“I might,” Roger said, scratching his beard as his gaze moved to Luke. “You know anything about satellite dishes? ’Cause this thing,” he muttered, kicking the sled, “knocked my television dish clean off my roof last June, just before it smashed into the trees behind my cabin. I fashioned another dish from the blasted thing’s parts, but I only get half the channels I used to.” His gaze narrowed. “I mightbe able to find something about the size you want, if’n you get all my channels to come in. As well as those sweet bar thingies your missy just mentioned.”
“I know a little something about satellite dishes,” Luke offered.
Roger snatched up his shotgun, grabbed the rope handle on his sled, and started off up the tote road they were camped beside. “Then come on, people! We only got two hours of daylight left. And today’s Wednesday, and Survivormanis on tonight. I already missed nearly six months of episodes.”
Luke stood beside Camry, both of them watching the man disappear around a curve, Max hot on his heels. Tigger, getting mired in the deep snow, rushed back to them and started whining.
Luke scooped up the dog. “Does AuClair look familiar to you?” he asked, still staring up the road. “Those green eyes of his, maybe?”
“I can’t say,” Camry murmured, “what with all that wild hair covering everything.” She glanced up at Luke. “How does he know our names? And what did he mean, he’s been waiting for us to show up for weeks?”
“I suppose we’re going to have to ask him.” Luke opened the door of the snowcat and set Tigger inside, then headed back to the tent. “Let’s get dressed and secure everything here so we can catch up with him.”
Luke crawled inside the tent, sat on the sleeping bag, and slipped off his boots to pull on his pants. “You know anything about television dishes?” he asked. “Because short of tying the old hermit up and ransacking his place—which, despite my actions to date, is one crime I refuse to consider—it looks as if we’re going to have to repair his dish if we want Podly’s data banks.”
Camry fastened her pants, then slipped back into her boots. She reached over and shut off their catalytic heater, then quickly straightened their sleeping bags before heading back outside. “How many rocket scientists does it take to repair a television antenna?” she asked with a giggle.
“Two,” Luke said, crawling out behind her. He pulled her into his arms and kissed the tip of her nose. “One to stand on the roof holding the aluminum foil, and the other one to tell him which direction to turn.” He kissed her again, then hugged her so tightly she squeaked. “We just found Podly,” he whispered.
“Let’s not start celebrating just yet,” she warned. “For all we know, Roger AuClair dismantled the data bank and is using it for a tea tin.”
Luke dragged her to the snowcat. “Don’t even think it!”
Camry sat at the rickety old table in the ramshackle old cabin, sipping the peppermint tea Roger had made her before he’d taken Max and Tigger outside to supervise Luke as he repaired the dish.
The cabin sported two rooms, the dividing wall fashioned from mismatched snowshoes; several broken skis; and a large number of crooked sticks—some with the bark carefully removed to expose beautiful knots. An assortment of dishes and dented pots were neatly stacked on shelves beneath a sagging counter holding a pockmarked enamel sink and hand pump that looked more rusty than solid. The large wood cookstove sitting in the center of the sidewall, radiating the heat of a sauna, was covered with cast-iron pots wafting up steam that smelled of citrus and cloves.
Basically, Cam might have thought she was sitting smack in the middle of the nineteenth century but for the giant flat-screened television hanging on the opposite wall. On each side of it, rising from floor to rafter, were shelves crammed full of books. Sitting just a few feet in front of the television was a fine-grained leather recliner that looked as if it belonged in a New York penthouse. And tucked into every available nook and cranny scattered around the cabin were what appeared to be pieces of Podly—some the size of a gum stick, some as big as a basketball.
She did not, however, see anything that resembled a data bank.
Hearing Luke’s footsteps on the roof—which creaked threateningly under his weight—Cam reached into her coat and pulled Podly’s transmitter out of the pocket. She stood up to glance out the window and saw Roger sitting on the ground, fighting back two ecstatic dogs as he called instructions up to Luke.
Cam looked down at the transmitter. “I don’t know what you’re up to, Fiona,” she whispered as she started walking around the cabin, holding the tiny instrument out in front of her. “But if this is about that bib I gave you that said Shamans Rock,you’re a smart enough girl to know that I was only trying to piss off your daddy. You’re going to grow up to be a wonderful drùidh just like your parents, probably even more powerful. And really, I truly enjoyed spending time with you this past week—even if you were only messing with me. But please, Fiona, don’t mess with Luke. He’s such a good man, and he’s trying so hard to make up for eavesdropping on Podly. Help me help him find the data bank . . . in one piece,” she tacked on as she continued around the cabin.
“A-and while you’re at it, could you help me figure out if this ache in my chest is because I love Luke more than I fear the magic? Because if that’s what’s making my heart hurt, then I’m afraid you’re also going to have to help me find the courage to do something about it.”
The little transmitter suddenly chirped, and Cam stilled on an indrawn breath. “Where?” she whispered, moving the instrument left and then right.
It chirped again when she started walking toward the front of the cabin, giving a series of beeps that increased in frequency. As she waved it back and forth like a homing device, it eventually led her to the front wall, then started vibrating when she passed it near a dusty old frame hanging at eye level.
It took Cam a moment to realize she was looking at some sort of certificate. She pulled down the sleeve of her sweater, rubbed away the dust, and suddenly frowned.
Roger AuClair was a justice of the peace?
She squinted to read the date, but the ink was smudged by what appeared to be a thumbprint. June something, the year two thousand and . . . something.
She held the transmitter next to the frame, and it started vibrating excitedly again. Cam’s heart thumped madly, and a flurry of butterflies took flight in her belly. “What are you saying?” she whispered.
The cabin door beside her suddenly opened, startling Cam into tossing the transmitter into the air with a gasp of surprise. It bounced off an equally startled Roger, causing Luke to bump into him when the old hermit stopped in midstep. All three of them watched as the transmitter clattered to the floor, rolled up against the leather recliner, and loudly chirped.
Roger walked over and picked it up just as Max tried to grab it. “Dag-nab-it, what are you doing back here, you infernal thing?” he asked the instrument. He held it toward Camry. “You make it stop that blasted noise, Missy MacKeage, or I swear I’m going to take my shotgun to it.”
When Cam only gaped at him, he thrust the transmitter toward Luke. “I thought I’d seen the last of this blasted thing when I gave it to Fiona.”
Luke stopped in midreach. “Did you say Fiona? She was here?”
“Of course she was here.” Roger slapped the transmitter into Luke’s hand. “Who do you think told me to expect you?”
“Fiona Gregor?” Luke glanced uncertainly at Camry. “How old is she?”
Roger’s eyebrows drew together. “Yes, Gregor. And I never know how old she’s going to be when she shows up.” He held his arm out at eye level. “But this time she was in her teens, about yeahigh, with long blond hair and big blue eyes.” He kissed his fingers with a loud smack. “And she bakes the sweetest pies this side of heaven.”