Feeling depressed and gloomy, Adam pulled the Geo into the driveway, after having driven in silence from the New You Fitness Center. Marbann, apparently sensing his mood, did not attempt conversation. During the drive over, Adam had nearly formulated a plan of evacuation, which would take the clan to another continent, England, or even Ireland, where they might live in relative isolation from the Unseleighe in the humans' world. Or perhaps they might reenter Underhill and plead with Outremer or some of the other, larger clans for sanctuary. Avalon had been separated from the other clans by choice for so long that he didn't know if they would even be welcomed.
The force Adam had seen in the Unseleighe's eyes, however briefly, was enough to convince him.
Zeldan is too powerful to defeat. To confront him would mean certain death for myself and the clan.
Retreat was the only option, Adam decided. He kept this to himself, because he knew Marbann would violently argue in the negative, that the only chance they had was to take Zeldan directly. This he had already argued, and Adam had no reason to believe anything had changed.
Also, the nagging question of, what would Father do? kept at him. Would Father run in defeat? Hardly. He had had the opportunity to flee before Avalon fell and had fought to the bitter end.
Now, the new King considered fleeing before the battle had even begun.
Adam hated and feared Zeldan and his forces, but when it got down to it, what he feared the most was his own failure.
What to do? The question continued to roll around in his mind while he and Marbann entered the house and greeted the clan.
"You look grim," Moira observed when he and Marbann entered the living room. "What happened today?"
She sat in one of the couches next to Niamh, who was busy playing dual Gameboys with Petrus. Wenlann was crocheting something in the corner, smiled when she glanced up, and went back to her work. The complete lack of concern the scene presented was enough to help Adam forget his worries, at least for a moment.
"Is Lady Samantha home yet?" Marbann asked, though Adam already knew she wasn't. The older elf had yet to make the connection between the presence and absence of certain automobiles and what that had to do with where the owner might be.
"She's working late," Adam said. "On some stakeout work." Involving Paul Bendis. He didn't want to think about what this might have to do with Daryl.
The encounter with Zeldan left him with a total feeling of helplessness, and he hoped his body language didn't reveal this. But Moira was far more observant than he'd given her credit for.
Moira pursued the issue a little more aggressively. "Adam, what happened? We're involved in this too, you know."
Adam doubted that she'd meant that viciously, but it still dug. Yeah, don't I know we're all involved, he thought morosely.
"I saw Zeldan Dhu today," Adam said dismally, taking what had become his "throne," near the Sony. All motion ceased in the room; the Gameboys ran on auto, beeping and chiming as all faces turned to Adam.
"Did he see you?" Petrus asked, his voice quavering with terror.
Adam shook his head. "He did not see me, I don't think. But I saw more than I cared to."
He had yet to share this insight with Marbann, who regarded him curiously. "Do continue, young King," Marbann said. "You were rather silent during the journey over here. I sense you've come to some decisions regarding our future."
Damn his perceptiveness, Adam thought, but did not find it in himself to be angry. Even considering retreat felt like a failure, and Marbann's harsh look made it difficult to continue.
"Marbann and I followed my human friend Daryl to an establishment, which now appears to be a front for dealing Black Dream."
Moira sucked in her breath, while the others showed various degrees of concern. "We knew it was happening," Moira said. "This . . . establishment. You discovered the Unseleighe nest, didn't you?"
Adam nodded, shifted uncomfortably in the chair, and willed the room, which had become rather warm, to chill a few degrees. "Aye," Adam said dismally. "I got a glimpse of the power these elves have."
Marbann regarded him with amusement. "Is that what's been bothering you? I admit, I felt it too, but I didn't think their power that great."
"Tell me," Adam said, eyeing him directly, and for once Marbann's look wandered. "Do you think you can defeat Zeldan Dhu?"
"I don't know," Marbann said. "But if you're concerned about what you saw, or rather, felt, let me explain. . . ."
Adam was not convinced. "I saw the power that dwelled in their nest," he said, but Marbann waved him to silence.
"The power was stolen from human pain," Marbann insisted. "That much I know. And as such, it is unpredictable and difficult to direct. Do not think for a moment that it is greater than the forces you have at your command."
Marbann was being insubordinate, but Adam saw no skillful way to call him on it. Instead, he decided to drop his proposal on everyone present.
"I think that we, as a clan, should leave this human city. We cannot survive another battle with Zeldan Dhu. We must begin to look for a new haven."
Having said that, Adam tried to look his clan in the face and found with alarm that he could not. Why? he thought frantically. I have their interests as well as my own to consider. . . .
Somehow, the argument didn't wash with himself.
"No," Marbann said. "Zeldan must die. We cannot rest until—"
"I am not running from Unseleighe ever again!" Niamh said. "I'm not, I'm not!"
"Do you really think he will just quit looking for us?" Moira interjected. "Running from him doesn't appeal to me, I'll have you know. I was looking forward to seeing his blood on my blade!" Already Adam was regretting his statement.
"Retreat. Before the battle even begins?"
All looked up at Samantha, who had just entered the living room. Adam hadn't noticed her arrival, and her sudden appearance made him quite uncomfortable indeed. Her look, a wintry glare that chilled his blood, reminded him why.
Gods, I haven't even considered her opinion on this. . . . he thought, wishing he might recall the words.
"And who have you consulted in this matter?" Samantha advanced into the room, her aura sparking with anger and something else—a tangible fury Adam usually associated with thunderstorms. She took a seat near him, but despite her wrath, she still looked weary. With a wave of her hand, she dismissed her human seeming and regarded Adam with her full elven features.
"I know that you are frightened of Zeldan Dhu," she said, softer than he had expected. "And to a certain extent I am also. He is an abomination to the entire elven race."
Adam felt his authority slipping, but in the presence of the elf who used to be his human "mother" this felt natural, if not inevitable. There are still buttons she can push. She had years to install them.
Samantha's expression seemed to soften, and she continued, "But you are the King, and it is wrong of me to criticize your decision." She walked over to the buffet, and among the antique knickknacks she selected a small wooden box and handed it to Adam.
As he examined it, he began to see what a delicate work of art it was. The rectangular box, small enough to fit in his palm, was a mosaic of inlaid wood, forming a dozen or so five-pointed stars. When he saw that the hinge was not metal, but carved wood, he said, "This is from Underhill, isn't it?"
"It is. Open it."
Inside was a light blue crystal, tipped with four facets. As it caught the light, a rainbow spread down his arm.
"It is a memory crystal, which your father sent with Wenlann before Zeldan defeated him. I was to give it to you when you were further along in your studies, but now your hasty decision has forced my hand."
Adam opened his mouth to ask, How do you use this? Then he remembered.
He closed both hands around it and reached for it as he would reach a node; the crystal pulsed in his hand, and he saw a deep blue light trickling between his fingers, illuminating his hands from within.
The images came swiftly, moving like the swift current of a shallow river, before he focused on what he perceived was the primary image in the recording; his father's last memories surged into his mind.
"Close your eyes," Samantha said. "The images will be easier to see."
As he did so, he dropped into a sea-vertigo, and relived his father's last thoughts. . . .
. . .this is the last message I will ever send you, dear son. All is lost here, as I record this crystal. Your mother has died and soon I will, too, but what is important is that you take the clan to safety. . . .
At the edges of the message Adam caught glimpses of the small room he'd last seen his father in, falling dust, the tremor of levin bolts. The memory sickened him, and saddened him, as this was the last thing his father saw.
Zeldan Dhu will pursue you until he finds you and kills you, and once that is done, he will kill the rest of the others, and there will be no Avalon.
Adam wrestled with himself, wanting to drop the damned piece of crystal and wanting to hear the rest. Grief welled within him as his father's thoughts mixed with his own; it felt, for a moment, like he was still alive, offering fatherly advice.
Do not misunderstand me, my dearest son. I want you to find safety in the humans' world, but once you've established yourself there, you must make yourself strong and attack Zeldan. Soon, and quickly. If you don't attack, he will surely kill you. That is the only way you will survive, and this request is the only gift I can give the elfhame, in my dying breath. Find Zeldan and—
That was all. The message ended abruptly, replaced by darkness.
"No!" Adam shouted, opening his eyes. He dropped the crystal and tried to stand up; dizziness and fatigue prevented him from going too far. Father . . . he thought through the tears, as the loss of his father once again tore an open wound in his chest.
"There, there," Samantha said soothingly, and he felt her arms close around him. He leaned into her and returned the embrace, fighting back the sobs, then surrendering to them completely.
Several minutes later, he looked up into Samantha's face, this time with fierce determination.
"I didn't think I had any tears left," he said through the anger that replaced the grief. "Those may be the last for a long, long time."
Samantha stroked his hair, a motherly gesture that had calmed him in times of human crisis in the past. The elfhame surrounded him with expressions of concern.
This is no way for a King to behave.
He stood, successfully this time, and went into the bathroom. There he washed his face with cold water, twice, as if this would sweep the grief away. It helped; at least his eyes weren't as red. He noticed something else, too, a change in his face that went beyond the tears he'd recently shed. He saw anger, and determination. Leadership, and an awakening.
I'm not afraid of Zeldan Dhu.
Then, Zeldan Dhu murdered my family. I will not allow him to kill any more of us.
And, If we don't act now, he will.
Adam returned to the living room, where a sea of hopeful faces greeted him. Composed, he seated himself in his usual chair. The memory crystal was in the wooden box, which was open and sitting on the coffee table.
"I think I might have made a decision in haste, without consulting the clan. As Samantha has pointed out." He paused, wondering briefly where this would go. His mouth ran on, seemingly on its own volition. "My father knew Zeldan well," he continued, eyeing the wooden box with a raised eyebrow. "As I should also have known, having seen his work so far.
"We must summon our energies and strike Zeldan and his Unseleighe with everything we have."
The resultant cheer drowned out his next thought. The reaction wasn't something he expected, and he blushed with pride.
Finally, I've done something right, he thought, grateful for his father's insight. He wondered if a bit of Father had just rubbed off on him during the memory transference.
"I'm uncertain where to begin. Suggestions, anyone?"
Niamh raised a hand tentatively, then spoke. "There is something I wanted to bring up earlier. It may make a difference when we confront Zeldan."
Everyone turned to Niamh attentively.
"Yes?" Samantha said. "Go ahead."
"Well," Niamh began, visibly flustered by the newfound attention, "it's the weapon. Long ago, before there was ever a threat from Zeldan, Avalon appropriated—"
"Stole," Samantha corrected.
"Okay, stole this weapon from a human school. In California, I think it was."
"I recall the project," Samantha said. "The technicians in charge of it were killed in Zeldan's first wave, but this was what happened. The creator of the weapon, a college boy not much older than our King, had second thoughts about its use. One of the Seleighe, then doing a reconnaissance of that region of North America, came across the lad, and when they learned what he had, they made arrangements for its disappearance."
Adam was confused, and let it show. "What weapon? What does it do?"
"It was originally meant to amplify light. The humans call such a device a laser, and they are common now, used in medicine and the making of things. What made this device unique was that, with a few adjustments, the device was capable of amplifying node power."
Adam stared at her, then broke out of the mental fog the concept induced. "Node power? This made it more . . ."
"Concentrated. The Seleighe techs who came across the device were fascinated by its properties and were interested in a peaceful use for it. But when they brought it to Underhill, it refused to work."
"I know where they keep it," Niamh said smugly. "In fact, it was—"
"I remember it now," Adam said. In the chamber. Where Mother's body lay. "But why didn't it work in Underhill?"
Samantha shrugged. "Who knows? Perhaps there was a difference in physics between our two worlds that was slight enough to keep it from working. We do know that it worked before they brought it to Underhill."
Adam thought of the device, now a murky but substantial memory, and how much it resembled a rifle. He'd seen a movie, Ghostbusters, and remarked how much it resembled the ghost-annihilating weapons in that. But the weapon was more streamlined and did not require big backpacks, just a little one.
If it does what Samantha says it does. . .
"We need to go back and get it," Adam said suddenly. Anything to swing the odds in our favor.
"You and what army?" Moira said. "The Unseleighe captured the palace, remember?"
Samantha interrupted, "Now, wait a minute. Keep in mind that Zeldan is rather powerful at the moment. Our resources are limited, as well as our skills. We need something to give us an edge before we can even think about taking on the Unseleighe."
"Do we know how many soldiers Zeldan left at Underhill to defend the palace?" Adam asked.
A long thoughtful silence followed. Marbann spoke up. "For all we know, they've abandoned the palace. From what little we know of their strategy, they don't take positions for any reason other than killing whoever owns them. Our palace included."
"There wasn't much there to take," Samantha admitted sadly. "By the time I arrived, the palace was all but destroyed."
King Aedham Tuiereann batted the subject back and forth until a consensus had been reached: they would return to Underhill and retrieve the weapon. Adam asked for volunteers; everyone present raised their hands. Samantha regarded him with a look which seemed to say, This decisions's yours to make.
He considered the matter. Spence would be helpful on the other side, but he wasn't here to volunteer himself. He finally selected Niamh, who knew where the weapon was. Then, of course, his teacher, Marbann. Though not a mage, he did have a better grasp of magic, particularly that of Underhill.
"I move we go now," Adam said. "There is only one problem that I foresee. How can we guarantee that we will return to the humans' world within a reasonable period of time?"
"Yes, indeed," Marbann said thoughtfully. "To return in five human years or so and find the elfhame conquered would never do. Also, if the Unseleighe still have possession of the nodes, which is a certainty, I would have nothing with which to build a return Gate."
Samantha seated herself in the living room. "If we construct a Gate to remain open during your entire stay . . . you would return at the exact point you left," she said, crossing her legs and kicking off her high heels. "The drawbacks would be that your time to find the weapon would be limited. For any substantial length of time, a Gate would require more than the usual amount of node energy."
"This is not a problem," Marbann said. "Adam can reach all the power we need," he said, looking proudly at the King. "With his help, I can control what power he brings forth and build a Gate to remain active for the duration of our journey."
As Adam considered the plan, he became more excited over it. A weapon to conquer Zeldan. We must have it. Provided they haven't destroyed it, of course. . . .
"We can do this!" Adam said. "Can we construct a Gate directly into the chambers we fled?"
Marbann looked doubtful. "That would be too risky. Better to Gate to a remote location, then move in. The Unseleighe may detect it if it were too close; they may detect it anyway."
"With the nodes in Underhill in the Unseleighe's possession," Samantha continued, "any power you use must come from the nodes we have here."
The King was not certain, but Marbann seemed confident. "I believe we can do this. The sooner we return with the weapon, the more time we will have to make it ready for our use."
"Now wait a minute," Moira said. "Aren't you forgetting something?" To everyone's puzzled looks, she continued, "How about disguises? You want to go in looking like Seleighe, or Unseleighe?"
Moira pulled out a huge makeup case, and in the next several moments converted their bright, healthy appearances to sickened, pasty ones.
"Here," Samantha said, holding up several bags of something. "Black clothing. I started stocking up when Gothic became popular."
Adam found himself in a black tunic, with even blacker hose; Marbann looked pale and sick, as did Niamh.
Wenlann recoiled in shock when she saw them, and Adam smiled grimly. "So. We look like the real thing."
"Well . . . well, yes," Wenlann squeaked. Moira went to her and put an arm around her shoulders.
"They're only pretend," Moira said, then, to the rest, "She'd never seen Unseleighe before the invasion."
"We will return soon," Marbann said to her. Then he said to Adam, "I think we should construct the Gate now."
The King nodded, closed his eyes, and reached. . . .
Though more distant, the nodes from the Marketplace appeared easily in his mental vision. Adam sensed Marbann as he entered the vision, a ghost of a being with the bright orbs as backdrop; he pulled the power toward him, and Marbann routed the streams, weaving them expertly, then directing the result to a location immediately before them.
"It's ready," Adam heard him announce. "Time for us to be off." When he opened his eyes, the Gate glowed brilliantly, an extension of arched brightness pouring out of the big screen Sony.
Wasting no time, Adam led the "Unseleighe" past the curtain of light into Underhill.
Midafternoon at the Marketplace.
The natural wood interior of the mall was a sharp contrast to the sterile, chlorine and sweat atmosphere at the New You Fitness Center, where Daryl had just left after a grueling day of towel handling. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to show up for a job, and he'd nearly blown it off like all the others, when he'd remembered that Dream was involved, and he would eventually start dealing quantity.
Since they didn't have anything for him to deal today, they let him go early. He had a bit of Dream leftover from the cache Presto supplied him (the Man had told him his debt to Presto was paid), and he decided to see what he might be able to turn at the Yaz, Adam be damned. Or maybe he might turn some in the arcade, where no one had yet pegged him for a dealer.
Yet. . .
He stood in the entrance, trying to decide where to go, when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
"Want to go have lunch?"
He turned around to see Moira, whom he'd seen hanging around Adam a lot lately, and he'd begun to wonder if they were dating. She was part of the circle Daryl himself had once belonged to a year or so ago, but Daryl had only had a fleeting, personal acquaintance with her. He'd noticed her around the mall and thought about getting to know her a little better. Given the strange events lately, he'd had little time to investigate the matter, but here she was, talking to him.
The question startled him, but he tried not to let it show. "Sure," he said automatically. "Where to?"
"Upstairs would be fine," she said. "I've got a one o'clock coming in. A perm. I hate perms."
As they started up the escalators to the top floor, where a number of mini-fast-food places were located, he caught a whiff of her perfume. She was wearing leather today, and the scent of her perfume mingled well with the black studded miniskirt, wristbands, and black stiletto pumps. With dark makeup, she looked severe without the S&M overtones; overall, Moira looked and smelled incredibly sexy, and Daryl wondered if his love life was about to take a turn for the better. And without knowing why, the prospect terrified him.
"Adam told me there was some excitement over at the Wintons' the other day," she said after they'd ordered pizza and seated themselves at a tiny table. "What happened, anyway?"
She'd asked him in a completely friendly manner, but the question caught him off guard. What does she know about what happened? Defenses snapped into place, and he began to wonder if he'd made a big mistake by taking her up on lunch.
"Looks like some bad dope got loose in the party," he said.
The counter called out their number, and in the short time it took Daryl to claim their lunch, he decided to change the subject.
Instead, she changed it for him. "So tell me," she said, her sexiness suddenly more alluring, as if she had a "sexpot" dial somewhere, and she'd turned it all the way up to ten. "I hear you're quite the broker in exotic chemicals."
"I can get it," Daryl said, opting not to mention the amount of stash, ten vials, he carried on him. "You want to get high?"
She shrugged, then shook her head. Daryl wanted to kick himself at his stupidity. She knows Adam; Adam's mom is a cop. Too much association with the law there for comfort.
Despite his gut feeling that she might be dangerous to his freedom, the words came tumbling out; part of him had no control over them, and another part of him wanted to impress her.
"I've been selling quantity for about a year now. That's how I got that Corvette, you know."
"Really," Moira said, playing with a strand of cheese that had refused to break. "I heard your father bought it for you."
Daryl nearly coughed on his Coke, but recovered in time. "That's the . . . cover story."
"So who do you buy it from?"
That's where he had to draw the line. "Sorry, trade secret."
"Doesn't it get a little, well, scary?"
Mort came to mind, and all the other strange things that had been happening to him. "It's worth the money," he said, wondering if it really was.
They ate quietly, and Daryl feared he might have turned her off by talking about his part-time work. As soon as he thought all was lost, she gave him a sly, sexy smile and nudged his ankle under the table. Daryl nearly jumped out of his skin.
What was that—an invitation? Or is she just teasing me? He desperately wanted to find out. She doesn't get high, but she must have at one time. A recovering addict? Maybe . . .
In spite of all the uncertainty, she turned him on something terrible.
Here goes. Balls to the wall . . .
"Would you . . . like to spend the night with me sometime?"
She regarded him with a look of incredulity. His soul withered.
"I don't know . . . I'm sort of dating someone right now."
Adam.
"But let me think about it. I don't like casual sex. Perhaps a date, if things don't work out otherwise. Then, maybe, when we've gotten to know each other a little better."
Daryl had difficulty believing that such a sexy girl—no, despite her age, this was a woman—would make a pass at him, then pretend to be a prude.
"Okay," he said, his fire only somewhat diminished. "Yeah, I know, safe sex and all that."
"You don't sound terribly convinced."
"I guess I'm not. I've never known anyone with AIDS, or even HIV positive."
What was it about her that made him think she was reading his mind?
The moment became awkward, and Moira finished up her lunch. "It was nice having this little talk," she said. She gave him scrap of paper with her name and a phone number on it. "If you ever need help, give me a call. I mean, if you ever want to get off drugs. Try something different. Or anything." She turned and strutted off, the black stiletto heels looking like tiny stilts as she stepped onto the escalator.
Now he was really confused. Does she want to boff me, or does she want to do a Mother Teresa routine on my drug habit?
The encounter left him feeling empty. Instead of impressing her with his position, he feared he turned her off. But she wants to go out. Doesn't she?
He even considered getting clean to go out with her. How long would that take? A week? A month? Would it be worth it? He doubted it. She must be a narc. That would explain everything. If she was, he hadn't told her anything the average kid in school wouldn't know.
Then, with startling clarity, he saw what his life might be like without the Dream. And he liked what he saw. For one thing, his relationship with his brother would improve. That insult Justin had thrown at him hurt far more than he realized; it still dug at him, like a splinter in a finger. No more Mort, or so he hoped. No Presto, no fear.
But getting there . . .
And once he was clean, then what? First, Presto, or even the Man, would have him killed. He had no doubt about that. He didn't want to go into a treatment center because it would just piss off his dad, and his dealer.
Dad can handle his drugs just fine, can't he? Isn't he one of the highest paid lawyers in Dallas?
He pushed the reasoning away. It's just easier to keep things the way they are. I can handle it. I can go on forever like this. I'm still young.
"I've got time," he whispered to no one at all.