Self-torment aside, my day in Memphis proved remarkably uneventful—which was all part of the plan. It was as close as I was going to get to confirmation that I hadn’t been followed. Around dinnertime of the third day, I boarded a small commuter plane and braced myself for the last stop on this madcap journey: Huntsville, Alabama. I confess, when Roland had told me that’s where his safe house was, I hadn’t been excited. My stereotypes of Alabama were even worse than my Ohio ones. Roland had been quick to set me straight before I’d left Tucson.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, Eugenie,” he’d told me. “But you’re kind of a snob.”
“I am not,” I’d argued. “I’m open-minded about a lot of things. And places.”
He’d scoffed. “Right. You’re like most people from the Western U.S., convinced that anywhere else is beneath your notice.”
“That’s not true at all! It’s just ... I’m just used to certain things. I mean, Tucson’s a lot bigger than Huntsville. I’m just used to that larger-city feel, you know?”
“Right,” he’d said, eyeing me skeptically. “Which is why you’ve been living in a medieval castle with no electricity or indoor plumbing.”
It was a fair point, and I’d made no further argument.
Some of my lingering doubts softened as the plane made its descent into Huntsville and I caught sight of a park filled with cherry trees that glowed like gold in the sunset. It was kind of amazing that I could even identify them. We were still fairly high, and unlike the Rowan Land’s perpetually pink cherry trees, these had lost their blossoms and were in full leaf. Yet, somehow, I instantly knew the trees for what they were, and I found them comforting. This wasn’t the Rowan Land—and certainly not the Thorn Land—but that little reminder of home made me feel less alone. I could get through this. Everything was going to be okay.
I was met at the airport by Candace Reed, the local shaman with whom Roland had set things up. He must have given her my description because she lit up when she saw me and hurried forward to hug me as though we’d known each other for ages. She was about ten years older than me, with dark skin and hair and long-lashed eyes that sparkled with mirth. She wore faded jeans with a red-checked blouse and radiated an air of motherly protection.
“Look at you,” she exclaimed, promptly putting her hand over my stomach. I’d noticed this seemed to be acceptable behavior for most people—gentry and human alike—and it normally weirded me out that pregnancy apparently smashed all personal boundaries. Somehow, I wasn’t bothered by Candace doing it. “How far along are you, sweetheart?” Before I could even answer, she took my small suitcase from me. “Lord, give me that! We can’t have you hauling things around in your state.”
The suitcase barely weighed anything and was simply a few essentials my mom had thrown together for me. Something told me that arguing what I was capable of in my “state” with Candace would be a losing battle.
“I told Charles to have your room ready by the time we got home, so he better have listened to me,” she continued as we headed toward her car. “You know how men are. He’d be off daydreaming all the time if he didn’t have me to keep him in line. Let’s hope he didn’t burn dinner either. I started it and told him exactly what to do, but knowing him, he probably got distracted. Could be a baseball game on TV or a woodpecker out back. Probably nothing but a pile of ash in the oven now. It’s pot roast. Do you eat that? You should, you know. Protein’s good for you and the baby. So are the potatoes.”
“Babies,” I corrected as we reached the car. “I’m having twins.”
“Oh. Oh my!” This revelation left her momentarily speechless, and a look of wonder fell over her features, along with a softer emotion I couldn’t quite place. “Oh, that’s just lovely.”
She went to put my suitcase in the trunk, and as I sat down in the passenger seat, I caught a glimpse of some familiar tools in the backseat. A silver athame lay near a suede bag, out of which peeked another hilt that I was willing to bet belonged to an iron athame. Near those was a necklace consisting of raw smoky quartz beads. I couldn’t help a smile. Candace’s chatty Southern charm in no way meant she wasn’t a fully active, totally deadly shaman who could combat any creature that messed with us. I wouldn’t have been surprised if there was a gun and a wand somewhere in the car too.
Candace had recovered herself when she rejoined me and soon picked up her breezy conversation style. I was happy to let her do the talking. It gave me the chance to take in the sights as we drove to her house. The airport was situated a little outside downtown, and Candace and her husband lived farther out still, though she assured me I could reach the city from her place in a little over a half hour. That wasn’t much different from my own house back in the Catalina Foothills near Tucson, and again, I felt a small twinge of reassurance about this new locale.
As we drove away from the airport and the more populous areas, I saw that the trees remained green but that the grass and low plants were yellowing. Candace explained that they were in a drought right now. As much as I loved the dry weather I’d grown up in, there was a part of me that hated to see the land around us so parched for water. It wouldn’t be that big a strain on my magic to summon a quick rain shower ... but, no. I didn’t even need Roland’s instructions to know how foolish such an act would be. I couldn’t attract any attention to myself. These conditions were normal for summer around here; the land would survive without my help. Just worry about yourself, Eugenie, I chided myself.
Candace’s house was situated on a heavily wooded street. She had neighbors, but they were spread out, giving the illusion that each house on the road was in its own private forest. I’d gotten used to the Rowan Land’s greenery, but the castle was set on cleared land, and seeing large trees right outside this house’s windows was a world away from what I’d grown up with.
“This is beautiful,” I told her as we got out of the car. She’d retrieved her arsenal from the backseat and was going for the suitcase, despite my offers of help. Twilight was casting shadows on everything, but the little house’s windows lit up the darkness.
“It is, isn’t it?” she said, gesturing me to follow. “We’ve been here ’bout fifteen years.” She took the steps onto the house’s wooden porch, which even had a swing for two. A screen door kept insects out and let evening air inside, in an effort to cool the house. As though thinking of this, Candace cast me an apologetic look. “No air-conditioning. It can get pretty hot.”
“I’m used to it,” I assured her. Compared to my castles, the ventilation here was state of the art. Screens would rock the Thorn Land’s world, if I could figure out how the gentry could manufacture them.
Inside, I met her husband, Charles. He was a tall, lanky man with blond hair that was starting to pick up a little white with age. His blue eyes were kind, and his quiet demeanor was quite the contrast to Candace’s liveliness. Watching them interact, though, I realized quickly that they balanced each other in a very harmonious way. She passed my suitcase off to him while she checked on the pot roast—which, it seemed, had not turned to ash.
He led me to a room on the second floor, with pine walls and angled beams crossing over the ceiling. A double bed with a blue and white quilt sat in one corner, but before I could make too many judgments about country living, I noticed a flat-panel TV mounted on the opposite wall. Roland had been right. Never assume anything.
“That’s our old TV,” said Charles as though apologizing. “We just got a brand-new one for the living room. I hope this isn’t too small... .”
I laughed. “No, it’s perfect. Thank you.”
He nodded, looking pleased. “We’ve got a spare DVD player that I’ll hook up for you later.” He then proceeded to give me a rundown of their vast channel lineup, reinforcing the fact that even if the Reeds lived out in the country, they still loved their comforts. After a few minutes, Candace interrupted his spiel, calling to us to come downstairs and eat.