Thoroughly Kissed (14 page)

“None,” Michael said. “Except that—”

“Tell her,” Darnell said. “Tell her you had to be convinced by a magical dwarf to help her. Tell her—”

She turned toward Darnell. “Merlin was here?”

“Merlin?” Michael asked. “That was
the
Merlin?”

“Yes, but he's pretty different from the one in the Arthurian myth,” Emma said.

“Casper is Merlin?”

“Don't let it twist your tail,” Darnell said. “We have other problems.”

“If Merlin was here,” Emma said, “why didn't he see me?”

Darnell sighed as only a cat could. Then he laid down and put his large head on his paws. “All yours, pal.”

“I don't know. I didn't believe he was here until this morning when I saw—” Michael sighed too. He didn't know how to go on with this. “Well, what matters is that he said you had no help.”

“I. Have. Darnell.” Emma's eyes were flashing. Michael had no idea why she was getting so angry.

“Human help,” he said.

“I don't see what business it is of yours.”

“You made it my business,” Michael said.

“Oh?”

“When you asked me. Apparently that set some sort of cosmic prophecy in motion.”

“A prophecy?”

“He wasn't supposed to say no,” Darnell said from the ground. “Are we ever going to work on changing me back to normal?”

“In a minute, Darnell,” Emma said. “I want to know about this prophecy.”

“I don't know much about it,” Michael said. “Except that I'm suppose to go with you. Do you still want my company?”

His stomach twisted as he asked the question, but he wasn't sure if that was because he wanted to go or he wanted her to say no.

She studied him for a moment. He couldn't read what was in her blue-gray eyes.

“Decide this, dammit,” Darnell said. “I'm getting hungry. And this mane itches.”

Emma put her hands on her hips. Michael had the strangest sensation that she was about to say no. What would he do then? Force her to take him with her? On the strength of a dream and a talking cat?

“Look,” Darnell said. “If I have to be this size to talk, you aren't going to fit me in the car.”

“He doesn't normally talk?” Michael asked.

“Not in English,” Emma said.

“Well then, change him back.”

Her eyes flashed again. “That's so easy for you to say. As if I can snap my fingers and change him back. As if a simple little twitch of the nose makes things all better. You watch too much TV, Michael. If I could just fix this, you'd think I would have done it already, wouldn't you?”

“No,” Darnell said.

Michael looked at the lion in surprise. “She hasn't?”

“Of course not. She's up there moaning that it went all wrong and she says that stupid reverse spell, which only seems to work capriciously and then—”

“Shut up!” Emma said and clapped her hands together. The clap turned into a clap of thunder and light ricocheted off everything. And when it was over, Michael found himself staring at a pudgy black house cat, lying regally on the lawn.

“Meeeeoow,” Darnell said, and Michael could have sworn that the cat grinned. Then he ran across the street—without looking both ways—and up the stairs to Emma's house.

“It's not usually that easy,” she said, glancing at Michael. Then she ran across the street after Darnell. She opened the door to the house and they both went inside, leaving Michael standing in the neighbor's lawn, next to the ruined rose bushes.

He shook his head. Had she turned him down? Or ignored him? And then he realized that he had really offered to go with her. Oh, that would make his life easier. He'd just come back from England for a new job. How would he explain this?

And how would he live with himself if he backed out again? He'd have to be dumb not to accept all the confirmation he was receiving that magic was real.

He sighed and started across the street after Emma and her obnoxious cat. He'd make this work. Somehow.

***

Emma closed the door and leaned on it. The house already felt abandoned—and she hadn't hardly taken anything out of it. Darnell had gone to his rug in front of the fireplace. There was no fire burning, but that didn't seem to bother him. He began cleaning himself, picking the lilac petals off as if they were contaminating him. She could tell from the methodical way that he worked his fur that he was very distressed.

Well, she wasn't that happy either. She had resigned herself to traveling alone, and then Michael Found agreed to go with her. Because of Merlin.

She crossed her arms. It would be best if he went along. He was, as Aethelstan had pointed out, the best choice. But the illogical, irrational, angry part of her wanted nothing to do with him. She had a hunch he wasn't going because he wanted to, but because he felt obligated to.

At that moment, he knocked on the door behind her. She could feel the strength of the knock through the wood.

Emma sighed. She needed his help, and she couldn't afford to be proud about it. Somehow she would have to maintain her dignity through all of this—what was left of her dignity. After all, the man had seen her at her most out of control.

She pulled the door open.

“What?” she asked, knowing she was being ungracious and difficult and not really caring. It had taken a visit from a friend—and something so severe that Darnell had thought he was dying—to get Michael to help her.

“I would like to come with you to Oregon,” he said. “That is, if you'll have me.”

He actually looked nervous. She couldn't tell if that was because he felt forced to go and was afraid she'd say yes or if he wanted to go and was afraid she'd say no.

“All right,” she said. “You can come.”

He looked surprised. His mouth opened and closed and opened again.

Behind her, Darnell growled. She blocked the door with her body so there'd be no repeat Pizza Guy attack. The last thing she needed was for Michael to change his mind again.

They left a lot later than Emma had planned. One whole day later.

It turned out that the offer to accompany her was a spur-of-the-moment thing for Michael. He had to ask for an emergency leave of absence (which, he was told, was only possible because it was the end of the Spring Semester, and none of the administration wanted to spend any time in the office during the break), then he had to pack, and then they had to fight over whose car to take.

Emma won the fight simply by refusing to remove her possessions from her car. In the end, he acquiesced—on the condition that she bring an extra set of car keys. She didn't have any, and so she had to get some made.

She had a hunch this trip was going to be a lot uglier than she had originally thought.

Darnell was relegated to the already crowded backseat. He actually sat on his cat bed because he refused to be inside his cat carrier, which would be safer. Even though Darnell had lost his ability to speak English, he still had the ability to communicate. A cross-country trip in a cat carrier, his eyes and posture said, would be the equivalent of six days in hell.

Emma was beginning to think she had volunteered for six days in hell too. Michael had wanted to drive. He had asked her how many years of driving experience she had—and she hadn't told him the truth. That would have made him insist on driving. Instead, he had compared their driving experience and had deemed himself the most competent.

She had to haul out the old, tired, and perfectly unreasonable argument to keep her position in the driver's seat. It was her car. She had the right to drive it anywhere she wanted.

And she really wanted to drive it nowhere.

They pulled out of Madison at seven a.m. The ghastly early hour had been Michael's idea, to make up for the time he had cost her the day before. He had stayed up late, pouring over maps, trying to find the shortest route from Wisconsin to Oregon, and he had finally decided on what he called “the Northern route,” taking I-90 through Minnesota, South Dakota, Wyoming, and Montana on the way to Oregon.

She had wanted to take I-80, which was flatter and easier, except for crossing the Rocky Mountains in Wyoming. She had never been to Utah or Nebraska, and she wanted to see both places.

Michael had told her that neither were worth her time.

That had angered her even more—who was he to determine what was worth her time?—and then he confessed that he had an irrational fear of deserts.

She looked at the map and said there were no deserts between Oregon and Wisconsin, and he'd said she only thought that because she hadn't driven the I-80 route. The last part, whether she went through Idaho or through Nevada, included desert.

She couldn't argue with an irrational fear of deserts any more than he could argue that she could drive because it was her car. She decided they had reached a stalemate, which was about as good as she could hope for at the beginning of the trip.

What she really hoped was that the stalemate would last through the rest of the trip.

Michael slept through the first two hours of the trip. He tilted his head back on the leather seat, closed his eyes, and almost snored. Darnell fell asleep rather quickly too, and there was no almost to his snoring. The cat was a regular brass band, complete with tuba, when it came to the noises he made.

So Emma leaned back in her seat, turned on WORT softly, and listened to the alternate music voice of her home for the last time in a while. The early morning sunlight made the interior of her car look white and she wished that the tension in her shoulders would fade so that she could just enjoy the drive.

The rolling hills and farmland, the developers' signs, the trucks and cars all around her, seemed very distant from her. She was trying to memorize them.

At least this time when she had to leave her chosen home, she knew it. The first time, she'd fallen into a coma and awakened so far away from her home that she could never, ever go back.

Except for a flash a few days ago.

She glanced over her shoulder at the sleeping Michael. He looked younger in his sleep than he did when he was awake. The worry lines left his face, smoothing his skin and making him seem as young as the students he taught. He was a very, very handsome man, more handsome than she had realized.

And he was sacrificing a lot to come with her.

She hadn't asked him what Merlin had said, but it must have been convincing. Not even Darnell complained a lot that Michael was coming along. And Darnell, by rights, should have been hissing, biting, scratching, and yowling—especially after accusing Michael of having no regard for his—Darnell's—welfare.

She lost the radio station as she turned toward LaCrosse, and had to pick up Wisconsin Public Radio. The music she'd been listening to had become
Morning Edition
—lots of news and chat that really didn't concern her. But at that moment, the driving got hairy—apparently Michael's wonderful plan to leave early meant that they would hit LaCrosse at the end of morning rush hour, so Emma had to swerve and use the brake and stop and start a lot more than she had planned—so she couldn't fiddle with the radio.

All that driving made Michael snort, but didn't wake him up. Darnell on the other hand was awake and sitting up. Emma could see him in the rearview mirror.

“Not a word from you,” she said, and was a bit surprised when Darnell laid back down and sighed. She had toyed with trying to spell him again for speech, just as a backup, but Darnell had run from her when she mentioned it.

She had taken that as a resounding no.

Michael made her write all the instructions down and he had taken the piece of paper home with him the night before. She hadn't seen it at all this morning.

Big green signs told her she was approaching the Mississippi River. There was a view wayside ahead and, after the rush-hour traffic, she was ready for a break.

She had learned on her first cross-country drive that the best thing to do was take the drive in short bursts.

She pulled off the road under the shade of several trees. There were some Winnebagos on the truck and trailer side of the wayside, but no other cars. As she stopped the car, Michael sat up.

“Where're we?” he asked blearily.

“The Mississippi.” She unbuckled her seat belt and opened the car door. A rush of cool morning air came inside. It smelled of river water and flowers.

He rubbed a fist over his eyes like a little boy. “Is everything all right?”

“Yep.” She got out, and then opened Darnell's door, snapping his leash on his collar with a movement so coordinated she even surprised herself. Darnell looked up at her with complete fury at the indignity, but he clearly remembered the routine from the last trip. All of them would rather have him use the great outdoors than the catbox she'd managed to squeeze onto the floor in the backseat.

“Why don't you get some water and the morning buns on top of the cooler?” she asked Michael. Morning buns were her weakness. They were the specialty of a restaurant on the near westside named the Ovens of Brittany. At least once a week, she'd stopped there and picked up morning buns for her breakfast at home.

She'd miss that too.

“I still don't get why we stopped,” he muttered as he fumbled with the seat belt.

Emma frowned at him. He'd be second-guessing her for the entire trip. She slipped her keys into the pocket of her jeans and closed the car door.

Darnell had to sniff each blade of grass before moving to the next little patch. It was going to take forever to reach the railing with the view of the river below. So she picked up her cat and tucked him under her arm as she walked to the view site.

This time, Darnell hissed and spit and yowled. He kicked his chubby little legs and growled at her.

“I'm not impressed,” she said. She almost made a comparison, then caught herself. The last thing she needed was a repeat of yesterday morning's incident.

She glanced over her shoulder. Michael was still struggling with his seat belt. She grinned. So much for male superiority over technological gadgets. And she hadn't even been born in this millennium. Her grin widened.

Darnell dug a claw into the soft skin of her belly and made her wince. She set him down, keeping a firm grip on his leash. He began sniffing anew, looking up with irritation at all the grass he'd missed.

She'd have to keep an eye on him. She knew from experience that he liked to chomp grass and vomit in the car just to annoy her.

The river sang beneath her. The Mississippi was wide and flat here, carving through bluffs that looked relatively untouched. She knew they weren't, though. The view that she was standing on proved that.

She wondered what the river had looked like when she was born. A trickle? A mighty overgrown torrent? There was no way for her to know, and no way historians like Michael would know either. History on this continent wasn't kept as well as it had been in England.

Finally, she heard footsteps behind her. Darnell looked up from his little grass feast and started to growl.

“Poor cat,” Michael said with more compassion than Darnell deserved. “Looks like he gets carsick.”

“What?” Emma said, turning around.

“Cats eat grass when their stomach is upset. You want some water, big guy?”

Darnell had been watching Michael warily. When Michael crouched and offered him some water, Darnell turned away, apparently embarrassed that his secret was out.

“You mean he doesn't do that to annoy me?” Emma asked.

“He might, knowing how contrary he can be, but it isn't likely. Did he travel with you before?”

She nodded.

“And threw up a lot?”

“A lot wouldn't describe it.”

“I bet he didn't eat much either.”

“Not until we got to our hotel for the night.”

Michael nodded. “I'll get him a bowl.”

He handed her the bottles of water and the bag with the morning buns and headed back to the car. Darnell had stopped eating grass and growling. Instead he was looking up at Emma with the most shocked expression she had ever seen on a cat's face.

She shrugged. “I had no idea he specialized in cats.”

Darnell gave a soggy burp and sat down, watching Michael as if he were a lifesaver. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. She rather enjoyed Darnell's hostility toward Michael. It helped her keep her distance.

Michael got Darnell's water bowl, poured out the water in it, and brought it over. Then he poured in some bottled water and set it in front of Darnell.

“Drink,” he said. “You'll feel better. And we'll keep the window open just a little too. It'll get that new car smell out and you'll be surprised how much better you feel.”

Emma's eyes narrowed. “Why are you doing this?”

Michael grinned up at her. “I used to get carsick when I was a kid. It's not a pleasant way to travel.”

Darnell was staring at him in wonder. After a moment, he bent his shiny black head and began to drink.

Michael stood up. He came over to the rail and drank out of his bottle. “Haven't you ever been carsick?”

She thought back to her very first ride in a car, before she even knew what a car was. Car terrified, but never carsick. “No.”

“Ah, one of the lucky ones, then. My dad smoked, and we always had one of those pine air fresheners up front. The combined smell was bad enough to turn my stomach on a short trip. On a long one…” He shook his head.

“On a long one what?” She wedged her bottle against her stomach and tried to twist off the top with one hand. Darnell's leash was making the work difficult.

“Well, what I remember most about long trips was lying in the backseat, listening to baseball games, and staring at the clouds of smoke surrounding my father's head. If I try real hard, I can even recall the queasy feeling.”

She frowned at him. He painted a vivid image—one that was so alien to her that she couldn't imagine growing up like that. Of course, she had never thought about the way modern adults had been as children. No one had ever discussed it with her.

“What?” he said. “What did I say?”

“Nothing.” Apparently her expression hadn't been what he expected. “I hadn't realized you were an only child.”

He shrugged. “Well, now you do.”

Darnell walked over her foot and put his head between the iron bars of the railing, staring at the water below. Emma tightened her grip on the leash. The last thing she wanted to do was lose Darnell because he got too curious.

But her tightened hold on the leash made opening the bottle impossible. After a moment, Michael took the bottle from her, twisted off the cap, and handed the bottle back.

“Thanks,” she said.

“I couldn't stand watching it anymore.”

She flushed. What was it about this man that made her feel chronically embarrassed?

Darnell's tail flicked back and forth as if something below had caught his attention. Emma wrapped the leash around her wrist.

Michael reached into the sack and took out a morning bun. He offered it to her, saw she had no available hand, and said, “I guess this one's mine because I'm not going to feed you.”

She took another drink of water, not wanting to answer that. He munched beside her, and they both stared at the river. The silence was even more awkward than Emma had imagined a silence could be.

Darnell crouched, his tail still flicking.

Emma picked him up, and he thrashed, trying to see what was below. “I guess we're going to back to the car,” she said.

“No,” Michael said. “We're not.”

He led her to a picnic table, and then took Darnell from her. The leash was still wrapped around her wrist, and she was tugged in the same direction as the cat.

Michael set Darnell down, and Darnell immediately lunged toward the railing again. “You need to teach him some discipline.”

“He's a cat,” Emma said.