“Why are you asking?” Doc Wallace had given me some pills for the times when an anxiety attack couldn’t be blunted any other way, but he gave me only a few pills at a time—partly to assure himself that I wouldn’t overuse them and partly because the medical practice in Sproing had to order supplies from Bristol or Crystalton pharmacies and shipments arrived when they arrived, so Doc divided the contents of one bottle of pills among the patients who needed them. But Ian wasn’t referring to the drugs you got from a doctor, who wrote that information in your medical chart.
“The way Aggie and Kira acted,” Ian replied. “Might have been blood loss. Might have been their reaction to a human sedative—or some other kind of drug.” He took a breath and let it out slowly, as if our chat had been the buildup toward what he really wanted to say. “I’m worried about Jenna McKay. She’s very groggy this morning, slurring her words. Similar to the way Aggie and Kira acted the other day. I actually came up here to see if you had any orange juice left.”
Caffeine wakes up a groggy brain. Orange juice is a staple for someone who has lost more blood than you’d lose from a cut on your finger.
“There’s some orange juice in the fridge, unless someone already drank it.”
Ian opened the fridge and pulled out the bottle. I took a water glass from the cupboard and set it on the table so our hands wouldn’t touch, accidentally or on purpose. He filled the glass, put the rest of the juice back in the fridge, and looked at me.
“I remember hearing about some substances that affected the terra indigene as much as, if not more than, the humans who used them,” Ian said quietly. “There are circumstances when a friend might not be a friend because they’ve been influenced by something—or someone. If you have a friend who can’t be compromised by . . . substances, tell that individual what you know. Just in case you find yourself with a friend who is no longer a friend.” He picked up the glass. “Thanks for the juice. I’ll take it to Jenna.”
He left the kitchen and went out the porch door, taking the path back to the lake cabins.
I thought about all the bits of information casually dropped into conversations over the past several days, things I might have revealed about myself or the Others. I thought about all the things that had happened since Trickster Night. I thought about what Ian Stern was telling me without quite telling me: Don’t trust anyone whose body or behavior might be altered by a drug.
But there was another way to alter behavior, another way to shape someone until they believed what you wanted them to believe.
Words.
Behavior modification achieved by verbal punishment or praise.
Who would know that better than someone who studied the mind and had a facility with words?
Aggie and Eddie found me in my office when I went in for my purse and car keys. “I’m going to Sproing to pick up some food. I’ll be back as soon as I can. The guests will have to cobble together breakfast from what’s available or wait until I get back.”
“Should you go alone?” Eddie asked.
I couldn’t say I didn’t want anyone with me because I didn’t trust anyone, even the Crows who worked for me, so I said, “Why not?”
“Crowbones,” Aggie whispered.
She still didn’t look well. “I’ll be fine.” I had to believe that, so I promised myself I could have a mini anxiety attack when I returned.
I tried to look casual while I checked the back seat and the front seat before getting into the car. Of course, if someone had tampered with it, I’d find out too late, so there was no point in worrying about that.
I drove down the access road. Only the flutter of yellow crime scene tape indicated where Peter Lynchfield had died. I wondered why Conan or Cougar hadn’t removed it. Then I wondered if some of the terra indigene, especially the ones who were not familiar with written human words, would like the color and take some of the tape to decorate whatever they called home.
I drove until I was in sight of the road. Then I stopped and rolled down a window.
“I have to run some errands in Sproing,” I said. “When I get back, I really need to talk to Aiden. Could someone tell him that?” I started to roll up the window, then stopped and added, “Thank you.”
I drove to the village without knowing if anyone had heard me—and wondering if anything that had heard me was an ally or enemy.
CHAPTER 80
Aiden
Moonsday, Novembros 5
Aiden watched the remaining human who was staying in the Mill Creek Cabins. More truthfully, he watched the cabin and the little flicks of the curtains as the survivor tried to see what might be out there, too afraid now to even venture out on his porch to look around.
Definitely too afraid to get into one of the metal boxes and go out foraging for food.
Then again, those metal boxes were no protection against Fire.
An odd beat of silence pulled his attention away from the cabins and had him focusing on the surrounding trees. Nothing close to him.
He almost returned his attention to the cabins when that odd beat of silence came again. Closer now. Very close.
If he had been any other form of terra indigene—except an Elder—he would have been alarmed by the sudden appearance of a column of smoke. The Sanguinati he had observed had stealth, but this one was a predator of predators.
Aiden waited, curious what the being would do. His own human form wasn’t a shape that could be harmed. He was Fire—and even the Sanguinati could burn.
The smoke took a human shape.
“You are not part of the shadow at Silence Lodge,” Aiden said.
“I am not,” the Sanguinati replied. “I am a problem solver who was sent to deal with the trouble here.”
A wisp of smoke drifted away from the bark of the tree Aiden leaned against. He stepped away before the wisp became more and damaged the tree. Then he focused on this intruder. “The Reader . . .”
“Is not a problem,” the Sanguinati said smoothly. “But she is the reason I am here, talking to you.”
Aiden’s focus sharpened. Humans were too alien for him—for any Elemental—to befriend, but that didn’t mean the Elementals who resided around Lake Silence didn’t feel friendly toward Vicki DeVine. His kind might not need The Jumble to be a thriving terra indigene settlement, but they could see how it mattered to the shifters.
Besides, spending time around The Jumble often included assisting the police, and that was quite entertaining.
Fire found nothing entertaining about this problem solver.
“Victoria has gone to Sproing,” the Sanguinati said. “When she returns, she needs to talk to you.”
“Why were you in The Jumble?” Aiden asked.
“Hunting.” The Sanguinati smiled, showing a hint of fang.
The look in those dark eyes made Aiden wonder if he was as invulnerable in this form as he believed.
“A young deer,” the Sanguinati added. “I took enough for sustenance but not enough to kill.” A pause. “And I am searching for another Sanguinati. A damaged one. I think he is spending time in The Jumble.” Another pause. “Have you seen him?”
Oh, he’d seen the damaged one. They had all seen him. “Leave him be.”
The words startled the Sanguinati. “We only want to help him.”
The words sounded truthful, which was the only reason Aiden decided to give a warning. “For now, leave him be.”
They studied each other. Then the Sanguinati nodded.
“If you see him, tell him Stavros is here to help him—and to help the Reader.”