The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [159]
“Who are you?” she said, cupping the phone to her ear. “Why did you give me the photo of the tablet?”
“There's no time for that, Agent Falling Hawk. In a few moments the Seekers will realize I've blocked their wiretapping device and they'll grow suspicious.” The man's voice was hollow, tinny; it was being digitally altered. “The ones I spoke of are nearly here, and it's imperative that no one else learns of their arrival. Do you understand?”
She clutched the phone. “Who are you talking about? Who's nearly here?”
There was a click, and static filled her ear. At the same moment, a knock sounded at the door. Deirdre was so startled she dropped the phone. She scrambled to pick it up and place it back on the base. Another knock. Clutching her robe around her, she hurried to the door and opened it.
A man and a woman stood on the other side. The man was tall and rangy, with green eyes and longish, thinning blond hair. He wore jeans and a dark turtleneck sweater, but it was easier to picture him in chain mail, a sword at his side. The woman was exotically beautiful, her dark hair slicked back, her gold eyes vivid. Her overcoat could not entirely conceal the sleek black leathers she wore beneath.
Before Deirdre could speak, Vani pushed past her into the flat and glanced at Beltan.
“Shut the door. Quickly.”
The blond man stepped inside and closed the door. He eyed Deirdre hopefully. “You don't have anything to eat, do you?”
“Food is not important now,” Vani said.
The blond man snorted. “Food is always important.”
“Not if you're dead. We must be certain we were not followed.” Vani moved to the window, peered out, and jerked the curtains shut.
Deirdre finally managed to speak, her voice hoarse with wonder. “How did you get here?”
Beltan's green eyes shone. “It was the most remarkable thing, Deirdre. We raced through a tunnel beneath this city faster than a horse can run.”
Deirdre shook her head. That wasn't what she meant. She looked at the knight, then at the golden-eyed woman, both from another world. “What the hell is going on?”
Vani turned from the window, hands on her hips. “We need your help, Seeker.”
Deirdre took a step back and found herself sitting down hard in a chair. “My help? To do what?”
Beltan knelt before her and placed his big, scarred hands over her own. “To find Travis Wilder,” he said.
38.
The shadows slipped away from Travis like dirty rags as he stepped into the orange glow of a streetlight. He tried to speak the rune Alth again, to conceal himself in shadows once more, but the word was a dry whisper, powerless. Magic on Earth was a thin ghost of what it was on Eldh: a primal river drained and choked and polluted until it was no more than a murky trickle. Touching the Great Stones would have helped, but he didn't dare open the box again.
He leaned against the streetlight, unable to stop trembling. How many blocks had he run since fleeing the television station? It didn't matter. No distance was great enough. The wraithlings would never stop looking for him. He had to find a place he could hide.
He slipped his hand in his pocket, checking the iron box to make certain it was still tightly shut. As he did, his fingers brushed a scrap of paper. He pulled it out. It was the piece of paper Anna Ferraro had handed him just before driving off; a phone number was scribbled on it. Carefully, he put it back into his pocket.
His breathing was less ragged now, and he looked around to get his bearings, only he didn't recognize the street he was on. It was somewhere on the edge of downtown—tall office buildings loomed against the night sky—but east or west? He had lost all sense of direction as he careened through the city. The street was empty, the brick storefronts dark. He walked half a block to the next intersection, but the street signs were so corroded he couldn't read them.
His shaking had become shivering. The cold bit at his hands and feet. Whether or not the wraithlings were following him, he had to get