Borderline (The Arcadia Project, #1)(30)
“Glamoured,” I said, remembering the bookstore. I cleared my throat when I heard how hoarse I sounded.
Caryl sagged against the hood for a moment, seeming supported by thin air. Her eyes started to roll back again, but she fought it, easing herself onto the grass to keep from outright falling. There was now a car between us, but to my stupid hoodwinked brain it looked as though she had simply vanished.
“Caryl,” I said in alarm, hobbling around the invisible SUV to look down at her. She was sitting on the grass with her head between her knees. I felt a familiar tingling on my shoulder, and lowered my glasses, pointlessly putting a hand up to steady Elliott. He buried his face in the curve of my neck, and I tried to kneel next to Caryl. I half expected to smell or feel the smoky darkness that surrounded her, but I couldn’t.
“I’m fine,” she said without lifting her head. “I really shouldn’t cast spells of that magnitude while I have Elliott out.”
“Why did you?”
“You’d rather park five miles away and walk?” she said dryly.
Impulsively I laid a hand on her shoulder through the haze. Elliott fluttered away from me and curled into a ball on the grass.
“Please do not touch me,” Caryl said. “Ever.”
I yanked my hand away and stared out into the dark road, focusing on my breath. Elliott, fickle child that he was, came back to my shoulder and nuzzled me.
“I am aware of the intent of your gesture,” Caryl said behind me. It sounded as though she was slowly getting to her feet. “And your concern is appreciated.”
I didn’t look at her. “Are you sure it’s not Elliott who’s real, and you’re the construct?” I said. Elliott cringed on my shoulder, but this time Caryl didn’t deign to reply.
“Come along,” was all she said.
The sun was starting to color the eastern sky, but the grounds of the resort were still dim enough that lamps glowed all over. I kept my sunglasses on nonetheless, not wanting to lose sight of Elliott or miss signs of magic. Caryl didn’t wear glasses herself; maybe being a warlock gave her all the otherworldly sight she needed. One of these days I intended to find out exactly what the hell a warlock was.
Since we’d slipped in at the edge of the grounds, the man guarding the driveway never saw us, and there was no one to stop us from walking across the grand spread of green lawn right into the main lobby. Apparently unauthorized pedestrians weren’t a big problem.
Caryl paused for a moment on the lawn, pulling out her phone and dialing. “Forrest Cloven’s room, please,” she said. After a few moments she said, “Hello?” in as warm a tone as I had ever heard her use, though her facial expression didn’t change to match. “Are you there? It’s Caryl Vallo from the Project.”
She listened for a moment, then ended the call and slipped the phone back into her pocket.
“You kind of just ruined the element of surprise,” I said.
“He did not know where I am calling from.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing at all. He picked up the phone without a greeting, then hung up when I identified myself.”
“So what now?”
“I believe you would call it a ‘stakeout.’”
The spacious lobby had slick hardwood floors the color of tea and scones, flanked by archways that let in just a hint of a sea breeze. Caryl ignored the drowsy woman working third shift at the front desk and seated herself in a comfortable chair out of the woman’s eye line, as casually as though she belonged there. I followed her lead.
There was a bar just off the lobby, currently abandoned. I thought about the last bar I’d been in, the clink of Scott’s glass against mine, and shuddered.
Elliott fluttered over to land in my lap, where he appeared to go to sleep. While I had doubted Teo’s ability to manage a stakeout the day before, Caryl seemed like just the sort of -person to sit patiently for hours if not weeks at a time. I suddenly wished I’d brought a book.
“This was your cunning plan?” I whispered. “I woke up at three in the morning so we could hurry up here and wait?”
“I needed to catch the viscount sleeping, in order to confuse him into answering the phone and possibly flush him out. I also needed darkness and privacy to hide the car.”
“What do we do if he comes down here?” My stomach did a weird little flip at the thought.
“We’ll have a pleasant conversation. He needs to remember that whatever sort of trouble he is in, we are here to help him. He may have forgotten that he does not have to answer to local law enforcement. All he needs to do is go home.”
“There’s some kind of doorway for that, right?”
“There is an Arcadian Gate at each Residence.”
I stared at her. I had spent two nights in a house with some kind of magical portal and had completely failed to notice? “It has a glamour on it,” I guessed.
“Glamour is a sloppy term, but yes, it does have a psychic ward protecting it, as does the locked door that leads to it. Even I would not be able to locate it if I did not have the key and know exactly where it was.”
“Is the Gate an actual door?”
“It is a semicircular archway constructed of graphite and diamond. Well, technically, it is two identical archways that exist at the same coordinates in either realm. They must be built in those rare spots where a corresponding structure can be built in Arcadia, and where means can be used to protect the Gates on both sides. The space described by the semicircle exists in both realms at once, so when you pass under the arch you start in one world and end up in the other.”