Truthseeker

Twenty-One

The warning in Washington’s voice stayed with Lara, even hours later. She’d sent Kelly to work and borrowed the Nissan to drive out to the state correctional facility in Concord on her own, thoughts spinning.

It would be easier by far to offer Washington and the press a story they could sink their teeth into. Even given her lack of talent for falsehoods, it would be easier. But she could think of nothing that would stand up to investigation short of claiming she’d gone into the wilderness, built a cabin of trees she’d felled herself, and hunted for every bit of sustenance required over the past year and a half.

She caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror, heart-shaped face and soft hair, and huffed disbelievingly. Anyone who would accept that story probably deserved to be lied to. In desperate circumstances, maybe she could survive in a remote cabin. In desperate circumstances and armed with enough library books, almost certainly. But she didn’t look like a desperate woman, and she doubted anyone would accept such a tall tale. For that matter, some intrepid reporter would probably search for the hand-hewn cabin, and make a story of failing to find it. Saying nothing remained the most practical option, for all that it wasn’t a comfortable one.

She showed identification at the prison gates—her driver’s license had expired, but Kelly had kept her passport—and was relieved that the guard took no particular interest in her name. Maybe Concord was far enough out of Boston that neither she nor Dafydd were quite local celebrities, or perhaps the job inured one to oddities. Even so, it took a long time to get out of the car after she parked: not so much a fear of being recognized as painfully aware of being a stranger in a strange land.

As if she could belong at the doors of a human prison any less than she could belong in the fairyland called Annwn. The Barrow-lands, though, had beauty on their side, making them enticing, which no correctional facility could be. But she wanted Dafydd to know she’d returned before he got a call from his lawyer, and so, nervous or not, Lara climbed out of the car.

The blocky prison doors opened as she did so. A uniformed police officer escorted a young man through, the youth’s expression torn between relief and nervousness at his parole. Lara sympathized: freedom was as frightening as captivity, in its own way. She had had careful constraints on her own life, intended to measure and control her exposure to the lies of well-meaning strangers, and Dafydd had torn those constraints apart. She had never imagined herself a prisoner, but watching the youth’s gaze flicker from the sky to the horizon, watching it linger on her in one part desire and one part apology, she thought she wasn’t so different from him.

“Lara Jansen,” the officer beside him said, incredulously, and Lara’s attention flinched to him.

Two days: it had been little more than two days, and well over a year, since she’d seen him. It still took a moment to fumble his name to her lips, surprise working against her more than the passage of time: “Officer Cooper. What are you doing here?”

“What am I—!” Cooper actually released his prisoner and stepped forward to seize Lara’s shoulders before remembering his duty. He retreated again, still incredulous. “I’m collecting my parolee. What are you doing here? God damn, Miss Jansen, but I was damned near the last upright citizen who saw you. I got interrogated inside-out over you.”

“I’m sorry.” Lara knotted her hands in front of her stomach, partially in self-defense and partially to prevent herself from blurting offense at his phrase. The twelve-step group members deserved better than relegation to second-class citizenship, though from her previous encounter with this man she doubted an argument would do any good. “Of course you did. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. I’m back now. I just had to … go away for a while.” Had to carried too much weight, jangling her already-stretched nerves, and Cooper seized on the words, though for a different reason.

“Had to? It wasn’t family getting sick, it wasn’t you getting sick, what kind of ‘had to’ makes you disappear entirely?”

“I’m sorry, Officer Cooper.” Lara struggled for an explanation, then sighed and gave up with a shrug. “It’s nothing I can talk about.”

That, astonishingly, worked where a flatter refusal to explain hadn’t. Curiosity flashed through Cooper’s expression: curiosity, then answers he supplied himself. Lara, following flights of fancy, imagined stories ranging from terrible brutality to government operations, and bit back laughter. She ought to have tried that tactic with Detective Washington, rather than insisting he wouldn’t accept the truth. At least now she knew it was a truthful way through the questions and could use it in the future.

“Sure,” Cooper said awkwardly, then shouldered his charge toward a nearby police car. “I’ll see you, Miss Jansen.”

“Officer Cooper,” Lara murmured, and watched them go before drawing herself up and entering the prison.

Dafydd ap Caerwyn, immortal prince of the Seelie court, looked awful. The jewelry he had chosen to wear in the outside world had all been silver and gold, Lara recalled, not iron: not the heavy-looking stuff that weighed him down now. She wondered if it damaged him, though surely the glamour he wore must offer some protection against mortal metals.

The glamour, though, seemed shabby. It would never fool her eyes again, but watching him shuffle wearily into the visitor’s room, Lara wondered how it could fool anyone. His hair, cropped short now, did nothing to disguise the upswept tips of his ears, and she couldn’t trust her shimmering vision to tell her whether the glamour truly disguised them to human eyes. More than that, though, he simply looked fragile: his color was bad, and made worse by his orange jumpsuit, and his skin looked parched and thin, like it might break with a touch. His slender fingers were sticklike, and he’d lost muscle from his slim form. Even by Seelie standards he seemed delicate, and by human expectations, he looked so weak it was a wonder he’d managed to survive within the penal system. He shuffled to the glass phone boxes and sat without looking up, motions awkward as he lifted the phone with cuffed hands.

“Hey,” Lara whispered into the phone, and pressed her palm against the glass that separated them.

Dafydd’s head jerked up, sudden life flooding him. The glamour strengthened, making Lara dizzy, but the astonished brightness in his eyes was worth the oncoming headache. “You look awful,” she whispered through a damp smile. “Orange isn’t your color.”

“Truer words were never spoken.” Relieved laughter marked lines in Dafydd’s face as Lara crinkled her nose. “Very well,” he whispered back. “No doubt many things far truer have been said. But orange isn’t my color, and—How did you come here? You’re here, you’re alive, Lara, I’ve been so afraid. It’s been so long.” His voice broke and he kept it low with obvious effort, bringing his hand up to match Lara’s through the glass. “Did my father send you back?”

“No, I … brought myself home. How did you get here?”

“You—!” Dafydd curled his fingers into a fist against the glass, slow motion filled with uncertainty. “How?”

Lara glanced toward the security cameras, shaking her head. “I don’t think this is the time to explain. I’m sorry, Dafydd. I’m sorry about how much time passed. I’m sorry you’re in here. I’ve gone to the police already—”

“Already? How long have you been back?” His face set like he awaited injury, and mild insult washed through Lara.

“Barely a day. I had to see my mother, and I went to the police this morning, then came out here. I haven’t been ignoring you for weeks.”

Embarrassment replaced subtle injury and he flattened his hand against the glass again. “I’m sorry. How long …” His gaze went to the cameras, too, then came back to Lara. “How long were you gone?”

“I came back a few hours after you did, Dafydd. I don’t know why it was so long here. I thought the …” She didn’t want to say magic or spell under the cameras or on the phone, uncertain of whether their conversation was being recorded. “I thought it was supposed to keep time the same.”

“It was, but you were never meant to come back by yourself,” Dafydd said just as circumspectly, and for a delirious moment Lara felt badly for anyone trying to interpret their cryptic discussion. Dafydd met her eyes, intent with apology. “That could have changed things. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s Aerin’s fault, I don’t know what happened, she lost her mind and threw you to the Unsee—to the enemy. I had her arrested.”

“What!” Dafydd blurted, then cut himself off with a strangled sound. “Lara, it was the compulsion. The one that made me—” He broke off again, glared at the cameras, then looked back at Lara, clearly hoping she followed his thoughts.

“The one that got you in trouble with Merrick.”

“Yes.” Dafydd pressed his eyes shut, then leaned in to the glass, fingertips colorless against it. “She wasn’t throwing me to the hordes, Lara, she was acting under my orders. All I wanted was to be at your side, and I couldn’t control my actions. I was afraid what would happen if I reached you.”

Cold slithered inside Lara’s chest and thrummed out to her fingers, rendering the glass warm beneath them. “Oh.” Silence drew out before she added, “I suppose I shouldn’t have broken her nose, then.”

Dafydd, astonishingly, laughed aloud. It restored vivaciousness to him, making his skin look less like aged parchment and brightening his eyes. “No, nor arrested her, but I find I can’t hold it against you, when you were acting in my best interests. Thank you. I think.”

“You’re welcome. Dafydd, I came here to tell you I’m all right and that I’ll get you out of here. They can’t keep you here for kidnapping if the victim shows up and says she wasn’t kidnapped.” Determination turned Lara’s voice to steel.

“Can they not?”

“They won’t,” she said flatly.

Something curious came into Dafydd’s expression and Lara glanced away, discomfited. The strength in her words was unfamiliar to her; she was accustomed to being quiet, unnoticed, and gentle in her interactions. She had thrown some of that away simply by entering the Barrow-lands, and had been obliged, once there, to push herself far beyond where her confidence might usually have lain. She knew it, but Dafydd’s recognition of her changes said they ran both deeper and more clearly than she’d imagined possible in such a short period of time. But it was necessary, if she was to succeed in getting Dafydd out of prison, much less face the questions the Barrow-lands offered. “I don’t know how long this will take. Not too long, I promise.”

Dafydd smiled. “Promises spoken by a truthseeker are not to be taken lightly.”

“They’re not given lightly, either.” Lara couldn’t remember the last time she’d made a flat promise; absolutes were too difficult to deal in. “Dafydd, I’m sorry, but I can’t stay. I need to find a lawyer for you, for me maybe, in order to make this work.”

“It’s all right. I’ve endured these long months here. Another few nights won’t harm me.”

“They’d better not,” Lara muttered. “I don’t want to explain to your father how I lost you to the American prison system.”

“I can hardly imagine how he would react to that,” Dafydd said drolly, then, more softly, “I’m glad you’re well, Lara. I was worried.”

Lara smiled and pressed her hand against the glass. “Me, too.” She thumped the glass, then stood abruptly. “We have so much to talk about and none of it can be done here. I’m going to go before I get indiscreet. Dafydd, I—” Audacity took her breath and left her wondering at the intensity of emotion she’d been about to voice. “I’ll get you out of here,” she whispered instead. “As soon as I can.”

He nodded, and she left with her final image of his amber eyes in a grateful face.

It was late enough when she returned to the city that it made a viable excuse to return home, pretending the day was over. The temptation to do so was great enough to keep Lara idling at a traffic light, distant with thought as the light turned to green.

An impatient beep behind her jolted her into action, knocking the turn signal on and making a decision for her. She made the turn and entered an underground parking lot that others were deserting as the hour ticked past five. It was only a few minutes’ walk to Lord Matthew’s, and Lara rang the entrance bell stiffly, wondering if Steve still worked long hours that would make him late for dinner.

Cynthia’s voice came through the intercom system, polite and more mature than Lara remembered: “One moment, please, and I’ll escort you in.”

Lara took a breath to offer her name and a protest that she didn’t need an escort, and let it go again in silence. The radio or one of the ubiquitous twenty-four-hour news stations might have announced her return by now, but Cynthia was unlikely to have heard either between school and work.

The door opened, and Lara felt her expression go slack-jawed. The high school senior she’d known was nearly nineteen now, probably in college, and had left the last vestiges of childhood behind sometime in the past year and a half. Instead, a poised young woman in a high-fashion shirt and skirt, beautifully made but catching the edge of exuberant youth, stood before her with her eyes going increasingly round.

Then Cynthia blurted, “Oh my God, it was you, I’m so sorry,” and fell on Lara in a teary hug. Lara caught her, almost laughing with relief and not especially caring that they were making a scene on Lord Matthew’s doorstep. It took several sniffling moments before Cynthia pulled her inside and demanded, “What happened?” in such a high-pitched voice that Lara thought perhaps the high school senior hadn’t been left so far behind, after all.

“I can’t talk about it,” she answered softly. “I will if I ever can, Cyn, but right now I just can’t. I’m okay, though. I’m all right, and I’m so sorry I disappeared like that. I didn’t know it was going to happen.”

“Well of course, nobody knows they’re going to disappear. I’m just so glad you came back and you’re okay and oh my God, Lara! Dad! Dad! Daddy!”

Lara winced. “If he’s with a client—”

“He isn’t, he’s just going deaf. Daddy! Lara’s back!”

For a man purported to be going deaf, Steve Taylor appeared with remarkable alacrity at Cynthia’s last shout. He looked older, too, Lara thought: more gray at the temples of his curling hair, and circles under brown eyes. He stared at Lara a moment, then, much like his daughter had, swept her into a hug. “Thank God. Are you all right?”

“I am.”

“Okay.” Steve set her back, hands on her shoulders, and looked her up and down as if making sure she was telling the truth, then nodded. “Okay. That’s all that matters. That’s all that matters.”

“Steve, I hate to do this, I can’t explain where I’ve been—”

“It doesn’t matter.” There was so much passion in his voice that Lara faltered, overwhelmed by the music of his conviction. She’d known he cared about her, but hearing the depths of his relief told her that Steve Taylor was, in truth, the closest thing to a father she’d had. Suddenly teary-eyed, she stepped forward to hug him again, and his reassurances were murmured over her head: “You’re alive, you’re safe, you’re home. I mean it, Lara, that’s all that matters. We’ve missed you.”

“I missed you, too.” The answer came automatically, not even a lie, though all the missing she’d done had been crammed into the twenty-four hours since she’d learned she had been gone for well over a year. She wiped her eyes surreptitiously, stepping back to look up at him. “Steve, I need a lawyer. Dafydd—David, David Kirwen, he didn’t kidnap me, he didn’t hurt me, nothing like that happened. I need to get him out of jail, and you’re the only person I know who even has a lawyer. I’m sorry to ask, especially like this, but—”

“Lara.” He squeezed her shoulders and spoke more gently. “Listen to me. I don’t care if you took a vacation to the moon. You’re home, and nothing else is important. If you need a lawyer, then I can help you. There is no ‘especially like this’ for you to apologize about.”

“I care if she took a vacation to the moon,” Cynthia said abruptly, though not seriously. Steve stepped back, taking his cell phone out, and spoke beneath Cynthia as she continued, “I want pictures, at least, and I want to go with her next time because one-sixth gravity would be awesome.”

Lara giggled, aware it was a surprisingly pathetic sound. “I didn’t go to the moon. Sorry. No Earth-rise photos from me. I didn’t even have a camera.”

“I’d say bring one next time but I don’t want you to disappear again ever.”

“I’d rather not myself,” Lara admitted, and Steve closed his phone with a snap.

“My lawyer’s on her way. Welcome home, Lara. Everything’s going to be okay.”