Falling Light (Game of Shadows #2)(38)

Mary looked at the path. She said, “If he wants my help, I’ll have a look at him and do what I can. I can rest afterward.”

Astra threw the rest of the tea on the campfire, gathered up the various scattered items and stuffed them into the canvas bags at her feet, pushed against her knees and stood. “Come on then.”

Mary stood as well. Even though she was not a tall woman, Astra was still several inches shorter. She paused, looking at the fire that sputtered fitfully. “Shouldn’t we finish putting it out?” she asked.

Astra picked up the bags and grunted, “Michael will see to it. He’ll get the wet clothes and shoes too, and bring them up.”

He’s not your servant, Mary thought. Immediately she felt ashamed of herself. With an effort, she managed to keep her surge of resentment from showing in her expression.

Instead she said with care, “He’s tired too.”

A sly blackbird gaze slid sideways toward her. “Yes, but unlike you, who’s sensibly exhausted and no doubt quite happy to think of a hot bath and a real bed in your near future, he’s itching to do something manly and useful. Hovering is not useful. Cleaning up our mess down here is.”

Mary struggled with her unruly temper. Astra was her elder and held valuable information. She should show respect.

She asked, “Can I carry those bags for you?”

Astra chuckled and handed to her the heavier one filled with the food and thermoses. “So polite. You were brought up well in this life, I can see. Michael was a gifted, horrible little boy whom his parents spoiled dreadfully. I couldn’t stand him for years. I don’t think he liked me much either, but I was useful to him. We’ve made our peace, though.” She tilted her head back, white hair waving in the languid breeze. “Just wait and see. You and I will too.”

Mary struggled with mortification as she followed Astra’s slight figure up the path. She gritted, “I didn’t realize I was that obvious.”

“To me you are,” Astra said over her shoulder. “And I could go down on my knees and thank the Creator for it. I’m a paranoid old bitch, and I have fretted so over you, for such a long time. But you, bless your heart, are as clear and as transparent as that silly Lake can be on a sunny day. There isn’t a deceitful, corrupt atom in your spirit. Michael tried to tell me, but I had a hard time listening to him. Sometimes I just need to see things for myself.”

“You and he have some things in common,” Mary said.

A sharp twig jabbed her foot through the sole of her sock. She watched the path with more care.

An old green awareness canopied them. The forest they moved through felt similar to the one where Michael’s cabin was located, only more intense and alive. The rustling of the wind in the trees sounded like whispers. Greedily she took breath after breath of the rich fresh air. A tightness that had settled in her chest, one that she hadn’t even realized she carried, eased away.

“He and I have discussed this,” Astra said. “We share some of our least attractive traits. I acquired mine over the centuries in order to survive. Unfortunately, I think Michael was just born with his. You have my deepest sympathies.” She stopped moving, and her voice changed, acquiring a lighthearted malice. “Oh, hello. Eavesdroppers never hear anything good about themselves, you know. It’s axiomatic.”

Mary raised her head. They had reached the end of the incline and the trees. Beyond Astra’s shabby little figure, she glimpsed a large, sunlit clearing with a cabin at one end.

Michael lounged on a large cedar swing suspended in a sturdy frame located at the edge of the forest, not fifteen feet away. His big body looked relaxed, but the tiger was roused and close underneath his skin.

The swing was positioned so an occupant could look at the small bay below through a break in the trees. He tilted back his black-haired head. His smiling gray gaze met Astra’s in a connection that was like the metallic clash of two slender rapiers.

Then he looked at Mary. His eyes and face warmed. “You’ll soon catch on that one of Astra’s favorite games is to bait someone until she gets a reaction. She considers it amusing.” He switched to telepathy. How are you holding up?

About how you would expect when reuniting with someone after lifetimes, she said. Complicated. Tired. Emotional. Okay, I think.

“It’s considered bad manners to listen in on other people’s telepathic conversations.” Astra said, and switched back to her chatty voice. “But I gave up worrying about my manners long ago. I do it all the time now.” She said to Michael, “She’s going to have a look at Jerry and see what she can do for him. After that, I’m going to dunk her in a hot bath, throw a nightgown on her and stuff her in bed. Would you make sure the campfire is out and bring up your things? We’ll put your shoes by the stove. With any luck, they’ll be dry by lunchtime.”

“Of course,” he said. He rolled off the swing and rose to his feet with an easy grace.

The movement acted like a trigger. Mary flashed back to the previous night, and the startling destructive beauty of Michael’s balletic movements, the chill of the freezing rain and the two black muzzles that had turned on her, filled with hot, metallic death.

A spasmodic shudder rippled through her body. Her blood pressure took a sharp, quick drop, and she pressed both hands to her shaking mouth.

In two swift strides he was in front of her, gripping her upper arms. “What is it?” he asked, his voice sharp. “What’s wrong?”