Seeker (Riders #2)(90)

"Samrael, I realize-"

"Please. Call me Rael. I prefer it. It's what Bas called me. It reminds me of a new beginning."

Yeah, right. Like I'm calling him that. "Is that how you think of what you're after? A new beginning?"

"It is."

"We'll see."

I see a flash of surprise on his face as he stops. He laughs softly. Then he catches up in a few strides. "Daryn, what you're asking is extremely dangerous-I'm sure you know that. But I'll help you find Gideon."

I'm the one who stops now. "You will?"

"Yes. I've already started evaluating the resources we can spare toward the effort. Horses, weapons. People. I'll have a search plan ready by this afternoon. I want to be helpful."

A pang of guilt hits me as I remember hiding the orb. Not trusting him. "Thank you," I say. I mean it.

The trail slopes downhill, but my mood begins to lift. My lungs feel open as I breathe the damp stormy air. With every step, stress and fear feel farther away and I feel better. I've found help. An ally. I'm on a path to finding Gideon. 

Hang on, I tell him, looking across the woods that seem to go on endlessly. I'm coming for you.

We reach a creek that gradually broadens into a stream, crystalline water flowing over smooth stones. Following it, we arrive at a glade with a clear pool.

At the far end, there's open sky above the water, and I hear the rushing sound of a waterfall. On the opposite bank, patches of Mom's begonias cluster together under the shade of the trees. Good sign. Right track.

"Let's stop here," Samrael says. I'm surprised at how comfortable I've been in his company during our walk. "We're at the edge of our protected land." He tips his chin. "There's a sheer drop not far ahead that provides a natural defense." He drops the linen sack on the scrubby grass and sits. "We've been lucky. No rain yet."

"Right. Lucky."

He smiles. I sit a few feet away and watch as he unpacks the linen bag.

"Torin packed this, not Rayna, so who knows what we'll find."

"Eye of newt and toe of frog," I mutter.

"Wool of bat and tongue of dog." He smiles, waiting for me to pick up the next verse.

"Sorry. That's all I know."

He props his arms on his knees. "'Adder's fork and blind worm's sting,'" he continues, affecting a macabre tone, "'lizard's leg and howlet's wing, for a charm of powerful trouble, like a hell-broth, boil and bubble.'"

"Yum. Breakfast of champions. Is howlet an owl?"

"It is indeed."

"And blind worm must be a snake?"

"No. Blind worms are lizards with no legs."

"That makes sense. That's why those were added separately-the lizard legs."

"No respectable brew is complete without them."

"There should be some soft ingredients in there for flavor balance, like butterfly wings and dove's feathers."

His eyebrows rise. "You'd eat butterfly wings?"

"Never. I don't know why I said that. I love butterflies."

"A symbol of rebirth and resurrection, I might add."

"Subtle, Samrael. Real subtle." I catch myself smiling. But if he's good-if he's really changed-then smiling is fine. Right?

"This place likes you," he says.

That makes me laugh. "Yeah, I'm sure it loves me. That's why all these terrible things keep happening to me."

"Look," he says, tipping his chin.

Across the pool, the white flowers are shimmering. I remember this; it's familiar from the first time I saw Mom. And from when she disappeared, washed away by the flowers.

As I watch, the patches of flowers lift off the bank and take flight. It takes me a moment to see that they've formed a cloud of white butterflies. My heart climbs into my throat as they lift over the trees and circle in the dark sky, bright spots against the heavy clouds, eventually disappearing.

Long moments pass before I feel composed enough to speak. "Butterflies should be symbols of hope, too."

"I agree," Samrael says. "You said terrible things have happened to you?"

I shake my head, thinking of the hauntings. "Not just to me. And not all of it has been terrible." I think of seeing the red canoe. Mom's couch. The begonias.

"We don't have to talk about it. I know what it's like here. It's one of the reasons why I want to leave." I must smirk or make some sort of face, because he says, "Did I say something wrong?"

"No. It's just that when you said that, I realized something. As much as I don't like it here, wanting to leave isn't the strongest thing I feel. What's stronger for me is  …  wanting to be somewhere else. That probably doesn't make any sense."