“Never better,” I murmured once I’d gotten it down. “Perfection.”
Tilly was looking at me, one eyebrow arched skeptically. “Something’s wrong. No need to spare my feelings,” she said, squaring her shoulders, but already sounding hurt. “I’d prefer you tell me, Kailyn, so I can correct whatever it is the next time.”
“I swear to you, there’s not the tiniest thing wrong with it. I just had too much lunch. I’d like to save it till later when I can really appreciate it.”
“Okay,” she said, although she didn’t seem convinced. Meanwhile Merlin had made quick work of his and was reaching for another. Tilly slapped his hand away. “You may have a second one, but after that, not one bit more. Do you understand me?”
“Of course I understand,” he said indignantly.
“And don’t try your sad, puppy dog eyes on me. It won’t work.”
We sounded like a good old dysfunctional American family again, the way we had when Morgana and Bronwen were alive. Apparently even magick isn’t capable of changing family dynamics.
“Have you heard what our resident wizard is proposing to do?” Tilly said, no doubt trying to move past anymore discussions of tarts.
“Not yet.” What new can of worms was about to explode in my face? Merlin had chosen a raspberry tart this go-round and didn’t seem to be listening.
“Merlin, what’s this new plan of yours?” I asked reluctantly. The sooner I found out, the more time I’d have to prevent or moderate the consequences. Even so, ignorance seemed like the better option.
He sat up straight with pride, forgetting his tart for the moment. “To right a wrong, as any nobleman of my time would.”
Something about the way he said it, made Don Quixote pop into my mind, along with a deep sense of dread. “What wrong would that be?” I sounded impressively calm for someone whose stomach was trying out for a gymnastics event.
“I intend to make a run for the vacant seat on the town board,” he said grandly. “And when I win, I shall call for a vote to reestablish the proper name of this town and adopt a more appropriate emblem for it.”
There were so many problems within those sentences; I had trouble deciding which one to address first. I finally went with, “You have to be an American citizen and a resident of this town to run for the board.”
“Says whom?”
“The people who made the laws. Since you didn’t enter the country, not to mention the state, the county or the town, legally, you are not a legal resident.”
“Then tell me how to remedy the situation.”
“There is no way.” Fast and blunt, a ripping-off-the-Band-Aid approach. I hoped it might deter any further discussion. I should have known better.
“I see,” he said. I waited in silence while he pondered the problem. Tilly and I shared empathetic glances. “How is one recognized as a legal resident?” he asked finally.
“You would need a birth certificate stating you were born in this country as well as a social security card and that’s just the beginning. If you tried to use phony documents, you would wind up in prison, if not in a psychiatric ward.” Merlin went back to eating his tart, but I could practically see the gears turning in his head.
* * * *
Dinner time came and went, without my appetite making an appearance. I fed the cats, who had no such problem, worked on the computer, and watched TV. At ten o’clock, when I looked at the tart sitting on the kitchen counter, it finally looked inviting to me. I wasn’t going to save it for dessert, though. It was going to be dinner. I enjoyed it thoroughly and was still licking the homemade jam off my fingers when I called Tilly to extol its virtues. She lapped up the praise the way her big Maine Coon lapped up whipped cream.
I listened to the late news before climbing into bed. There was no mention of Travis’s friend, but then it wasn’t yet forty-eight hours since he’d gone missing. I was worried about Travis driving around again all night with no sleep, staring into the dark for any sign of Ryan or his car. I tried to keep Tilly’s premonition of death from wandering into my thoughts, but it was like piling sand bags to stop a tsunami. I didn’t know I’d fallen asleep until the phone woke me. “I found him,” Travis said.
“Is he all right?” I asked, hoping it was just fatigue that made him sound so empty.
“He’s dead.”
Chapter 3
The roads were empty and a little eerie. The street lights seemed farther apart and the darkness more impenetrable than I remembered from other times I’d driven there. I knew it was all in my mind, because I was once again headed toward death. Travis’s voice over the Bluetooth was comforting, but his directions were sketchy at best.
He told me to take Grand Avenue west from New Camel. It was one lane in each direction, divided by a double yellow. It might have lived up to its name when it was new, but it was old now and in disrepair. Holes pitted the macadam in so many places it was impossible to avoid them all, especially at night. I bumped along it through a small town that had faded until it was no more than a gas station and mini-mart. The newer road that bypassed the town had hastened its demise. Although New Camel was still thriving, with more tourists every year, I couldn’t help wondering if it might someday face a similar fate. Everything had its time; nothing was forever. A chill flashed through me that wasn’t from the temperature outside, but I turned up the heater anyway.
With virtually no landmarks to go by and a navigation system that required a specific address, Travis had to be creative about the directions he gave me. “After you pass the old gas station,” he said, “make the first right you come to after the speed limit sign.”
I saw the street at the last minute and turned sharply, my wheels spewing gravel as I fishtailed onto it. If the street had ever had a name, there was no longer a sign post on which to display it. One street light flickered on and off farther down the road. Travis’s disembodied voice made me feel like I was stranded in a maze, getting vague directions from another lost soul.
“What do I do next?”
“It gets a little tricky now,” he said. “There aren’t any street signs and I don’t remember exactly how many roads I drove through in this area before I found Ryan’s car. My best guess is to take the first left after the second right. It should be about a quarter mile down from where you are. I’ll leave my headlights on for you to home in on. They’re just about the only light around.”
How had he remembered even that much? He’d been searching for hours on no sleep, randomly turning left and right. I had a better idea. I told Travis I’d call him back in a few minutes. He wasn’t happy about it, until I explained that a little magick might help me find him more quickly. Before he let me go, he made me promise to keep my doors locked and windows up. I was about to remind him that my car was covered by protective wards, but that would only waste time. It was easier to promise.
I looked for a good place to park for the few minutes I needed. I didn’t want anyone calling to report a strange car in front of their house. Such a call would bring the police and they’d stumble upon Travis and the missing journalist before I did, making my trip there pointless. The few houses I could make out along the road were totally dark. Not a single outside light among them. It was impossible to know if the occupants were asleep or the houses were abandoned. I chose a spot between two houses and pulled over onto what seemed to be the edge of the road, but where the gravel and dirt ended and the dirt and weeds began was hard to determine.
I didn’t know a spell to find a person, but I had one for finding missing objects. I changed a few words to better fit the situation and figured it was worth a shot. I had a