Remedy Maker (33 page)

Before turning away, Rhy leaned his head back and shook out his hair, reminding her of his true equine half, hidden during daylight hours. Every soft strand fell obediently into place.
How the hell does he do that?

“See ya later, babe.” Dust kicked up from his Nikes as he took off jogging down the path leading from his cabin and into the woods.

Patience stood in the yard until he disappeared into the shadows, then went inside the cabin and closed the door.

She slid the black deadbolt into place as he’d taught her to do. Deafened by the sudden silence, she rested her back against the door’s iron Z pattern cross braces. Without the footfalls of Rhy pacing the floor, whether on foot or hoof, the place felt hollow. He’d taken to whistling and humming lately, and she missed his toneless melodies.

First order of business: Turn on some tunes.

She flipped the solar radio’s switch to the on position and orchestral music floated out. Not what she had in mind, but it was better than silence.

Second order of business:  Make the bed.

Tugging up her shorts, she scooted down the hall. Violins in the symphonic background stopped abruptly, and the tone changed. Strong beats of a bass guitar struck a hard, new rhythm.
Now that’s more like it.
A monotone voice rhymed evenly spaced words, jamming out a rap. Revived from the uplifting change, she shimmied down the hall with the new
crackin’
attitude.

In the stallroom, she paused near the bed, nodding with the deep thump vibrating through the wall. Chaotic blue sheets twisted in a jumbled pile before her. Their creation of love—and the hours it had taken to get it
juuust
right.

A heady scent of sex lingered, floating up to perfume the air. She wanted to bottle up the fragrance for her remaining days ahead. Whenever she burned to revisit Rhycious and their
passionfest
time together, she’d just pull the stopper and have herself a good long whiff.

Hell. Waiting for him to bring up their bleak future was the
absodoodle
shits.

The
not knowing
pricked at her, irritating like a sticker in her sock. First her sister, now Rhy’s game plan.

Before Patience tackled making the bed, she buried her nose in Rhy’s pillow. His masculine clover scent clouded her mind, wrapped her up tight, and demanded she be under him again. Invigorated, she made short work of the sheets. When the remainder of the room was straightened, she changed out of her seducing hanky-top and pulled on a clean tee from Rhy’s dresser drawer.

“I really need to bring some of my own clothes here.”

Before frustration set in, she caught her train of thought and threw it out. Rhycious trusted her here, in his home. He trusted her there, mediating the future of their people. He just didn’t trust her in his life. She kicked a sock into the laundry pile.
Too late,
aggrevane’s
already here.

No sense commuting on a one-way path to heartache and depression. Time ticked excessively fast, crossing their numbered days off a solstice calendar neither of them would address.

Patience retied the bandana around her hips to keep Rhy’s shorts from dropping every few minutes like a hiccup. Through the white metal slats of the stallroom’s blinds, a thin layer of fog blanketed the heavens. Dark and light patches of gray checkered the sky in billowed celestial bumps.

Back in her windowless tree home, weather was never in question. Precipitation was taken in through her taproot’s branches and leaves, absorbed into her life force dwelling, supplying her with innate outdoor information.

Serenity, with her supercharged sensitivities, felt the fluxes in barometric pressure. Many a time she’d predicted the weather before the changes ever occurred.

“Where are you?” Patience must have asked that question a hundred times. Caught between the hope that Serenity
spaced-out
on letting anyone know where she went, Patience also feared the worst. She prayed for the opportunity to scream at her sister for disrupting everyone’s lives.

Kept in a constant chaotic spin from her health and emotional upheavals, she worried. And
worry turds
sucked. Waiting for leads sucked, too. To keep her mind busy, she cleaned the bathroom.

Third order of business: Another cup of tea.

Hot water poured over the metal tea strainer, steam wafted from the kettle spout. After steeping for a few minutes, she laid the drippy bobber aside and walked the
I Hate Mondays
mug into the living room.

Snuggled in the corner armchair with her bare feet tucked under, she gazed out the windows. Patches of blue broke through fog and peeked from behind the steely murk. The sun tried valiantly to burn its way through.

Patience blew on her tea and took a sip; warmth coated her throat in bursts of orange pekoe flavor.

Where was their relationship going? Her head sunk back into the overstuffed chair, the mind was pointing out what her heart didn’t want to hear. The inevitable parting from Rhycious loomed darker than a specter, and she pulled back, afraid to go near it.

Through the living room window, she regarded the serene view of the nurturing forest surrounding the back of Rhy’s cabin. A breeze had picked up, shivering leaves and bouncing branches. She uncurled one leg to drape in front and took another long sip, shifting her view to the kitchen window.

And fucking froze.

Any sudden movement would attract his attention. A mouthful of hot tea burned her tongue before she forcibly swallowed it down. In incremental inches, Patience lowered her arm and set the mug on the side table, not daring to look away from the horror beyond the glass pane. 

Her cup touched the lamp table’s flat surface. To calm her mind, she counted the seconds for the human peering in the window to turn away. Patience moved faster than a forest fire on a windy day for the room nearest her. Her mug fell on the floor, splashing tea everywhere. She prayed whoever was outside hadn’t heard the clatter over the drumming of a woodpecker.

Keeping low, she ducked through and she closed the bedroom door. Heavy footfalls walked the length of Rhy’s porch. Patience’s fisted hands shook. A knock rapped the front door and she flinched out of her skin.

Oh gods! Rhycious, come home. Come home, come home
.

Multiple muffled voices. More humans meant more trouble, and that was never good. Outside the cabin, she could hide amongst the trees. The front door—the only exterior door—wasn’t an exit option. If she hid in the closet, it’d be her luck they would break in and find her.

Before she could flashback to her recent holiday with the hunters, a loud thumb from outside jumped her out of a brain freeze with a heart-pounding jolt.

No. Her only choice was to get her ass outside.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to
chillax
her freaked-out mind. She gripped the bedpost and thought hard, staring at the tranquility loop pattern in the quilt. Not long ago, she had blinked herself awake in this bed, meeting Rhycious for the first time. She felt no fear then, and she’d be damned if she’d feel it now. She had faced down humans before. If it came down to it, she’d do it again.

The only way out would be through a window.

 Rhy’s plaid flannel shirt lay across the back of the chair. She grabbed it for warmth, remembering the chill when she’d walked him outside earlier.

The high set window rested cold against her hand. When she pushed the pane, it didn’t open. Patience blew a short breath and tried again.

Dammit.

The front door rattled loudly in the quiet cabin. Anxiety spiked, and blood rushed through her ears. How did Rhycious do it, living in the open as he did? Two deep breaths later, she gathered her frazzled nerves—which did little to combat the edgy sweat dampening her brow.

A glance around the room showed zilch for a hint on how to escape. Rhy’s silver pocketknife flashed at her from the top of the tall standing dresser against the wall. She sprang over the bed and grabbed it, sliding the four-inch blade open. 

Silent, quick steps tracked a path back. She stabbed the knife’s tip into the left side of the window frame, nearly bending the blade trying to pry the glass open. First pulling toward her, and then pushing away.

How in the hell do these things open?

Footsteps battered the porch stairs. She held her breath, straining to hear which direction the humans would take.

Silence. After a few moments, the footsteps returned. A hammering bang rattled the door’s hinges, jolting the walls, as though someone outside had kicked the crap out of the door.

Her mind and body slowed, wanted to petrify in suspended animation like some low ranked food chain facing its predator.
Bullshit, I’m tougher than that.
The knife quivered in her grasp, shaking worse than a quaking aspen.

Patience threw her weight behind the knife, prying repeatedly, wondering who in the hell invented glass panes. Despite her bladed plea, the window refused to open. She tamped down fear, stark and vivid, as it rose in her throat. Being scared wasn’t an option, she had to think rationally and be alert.

Maybe she was working the window backwards. She tossed Rhy’s flannel shirt to lie over her shoulder and pulled the knife’s blade out of the sill. On the opposite side of the frame, she plunged it in.

Sweat flushed across her brow. Her racing heart kicked up another gear. She began to shake as
scary-go-round
images built in her mind.

Another vicious kick pounded the front door, and she jumped. The deadbolt proved worthy and held—for now. The cabin was made of wood—dead wood. How much kicking could the dead take before caving in to splinter apart?

Panic thrummed through her body in a shock wave. Her sweaty palm slipped on the pocketknife’s handle and it skidded away. She threw out a hand to catch the knife before it hit the floor. A split second too late, she realized how stupid her move was.

Stinging pain sliced into her palm and across two fingers, crimson beads rushed to the surface.
Damn!
Not a deep cut, but enough to burn and drip red sap on the floor.

Outside the cabin, male voices spoke louder. The humans were arguing, or shouting to the occupants of the house. Whatever, it didn’t matter what was being said. It’s not as if she’d smile and invite them in.

Breath rasping hard and fast, her erratic thinking flew out of control. She rested her uninjured hand on the window’s top frame.

Click.

And the damn window slid open—just like that.
Thank you, Pan!

Patience threw the pane open as far as it would go and peered out, scouting the area behind the cabin. Within ten running strides, she’d be in the forest, hidden and safe. Between the cabin and trees, however, lay wide-open space.

Not wasting time, she hoisted herself up on the sill. The slider’s aluminum track dug trenches into her belly. Her toes caught leverage on the rounded log wall beneath the window, reminding she was barefoot, her shoes were on the other side of the house. Better a stomachache and stubbed toes than a
party-down
time she’d rather not repeat.

Patience pulled a leg through the window. The sharp metal frame pressed into her bleeding hand. Bolts of pain shot up from her palm, and she jerked back from the source. The flannel shirt fell to the floor.

It was too late to go after it now.

Booted feet drummed on the porch and she didn’t know if the humans were going up or down the stairs. Her palms, damp before, now ran wet with sweat.

Patience pitched a knee under her, and made a jump for it. Landing outside on her feet in the dirt, she reached up and slid the window closed. A wild taste of fear flooded her mouth and she choked it back for survival’s sake. Leaning her upper body forward, she forced her leaden legs to move.

No time for a countdown—she turned and ran. Childhood fears mixed with her kidnapping and churned a bubbling cauldron inside her. When shade from Boronda’s canopy covered the ground, she slowed her steps.

Patience didn’t need to run far, just enough to be completely hidden. Her leg muscles burned, and she leaned heavily against a tree. Shaggy bark of an ancient hickory stood strong against her spine. Despite her fears, she fought to steady her wobbly nerves and take in air. Rough textures beneath her fingers helped calm her down.

Other than the light breeze, the woods stood motionless. As if every woodland creature and the gods themselves held their collective breath to see what would happen next.

Patience needed a place to hide and time to think. Adrenaline sucked her reserved stores of energy. At this rate, she would be a broken twig before too long. Turning, she pressed her face against the tree’s wide trunk. She was tired—so damn tired.

Visually trembling, she raised a fist and knocked twice, hoping the dweller within wouldn’t mind an unannounced guest.

Twenty-Six

Bored in the Communal Chamber, Kempor Aleksander cocked a rear leg and grimaced while observing the method in which Albion Yerdank prostrated himself before the dark priest.

The Satyr tucked his hands inside the dolman sleeves of his tan robe, setting the material to flare at his thick waist. Pocket-sized horns, buffed to a gleaming alabaster shine, bobbed as the goat-man bowed like a dippy-bird.

Twenty minutes ago, the binary meeting of the woodland nations had adjourned. Small clusters of representatives remained, talking amongst themselves. Savella, looking regal and elegant in a glittery blue gown, worked the room and performed her political best maintaining relations between the dignitaries.

“Yes, I agree with your reasoning. However—”

Templar Khristos interrupted Albion’s words mid-sentence with a hoof stomp, and glowered at the runt. “If you agree with
Her Majesty’s
objectives, then there’s nothing to debate.”

Khristos ruffled his coal-black cape, freeing his arms from its draped confines. His fingers meticulously straightened the cuff of his shirt, and moved the ironed crease to its exact position. Minerals glowing in the ceiling reflected off his medallion of office, flashing his imperial station to remind the annoying billy goat.