I get it. I’m not the not the sharpest tack on the bulletin board either, but his level of delusion is impressive. And I mean that in a bad way. So I’m just about to pull him aside and spell this whole thing out for him—i.e. ‘your girlfriend has been kidnapped by a talk-radio freak and is being held hostage until you go out there and give yourself up’—but he’s already inside the cathedral, blindly running towards his woman.
I let out a sigh and follow him.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE - PELL
For a moment I feel like I am nowhere. I don’t exist. There is nothing but that eerie grayness of the fog that lingers outside the sanctuary when I’m in between slave caretakers.
But at almost the same instant that I realize this, it’s gone and I’m standing in an office made of mirrors. But no, they are not mirrors. They are windows and it’s night outside, so I can see myself in them. There is a large desk at the far end of the room—something executives use. And while the lights are on, they are dimmed.
I stand there, listening for voices. But only hear footsteps.
Before I can take a step forward, the office doors open and in walks my friend, talking on some kind of phone device. He’s naked—as any respectable satyr should be—and agitated.
“I’m sorry. What do you want me to say? She made a portal and disappeared. I’ve told you this a thousand times—”
He holds the phone away from his ear. The talking on the other end continues. It’s a woman’s voice. And it’s shrill. She’s pissed.
Tarq rolls his eyes and I grin. But then he takes a few steps forward and walks right through me. Like I’m some kind of apparition.
I turn, still in the doorway, and watch him mess with a bookcase. Then watch the bookcase turn into a door.
This is when I realize he can’t see me. “Tarq?” I say, testing this theory.
He sighs and turns back my way, but he walks through me again and ends up by this desk. The irate woman on the other end of the phone is still talking.
He puts the phone back to his ear. “I know what I agreed to. It’s not like I gave her permission to spell herself up a doorway, Callistina. I’m not in charge of—”
More shrieking. And this time, I can make out words. “I am the queen! You will address me as Your Highness! And you are literally her boss!” The woman has one of those posh accents that used to be common in the Old World before my sanctuary was moved over to Pennsylvania.
“In title,” Tarq enunciates. “I have no power, remember? You took it away.”
Well. A clue. Maybe.
“I said I would,” Tarq continues. “Yes, by tomorrow. Good night, Your Highness.” He ends the call and throws the phone across the room. I watch it sail right through my body and crash into the bookcase. When I look back at Tarq, he’s got his palms pressed flat on the desk and he’s looking down, like it’s been a rough day.
I step out of the door, then look back at it just to make sure it’s still there. It is. And I breathe a sigh of relief because if it wasn’t, I don’t know what I would do. Getting stuck here—without Pie—would be the line in the sand for me. I would be done at that point. And I would probably do stupid things. Stupid things like how Tomas burned everything down to get rid of the sheriff a few weeks ago.
Luckily, I don’t have to think about that. So instead, I say, “Hey.”
Tarq looks up, startled. His eyes narrow on me. And I’m not sure if it’s anger, or confusion, or something else. “Pell?” he finally says.
I throw up my hands. “It’s me.”
“W-what are you doing here?”
“Well, that’s a long story. You don’t seem very surprised though.”
“Well.” He smiles. And it feels genuine, so some of the uneasiness I had about him—thanks to Pie—fades. “For someone who claims to ‘not be a witch’ your woman does appear to have a pretty good command of magic doors.”
I chuckle. I can’t stop it. “I hear that.”
Tarq comes out from behind his desk, crosses the room in a few strides, and the next thing I know he’s pulling me in for a hug. I just kinda stand there, arms at my side—not because I don’t want to hug him back, but because he’s got my arms pinned, so I can’t.
I would say this hug lasts for about five seconds too long. And then I start to push him away.
He backs off, his head down. “Sorry.” He lets out a long breath. “Really.” And when he looks up at me, his eyes are sad. “It’s just—I really thought I was fucked. When Pie lit out of here like that, I really thought I was fucked.”
I’m not sure what to say to that, so I don’t say anything.