Role Playing Fan Fiction ❯ In Mortality's Grasp ❯ April - June 1970 ( Chapter 2 )

heard the steps on the porch before he heard the rap at the door. It was dawn, but Laine still slept the same deep exhaustion that she had earlier. Diarmid stood stiffly, crossing the distance to the door and cautiously peering through the crescent moon gash in the door. Habib stood outside, his face blurred by the handmade glass. He made no motion to enter the cabin when Diarmid opened the door, and the sidhe cursed him internally. “What?” demanded, stepping into the early morning chill.
“You look like hell, man.” eshu noted glumly, “I take it you know already?”
“Know what already?”
Habib looked at him for a long moment. “I thought, with how you looked, that she would have told you already. Looks like you’ve gotten no sleep whatsoever.....”
“Laine had a sanity free day yesterday.” Diarmid snapped. “Was determined to take me with her. I’m too old for this shit.” It was much harsher than he meant it to come out, but the eshu only nodded sagely.
“I understand.” stated, and Diarmid scowled, uncertain as to what, exactly, the eshu understood. “Listen, Diarmid..... Habib sighed, gathering will to continue. “There was a meeting with the sidhe yesterday, an attempt to work things out.”
Diarmid felt the hairs on his neck stand on end, just as they had years before, when the car....Lenore....bad news....bad.....
The eshu frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose in thought. “They...damn, Diarmid, there’s no other way to put it...they were slaughtered. The people we sent to this meeting... they were slaughtered. Killed by iron.”
“This means war.” Diarmid stated, mind still scrambling to comprehend this news. It was bad, very, very bad. It was an explanation for Laine’s incomprehensible distress as well, a fact that calmed Diarmid greatly. It took an atrocity on this level to cause her to snap.
“Yes. The trolls are calling to arms already.” Habib stated, glancing back over his shoulder towards the door hanging ajar behind them.
“She sleeps. Deeply.” Diarmid stated, watching the fog wisp off of the warming trees. Out of time....they had run out of time already. He had to console himself that Laine had been taught by the best, and had learned well. He could have used more time with her, but wasn’t that always the truth? He had known that time was of the essence when she had arrived last summer, and he’d been given ten months to teach her what she needed to know. Everything else she would have to learn the hard way, he felt morbidly. If... if she recovered from this latest attack of her sight.
“She will go...answer the troll call?” eshu asked slowly.
Diarmid shook his head. No, Laine would answer a deeper call than that of the outraged fae defenders. She might just end up with the massing trollish units, but she went of her own accord. “I do not know where her Dàn will call her.” murmured, his breath curling visibly as the sun rose, spilling lurid golden red light over the mountains.
“Is that Habib?” voice rose from the darkness of the cabin, and the eshu flinched as if he’d been caught.
“Aye.” Diarmid called back, relieved to hear her coherent words.
“Good. I need to talk to him.” pushed through the door, taking a place at the railing between the two men and eyeing the dawn sky.
“What do you need?” Habib finally asked her, and she glanced over at him.
“I need identification. A driver’s license, one that says I’m eighteen. And the papers on the car, under whatever name you put on the driver’s license.”
Diarmid sighed, listening to the sharp decisiveness of her needs. It was almost time for her to go. Time for her to leave here, this dubious sanctuary that had sheltered her for almost a year now. His only question was, would he follow? What use was an elderly sidhe to a war effort anyway?
“Okay. What name?”
She shrugged to show it was not important and turned slowly to return inside, dismissing them both with the muffled thump of the catch dropping in the door.
“Elaine Schuyler.” Diarmid stated, giving her his mundane surname. It would be easy to remember, and it would make her stays here easier for both of them. “She can be my.... niece.” he decided slowly, and the eshu nodded.
“Schuyler, Elaine.” Habib repeated. “I’ll get right on it.”
Diarmid nodded, watching the eshu track his way down the mountain again. He had given his news and gotten his next task, so he would be gone for some time, however long it took to get the documentation that Laine required. Diarmid sighed when he could no longer hear the eshu’s progress, turning back to the cabin’s door. Time to face Laine, measure how much damage had been done, see what would happen now.
She sat on the three legged stool in front of the fireplace, studying the patterns of the dying coals. Her face was lax, expressionless, and he knew she was far away from him in mind, not body. “Where will you be going?” he asked slowly and distinctly. Unlike some seers he had experience with, Laine was often quite capable of carrying on conversations when she was visioning, as long as he was willing to keep the questions concise and accept some odd answers.
did not acknowledge his entrance or his question, but did lift her hand and point waveringly away from the rising sun. West. Diarmid chewed on his lip in thought. There wasnot mthe just some of Montana, the Idaho panhandle, Washington State, and the Pacific Ocean.
“How far?” prodded gently.
looked up from the coals, and her wavering hand steadied to a more west north westerly direction. “All of the way to the ocean.” she sighed. “As far as the New Lands go.”
He sat beside her, habitually tossing a handful of kindling into the fire, thinking, remembering maps. “Seattle?” finally asked, correlating the direction and distance in his mind.
“Yes. Seattle.” agreed with near childlike relief as he put a concrete name to a pointed direction.
“Is there enough time?”
glanced from the direction back towards the point that Habib had disappeared at, her expression wild and curious. “Yes.” she finally answered. “Seattle is....” lifted her hands to count carefully on her long fingers, long fingers richly adorned with rings. She had not been wearing them earlier, when she cried herself to sleep, and he didn’t see why she would have bothered to put them on now. Her hair was still bound in lumpy braids and she still wore the same rumpled tunic she had slept in. No, Diarmid did not believe she had bothered at all.... it would take a blind man to miss the objects that came to her. “About.... what..... seven hundred miles from here?”
Diarmid nodded after a moment’s thought. About right.
“So.” continued. “Twelve hours away. I have time.” she nodded, settling her chin in the hollow of her throat and watching the fire sputter into renewed life. Diarmid almost argued with her, but it had been a long time since he had been in a car. Laine had a better comprehension of what the Impala was capable of, after all, she’d driven it from Telluride less than a year ago. If she thought she could make a seven hundred mile trip in a day, then she might just be right.
“Will you be coming back?” finally forced himself to ask the question highest in priority. Laine was not his, he could not, would not, interfere with her calling. He did not consider her adequately trained, but that would take years, years he was fairly certain they didn’t have.
“I will. I will be gone and returned before Midsummer.” sighed, rising to her feet and absently smoothing her tunic across her hips. Gone and returned before the middle of July, it sounded just a little too optimistic for Diarmid’s taste.
sidhe will not be that easily defeated.” warned. Firearms would make a difference in this struggle, as would instant communications and high speed transportation, but not that kind of a difference.
wrinkled her nose in thought, shaving years off of her face as she did so. “The sidhe will not be easily defeated.” agreed. “They will not be defeated at Seattle.” frowned. “It’s hazy, Diarmid. Hazier than anything I’ve ever tried to see before. But I am certain they will be at Seattle. They will not be defeated there. But I will be back before Midsummer, and I will stay with you for.....” expression went stubbornly pensive and she tilted her head to study the fire again. “Almost another year. Summer to spring. That is all that I am certain of.”
He watched her for a long moment, consideringly. Seattle, before late July, and from her words, a sidhe victory. Part of him said he should tell someone, but who? With the sidhe retreat six hundred years earlier, there hadn’t been an authority to tell this sort of information to. The closest thing that they had done to gain a cohesive leadership had been the ones sent to the peace talks, the best and brightest, dead and never coming back. Surely there had to be other commoner seers as good.... better ...... than Laine, doing their duties, spreading their information. If she were that important, wouldn’t her Dan have called her to other, more important places than here? Trolls were not normally remarkable for any such abilities... Laine Magnusdottir was an aberration. The other kith must have equal talents in their midst, called to serve whatever would shake out as leadership.

Las Vegas, Nevada, 2 May 1970

felt the wash of cold travel down his back, colder than Antrim’s seas, a cold that settled in his blood. “This is an outrage.” he finally snarled. “The commoners...” he let the words die. He wasn’t certain what the commoners would be doing. They had changed in six hundred years, and they confused him. He had not expected any real resistance to a resumption of how things had been, but the commoners had been defiant well before this...this...this atrocity. “The commoners have already called to arms. They are forming armies as we speak.”
That was the first thought that had occurred to Eamonn, although centuries of conditioning had pushed it back. He stared at the speaker for a long moment, letting the real words sink in and bolster his own intuition. Orvin Thorgoodson locked eyes with him, obviously waiting for a denial, a denial that Eamonn wasn’t about to give him. The words agreed with what Eamonn felt, and the troll would have a much better idea what was going on anyway.
the commoners. He sighed, habitually glancing north northwest as he did. Laine was there. Had been there for months, unmoving. He didn’t want to fight the commoners, didn’t know if he could. Weren’t they supposed to be his anyway? “am yours forever, Eamonn ap Ailil! This I swear!” Those had been her words. He had not forgotten them, had held on to them for centuries. She, at the very least, was his. But she didn’t come, unlike Orvin, and others like him, commoners falling behind a noble house’s banner. She was still out there, still vast miles from him. If hostilities began with the vengeance that this massacre begged, Laine would take the field. Of course she would.... how could the great Dragonsplitter’s daughter not? His pride, his understanding of how things had always been before, saw Dragonsplitter’s daughter arrayed in black and silver, mounted on a black war-horse, one hand gripping reins, the other clasping his banner. Evhelaine Dragonsplitter had always followed the oaths of her father, her clan, her blood, at least until the gates sputtered and fell. But Dragonsplitter himself, tied to Maith ap Ailil, had not returned. Maith had not returned. Doubts, deep and unspoken, had begun to haunt Eamonn. Evhelaine was out there. She was a commoner in the strictest sense of the word, although her association with his house had always granted her the luxury and authority of nobility before. Evhelaine was out there and she was a commoner. Six hundred years had passed since he had held her in oath, over a dozen of her lifetimes. Evhelaine was a commoner, removed from his house by generations, and the commoners were calling to arms. Her people were calling for war, for blood, for vengeance and retribution. The souldaughter of Olave Dragonsplitter would take the field, his mind whispered, and she would do so on the opposite side. He didn’t want to consider such an idea, but it stayed, stubbornly refusing to go away. Evhelaine had stood as tall and broad as the sacred oak trees, her aim true and her arm strong. She had wielded a sword as long as he was tall, as broad as his hand, with devastating ease. Twenty five hands tall and weighing twenty eight stone, Evhelaine had been known to push over recalcitrant cart horses. She had been able to pick up and carry Eamonn himself like he was a feather stirring in the breeze, had been able to throw him a handy dozen feet even when he was in full armor. He had never considered the idea of actually, truly, fighting her.
“Any idea of who was actually responsible for this atrocity?” Eamonn’s cousin, Eilish, demanded.
“No, and it will be some time before we’re in a position to discover that.” Eamonn sighed. It was spring.... months before the courts switched over at Samhain. Months before House Ailil would have the resources necessary to conduct its own investigation. Right now, the Seelie houses in power were all too happy to point accusing fingers towards House Ailil, and Eamonn hated bleating like a scapegoat. He sighed, feeling the weight of Eilish’s steady gaze. “What?” he finally demanded.
“Something has you worried.” Eilish savored the sentence. Eamonn was the reckless one, the impetuous one. The one who never considered worry or consequence. Eilish was the thoughtful, measuring one, the worrier. Eamonn shrugged, making his way to the window and watching the comings and goings outside. Soon, they would make their way to Los Angeles ..... The Angels, but for now, this gathering of Ailil’s children cooled their heels.
“Aye.” he finally agreed, sensing Eilish’s raised brow and intent stare. “I’m worried.”
“About?” Eilish prodded.
“Evhelaine. Is out there. I can feel her, but she does not come to me. I fear she will throw in with the commoner cause.” he laid his hand against the perfect glass that separated him from outdoors. It was bodily warm, at odds with the sublime temperature of the room. Outside was blistering hot, glaring and oppressive, but the cool did not waver inside.
“Laine.” Eilish breathed slowly, and Eamonn felt him move closer. “Here. In the New Lands? Not in Eire.... not in Jutland?” Both places that Eamonn himself would have expected her to be long before here. Evhelaine belonged in the harsh lands she was born in, lands where survival itself proved a fine troll’s mettle. Or was it that way anymore? Did the folk that had borne the trolls have bright, unwavering lights at the flick of a switch, lights that would chase away the maddening dark? Did they have lodges that kept a perfect temperature no matter how the blizzards howled?
“She is that way.” looked out, seeing nothing. “Far that way.” According to the stridently precise maps of these days, that way was hundreds and hundreds of miles of land, land that went from this dry, desolate, hilly terrain to ancient stands of evergreens and majestic mountains. Lands that were supposedly much like Jutland, according to a bemused Orvin Thorgoodson, at a loss to why the young sidhe lord would be so interested as to what was that way. A province called Idaho. A province called Montana. An immense, cold country called Canada. She could be anywhere in any one of them. These lands were so breathlessly large, they dwarfed Antrim. They dwarfed Ulaid. They dwarfed the entirety of Eire. Eamonn had difficulty grasping the distances involved, his mind did not encompass a thousand miles. That was a lifetime’s journey, and its passage should be a tale often repeated once it was completed. But he’d traveled it to reach this Las Vegas from the Denver that he had arrived in. Traveled it, barely noticed it.
“You fear she will lead the commoners against us?” Trepidation colored Eilish’s question. That was a betrayal even the grand thinker had not considered, but he did not have the information that Eamonn possessed. Eilish feared the idea of Dragonsplitter’s daughter at odds with the house, she was too familiar with the family, and her appearance across a field would be difficult to grasp. Like Eamonn, Eilish had been raised with her. If anything, he had been closer to her than Eamonn had been, especially when Evhelaine had grown into adulthood and had become Eamonn’s cast off wife. She would have probably done much better if she had been promised to Eilish instead, Eamonn realized darkly. His cousin would have thought through the situation instead of blindly following his heart. Eilish would have never abandoned Laine to chase Galiena. Eilish had despised Galiena on sight, had warned Eamonn against her many, many times, told him to remain with Laine.
“I do.” Eamonn affirmed. “I have consulted the seers. She has died and been born again many, many times. A dozen, they tell me.” he frowned pensively, hearing Eilish catch his breath. “If not more. I feel her. Does she feel me? How can she remember, Eilish? How can she remember me? I cannot face her across a field of battle. I...cannot.”
sighed, resting a hand on Eamonn’s shoulder. “I would not want to face Evhelaine Dragonsplitter in battle, Eamonn. For too many reasons, reasons you have probably already considered. She does not carry her sire’s name for naught.”
She does not carry her sire’s name for naught. That was putting it mildly. Eamonn had witnessed the act that had brought the name to her. Her given name was Evhelaine Olavesdottir, but that had not been enough for her. She had wanted her father’s deed name as well, and it had taken her three years to find a dragon pesky enough to warrant killing. She had found it, one almost as large as the one that gave Olave his deed name, and as he had done before, she had split it behind its shoulders. It had been difficult to consider who was prouder of her accomplishment, her own father, or Maith ap Ailil. Eamonn had completed his own fior righ that fall, and a magnanimous Maith had matching rings made for the pair of them. Eamonn’s of platinum and a sapphire carved with the Ailil dragon, the stone the color of the blood he’d shed for the right to bear his name. Laine’s of platinum and a ruby carved with Dragonsplitter’s tribe sign, the color of her blood shed for the same honor. His still rested on his ring finger, but hers was probably lost in time.

Silver Gate, Montana, 15 June 1970

Laine woke from the dream slowly, her lips still soundlessly calling Gunnar’s name. “ Don’t go. You won’t be coming back, ever. It’s a trap. A trap. You should have gone to Vietnam, instead.... Then you would be coming back to us”
opened her eyes, identifying her loft in Diarmid’s cabin by the rough split oak beams that rose overhead, with barely enough space for her to stand completely upright in the loft. The dream refused to fade like her normal ones did, clinging stubbornly to her memory. A trap? Gunnar had been respected in ways much deeper than his father was, respected, steadfast, honest. A perfect choice for the embattled kithain of the mountain west to have sent to.... Sent to the Beltaine meeting.... Sent to the Night of Iron Knives. Laine fought down a sudden surge of nausea at the thought. Dead in Vietnam from a bullet was highly preferable to death by cold iron.
“She’s probably awake by now.” Diarmid’s voice, then the lower, mellifluous voice of Habib, saying something just out of Laine’s hearing range. “Decent?” Diarmid’s voice rose audibly, outrage coloring his tone. She shook her head, sliding out of her small bed and standing upright. Habib was pushing again, pushing in ways he would be wise to leave alone. “Of course she’s decent. Silly question.”
Of course she was. Diarmid’s idea of fun was to roll her out of bed at odd hours to test her responses. It only made sense to be as close to dressed as possible.
“I have the paperwork she asked for.” Habib stated, coming close enough to the open cabin door for her to hear him clearly.
looked through the packet slowly, measuring its contents again. Registration for a ‘67 Impala, black. Transfer of ownership of said Impala from Gunnar Magnusson, of Telluride, Colorado, to Elaine Schyler, of Pray, Montana. Driver’s license, state of Montana, for that same Elaine Schyler. A birth certificate tying the fictiElaine Schyler to an equally fictiDermott Schyler.
“It’s the best nocker created stuff I could get my hands on.” Habib noted. “It will hold up under most tests. Elaine Schyler exists now.”
She nodded thankfully. She existed again. She hadn’t really noticed the loss of that existence until it had been returned. She had been born with a legal existence, of course, born in a Dallas hospital to nice, legal, upstanding people. She had originally had a birth certificate, an identity, but that still belonged to those nice, legal, upstanding people she had fled. She was going to need these documents, knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt.
“You’re leaving soon?” Habib asked.
“Yes.” she affirmed. Very soon now. The gentle pull had strengthened to a rip tide drawing her westward.
He followed her gaze. “You’re going west.” he sighed. At her nod, he shook his head disagreeably. “Bad idea, Laine. The west coast is heating up fast. The sidhe have taken San Francisco, and I hear rumors about other cities... Los Angeles, especially.”
’s mind conjured the names of other cities; Denver, Kansas City, St. Louis. “I will be back.” she stated with conviction. “Soon.” Soon, because Seattle would not hold up long. Los Angeles, a thousand miles to the south, would be the one to avoid. Avoid because the siege would be long and bloody, and because..... He would be there, and she was not certain she could shake the pull to join him if she was that close. “Avoid Los Angeles.” she sighed, tucking the documentation into her belt pouch. “That will be bloody and long.”
“Yeah.” the eshu chuckled. “But unlike San Fran, we have warning.” he puffed his chest out. “You and your brethren are gathering and drilling, forming....”
Troll Commons Units
“....Real armies. Lots of the leadership are veterans. Vietnam vets. It’ll take us a little time to get organized, Laine, but we’ve got tricks up our sleeves.” he grinned, unbowed by the acidic stare she gave him. Diarmid’s look was infinitely more cautious, but he remained a silent shadow in the deepest corner of the cabin, barely visible. She felt his doubt more than saw it.
“Thank you, Habib.” she said, deciding to let it go. She felt no immediate danger for him, and reality would do things to his naiveté that her words could not.
“No problem.” chuckled. “I gotta go. The paths are calling. Avoid Los Angeles, you say?” he glanced in that direction, then shook his head. “I agree. Not that way.” turned slowly, facing east, then nodded. “That way. Be seeing you two around.”
“Yes. You will.” voice was dark with portent, but if he heard it, he chose to ignore it. She sighed gustily when the door closed on his heels. “Dam’ fool eshu.” said, half in annoyance, half in amusement.
“Those words go together well.” Diarmid finally spoke from the shadows. “Then again, they always have.”
“Yup.”
“How right is he?”
“San Francisco has fallen. That is correct.” shrugged, “The next three encounters will be Los Angeles, Seattle and Vancouver. Los Angeles is the most prepared, and they’ll hold out the longest.”
“But they’ll all fall, eventually.” Diarmid heard the pessimism under her answer.
“Yes. They’ll all fall, eventually.” lifted her sword from its resting place over the mantle, loosening the peace band and pulling its shining length from its scabbard.
“You will be..... careful?” Diarmid wasn’t certain that this was the time or place to request it. It was hypocrisy from him, the berserker, to ask it of his pupil.
“I will not be fighting at Seattle.” sighed, dropping the blade back into the scabbard. She shrugged at his questioning glance. “There are things there I must see. Things I must remember. I am not there to fight.”
“Will you ever fight?” Diarmid was born, bred and raised for war. It was the only thing he truly existed for, although passing on his art was not beneath him. But, conceptually, he could understand that Laine’s value may not lie on the field. He comprehended that her gift might just make her too important to lose in battle.
“Yes.” answered, her eyes flicking south southeast. “You and I will fight together. At Denver.”
Denver. Diarmid frowned. That was entirely too close for comfort. Although not much different in actual mileage than Seattle, it just felt closer. Seattle was west coast, cosmopolitan, an extension of the line that the sidhe were apparently after... San Francisco, Los Angeles, Seattle, Vancouver. Denver was mountain west, as was Montana. Silver Gate sat much too close to the dreamy wild of Yellowstone, just a hop, skip and jump from Denver these days. Only the lack of a balefire had kept the sidhe from noting one lone Scathach sidhe and his charge hidden deep in these mountains. This was home. His. Lenore’s. Now Laine’ “Yellowstone.” breathed, a question.
“No.” she snapped. “The prodigal lupines will keep them from Yellowstone. They don’t know about us, yet. They won’t be coming here.”
“Ever?”
“There are things I can’t see. That I don’t see yet. That I may never see, Diarmid. Things I see that only make sense after the fact. Like Gunnar.”
“Gunnar?” That had come from nowhere, and Diarmid was caught off guard by the reference.
“I told Gunnar he should go to Vietnam.”
“I know that.” Diarmid stated. That was a truth that her foster family seemed unwilling to let go of. It was a truth that bothered him as well. He was putting a hell of a lot of weight onto a gift that had proven to be inaccurate before.
She smiled benignly, and the hair on the back of his neck prickled. “If he would not have gone, he would have gone to the sidhe on Beltaine.”
were no words for that. Those who had gone, and Diarmid could see Gunnar being chosen for one, had died. Died, and never coming back. His death in Vietnam was only temporary, like Laine and Diarmid, he would return later.
“I see.” sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. It was a statement that could not be proven either way, and he was not willing to argue either side. If it was so, then good. If it was not, if it helped her come to grips with Gunnar’s death, then good.
"I leavetomorrow.” said. He only nodded in response. It was out of his hands now. She was on her own.


Los Angeles, California, 15 June 1970

“Oh, damn.” Eilish breathed, and Eamonn fought down worse profanities than that. It was so clean... so obvious. Why hadn’t he seen it coming? His glare speared the speaker, but was lost in the multitudes of other glares, Eilish’s curse lost in the welter of other protests.
“We must stand together against the commoner onslaught!” the speaker proclaimed over the waves of sound. “Only together do we have a chance now that the war has begun!”
Eamonn shook his head slowly, saving his breath. Of course they must stand together, together against this war that Dafyll had begun by taking San Francisco. Of course the sidhe must have continuous leadership during a full scale war, the leadership that Dafyll had already presumed to take. The Seelie court had control now, and it looked as if they were going to hold onto it, especially since the finger pointing had come into full bloom on the heels of the Beltaine massacre. The Unseelie court had to be responsible for that debacle.... the commoners probably believed that even if Eamonn could find no evidence for it himself. The Unseelie houses had too much to lose... and were losing it right now.
“No.” Eamonn hissed, feeling Eilish bridle and gather steam for a loud protest. “You’ll gain nothing and only harm us. Later.”
Later. This war couldn’t go on forever, and if they were lucky, Dafyll would get himself killed during it.


watched the Impala’s engine work for a long, measuring moment before nodding to herself and slamming the hood down. It looked good, ready for another long haul trip. It was time to go. It was time to look up and meet Diarmid’s stare. To wait any longer would be cowardice.
His eyes were dark gray when she did look up, his face set and expressionless. Leaving Telluride had been a relief, freedom. Running away from her original home had been more than that, it had been a flight for her life. But leaving Silver Gate stuck in her heart and stomach. Leaving Diarmid, and the home he had provided hurt. Home. Telluride had been home until the day that the men pulled up in the governmental sedan and gave the news that Gunnar Magnusson had died in Vietnam. Gunnar had lost his life.... Laine had lost a brother, a family and a home. Diarmid had given her back some of that.
“Ready to go?” asked, and she nodded bashfully. “You’re leaving most of your things here.... the chest....”
“I’ll be back. Very soon.” asserted again, and he nodded.
“Hold you to that.” grumped, taking the edge from his words by moving up and opening the Impala’s driver side door for her. “You be careful, kid.” sighed. “You come home.”
nodded, sliding into the seat and gunning the engine. It settled into a gravelly huff as she pulled away. She kept her eyes on Diarmid reflected in the rear view mirror, until he was obscured by trees. Then she looked resolutely west. Towards Seattle.
could have easily made it to Seattle in one day, but the nag started up about a hundred miles out from Seattle, and reached unbearable twenty miles out. It was too soon. And she would want a place to hole up ready beforehand. Why, she wasn’t certain, but she’d learned to stop worrying about it.
pulled into the parking lot of a slightly run down motel, one of the last surviving on this bypassed spur of road, parking the Impala next to a brightly painted Volkswagen Wagon.
The man behind the counter looked her up and down several times, bored irritation fading to interest. Laine cursed internally, forcing her face to remain neutral. It was easy to forget, with Magnus and the family, with Diarmid, that she stuck out like a sore thumb in the mortal world. Small for a troll, she had still grown to over six feet in her mortal form. Hours of wielding the greatsword under Diarmid’s tutelage had peeled away what little chubbiness remained from her childhood, replacing it with tightly defined muscles. Her mortal form was imperfect at best, too many of her faery features had come through in this incarnation.... her pale skin, bluish in all but the brightest natural light; her amber eyes; the sharp tilt of her eyebrows and ear tips; and the sharply receding hairline that, in her faery mien, was occupied by the nubby ridges of her horns. No matter how innocuous her clothing was, there were too many things she just couldn’t hide.
“Help you?” demanded.
“I need a room.”
“Ten dollars a night.” stated. “Up front.” his eyes watched her hands as she pulled out a handful of crumpled bills and straightened them. She looked at them herself, long, thin hands, marred by sword calluses and a healing slice across her knuckles. Only two of the rings shone in the muted light of the lobby, the stubbornest two, the irremovable ruby ring and a latecomer, different from the usual silver and black fare, three roughly cachobon shaped chunks of amber inlaid in a plain golden band. It chose to cling to her left ring finger with almost as much persistence as the ruby clung to her right ring finger.
The man’s eyes were not resting on any of that, however. His gaze had landed on the thick bands of scars that crisscrossed her wrists, raised white ridges that refused to go away. “Where you heading to?” asked.
“Seattle.” answered easily, laying a fifty and a twenty on the desk. “I want a quiet room. Away from.....” inclined her head towards the Volkswagen.
“That will have to be in the back. Away from the road....”
is what is needed. The voice murmured in her head, the voice that knew things that Laine didn’t, and Laine nodded in agreement. It would be best to keep the Impala out of sight anyway. It was too conspicuous... rather like its new owner.
“Okay.” turned to stare at the keys dangling on the wall, finally removing one and handing it across the desk to her. “Twenty four. In the back. Can’t miss it.”

’t miss it, Laine thought, taking a look around the room, but she’d certainly like to. The air sat stale and sour, the scent of scorched vacuum cleaner belt and plastic obvious under the harsh artificial air freshener. She sighed, dropping her duffel bag and sitting on the edge of the bed. She’d get a shower, then see if she could rest.
the burnished copper of Diarmid’s hip tub, the hotel bathroom was blinding, its sharp whiteness bruising her eyes. Too light... The cabin lacked electricity, depending on candles, lanterns, sunlight, and the glow from the fireplace. The Montana sun never shone as brightly as Laine remembered it did in Dallas, never got completely overhead even in the height of summer. The gloom never bothered Diarmid, who possessed a cat’s vision, or even herself after awhile.
back soon The voice soothed, but Laine felt the first twinges of reservation under that firm statement. Badgering the feeling would only shut it down, so she let it go, concentrating on remembering just how a shower worked instead. It had been a long time, even Magnus’s lodge, with its generator and on again off again running water, only boasted a bathtub. She finally figured it out and stood for a long time under the flow, letting the warm, clean water wash over her. The towels were scratchy and smelled strongly of bleach when she buried her face in one. This place felt wrong, cold, empty and lonely.
sighed, dressing for bed and cautiously sliding under the sheets. Like the towels, they smelled of bleach and were limp from too many washings. The bed was lumpy in all of the wrong places. The air was stale and still. There was no way she would sleep at all that night...
The sharp squeal of a car tearing by the window startled her awake, and she fell to the floor, fumbling for the sword. It took a moment for her to place her surroundings. Diarmid was hundreds of miles away, still safely tucked in the Montana mountains, not here trying to test her reflexes. She listened to the nag in her soul, and knew it was too early. She must wait.

19 June 1970
Seattle, Washington.

Dawn threatened in the east when Laine packed up the Impala and finally headed into Seattle, the nag gone and her mind clear.