I headed for the cave entrance. One thing Sanducci was right about was that we needed to get out of here, and the only way to do that was to find the Dagda.
Outside, the mist still roamed, impossibly thick.
“Dagda!” I shouted.
“I’m here.”
The voice was so close I jumped, but I couldn’t see him anywhere near no matter how hard I tried. You could go blind in this place straining to see your hand in front of your face.
“Where?”
“What do you need?”
I opened my mouth to tell him I needed to see who I was speaking with, and Jimmy murmured, “Just get us out of here.”
Understanding that Jimmy didn’t want to see the fairy god again—I couldn’t blame him—I swallowed the words I’d been about to utter. “We need to get out.”
“Where you came in or somewhere else?”
I glanced at Jimmy, but I couldn’t see his face. “That’s possible?”
The Dagda’s chuckle slithered across my skin as chill as the mist. “Here, all things are possible.”
Jimmy snorted.
“Where should we go?” I asked.
“Did you see anything in your vision, or whatever it was,” Jimmy said, “that might give us a hint where the Phoenix flew?”
Before, I’d been able to close my eyes and access the images. I tried, but time had faded them. I could still see the graveyard, the sky, the Phoenix, but I could no longer put myself into the scene and deepen it.
I sighed and opened my eyes. “She went into the sun.”
“Rising sun, so east.”
“Considering we don’t know east from where, not helpful.”
Jimmy let out his breath in a huff. “We’ll need to find out where there are disturbed graves.”
“And then visit every site?” My voice rose in exasperation.
Jimmy had told me once that no matter what we did to prevent it, the Apocalypse just kept on coming. At the time, I’d thought he was overreacting. Now, not so much.
“The Phoenix has the key,” I continued. “I don’t think we have that much time.”
“You got a better idea?”
“Not really. If we had an Internet connection, then the Dagda could pop us out at the first tumbled graveyard. Don’t suppose you’re computer literate,” I called out.
“You’d suppose right.” The Dagda’s huge form solidified from the mist. Jimmy tensed so fast I thought he might snap his spine. “However, I have something much better than a computer.”
“Better?” Jimmy and I said at the same time.
“Follow me.” The Dagda ducked into the cave, and after a quick exchange of shrugs we did too.
In the few seconds it took us to catch up, the Dagda had retrieved a heavy iron caldron from somewhere and hung it over the fire. The sound of something boiling, bubbling, filled the still, damp air of the cavern, and the Dagda beckoned.
I moved forward, and Jimmy caught at my shoulder. “Don’t.”
“I think I have to.” He shook his head, frowning in the Dagda’s direction. Though I wanted to stand with Jimmy’s hand voluntarily on my shoulder for as long as he’d let it stay there, I inched away. “I’ll be right back, and then we’ll leave together, okay?”
“You don’t have to talk to me like I’m a scared little kid who just woke up from a nightmare.”
“How should I talk to you?”
“Like you always do.”
“Rude, crude and downright mean?”
“I’d feel less like a crystal vase you’re terrified you might break.”
I contemplated Jimmy for several seconds. Despite the natural olive cast to his skin, he was pale, his lips a thin, bloodless line. The circles beneath his eyes were the shade of a ripe eggplant, and no matter how hard he tried to hide it, his hands shook a bit.
He was fragile, and I was desperately afraid I’d already broken him. But it wouldn’t do any good to tell him that.
“You stay here,” I said. “I’ll go there, and if I want your opinion, I’ll beat it out of you.”
I was halfway to the Dagda’s caldron when I heard him laugh. It was almost, but not quite, the laugh I remembered. Maybe Sanducci could be fixed after all. Though probably not by me.
“Ask it what you wish to know.” The Dagda pointed a finger the width of a kielbasa at the caldron.
“I—uh—” I’d never asked anything of a pot before.
Whatever was inside—obviously liquid from the way it boiled—really heated up. Snap, crackle, pop—several of the bubbles burst, spewing trickles of a tar-like substance into the air, then onto the ground.
The Dagda made an impatient noise and jabbed his hand at the caldron again. “Ask!”
“Where is the Phoenix?” I blurted.
As suddenly as it had boiled over, the liquid stilled, the surface going smooth as ice beneath a moonless sky.
“Look.” The Dagda shoved me with his shoulder, and I nearly went headfirst into the pot.
Cautiously I peeked over the edge. All I saw was my own face reflected there. “Doesn’t seem to be working.”
The Dagda’s visage appeared next to mine. “You’re the Phoenix,” he said.