Camellia plodded through the streets of Presereme. She didn’t remember how she’d gotten on the walkway, and she only cared a little. She had something she needed to do.
Something for Florian? No. Her promises to Florian were fulfilled – at least the ones she could complete in a timely manner.
Maybe, she’d promised Cernunnos something. Was she supposed to meet him somewhere? They liked to meet at the bridge over the Blue Snake river. Camellia already headed in that direction, so she might as well go. If Cernunnos never showed up, then she wasn’t supposed to meet him. It was that simple.
Clouds blocked the sky of Presereme and made the view above as grey as the city. The people absorbed the drab. Most wore grey, black, or white, day to day. And, Camellia felt the collective mood had slipped into noir.
Camellia heard the babble of water as she stepped onto a bridge of stone. She walked to its center and faced the water. Other pedestrians crossed behind her, and she came to rest her elbows on the bridge’s edge. Camellia put her chin in her hands and looked out.
She waited by Blue Snake Lake. The lake was supposed to be blue, fed by a snaking river. Today, it reflected the grey of the sky. The water lay calm and still, and a bit higher than usual.
Camellia frowned. The water level was more than a bit high. As Camellia straightened, she realized that the water nearly reached the back doors of the houses on the lakeside. There must have been a great rain to bring about such a flood. But, had it rained?
Of course, it had. There was always rain.
Pssst.
Camellia startled. She looked behind her. Pedestrians continued to walk, back and forth. No one spared a glance for Camellia.
No over here.
Camellia turned back to the water and looked deep. She searched the banks below the bridge for the source of the voice.
A soft plunk caught her attention, right below her position.
Camellia looked down and saw a blue-green tentacle wave in the water. She felt her eyes fill with fear and a touch of indignation. She recognized that tentacle.
Ah’nee’thit.
Pssst. I can help you.
Camellia looked over the lake and tried to search for the place where Ah’nee’thit hid. No wonder the water was so high. Ah’nee’thit had settled his bulk inside.
Stand on the bridge’s wall, so you can get a better view.
Camellia shook her head, but she pushed herself atop the wall. She struggled over as she fought to get her skirt out of the way of her legs. But, she finally managed. She looked far into the water, until a ripple brought her attention straight down. A pair of eyes appeared, just beneath the surface.
I need a favor.
Wonderful.
Can you go to the town hall and retrieve a crest? It’s locked in one of the boxes in the lower level. It will belong to a P. W. Volanter.
Camellia considered the request as she stood atop of the bridge. She glanced over the water and then back to the eyes beneath.
Easy enough work for an anthropologist. Can you do it?
Camellia could. It was easy work and far below what she would term anthropology or archaeology. It was an errand, but Camellia wouldn’t do it. She started to shake her head. She was willing to help Ah’nee’thit on his way, not so much with tasks related to Iruedim.
It’s useful to both of us.
Camellia shook her head. Ah’nee’thit’s cross shaped pupils seemed to narrow.
If you do it, I’ll help you make a trade.
Camellia started to crouch. She would climb down and walk away.
A tentacle reached a tentative plea. Water streamed down the flesh of blue-green. We’ll trade your father for Cernunnos. Isn’t that a good trade?
Camellia stopped mid-crouch. How would they go about such a trade? Camellia sat on the edge of the bridge. Her skirt puffed, and she folded her hands over the abundance of fabric. She listened.
You must retrieve the object from the lock box, and to do that, you must retrieve the key. Then, I will affect the trade.
Camellia stared into his eyes, and she admitted to herself that their pact was made.
Ah’nee’thit’s eyes seemed to smile, or it might have been the ripple of grey water, drawing his cross-shaped pupils into a curve. You will find the key in your father’s house.
Camellia sat straight. She started to back off the bridge.
Wait! What’s one last trip to your father’s house? You can say goodbye to him. To what he should have been. It’s the least you can do after you replace him with Cernunnos.
One of Camellia’s legs hung over the bridge’s walk. She could slide the other to join the first and be on her way. Instead, she froze.
Cernunnos would never be head of the Zaris household and farm. He’d come back and be in the AAH, with her. So, it wasn’t a like-for-like replacement. Someone else, maybe a brother or brother-in-law could take control, where her father left off. The plan was perfect. How many years was Viorel going to steal?
Still, she didn’t want to go inside the house, not even one more time.
How about this? Ah’nee’thit’s smile was gone. You sneak in while everyone is working the fields. You grab the key before your father even knows you were there. Then, you bring me the object from the lockbox, and I will give you Cernunnos.
Camellia gestured to the sky above.
It’s still sunny enough to keep him asleep. Please, I need what’s in the box, and you could make use of P.W. Volanter’s cast off as well. What do you say?
A moment passed. If she could sneak in while everyone worked or slept, the visit would be an exercise in introspection, nothing more. Camellia nodded.
Ah’nee’thit’s smiling eyes returned. Excellent. Now, go get it.
Camellia wondered if she’d crossed the line from priestess in name to priestess in action. She walked homeward, on an errand for Ah’nee’thit. She had not stepped foot onto Zaris land for over a year. Now, she would have to break her streak and start again – all in the name of a trade.
If anything disqualified her for priestesshood, it was that trade. She didn’t obey Ah’nee’thit with blind adoration. She traded for a person she missed. She just had to sacrifice her father to do it. But, it was fair. Viorel Zaris lived a long life. So had Cernunnos, but he always used his time better.
Camellia tried to do the math, to figure out just how much time Viorel robbed to create his extended life. In the end, it didn’t matter. Camellia acknowledged that the trade benefitted her more than anyone else. She would get Cernunnos. She would get to outlast her father. All in the name of having someone to call family. Someone for her and Florian to invite to dinner.
P.W. Volanter – the name sounded familiar. Perhaps, Camellia would find something of interest in the lockbox.
Armed with her grief and curiosity, Camellia crossed a dirt road and hugged the edge of the tree line. She had the Zaris house in sight.
The dark brown, almost black wood formed a blotch against the grey sky. The land behind the house fell away. It sloped to the hills below, leaving the sky as the sole backdrop for her family home. Camellia, however, approached from the front. She saw none of the hill and fields below. She simply knew they were there.
In color, the house showed a uniform vision. In architecture, the house was a bit of a mish mash. It began as a boxy farmhouse, small and single-floored. Then, came the front porch and second floor. They fit the original farmhouse aesthetic, but that farmhouse, first and second floor both, only held Viorel’s first family. He’d had to build additions.
A circular tower marked the first addition. Its diameter stretched the length of the house, greater even. Viorel liked those towers so much, he added two smaller ones to the opposite corners. Then, he had no choice but to build a third floor between the towers and more spires rose from that.
Though every room had its purpose, Camellia felt that Viorel put his excess on display – not excess in terms of material things but in terms of years.
Camellia darted from the tree line to the porch. She padded up the side steps and reached for the door. Little creaks and groans announced her progress. The porch swing swung in the breeze, making creaks of its own. Camellia brushed past it and took the knob in hand.
With a smooth twist, she opened the door. She gave it a push and let it drift further open. All inside lay asleep. All outside didn’t know they had a guest. And, the vampire of the house hid in his cellar, locked up tight.
One or two of her sisters might be awake, working through the housework. Camellia could avoid them.
She stepped inside.
Immediately, she heard scrubbing. The brush sound came from the kitchen. Squeaks above signified sweeping on the second floor. Camellia’s eyes drifted up. She watched the ceiling, and followed the squeaks with her eyes.
She was in luck. She didn’t need to go to the second floor, and she didn’t need to visit the kitchen. Camellia slipped down the hall and headed for the base of the large tower. There she would find the master suite, unoccupied during the day.
Camellia passed a window. Sun streamed into the otherwise dark and quiet house – the house that was always sleeping. It slept deepest at day. It woke in the evening and at dawn. Then, it settled into a mumbling thing at night.
Camellia trotted the last length of hall. She slipped by the stairs, hearing the drag of her skirt on floorboards. Creaks and footsteps came from the top floor. They approached the stairs and walked to the edge; then turned away and didn’t start down.
Camellia exhaled. She imagined that her sister had changed her mind. Memories of those footsteps could quicken her heart. Camellia saw herself a young girl again. She played with her dolls beneath the stairs, hiding from the fury of overworked half-sisters.
She didn’t have to stay. She would get the key and leave.
Camellia grabbed the door handle to her father’s suite. She turned it and slipped inside. She’d found the safest place in her father’s whole house – at least it was the safest from social interaction. She closed the door behind her and waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the lack of light.
Camellia put a hand to her temple and took stock of her mental shields. As long as she kept herself and her thoughts secret, no one would find her now. She sighed without sound.
She found herself in the master suite’s sitting room. Curtains blocked the light, and Camellia could tell the place had been redesigned. Gone were the floral patterns her mother preferred. Everything lay under shades of violet and textures of velvet.
Camellia made a face. If someone wanted to do the suite up, like a room from a sophisticated mansion, they should have chosen red. Better yet, flower prints in a theme of lavender and white would have matched the rest of the house. It was what Camellia chose for her own bedroom, in her new home, and it reminded her of her old one.
Camellia bowed her head and leaned against the door. She needed to find the key.
With a deep breath and new resolve, Camellia began her search. She coaxed drawers open on silent runners and rummaged inside. She opened a large cabinet, with a soft pop, and eased it smoothly ajar. She rummaged through blankets, old papers, and other odds and ends.
She knelt before a corner cabinet and opened it with a pop as well. It swung wide, with a soft thunk. Inside, she found her mother’s old sewing box and photo albums. A fine sheen of dust lay over the closest album. It had shielded the rest from neglect. Camellia brushed away the dust and saw that it was her mother’s wedding album.
She shook her head. She didn’t cherish that, but she might want to sneak out an album or two from her life. Camellia pulled the wedding album down and saw the spines of others. She slid them out, one by one, and saw that each bore a name. One for each of her brothers and the last for her. Camellia pulled it from the cabinet and replaced the rest.
She had one prize but not the one she’d come for.
Camellia stood up. She’d searched the sitting room. It contained no keys. A brief flash of memory reminded Camellia of the key wall in the basement. It sat next to her father’s tomb. The key could be there, but it wasn’t likely. The key wall housed extra keys for big important things, like the house itself, the safe, barns, and other outbuildings. A tiny key for a personal lockbox belonged in her father’s suite.
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Camellia strode across the sitting room. Two doors beckoned at the back, one for the bedroom and one for the bathroom.
As Camellia put her hand on the bedroom door, she wondered how her father had come to know a P.W. Volanter. Was P.W. Volanter a vampire? A prestigious researcher or politician? He would have to be someone of note for Camellia’s father to bother with a relationship.
She twisted the knob, stepped in, and froze.
Someone slept in the bed – a woman, probably younger than herself.
Camellia held her photo album to her breast. She stretched a shaking hand to her forehead. He’d already gone and done it. He’d gotten another woman. Camellia passed a moment in silence.
She felt a renewed desire to be gone. She would find that key and make a widow of this woman. Maybe, the girl would think of something better to do with her life, than marry herself off to a vampire.
Camellia crossed to the bed and looked inside. Young, with black hair, darker than Camellia’s, and skin as pale as Camellia’s, the woman might have been a model somewhere in Gotic. She fit the Groazan ideal so well. She lay asleep, with a smile on her face, but a long chain bound her to the bed, and as far as Camellia could tell, the young woman’s dress melded with the bedsheets.
In that moment, Camellia finally understood why her sisters detested her mother and the children – at least the daughter – that came from her.
Camellia counted links in the chain. The new bride could go anywhere in the suite. At least, by Camellia’s estimation. But, the woman slept, and even if she woke, she would have an angry stepdaughter to contend with.
Camellia slid open the nightstand drawer, taking only a little extra care to be quiet. Inside she found feminine things. None of which belonged to her mother. Camellia shifted the little mirrors and combs side to side. No keys.
Camellia closed the drawer and rounded the bed. She opened her father’s nightstand. Coins, pens, cufflinks, and bits of dust slid over the drawer bottom. Camellia stuck her hand inside. She moved her fingers back and forth. A marble rolled around, and Camellia bet it had been stowed long ago, never to return to a toy chest. Camellia liberated the marble. She found no other prize.
Again, she closed the drawer. Her search was a failure.
The woman stirred.
Camellia hurried to the small dressing room and got in. She didn’t close the door all the way. Light filtered around the crack, and she used it to find a place at the closet’s back. A window waited at the rear of the walk-in closet, masked by a curtain. Though it was small, it could help light her way as well. Camellia pulled the curtain aside and found her father’s clothes to her left and those of the new woman to her right.
Camellia flipped through her father’s clothes.
The woman on the other side of the door started to hum. Tearing cloth announced her separation from the bed, but she didn’t approach the closet. Instead, she headed to the bathroom. Water entered the tub. The gush masked any noise Camellia might make.
She paged through her father’s clothes with more vigor, searching for a key left in a pocket. The hangers slid and clinked. The jackets and pants swished. Camellia stuck her hand in every suspicious pocket and came up empty.
The water continued to gush. Camellia turned around and huffed her displeasure. She paged through the new woman’s outfits. The necklines were low and the profiles tight. Her father had found a model to prey upon for certain. How Camellia’s sisters must hate the new woman.
Camellia’s fingers moved faster and faster, till she reached a frumpy skirt. She slid the hanger, exposing more of the outfit. She passed her hands over the fabric, and the dress felt padded. Camellia pushed the clothes wide and found the flattened remains of some other woman.
Camellia backed up and covered her mouth.
The remains stirred. The woman was not dead, just used up.
With shaking hand, Camellia grabbed the edge of the woman’s dress. She pushed the woman against the other clothes and hid her opening eyes, only to find yet another woman behind that one.
A soft crying sound caught Camellia’s ears. It wasn’t the second woman she saw. It was the one behind it. Camellia pushed the second aside.
She found her mother on the hanger.
“Camellia…” The flattened sleeve lifted and reached for her.
Camellia grabbed the top of the hangar and pulled her mother down. She hugged the somewhat poofy dress to her breast. It flopped and folded at the waist, hanging her mother’s face upside down and down low. Her mother tried to raise her head but had little strength.
Camellia tucked the photo album against the dress and held them both in one arm. With her free hand, she patted her mother’s sleeve.
The running water finally stopped. Camellia heard the bath slosh as the new woman got in.
“You wanted a few things. Oh, your album.” Her mother lifted her head to view the book’s spine. That head snaked up, almost even to Camellia’s. “Do you want anything else?”
Camellia put a finger to her lips. She slipped a pen from her pocket and wrote on the back wall. P.W. Volanter – key.
“Dressing table glass, in the bathroom,” her mother breathed.
Camellia hung her head. She took a moment of self-pity.
“You can still get it. She draws the tub curtain. I hear it slide, every time.”
Camellia looked her mother in the eyes and nodded. Then, she hurried from the closet. She approached the bathroom door and listened. She heard silence, so she opened it.
The curtain, a thing of heavy purple fabric rested closed, just as Camellia’s mother said it would. Camellia slipped in and shut the door, trapping the heat. The surest way to discovery wouldn’t be noise from the well-oiled portal but from the loss of heat in a room often populated by naked people.
The water sloshed.
Camellia’s mother raised one shaky sleeve. Her cloth-like hand pointed to the vanity counter, and Camellia saw the jar of odds and ends. Camellia hurried over. She reached for the cup but stopped. How could she move through that collection in silence?
Her mother shook her head and made a ripping motion. She was right. Camellia just had to take it.
Camellia overturned the cup. Pretty baubles skittered over the counter, and a mess of forgotten keys fell out.
“Viorel?” The new woman asked.
Camellia could not imagine a more annoying voice. She worked the mess of keys with her fingers, sliding them apart.
“Is that you?”
Camellia’s hand shook as she found it. P.W. Volanter. She picked it up and stowed it in a pocket.
The water gushed across the tub. Camellia ran out the door, not bothering to close it. She ran across the sitting room.
“Good job,” her mother congratulated. “Good job.” Her soft hand padded against Camellia’s arm.
Camellia reached the door. She didn’t wait for silence. She pushed open the door of the master suite and bumbled right in to her father.
Camellia froze.
He lit candles on a nearby table. Some rooms of their house never got electric lights, including the master suite. Vampires didn’t find electric lights the highest necessity. Neither did dhampirs. But, the soft mortal things that her father favored needed them.
“Camellia? What are you doing here?” Viorel’s eyes darted to the book and her mother, languishing on the hanger. “You can have the book, but I’d rather you don’t take her.”
Camellia glared. She edged away from the door, slipping towards the stair. A back door waited nearby, and Camellia could reach it. She nodded over her shoulder to the suite.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t want to remember your mother,” Viorel said.
Camellia glanced down the hall she planned to travel. She found it rather dark. So, she scooped up one of the candlesticks.
“Look. Leave your mother. Take the book. I think it’s a fair deal.”
Camellia shook her head. Her mother would be happier in her closet than at the back of her dad’s. Camellia could even stick her mother in the hall closet, and Camellia and Florian would greet her at least twice a day.
Camellia whirled away and bumped the curtain. It went up in flames. Camellia staggered down the hall, putting some distance between her and the enthusiastic fire.
Wide-eyed, she looked to her father. The fire quickly separated them. Across the flames, she saw anger in his eyes. He opened the door to the suite and disappeared inside.
Camellia ran down the hall. She held the candle before her because she needed it to see.
She knew Viorel would get everyone out safe, from her youngest niece or nephew to the eldest of her sisters. He would have to take them into daylight, but he was the only one bothered by the sun. Too bad he didn’t keep any of the daywalker stone for himself. The only way Viorel would escape the fire would be under a heavy blanket, but it seemed his new wife could offer him many.
Camellia’s mother cried and waved a flaming hand. Camellia beat it out.
“The house,” her mother whined. “How could you let this happen to the house? You and your father are so careless with candles.”
Camellia crashed against the back door. She pushed it open and ran into the basement of the town hall.
Even from the basement, Camellia could hear the sirens. Though, why should she? Her father lived well outside Presereme. No fire department of her city could help him in time.
It occurred to her that her own house might be burning. At least, she knew Florian had to be at work. He never arrived home early.
Camellia hoisted her mother and felt the garment’s soft hands grasp her shoulder. Her mother held herself upright, clinging to Camellia a bit like an infant would. Camellia pressed the album between their bodies.
She stalked through the basement and passed a man in strange dress. His grey tunic was cut a little short, and his pants had a strange cut as well. But, he had the dark hair of Groaza. In the basement light, he had a tinge of grey to his skin. Camellia stole a head-on look at him and found him all grey. She felt her eyes go wide, and she hurried by. No more looks at him. He might think it was an invitation.
Camellia slipped into the boxes and searched for the row of V’s. She found it towards the back.
Valle.
Valleau.
Van Dell.
Vanderven.
Camellia skipped several boxes.
Voehl.
Volanter.
She stopped. Only one box belonged to a Volanter. She read the full name: Volanter, P.W.
Camellia stuck her hand in her pocket. Her fingers searched for the key. She pulled the marble free first, then tossed it back in. The second time she reached inside, she found the warm, jagged lines of the small key.
Camellia pulled it out. Feeling short of breath, she raised the key and slipped it into the lock.
“Hello.”
Camellia jumped. She pulled the key back to her body and turned to face the grey man. He stood close by, but he stepped back at her expression of fear.
“Hi, I work here. Do you need any help?”
Camellia shook her head and turned back to the box. She needed no help.
She waited for him to leave, but he still stood in her peripheral vision. Camellia put on a smile, though it felt forced, faced him again and showed him her key. She pointed to the box and, for the first time, wondered why she just wouldn’t say something to him instead.
“Oh, you can’t talk…”
Camellia cocked her head.
“Never mind. I know you don’t need help, but let me have a look inside the box. There have been reports of bugs in the neighboring boxes. I just want to check.” He stepped closer.
Camellia felt her mouth drift open. She looked at the box and then the key. She imagined bugs inside, crawling over everything. Camellia stepped out of the way and handed the key to the grey man at her side.
“Thank you.” He stuck the key in the lock and gave it a twist.
The box popped open.
Camellia stood on tiptoe and looked over his shoulder.
“No bugs, but there is this inside.” With care, he took out a small bag. He offered it to Camellia. “Is this what you came for?”
She nodded with vigor and raised her hand to accept it.
He pulled it back. “Maybe, I should have a look, just in case there are bugs inside.”
Again, Camellia felt her mouth drop open. With vigor, she waved him on.
The man opened the bag. He studied the contents. “Nothing. Seems sanitary.” He handed the bag to Camellia with its contents half sticking out.
Camellia peered close. She saw something black, firm, and smooth – also flat. She also saw a piece of white paper.
Camellia took the bag and pulled the paper free. She unfolded the sheet and read: Wake up. It’s an Obsidian dream. Go below the monster in the lake. Find Eva and wait for others.
Camellia’s gaze snapped up. She searched for the man, but he was gone. She stuck the note in her pocket. With care, she coaxed the flat, black object from the bag. She caught sight of an engraved rune and stuffed it back in.
P.W. Volanter had an Obsidian mirror, and from the sound of it, Camellia had recently been in contact with one too. At least, she had an easy course of action. She needed to see Ah’nee’thit.
Night fell over Presereme, and Camellia checked the horizon for fire. She only saw the few city lights that illuminated Presereme’s downtown.
She shook her head. If she dreamed, she didn’t need to worry about her father burning down her house, and Camellia was almost certain she dreamed. She couldn’t say a word.
Everyone else, on the other hand, had plenty to say.
Pedestrians emerged from the dark. Camellia heard them speak in whispers. They passed and disappeared into the dark once more. People stared, until she looked at them. Then, they glanced away and hurried on their journeys. Pairs covered their mouths with their hands, directing their gossip to their partner.
Camellia had seen it enough times before. She swore they talked about her. But, what was there to gossip about?
She’d just burned down her father’s house – could have something to do with that.
Camellia crossed to the lake’s edge, and the bridge loomed ahead. Whispers seemed to bounce over the lake, and finally, Camellia could pick out the words.
“Can you believe it? Carrying that thing around this long?” a woman asked.
“I’d leave it home. Put it in a trunk. I keep all my things like that in a trunk,” another woman answered.
“It’s the best place for them,” a smug feminine voice agreed.
“It’s just asking for attention when you drag it around all over town.”
“Oh, I know, and imagine wanting to pick up another?”
Camellia’s stride hiccupped. She stood steps from the bridge. No one passed over it, and no one would soon. Camellia took a moment to look her mother in the eyes.
Her mother’s mouth pinched as if repaired with too tight stitching. The eyes took on a wide, lively, and almost fearful quality.
Camellia knew she should have dropped her mother home first, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t leave the woman on a hanger to her father’s revenge.
Camellia resumed her stroll and walked lazily onto the bridge. She stopped at the halfway mark, feeling unembarrassed by the garment in her arms. She couldn’t work up the shame.
Might I have it please? Ah’nee’thit begged. His eyes drifted close to the bridge, and a streetlamp threw a sheen over their shiny, wet surface.
Camellia pulled the bag to the top of her pocket and allowed it to peek over.
Ah’nee’thit surged up, grabbing the bridge edge.
Camellia tucked the mirror away again. She held out her hand.
Right. You want Cernunnos. Ah’nee’thit pointed one thin tentacle at Camellia’s mom. To go with that one.
Camellia nodded.
I give him, and then you give the mirror.
Camellia considered it. She nodded, but she wasn’t sure if she would give the mirror. The mirror represented something to her, and to hand such a powerful object over to Ah’nee’thit would certainly lose her the game.
The anti-dream message suggested that she needed to get under the monster - not in the way that she would get under Florian. She had to dive beneath the water because the way out of the dream lay under Ah’nee’thit’s guard.
Giving Ah’nee’thit the mirror was the wrong answer.
Below the monster, Camellia saw the lake.
She climbed atop the bridge wall. She stumbled over her mother’s cloth as well as her own skirt. But, Camellia got to her feet.
Are you going to hand deliver it? Ah’nee’thit leaned closer. He positioned his head right below Camellia.
She jumped on top of him and slid down his back. She crashed into cold lake water, dropping both album and mother in the process.
Camellia expected to tangle among Ah’nee’thit’s back tentacles. Instead, she fell free, deeper and deeper into the lake. Bubbles sparkled like stars, and Camellia drifted down. She felt no lack of breath. Peace rolled over her. Her eyes drifted closed.
And, she woke up on the deck of Halfmoon.
Eva, who waited nearby, stood up and crossed the floor to Camellia. “A spell fell over the ship, and you all went to sleep.”
Camellia touched her forehead. “Obsidian mirror spell. We looked at it.” Camellia sighed. “We didn’t mean to.”
Camellia got to her feet slow. Around her, laying on the deck, the others remained asleep. Camellia wasn’t sure about Aria and Pan. She didn’t know them well enough to know whether they could best the mirror. She hoped they could.
As for Meladee, Camellia worried that she couldn’t. Meladee might have made big strides with her issues, but she still ran from her problems more often than not. Camellia worried for her friend.
Then again, with Hagen for help, anyone might best the mirror.
Camellia gasped. “He gave me a shortcut – not the win condition. He could have been even more specific. But, I guess he didn’t have time to write out a longer message.” Camellia scratched her head.
“Excuse me?” Eva asked.
Camellia waved a dismissive hand. “Oh nothing.”
She hoped that Hagen would be more specific for the others. She didn’t need as much of a push. She prayed he realized that.
“We need to get out of here,” Camellia said. “Have the Volanter spotted us?”
Eva shook her head. “We’re hiding. We have been for the past ten hours. They won’t find us. They didn’t count on me being immune to their little spell.”
Camellia frowned. “Ten hours? Where’s the Fauchard? Where’s Rooks?”
“I don’t know.”
Camellia put a hand over her mouth. Maybe, Rooks had looked for them, couldn’t find them, and had to give up. Maybe, they found themselves alone in space. They could run for the wormhole and hope they made it before Inez and Eder shifted the exit. Otherwise, they would have no choice but to become cozy with the Volanter.
Camellia thought that possibility unlikely. No one got cozy with their terrorist.
With a frown, Camellia asked, “So, you never dreamed?”
Again, Eva shook her head.
“But, Ul’thetos was able to drag you into the dream the last time. I’m a bit surprised.”
“That was Ul’thetos. This is just a mirror,” Eva said.
Camellia nodded. “It would seem so. We’re lucky of that.”
That was what she said but not what she thought. She didn’t want to shatter Eva’s pride, until she had to. Besides, she needed to wait for the others. That’s what Hagen said.