8
Careful not to joggle the binoculars, Marian bent to peer through the eyepiece.
Her breath caught as she saw the gray carpet of her apartment, the taped red star. The incense smoke had long since dissipated, but the little power-light for her sound system was still on. Her PDA was in the middle of the pentacle.
Drawing back, she nibbled her bottom lip, glanced at Bossgond. “I know it’s been only two days, but my brother is very sick. Could I check on him?”
He stared at her in silence, and she wondered how much he’d received and understood about Andrew. She kept her eyes on his. She wouldn’t back down. Bossgond’s eyes narrowed.
“How far away is your brother?”
Marian spread her hands. “Across the country from me. My home is in the middle of a great land mass—”
Bossgond nodded.
“—and my brother is on the West Coast.” What was that island’s name? She’d researched the program when Andrew first considered it a year ago. Freesan!
“You know the geography of your land and where to find him?” Bossgond’s eyes shifted, and she sensed excitement flowing from him. He’d have someone to help him tour Exotique Terre.
“Yes,” she said.
He pointed to a couple of great gears with knobs and calibrated markings. “This will distance you from the scene, and this gear will bring you closer.”
One eye at the lens, Marian turned the biggest gear. Her living room shrank and was replaced by her apartment building. As she kept turning, she saw her street, the city, the state. It was brown—much drier than Lladrana, even in the spring. With a gentle touch she angled the viewing field until she saw northwest Washington State, moved the binoculars again to focus on the many islands. Freesan was small and undistinguished—long and narrow. She recalled that the center sat on the north end of the island. Finally, she found the main structure. She zoomed in, but couldn’t see Andrew. A fine tremor started within her.
“You are blood. Think of his Song,” Bossgond murmured near her ear.
That didn’t help. She hadn’t ever noticed a Song coming from Andrew. She set her teeth, drew in a deep breath. Her magic was strong here in Lladrana. If she couldn’t hear him, perhaps she could sense him or see his aura—or something. She mentally reached for Andrew, visualizing him. For a moment she touched him, then lost him. She muttered under her breath, reached again—and there he was! Quickly, with fumbling fingers, she narrowed the scope of the binoculars and saw him. Her heart clutched. She hadn’t seen him for a couple of months and his recent exacerbations had taken a toll. He was very thin, as if his will sustained him more than his body.
Bossgond nudged her aside, but kept a hand on her upper arm as he looked through the binoculars. “Ah yes, I hear your family melody.”
He did?
He glanced up at her and clucked his tongue. “Listen!”
So she did, with her heart and imagination, more than her mind, and caught a brief series of notes. She did hear that while her own portion of the twined melody was strong, Andrew’s was arrhythmic and missed beats.
“He does well,” Bossgond said. “He is active.”
The old man stepped aside, allowing Marian to peek again, and she saw Andrew laughing in a group as they picked up packs and walked from the building.
“That is enough,” Bossgond said, drawing her away. “You used much Power for this session, but the worlds of Exotique Terre and Amee draw apart, and every day it will cost more energy to view. You have much to learn, and need your strength to do so.”
“I want to check on Andrew at least once a week.”
Bossgond raised his brows. “We will discuss a price for this.”
“How about finding and supervising the cook, as we spoke of?”
His eyes went calculating, as if pondering whether she could survive in his culture, outside his Tower. She wondered, too, but she’d think of something.
“Very well,” he agreed.
Light-headed with relief, she took a couple of paces to the wall and leaned on it.
Bossgond smirked. “You don’t know how to restore your Power yet.” Then he bent and adjusted the gears. “They are focused on your former rooms again. ‘I am a Circlet, behold,’” he said.
He whistled—sharp and nearly at the edge of her hearing—and made an intricate, swooping gesture. Then he held her PDA in his hand.
Marian gasped.
He bowed, grinning, and offered it to her.
She snatched it from his hand, clutched it to her chest. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome,” he said austerely. “Consider it payment for my failure last night to complete the blood-bond to its proper strength.”
“You retrieved my…little machine book. Could you possibly find my pet? He was lost in the corridor when we came here.”
She thought of a pocket in the green gown she wore and one appeared, perfect to hold the PDA. She put her possession—her only possession from Earth—into the pocket.
Waving her hands, she tried to describe Tuck. “He’s a…a mousekin in a clear ball.”
Bossgond shook his head. “The corridor between worlds is inexplicable. The winds can be absent or like a hurricane. Monsters…”
“No!”
“I saw you come through, but only glimpsed your pet at that time. I have not seen him since. The binoculars are not designed to explore the corridor. I’m sorry.”
Marian bit her lip. “Thank you, anyway.”
At that moment all the chimes in the open window sounded.
“Visitors come.” Bossgond scowled.
“A boat?”
“No.” He flicked his fingers to the window. “Go see.” He looked as if he suppressed a smile…at her expense? She crossed to the window.
A flying horse carrying two people circled the Tower, then descended to land in front of the main door. Marian found herself leaning out of the window to stare at the Pegasus. It was the most beautiful creature she’d ever seen, and she’d never been a girl fond of horses. But this beast was different. It glowed with magic.
“Hey!” someone called. “Hey, Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair!”
Marian choked and tore her gaze away from the winged horse to narrow her eyes at the small woman at the bottom of the Tower. Alexa—the other Earth woman, the first Exotique in centuries.
“Will that grumpy old man let us in?” Alexa called, and Marian was torn between laughter at Alexa’s words and surprise that they’d both called him the same thing.
“I’ll ask,” Marian shouted back in English, then turned to Bossgond. “Will you allow Alexa to visit?”
“I let the volaran through my shield, didn’t I?” he snapped, and Marian sensed he’d learned enough English from her to know “grumpy old man.” She flushed but didn’t apologize.
“I have not spoken with the Exotique Swordmarshall Alyeka yet.” With little grace, Bossgond tromped down the circular stairs, grumbling under his breath.
Marian followed, excitement fizzing through her. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Bossgond ordered, “Light.” The lowest round chamber, which Marian hadn’t seen before, lit with a mellow glow.
The room was so beautiful that Marian gasped: the walls were paneled in