On the streets of Seattle Maggie would havetaken one look at him and grinned herself silly.Here, she didn't have the slightest urge to smile.
The Dark Kingdom, she thought. Slaves andmaidens and shapeshiftersand magic. He's probably a wizard. What have I gotten myself into?
Her heart was beating hard and her mouth wasso dry that her tongue felt like sandpaper. But therewas something stronger than fear inside her.Gratitude.
"Thank you,"she said.
He didn't even look up. "For what?" He had aclipped, brusque voice.
"For saving us. I meanyou did that, didn't you?"
Now he did look up, to measure her with a cool,unsympathetic expression. "Did what?" he said in those same unfriendly tones.
But Maggie was staring at him, stricken withsudden recognition that danced at the edges of hermind and then moved tantalizingly away.
I had a dream - didn't I? And there was somebody like you in it. He looked like you, but hisexpression was different. And he said...he saidthat something was important....
She couldn't remember! And the boy was stillwatching her, waiting impatiently.
"That ...thing." Maggie wiggled her fingers, trying to convey waves of energy. "That thing thatknocked him off the cliff. You did that."
"The blue fire. Of course I did. Who else has thePower? But I didn't do it for you." His voice waslike a cold wind blowing at her.
Maggie blinked at him.
She had no idea what to say. Part of her wantedto question him, and another part suddenly wantedto slug him. A third part, maybe smarter than boththe others, wanted to run the way Gavin had.
Curiosity won out. "Well, why did you do it,then?" she asked.
The boy glanced down at the ledge he was standing on. "He threw a stick at me. Wood. So I killedhim." He shrugged. "Simple asthat."
He didn't throw it at you, Maggie thought, butthe boy was going on.
`Z couldn't care less what he was doing to you.You're only a slave. He was onlya shapeshifterwith the brain of a bear. Neither of you matter."
"Well-it doesn't matter why you did it. It stillsaved both of us-" She glanced at Arcadia for con firmation-and broke off sharply.
"Cady?" Maggie stared, then scrambled over therocks toward the other girl.
Arcadia was still lying in the hollow, but her body was now limp. Her dark head sagged tonelessly on her slender neck. Her eyes were shut; theskin over her face was drawn tight.
"Cady! Can you hear me?"
For a horrible second she thought the older girlwas dead. Then she saw the tiny rise and fall ofher chest and heard the faint sound of breathing.
There was a roughness to the breathing thatMaggie didn't like. And at this distance she couldfeel the heat that rose from Cady's skin.
She's got a high fever. All that running andclimbing made her sicker. She needs help, fast.
Maggie looked backupat the boy.
He had finished with the handkerchief and wasnow taking the top off some kind of leather bag.
Suddenly Maggie's eyes focused. Not a leatherbag; a canteen. He was tilting it up to drink.
Water.
All at once she was aware of her thirst again. Ithad been shoved to the back of her mind, a con stant pain that could be forgotten while she wastrying to escape from the slave traders. But now it was like a raging fire inside her. It was the most important thing in the world.
And Arcadia needed it even more than she did."Please," she said. "Can we have some of that?
Could you drop it to me? I can catch it."
He looked at her quickly, not startled but withcool annoyance. "And how am I supposed to getit back?"
"I'll bring it to you. I can climb up."`"You can't," he said flatly.
"Watch me."
She climbed up. It was as easy as she'd thought;plenty of good finger-and toeholds.
When she pulled herself up onto the ledge besidehim, he shrugged, but there was reluctant respect in his eyes.
"You're quick," he said. "Here." He held out theleather bag.
But Maggie was simply staring. This close, thefeeling of familiarity was overwhelming.
It was you in my dream, she thought. Not justsomebody like you.
She recognized everything about him. That supple, smoothly muscled body, and the way he hadof standing as if he were filled with tightly leashed tension. That dark hair with the tiny waves springing out where it got unruly. That taut, grim face, those high cheekbones, that willful mouth.
And especially the eyes. Those fearless, blacklashed yellow eyes that seemed to hold endless layers of clear brilliance. That were windows on thefiercely intelligent mind behind them.
The only difference was the expression. In thedream, he had been anxious and tender. Here, he seemed joyless and bitter ...and cold. As if hisentire being were coated with a very thin layer of ice.
But it was you, Maggie thought. Not just somebody like you, because I don't think thereis anybody like you.
Still lost in her memories, she said, "I'm MaggieNeely. What's your name?"
He looked taken aback. The golden eyes widened,then narrowed. "How dare you ask?" he rapped out. He sounded quite natural saying "How dareyou," although Maggie didn't think she'd ever heardanybody say it outside of a movie.
"I had a dream about you," Maggie said. "Atleast it wasn't me having the dream; it was moreasif it was sent to me." She was remembering details now. "You kept telling me that I had to dosomething....' ?
"I don't give a damn about your dreams," the boysaid shortly. "Now, do you want the water or not?"
Maggie remembered how thirsty she was. Shereached out for the leather bag eagerly.
He held onto it, not releasing it to her. "There'sonly enough for one," he said, still brusque. "Drink it here."