“I really don’t want to drive all the way to Tulsa to find a hotel.” I grumped.
“Let me check it out.”
I watched Clint slip and slide to the entrance and disappear within the shiny doors. This time it took longer, and when he returned he was smiling and flashing a room card key.
“They had one left!”
He parked quickly and helped me navigate the slippery parking lot. Our room was on the third floor. The card slid neatly in the groove and the door light blinked green. The room had that new smell that was a mixture of clean carpet and fresh wood. It was decorated semitastefully in a blue, beige and gold paisley/floral wallpaper print. The bed was covered with a thick spread that looked soft and inviting.
It had a single king-size bed.
I realized we were both still standing awkwardly in the entryway just inside the door, so I strode briskly to the window that was heavily veiled by the typical plastic-backed hotel drapes. Drawing them aside, I checked out the view.
Our room faced the rear of the hotel, and all I could see was the backside of the ring of snow-covered trees. Beyond that I knew there was a highway, but it was impossible to see that far with no headlights illuminating the darkness.
I felt a familiar prod within me that signaled an idea that had its roots in Epona. And, sure enough, a thought popped unbidden into my head, which made me temporarily forget about the single big bed and our sleeping arrangements.
“Hey, why don’t we start calling her now?” I turned to find Clint near my shoulder.
“Rhiannon?”
“Of course. Look, this place is ringed with trees.” I motioned to the scene outside the window. “They’re not old, but look how they’re positioned. It’s kind of like the willows that frame Dad’s pond. I drew power from all of them because they were so close together. I may be able to do that here, too.” I thought about how Clint’s presence seemed to amplify my ability to draw from the trees. “Especially if you help me.”
“I think you’re too tired to do that. You’ve depleted yourself today.”
He had a point, but I didn’t want to dwell on it. I knew from experience that sometimes Epona placed me in situations that were difficult, even dangerous, but my Goddess always had her reasons. And I trusted her.
“I’ll be careful. We’re not doing what we did before. I won’t be draining myself. We’ll just be casting out a lure. Let’s see if she bites.” I smiled confidently at him.
“I don’t like it, Shannon.” He sounded worried.
“I could do it without you.” His jaw started to tighten in what I was beginning to recognize as a prelude to his being pissed. “But I don’t want to do it without you.” I took his hand. “Please help me.”
“All right,” he said grudgingly. “But let’s make it quick. If we don’t find her right away promise me that we’ll stop and wait until we get back to the grove to try again.”
“I promise.” I squeezed his hand and started pulling him to the door. But I knew keeping that promise wouldn’t be difficult. Epona was behind this idea, and with the Goddess backing us, success wouldn’t be something we’d have to wait around for.
We made our way quietly out the back of the building. The snow here stretched before us untouched. Its surface glistened with an almost magical glow. The wind had died, so silence lay heavy on the night. It wasn’t snowing, but the air felt ponderous and it smelled of impending snow.
Clint motioned silently to the tallest of the trees, which was off to the right of us, directly in the middle of the line of snowy shadows. We plowed slowly through the drifts, trying to be as quiet as possible, even though the windows to the rooms that faced us were drawn and dark, with only an occasional blue TV light glinting from between the drapes. When we got to the tree line I was surprised that they seemed so much larger up close.
“They’re bigger than they looked from our room,” I whispered to Clint.
“Bradford pears again,” he observed.
“Good. I liked that little Bradford pear outside the hospital.”
“Okay then.” He pulled off his gloves and I followed suit. “Let’s do this like we did in the grove.” He placed the palms of his hands against the gritty bark and motioned for me to mirror his actions on the opposite side of the tree. “Concentrate on Rhiannon and her aura.” He bowed his head and I could see the sapphire of his beautiful aura begin to glow softly.
“Hey,” I whispered. “I don’t know what the hell my/her aura looks like.”
His head came up and I heard the smile in his voice. “It’s silver, like someone melted a full moon into a pot of liquid mercury. And the outline is tinged the deep purple of ripe plums.”
“That was very poetic, Clint,” I quipped, trying to cover how breathless his description had left me.
“Just describing what I see, Shannon my girl,” he replied softly, which did nothing to still the fluttering of my heart.
“Just concentrate, Mr. Fighter Pilot,” I muttered, and closed my eyes.
“Yes, ma’am.” His laugh floated around the silent trees.
I placed my palms against the young tree. Almost immediately the bark beneath my hands quivered and I felt a surge of warmth.
Epona’s Beloved!
“Hello, young one.” My lips lifted in a smile, but I kept my eyes closed. “I need to ask for your help.”
I am here to aid you, Beloved of the Goddess!
I cringed at the intensity of the tree’s reply.
Is this more pleasing, Goddess?
I sighed in relief as the volume of the young one’s reply was turned down a notch. “Yes, much better, thank you.” The tree trembled beneath my hands like an exuberant child. “And I’ll need the help of your sisters surrounding you.”
We are here, Beloved.
Their reply was like the echo of a secret.
Okay. Here we go.
First I pictured Clint and his magnificent jewel-blue aura with its rich outline of gold. I thought of the strength I had felt within that aura, the strength I knew was within him. I thought of his goodness and his loyalty. Against my closed lids I could see the pulsing of his aura, and how it wavered toward me, waiting for me to tap into it and use it, which I suddenly understood how to do. I drew in a deep breath, and with that breath I accepted him, pulling his strength within me. Clint’s aura filled me until my skin pulsed and tingled. I wanted to open my eyes and shout with joy. Instead, I shifted my focus from within myself to the small tree. I could clearly feel the green, vibrant power inside the Bradford pear. My focus traveled up her trunk and out to the very top branches, where I gathered myself.
“Help me, sisters…” My voice sounded eerie. It didn’t come from my lips, but it rang hauntingly from the uppermost limbs of the tree. At once the green strength of the tree was amplified tenfold as I tapped into the essence of the young grove.
Collecting my focus, I thought about Clint’s description of my aura and visualized it glistening sliver. The silver of a full moon…The silver of an ethereal mare…Gathering Clint’s strength, I mixed it with the green warmth of trees, and hurled a thick line out into the night, searching for its mirror image.
Keeping my eyes tightly closed, I followed that probe. It shot straight up and headed north into the blackness of the cold night. This journey was different than the Magic Sleep. I could feel where the probe was heading, but it wasn’t like I was a part of it. It was more like I was looking through an incredibly long telescope. My vision was limited, but I could sense direction and see the cloudy, starless night flashing past.
Suddenly the almost painfully bright lights of a city skyline illuminated the night sky, and the probe of power arched straight though the glassy skin of an impossibly tall skyscraper. The line of power melted through the ceiling of an opulent room, lit only by dozens of golden candelabra. I pulled more power from the trees and felt my breath catch as the probe turned toward a female figure who reclined gracefully on a richly upholstered divan. Next t
o her sat a hawkish-looking, gray-haired man who was vaguely familiar. But my attention didn’t stay with him. It was the woman to whom I was drawn. Her back was to my probe. Her golden-red hair curled past her shoulders with a familiar wildness. The probe crept closer and the woman’s aura began to glow pearlized silver, framed by a ring of plumlike purple.
Rhiannon’s breath hissed from between bared teeth as she stood, and in a fluid motion whirled around so that she faced the probe. She was wearing a silk dress, the color of the golden candelabra. It wrapped seductively around her body, leaving very little to the imagination.
Holy shit, it was me. For a moment my concentration faltered and I felt my hold on the probe waver.
Get it together, Shannon! I pulled more energy from the trees and held on, forcing myself to ignore how disquieting it was to look at this version of myself.
The man at her side started to speak, but she spat a single word at him, “Silence!” All of her attention was focused on the shaft of power, which pulsed for her eyes only.
“Is that you, usurper? What is the meaning of this intrusion?”
My voice—she has my voice. Again my concentration faltered.
And she laughed. “Too difficult for you? Yes, it must be disturbing to see what can be done with knowledge and power, and not have the ability to do it yourself. Her arms spread wide to take in the richness of the room; her voice was taunting. She sounded like me when I was at my most sarcastic.
And that single thought broke the spell.
It was just me—just an indulged, selfish, immoral version of myself.
I smiled and felt power flow through me. I knew exactly what to say to her.
“Actually, I just thought it would be polite to thank you for the gift you left me.” My voice floated around her like I was a tangible presence in the room. I saw the man blink in amazement. Rhiannon’s green eyes narrowed.
“I left you nothing of any use in either world, you fool.”
“Really?” I sounded amazed. “I have found many uses—” I purred the word “—for Clint. Almost as many as he has found for me.”
“You lie!” she shrieked.
(Note to self: don’t shriek when you get mad. It’s really not attractive.)
“Come see for yourself. Obviously he chose me over you…” I reached out and yanked the probe back, but left the ghost of my sarcastic laughter to linger like smoke.
…And suddenly I was back in Broken Arrow, realizing how cold my feet were. I looked around the tree and caught Clint’s questioning look.
“Bingo!” I said. Then I patted the skin of the tree. “Thank you, little one.” I reached into the trunk and through the branches, projecting my voice like the young pear was a microphone. “And thank you, sisters.”
We will always serve the Goddess! they chimed back.
I pulled on my gloves and grabbed Clint’s hand. “Let’s get back inside before someone sees us and calls the loony bin. I can hear it now—yes, Officer, they were talking to the trees! It’s not like this is Seattle. Okies don’t talk to trees, they shoot deer from them. Here they’d put us away forever.”
Clint chuckled and led me back to the room, holding his questions till then.
“What did you say that made her so angry?” he asked after he secured the bolt on the door.
“Do you mind if we talk after I take a shower? I can’t believe how cold I suddenly am.” I was shivering. It felt like my lips were blue.
Clint’s questioning immediately changed to nursemaiding.
“I told you not to overextend yourself.” He pushed me toward the small bathroom. “I’ll call and get some extra blankets.”
I just nodded and shut the door, glad he was keeping himself busy. Studying my reflection in the glass above the sink I was shocked at how horrible I looked, especially when I compared what I was seeing now to what Rhiannon had looked like just minutes before. Where she had been healthy and tanned I was red-eyed and sallow. And, I was surprised to note, my cheekbones stood out prominently. I’d obviously lost weight.
“Good Lord, don’t tell me you look thin,” I accused my reflection. Not that I was fat before, but I have never been considered thin. Think Sophia Loren, Anne-Margret, Raquel Welch. Okay, if you’re young think J.Lo or Catherine Zeta-Jones (only more breasts and less butt).
I pulled off my clothes and continued studying myself. Sure enough, except for a cute little pooch of a tummy, I looked thin. My ribs were sticking out! I’ve never considered thin women particularly attractive. I mean, really. How can you look like a woman if you’re shaped like a little boy? It was tragic, and I had a sudden desire to wolf down a box of HoHos. Conversely, my breasts, which had always been full and well shaped, were definitely fuller and shapelier. And I did like the little pooch of a tummy. I patted it wonderingly.
“What are you thinking in there, little girl?” I whispered.
Clint’s loud knock scared me so badly I almost peed on myself.
“Shannon? You okay? I don’t hear any water running.”
“That’s because I haven’t started the shower yet.” I tried to keep my voice sweet, remembering how shrewish Rhiannon had sounded when she yelled, but I’m pretty sure the sentence ended in a snarl. Clint didn’t seem to notice.
“I got those extra blankets and I scared up some hot tea and a few necessities in the lobby. Also talked them out of a couple of nice terry-cloth robes. Here ya go.” My eyes widened in horror as the knob on the bathroom door started turning. I yanked a towel off the rack and held it in front of me as Clint’s head popped into the room.
“Jeesh! You could knock.”
“Oh, uh, sorry.” He blinked in surprise at the state of my undress. I swear, guys really are morons. “Here—” He thrust a thick white robe and a brown paper bag into my hands. Then he slammed the door like I was a demon from hell.
Shit, did I look that bad?
Apparently so.
I turned the water on and let it get nice and hot while I rooted through the bag. Toothpaste, two toothbrushes, some cheap disposable razors, a comb and a brush and a jar of multivitamins. I smiled at the jar before opening it and taking one.
I probably spent too much time standing in the hot stream of water, but my body felt chilled, like it needed to reabsorb warmth. I used the hotel soap, shampoo and conditioner, luxuriating in the wet heat. The thick white towels felt almost as good as the terry-cloth robe. I left my wet hair wrapped up turban style, grabbed the brush and walked out of the bathroom in a gush of steamy air.
Clint was watching the Weather Channel, and he jumped when I reappeared.
“Hope there’s some hot water left for you,” I said pleasantly, ignoring how skittish he was acting.
“Urmph,” he said, and retreated into the bathroom.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head at the closed door. Men.
Propping the pillows up behind me, I burrowed under the extra blankets. They were those ultrasoft blankets that made me want to rub my face against them. I sighed in relief. It felt wonderful to be warm.
The channel changer was lying within the indention Clint’s body had left next to me in the bed. Might as well channel surf while I was still in this world, and the Weather Channel certainly wasn’t my idea of stimulating entertainment (nor, by the way, was MTV or any sports channel—unless they were showing figure skating).
The last fifteen minutes of a Will and Grace rerun made me laugh, and then I was thrilled to find that on TBS one of my favorite John Wayne movies, The Angel and the Badman, had just started. I snuggled down to enjoy.
The Duke was getting into some serious wooing of his little Quaker farm girl, when Clint finished in the bathroom. I glanced up at him. The robe made his shoulders look even broader. His dark hair was towel dried and adorably tousled. He wasn’t looking at me, though. His attention was on the TV (typical guy).
“Old John Wayne movie?” he asked.
“Yep.”
He squinted. “Don’t think I’ve
seen this one.”
“You’re kidding! It’s one of my favorites.” I patted the spot next to me. “It just started, I’ll fill you in.” Then I hesitated. “You do like John Wayne, don’t you?”
“I’m getting by your tone that there’s only one answer to that question.”
“Only one correct answer.”
“Shannon my girl, John Wayne is an American icon,” he said, placing his hand reverently over his heart, like he was going to recite the Pledge of Allegiance.
“Correct answer, Colonel Freeman. Have a seat.”
I quickly explained the plot to him, glad that he had quit acting like I was Medusa (or, for that matter, Medea). And I am always relaxed and agreeable when watching My Hero, unless it’s one of the few movies in which he dies. Then I’m weepy and tend to drink too much. Good thing The Cowboys wasn’t on—that one makes me cry so hard I snot on myself. No telling what watching it sober and pregnant would do to me.
Unfortunately, my eyelids didn’t seem to understand they needed to cooperate and stay open. I vaguely remember them fluttering as the Duke helped his Quaker friends raise the barn, then Clint’s deep voice said, “Just sleep, Shannon. I’ll buy you the video and you can watch it later.” My lips curled up and I wanted to laugh and remind him that there are no DVDs in Partholon, but I gave up the fight against sleep and drifted down into the warmth of unconsciousness.
CHAPTER 11
Hugh Jackman and I were sprawled in the back of a buggy (much like the one John Wayne and his ladylove had driven off in during the closing scene of The Angel and the Badman). We lay on a delightfully fragrant bed of lavender. My head was in Wolverine’s lap, and he was gently (but firmly) combing through my red tangles with his metallic-claw thingies while he explained to me that he never found women even vaguely interesting unless they were over thirty-five. I peeked through the buggy slats and saw that a human-headed donkey was drawing the carriage. I whistled and the ass turned to look back at the sound, which is when I realized it was my ex-husband’s head. I was still laughing when I opened my eyes and found my spirit body hovering above the Best Western.