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Something traced the wound on her forehead. The cut closed, knitting in the wake of the gossamer touch.
With a whispered “thank you,” she became one with theEcotone.Centered, at ease,she started walking again. Strides even and pace steady, she navigated a path she shouldn’t know with ease. The innateknowingseemed odd, but felt right. She was plugged in here, at one with nature, at peace with herself. A slice of beauty sitting between worlds in turmoil. A balancing place. A nurturing place. A connecting place ruled by magic — the origin point where all things began.
The idea should’ve shocked her. It didn’t anymore.
The things she’d seen and experienced had settled deep, finding a home inside her. Truly accepted her role now. Didn’t feel like a novice. Didn’t feel out of her depth, even though she still had a lot to learn. Each trip to and from Azlandia taught her something new — strengthened her magic, sharpened her skills while revealing new ones. Making her want to hone her abilities and develop greater facility with her magic, but…
Baby steps. One thing at time.
She’d accomplished enough for now.
The most notable achievement involved getting Westvane to leave the Parkland. Convincing him to chart a new course — to play the long game instead of a short one — had been touch-and-go. He was stubborn. He also had ambition and drive. One fueled by the need to avenge his parents and his own experiences.
She understood better than most his need to make things right. He was an Assenta warrior who lived to obliterate an enemy. The path he traveled would always be the most direct. Objective driven. Attack heavy. More bloody than necessary. His approach blinded him to other ways of operating. Without his kind of training, she viewed things in a different light. Believed in looking in all directions, down every avenue and alleyway… no matter how dark.
Tackling the old ways using the same tactics wouldn’t work. Lyonesse was too entrenched, her followers too loyal, the guard she commanded still too strong, which meant…
New strategies must be developed, tested and deployed. Building a network of spies and strong alliances was just the beginning. Excavating the filth underpinning Azlandia would take time, but with a concentrated effort on multiple fronts, she believed Westvane would eventually get what he needed — a revolution, and an army of like-minded individuals to lead.
Walking along the shoreline, Truly paused on the edge of theEcotone. She glanced over her shoulder. Wreathed in white, she located Westvane’s blurry silhouette through the mist. Heavy strides saidunhappy. Coiled body language screamedmurderous.
Truly pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. He was in amood, which meant she was in for a lecture when he caught up. She already knew the subject matter — the rules of engagement and principles of non-interference.
Truly didn’t regret sticking her nose into his business. She’d saved his life. He’d saved hers. Teammates to the bitter, messy end.
Dragging her gaze from the angry Assenta stomping in her wake, Truly murmured her wishes. TheEcotonebloomed like a rose around her as she searched the back of her mind. Light sparked in the darkness. A door frame appeared. With a nudge, she pushed it open and crossed the threshold, stepping into the vestibule of the house on Isadore Street.
“Turnbolt,”her home murmured.
“Hello,”she said, returning the greeting inside her mind.
The Victorian mansion exhaled, humming in contentment.
Leaving the door open for Westvane, she started down the hall. “Earl!”
“Yeah!”
“Home safe!”
“Well, finally,” he said, voice drifting from the kitchen. “I almost —”
A thud echoed across the entryway.
The magical door crashed open behind her.
The crack of fists against flesh ricocheted. Cursing ensued. Grunts of exertion came next. The slam-bang of boots hammered the wooden floor, rampaged inside her foyer.
Halfway down the corridor, Truly whirled around. Her mouth dropped open as wings with golden feathers entered her house.
Not understanding what she was seeing, she stood stock-still, like a dummy on the hall runner, and watched Westvane grapple with…
She blinked.
Priestly.Westvane’s nemesis was in her home, on the wrong side of theEcotone.
Feet planted in billowing mist, standing on the wrong side of the door, Westvane kicked Priestly in the chest. The gold-feathered Electi reeled backward. Wings tangled, he landed spine-first on her oriental rug. The hall table jumped to the left. The carpet crinkled. Feathers flew. Priestly didn’t care. Moving like a pissed-off ninja, he surged to his feet and attacked Westvane.
Black eyes aglow, Westvane punched him. Knuckles cracked against cheekbone. Priestly’s head snapped to the side. With a snarl, Westvane stepped over the threshold. The instant he cleared the frame, Truly shut the door, trapping Priestly inside her house.
