Chapter Four

Lawrence wasn’t wrong about Romeo. The ridingbird stuck with them like a burr in a wool sock—easy to feel but hard to pick out. Just the way Betty trotted and held her head, Grover could tell when the male ridingbird edged alongside them through the pine forest. But his presence worried Grover less than did the markings high up on the trunks of the blue spruce. Branches and bark had been scraped away, and deep three-toed furrows gaped open at the base of each tree.

Riding near, Grover caught a faint musky, sweet smell. Sap sealed the deepest gouges, and pinecones littered the ruts in the ground. The bigtooth that had marked the territory last summer hadn’t yet returned. But chances were good it would head back to its hunting ground after wintering on the other side of the rift.

“Liè lóng?” Lawrence asked with a gesture to the nearest spruce.

Grover nodded and signaled Lawrence to silence.

They rode on in a hush. Grover studied the ground and brush for tracks or fresh markings, while Lawrence kept his head up watching farther ahead. Soon enough they left behind the last of the buffeted spruce and took to higher ground. As sunset colors spilled across the sky, they reached a rise where three huge rust-red boulders leaned into each other, creating a natural alcove. Over the last few years, Grover had further dug out and reinforced the shelter. To his pleasure he found the cords of wood he’d stashed there largely undisturbed. A few weeds poked up between the stones of his fire pit, but those were easily cleared.

Lawrence built a fire for them while Grover unloaded their saddles and hitched their mounts to nearby trees, where they could graze in sight of the fire. By the time he dropped his and Lawrence’s bedrolls to the ground, bright orange flames blazed from the pit. Just the sight and scent of their shabby hearth put Grover more at ease. Most wild animals didn’t like fire, but the old ones like bigtooth were particularly fearful. Even the smell of smoke could sometimes clear one off.

Lawrence crouched by the fire. The warm light softened the hard lines of his face and erased his jagged white scars. His ivory hand gleamed like gold, though he tucked it into his coat pocket the moment he noticed Grover coming near.

He glanced to their bedrolls. He looked like he might say something, but he turned back to the fire to add another branch to the burning logs. Grover kept his peace as well, busying himself digging his iron pan out from a saddlebag and filling it with pemmican and cornmeal. He found a good spot to rest the pan, and he let the flickering tongues of flame begin to fry up the corn, fat and meat.

Then he settled back on his heels next to Lawrence and set his rifle down on the other side. Lawrence left his own rifle with his saddlebags. Grover wondered if that was because he knew how little harm most gunshot could do a big dinosaur, or if it reflected a mage’s confidence in his own power. An earth mage on his home turf was supposed to be nigh invulnerable.

“Supposing we come across a bigtooth,” Grover said. “You got a spell that can knock it on its ass or do we have to improvise?”

It no longer surprised Grover that Lawrence didn’t answer at once. He picked up a dry pinecone, turned it over in his hand and tossed it into the fire where it popped and crackled.

“I’ve recovered enough that I could probably put one down for good. But I’d only do that as a very last resort.”

“Really?” Grover asked. “You got a fondness for the bastards?”

“Not hardly. But I have my reasons.” After Lawrence met Grover’s gaze, he went on, “First, I have to conserve all the strength I can to deal with the rift. Second, Tucker’s equipment will pick up a burst of powerful magic. He’ll come running. That’s how he found us in England.”

“So you went all the way from China to England. Why in all that time didn’t you send word? How could you let us go on thinking you were dead? You just about broke your daddy’s heart, you know.”

“I wanted to contact you. I even wrote letters to you and him. But I never posted any of them. I couldn’t risk Tucker discovering that I was still alive, not before we’d closed the rifts.”

“So it’s not just this one? You weren’t supposed to close any of the rifts?” Grover asked. “How’d you explain the other two?”

“Officially troops weren’t ordered not to close the rifts but simply to wait until Tucker and his men had assessed the worth of them. But Gaston, Honora and I already knew they had to be shut down. We’d seen firsthand what they were doing.”

“Gaston?” Grover asked. “French and married?”

A slight flush colored Lawrence’s face. He tossed a twig into the fire.

“That was him. Gaston Jacquard.” Lawrence glanced sidelong to Grover. “It wasn’t a great romance. We were both lonely for other people and kept each other company—”

“Sure. I understand.” Grover didn’t think he wanted to hear too many of the details. Lawrence returned his gaze to the flames while Grover watched the shadows beyond the firelight. Betty and Lawrence’s stallion had both settled down to sleep.

“He died closing the rift in England,” Lawrence said quietly. “I wasn’t near enough and Honora didn’t have the strength to pull him out.”

The petty jealous thoughts winging around in Grover’s head turned all at once regretful. He wasn’t above rivalry but couldn’t bring himself to feel anything but sorrow at the thought of the man giving his life to stop the floods.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Lawrence simply nodded then threw another pinecone into the flames.

“Everything dies eventually,” Lawrence said. “At least Gaston didn’t die for nothing. I don’t know if any of us can hope for better than that, these days.”

Now there was a bleak perspective, Grover thought. It didn’t suit him and he didn’t want it to suit Lawrence.

“As far as I see it,” Grover answered. “Ain’t a man’s death that’s so important as how he lives. Dying is just once and not too many of us have much say about it, but every day we’re alive we choose what we do. How much joy we find and how we treat other folk, that’s all up to us while we’re living. That’s what we leave behind when we die.”

Lawrence scowled, but when he glanced to Grover his expression softened.

“God, Grove, you’re still so…decent.” He pulled a brief smile. “I’m glad, you know. It gives me hope for humanity.”

“Yep, that’s what I am,” Grover said, laughing. “The hope for all humanity.” The savory perfume of fried corn and sizzling meat drifted from the fire.

“Well, the only hope for my supper, at least.”

“That’s more the size of it.” Grover used the sleeve of his coat as a mitt and pulled the pan out from the flames and set it down between himself and Lawrence.

They’d both packed their own cutlery, but they shared the frying pan instead of bothering with separate servings. Lawrence’s spoon and fork gleamed like silver. Grover’s were cast tin. Between them they cleared every speck from the pan. Grover set it aside. He’d scrub it out in the morning when the light was better.

Now he watched stars wink to life as the last of the sun’s light sank below the mountain horizon. The constellation of the big bear shone bright overhead, while the little bear edged up from the east and the swan soared above the ragged peaks in the northwest.

“The stars are different in China. The spring sky is a blue dragon and winter is a black turtle.” Lawrence lifted his ivory hand up as if to blot out the shining North Star. “Though now the protective spells raised over the cities block it all out. It’s just black.”

They were both silent for a few moments.

“Will you tell me what really happened in China?” Grover asked. “When you were supposed to have died?”

Lawrence studied him for a moment, and Grover half expected him to refuse but instead he reached out, pulled both their bedrolls over and leaned back on his own.

“It’s a long story. You might as well get comfortable.”