SIX
“That was totally uncalled for!”
The voice that rumbled above and through me was pissed. Very pissed.
“You could have hurt Gwen!”
“Yeah,” another voice said, and it took a few seconds before I realized that it came from my mouth. I put a hand up to my face to verify that fact, realized my eyes were closed, and opened them.
I was sitting on the floor, propped up against something hard and warm, wrapped in a delicious scent that reminded me of a campfire in the mountains. I turned to look, and my nose brushed Gregory’s chin. “Hello,” I told his chin.
“Are you all right? Do you hurt anywhere? You hit the floor hard.”
“I don’t feel hurt.” Slowly my gaze moved upward until it reached his eyes. They were filled with concern now, the little laugh-line crinkles around the outsides making my stomach feel all warm and happy. “What happened?”
“Evidently that twit in the tunic was a mage. He threw open a portal at our feet.”
I stopped looking at his nice eyes and nicer laugh lines to look around us, allowing him to help me to my feet. We were in a long rectangular room paneled in dark wood and bedecked with various antique weapons arranged in decorative fans and crosses. The floor was black-and-white-diamond marble tile. At one end of the room stood a tremendous fireplace, the kind that they used to have in medieval castles in order to roast whole oxen. The other end had two double doors, while overhead, dusty banners wafted gently in a ghostly breeze. A couple of long benches sat along one wall between suits of armor, while the other wall held a large curved desk with a sign that stated in three languages that tours would be conducted only in the company of an official guide.
No one else was in the room except a white cat that sat on the desk. As I watched, it jumped down and strolled over to us, tail held high.
“Where are we?” I asked, squinting at the sign in hopes it would tell us. It didn’t.
“I have no idea. I wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt before I went exploring. Shoo, cat.”
I looked at him, guilt welling up inside me. “I’m sorry,” I said before I could chicken out.
His eyebrows rose. “For?”
“Not telling you who my mother was. I just—you were with the Watch, and my moms have had so much trouble lately, and the last thing ended up with me being arrested, and then the Watch people released me, but they had this annoying scribe follow me around until I drove her mad and she quit, and the Watch couldn’t find anyone else who would do the job, and then my moms didn’t really believe me when I said that if they screwed up again, they’d get sent to the Akasha, and I died trying to get that lawyer off their backs after I told him that they weren’t going to give him the magic after all, and my moms didn’t believe that, either, and I had to see a therapist who thought I was loopy.”
Gregory frowned. “That was quite the run-on sentence.”
“It was, wasn’t it?”
“It had a lot of meat to it, a lot of things to discuss and think about, and perhaps ask for more explanation about, but right now I believe the more pressing matter is to find out where we are, and why the scrawny mage sent us here. Cat, move.” He nudged the cat, which had decided to plop its butt down on his shoe.
“Aw, don’t be mean to the poor kitty. It clearly likes you.”
“It can like me all it wants so long as it stays out of my way.”
“Not a cat lover, eh? I am.” I bent down to pick it up. The cat gave me a long look, unsure of whether or not it approved of this action, and finally, after some deliberation, sank its teeth into my hand. “Ow! You little monster! Fine, I won’t pet you, then.”
The cat jumped out of my arms, gave me a scornful look, ignored Gregory, and marched over to the nearest bench, where it attended to some grooming of a highly personal nature.
Gregory took my hand and examined the bite.
“Little beast has sharp teeth.” I shot a glare at the cat. It paid us no attention.
“You’ll live,” was all Gregory said before he herded me to a door on our right. I had to admit, I didn’t mind his hand holding mine. His thumb stroked over the bite a couple of times until it stopped stinging. What that simple touch did to my stomach was another matter. “Come. We will find out who is in charge here.”
He flung open the door. It was a bathroom. A man sat on the toilet, holding a computer gamer magazine. He looked up in surprise. Two cats emerged from the room and twined around Gregory’s legs.
“Whoops!” I said, turning around quickly.
“Our apologies,” Gregory said, and closed the door.
“Well, that was embarrassing. How about I get to pick the next door?”
“More cats!” His tone was disgusted. “No, I do not want to pet you. Go away. What did you say, Gwen?”
“I offered to pick the door we open next. Those cats sure do like you. Here, kitty, I’ll pet you if you’re not bitey like Snowball over there.”
The white cat, now sitting with its front feet tucked under it (what Mom Two always called “meat loaf mode”), glared at me.
“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” Gregory said, shooting the cat a dubious look.
This cat, which was mostly white with some orange splotches on it, didn’t seem to mind being picked up. He purred amiably as I rubbed his ears and neck. His buddy went over to fling himself down in a pool of sunlight that glowed on the marble floor. “I told you that I like cats. Dogs, too. Actually, all animals, and they like me as well. I think it’s because my moms are Wiccan. They know that we’re animal-friendly.”
Gregory made a noncommittal noise. We crossed the hall to open the door opposite. It was locked.
“Guess we try the big ones,” I said, tucking the cat beneath my arm so I could gesture to the far end of the room, but before we could reach it, the sound of flushing and water running reached our ears.
“Who the hell are you?” asked the man who emerged. He was in the process of wiping his hands on a towel, which he flung to one side as he stalked forward. He was a little taller than Gregory, had curly black hair, dark eyes, and one of those dashing narrow mustaches that make me think of Errol Flynn and swashbucklers.
“We were about to ask you the same question,” Gregory said in a haughty tone that I had a feeling wasn’t going to go over well with Mr. Mustache.
“I live here. I get to ask questions first. Are you tourists?” He narrowed his eyes at us, answering himself before we could. “No, you’re not mortal. You’re also not deceased, and therefore you have no right to be in Anwyn. You can have that cat, though. Make you a present of it. Be glad to get rid of the beastly thing.”
“We don’t want a cat—”
“Speak for yourself,” I said, chucking the cat under his chin. He purred louder and kneaded my arm. “My moms love cats, and they just lost one to liver disease.”
“—and before I explain myself to anyone, I desire to know to whom I’m speaking.”
The man, who had been making a face at the cat, snapped to attention. “I am Aaron, lord of Anwyn, king of the Underworld, and ruler of these lands. Now, non-mortal,
“Aaron?” Gregory asked.
“It’s actually Arawn, but no one but pesky people call me that anymore. I’ve gotten with the times,” the king answered with an air of being well-pleased with himself.
“Oh, dear,” I said, unsure of how to greet a real, honest-to-Pete king, no matter how hip he was. Did people still curtsy? I wondered if I even knew how, or if he’d be offended by a bow?
“Gregory Faa.” He bowed, making me swear at myself because I wasn’t quicker off the mark. Now if I tried to bow, it would look like I was copying Gregory, plus I didn’t think I could pull off the move with quite as much panache. Especially not with a cat tucked under my arm. “This is—”
“Gwenhwyfar Owens, Your Majesty,” I said, making a little bob that I hoped would pass for a courtly curtsy. “We were evidently sent here by a mage.”
