“Why are we joined as a couple?”
“I don’t know,” I said, softly; we weren’t whispering, but our voices were hushed the way you did in human churches sometimes, as if you knew God was near.
“Does your crown always manifest in dream and vision?”
“No, almost never.”
“Is your soldier in the house?”
“I think so,” I said, but I was … distracted and puzzled that Sholto had come with me. I’d been asleep and touching a lot of the other men, but they’d never been transported with me. Why Sholto? Why now? Why in our “wedding” finery? I tried to let the questions go so I could hear Goddess’s message. If you let your thoughts get too loud, then you can’t hear God, or Goddess.
I took in a deep breath, closed my eyes, and stilled my thoughts, but the warmth and solidity of Sholto’s hand in mine was a part of that stillness. The wind touched my face, and I raised my head, eyes still closed, and knew that the house was where we needed to go. I couldn’t have explained it in words, but “knew” in the same way that the flower knows which way the sun is rising; it is just that simple, and that complicated. I started walking toward the house, leading Sholto by the hand. He didn’t question, just came with me, and that was a kind of faith. I wasn’t sure if it was faith in the Goddess, or faith in me, or both, but I walked forward believing, and he came beside me the same way. Our blood decorated the ground as we walked, and began to decorate our white clothes as the dry, hot wind whipped my dress around us. It spattered our blood across the white like a Jackson Pollock painting.
Most of the paint had peeled off the house, leaving it shades of weathered gray, the wood pitted and marked as if it had been beaten by small, sharp objects, but I knew that it was just the elements of wind, rain, heat, and time. Houses need love and care just like animals and people; without it, our dwellings begin to fade and die just like we do. No one had loved this house in a long time.
We stepped up on the warped, uneven boards of the porch and I reached out to the screen door. It had been torn long enough that the edges had begun to discolor, the screen going almost brittle with heat and neglect.
The inner wood door was peeling and had warped so badly that I couldn’t push it open easily. Sholto put his hand on it and together we opened it. It should have made a horrible racket of breaking wood and scraping metal, but it didn’t. The door opened as soundlessly as if it had been recently oiled and opened only moments before, though I knew it had to have been weeks since the door was used. With the silence of the door came a more profound quiet, as if the world were holding its breath. I saw the living room under a layer of gray dust, the floor littered with mail as if months’ worth had just been thrown on the floor. There was a couch sagging under a pile of knitted afghans, and a pillow. A small gray cat was curled up on the pillow, blinking huge yellow eyes at us. I wondered if it could see us.
As if in answer to my thought it hopped down from the couch in one graceful arc, padding toward the only hallway that led to the left. It turned and looked back at us, and gave a plaintive meow, tail twitching.
“It wants something,” I said.
“I’m more interested in what Goddess wants,” Sholto said.
The cat gave him an unfriendly look, then looked at me, dismissing him, or that was how it seemed to me. The scent of roses and herbs grew stronger.
“It’s like standing in a sun-warmed garden full of herbs and roses; the scent of everything is stronger. Why?”
“The cat knows where we need to go,” I said, and led us toward the waiting cat.
I think he opened his mouth to protest, but in the end he simply followed where I led. He followed me better than almost any of the men, considering he was a king in his own right; it was impressive.
The gray cat walked ahead of us, tail held high, tip twitching slightly. She stopped in front of the first closed door in the short hallway. There was another screen door at the end of the hallway. I wondered if that was the door people came in through, or if no one ever came into the house, or ever left it. No, the cat was too much a pet, too well cared for; it hadn’t been alone for months.
The cat put a delicate paw up against the door and looked at me with those intense yellow eyes. It gave another plaintive meow.
A man’s voice called out. “Stop it, Cleo, stop wailing outside the door. I left a message for Josh, he’ll take care of you.”
The cat meowed again and scratched at the door.
“Stop it!” he called out.
I thought I knew the voice. “Brennan,” I said, softly.
“Who’s there!” His voice sounded strident, almost panicked.
“Brennan, it’s Meredith.”
“Meredith, you can’t be here. I am crazy.”
The cat pawed at the door again. I used my free hand to touch the doorknob and open it. The cat slid inside as soon as there was an opening big enough for her slender body. We had to open the door wider for Sholto and me to step through.
The cat was already rubbing back and forth on his boots when he finally saw us. The dark of his desert tan had lightened, but his large brown eyes and short dark hair were the same. The hair was a little longer, but I knew that face now. One hand was around his necklace, and the other was holding a gun. It looked like a Glock, but I wasn’t an expert on guns. I recognized ones I’d shot, or the people around me used frequently.
He blinked up at us, confused, as if he weren’t sure what he was seeing. “Meredith, you don’t look … is there someone with you? Are you holding someone’s hand?”
“Why can’t he see me?” Sholto asked, softly.
I didn’t know, but out loud I said, “Yes, I have Sholto with me.”
“Why can’t I see him clearly?”
“What do you see?” I asked.
“It’s like heat in the desert, the air wavering until you start thinking you see things that aren’t there in the pattern of it.”
I tugged on our bound hands and drew Sholto a step farther into the room. From the look on Brennan’s face, Sholto must have simply appeared—one moment a wavering in the air, the next fully formed, solid, and real.
“What the hell!” Brennan exclaimed. He startled enough that the cat backed away from him, hissing, as if his foot had hit her accidentally.
“I’m sorry, Cleo, you okay?” He offered her the hand that had been tight around the charm around his neck, though perhaps charm wasn’t the right word. It was a long, dark nail, with a leather cord bound around the top of it so that it hung point down just at that small depression at the base of the neck. It still looked discolored as if my blood might still have been on it. It had been part of the shrapnel used in a bomb. Every nail that had bled me had fallen out as I healed people that night, and each soldier who had been healed and gained a nail had kept it as a sort of talisman. I think it had started as superstition for having survived, but it had become more. It had become their cross, their holy item that gave them a direct link to Deity. But somehow, I was that deity. Their prayers that involved that bit of metal went to me, if the need was dire enough, but this was no desert battlefield.
I looked at the gun still in his hand as he tried to persuade the cat to come closer to him. I remembered that he’d said someone else would look after the cat, and I suddenly knew that there were battles being fought in this room.
“You called me, Brennan,” I said.
He stopped trying to coax the cat and shook his head. “I didn’t call you with blood, metal, and magic this time, Meredith. I got no wounds.” He held his hand up as if to show it healed and whole.
“Not every wound leaves blood behind,” Sholto said.
Brennan glanced at him. “I remember you from when I visited Meredith in Los Angeles, but I don’t remember you with a crown, either of you.” He started to motion with his gun, stopped himself in midmotion, and used his free hand. “What’s with all this?”
“What were you thinking just a few minutes ago?” I asked.
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Brennan, you wrapped your hand around the symbol at your neck and you prayed. You prayed for something important enough to call me to your side and bring King Sholto with me. What was it?”