The plane began descending. “Soon enough.”
Ashley leaned toward the window. “Wow! The moon’s really bright. I see a long, skinny lake down there. What’s it called?”
“What do you think I am? Your tour guide? Don’t say another word until we land, or I’ll shake this plane so hard, you’ll hear your own bones rattle.”
Resisting the urge to snap back with a stinging remark, Ashley chewed on her tongue. That was too close. She needed to be careful. After all, she was dealing with one of the head honcho demons, not some backwoods wannabe bad guy. No telling what he was capable of doing. If he didn’t need her to rescue Devin, he probably already would’ve . . .
She bit the edge of her finger. Time to change the subject. It looked like she would have to go ahead and get Devin out of the candlestone, but how could she make sure everyone was safe before she did it? She released her finger and wiped it on her shirt. After she did the job, they wouldn’t need Pebbles, Mrs. Foley, or her anymore, so they were bound to go ahead and kill them. Why risk letting them go? And they sure wouldn’t let Pebbles go before she finished. Otherwise she wouldn’t have any reason to do what they wanted.
She pulled in her bottom lip. Then again, maybe they would kill the others. Maybe they didn’t know that she’d rather die than let that maniac out. But what options did she have to keep the others safe? She had Walter on board, and Larry was just a breath away, but was that enough to mount a rescue attempt?
Ashley scanned the dashboard, trying to decipher all the instruments. Altimeter, air speed . . . Aha! The GPS! She flipped on the switch and waited for the system to lock in on her location. Within seconds, the screen showed a tiny airplane in the middle of a map. Using the control buttons to zoom in tight, she calculated their location—Deep Creek Lake State Park in Western Maryland. At their rate of descent, they would land in minutes. But how could she tell Larry without letting Samyaza know what she was doing? He had already warned her to be quiet.
As the plane flew low over the massive lake, Ashley mumbled in the back of her throat, “Morse code,” then coughed to cover it up.
The plane shook, angling heavily to the right. “No more warnings! I know you’re up to something.”
Ashley pinched her nose. “I said dis is the worse code I’ve had in a long time. I think I’m getting chills.” She began chattering her teeth, making long and short clicks to match the dashes and dots of Morse code.
“You asked for it!”
Merlin II rattled like a bag of marbles in a toddler’s hand, pitching, then barrel rolling. Instruments all over the dashboard exploded, pouring out sparks and smoke. The cargo door flew open. Walter’s crate skidded sideways. It teetered on the edge of the doorway, then plunged into the void. A rush of wind sent papers flying out in his wake.
Ashley tried to scream, but her tongue cleaved to the roof of her mouth. When the plane finally settled down, she bent over the side of her seat and clutched her abdomen, swallowing an eruption of bile as she desperately tried not to vomit. Tears filled her eyes, hot, stinging tears. She sobbed, quietly mouthing, “Walter! Oh, Walter!”
As Billy tried to propel himself forward, his mind felt like it was breaking apart and the pieces were scattering in a hurricane. Just seconds ago, he was able to think clearly, but now the simplest thoughts proved to be a struggle. Even as he tried to formulate an idea for his next step, he forgot his previous thought, forcing him to start over. All he could remember was his mission and that Bonnie was somewhere nearby. Could he still contact her? Was this brain-splitting stuff happening to her, too?
He steeled his consciousness, calling on all his energy to keep his sanity. He spoke out in his mind. “Bonnie? You still there?”
“Yes!” Her thought seemed agitated, frightened.
“Okay,” Billy “said,” trying to calm his thoughts for Bonnie’s sake. “Get ready . . . for a change.”
“What . . . kind . . . of change?”
“I don’t know.” Every word Billy expressed was like spitting out a cannonball. “A big one . . . I think.”
“Okay. . . . I’ll do my best.”
Billy drew up every last atom of strength and spoke firmly in his mind.
I have no sword or shield in hand,
No weapons of a knight.
I come to save a wandering soul
From shadows of the night.
My eye has seen, my ear has heard,
’Tis love that sets men free.
To make scales flesh, to make red white
O give us eyes to see.
As his words died away, Billy’s awareness of himself increased—first a sense of feeling in his fingers, toes, and skin, then a flood of scarlet filled his vision. The substance slowly thinned, like strawberry gelatin melting into liquid.
Flexing his fingers and arms, he could tell that his body was again intact, though he was unable to see anything through the red stuff. A voice reached his ear, echoing across an expanse like a call from a man on a distant shore. “Take this. You will need it later.”
Billy suddenly felt a lump in his hand, as if someone had pressed a small object into his palm and rolled his fingers closed. The voice continued. “Give it to the first person who mentions your father’s royal name. A ring is the only ticket to the theatre. As soon as you find the theatre, you must enter. Only then will you learn how to rescue the deathless.”
The liquid slowly dissolved into gas—red mist, then pink, and finally white vapor that melted away, like fog evaporating in the heat of mid-morning. Billy’s eyes focused on a quaint village setting—a cobblestone street with a horse carriage tied up on the side and a planked sidewalk filled with streams of people window-shopping as they passed by a feed store, a dry goods shop, and a butcher.
He opened his palm revealing a rubellite ring. “Will you look at that!” he said, turning to Bonnie. “I already have one. I wonder why—”
She breathed in a loud gasp. “Billy! My wings! They’re gone!”
The sound of galloping ripped through Billy’s ears. He jerked Bonnie back, just in time for a team of stagecoach horses to tear by. “Whew!” Billy shoved the ring into his pocket and mopped his forehead. “We were in the middle of the street.” With one hand still on Bonnie’s shoulder, he turned her gently to get a look at her back. “No wings. Cool!”
Bonnie spun around, a hurt expression on her face. “Cool? You like it better this way?”
“No! It’s not that! I was just thinking the weird stuff that’s happening here is kind of exciting. That kind of cool.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t necessarily like it better.”
Now near the edge of the street, Bonnie set one foot on the raised planks and one in the sand that had collected at the berm. She eyed Billy carefully, her lips tight.
He shrugged again. “It’s just different. That’s all.”
Bonnie turned away and dipped her head. “I know. I’m just kind of upset at myself. I was excited too, like I was glad they were gone, like I’ll be sorry if they come back when we get out of this place.” She crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “I should know better.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Billy drew a line in the sand with his shoe. He wanted to cheer her up, but what could he say? Everything that came to mind seemed inadequate, either too contrived or too romantic. He decided to go for it. Better to tell the truth than to worry about how his words sounded. “Bonnie, I would like you, wings or no wings. It doesn’t change how important you are to me.”
Bonnie lifted her head, a tender smile gracing her lips. “Thank you,” she whispered. “You know, it feels really weird, almost like I’m off balance. I have to be careful not to fall forward, because I’m so used to carrying a load on my back.”
“I’ve changed too.” Billy laid a hand on his stomach. “I don’t feel anything brewing down below. I think my fire breathing’s gone.”
“So we don’t have dragon traits anymore?”
“Seems like it. I
had no idea those horses were coming, so I guess my sense of danger bit the dust, too.”
Billy surveyed the stores and the signs hanging overhead. Sunlight filtered across them from a pink horizon. Although it had been late evening at their campsite, it seemed to be earlier here, the time when afternoon began giving way to dusk. Candles glowed in windows, and people meandered into various buildings, locks clicking as they shut the doors behind them. Closing time.
A man strolled by, tipping a black bowler. “Evening, Miss,” he said to Bonnie.
“Bat?” she said softly. But the man didn’t turn. He repositioned his hat and ambled down the walkway.
“Bat?” Billy repeated. “Who’s Bat?”
“Bat Masterson.” She spread her arms, her eyes wide. Her face was so pale, she seemed as dead as when Billy carried her to the bridge in the seventh circle. Her fingernails dug into his hand. “I’m back!”
“Back? Back where?”
“The sixth circle. But it’s . . . it’s different somehow.” She pointed at Bat. “Shiloh and I were here in this village, and we saw that very man.” She strode across the sidewalk, teetering forward, then plopped down on a bench that abutted the outer wall of a shop. “This is where we sat when he walked by.” Bonnie searched the back rail with her fingers. “But Shiloh’s marks aren’t here.”
Billy sat next to her. “What marks?”
“The ones Shiloh used to count the years.” Bonnie caressed the dark, weathered wood on the seat. “This is the bench. I’m sure of it.”
Billy intertwined his fingers behind his head and leaned back. “I guess quite a few things are different. You told me the people acted like you weren’t there”—he nodded toward the man in the bowler hat as he turned into an alley—“but that guy talked to you.”
“Right. When I was here before, Shiloh pulled on Bat’s arm and begged him for food, but he didn’t even glance at her.”
Billy tilted forward and propped his chin in his hand. “Hmmmm.”
“What are you humming about?”
He kicked a pebble out to the street. “This town. The story in Fama Regis made it sound like it was older, sort of medieval. Maybe it got modernized somehow.”
“To make it look more like home for new arrivals?”
“I guess. Whatever ‘home’ is.” Billy paused for a moment. A lady in a floral-print dress sashayed by, staring at them for a moment before quickly looking away. Billy pulled at his shirt through his unzipped jacket—dirty, wrinkled, still damp. Bonnie’s clothes didn’t look much better. A dark, vertical smear soiled the back of her sweatshirt, shading most of the opening where her wings once came through. Mud speckled both of her denim pant legs.
When the lady rounded a corner, Billy continued. “All I know is that this place is full of dragons in human form, and Merlin’s wife is here, too.”
“Merlin’s wife?” Tight lines furrowed Bonnie’s brow. “I guess I should’ve known he had one, since the professor is his descendant.” She stretched her arms and yawned. “But I never thought about it before.”
Billy stood, took off his jacket, and propped it behind Bonnie’s head. “You look really tired.”
“I am.” She slid down on the bench and lay on her back, folding the jacket on the armrest behind her head. Her eyelids fell to half-mast as she pulled her knees up to make room for Billy. “I haven’t had much sleep lately.”
“A lot less than I have, that’s for sure.”
She let out a quiet chuckle.
“What’s so funny?” Billy asked.
She squirmed on the bench, scratching her back on the seat. “I can’t do this at home. My wings would get in the way.”
Billy sat down again and laid an arm over the back of the bench. “Well, enjoy yourself, and I’ll tell you the whole story.”
While Billy told Bonnie what he read in Fama Regis, her eyes kept blinking. It was obviously pure torture for her to stay awake. With darkness deepening over the village, he came to the part about Merlin seeing his wife with the scrolls.
Bonnie interrupted with a yawn. “So you’re supposed to find her and your dad and get them out?”
“I think so.” He returned a yawn and slid down on the bench. “I thought she would be easy to find, someone handling scrolls for the town big shot, but now that the town’s so different, I’m not sure what to look for.”
“What about everyone else?” Bonnie asked. “Can you get them out of here?”
“I think I’m supposed to try. After the two prayers, Fama Regis just said, ‘Though you lead, not all will follow, for many are called, and few are chosen.’ I’m trying to figure it all out as we go, but I do know one thing to do. I heard a voice when we got here, the same voice I heard in the candlestone when Merlin carried me. He said I have to go into a theatre.”
Bonnie yawned again, her voice dying away as she spoke. “I remember a theatre. . . . It’s where . . . I found Palin . . .” Her breathing settled into a heavy, buzzing rhythm.
“Okay, then,” he said, unlacing one of Bonnie’s shoes. “We’ll find it first thing in the morning.” He pulled off each of her shoes, exposing her damp, muddy socks. The evening air was parched and warm, perfect weather for drying out a bit. He kicked off his own shoes and settled back on the bench, closing his eyes. The streets were quiet. The pleasant aroma of wood smoke hung in the air. A soft breeze began to blow, carrying a faint violin song, sad and lonely.
He let his head droop onto his chest, sleep drawing his mind into its comforting arms. A distant bell gonged eight times, each one snapping Billy’s head back up for a second, but when the last gong faded, his mind drifted into a dream. He stood at a wedding altar, Bonnie at his side. As the pastor quoted the vows, Billy kept glancing at Bonnie out of the corner of his eye. Although he could see her face, for some reason he wanted to check her back to see if she had wings. In his mind, he kept trying to stretch his vision. He had to know if they were there. What could be wrong with that? He was marrying her, wasn’t he? Shouldn’t he have the right to know if she had wings or not? But he couldn’t quite see her back.
The pastor continued. “In sickness and in health, for richer, for poorer, for better, for worse . . .” Billy’s thoughts drifted. His mind interrupted. “With or without wings?”
The pastor, who suddenly looked exactly like Professor Hamilton, said, “William!”
Billy shook away the distraction. It was time to say, “I do.” He tried to stretch his vision one more time, but Bonnie’s back was still barely out of sight. He cleared his throat and opened his mouth.
The clock sounded again, jolting Billy from his dream. Still half asleep, he counted the gongs as they plodded their way to twelve. When the last toll died in the breeze, the wind shifted. The bells sounded again, but this time as if played backwards, the echo building up to the initial gong. Then, after only a few seconds, they chimed eleven times. A few more seconds, and ten backwards gongs sounded, then nine. As the clock passed the eight o’clock signal, darkness faded away, and the whole town brightened a hundred times faster than a dawning day.
Billy couldn’t tell if he was asleep or awake. This was too real to be a dream, but too weird to be real. After a minute or so, the light dimmed again, rapidly giving way to darkness. The clock continued to signal the time—four o’clock . . . three . . . two . . . one, then, after a longer pause, the breeze changed directions again and an echo of a single gong drifted by, pulling all consciousness from his mind.
Female voices drifted into Billy’s ears.
“Homeless waifs?”
“Yes, probably a brother and sister. Looks like they’ve been on the road a long time.”
“Poor things. No home. No bed. I wonder why they’re here.”
“Well, I don’t trust strangers. They’re probably up to no good, right Constable?”
“They might be running from the law.”
That was a male voice. Billy tried to wake up.
“I’d better get them off the stree
t,” the man continued, “or folks’ll think this town is a haunt for hoboes.”
Billy held up his hand and forced his eyes open. “No. Please wait, Constable.” He yawned, trying to focus his bleary vision. Three women stood before him, each wearing vintage, nineteenth century dresses—long sleeves, floor-length hems, and simple patterns in muted colors. All three had their hair tied back, tightening the skin on their faces. One of them stood only shoulder tall to the other two. Her dress accentuated her figure, slender and curvaceous. Her youthful face seemed familiar, and her smile kindled a warm sensation.
A man walked around the women and stared at Billy. Brass buttons fastened his blue, long-sleeved shirt all the way up to the collar, a shoestring tie wrapped around his neck, and a gray, snap-brim hat adorned his head.
“We’re travelers,” Billy said. “We just had to rest somewhere.” He nudged Bonnie’s leg. “Don’t worry. We won’t be here long.”
Bonnie sat up, her eyes blinking rapidly. Pushing her hands through her hair, she smiled. “Good morning.”
“Well,” the constable said, “you two had better get washed up and into some proper clothes, or I’ll run you out of town myself.”
“Sorry. We just got here.” Billy stood and brushed some of the mud off his jeans. “We’ll get cleaned up.” He grabbed his shoes and began putting them on.
The man and two of the women walked away, but the shorter woman lingered. “My name is Constance,” she said. “Please come to my hostel for a hot meal. I also have clean beds for tonight.” Her long black hair shone in the morning sunlight. “My beds are not the finest, but they are much better than a hard bench. And I have heard that strange things happen on the streets during the night. It is not safe to be out.” She backed away, smiling with each step. “Camelot Inn. Middle of the town square. You can’t miss it.” She turned and hurried along the walk.