Mistrals Kiss   ::   Гамильтон Лорел

I reached out from behind those shields and searched for a place in the trees that felt…thin. I couldn’t look simply for magic; there was too much of it around me. Too much power flowing toward us. I needed to cast out for something more specific.

“The clover has slowed them,” Mistral called.

This made me glance back, away from the trees. The cloud of nightmares rolled above the clover like a pack of hounds that had lost the scent.

Sholto just kept running, his hair flying behind him, the nude beauty of him beautiful in motion, like watching a horse run across a field. It was a beauty that transcended sex; simply beautiful for its own sake.

“Concentrate, Merry,” Rhys said. “I’ll help you look for a door.”

I nodded and went back to looking only at the trees. They thrummed with power, inherently magical and invested with further power because they had been called into being by one of the oldest magicks.

Rhys called from across the clearing. “Here!”

I ran to him, the clover tapping at my legs and feet as if patting me with soft green hands. I passed Frost on the ground, where Doyle sat holding his wound. Frost was hurt, very hurt, but there was no time to help — Doyle would take care of him. I had to take care of us all.

Rhys was standing by a group of three of the trees that looked no different from the others, really. But when I put my hand out toward them, it was as if reality had been rubbed thin here, like a good-luck penny rubbed in your pocket.

“You feel it?” Rhys asked.

I nodded. “How do we open it?”

“You just walk through,” Rhys said. He looked back at the others. “Everybody gather around. We need to walk through together.”

“Why?” I asked.

He grinned at me. “Because naturally occurring doorways like this don’t lead to the same place every time. It’d be bad if we were separated.”

“Bad’s one way of putting it,” I said.

Doyle had to help Frost to his feet. Even so, he stumbled. Abe came and offered his shoulder to lean on, still grasping the horn cup in one hand, as if it was the most important thing in the world. It occurred to me then that the Goddess’s chalice had gone back to wherever it went when it wasn’t mucking about with me. I had never held on to it the way Abe did with his, but then, I had been afraid of its power. Abe wasn’t afraid of his cup’s power; he was afraid of losing it again.

Mistral was backing toward us. “Are we waiting for the Lord of Shadows or leaving him to his fate?”

It took me a second to realize he meant Sholto. I looked toward the lake.