Video call would work too, but I wanted the upper hand.
So I jogged up to the notion room.
“Need to talk to Dad,” I announced to the Crossroads when I entered the room. “Something as visible as possible.”
The Crossroads grumbled low, like a deep shifting of stone and earth. It didn’t like my dad as much as I didn’t like him.
“I know,” I said. “I’m not bringing him here. But I need to see his body language. His face. I don’t have time to mess around with anything else.”
The grumbling continued for another minute or so while I pulled a chair to one side of the desk, then walked around the desk to sit in the comfortable chair there. I moved a little bowl of dried flowers and pebbles to one side, then tapped a finger on the desk top.
“Right here,” I directed the Crossroads magic. “I need the magic focused here.”
The grumbling quieted, and I touched the barn owl tattoo on my upper arm.
I needed sight, I needed hearing, and I needed wisdom. The ink flowed and warmed as magic woke and stretched.
“Dad?” I called out, sending the magic winging through the world to find him. “I got your message. Let’s talk.”
The magic spooled out, then caught like a kite string in the wind, lifting away. I didn’t bother to follow it. I didn’t really care where on earth my father was at this moment. I just needed the magic to find him, so we could talk.
I shifted in my chair, finger tapping the edge of the desk. At least two minutes, maybe five passed, before the string of magic tightened andtwangedlike a plucked rubber band.
“Erica?” His voice wasn’t exactly inside my head, but it wasn’t in the room either. He was communicating through that string of magic, which wasn’t enough for what I needed today.
“Join me,” I said. The words carried magic, carried the command and power of this place.
The air above the empty chair crackled and sizzled, and then my father was sitting there.
He was a little transparent, but at first glance, anyone would assume he was solid.
I was not a small woman. But my father was much bigger, built like an ox. His hair was dark, short, and his beard, I noted with a small jolt of surprise, carried a lot more gray than when I’d seen him last.
His eyes weren’t brown like mine, but a sort of gray-blue that reminded me of winter skies.
He must be somewhere relatively warm, since he was wearing a brown T-shirt with a Smokey Bear patch on the sleeve, shorts, and hiking boots.
His expression was guarded, his eyes narrowed, but he was otherwise relaxed, breathing easily. Not ready to fight, but ready to be on guard if needed.
“Hello, Erica,” he said in a voice as familiar as my childhood summers. “Did you get my message?”
I was gripping the edge of the desk. I pulled my hands back and dropped them onto my lap. “Does it have something to do with Fate’s coins?”
He nodded slowly. “It does. Have you seen Cardamom Oak? Or has he contacted you?”
“Yes.”
He opened his mouth, thought better about what he was going to say, then slotted his fingers together and leaned forward. “I miss seeing you.”
“No,” I said. “You don’t get to say that to me. You don’t get to say how hard it’s been for you. The only thing we’re going to talk about today is why you left the message.”
“Yes,” he said. “Yes. I know where Fate’s coin is.”
“Both of them?”
He frowned. “Only one. There’s more than one missing? He can’t stay out of trouble for more than a day, can he?”
“Where is it?”
