Murray sat on the edge of the crater at dawn, staring into the bubbling depths--not thinking anything in particular, just letting his thoughts wander. Polly, sitting on a low branch nearby, had her head under a wing as she busily groomed her feathers, pausing from time to time to whistle at him forlornly. After one especially entreating chirrup, he coaxed her onto one wrist and stroked her back feathers with a repetitive, mechanical motion, still musing. She, realizing that the hand would not adjust for her, simply adjusted herself for the hand, moving back and forth under his fingers the way a cat would. He had to admit that she was an intelligent bird.
He tickled her under her wings, then rubbed a knuckle against her ear-spot, while she leaned into his fingers and seemed to sigh. When he paused, she blinked her bright eyes at him and chirruped softly until he resumed the caress.
"I wish I had half your freedom," he murmured. She nibbled on his hand, very gently.
A year we've known each other....just a year, he thought--and not about Polly. Is that really long enough to justify how I feel about her? I mean...who wouldn't, she's amazing. She's beautiful, she's smart, she's funny...she's so unswervingly determined...and stubborn enough to put up with me...and I'm stubborn enough to put up with her....and I just don't think I deserve someone like that, but....
"I think she loves me anyway," he said, very softly. Polly sidled closer and brushed her head-feathers very, very gently against his chin. She seemed to be waiting for something.
"And I think I love her," he confessed to the green parrot, even more quietly. "I do love her. I just wish there was some way to--hey! Where are you going?"
Polly had launched herself into flight from his arm and was circling a patch of land. "Pretty! Come see pretty!"
Murray levered himself off the ground and made his way over--Polly had landed and was staring intently at something on the ground. "Dumb bird....you're worse than a crow..." he was muttering--until he saw what had captured the parrot's attention.
Something glittered in the dust. He brushed sand and ash away, revealing a series of tiny geometric shapes which flashed as they caught the light. A faceted stone. Hardly daring to hope, he carefully loosened the earth around it, until he was holding the entire ring between his thumb and forefinger.
"The pretty," repeated Polly, sounding self-satisfied.
It was more than pretty--it was a tiny gold band with a large, colorless stone. Was it--? No, surely not. That would be just too strange. No one loses diamond rings next to volcanoes, he reminded himself. This had to be glass, or some cheap gemstone. Still.....
He polished the gem carefully on his shirttail, and it reflected the first few rays of sunlight in a way that made his breath catch. "I know this isn't real," he told Polly. "And I know it has to be a real diamond. But.....do you think she'd like it anyway, just as a gift?" he finished in a rush, strangely anxious for the approval of a female in the matter.
"Bwaaaaaaak," responded the parrot definitely. After all, what woman wouldn't want a pretty?
He tucked the ring into his shirt pocket. "If I mean to give this to her, I have to see her again," he told Polly. "Right?"
"Bwaaack."
"Right. So....when do you suppose that voodoo priestess is going to show up?"
"Which priestess would that be?"
"You know, the Voo--" Murray started to answer automatically, then stopped. A woman's voice chuckled very softly behind him, and he knew he'd been had. "The Voodoo Lady, I presume?" he asked without looking back.
"Not quite," answered an old, familiar voice, much amused.
"Chariset??" He was on his feet facing her in two seconds, sending dust and ash spraying in all directions. The ghostly image of his Captain, best friend, and significant other for two novels hovered in the warm air in a flowing set of white robes--a spectral sight whose effect was entirely ruined by the fact that she was grinning like a fool.
He hadn't thought they'd be able to touch, but she solidified her hand and ran gentle fingertips down his jawline, sending a shiver through both of them.
"I've missed you," he finally managed.
Her response remained non-verbal, but suddenly words seemed entirely frivolous and unnecessary.
"Ah, Murray," she said finally, in the slow tones of someone who is trying to prolong the moment. "I can't stay long, and there's a lot I can't tell you. But I need to warn you about this resurrection spell. It's touchy. One wrong word, one wrong ingredient, and this volcano'll blow up in your face."
"It's okay...I'm not doing it by myself. The voodoo priestess from Plunder Island is coming to help."
Even though Chari's face was hard to make out in the uncertain red light of the rising sun, he could see her expression darken. "Be careful, Murray. Big Whoop is getting better and better at impersonating other people--don't be fooled. He could send you anyone in disguise, and you might not realize it until it was too late."
"How will I know what's supposed to be in this spell?" He hadn't realized that the priestess might not be entirely to be trusted.
"What's in there now?"
"This bag of voodoo herbs and seasonings...and the other blue gem from Myth Island."
She looked nervous. "Of course, I don't know that the bag actually made it in...." he added.
"Let's hope it didn't. There's no telling what might have been in there."
Together, they peered over the crater into the lava below. "Ah, there it is," she said, sounding relieved.
He squinted. Sure enough, at the very edge of the molten rock a dark brown shape was visible.
"We're lucky it didn't fall in," she said. "Hold still--I'll go get it."
She slipped down the side of the crater, seized the bag in her spirit-hands, and made her way back up the wall with obvious difficulty. He took the small pouch from her as soon as he was within reach."
"Thanks. It's hard to carry physical objects around."
He opened the bag and peered inside, holding his breath against the strong and unusual odor of voodoo. "Anything in here that shouldn't be?" he asked, drawing out ingredients one at a time. They all appeared to be plant samples.
She examined them carefully. "Hmm....these all look safe enough." She sorted the whole bag, apparently finding nothing. "Huh. Maybe I've misjudged the old witch."
He looked up at her sharply. "Chari, that doesn't sound like you," he started to say, but stopped himself. "You say Big Whoop could send imposters at me?" he asked instead.
"I'm sure he will," she said soberly.
Hmmmm. "Is anything missing from this spell?"
"Nothing's wrong. But yes, you're missing the last ingredient. Is the Necromancer coming, too?" At his nod, she added, "When he gets here, he'll have to add it himself."
"What is this last ingredient?" Murray'd never heard of any other elements for the spell than just the herbs and the gem.
"His staff of office."
"Why?"
Chariset looked slightly uncomfortable. "Resurrection spells are pretty close to black magic, Murray. The wizard didn't want to tell Guybrush, but this spell requires a sacrifice. A human spirit." When he looked up at her, aghast, she lowered her eyes. "I know..I know. I wish there were some other way to break the crystals, but there just isn't."
"And....the real Necromancer will know that," Murray prompted.
She nodded bleakly. "He'll be ready for the sacrifice. That's the reason for the staff--he should already have a spirit contained in the gemstone that crowns it."
He felt strangely sick inside. "I don't like this, Chari."
"You don't have to like it," she said matter-of-factly. "I don't. But it still has to be done."
"And what if he refuses to throw the wand in?" Does that automatically make him false?
"Nothing'll explode, if that's what you mean. But this spell requires a certain order--you're lucky Guybrush threw the stone in first. The next item you need is the staff, then the herbs. Throw the bag in first, and you might as well be tossing pieces of eight down there."
"And sacrificing a human being for nothing." He felt strangely skeptical. "How do you know all this?"
"I told you, I can't tell you everything," she grinned as mischievously as though she had not just ordered the execution of a living soul.
"Then you'd better go. If they're imposters, you don't want them to catch you here."
"Right." She drew him closer with some effort. "Murray, I'm doing this for us. I once told the Voodoo Lady that I'd do any dark magic to save Guybrush....and I'll still do anything for my family." She met his eyes with sad love and resignation mixed. "And for you, I'd make a bargain with Big Whoop himself."
The ring burned heavy in his breast pocket as she vanished, leaving him alone and confused. Polly swooped back to his shoulder, shivering.
"Was Chari?" she chirped.
Murray sighed. "To be honest, I d--"
A sudden rush of air blew past them both, startling him. He looked down the mountain just in time to see the wizard, the Necromancer, in full ceremonial garb, settling down onto the ground. In his dark purple and orange clothing, he looked like a shadow beside the Voodoo Priestess in her white robes. Murray had never actually seen the famous Necromancer before--a tall man with a stance that suggested great age, though his face could have been that of a 30-year-old man.
Except for the eyes. Both of them had eyes that were far older than their faces. It's the evidence of the price they pay for magic, not the magic themselves, which gives them authority, he realized, watching them struggle up to where he stood, on the very summit of Mt. Acidophilus.
He was almost ashamed of how relieved he was that they were here. Magic was so very over his head--he wanted only to be able to turn this situation over to someone who would be able to deal with it...
Remember Chariset, he reminded himself, trying not to relax and stop thinking. If what's she's told you is right, then one of them will be lying to you...
They could be out to kill you.
But what if she was?
Could he trust them? Should he just assume that they would know how to perform a simple spell better than he would?
Or should he assume that they would lie and trust Chari?
Grab the wand. Throw it in. What could it hurt?
Polly whistled her anxiety as he marshaled all his will to keep from pacing.
Should he?
Shouldn't he?
He had a headache of respectable proportions by the time they reached him.
"Murray!" greeted the Necromancer, his cheerfulness clashing with Murray's own tangled thoughts. The gnarled, spiraling branch he carried as his walking stick came within easy reach. Do it! This could be your last chance! "So good to finally meet the man our Chari's so in love with."
Murray's hand halted in mid-reach. So....your what? A slow realization began to coalesce, even as his brain fumbled for some words to put together into an answer.
The priestess didn't give him a chance to respond. "Come out, Spirit."
The crystal on the Necromancer's staff glowed briefly, and a misty form appeared next to him, facing Murray. White clothing...dark hair....face coming into focus last of all.
His knees folded, dropping him on the gritty volcanic soil.
....oh, dear God...
"Murray? Whatever is the matter?"
Chariset regarded him without a word, clearly torn between joy and concern. He took her outstretched hand and buried his face in it, shaking as he realized what he'd been about to do. I came so close to making the worst mistake of my life..
"You may speak freely, Spirit."
Chariset found her voice at last. "Murray....I...I've missed--....are you all right?"
"Chari...there's something I need to tell you." He pulled her down beside him, something he could never have done if she hadn't cooperated. "Just in case I do lose you before this is all over.."
"Murray--"
"Chariset, I still can't trust myself. I almost killed you, just now. If it happened once, it could happen again." Impulsively, he fumbled the ring out of his pocket. "Will you accept this?" The grimy thing looked pathetic and sad next to her delicate spirit-hand. "I know it doesn't look like much, and you really deserve more, but...."
"I love you, too, Murray." She must have read his mind again, because she chuckled and added, "I'm a ghost, remember? You can't hide anything from me."
"I just couldn't....let you go again, without knowing how I felt."
She responded in a non-verbal but extremely informative manner. It was a long discourse...more of a dialogue, really... the details of which are best left private.
They switched the discussion back to words only with great reluctance. "I'd hoped, even before we ran in with Big Whoop, but I didn't know..." She took the ring from him, holding it on her palm as though it were a butterfly--a diamond-studded platinum butterfly--which might wing away at any moment. "Murray, this ring is absolutely beautiful. I'd be proud to wear it for you." She brushed something away from her eye with the other hand. "Absolutely beautiful. I couldn't have wanted a nicer gift."
He felt light-headed. Maybe it was the heat. "And so you should have it, Chari."
"We should have it." She was looking a little insubstantial, herself. "I know what this is."
He slowly descended
from the clouds, baffled. "Well...I don't. Maybe you should
tell me."
I'll demonstrate."
She slipped the ring onto her left hand. "This is where it
belongs. And when you ask me to marry you, this is where you need
to put it."
"Left hand....got it."
"I wouldn't have to do this," she began teasingly, "but the author's been pathetically slow about putting us back into the same room."
"Wait...I'm sure I've heard this somewhere before.."
"And I'm here to fix that, you demonic thing you."
Murray could only grin and shake his head. "I love a woman who knows what she wants.."
"Oh, I do." She gazed longingly into the rising sun, then transferred the focus to him with no loss of emotion. "I do."
The priestess cleared her throat, making both of them jump guiltily and Chariset turn pink. Murray had forgotten the two were even there. "If you lovebirds are finished, we have some work to do."
Guybrush climbed slowly out of the blackness with his mind's fingernails, one painful inch at a time. He finally achieved a sort of 'ledge' of semi-consciousness and lay there, panting, strange projections from the conscious world tearing down from time to time to where he was, intruding on his tiny gray world. The strange sounds were voices, he eventually realized--they broke upon him like waves. He could perceive them but not understand their meaning...
"I'm getting a little concerned, Odia. He's no good to us dead."
"He's not dead, Daddy. Trust me, I'd know. He's just fainted from the heat."
A masculine hmph followed by a girlish giggle. "Ah, you're just bored."
His unpredictable, uncooperative fingers twitched against real rock, real grit, making the tiniest point of contact and reviving a dull ache from somewhere in his shoulder. That sensation, unpleasant though it was, was enough to push his consciousness up out of the blackness and into the real world.
"See? He's already coming out of it."
Bone hands seized his shoulders, dragging him upright. His eyelids were lead--he attempted getting them open under their own power for a few seconds, then gave up the unequal struggle. A small, cold hand grasped his chin and physically lifted his skull, only to let it fall heavily again against his chest. He made a mighty effort and opened his eyes.
Feet. Hmm. His eyelids dropped shut again, now that he was no longer concentrating on them, but he managed to get his head up again. His eyes, when he pried them open once more, fixed on a bright red-orange creature, roughly human-shaped.
Big Whoop. Guybrush remembered where he was now, his mind snapping from groggy to merely numb. His hands had been left free when they were dangling uselessly, but now he felt his wrists pulled back and cuffed with strange irons that seemed somehow..warm and flickering. A glance back confirmed his suspicions--Big Whoop was taking no chances. He was securing his prisoner with chains of fire.
Guybrush suffered the indignity of having a similar collar snapped around his throat, mainly because he had no other choice. Worse still, the soldiers just left him there, standing on his own uncertain feet, facing Big Whoop and the spirit who was Odia. He can't go anywhere, was the unspoken assumption.
Big Whoop said nothing and neither did Guybrush. The monster looked at him impassively--the pirate kept his expression carefully blank, trying to look around without being too obvious about it.
The throne room was much as he remembered it, with new skeleton-lanterns to replace the ones Chariset had liberated. He presumed the doorway was still behind him, most likely guarded fairly heavily, and that the rock walls were honeycombed with hidden doors and sliding panels. However, the pool of lava now stood alone in magnificent isolation--no longer did a stream of lava bisect the room. The magma lake must run down to the molten underside of the earth itself....and he must have been pulled from it when Odia brought him here. The actual journey, mercifully, was almost a complete blank.
He pulled the dusty remainder of his pirate coat together and met the gaze of his molten enemy with all the dignity he could muster, pretending he didn't care what happened. It was a lie, of course--with Odia at his side, the lava-beast could easily have forced Guybrush to do anything he wanted. The monster had to know that Guybrush would rather be killed himself than allow his daughter to be harmed, and he clearly didn't care for her beyond her usefulness. But as for Odia, she was a card he could play only once, and Big Whoop knew that....he was probably just waiting for the right moment.
Guybrush also waited, trying to keep any trace of inquisitiveness out of his expression. He mustn't ask this monster for anything. There could be no dependence, no supplication....his life depended on not caring for this creature in the slightest. Apathy was his only real weapon at this point.
Finally, Big Whoop broke the silence. "I suppose you're wondering why you're here.."
"No, not really."
Another silence.
"You frustrate me," the monster finally growled.
He took the offensive. "Admit it. You've run out of horrible things to do to me."
"You think so, do you?" He glanced at Odia, a signal that the spirit herself missed. "You give me implicit permission to do anything to you--what about those you care about? Can you decide for them as well?"
"Most of them can decide for themselves," Guybrush responded in the same vein. "So you can kill me....am I supposed to be afraid of you? So you'd hurt my own daughter to hurt me...why do you keep saying that like I should...respect you because you can do that?" Odia's eyes flashed darkly, but she remained still. "I know you want something from me--I don't know what, but I know you want it."
The chains suddenly flared with heat, just short of scorching. "If I hadn't promised to leave you alive, I'd kill you now," promised Big Whoop, while Guybrush clenched his jaw in pain. "All I want from you is your skeleton for a bedside lamp. But for now, I have another job for you."
The fire cooled. "Big Whoop, you were supposed to serve my family," he gritted out, wishing he could touch the back of his neck to look for blisters.
"Which I did, until you betrayed me."
"Well then, I un-betray you." He drew himself up as boldly as he could, under the circumstances. "I dismiss you, Spirit. Go serve someone else."
"Ha! If you'd said that four months ago, it might have worked. But I serve the last of the Threepwoods....as her Daddy. And she'll never send me away."
Guybrush bit the inside of his lip. Big Whoop was right....Odia would never dismiss him unless she no longer loved him. Which meant that the monster had even more reason not to play his trump card until he was sure it would work.
"You, however, shall serve me. As bait." Big Whoop wiggled a finger, and Guybrush felt himself hauled forward by the infuriating collar.
"Take off your boots," the creature commanded.
"With my hands tied? Don't be ridiculous."
Big Whoop growled. The cuffs loosened themselves and fell to the floor. "Take your coat off while you're at it."
When Guybrush hesitated, unsure about his motives, the collar flared again, warningly. "Do you think you really have any choice? Take your boots off!"
"All right, Big Whoop. You win--for now.." He pried his footwear loose, then shed his familiar blue coat with more reluctance. Two skeletons took coat and boots and vanished, leaving him standing in his stocking feet
"What was all that about?" A voodoo doll?
"Nothing much. Just some...clues, you might say." He smirked. "Besides, you're not going to get very far running around here with no shoes on."
"While you lure everyone in here with the blood-stained remnants of my coat. How very original..."
Big Whoop knew he still had the upper hand. "It'll work, and you know that. That is, if anyone's left to plan a rescue."
Guybrush ignored that. "And in the meantime..?"
"Oh, I consider myself a gracious host. As far as I'm concerned, you can go anywhere you like inside these caverns. I'm sure you'll behave and stay inside."
"You seem very certain of that."
"Why shouldn't I? Home court advantage, you might say." He smirked again, while Guybrush struggled to conceal his angry frustration. It'd only encourage this bully. "Odia, my dearest...would you give our guest a tour of the grounds?"
She sprang up with all the malicious glee of which a teenager was capable. "I'd love to, Daddy." She snapped her fingers, hauling Guybrush along like a reluctant dog behind her. He was really starting to hate this collar.
"Delightful girl, isn't she?" Big Whoop called after them, just before Odia dragged him almost bodily though a panel and into a room whose floor was crystalline spikes. "Must take after her father."
Deeper in the Caribbean than Mêlée but not so deep as Monkey, Dinky Island....
Elaine was waiting rather impatiently in camp for some news from Murray when someone knocked timidly on a tentpole. "Yes?"
"It's Horace. Can I come in?"
"Sure." The little man with his strawberry blond curls nudged the tent flap aside and stood rather uncomfortably in the entrance, looking for a place to sit.
She indicated a bench across from where she sat, Guybrush's singed coat at her feet, unsuccessfully trying to write a last entry for her journal. "Actually, I'm glad you're here. Everyone's told me how efficient you are with details--I was wondering if you'd like to come work at the fort when all this is over."
Deadeyes looked surprised. "I'd be glad to help, Governor, if you still want me. I do need a job.."
She smiled, glad to be able to do something useful and productive with so little effort. "Then consider yourself hired. When we get back to Plunder, we can discuss pay."
"Thank you, Governor. Now, maybe I can do something for you."
"What's on your mind?"
"I have an idea, but I don't want to say too much about it unless I'm pretty sure it'll work. No sense getting everyone's hopes up."
"Hmm..mysterious."
He chuckled self-consciously. "Well, yeah, maybe. I need you to describe Big Whoop's lair for me."
That was a non-sequitur. "I thought you said you didn't want to go down there." She thought for a second. "Besides, you saw about as much of it as I did."
"I don't, and you're right. But I never left the main room, while he had you out all over the place, taking 'walks.'"
"Exercise time....how could I forget?" Not that she was really surprised she had. "Do you need me to try to describe everything, or is there one room in particular?"
"Just one room....if he ever let you go in there. The room he's using for his little...dungeon."
"Ahh....where he's keeping my family." He nodded, looking relieved that she understood. "He made sure that I saw it, sometimes more than once a day--just getting his point across."
Horace nodded sympathetically. "He was pretty good at that."
"Too good." She shivered. "That's the room you need a description of?"
"Right."
"Okay...." She paused to call up the image in her mind's eye. "Well, for one, it's huge. It's easily the biggest cavern under the mountain, and it has its own sort of light....a pale, pale blue light, the kind that glowing fungus gives off. Whenever I was in there, I got the sense I was somewhere underwater.
"There's really no floor...it's all black gravel with large gray rocks sticking up here and there. But room is filled with large crystal..coffins, I suppose, there's really no other word for them. They're clear, with a bluish tint, and from the door all you can see is rank after rank of these crystal peaks, stretching all the way back to the wall. They don't look like they're on display--it looks more like a storage room."
Horace sketched some lines on a small pad of paper. "Can you see any of their faces?"
"Oh yeah. The crystals are clear enough you can see right in." She borrowed his little sketch, changed a line here and there, and then drew in the shape of one of the ice-coffins, placing it in the foreground of the drawing. "Most of the crystals are here," she indicated on his drawing. "But for some reason, Chariset is right here. He set her block apart."
Horace took his drawing and pencil back. "Thanks. I think I've got a good enough idea now."
"Glad I could help." Elaine was still stymied. "Hope your idea works."
"Me too." He made a hurried goodbye and vanished, leaving her puzzled but faintly amused. First Largo, now Horace. Is Big Whoop going to step in, next? she pondered, resuming work on her journal.
"So there never was a third ingredient?" Murray asked for what seemed like the tenth time.
"No. In fact, the spell is complete now. All you need to do is invoke it." The priestess and Necromancer were seated on a pair of convenient rocks, making no attempt to hide the fact that they were holding hands. Chariset hovered beside him, bound to silence once more but listening raptly. There was another point she wished they would get back to..
"And how do I do that?"
The Necromancer tossed him the notorious bag of voodoo herbs and seasonings. "Drop that in."
"That's it? After all the mystery and the warnings, all I would have had to do is throw this in to resurrect everyone?"
"Not resurrect. The spirits will still have to return to their bodies. But the crystals will be shattered--and by then, Big Whoop's power should be broken."
Chariset crossed her fingers. Murray shook his head, "I can't believe it's so simple. To hear that spirit talk, you'd think I was about to destroy half the island."
Spirit? The priestess saw her expression and asked the question for her. "There was a spirit here who tried to get you to kill Chariset, you said."
"It was the strangest thing. She looked just like Chari...sounded the same, everything. She even warned me that Big Whoop would send imposters my way, trying to fool me."
An.....imposter.... She froze in place while the others chatted on.
This was it. This could be the moment they'd been hoping for.
She had to get confirmation. Picking up a quill pen with effort, she scratched out words on a light-colored rock. Are you certain it was supposed to be me?
Murray looked at her as though she'd grown horns. "Of course it was you. She didn't actually name herself 'Chariset,' but she was obviously trying to make me think she was."
You mean like an imposter? she persisted.
"Yes. Someone pretending to be you to get the real you killed."
She kissed him impulsively, overwhelmed with excited, relieved joy. He reneged! Big Whoop broke his word! We're free!
The priestess met her eyes. "Spirit, what exactly is going on here?"
Chariset suddenly realized how precarious her situation was. Two seconds from now, the woman would realize that she was planning something against Big Whoop and would seize her back, probably with even stronger spells than before. Two seconds from now, her chance to escape would be lost....and then all would be lost. She had to get to her family with this information, and she had to do it now. Even tomorrow would be too late.
She crossed her fingers again, and invoked the power of the Necromancer's Amulet.
It was one of those impossibly slow moments when everything happens at once. Murray jerked back, surprised, as Chari suddenly blazed with blue flame, brighter than he'd ever seen before. The Necromancer was staring, astonished, and the priestess seemed to be about to say something--Chari herself gave his hand one quick squeeze and launched herself into the air, a miniature blue sun. The next instant, his head snapped around as a volley of sharp cracks rang out--the Necromancer's crystal, the keystone of his wand, trembled as a pattern of fissures erupted through it. It glowed erratically, then shattered, spraying tiny crystal shards everywhere. He threw his arms over his face, shielding his eyes from that barrage of tiny, stinging needles.
It was over in half a second--but even that tiny amount of time had been too long. Chari was gone.
"I was afraid of that," said the priestess at length.
"What on earth happened? Where did she go?" Murray felt like he had never been anything but confused.
"She has gone back to Big Whoop," replied the Necromancer, contemplating a wand whose keystone was a now jagged, chewed-off crystal stub.
"But why? Wasn't she safe here?"
"Safe enough....but not free." He still didn't have a clue what she was talking about. "It's a long story."
Elijah appeared in the
air, announcing his presence with a thin whistle. A note fluttered
down, which Murray automatically caught. "It's a reply from Elaine."
Couldn't be happier to hear it. We attack tomorrow--we'll hit the monster with both spells at once, if we can. I think we can, since we've got the parrots. Wait there by the crater--I'll send you some food this evening, so you shouldn't need to go anywhere. When you complete your spell, you can stay there or join us, either way. Dinky is still the rendevous.
Tomorrow we do it. Be prepared.
-Elaine
P.S. Glad to hear
about your fake-Chari. Be sure to tell her I misjudged her, will
you?
He chuckled ironically. "You first."
"What does it say?"
He met the priestess' brown gaze. "We're attacking tomorrow. Will you stay here or go help?"
"We're going. Right now, in fact."
"What will you do there?" It seemed to Murray that not even voodoo would be of much use against Big Whoop, if they failed to rob him of his power.
It was the Necromancer who answered. "The same thing you will. We'll do what we can."
He put his arm around the Voodoo Lady, called Elijah to his other elbow, and all three vanished.
Murray sat down again, staring off into space. Tomorrow.... Tomorrow he would have his answers. Tomorrow either Big Whoop or everyone he cared about would be dead and gone. He twisted his fingers uncertainly.
He wished tomorrow were already over...or that it would never come.
Cowards die many times before their deaths? Maybe so, but so do those who love. He died every time he thought he might lose her.
It was crazy, it was maudlin, it was sappy. If anyone else had said that to him, he would have been utterly disgusted. Maybe he still was. It was what he'd never thought he'd be... But it was truth. He was in love, and all he wanted was to be with the one he loved. Was their relationship going to struggle along this far, only to flicker out here?
Tomorrow..