“Using an assumed name, and who knows if that even works.” He scowled. “Besides—I don’t trust the Vows. They don’t do what you expect, and—” He almost saidthey didn’t stop Plan B, but it was too raw still to discuss. Instead, he said, “and they won’t protect us against a determined foe.”
Beatrix said nothing, simply stared into her coffee.
“I know she’s your best friend,” he said in a more measured tone. “I know the two of us don’t get along, Miss Knight—Draden—and I, and that’s coloring my perception of this. But she could have told you who she was, and she didn’t.”
“What will you do?” she said, voice more hoarse than before. She drank from her cup, and he did, too, to buy himself more time, but there was no wordsmithing that would make her like the answer.
“We have to tell Lydia,” he said. “I think we’d better do it right now.”
She laid her hand on his. He gave an involuntary jerk of surprise because it was so unusual for her to touch him dayside. Yesterday had been his fault. The time before in thebrewing room—his fault. (The whole thing, his fault, his fault.)
“One emergency at a time,” she said. “We can’t delay my call to the police any longer.”
He opened his mouth to argue, then saw the logic in her recommendation.
“Let’s finish our coffee and go over what I’m to say,” she murmured.
They’d talked about that already, dreamside. But he saw the logic in running through it again. He saw the logic in finishing his coffee. So he drank it as he reminded her of what they’d agreed to.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “You look pale.”
He nodded, feeling marginally closer to all right than not, but she didn’t seem satisfied.
“Stand up for a moment,” she said.
He did, and the room spun. She leapt to her feet and helped him back into the chair.
“Rest here for a while,” she said. “We’ll call the police later.”
Yes, that seemed wise. It was the opposite of what she’d said before, but after all, he’d just had a dizzy spell.
She pulled up her chair to his and sat, distractingly close. It therefore took him a few seconds to process what she said next: “While we wait, we should talk about the weapon.”
He blinked at her. “The weapon?”
“Yes,” she said, gazing at him. “We need to.”
An excellent point. He nodded. Then he noticed that her eyes were not the shade of brown they’d always been.
“You look different,” he said.
Calmly, patiently, she said, “No, I’m the same.”
Of course. Yes.
“Where in the forest did you put the weapon? It would be good if you told me.”
Yes, that would be good. Really, he should have told her already. He tried to describe it—take the path to the little clearing, follow the multiflora rose about two hundred feet, look for it deep under the vines—but she thought it would be better if he showed her, and he agreed because it would.
“But first,” she said, “walk me through exactly how it works. The spells, the runes, whatever you must do to use it. You can see why I should know this.”
Yes, he could. He told her, then wrote it down at her request, with a diagram of the complex parts.
“Give me the payload stone,” she murmured, holding out her hand. “It would be better if I have it, just for now.”
Yes. Just for now. He took it from an interior pocket and put it on her outstretched palm, the deathlyEarrune stretching from one end to the other, thin and horrible. He didn’t want it. How could he have kept it in his pocket for months and months?
“Come now,” she said, standing and holding out her other hand. “Let me help you gather what we need.”
