“I doubt there’s a‘BLOW UP THE DAM’button,” I say.
Baz is getting impatient. “I’ll take care of it.”
We park, and Simon hops over the side of the truck. “What’s the plan? Are we going to see the dam? Wicked. Did we sneak in?”
Baz grabs Simon’s T-shirt and pulls him close, inspecting him for damage. “Are you all right? Are you thirsty? Are you dying of exposure?”
“I’m fine,” Simon says. “You should ride back there with me when we leave. Now that the sun’s down. You’ve never seen so many stars.” Simon spreads his wings like he’s stretching. Baz brushes some dust off Simon’s shoulders. Baz seems timid, like he isn’t sure he’s permitted this much tenderness. It’s hard to watch, so I look at Shepard. He’s watching them, too. I shove his arm. “So what’s the plan?”
Shepard takes a bottled water from the back of the truck. “My friend lives in the water,” he says. “Well, more or less. We just have to walk out onto the dam, and see if she feels like talking.”
“So Agatha’s life depends on someone wanting to talk to you? Brilliant.”
“Fortunately for you, most people actually like talking to me. You’re a notable exception.”
We follow a pathway out onto the dam.
Baz and I make sure the guards don’t notice us, with a combination of “Through a glass” and “Nothing to see here.”
Shepard watches our every move. I’m sure he’s going to write down all these spells in one of the notebooks he has stacked on his dashboard, just as soon as he has a moment. Well… we didn’t promise not to destroy any evidence.
Simon flies along behind us. I think he’s enjoying having his wings out in the open. When we get home, we need to find a way for Simon to exercise his wings. (If we’re not in magickal prison.) (At least if we’re inmagickalprison, Simon won’t have to hide his wings.)
The dam is enormous—and rather beautiful, I think—a curved wall of concrete, holding back the river. When we get out to the middle of the wall, Shepard leans as far as he can over the water. If I actually cared about him, I’d pull him back. It would be a long fall from here—the river must be at a lowpoint. You can see the waterline on the rock around the reservoir, like a ring around a bath.
“Blue…” Shepard calls out in a low voice. He tips his bottle of water over the rail and spills some. Nothing immediately answers him.
He keeps hanging out over the wall, emptying the bottle. “Blue…”
There’s a rushing noise below us—a rushing, slurring voice.
“Shhhhep,” the voice says.
A pillar of water shoots up in front of us. I jump back. Simon puts his hand on my shoulder to steady me. He’s landed.
The water falls.
A few more jets spurt up, then fall.
Then a larger column of water surges up and holds. It looks like a woman for a moment. Like a melting ice sculpture.
“Tassshhtes like plashtic,” the voice rumbles. It’s a feminine rumble.
“I know,” Shepard says, “sorry.”
A stream-like hand reaches out to touch his cheek. “Ogallala Aquiferrr,” she babbles, caressing him. “Rocky Mountain shhhhhnow.”
“Yeah,” Shepard says, “I’m on a road trip.”
“More like a rescue mission,” I say.
The water turns to me, then backs away. Recedes. “Shhtrangerrssh,” it says. She says. She rushes.
“Friends,” Shepard says.
“You’rrre too trussshhhting, Shhep.”
“Maybe,” he says. “But I’m usually a good judge of character.”
