She couldn’t stay at the diner without driving away other customers. She marched out into the dark empty street. The night was sticky hot but the weather report had called for thunderstorms in the morning. They would need shelter.
The tip of the Cathedral of Learning gleamed above the neighboring building like a lighthouse. Spotlights bathed it with light. The massive limestone tower rose thirty or forty stories higher than any other building in Oakland. It drew Olivia’s gaze like a beacon.
“He’s a queer hawk. He’s always on the doss. Either he’s knackered or schlossed or both. I’m not a squealer but it’s murder to root around all the empty floors to find him every time he wants to kip.”
Olivia remembered the tidbit of information mostly because it took her so long to translate Aiofe’s Irish slang. The grad student had been complaining about someone that worked at the Cathedral. When drunk or tired, the man would slip away to sleep. Aiofe explained that she would have to check half a dozen empty floors to find him.
Without thinking, Olivia started to march toward the Cathedral. Behind her was a multitude of heavy boot steps.
“What is this place?” Forest Moss asked as they stood within the massive, three-story-high Commons Room. The limestone vaults arched far overhead, looking more like a gothic church of Europe than an American university. Only a handful of lights were on so most of the room was lost in shadows.
“It is a school.” She wondered if she used the right word because he looked even more puzzled by her answer.
“Like Oxford?” Forest Moss asked.
“Yes, exactly.” Olivia had picked that much up from Aiofe, who had abandoned a chance to attend the English university for the more exotic Elfhome-based one. The difference was that Oxford apparently was an entire village of old stone buildings whereas Pitt just had the Cathedral. The American university had started as a little log cabin. They’d walked past a replica of that original building out on the lawn.
“It looks like the churches your people have on the continent.” He waved toward the east. He meant Europe. “Stone palaces to your gods, where only your priests live.”
She nodded, distracted and unsure if he meant that God didn’t live in the churches or if he simply meant that the buildings stood empty of humans most of the time. Her grandmother had always told her that God made his own temples.
They were the only people awake and moving in the giant space. Their footsteps echoed loudly off the limestone columns and vaulted ceiling. Certainly there was lots of space for them, but it looked very cold and uninviting.
“This room is too open.” Glaive finally spoke his mind. She couldn’t tell if it was a command to find something else, or merely an observation. She agreed with him.
There was the scrape of metal on stone, a jangle of keys, and then a male voice singing a mix of Elvish and English words. “Naekanain! No. No. Naekanain! Don’t play for that team. Don’t swing that way. Don’t you understand the words I’m saying? Naekanain!”
They found the janitor around the corner, loading supplies onto a cart, bobbing his head to music playing over ear buds. He was in his twenties but seemed too old to be a college student, which probably explained why he was cleaning in the middle of the night. Certainly he wore the sturdy boots, worn blue jeans, and belt knife that the locals favored.
“Shit!” he cried in surprise when Olivia tapped him on the shoulder. “You scared me. What are you doing in here? You’re not allow…” He looked beyond Olivia and saw the Wyverns. “Oh, holy hell!”
“We need someplace to sleep.” She noticed the open door behind him. The room beyond had crystal chandeliers, beautiful mural paintings on the ceiling, elaborate gilded moldings, a long gleaming table and red velvet upholstered chairs. “Oh, this is nice. What is this?”
“The Austrian Room. It’s one of the Nationality Rooms. All the classrooms on this floor are decked out as a different nations…Wait. Did you say ‘sleep?’ You-you-you…” He glanced toward the Wyverns. “I’m going to have to call someone.”
The room was luxurious but lacked anything remotely looking like a bed.
“Before you call anyone, open up the rooms so that we can see them.”
He considered her and the Wyverns for a minute before pulling out his keys. “They don’t pay me enough to say no.”
The Scottish room had a crown molding of thistles. The Swiss room was clad in wood and had a large tiled object that might have been a wood stove. The Yugoslav room had ornate, carved wood wainscoting. All the rooms were beautiful in their rich decorations. They were, however, stark and uncomfortable. Most of the rooms had only old-fashioned, wooden chairs with desk armrests.
Olivia felt like Goldilocks, trying out rooms, looking for a perfect fit. She was dragging the bears along with her to witness her attempts at finding a comfortable bed. At last they found the Syria-Lebanon room, which had satin sofa pillows on top of marble benches.
She sank down onto the cushions. Forest Moss settled beside her, seeking the comfort of her touch. The Wyverns stood waiting to see if she approved the room, or like the others, rejected it and moved on.
It was the most beautiful room she’d ever been in. The walls were elaborately gilded with silver and gold leaf. The floors were white marble inlaid with red stone. The gold-and-white-striped pillows were soft and shimmering. Every square inch of the ceiling was carved, inlaid, painted and gilded. “Lush” only began to describe the room. The deep U-shaped sofa, however, lined the walls, leaving only a small square of floor space free. The addition of six tall male elves made the room claustrophobic.
It was starting to freak her out that the Wyverns just stood there. They’d followed her around without speaking among themselves except occasional hand signals. They showed no surprise or dismay or even interest on their faces. It reminded her of when she was being shunned. She hated their silence but their disapproval might be worse.
She closed her eyes so she wouldn’t have to see them. She decided it was a good thing that they were so patient. Troy would be shouting at her by now. Next step would be grabbing hold of her so hard it would leave bruises and dragging her to where he wanted her. Certainly, in her Bible, a holy being was patient. “With patience a ruler may be persuaded, and a soft tongue will break a bone.”
She would believe that the Wyverns were just until she had evidence otherwise.
She woke up hours later with no memory of falling asleep. She simply failed to open her eyes after closing them. Sometime during the night, the number of elves standing around watching over her multiplied. Ten of the laedin-caste royal marines had joined the party. They brought with them blankets, food and news that since it was pouring down rain, Forest Moss wasn’t needed by Prince True Flame.
Breakfast came in little wooden baskets; warm to the touch and fragrant with hot food. Her stomach, however, roiled at the smell. She cautiously opened the basket that Forest Moss handed her. It contained a thick oatmeal-like substance that tasted like walnuts and honey.
“Do you like it?” he asked anxiously.
“Yes. It’s good.” One less thing she needed to worry about. The only food they’d managed to save from her house were keva beans and potatoes; both needed cooking.
He opened his basket, revealing smoked eggs and dark rye bread. “This is Fire Clan cooking. The royal marines have their own field kitchens. Battle rations are plain but filling. They’ll be good for your baby.”
She tried not to feel upset by the fact that he called it that: her baby. She was barely able to think of her baby as more than an upset stomach. She knew that her feelings would change once she could feel it kicking and moving. Right now “it” was like the tail end of a bad case of food poisoning. She couldn’t expect him to see her baby as his. The moment it was born, it would be obvious that Troy was the father. Her baby would probably be blond or red-haired, freckle easily, and have round ears. In a single glance, people would know that nut-brown Forest Moss had nothing to do with producing the baby.