Falling Light (Game of Shadows #2)(76)

Mary had grown used to a pulse of dread at regular intervals. This time, it was mingled with an anxious excitement. She gulped hot coffee and burned her tongue. She healed the small burn absentmindedly as she looked from Michael to Astra and back again.

Astra’s blackbird eyes were narrowed in thought. She appeared to be studying the handwoven blanket adorning the opposite wall. “We’re not quite ready to move yet.”

Michael lost his tranquility and leaned forward. “What do you mean, we’re not ready? You know he’s fanning that blaze to get a reaction out of us. If he doesn’t get one, he is going to set the whole damned peninsula on fire.”

Astra nodded. “I know.”

“So let’s give him a reaction. We haven’t been in this strong a position in over a thousand years.”

“I didn’t say we should sit back and do nothing,” the old woman said. “You’re smart. I’m going to turn this back on you. Like you said, he’s fanning the blaze because he wants to get a reaction out of us. Means he’s waiting for it. Means he’ll have traps set up. Now maybe you’re bad and sneaky and strong enough to get through them. But maybe you’re not, because he’s bad and sneaky and strong too.”

Michael looked at her from under lowered eyelids. “I could get through.”

Astra rubbed her forehead. “Then there’s Mary and me to consider. We each have our own strengths, but she and I do not have your physical attributes or skill set. So the best thing to do is to think things through before we make a move. Gather as much information as we can. Let me see what I can find out.”

“We can think and move at the same time,” he said. Mr. Enigmatic had gone expressionless.

Astra nodded. “We could. But I can’t gather information, move and still cloak us nearly as well as I can while we’re here where the island is helping me.”

“I don’t like it,” he said, almost to himself.

Astra waved a gnarled hand. “Forget about the fire spreading. It’s already beyond our control. That’s for the humans to fight now. You’ve had your turn at gathering information. Now it’s my turn. Take the evening to refuel that fancy boat of yours and pack everything you want to take with you. I’m going to lie down, and while I do, I’ll see what I can find out.” Then Astra pointed a finger at Mary. “You.”

Mary startled. She had settled so deep into the role of a spectator she was surprised to be included in the discussion. “What?”

“Finish baking the bread, will you? In about an hour, the loaves need to go in the oven. Bake them at three hundred and fifty degrees for thirty minutes. We’re going to want more sandwiches. Whatever information I can get, I’ll have it by dawn. Then you two will be feisty enough to take it from there.”

Michael stayed silent but the stubborn line of his jaw spoke volumes.

Astra added in a sharp tone, “I didn’t get to be as old as I am by flying off the handle. We will make our move, but we must do so carefully. I would go to bed early, if I were you. Dawn is not that far away, and I’m going to wake you sooner if I get any solid information before then.”

Michael’s moonstone gaze lifted to Mary’s. He raised his eyebrows. She realized he was silently asking for her opinion. She cleared her throat and said tentatively, “I’m a physician, not a tactician, but taking the time to prepare and gather all the information we can does sound sensible.”

“All right.” It was clear by his short tone that he still wasn’t happy with the decision.

Astra pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll see you later.”

She disappeared into her room and shut the door with a decisive click.

Michael stood as well. He bent to give Mary a swift, hard kiss. “I’m going to fuel the boat.”

She lifted her shoulders. “I guess I’m going to bake bread.”

Michael left the cabin. Since she had a good forty-five minutes to wait while the bread dough finished rising, Mary went to the bathroom and relished brushing her teeth thoroughly. It was one of those small parts of life she could no longer take for granted.

She grimaced at herself in the mirror. The sum total of her worldly possessions had narrowed down to a pair of shoes, a pair of socks, nylon panties and a toothbrush. Oh, and her jeans, which, while clean at the moment, were stained so badly that a thrift store would reject them.

Making a mental catalogue of her current possessions made as much sense as trying to keep track of anything else in her life. The details of the week had begun to run together in a continuous, surrealistic stream of information.

My teeth are clean. I have a pair of shoes. The Upper Peninsula is on fire. I have six bullet scars on my chest. I resurrected a man. I gave another man a heart attack.

She supposed she sort of killed somebody. On purpose. It didn’t matter if Justin was already dead and the Deceiver survived. She had taken a healthy man’s heart and torn it to shreds.

How was that any different than shooting a gun? It was worse, sneakier and in some ways, it was more powerful. As soon as her life was in danger, she had thrown her Hippocratic oath out the window. Twice. At least the gun was an honest weapon. She had used her healing skills to kill someone.

Close to overload again, she turned on the shower, stripped and scrubbed herself under a hot spray of water. She shampooed her hair twice. It was another one of those small parts of life that she could no longer take for granted.