He blinked and found himself back in the sterile, unfurnished room where The Collector always spoke to him, just as the familiar voice said, “What’s taking you so damn long?”
“Look, you didn’t warn me that he could throw me like a rag doll.” Shasta wiped dirt off his hand onto his pants, then switched the phone to the cleaner hand. “Or trap me in the between world.”
“You’re not trapped there now. You’re gardening.”
“I’m waiting. I have things in motion but they take a little time. Learn some patience, it’s good for your blood pressure.”
“You have no idea where they went, do you?”
“I’m looking,” he muttered. “You should know that Nevin’s on his trail too.”
“Is he.” The Collector went quiet, the silence coming down through the phone line thoughtful. “I’m pulling you off this. Whatever you’ve got in motion, cancel it.”
“Am I still getting paid?”
“Why would I pay you when you can’t complete the job?” The phone clicked in his ear and he found himself back on his knees in his garden.
“Fuck.” He resisted the urge to throw the phone and instead shoved it back into his pocket. For a few moments he just sat back on his heels in the dirt, eyes distant as he thought. Then he took the phone out again and made the right phone calls to cancel the search for Jones and Andraeon; but he also made a few more, gathering information. When he was done he put the phone away and went back to his planting.
The sun was beginning to set when he finally finished covering the roots of the last sapling. He pushed himself up, wincing a little as both knees cracked with a loud pop, and placed both hands against his lower back to stretch out his spine. He was covered in dirt—including a streak across his forehead where he’d wiped away sweat—but the saplings created a neat line along the stone path, where they would provide shade when they grew big enough.
He went into the house to get a drink, then had a quick shower to wash all the dirt and sweat away. As he was drying, he packed a bag with a few essentials, then pulled on some clean clothes. When he left the house he both physically locked the front door and set an invisible spell-lock over the entire area. Anyone trying to get in would instead find themselves dumped in an especially deep pit he’d created for just this purpose. If he came back in time, he’d let them out; if not it was a long, dry time for them to reflect on why trespassing was wrong.
A quick gesture opened a doorway and he stepped through onto a sunlit street. The sounds of happy screaming and laughter rose from a nearby park where groups of children ran back and forth through a sprinkler. Big maple trees lined the street, casting dappled shadows on the pavement, and he paused a moment to admire someone’s front yard, which was a riotous display of colourful flowers. Then he continued on down the street, raising a hand as a man washing his car greeted him by name.
He turned up the walk of a small, neat house and let himself in with a key he pulled from his pocket. In the front hall he called a hello and followed the answer out to the backyard. He was greeted by a tall woman who got up from where she was weeding a small vegetable patch to come and kiss his cheek. She took off her gardening gloves and swept her dark hair out of her eyes, inviting him to come inside and have some lemonade.
They sat down around the kitchen table with their lemonade and a plate of cookies between them, eating and drinking in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before Shasta said, “I need a place to stay for a bit, Aunt Kaede.”
“You know you’re always welcome, but what’s wrong with your place?”
“I’m going to do something stupid.” Shasta grinned a bit. “More than usual, I mean.”
“Are you going to ask Shiki for help?”
“I don’t know yet. Maybe later. Right now I just want to keep things quiet and not draw attention. So am I okay to stay here?”
“Of course you are. Just try not to set my house on fire this time.”
“No promises.” Shasta finished the last of his lemonade and grabbed a couple of cookies. “Now I’m going to be an asshole and go out for a bit, but I don’t think I’ll be long. See you for dinner?”
“Sure. If you’re lucky I’ll even cook a proper meal.” She caught his hand as he turned to go. “Be careful, Shasta. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
“I’m always careful. See you at dinner.” He squeezed her hand and headed for the door, using it as a doorway back into the between world.
He conjured up his Jones-shape in the fog again, noting with amusement that it seemed a lot more real and solid now, and that it had acquired a short beard. He followed it through the fog, half of his attention on the area around him in case someone was following them both, but the Jones-shape stopped and the fog remained calm around them. Distracted as he was, it scared him quite badly when the Jones-shape suddenly turned and looked at him, its eyes showing far more intelligence than it should have had. It only lasted an instant then the shape dropped its head again and stood quietly.
Shasta stared at it wide-eyed for a moment then tipped its chin up and studied its face carefully. Its eyes remained blank and foggy, its features composed into a neutral expression. Shivering a little Shasta waved a hand through it, turning it back into insubstantiality, and went quickly through the doorway he opened where it had been standing. He closed it again behind him and set an alarm on its fading signature, in case something tried to use it to come through after him, then looked around at where he had ended up.
He was standing at the side of a dirt road, a few metres down from a long winding driveway that led up to a small cottage in the distance. He glanced up at the sky and saw it was late afternoon, with the sun shading towards the western edge. The road was quiet and sleepy in the muggy heat and he could see no movement up at the cottage. He took another quick look around then moved into the shadows of the nearby trees and made his way carefully up towards the cottage.
As he reached the area where trees became overgrown grass, a dog went off like an explosion, startling him into a crouch. He looked around wildly for it, his heart hammering against his ribs, and gradually realized the dog was inside the cottage, leaping up against the back door and slobbering on the glass. He breathed a sigh of relief and shielded himself from both sigh and smell before moving closer to the cottage. The dog subsided though he could still see it sitting by the back door, occasionally scratching at the glass.
He found a large picture window that gave him a good look into the living room, where he saw Jones sitting on the floor, playing with a small child. Jones was wearing a sling on his right arm but his movements with the left were confident and smooth, and he was smiling a little as he built a tower with the boy. Shasta felt a sudden surge of guilt that he had to force down, but before he could see more, a car pulled into the driveway.
A woman got out, slinging her purse over her shoulder and pressing a button on her keys to lock the car behind her as she went up to the front door. He watched her go in then moved around the cottage again, looking for any sign of the construct. He saw nothing and ended up back outside the picture window, unable to stop the nagging suspicion that Nevin had made good on his threat. Jones didn’t look very distressed as he greeted the woman and carefully pushed himself up from the floor, following her into the kitchen; it made Shasta wonder if he’d sold or otherwise gotten rid of the construct himself.
He almost left then, to go back to his aunt’s house and put this all behind him, but something made him stay. If nothing else he wanted to know what had happened between the construct and Jones. He made himself comfortable and waited for his opportunity.
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