“Wait,” I say. “Start what?”
“As my commander—I like that term. Never used it before—you will have the ability to call on my power. It allows you to defend yourself from your many vulnerabilities.”
Oh, boy. This part I can guess. “With your magic, I can manipulate the elements? Command the wind, the water, and the earth, yeah?”
He frowns.
Shoot. I better not tell him how I know. “Just a guess. I mean, you did come out of a mountain, and I’ve seen you do things to people other than just kill them.”
He’s still scowling, but he nods slowly. “Yes, you can use the powers of earth, wind, lightning, fire, and water as required in order to accomplish our purposes—bringing things back into balance.”
“To kill,” I say.
“And to convince others to do what you want without killing.” Xolotl smiles. “You should like that concept. Sometimes I choose to set them on other paths instead of just killing them outright.”
“Why?” I tilt my head. “When you could just kill them?”
“You asked about what makes me tired.” He sighs, as if he’s telling me this against his better judgment. “To teach you, I suppose you’ll have to learn a few things.” He walks toward the road. “And if you want me to avoid killing for a short time, the fewer people who notice what we’re doing, the better.”
“Then why are you walking toward the road?” I frown.
“We’re about to cross the dumb road,” he says. “So stick close to me, and let’s get to the other side.”
“Truckee River’s over there. What are we going to do about that? Go for a swim?” I can’t help scrunching my nose. “Pass.”
He ignores me and dashes across the road when there’s a gap in the cars.
Thanks to the stupid bond, I’m tugged along behind him, the new boots I’m wearing already rubbing raw spots on my heels because Mr. Bossy was too rude to make me any socks. Of course he’s dragging me across the highway toward a stupid river without any plan. Once he reaches the other side, he plunges down the side of the road embankment, right toward the water.
Only, when he gets there, he doesn’t go for a swim. He turns to look back at me, and then he literally walks right over the river, his feet not touching the water beneath. He steps on the other side of the riverbank and turns to wait expectantly.
“You think I can air-walk?” I snort. “Think again.”
“Then part the water,” he says.
“Yeah, right.”
“Or build a walkway of earth.” He tosses his head. “But get over here.”
I have no idea how to do any of the things he’s asking me to do.
As if he doesn’t care at all, he turns on his heel and starts walking. I can’t help thinking that he must have made himself socks, or he’d be walking with a limp, too. Jerk. He hasn’t gone too far before I start to feel the pull. It starts out annoying, but it gets stronger and stronger.
“Hey,” I shout. “I don’t know how to do that stuff. You call this training?”
He keeps walking.
I hate him.
But the pulling gets stronger and stronger, and pretty soon, I’m forced to scramble down the rather steep embankment and plunge into the icy waters of the stupid, crappy Truckee River. I can swim, so, like, it’s fine. But I don’t usually go swimming in a river, and I never do it in heavy boots and a long, flowing dress.
In November.
Four days before Thanksgiving.
I’m spluttering, and coughing, and the infernal tugging’s distracting me badly as I dive, lurch, and flail my way toward the other side. I’m moving so slowly, and Xolotl clearly isn’t slowing, and the pain from the tugging separation escalates. As I push harder to cross the river, a burning pain in my chest starts to claw at me. I’m gulping for breath when I come up above the water, and I’m kicking somewhat uselessly to keep from sinking, and then I get caught in some kind of tangled pile of debris in the river.
And for the first time, I have an idea.
