had held a fascination for him as a child, probably because of
North
by
Northwest
, but today's kids would probably stare at it, proclaim it cool, and wonder where the high-tech roller coasters were.

A lot of the locals worked in the service industry, but he'd spent enough time here to know that the major employer was Ellsworth Air Force Base. Once you got past all the shops selling Black Hills Gold and attractions from the Crazy Horse Memorial to the Sioux Indian Museum, it became clear that the city had a military presence like few others he had ever encountered in the United States.

Emma seemed oblivious to it. But Michael, after having lived in liberal Madison, felt as if he were in an armed camp. Humvees and trucks and military vehicles drove side by side with the cars on the highway. Planes zoomed overhead, and in the parking lot at the Rushmore Mall, he saw young soldiers with their wives and children, heading for an evening out.

Michael had known finding a hotel room in Rapid wouldn't be hard this time of year, and he was right. Most of the hotels, which catered to tourists from all over the world, had no problem with cats. He and Emma got two rooms in an upscale chain—after he had made sure that there was a restaurant and it wasn't under construction—and they went their separate ways before dinner.

He had planned to do research into fine dining for the evening, but he didn't have the energy. The strange morning had worn him out, and after the breakfast he thought he had, but actually hadn't, he really didn't want a lot of rich food. So he decided that chain dining would be just fine.

He found that he couldn't stay in his room. He had already put in his run that morning—two, if his memory were to be believed—so he didn't want to overtax himself. But he could walk and stretch his legs.

The hotel was just off the interstate on rolling acres that had been shorn of trees. If he looked east, he could see the Rushmore Mall, and if he looked northwest, he could see the Black Hills. They disturbed him, just like the Badlands did. Perhaps it was because he knew the area's history—especially the last hundred years, filled with mindless slaughter of the Native Americans, which seemed to repeat over and over again. Or perhaps it was all the evidence of the strip mining that had polluted the land around Rapid and scarred the earth.

Or perhaps it was something more.

The Sioux believed that the Black Hills were the center of the world—that they had a mystical power. He had marked the Black Hills as a place to study when he got to magical beliefs in the Americas—and not just because of the Ghost Dancing and the events surrounding the original Wounded Knee massacre. There was a sense of age here, of things beyond his ken, and it was extremely strong.

For the first time, as he stood in the parking lot, he wondered if he shouldn't have taken Emma a different way. Would the power of the land enhance her abilities? Or was he being silly and superstitious?

He had no idea. But he was learning, with Emma, that it was better to plan for the worst because everything could change in the space of a heartbeat.

***

Darnell hated the hotel room. He paced its entire length, sniffing the floor, then stood by the door—demanding, in his own feline fashion, to be set free.

Emma pointed to his bed. “We're staying.”

Darnell pawed at the door.

“We'd have to drive too far tonight. This is as good a place as any.”

But Darnell didn't agree. He wanted out, and she would have to keep an eye on him to make certain that he didn't escape.

She sat on the edge of the queen-sized bed and patted the stiff paisley comforter. “Come here. Tell me what's bothering you.”

His eyes narrowed, as if he feared she were going to put a spell on him. But she wasn't going to put a spell on anyone, not if she could help it.

“Okay, Darnell,” she said. “You know how to nod and shake your head. I know you've learned that much and that you simply chose not to use it. But if you want your way, you have to talk to me.”

He stared at her, ears flat.

“I'm not going to spell you, but I want to know what's bothering you.” She smoothed the comforter. The room smelled slightly damp, as if the ancient air conditioner in the corner had been run too many times.

Darnell was watching her closely.

“Would you feel better if we moved to a different room?”

He shook his head once, then eyed her as if to say he wouldn't do anything more than that.

“How about a different hotel?”

Again, the head shake.

She sighed. “Is it the town?”

The cat hesitated for a moment, then shook his head again.

“The area?”

Darnell nodded. Once.

“How far do we have to go to make you feel better?”

He didn't move his head at all, but she could have sworn that his shoulders went up and down. Once. A shrug.

She sighed. “I wish you could tell me what you fear.”

“Spirits,” Darnell said, and butted his head against the door.

***

“I tell you he spoke to me,” Emma said. She and Michael were sitting in a coffee shop. They had ordered, but none of the food had arrived yet. “He wants to leave. I promised him I'd tell you.”

“He's not a lion again, is he?” Michael had his hand wrapped around his coffee mug as if he were holding onto it for security.

Emma smiled. “No. I didn't spell him to talk. I think I made a wish spell, and I think it was a simple one-time thing.”

“A wish spell?”

“I said, ‘I wish you could tell me what you fear' and he said, ‘Spirits,' and try as I might, I couldn't get him to speak again. He even opened his mouth a few times, but all that came out were some squeaky meows.”

“Spirits.” Michael gazed out the window, as if he could find answers in the parking lot. “I gotta say this area has me spooked too.”

“Why?” Emma asked. And why wasn't she feeling anything different?

“All the history.” Then Michael's gaze met hers. “Although to you, it wouldn't be history at all.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “That I feel. The land feels very old here, timeless, like it did near some of the Druid ruins when I was a girl.”

Michael's gaze met hers in understanding. “Stonehenge.”

She nodded. “Only here, the land feels damaged. Someone has poisoned the magic, and it's never going to be the same.”

Michael sipped from his cup. “Maybe we should listen to Darnell. Maybe we should leave tonight and drive until he feels better.”

“Oh, good,” Emma said. “I thought part of the reason you were on this trip was so that I wouldn't have to take a cat's advice.”

Michael smiled. “No. It was so that you wouldn't have to rely on his
judgment
.”

“And there's a difference?”

Michael shrugged. “He's worried. I think we have to take that into account.”

“Are you worried?” She slipped her hand around her mug. Its warmth soothed her.

“I'd be lying if I said I wasn't. I think we should take all warnings into consideration despite the source.”

“Darnell has good survival instincts.”

Michael nodded. “I figured.”

“Would traveling until Darnell says stop make you feel better?” Emma wasn't sure how she felt about that. “I thought you were worried about me sleeping lightly and dreaming.”

“I am worried about that,” Michael said. “It feels as if we're in a damned if we do, damned if we don't situation.”

Emma sighed. “Now you know how I've been feeling since the magic showed up.”

Michael reached his hand out toward hers. Much as she wanted to take it, she didn't. She pretended she didn't even notice.

He left his hand outstretched, like an invitation.

“The problem is,” he said slowly, “that if we start driving, we're committed. The roads start getting bleak from here on in. The only place I'd feel comfortable stopping in the middle of the night between here and Billings is Sheridan, and it's not the friendliest city I've ever been to.”

“We could sleep in the car if we had to,” Emma said.

“I don't want to,” Michael said. “There's a whole lot of nothing between here and there, and sleeping in a car filled with stuff is an invitation to heaven knows what.”

Emma sipped her own coffee. It was lukewarm. “If only I had control of my magic.”

“If you had control of your magic, we wouldn't be on this trip.”

She nodded. And if wishes were horses, beggars would ride. It was time that she accepted things the way they were.

“What did Darnell mean by spirits?” Michael asked. “Is there something I'm missing here?”

Emma frowned. “Spirits could mean several things. It could mean ghosts, memories of things that were—but they're not supposed to be harmful in any way. They are just images left on the land.”

“What else?”

“Some kind of magic that I don't understand—magic that seems to have its own base. Places have their own magic, you know, and sometimes it seeps out and into the people who live on the land.”

“If any place has that, the Black Hills do.”

Emma nodded. She wasn't going to doubt how he and Darnell felt. “And then there is dark magic. Sometimes it sends its tendrils out like feelers. People often experience that like a cold draft on the back of the neck.”

“Which do you think Darnell was feeling?”

“I don't know, and I'm not sure he can tell me. Cats experience the world differently than we do. He might have his own ideas—and I'm not going to spell him so that he can talk.”

Michael grinned. “Rapid City doesn't need news of a black lion.”

“If I do that to Darnell again, I have no idea what fate I'll suffer.”

Finally Michael slipped his hand back. “What do you want to do, Emma? I'll go with your decision.”

She finished her coffee and leaned back in her chair. Around her, people were shopping—young girls gazing at mall displays, families strolling through the center as if it were a park, an occasional harried businessman with shopping bags over his shoulder. It all looked so normal, so right. Yet she knew they all had cares and worries, things she couldn't fathom just from watching them.

Was Michael right? Did they all want magic?

Probably. But magic that they could control, a way of improving their lives, of having exactly what they wanted. Not something that peeked into their dreams and created fantastical things.

“What if we keep going tonight,” she said, “and because I'm worried about spirits, I conjure my own? We won't know if I've done it or if they come from somewhere else. And we'll be on the most desolate stretch of highway, in the roughest part of the country—just the two of us.”

Michael looked at her. It was clear he hadn't thought of this. “You could do it just as easily in your sleep.”

“Maybe,” she said softly, not looking at him, “we should keep the connecting door open tonight.”

“Unlocked?” he asked.