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  He took the hint and left the apartment.

  Walter, his eyes on Vad, took the knife from Gwen. He stroked his hand over the decorations that graced the silver cross-guard of the long blade. “Is this Celtic?” He gave a low whistle as he examined the handle. The handle looked as though it was made of solid turquoise wrapped with a band of gold. “It’s beautifully done.”

  Vad graciously accepted the compliment. “‘Tis an ancient design.”

  Gwen sighed. Once Walter got going on Celtic folklore, they’d be here all night. He’d minored in mythology at school. It was how they’d met each other—paired on a mythology project and then later paired in other ways.

  One uniformed officer, behind Walter, moved forward and bent over the knife. But Gwen was very aware of the other man, one hand resting casually on his gun, still standing by the door. Vad, Walter, and the one policeman discussed double-edged versus single-edged blades. She wanted to bang their collective heads together.

  She sank onto the sofa and rolled her eyes. She patted the place next to her and Vad joined her. He leaned back and crossed his arms on his chest. Now he looked as if he’d spent a few hours in her bed—and shower. Wouldn’t that fry Walter’s scrapple?

  Vad’s long, wet hair hugged his head. His robe gaped over a smoothly muscled chest. She averted her eyes but leaned against him and clasped his hand. She sensed tension sweeping through his body, but he entwined his fingers with hers. A slow warmth built in the pads of her fingers and spread throughout her palm. He wore a wide gold ring on his left hand. Its design echoed the Celtic knotwork on his blade. She hadn’t noticed it before.

  Was he married? The feeling of his strong fingers wrapped about hers reminded her most poignantly of how lonely her life had become. She dropped his hand. Married men should not hold hands with lonely widows.

  Judging from the questions Walter directed at Vad, there was little chance he’d arrest anybody. Instead, Vad received a severe lecture on waving weapons around. Gwen came into her share of censure, too. After a hiatus of seven years, Walter was on a roll. She tuned him out as she had when they’d dated, nodding now and then, her mind uncomfortably occupied with the warmth of the man whose long thigh and hip pressed against hers.

  One of the uniformed officers frequented her store. He eyed Vad with something akin to the look she saw on rabid fans just as they donned the headset for a virtual reality experience. When her ex-fiancé ground to a halt, she introduced her guest to the officer.

  “This is Vad, the Tolemac warrior. He’s my boyfriend.” She enunciated every word in case Walter had missed the more subtle hints.

  “A Tolemac warrior,” Vad corrected.

  “You’re coming to the ball tonight, aren’t you? You’re sure to win a prize,” the officer gushed.

  “Prize?” Vad and Walter spoke simultaneously.

  Gwen shot to her feet. Vad followed suit. “Sure, best costume. Finest weapon,” she said as she tucked Vad’s robe more securely about his waist. The man had no modesty. “That’s why Vad was showing me his sword.”

  “Knife,” the three men said in unison.

  She took the blade and put it on top of her entertainment cabinet.

  The officer thrust his notebook into Vad’s hands. “How about an autograph?”

  “Go on, give him your autograph,” Gwen urged. Then they might leave. The sooner the better. Preferably before Vad said something to make Walter escort him to the funny farm.

  They stood around in silence while Vad turned the notebook over and over in his large hands.

  “Aut-o-graph?” Vad stared at what he held in his palms. He drew his fingers carefully over the paper. It was fine, far finer than any he’d ever seen. The writing instrument was curious. He sniffed it. Wood. He touched it to the fine paper and it left a mark.

  “Sign your name. Big. Across the page.” The woman patted his arm. He felt as stupid as a small child.

  Boldly, he slashed his name across the page, the way he would if putting his name to an important peace treaty.

  The blue-garbed man snatched it up. “Wait until Marlene sees this. She’ll shit. Whoops. Beg pardon, ma’am, Lieutenant.”

  Vad watched, fascinated, as brown speckles on the man’s face glowed against a flush of dark red. He’d seen this changing skin once before, in a woman who had claimed to be from beyond the ice fields.

  The man called Lieutenant drew out his own writing implement and ignored the other man’s lapse. Vad would have ordered a flogging for such familiar behavior.

  “Let’s run through your story again so we can all get home to our families for lunch,” the lieutenant said. For some reason, the woman’s expression became stiff and sour. He sensed an unease that had naught to do with what had summoned these men.

  Thunder crashed, shaking the house. The woman winced, her eyes going to the storm outside. She twisted a ring about. He walked behind her and dropped his hands onto her shoulders and squeezed.

  “One last time, Walter,” she said on his behalf. Her voice trembled just a bit. “Vad is here for the wargames convention. He didn’t sleep very well last night, so I guess he’s kinda grumpy. His costume stinks a bit. You know how fur smells when it gets wet—so I threw it out on the deck to air. He wasn’t too happy. My fault. I should have asked his permission. Neil came in just when Vad was checking his knife. Neil overreacted. End of story.”

  Vad bit his lip. The woman had lied to the man—with a remarkably agile tongue and straightforward gaze.

  The lieutenant tapped his writing tool against his teeth. Vad decided the man looked a bit like an amiable rabbit. He had hair cropped quite close to his scalp. What hair he had was tinted an unfortunate reddish hue, and yet Vad sensed a quality about the man that would be alluring to women. There was no softness about his belly. Vad stood up straighter and sucked in his stomach. He squared his shoulders.

  The lieutenant scowled. “Why does this remind me of the stories you spun in college, Gwen? When you were playing that stupid Tolemac Wars game? When it was still just a pencil-and-paper amusement. You know, the one like Dungeons and Dragons? The game non-athletes played.”

  “Yes, R. Walter. The stupid game I loved and you hated.”

  The man had insulted the woman. Vad clamped his hands on her shoulders and held her in place. Her small fists were clenched. The Rwalter man rose from his seat at the mother’s battered table.

  All the names confused him. Later, when he had gained this woman’s confidence, he would delve into why this unlikely man had angered his little friend.

  Nay, not friend.

  Possibly an ally.

  He shrugged. As it stood now, she was his only ally. But she was an ally who glibly lied to men in authority. And with but a word, the snake man did her bidding.

  At the door, the Rwalter man turned. “Hey, Vad. Mind if I bring my son over to meet you?”

  Vad dropped his hands from the woman’s shoulders and bowed formally from the waist. If the same rules applied here as in Tolemac, the man would recognize an obeisance of equal to equal. As superior as Vad felt to this man who came only to his shoulder, he understood the tactics of flattery. The man did not return the bow. Was the man ignorant or deliberately insulting him?

  Once they were alone, Gwen slumped onto the sofa. “I think I just aged ten years.”

  “Why did you lie for me?” Vad stood before her, tall, angry and magnificent. He spread his legs and crossed his arms on his chest.

  Oh, brother. How was she supposed to think with a Tolemac warrior looming over her? “I lied to save your butt, you ungrateful idiot. If I’d known you wanted to spend the night in a cell, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. His eyes narrowed.

  “Would you sit down? I have a headache.” That was no lie. Her head pounded. What were the chances that Walter would come to her apartment after seven years of silence? And just when she was making a complete fool of herself. She’d given him one good dig—he hated
being called R. Walter. She glanced at her warrior. At least Walter and her family would know she didn’t need them, had someone in her life.

  The thought depressed her. There was no one in her life. With a conscious shake she chastised herself for her soppy mood. This was how she wanted her life to be—well-ordered, with no messy entanglements. No lovers to desert her or her husbands to die on her. Besides, she couldn’t get burned if she avoided the fire.

  The warrior inspected his cloak. He crouched down and spread the furs out, ran his hands over them. She cocked her head and enjoyed the play of muscle beneath the soft velour of the robe. She sighed. Her hand went to the tight waistband of her jeans. She should have lost those extra ten pounds during the summer.

  Contemplation of her weight always made her cranky. “There’s no way I’m putting up with that smell. Give it to me.” She leaped up from the sofa and grabbed his cloak.

  He trotted after her as she hustled back to the bathroom. “Just great,” she muttered, and stared at the floor. Every towel and sheet she owned lay in a sodden mess. “Now I remember why I didn’t want a man in my life.” She glared at the warrior. And the last thing I need, she mused silently, is to be attracted to a man who thinks I’m a slave.

  She flung open the folding doors that concealed her washer and dryer. Stepping gingerly over the piles of linens at her feet, she tossed the furs into the dryer. She added a scented dryer sheet. He made a strangled sound in his throat. “Don’t worry, big guy.” She patted his rock-hard chest. “This will make you sweet-smelling again.” On second thought, she added two more dryer sheets. “Oh, what the heck.” She added the whole box.

  He bent over and peered at the control panel as she punched the button for air fluff first, then one hour.

  With a sigh, she scooped up the soapy sheets and towels, wrung them out in the tub, then dumped what she could into the washer and squashed the rest into a laundry basket.

  Vad opened the dryer door. The light popped on and he nearly put his whole head into the dryer looking about. He closed the door. She pushed the on button. Two seconds later, he jerked the door open again.

  She patted his arm. “Relax. Nothing’s going to happen to your precious coat. I’m just airing it out.”

  Like a soldier called to battle, Gwen pulled out a mop and tackled the floor. She consoled herself with the idea that the job was overdue.

  Behind her, Vad’s stomach growled. “I suppose that means you’re still hungry. Why don’t I get us a pizza?” she said, shoving the mop behind the washer.

  A curious expression crossed his face. “Pepperoni,” he said softly. He said the word as if it were too big for his mouth.

  “Sure. Pepperoni. I’ll just run down the boardwalk and pick one up.” She contemplated her large guest. “Maybe I’ll get two…or three. If the dryer buzzes, your coat’s done.”

  He watched her pick up a black leather pouch. With a wave and a smile, she left him.

  Wandering about her small home, he rolled the odd word about on his tongue. Pepperoni. The word had popped unbidden into his mind. His headache returned with a vengeance. He massaged the ache in his temples and groaned. What did the word mean? Where had it come from? The woman certainly understood its meaning.

  The sound of the door opening drew him to the front room.

  “Your clothes,” the snake man announced, standing at the door with a bundle in his arms. “Where’s Gwen?”

  Vad tried the unfamiliar word on the snake man. “Pepperoni.”

  “Oh.” The man nodded, then stepped in and closed the door behind him. He tossed his bundle on the table. “Look, bud. Gwen’s a nice lady. Don’t screw around. Get it?”

  Vad searched the man’s face. Although the warrior lacked a few inches, he did not lack bravery. He had no weapons save his audacity. Vad understood the import of the man’s words, if not their actual meaning. “I will not harm her.”

  The snake man paced to the glass door. He opened it and stepped into the rain. After standing there a moment, hands on hips, the man came back inside. Challenge radiated from him in tangible waves. He pointed to the bundle of clothing. “Get dressed. When Gwen returns I’ll take you to Atlantic City. She doesn’t need any hassles, and you look like a king-size hassle to me.”

  “What is in this Atlantic City to interest me?”

  “A thousand people just like you.”

  A thousand!

  The snake man tore a thin, clear wrap that looked like spun glass from the garments. An unpleasant smell wafted from the package, yet his clothing was clean. The leather gleamed. His shirt was completely free of wrinkles. Garbed thus, he would once more feel himself. And surely, if his friend had crossed the ice fields, he would be at this Atlantic City. Someone there must know him. “I will do as you ask.”

  “Great. Gwen should be back in about ten minutes. After you eat, I’ll run you up.”

  Vad frowned. He did not relish running with this pain pounding through his head. Nor did he relish being lured to an enclave of a thousand warriors, all of whom might be snake-men. He would seek his friend—and entrance to the war talks—in his own way.

  When the man left, Vad carefully folded the robe and dressed. The familiar feel of his clothing canceled much of the confusion from his mind.

  In a whirlwind, he searched the place, looking for other weapons he might use. His mind reeled at the strange and inexplicable objects he found. He saw tiny portraits of people in strange garb who looked almost alive, the artist who had painted them so talented Vad could discern no brush marks. And then there were the silken articles of clothing hidden in a chest that seemed to have no purpose. And the chest had odd boxes in it that slid. It was marvelous, and he wasted time shoving the little boxes in and out.

  Perhaps he could pay the woman for her services and see the gossamer garments on her lush flesh. His head throbbed with an intensity that made him groan. He stuffed the garments away and closed the door on temptation.

  He had taken a personal oath against spending his seed with cheerful abandon—once a rather bad habit of his, but one he thought he had learned to control.

  Cooler of mind, he rummaged in jumbled boxes in the alcove where the woman had prepared his broth. He found only a paltry collection of small knives. One, with an oddly curved blade, he shoved into his boot. Finally he fetched his cloak from the bathing chamber.

  The scent it gave off was intoxicating. Her scent. It clung to all her silky garments. As he shook out his furs, small white squares of fabric fluttered to the floor. He lifted one to his nose and took a deep breath. She would not miss one. He tucked it into his shirt; it would serve as a remembrance of her.

  Using the tip of his knife, he made a tiny slit in the lining of his furs. A polished blue-green stone dropped into his palm. He placed it in the center of her scarred table.

  Footsteps pounded on the staircase. Soundlessly he moved to the glass door, and with barely a fumble at the catch, he was through it. He swung a leg over the railing.

  An arm snaked around his neck and jerked him off his feet. The colorless world tilted, spun. A vision of a dark face rose in his mind as the scent of dirt and dust filled his nostrils. Black mist swirled through the air and blinded him.

  A distant voice called his name. He felt the clasp of a hand on his. He coughed, then tried to grasp the hand, but it slid away. He thrust his out, groping in the darkness, but felt nothing. With a mournful howl, he gave himself to the ebony mist.

  Chapter Four

  “Vad!” a voice said by his ear.

  The arm about his neck slid away along with the encroaching darkness. He took in a deep breath and steadied himself.

  Where was he? Ah, yes. Ocean City.

  A metallic taste filled his mouth. He shook his head and focused on the man who had called his name. The snake-man stood over him, his features blurred and foggy. “Are you all right? You nearly went over the railing,” the snake-man said, taking his arm again.

  “I was deliberate
ly going over the railing,” Vad said, jerking his arm from the snake-man’s grasp and stumbling back into the chamber. The room spun around him, changed for a moment, filled with blues and greens. The furniture shifted, stretched, the shapes elongating or shrinking from one moment to the next.

  He gripped the back of a chair and took a long, deep breath. He’d dreamed the black mist, the strong grip of the hand, and the grief of its loss before—but never while awake. He had also dreamed the blue and green room.

  This time when the snake man took his arm, he did not shake him off.

  “I don’t think Gwen would be too happy about—” the snake man began.

  “What wouldn’t I be too happy about?” Gwen asked from the doorway, her arms full of white boxes decorated with royal purple. Her gaze swept over him, lingering on his cloak, and a look of distress crossed her face, then quickly disappeared behind a bright smile. Her helmet of golden hair was wind-tossed. It gave her the look of a small child. “Oh, I see,” she said. “You were leaving.” With no ceremony she plunked the boxes on the table. She shrugged. “So why don’t you go? I certainly can’t keep you here. Go if you want.”

  Her words might appear to be uncaring, but a tiny hint of something else colored them. Finding his friend was all important; he should not concern himself with one woman’s disappointment.

  Vad sighed. He’d never been very good at ignoring a disappointed woman.

  “You brought food?” he asked, stalling for time until the room settled down and the colors shifted back.

  The snake man lifted the lid from one of the shallow boxes and revealed a tray of flat bread. “Why don’t you have some pizza? As usual, she bought too much. This is enough for an army.”

  “An army?” he repeated, eyes on the woman. “I thought you said there was no army in charge here.”

  “Oh, we have armies for keeping peace in other places,” she said with a negligent wave of her hand. “Neil’s just being sarcastic, aren’t you?” She disappeared into the curtained alcove and then returned with gold-rimmed plates.