The Waning Moon Read online

  “Eleanor, stop.” Isaac’s voice silenced me and a wave of shame heated my face. Joseph was one of Isaac’s best friends, and I was treating him even more shabbily than he’d treated me. I was definitely not ready to grace the cover of “How to Win Friends and Influence People.”

  “I’m sorry, Joseph. I am suspicious of your intentions, and my tongue ran away with me. I hope you’ll accept my apology.”

  Joseph bowed stiffly in my direction. “Of course. It would be ungracious in the extreme to not.” He turned to Isaac. “Perhaps we could finish our conversation in private? I’ll have William show your women to the new car. He can load the luggage for them.”

  I squashed the urge to put a knife in Joseph’s back. You’d think someone who was essentially a favored plaything of a queen would be a little less misogynistic. I looked at Florence. The air around her was taking on a decidedly crystalized look. “Florence? Chill. Or, more accurately, don’t.”

  Florence tamped down her temper and the lines in her face smoothed out again. She held out her hand to Joseph, and he took it. She stared into his face for a second and then dropped it. “Thank you for the night’s shelter. It’s been interesting.”

  William came back into the room, grabbed our bags, and Florence and I followed him out. In the driveway next to the mini-van was another car. A weird-ass looking station wagon.

  “What’s that?” I asked. It was fascinatingly ugly.

  “A 1956 Hudson Rambler,” William answered. “They’re extremely rare.”

  “Probably because they’re ugly,” Florence observed.

  “I like it.”

  William placed our bags in the large trunk-region and I noticed there were six five-gallon gas cans strapped down as well.

  “Do you know what kind of mileage this thing gets?” I asked.

  “I believe the highway mileage is above thirty,” William replied.

  “Thank you. This car is amazing.”

  “It was a pleasure serving you. I wish you the best of luck in your future endeavors. Do not worry over-much about the wrath of Candace. She will be distracted today, and will soon forget about you.”

  I looked more closely at William. I’d known he wasn’t human—an elderly man couldn’t carry that many bags with ease—but I’d assumed he was a shifter. For a moment, instead of an old man, I saw a mahogany creature about three feet tall with pointed ears, too-long limbs, and an oversized nose. A pointed cap crowned his long, white hair and his only other clothing was a loincloth.

  “Brownie,” I whispered.

  “Indeed, Your Majesty.” He bowed and his human façade slipped back into place.

  He disappeared into the mansion and I grinned. The day was definitely looking up.

  “What did you see?” Florence asked.

  “I’ll tell you later,” I thought at her.

  We stood and waited. And waited. It was almost 6:30 now, and the sun would be up soon. I started to get nervous. Five minutes later, Isaac stalked out of the house. We all got into the car—I was driving—and left the estate.

  “Before you yell at her, you need to know she was right,” Florence said.

  Isaac’s lips pressed into a thin line. Our relationship was still shiny and new, and this was the first time he’d been mad at me. It sucked. I opened my mouth to apologize again, but Isaac spoke first, “Not now, Eleanor.”

  Knowing I was right wasn’t enough to quell the sick feeling twisting my gut. My mind kept swirling over everything I could’ve done differently until I was ready to scream. I needed something to center me before I inadvertently lit the car on fire. “Florence, do you have the map back there? I need a little navigational assistance.”

  Florence gave me directions to the freeway, but other than that, the only noise was the traffic. After a couple of hours, I needed a break. Too much tension on top of the coffee left me with an urgent need to pee. I pulled off the freeway and into the nearest greasy spoon.

  When I got back out to the dining area, Florence and Isaac were leaning into each other across a table. I couldn’t hear them, but based on the rigid set of Isaac’s shoulders and Florence’s emphatic gesticulation, it was intense. I loitered near the counter until the waitress started giving me stink eye, then clomped over and slid in beside Isaac. After ordering coffee and second breakfast, Florence excused herself and headed towards the back of the diner.

  Never one to beat around the bush, I decided to put on my big girl panties and start talking.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been such an asshat to your friend. I could’ve found a more polite way to make my suspicions known. I handled myself poorly.”

  Silence stretched out between us and I sat on my hands to keep from fidgeting. I peeked at Isaac through my lashes, hoping to see his expression soften.

  I was about to figuratively die from stress before Isaac said, “I’m sorry, too. I should know you well enough to know your instincts about people are excellent.”

  As long as we ignore Finn’s existence in my life, I thought to myself.

  “Florence filled me in on Joseph’s thoughts while you were in the bathroom. She offered a few unsolicited opinions about my character while she was at it. As you suspected, he was trying to delay us until daybreak. He is helpless to Candace’s whims, and his accusations of me being in your thrall are laughable after finding out you were right about his inability to do anything without express permission.”

  I opened my mouth to offer sympathy or empathy or a solid condemnation of his now presumably ex-friend, but he interrupted, “Let me finish. Maybe you were right about Joseph, but you were also right a moment ago. You handled it in a piss-poor manner, and I’m still mad at you. I’m angry you insulted my friend with no fucking evidence.”

  My mouth closed and my stomach dropped.

  No one spoke again until we returned to the car after paying for brunch.

  “I’m driving,” Florence said. “You two sit in the back and make up.”

  I didn’t want to, but it’s impossible to argue with Florence. Isaac joined me in the back seat with zero protest.

  After thirty minutes of charged silence, Florence said, “Since you’re not ready to make up, maybe Eleanor could tell us about William?”

  I filled them in on what I’d seen when he dropped his glamour—or when my eyes penetrated his glamour. When Florence confirmed she hadn’t seen anything weird at all, it seemed like the latter was more likely.

  “A brownie, eh?” Isaac asked. “I don’t know much about them.”

  “My experience with brownies is confined to illicit foodstuffs,” Florence said.

  “What now?” I couldn’t have been more shocked if she’d told me she ate babies for breakfast.

  “Delicious and relaxing,” Florence said. “You two should try them. You’re both too uptight.”

  Isaac chuckled but refused to meet my eyes. The laughter that had been bubbling up inside me quickly dissipated. In the scheme of things, a lovers’ quarrel wasn’t a big thing, but it felt more insurmountable than finding and opening six more gates in nine months without the aid of electricity, indoor plumbing, and the internet. I charged onward, trying not to jump to conclusions with a single bound.

  “William the Brownie who, as far as I could tell, was not made of pot offered his support, such as it is. I’m still learning all the Fae stuff, and without our resident Fae resource, a lot of this is vague memories and semi-educated guesses. Brownies are earth Fae tied to an individual family—like Dobby the house elf. They take great pride in keeping the house and grounds spotless and make excellent housekeepers and butlers. This one seemed loyal to me—or, at least he knew who I was and wanted me out of his sphere of influence alive. Either way, it worked.”

  Once we’d settled into our Cleveland motel rooms, I ordered a pizza, Isaac did a beer run, and Florence pulled out the maps and guide books.

  When the anticipated knock came on the door, I peered through the peephole to ensure there was a pizza o
ut there. I didn’t care if a dozen vamps were delivering it, but if they didn’t have pizza, I wasn’t opening the door.

  I paid the pizza delivery person and set our dinner on the table.

  “When I finish knocking out the grid, what will happen to banking? Will what money people have be precious, or will these twenties be worthless?”

  Florence and Isaac sported identical expressions of shock.

  “Shit,” Isaac said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “What currency will get us what we need to finish the trip? We might want to look into obtaining some while we still can,” I said.

  “What will be valuable in a post-currency world? I used to read a lot of post-apocalyptic novels, and in them, the economy usually reverted to a barter system,” Florence said. “We should slowly withdraw all our funds and keep a large cash stockpile to use up before people realize it’s worthless.”

  “Isn’t that kind of...wrong? I don’t want to cheat people.”

  “You can attempt to barter if you’d rather, but most people will think you’re trying to cheat them. I’ve seen it in stories.”

  I shrugged. It was nothing but speculation now anyway. “What do we do when our worthless cash money is either gone or actually worthless?”

  “Before that happens, we’ll spend the cash on non-perishable but valuable items we can use to barter.”

  “Like what?”

  “We’ll want to think about our needs as well—we’ll continue to need food even when there’s no more access to take out.”

  I sighed melodramatically. “Destroying the world is no big deal, really. I mean, I’ll miss the internet, but no more Taco Bell is an absolute travesty. I wish I’d realized that was a possibility.” I was hoping my light-hearted black comedy would lighten the atmosphere between Isaac and me.

  Florence said, “In addition to ensuring we have enough food, we’ll need things with a high trade value: ammunition, gasoline, coffee, alcohol, and medicine. A stockpile of those items will help us barter our way across the country.”

  I grabbed a slice of pizza and took the beer Isaac handed me, mulling over a future without paper currency. A growing sense of unease had weighed me down all day, and it was easier to think about living in a pre-industrial era than to try to pinpoint what was wrong.

  I’d assumed it was my fight with Isaac, but something in my gut told me that wasn’t it. It wasn’t until I’d polished off the last slice of pizza that it hit me. “We’re going the wrong way. Something’s felt weird all day, and it wasn’t until right now that I figured it out. Before you ask, I don’t know what the right way is, but this isn’t it.”

  Florence finished her slice and unfolded the map, tracing a route in pencil. “I propose we take Route Three south through Columbus and Cincinnati. You will concentrate on your weird feelings. If we don’t get a hit by the time we’re in Cincinnati, we’ll continue through Kentucky and then Tennessee. Hopefully, by the time we get to Memphis, you’ll have a general direction in mind—either south to Mississippi or North to Illinois. If we make haste slowly, you’ll pick something up, right?”

  “Maybe? I didn’t feel the second gate until I was about ten miles from it.”

  “But you didn’t feel the first gate until you were within one mile,” Isaac pointed out. “Your sensitivity and range are both increasing.”

  “Cities deaden it, though. There’s too much iron and concrete. I can’t feel it as easily here. I hate what I’m going to say next, but we need to camp as much as possible. I need to spend more time sitting in the dirt and less sitting in crappy motel rooms. Plus, if refrigeration is going away, I’d like to spend the next month eating Isaac’s amazing camp fire meat creations.”

  “Perhaps you can drop me off in the nearest town every night,” Florence said. “I can be in charge of stockpiling our post-apocalyptic stash.”

  “You don’t want to camp with us?” I asked. “I thought you liked camping.”

  “What gave you that impression?”

  “The two weeks we spent in the Badlands?”

  “It was necessary to camp because we needed wilderness to practice your magic and flying. Not because I wanted to spend two weeks in a tent and drinking water from a questionable tap in the middle of nowhere.”

  “But shouldn’t you like being one with the land?”

  “Because I’m an Indian? Seriously?”

  “I was going to say mage,” I said.

  “Fair point. I like connecting to the earth, but I also like sleeping in a bed. Speaking of which, that’s what I’m going to do right now.”

  Florence returned to her room, and Isaac and I were finally alone. I looked at him, hoping he’d initiate a conversation that started with ‘I’m over it,’ moved to ‘let’s kiss and make up,’ and ended with us in bed. He went into the bathroom and closed the door. I heard the shower turn on and opened another beer.

  I’d finished two and was contemplating a third before the shower shut off. Either I was drinking extraordinarily fast, or Isaac was avoiding me. I checked the clock. Ninety minutes had gone by since Florence had taken her leave. Definitely some avoidance happening here.

  I briefly considered stripping down before he walked into the room, but dismissed that idea as unnecessarily desperate. If he was still mad tomorrow night, I’d pull out the big guns—my boobs.

  I dug through my pack and grabbed pajamas. I’d finished my third beer and was well into the book on Mound Builders of the Mississippi Valley before Isaac reappeared. I barely glanced up—this stuff was fascinating. I’d hoped something would reach out and grab me, but the photographs didn’t exhibit any hidden power.

  Isaac dropped his towel, and I dropped my book. I attempted to ogle surreptitiously but gave it up as a bad job fairly quickly. I congratulated myself for being the mature one and watched—maturely—as Isaac bent over to pull a pair of boxer briefs from his bag. I licked my lips then suppressed my groan of disappointment when he pulled them on.

  He turned and caught me staring. I blushed, which pissed me off and made me feel belligerent. He raised an eyebrow at me, and since I still lacked the ability to do the same, I rolled my eyes back. Isaac grinned and sat down next to me. I held my breath. Was it finally kiss and make up time?

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “Me, too.”

  He brushed his lips against mine. I wanted to press forward and throw myself into his arms, but held back, still a bit unsure of my reception.

  I leaned back. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  He quirked that damnable eyebrow at me again. “Kissing?”

  I punched him in the shoulder. “I hate that I’m not sure if you’ll pull away if I try to take things further. I hate that I second guess myself. I hate that I spent all day freaking out about a relationship. This isn’t me. I don’t have relationships, and if I do, they’re one-sided—and it’s not my side. I don’t do relationship freak outs. I don’t do fights. I definitely don’t do sick feelings that make me want to simultaneously throw up and curl into the fetal position.”

  Isaac pulled away from me. “Are you saying you don’t want this? One fight is all it takes for you to walk away.”

  “No!” I was louder than necessary. I tried to convince myself it wasn’t because I was trying to convince myself. It had to be the truth because I was able to say it, right? “I want you. I don’t want the crap parts.”

  Isaac exhaled forcefully, then pulled me into his arms. “Have you ever been in a relationship before?”

  “Not one that’s lasted this long, and never one I cared about.”

  “This long? We’ve only known each other for a couple of months.”

  “Your point?”

  “My point is by the ripe old age of thirty-four, a lot of people have been in a relationship or two.”

  I tensed and tried to extract myself from his arms, but he didn’t loosen his hold. “I’m not good with people. Are you trying to fight again?”

&nbs
p; “No. I didn’t realize how new this all was for you.”

  “I’ve never felt this way before. I’ve never let anyone hurt me this badly and then stuck around for what’s next. You confound me.”

  Isaac dropped a kiss on the tip of my nose. “I’m sorry, Eleanor.” He kissed each of my cheeks. “I’m sorry for not being able to drop my anger sooner.” He brushed his lips against mine. “I’m sorry for making you doubt yourself and my love for you.” His hands slid to my waist, found the hem of my tank top, and slowly slid it up. His thumbs skimmed my bare nipples, and I gasped. “I’m sorry I hurt you.” He pulled my shirt over my head in one swift movement and leaned down to flick my nipples with his tongue—first one and then the other.

  “Before we go any further, I have something to say, too.” My sentence devolved into a moan as Isaac sucked my left nipple into his mouth. “Please?” I wasn’t sure if I was asking him to stop or to keep going. He stopped, and I quelled my disappointment.

  “I feel bad I accused your friend of having ill intent, and even worse that I was right. I was a jerk. A jerk who sucks at relationships.”

  Isaac’s fingers resumed their journey over my skin, trailing over my hips and sliding under the material of my silky boy shorts. I grabbed his face and pulled him down to my mouth, kissing him like it was the last time I’d feel his tongue against mine. A ferocity I didn’t recognize swelled in my chest.

  Claim him. Mark him. I jumped. My inner voice didn’t often surprise me. It was my inner voice, after all. But this was new.

  “Are you okay?” Isaac asked.

  “Yes. My inner monologue is a bit off today.”

  “Are you trying to get out of this?” He ran a hand between my legs, cupping my sex and rubbing his thumb over the growing wetness on the material. I lost my train of thought. He laid on top of me, forcing my legs apart. His hardness strained against the twin barriers of his underwear and mine, and I wanted those barriers gone. Now. I grasped him, lifted my hips, pressing myself even tighter against him, and started shimmying off my shorts.