"This is not a problem," Marbann said. "Adam can reach all the power we need," he said, looking proudly at the King. "With his help, I can control what power he brings forth and build a Gate to remain active for the duration of our journey."
As Adam considered the plan, he became more excited over it.
A weapon to conquer Zeldan. We must have it. Provided they haven't destroyed it, of course. . . .
"We can do this!" Adam said. "Can we construct a Gate directly into the chambers we fled?"
Marbann looked doubtful. "That would be too risky. Better to Gate to a remote location, then move in. The Unseleighe may detect it if it were too close; they may detect it anyway."
"With the nodes in Underhill in the Unseleighe's possession," Samantha continued, "any power you use must come from the nodes we have here."
The King was not certain, but Marbann seemed confident. "I believe we can do this. The sooner we return with the weapon, the more time we will have to make it ready for our use."
"Now wait a minute," Moira said. "Aren't you forgetting something?" To everyone's puzzled looks, she continued, "How about disguises? You want to go in looking like Seleighe, or Unseleighe?"
Moira pulled out a huge makeup case, and in the next several moments converted their bright, healthy appearances to sickened, pasty ones.
"Here," Samantha said, holding up several bags of something. "Black clothing. I started stocking up when Gothic became popular."
Adam found himself in a black tunic, with even blacker hose; Marbann looked pale and sick, as did Niamh.
Wenlann recoiled in shock when she saw them, and Adam smiled grimly. "So. We look like the real thing."
"Well . . . well, yes," Wenlann squeaked. Moira went to her and put an arm around her shoulders.
"They're only pretend," Moira said, then, to the rest, "She'd never seen Unseleighe before the invasion."
"We will return soon," Marbann said to her. Then he said to Adam, "I think we should construct the Gate now."
The King nodded, closed his eyes, and
reached. . . .
Though more distant, the nodes from the Marketplace appeared easily in his mental vision. Adam sensed Marbann as he entered the vision, a ghost of a being with the bright orbs as backdrop; he pulled the power toward him, and Marbann routed the streams, weaving them expertly, then directing the result to a location immediately before them.
"It's ready," Adam heard him announce. "Time for us to be off." When he opened his eyes, the Gate glowed brilliantly, an extension of arched brightness pouring out of the big screen Sony.
Wasting no time, Adam led the "Unseleighe" past the curtain of light into Underhill.
Midafternoon at the Marketplace.
The natural wood interior of the mall was a sharp contrast to the sterile, chlorine and sweat atmosphere at the New You Fitness Center, where Daryl had just left after a grueling day of towel handling. He'd almost forgotten what it was like to show up for a job, and he'd nearly blown it off like all the others, when he'd remembered that Dream was involved, and he would eventually start dealing quantity.
Since they didn't have anything for him to deal today, they let him go early. He had a bit of Dream leftover from the cache Presto supplied him (the Man had told him his debt to Presto was paid), and he decided to see what he might be able to turn at the Yaz, Adam be damned. Or maybe he might turn some in the arcade, where no one had yet pegged him for a dealer.
Yet. . .
He stood in the entrance, trying to decide where to go, when someone tapped him on the shoulder.
"Want to go have lunch?"
He turned around to see Moira, whom he'd seen hanging around Adam a lot lately, and he'd begun to wonder if they were dating. She was part of the circle Daryl himself had once belonged to a year or so ago, but Daryl had only had a fleeting, personal acquaintance with her. He'd noticed her around the mall and thought about getting to know her a little better. Given the strange events lately, he'd had little time to investigate the matter, but here she was, talking to
him.
The question startled him, but he tried not to let it show. "Sure," he said automatically. "Where to?"
"Upstairs would be fine," she said. "I've got a one o'clock coming in. A
perm.
I hate perms."
As they started up the escalators to the top floor, where a number of mini-fast-food places were located, he caught a whiff of her perfume. She was wearing leather today, and the scent of her perfume mingled well with the black studded miniskirt, wristbands, and black stiletto pumps. With dark makeup, she looked severe without the S&M overtones; overall, Moira looked and smelled incredibly sexy, and Daryl wondered if his love life was about to take a turn for the better. And without knowing why, the prospect terrified him.
"Adam told me there was some excitement over at the Wintons' the other day," she said after they'd ordered pizza and seated themselves at a tiny table. "What happened, anyway?"
She'd asked him in a completely friendly manner, but the question caught him off guard.
What does she know about what happened?
Defenses snapped into place, and he began to wonder if he'd made a big mistake by taking her up on lunch.
"Looks like some bad dope got loose in the party," he said.
The counter called out their number, and in the short time it took Daryl to claim their lunch, he decided to change the subject.
Instead, she changed it for him. "So tell me," she said, her sexiness suddenly more alluring, as if she had a "sexpot" dial somewhere, and she'd turned it all the way up to ten. "I hear you're quite the broker in exotic chemicals."
"I can get it," Daryl said, opting not to mention the amount of stash, ten vials, he carried on him. "You want to get high?"
She shrugged, then shook her head. Daryl wanted to kick himself at his stupidity.
She knows Adam; Adam's mom is a cop. Too much association with the law there for comfort.
Despite his gut feeling that she might be dangerous to his freedom, the words came tumbling out; part of him had no control over them, and another part of him wanted to impress her.
"I've been selling quantity for about a year now. That's how I got that Corvette, you know."
"Really," Moira said, playing with a strand of cheese that had refused to break. "I heard your father bought it for you."
Daryl nearly coughed on his Coke, but recovered in time. "That's the . . . cover story."
"So who do you buy it from?"
That's where he had to draw the line. "Sorry, trade secret."
"Doesn't it get a little, well, scary?"
Mort came to mind, and all the other strange things that had been happening to him. "It's worth the money," he said, wondering if it really was.
They ate quietly, and Daryl feared he might have turned her off by talking about his part-time work. As soon as he thought all was lost, she gave him a sly, sexy smile and nudged his ankle under the table. Daryl nearly jumped out of his skin.
What was that—an invitation? Or is she just teasing me?
He desperately wanted to find out.
She doesn't get high, but she must have at one time. A recovering addict? Maybe . . .
In spite of all the uncertainty, she turned him on something terrible.
Here goes. Balls to the wall . . .
"Would you . . . like to spend the night with me sometime?"
She regarded him with a look of incredulity. His soul withered.
"I don't know . . . I'm sort of dating someone right now."
Adam.
"But let me think about it. I don't like casual sex. Perhaps a date, if things don't work out otherwise. Then, maybe, when we've gotten to know each other a little better."
Daryl had difficulty believing that such a sexy girl—no, despite her age, this was a
woman
—would make a pass at him, then pretend to be a prude.
"Okay," he said, his fire only somewhat diminished. "Yeah, I know, safe sex and all that."
"You don't sound terribly convinced."
"I guess I'm not. I've never known anyone with AIDS, or even HIV positive."
What was it about her that made him think she was reading his mind?
The moment became awkward, and Moira finished up her lunch. "It was nice having this little talk," she said. She gave him scrap of paper with her name and a phone number on it. "If you ever need help, give me a call. I mean, if you ever want to get off drugs. Try something different. Or anything." She turned and strutted off, the black stiletto heels looking like tiny stilts as she stepped onto the escalator.
Now he was really confused.
Does she want to boff me, or does she want to do a Mother Teresa routine on my drug habit?
The encounter left him feeling empty. Instead of impressing her with his position, he feared he turned her off.
But she wants to go out. Doesn't she?
He even considered getting clean to go out with her.
How long would that take? A week? A month? Would it be worth it?
He doubted it.
She must be a narc. That would explain everything.
If she was, he hadn't told her anything the average kid in school wouldn't know.
Then, with startling clarity, he saw what his life might be like without the Dream. And he liked what he saw. For one thing, his relationship with his brother would improve. That insult Justin had thrown at him hurt far more than he realized; it still dug at him, like a splinter in a finger. No more Mort, or so he hoped. No Presto, no fear.
But getting there . . .
And once he was clean, then what? First, Presto, or even the Man, would have him killed. He had no doubt about that. He didn't want to go into a treatment center because it would just piss off his dad, and his dealer.
Dad can handle his drugs just fine, can't he? Isn't he one of the highest paid lawyers in Dallas?
He pushed the reasoning away.
It's just easier to keep things the way they are. I can handle it. I can go on forever like this. I'm still young.
"I've got time," he whispered to no one at all.
"We must be in the wrong place," Adam said sadly, once the five Avalon elves had stepped through the Gate to Underhill, or what was left of it. "This can't be the kingdom."
"Are you still in touch with the nodes, Adam?" Marbann asked. He seemed disturbed by the sight before them, which apparently urged him to make certain they had a way back to Dallas before going any further. "If the power has weakened, I don't know if we should continue."
"I don't know if we should continue anyway," Niamh said, standing behind the others and peering furtively between them. "I don't like what's happened here. I don't."
What was once a lush, green landscape abundant with moss and fern was now a sterile wasteland. Dust rose as they walked; no plants, trees, or even grass greeted them. Nothing lived here, at least not that they could see, and the annihilation of what was once their home renewed the rage he felt for the enemy.
At least our disguise fits our surroundings,
he remarked to himself, once his anger had subsided. "Marbann, do you know where we are?" Adam asked hopefully. Marbann seemed confused, turning his head right and then left, as if trying to get his bearings straight.
"I think . . . the palace is that way," he said, pointing toward the valley. "If not for that thrice-damned dust, we might even be able to see the palace in the distance."
"Or what is left of it," Niamh said distantly. Adam wrestled with the dark mood that fell over him, sensing that the same depression had fallen on his comrades.
"Then let us proceed," Adam said. "The Gate won't remain open forever," he said, glancing back at the portal, which glowed dully in the murky light. He feared the Gate would act as a bright beacon, attracting unwanted attention, but as they left it behind them, advancing cautiously down a slope, it dimmed until it was invisible.
"I can find the Gate again," Marbann said, apparently sensing the King's uneasiness. "And so can you, if you reach out with your mind."
Adam closed his eyes, and indeed the Gate appeared in his mental vision, and beyond the Gate he saw the tendrils of node power that kept it open. Before going too much further, he reinforced the power holding the Gate in place, which Marbann in turn used to strengthen the opening.
"I hope this weapon can deliver what we need," Adam said. "The less we are all down here the better."
"Aie, yes," Niamh said meekly. "The Unseleighe have ruined this land, they have."
Got no argument there,
Adam thought as they descended into the valley. "Marbann, how long do you suppose it has been since the Unseleighe moved in?"
The older elf negotiated a cluster of boulders blocking their way, then helped the others over them. "No way to know," he said. "It may have been years. Or days. The same time distortion exists whether traveling to or from Underhill."
Years,
Adam thought.
What might the Unseleighe have accomplished, if it has been that long?
"We must hurry," Adam said, sensing danger somewhere near. "I'm afraid we—"
A rustle from beyond a ridge interrupted him. In seconds, a party of creatures on horseback surged over the hill, wielding bows with arrows, nocked and ready to fly.
"Elf-shot," Marbann murmured. "Those arrows would kill us instantly."
The creatures, which resembled gargoyles, circled their mounts around behind the Avalon elves and stopped. One gargoyle, with hideous reptilian skin, looking like a cross between a lizard and an elf, brandished a banner and wore a more elaborate tunic than the others. Adam surmised he was the leader.
"These are not Unseleighe," Marbann whispered. "But they may be in Zeldan's employ."
Adam glanced from one creature to another. Then he considered that they might be rogues, an independent band of critters looting what Zeldan's group left behind.
"Zeldan used gargoyles as mercenaries," Marbann replied. "But that is
not
Zeldan's banner. I don't know for certain what is going on here, young King, but I do have a suspicion. Let me do the speaking, if you please."