Storm Crossed Read online

  So what was different today?

  She frowned. Brent Peters had been cleaning up almond milk in the dairy aisle. Lissy hadn’t smelled any cleanser, but Fox had bionic senses. He was aware of nuances she could barely detect. Many things that she found pleasant—like the soothing scent of lavender—were downright excruciating for him. But he didn’t react badly when he saw Brent with the mop. In fact, he had stopped to ask the man why he used a string mop instead of a spray ’n’ wipe model like the one they had at home. Brent, one of the owners, had kindly explained how much more absorbent it was for large messes, and Fox had walked away satisfied. Well, except for telling Lissy: “You really ought to get a mop like that, dude!”

  I give up. Whatever today’s trigger was, she couldn’t begin to guess. It was very possible that there wasn’t a single cause but a string of tiny irritations accumulated over the course of hours or even days. She would talk with Fox later, of course, but despite being exceptionally bright, he could seldom articulate exactly what had bothered him. In fact, he probably had no more idea than she did.

  Nothing to do but go home and try again some other time. Nothing Lissy could do about the groceries she’d left behind in the cart, either, except hope that a clerk—or more likely, the ever-patient Brent—would put them away before the grass-fed butter melted. She’d talked to the owners and staff on more than one occasion, explaining about Fox’s challenges as best she could. Though they didn’t totally understand, they were blessedly supportive. They all knew that once she left the store with her son, she probably wouldn’t be back that day.

  Damn. I really needed the bread. And the orange juice, too. Briefly, Lissy thought about asking her mother to pick up a couple of things for her—but only briefly. The most obvious reason was that Olivia Santiago-Callahan was probably in a packing frenzy prior to flying out Sunday to visit relatives in Veracruz. But even if she wasn’t busy, Lissy wouldn’t risk the now-familiar lecture: You need a life, too, mija. When was the last time you went anywhere? You know that Fox will be fine with me.

  While it was true that the boy enjoyed being with his grandmother, he already spent his after-school time with her while Lissy taught geology and physics at the local college. And as tough as it was, Lissy knew she had to keep trying to help Fox learn skills that would enable him to deal with the world instead of protecting him from it. His diagnosis at five years old had been a blow: Asperger’s Syndrome, one of the autism spectrum disorders. No known cause and no cure, but three things could make a vital difference in Fox’s life. Routine. Management. The development of coping strategies. She repeated them to herself often, like a mantra.

  A small voice suddenly spoke up from the back seat. “He has a dog.”

  Lissy craned her neck to scan the parking lot but saw nothing. The old man was gone—had a pet been with him? “Who has a dog, bud?”

  “Dude, he does. The really tall man with the long white hair. I like dogs.”

  That was an understatement. Fox adored all animals, and the feeling was usually mutual. “I like dogs, too,” she said, but still saw nothing. The old man who had asked for money had gray hair—and not much of it. And he wasn’t very tall. Maybe Fox was talking about someone he’d seen earlier, perhaps even the day before. In fact, it wasn’t unusual for him to start talking excitedly about an event from months ago as if it had happened that morning. A man with long white hair could be Santa Claus, for all she knew. Oh, sweetie, I wish I understood you better . . .

  She might have left it at that, but at breakfast her son had talked about seeing such a man in his dreams. It hadn’t sounded like a nightmare, but was it bothering him somehow?

  A tall white-haired man.

  Was this the source of the meltdown? She tried again to engage Fox. “I must have missed him. And I didn’t see a dog.”

  “It’s a really big dog. You’ll see them for sure when they get here.”

  Them? The back of her neck prickled. “When who gets here?”

  There was no reply. A glance in the rearview showed that Fox had finally stirred enough to pick up his game. And whatever he’d been talking about was probably already forgotten as his thumbs rapidly worked the controls. She wished she could forget a few things that easily . . . Meanwhile, this man with the white hair thing was worrisome. You’ll see them when they get here, Fox had said. He’d always told her about his dreams, amazing her with his ability to remember them in such vivid detail.

  Lately, though, Lissy had realized there was something more going on. A lot more. Like a few days ago, when Fox had announced over breakfast that he had dreamed of blue chairs.

  “What blue chairs?”

  “Dude! The ones we’re going to see today,” he said, as if that explained everything. “They’ve got little red-and-yellow squares on them. And circles. Green circles. There oughta be triangles on them, too, but they must’ve forgot.”

  “We’re going to the dentist after school, bud. Remember, we’ve been talking about it? You go every six months on the first Tuesday at four p.m.”

  To be honest, she had no idea if he could grasp a routine that spanned such a length of time, but just in case, she scheduled those things as religiously as she scheduled his daily routine. She pictured the waiting room in her mind, the drab and dated neutrals relieved only by a few bright posters.

  “Dr. Janey’s chairs are brown, remember?”

  His voice rose. “We’re going to see the blue chairs!”

  “Okay, well, we’ll definitely look for some blue chairs afterward.”

  “Won’t have to, dude,” he said confidently, and turned his attention back to his breakfast without further comment. Lissy had let it go—after all, she needed to get him to school and herself to work. But after school, he’d presented her with a picture, painstakingly drawn and colored. Bright-blue chairs. Teeny yellow and red squares. Tiny green circles.

  “He went right to work on it as soon as he got here,” said her mother, beaming with pride. “Our Fox is such an artist!”

  Lissy had admired it thoroughly, of course, tucking it into her briefcase to keep it safe. She planned to give it a place of honor on the fridge later—

  That is, until she saw the dentist’s office.

  Shaking her head did little to free her mind of troubling thoughts, but Lissy attempted to focus on the here and now just the same. Should she drive home or should she wait and see if Fox recovered enough to attempt the grocery store again? He’s older now. I should really give him a few more minutes, just in case. I could treat this like a time-out, like they do at school. There, a time-out wasn’t a punishment but a chance for Fox to breathe and pull himself together. The veteran teacher, Alaina Fletcher, allowed him to determine when he felt ready to rejoin the class. Sometimes it was ten or fifteen minutes. Sometimes it was two hours. Whatever it was, Alaina was smart enough not to remark on it or ask him questions, simply allowing him to slip back into his desk. Maybe if Lissy waited long enough, they could slip back into the grocery store—

  A loud and much-too-cheerful chime from her phone interrupted her reverie. She had a text from her best friend, Brooke:

  Come 2 Palouse Falls w us later. 6 p.m. Campfire supper.

  A second text included a bevy of dancing marshmallows, a smiling hot dog in a bun, a tent, and what looked like a brown sheet of plywood—no, wait, make that a graham cracker. It would be tremendous fun for her, but Fox hadn’t exactly been crazy about the outdoor sleepover experience last time . . . That was when he was five. Six! But it could be different now, right? She needed to give him a chance to try it again.

  Just then a third message popped up with four familiar images. Brooke always used very specific icons for everyone she knew. The symbol for Fox was obvious, of course. And with a passion for geology, what else would Lissy be but a smiling pet rock?

  On-screen right now were a superhero (Sharon), a vampire (Katie), a horse (Morgan), and a tiger (Tina). Her best friends since their high school days, every one of t
hem was an official “auntie” to her son. They hadn’t all gotten together since Sharon’s wedding two years before. Lissy’s hands shook with anticipation as she texted back: 4 sure?

  A burst of music startled her into almost dropping the phone. “Black Magic” by Little Mix signaled that Brooke was on the line. “It’s a spur-of-the-moment thing,” her friend blurted excitedly. “I just got off the phone with Sharon. Our little gang will be all together again!”

  Omigod, this is awesome! It was all she could do not to jump out of the car, squeal, and dance. Morgan lived just three hours away and was able to visit now and then. Katie and Tina were in different states, however, and Sharon was all the way on the other side of the country. To have them together in one place was rare and wonderful. Mindful of her son in the back seat, however, Lissy somehow managed to keep her voice even. “That’s really great to hear.” Her “mom mind” was racing, though. Would there be enough time between this morning’s spectacular fail and tonight’s outing? They’re hours apart . . . She was probably safe from accidentally rewarding undesirable behavior. Besides, this counted as a special occasion! Which reminded her, she needed to check if Fox was even invited. “Say, Brooke—will that activity be adults only or family-rated?”

  “You should definitely bring Fox. Everyone wants to see him,” assured Brooke. “And hey, we all know the drill on how to behave around him—easy on the stimulation, right? No mass huggings and kissings, no endless questions. I’ll pick up that little pup tent from your mom’s yard that he likes so he’ll have a place to retreat to that’s familiar. And you don’t have to say a word, because I know he’s probably nearby.”

  If there was anything better than a friend who understood you, it was a friend who understood your kid, too. “We’ll definitely try it,” Lissy said aloud. If he’s really uncomfortable, I can always take him home. But maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to . . .

  “By the way, we already agreed on a dry party, since Morgan and I are both preggers. We’re going with a chocolate theme instead.”

  “Sounds wonderfully decadent. What should I bring?”

  “Yourselves. Tina’s got an extra-big tent to share with you and a couple of sleeping bags, so just bring what you think you might like—maybe your own pillow if you have a favorite. I know I can’t sleep without my body pillow these days,” said Brooke. “Oh, and definitely bring whatever you think Fox will need to be comfortable. I’ve already got a few things packed that are sure to occupy him. Like a brand-new box of gemstones and rocks that just came in for the store.”

  Lissy wasn’t a crier by nature, but her eyes moistened at her friend’s thoughtfulness. “You’re the one who rocks, you know that? So when are we meeting up?”

  “Rhys and Morgan are already there. Aidan’s going to drive up with me later. You know how the guys are—they want to check the place out and make sure it’s safe, but they promised they would camp down the road a ways. That lets them feel like they’re close enough to protect us, but we still get to have a girls’ night!”

  Lissy laughed. “That’ll work!”

  “I know, right? And you know what’s even better? There’s only a handful of campsites, and Katie and Sharon booked them all, so we’ll have the whole place to ourselves after sunset! It’s gonna be great—Rory! Rory, dammit, stop rolling on that soapwort! I just planted that! Gotta go—”

  The abrupt silence told Lissy that her friend had gone to deal with the most outrageous of her three felines. In fact, Brooke’s last phone call had ended similarly when the small black cat decided to drop a dead mouse on a carefully laid spread of tarot cards—right in front of a client. I wonder how she’s going to manage with both Rory and a baby . . .

  A glance in the mirror showed Fox still absorbed in his video game, and that was a good sign. He would play until he felt normal again—whatever normal felt like to him—and then he’d nap. As for her, the grocery shopping might have been a total fail, but the anticipation of seeing her dearest friends picked up her spirits like nothing else could.

  FIVE

  The morning star glittered near the sinking moon, and the Wild Hunt wheeled as one. Trahern didn’t have to order the dozen riders to return to Tir Hardd. The night had belonged to the fae since the beginning of the world, but the overbright day was usually abandoned to mortals. If he closed his eyes now, he would feel the pull of the faery realm as surely as metal was drawn to a lodestone. The lathered horses felt it. All of them, including Trahern’s own horned mount, Cyflym, sprang into a gallop with renewed energy. Hard on the horses’ heels, a pack of grinning white hounds, the tireless Cŵn Annwn of legend, lengthened their pace as well.

  He glanced down. As always, a much larger and more powerfully built dog ran effortlessly beside him, broad head level with Trahern’s silver stirrup and large leonine paws striking the ground in eerie silence. With his enormous jaws, he could easily have dismembered any or all of the white hounds. Instead, while Braith didn’t deign to run with the pack, he was swift to defend them from danger.

  As he once defended me . . .

  The immense dog slowed his pace as Trahern reined in his mount to allow the rest of the riders to pass. A few of the younger ones touched their fingers to their foreheads as they went by—and by all the stars, he wished they wouldn’t. It wasn’t an acknowledgment of his current position of Huntmaster in Lord Lurien’s absence. Rather, it was an automatic gesture of respect for his noble lineage from one of the leading Houses of the Tylwyth Teg.

  As soon as they’d passed, he spat into the grass as if he could rid himself of the reminders of that long-ago life. One of the things that defined the Hunt was the purposeful lack of station. Ability was the only thing that counted here. Even Lurien himself claimed no royal blood and was no respecter of it.

  I belong to the Hunt, Trahern thought fiercely. And none else.

  He wondered if he could belong to this new land as well. A strange thought for him, birthed by an even stranger yearning . . . The vast, open grasslands and rolling hills formed a restless ocean of dappled silver beneath the moon. Here and there this land-sea broke against outcroppings and bluffs of tall columnar rocks and fell away into steep ravines and canyons. What was it about this land that struck a chord in him, called to him, promising freedom from all limits? He almost believed it, too. Added to that was the sheer novelty of the vista, unlike anything he had ever seen in his long, long life. Barring outright violence or a malicious spell, all fae creatures were virtually immortal. For many of the Tylwyth Teg, however, the price of their longevity was tedium. Surely no one could ever be without wonder in this wild place.

  At least he didn’t think so. The only time he’d experienced boredom himself was in his former life among the shallow and frivolous members of the Royal Court. Thankfully, he no longer needed to concern himself with their petty games and subtle intrigues; he was dead to the Court since Lurien had claimed him for the Wild Hunt. In fact, the only time he’d set foot in the queen’s palace as a hunter was at a recent costume ball where he’d been part of a team trusted to guard Gwenhidw herself. Fortunately, most of the courtiers avoided the event entirely rather than associate with the multitude of other clans and creatures the queen had invited. Not that any of the Tylwyth Teg nobility would have recognized him . . . Trahern had taken his cue from the long scar on his throat and costumed himself as a prowling warth!

  The scent of sagebrush drifted on the night air. No warths lived in this place. No hungry bwganod, either. But if they did? If the land were blasted and barren and infested with poisonous dragons, I would yet embrace it for its distance from the Nine Realms! There was a generous ocean and most of a mortal nation between the new fae territory of Tir Hardd that flourished below eastern Washington and the ancient fae lands that sprawled beneath the country of Wales. No courtier, least of all one of Oaken lineage, would ever consider traveling here to what they mockingly called the Queen’s Folly.

  Trahern flatly disagreed with their assessment
. Despite its size—and every fae realm was immense in relation to whatever tiny human domain lay above it—the Nine Realms had become untenably crowded over the eons. And though the other residents of the faery world vastly outnumbered its ruling class, the Tylwyth Teg were thoughtless or downright cruel in their treatment of them. Sometimes even killing them . . . He quickly banished those ill memories and spat again for good measure.

  No, there was no folly here. With vision and determination, Queen Gwenhidw had thrown open the doors to a much better life for many of her subjects. Not only had she opened a portal to this new territory, she had broken with all tradition in its governance. She had shocked everyone by setting representatives from all the tribes and clans to rule by common consent. It was even said that while she advised, she did not interfere in their decisions! No wonder the Royal Court espoused such a low opinion of the place—they were probably terrified of its precedent. Gwenhidw had gone even further, refraining from building an opulent palace for herself. Instead, she maintained a modest chateau in the very center of Tir Hardd, and her bright banners flew over her home whenever she was in residence.

  As she was now.

  And as long as the queen is here, Lurien will make certain he is elsewhere. Trahern was puzzled by this new strain between the two people he admired most. He’d followed the enigmatic Lord of the Wild Hunt for a very long time, and if Lurien had a weakness, it was that he appeared to harbor deep feelings for the long-widowed queen.

  The belief in love leads only to ruin. Was the evidence not with him in the majestic dog beside him? And what of the object of Braith’s love? Saffir had promised to follow Braith as soon as she could, but as of yet she had failed to appear. To break one’s word was nearly unknown, even among the Tylwyth Teg. Trahern feared at first that Eirianwen had discovered her identity and exacted some hideous vengeance, but Lurien’s spies failed to find any evidence of such a thing. Besides, his ever-efficient mother would have found a way to utilize the woman. It would have been a simple enough matter to hold the healer hostage until Trahern and his brother voluntarily renounced the Hunt and returned to the House of Oak. Yet no such thing had happened, indicating that Braith’s beloved was not only still alive but free.