“Are you talking about Jack?” Clayton asked the voice. “Why would he be angry?”
“I was clearly talking about Jack. Clayton, are you doing okay? Did you get hit in the head again?” Marshall’s voice radiated concern.
“I’m great,” Clayton responded absently. “I’m trying to get answers from our new friend.”
Dead silence met his statement.
“Can… can you not hear her?” Clayton hadn’t even considered the possibility that he was the only one who could. Marshall was a dreamwalker for Vis’s sake. Mental communication was one of the main tools in their bag of tricks.
:Neither of them belongs to me, so why would I talk to them? Your mate is pretty cute, though. I might consider talking to him if he asks nicely.:
“He’s not my mate!” Clayton said much louder than any three people might want while trapped in such a small space.
“At some point, I’m going to start taking all of this personally, Red,” Mal said with ahmphin his voice.
“Seriously though, where’s Jack?” Marshall began to thrash around, and Clayton was certain he was about to get kicked in the face, but apparently, that honor belonged to Mal.
“Ow! What the fuck, dreamwalker? Do you treat all of your subjects this way, or am I just special?” Mal spat out the worddreamwalkerlike it was a swear.
“Oh, shut up. I don’t treat people like subjects. Now get out of my way, if you’re not going to be useful.” Marshall twisted and shoved, and once again, Clayton wasn’t the one who got struck by a flailing limb.
“I don’t give a shit who you are, asshole. If you do that again, I will fucking kill you,” Mal snarled.
“Try it and see what happens,” Marshall replied with all the confidence of someone used to being the biggest power in the room.
If Clayton didn’t get them all out of there, he was going to be crushed to death, because there wasn’t enough room for the impromptu dick swinging contest he was being subjected to.
“Excuse me, my dear lady, but could I trouble you to help us get out of here?” Clayton asked the voice.
“Did you know you get extra proper when you’re stressed out?” Mal asked.
“Are you talking to the voice you were hearing?” Marshall asked at the same time, talking over Mal.
:Of course, dear. Anything for you. I apologize for the lack of hospitality, but I thought you’d want to be brought here.:
Clayton was about to ask whereherewas, when the space in front of him opened up to reveal a great big massive bit of eyeblinding brightness. Clayton couldn’t see a thing, but it didn’t matter because all three of them were tumbling out of the tiny space to spill out onto the ground.
Clayton had rolled clear and avoided the expected flailing around that usually occurred under such circumstances, but Mal and Marshall were snarling and snapping like wrestling schoolboys.
Clayton blinked away the spots in his vision and sat up. When his vision cleared, he was flummoxed. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, maybe a dank cave, or an old abandoned warehouse—that was where he assumed kidnappers generally hung out—but the beautiful, flower-covered glade surrounding them was certainly not it. He turned back to his companions, who had finally managed to extricate themselves from each other only to see…
“A tree,” Clayton stated. “We were inside a tree.”
:That’s my tree, so be polite.:
“It’s absolutely lovely.” Clayton didn’t need to lie. It was a stunning specimen. It was so massive that it dwarfed the glade with its majestic presence. Its branches stretched out wider than the palatial Boston chapter house, and its crown soared higher than Clayton could see.
It was so big, in fact, that Clayton wasn’t sure why they’d been so cramped inside. Surely the tree had room enough for an entire convention of people if she had wanted to host one.
He decided not to vocalize the thought since the tree had been so polite to him.
Mal pushed himself to his feet, aiming a kick at Marshall and knocking him over before he managed to get to his feet. “Is this your friend?” He motioned to the tree.
“I think it is.”
“Did it tell you where we are?”
“Not yet. Excuse me, madam, could you tell me where we are?”
