“Never mind all that,” one of the mayor’s cronies said. “I think we should have the sheriff kick her out of town, permits or no permits. The woman is a menace.” He glared at Liam as if the sheriff were somehow responsible for the missing paperwork, his morning indigestion, and possibly the high price of gas.
“She hasn’t done anything illegal,” Liam repeated, hanging on to what was left of his patience the way he was hanging on to what was left of his job—by his teeth, and barely. “I can’t just go around telling people to leave town because a few folks have decided they don’t like ’em.”
“I don’t see why not,” Harry Williams growled under his breath.
“Because you hired me to uphold the law,” Liam said through his teeth, “not to make it up as I go along.”
“Well, as far as I can see, you’re not doing much of a job at either,” Matthews said, his double chin quivering indignantly. “I suggest you remedy that while you still have one.”
*
LATER THAT AFTERNOON, Baba returned to the Airstream after a long, fruitless, frustrating day spent skulking around Kimberly Chamberlain’s house, her day care, and then back to the house.
After being ranted at by the queen and half her court earlier in the day for her failure to find and close the mystery doorway, Baba had really been hoping to run into Maya. Preferably with a truck.
But everything had been quiet. Baba had been reassured to see that the girl’s parents seemed to be taking every possible precaution; she hadn’t seen the child left alone for a second.
On the other hand, since they were being hypervigilant, Baba had been forced to use all of her wiles not to be seen, at one point actually spending two very uncomfortable hours pressed against a tree, projecting oaky thoughts with all her might. She was afraid to look too closely in the mirror for fear she’d see green leaves growing out of her dark hair.
Liam had stopped by briefly on his way in to work to give her a cell phone so they could reach each other should one or the other of them manage to spot Maya. Baba had just snorted down her long nose, holding the little plastic gizmo by the tips of two fingers as though it might suddenly start to ooze some mysterious green slime.
“What am I supposed to do with this thing?” she’d asked. “Give it wings and send it flying to you? Bah.” Instead, she’d given him a medallion to hang around his neck, tucked under his shirt so no one would see. An enchanted coin, broken into two halves, which would allow either of them to summon the other. He’d rolled his eyes at her, but had finally given up and slid the talisman over his head.
Now she pulled her half out from under the green tee shirt she wore (had it been black before she left the trailer . . . or maybe blue? she couldn’t remember) and glared at it. The medallion remained stubbornly silent, unimpressed by her hard amber stare.
Fine, she thought, climbing the steps to the Airstream and feeling a rush of relief as she eased through its door, like an animal returning to its lair. She’d find something to eat, put her feet up, and relax for an hour before going back out to watch some more. The Riders had assured her they could keep an eye on the five children who were less likely targets, especially since three of them lived fairly close to each other in an area near the town’s small park.
Chudo-Yudo sniffed at her as she came in, and gave her the lick on the hand that was as close as he got to a hug.
“Tough day?” he asked, scratching behind an ear with one enormous back paw.
“Useless day,” she said. “At least so far. Anything happen here?”
“I ate two squirrels and a skunk.”
“Nice. That explains the breath.” She wiped surreptitiously at the place where he’d licked her hand. Although, having missed both breakfast and lunch, she was half inclined to send him out to catch something a little less disgusting for her to eat.
A quick prayer to the gods in charge of independent-minded refrigerators seemed to pay off, though, and when she opened the door, a whole roasted chicken greeted her with a showy display of crisp brown skin and plump legs, like a Vegas showgirl after a day by the pool. Inviting mounds of ivory mashed potatoes sat in a dish next to the chicken, and the wild carrots she’d picked during her wanderings had miraculously reappeared. Creamy fresh butter in a crystal bowl seemed to chat conversationally with the Water of Life and Death behind it, an occasional soft note added in by a leftover piece of pie.
“That’s more like it!” Baba exclaimed, putting her hand out to start pulling things out of the fridge. Her stomach grumbled in raucous agreement.
“I’m not sure this is a good time to start making dinner,” Chudo-Yudo warned from behind her. He was up on his hind legs, peering out the window and down the road. “It looks like we have company. And I don’t think they’re coming for a neighborly potluck.”