Worlds Apart Page 3

“Mrs. Reynolds is in room two,” Sharon replied, still miffed. “I turned the heat up so she wouldn't freeze in that gown while she waited.”

  Her attitude went a long way toward cheering Tina up. She turned to open her own blinds and gaze at the forest a few feet away, letting Sharon hear her laugh over the open line. “You're an angel to all who enter, Sharon. It's the only reason I have patients.”

  “Long as you don't forget it,” Sharon shot back, sounding a little mollified.

  Tina closed the connection and reached for her lab coat, pausing once more to gaze out the window. The memory of Clive's touch still sent tingles along her back, making her twitch. She stung in all the places where the belt had landed. She'd been lucky. Not all men knew how to use a belt with a light touch. It was too bad Clive didn't stay. She shrugged, turning for the door. Take the good, Tina, she told herself. And don't let the bad get to you.

  ~~

  The road was less than optimal, and Clive had to fight the wheel to keep the tires on the smoothest part of the path. He fought it with fierce concentration, welcoming the distraction from the bitterness that sliced into him, and from the treacherous desire to run back to Green Roads and beg Tina to forgive him. To promise he'd stay.

  As if I had the freedom to make that choice.

  The sky had been clearing over the town, but this deep in the mountains, the rain still fell, and a mist clung to the trees. Mud spattered the windows, adding poor visibility to the danger of his speed. The GPS had long since given up trying to pin the location, but Clive had detailed directions. Anyway, there was nowhere else to go—it was this road or nothing.

  He could have found it even without directions. The house he was looking for was just half a mile from the portal, and he could find that in his sleep. He'd felt its pull even in town.

  The house appeared as if by magic, just beyond a hairpin curve that made his tires slide. It was a log cabin, with three steps leading up to a small porch, a window on each side of the ornately designed door. Even from a distance, Clive could tell the design was a rune of protection and concealment. Smoke rose from a chimney on the right side of the house, but there was no other sign anyone lived here.

  He stopped the truck in the clearing a few feet from the porch and took a deep breath. He had work to do, and mooning over a woman was a distraction. So knock it off. He flipped up the hood of his jacket and hauled himself to the ground. A click made him pause just before he slammed the truck door.

  “Stay right there, Mister,” a rough voice commanded. “Put your hands up.”

  Clive did as he was told, turning to observe the figure in the doorway. The man was old, as the voice had hinted, tall, but stoop-shouldered. Still powerful though, as the rifle aimed at his heart never wavered. The old man's gaze was sharp and Clive was not tempted to test his eyesight.

  “I'm Clive Winslow,” he said. “From the Bureau. We have an appointment.”

  “I know who you are,” the old man said. He didn't lower the rifle. “Know what you are, too. Don't care what your job is. I know better than to trust a werewolf.”

  “It's a new moon,” Clive pointed out.

  “Yep, that it is. So I'll talk to you about the problem, and you can be on your way.”

  Clive sighed. “Mr. Ruth, it's raining. It's cold. I'm here on official Bureau business, at your request. I'd like to solve your problem for you, but you're going to have to meet me halfway. At least let me come on the porch.”

  Sebastian Ruth took another minute to look Clive over, then nodded. “Come inside,” he said and disappeared into the cabin.

  Clive's eyebrows shot to his hairline, but he slammed the truck door closed and approached the house. He made his step on the porch hard and loud, hoping to give Ruth plenty of warning that he was close. He paused in the doorway, taking in the scene.

  A bear rug covered most of the floor, with just a few chairs and a coffee table in the center. Sebastian Ruth sat in a chair facing the door, the rifle resting across his lap. To Clive’s right, at the end of the room, a fire crackled behind a grate, casting moving shadows against the floor and walls. A lamp near Ruth's chair provided localized light.

  Ruth gestured with the rifle. “Pour yourself some coffee and sit.”

  Clive nodded, moving toward the back of the house as the rifle had indicated. A kitchen stood off the main room, a spot of floor with a stove and sink, and few cabinets. A cup stood next to the coffee pot, along with bowls of cream and sugar. Clive filled his cup and ignored the rest, turning to lift the pot in Ruth's direction.

  The old man shook his head. “I've got mine.”

  Clive chose a chair at some distance from his host, his movements deliberate. “Why don't you tell me what's been happening, Mr. Ruth? Your report mentioned increased activity at the portal.”

  “That's the way of it,” Ruth said. “Last couple of weeks, nearly every night, something's come across. Goblins, mostly, but a few pixies, too.”

  “Pixies?” Clive gripped the cup, thinking of Tina and the other people in the tavern last night. Damn.

  Ruth nodded. “Yes, sir. They stay for a few hours, then go back. They're warding their movements, so I can't trace what they're doing. But I can sense 'em.” His eyes narrowed into a glare. “Couple days ago, a werewolf came through. He hung around for almost twenty-four hours, doin' something out there. Never tried to come near the house. It's warded, you know.”

  Clive nodded. That's what the rune was for. The only reason he'd been able to see the house at all was because Ruth had requested a Bureau investigation. Without Ruth's specific invitation to enter, the ward would have kept him outside even more than the rifle.

  “Dammed inconvenient, though,” Ruth said. “I had to stay inside all day.”

  “Did you look around after he went back?” Clive asked, sipping his coffee.

  “Hell yeah, I looked. Lost his trail a couple hundred feet from the portal.” The rifle shifted as Ruth shrugged. “I'm gettin' old. Can't see as far as I used to.” His gaze was intense and thoughtful as he looked Clive over. “But I can see your aura's awful calm for a werewolf. Unusual.”

  Clive's lips twitched as he gazed into his cup, allowing himself a moment of memory. A soft touch, a brief scent. That was how to get through it, he decided. Keep the memory of her in small doses, just once in a while.

  “There's a certain young woman to thank for that,” Clive said. “Nothing mysterious about it.”

  “Too old for that, too.” Ruth snorted. “Enjoy it while you can.”

  Clive laughed, but he stayed alert, leery of Ruth's sudden camaraderie.

  The fire reflected a touch of sadness in Ruth's face. “You tell your boss that I'm not going to be useful here much longer.” His eyes glinted dark in the firelight. “I've got cancer in my lungs. Healers have taken it out three times, but it’s back again.”

  Clive set his cup on the table. “I'm sorry, Mr. Ruth.”

  “I'd like to go home,” Ruth whispered, not looking at Clive anymore. The rifle lay loose on his lap. “I've watched this portal for goin' on sixty years. I want to die in Kaarmanesh. You tell 'em that for me.”

  “I will,” Clive promised. “You must know we appreciate your service.”

  The dark gaze returned to Ruth’s face, with another tiny snort. “The Bureau appreciates it if they think of it, Mr. Winslow.”

  “I'll see they get your message,” Clive said. He stood, noticing Ruth's hands return to the gun. But the hands just rested there while Ruth watched. Clive tilted his head toward the door. “I'll look around out there and see what I can find. I'll check in with you before I leave.”

  Ruth nodded. “You do that, Mr. Winslow. I'll be waitin'.”

  Tina glanced at her watch as she paused next to the reception desk to add notes to her patient’s chart. There was one more patient before lunch, when she could answer the siren call of a sandwich from Eddie’s. Sharon had ordered them thirty minutes ago.

  Sharon glanced up from her compute
r. “We’ve had three calls about stomach problems today.

  “Oh dear.” Tina’s foreboding of yesterday came back in full score. “That's five families.”

  “Charlotte Gehrig was the last to call, a few minutes ago. I gave her the usual spiel, but she wants you to call her anyway,” Sharon said.

  “Soon as I've finished here. In the meantime, will you call the other families and start a list of what they ate for the day or two before they got sick? We'll need to investigate this. I'll get information from Charlotte when I talk to her.”

  The next patient was Mrs. Schultz, who required one-on-one training on giving herself insulin. Afterward, Tina slipped into her office and placed a call to Charlotte Gehrig.

  “Don't know what caused it, Doc,” Charlotte told her after describing their symptoms. Her voice had weakened as they talked, and Tina strained to listen. “I know I cooked the meat long enough, and the only other thing we had was vegetables from the garden. But I'm sure it was last night's dinner. It hit all of us about the same time this morning.”

  “Tell me exactly what you had,” Tina said. “A few other people are having problems too, and I'd like to see if there are any similarities.” She typed it all into the computer as Charlotte named everything. She went over the care instructions that Sharon had already provided, told Charlotte to call if anyone got worse, and hung up.

  Her fingers danced over the quick dial for her colleague's office. “Hey Wanda,” she said when the receptionist answered. “Is Himself available?”

  “He's with a patient, but should be done soon,” Wanda said. “Can I have him call you?”

  “I'll hold. That way I'll catch him while I'm between patients.”

  Ignoring the religious piano music that replaced Wanda, Tina turned to her side wall to contemplate the area map pinned there. Grabbing some yellow push pins, she placed them in the areas of reported illness, nodding to herself. Just what she thought.

  The music stopped. “Hi Tina.” Will Summerlin's voice boomed into her office over the speaker. “Are you as busy as we are?”

  Tina turned to the desk. “You got food poisoning on your end of town, too?”

  “One case Wednesday, two yesterday, two so far today,” he said. “It's got to be a recent shipment of something.”

  Tina glanced at the map. “Mine are all rural. People who eat from their gardens a lot.”

  She heard papers shuffling. “Mine are too,” he said. “But I don't know what they've eaten in common. Wanda's already calling everyone to get a list.”

  “We're doing the same. Let's set up a shared database and see what we get.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “What are your locations? I'd like to see what it looks like on the map.” Tina grabbed her blue push pins to pinpoint Will's cases as he rattled off addresses, nodding again. “Clusters,” she said.

  “So they're all shopping at the same store?” Will asked.

  “That's possible.”

  The door to her office creaked open and Sharon peeked in. “You'll want to take a look at this, Doc. Damndest thing.” She ducked back out.

  “Gotta go, Will. Let me know if you think of anything else.”

  “I'm on it. Good luck.”

  Tina hung up and went in search of Sharon. She found her in the small lab next to the copy machine.

  Sharon's chair squealed as she propelled herself back from the counter. She waved toward the microscope. “It's the stool samples from the Brayley's. Not anything I recognize.”

  “Really? All right, let me see.” Tina moved a chair over and peeked into the scope. “Hmmm.” She made a few adjustments, watching as the sample went fuzzy, then back to clear. She turned the slide ninety degrees and looked again, flummoxed. “Holy shit.”

  “Not even close,” Sharon said. “That's Richard Brayley's sample.”

  Tina lost her struggle to not laugh, but put her eyes on the microscope again. “I don't recognize it, either. Let's look at the other two and see what we've got.”

  The cultures had been growing since yesterday. Tina wanted to check for bacteria, or perhaps a parasite. The critters swimming around in the samples were a parasite all right, but not one she knew. Still, she was just a general practitioner, and her lab was equipped for just the basics. This would have to go higher up the chain. She watched the growing colony on the slide. “Have we heard from Kathy Brayley today? How are they doing?”

  “She called this morning, wondering what we'd found,” Sharon said. “I told her you'd call her by this afternoon.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  Sharon nodded and went back to the reception room. Tina printed a report and a picture of the enlarged bugs, which she took back to her office. Kathy Brayley answered on the fourth ring and Tina asked her for an update on symptoms.

  “It seems to be running its course,” Kathy said. Her voice was still shaky, but not as bad as when Tina first talked to her. “We're all down to just a few episodes of the runs. Cramping's nearly gone, too. Jenny has it the worst, I guess because she's young. We're keeping hydrated. Did you find what it was?”

  “I found the culprit, but it's not one I'm familiar with,” Tina said. “I'm going to send samples up to Portland so we can track it down. Tell me again what you ate that night.”

  “Just stuff from the garden. I made a pizza with our onions, the chard, mushrooms, and mozzarella. I got the cheese from the store. We picked and dried the mushrooms ourselves, but I've been using them for months without any problems. The chard and onions I harvested just before cooking. But I did wash them well.”

  “I'm sure you did,” Tina said. She was, too. Kathy Brayley was meticulous. “I'd like to come by and grab some soil samples. See if something's got into your garden.”

  “Yes, all right. But should we not eat any of the produce until we know? We're not eating anything right now, of course.”

  “It might be best to wait. I'll get you an answer as soon as possible. I know you don't want to waste your food.”

  “Okay, thanks. Will you come by today?”

  Tina glanced at her watch. “Yeah. Right after lunch.”

  ~~

  Wet pine needles and mud made Clive's search treacherous. The portal was well off from the path—one of Ruth's duties was to make sure the humans did not build a road too near it—and Clive spent half an hour slipping and cursing through mountain debris before he reached it. He stopped about twenty feet from it, found a log and sat. Trees rose around him, their needles catching the rain and letting it fall in bouncing splats onto the ground. Water sluiced off Clive's raincoat and pants. His boots were caked with mud. Mist hugged the ground to about three feet, air currents sending it swirling in a mysterious dance.

  The portal glowed in the mist, although human eyes wouldn't see it. Its boundaries were indistinct, a living thing that grew and shrank a few centimeters in either direction. It pulsed with energy from all the recent activity. Clive let his gaze wander over the surrounding area, noting areas of disturbance both physical and psychic. His eyes narrowed at one point before moving on to investigate the area a few feet away. He stood and made his way over, a growl rumbling low in his throat.

  The scent of a male werewolf was strong here. Clive had to remind himself the other man was not present. Even so, he vibrated with tension as he followed the path. Most of the physical indications had been wiped away by rain and wind. His scent told him that the normal creatures of this forest were avoiding the area—typical behavior for some time after a werewolf came through. He could also see traces of the were's aura, two days old, and malevolent. There was no familiarity to it, so it wasn't someone Clive had met before. But he had no doubt, that even as a man, his quarry was dangerous.

  The werewolf's path wove in and out with those of several other magical creatures. Goblins, as Ruth had said, but also a few pixies, and at least one nymph. Those paths were convoluted and haphazard, as if they had come through without a specific destination in mind. The werewolf h
ad gone straight for the most recent path. Had he sent the others ahead as scouts?

  Clive squatted next to a tree, taking out his thermos. He sipped, alert for clues. The rain stopped for a moment, on the heels of a change in the breeze, and a stronger scent reached him, acrid and vile. He stood, his shaking hands clumsy in the gloves as he forced the lid onto the thermos and slipped the strap over his head. He glared into a circle of trees before moving to crouch behind a nearby huckleberry bush. His nose twitched and the growl returned to his throat.

  The werewolf had marked the cove, a deliberate trail of urine that surrounded the trees. He'd been in human form, but even so, the were's ownership was obvious. Clive's growl grew stronger in challenge. But that would have to wait. A glimmer distracted him. The cove was warded. Eyes narrowed, Clive stood and circled the trees, picking out the telltale signs of the ward among the trunks and branches.

  The ward's complexity told him the werewolf had power, and that whatever was hidden within the cove, he didn't want it discovered. Clive crouched under a thick canopy of evergreen boughs and removed his gloves. Lifting his left arm, he tapped the black strap wrapped around his wrist. A pale blue shimmer lit the mist in a twelve-inch square above his arm.

  Pulling a stylus from his jacket pocket, he sketched the ward's motif onto the square, careful to include every detail. When he was satisfied that he had enough of the pattern for further research, he put the stylus away and tapped his strap again. The square vanished.

  Clive stood and circled the cove one more time. When the other werewolf returned, he would know Clive had been here. May as well throw down the gauntlet. Clive walked closer to the trees, cautious, but determined. His body twitched with anger as he left his own trail to intersect with the other. When he finished, he stood, his fury building until he threw back his head and howled into the trees.

  The forest answered with utter silence. Clive turned, and began the trek back to the portal.

  ~~