Page 77 of The Seeker
“I’ll set my alarm.” He started back to his room.
“More are coming.” Roch said. “That was the feeling I got from the Grigori today.”
Rhys turned back to Roch. “I think Bozidar is getting reckless. Or brave. Maybe he knows about Meera and maybe he doesn’t. But things are quiet in New Orleans—all that rich tourist traffic and hardly any Grigori. He probably sees an opportunity.”
“That’s what I told Maarut.”
“Which makes finding the Wolf all the more important, don’t you think?”
“Leave it to me, Englishman,” Roch said. “I’ll get you through the swamp. If you’re lucky, you might even come out with all your fingers and toes.”
He walkedthrough the damp field, the breeze rustling the cane in the moonlight. The rough ground made him stumble, and the smell of sugar filled the air. He heard someone in the distance, walking behind him, but when he turned and walked back, they had moved farther away.
Always at a distance. Always behind. He turned in every direction, but none led him toward the distant follower.
“Matsah mashul.”
The whisper came from beyond the fields. It drifted in the wind, and he spun in full circle, hoping to find the source.
Matsah mashul.
“Find the path.”
He searched for a path, but there was none. In the distance he heard the splash of a fountain, a cooing dove, and a child’s laughter echoing off stone.
“Matsah mashul, reshon.”
Chapter Fourteen
Meera woke early the next morning with a sense of lightness she hadn’t felt since she’d left her cozy home in New Orleans. She felt free. It didn’t make any sense. She was embroiled in a critical search for an Irina elder. She was facing a grueling journey into the Atchafalaya wilderness. She’d just witnessed the deaths of three Grigori. And she had no idea how to feel about the scribe who was sneaking into her dreams.
I am yourreshon.
The words should have felt binding, but they didn’t.
She rose and showered, relishing the warm clear water she knew would be her last for days. She washed her thick hair and pressed it dry before she braided it carefully and coiled it around her head. Then she packed her linen trousers and tunics, knowing that her favorite dresses wouldn’t be practical for traveling in the swamps. She might be a woman who enjoyed urban comforts, but she knew how to travel in the wild.
By the time she’d straightened her room and made it down to the truck, Roch was already there, waiting for her with the sweet black coffee she loved.
“Have you seen Rhys yet?”
Roch shook his head.
“Hmm.” Meera walked back up the stairs and toward Rhys’s motel room. She knocked and heard a crashing sound from inside. “Rhys?”
“I’m fine.” He sounded very cross. “Fine. Just… Damn trousers.”
Meera smiled. “Have you had your tea?”
“Don’t—” He pulled open the door, his shirt half unbuttoned. “Don’t yell through the door. I’m almost ready.”
“You don’t look like you slept well.” She walked into the room to see neat piles of maps and notebooks next to a backpack and a duffel bag. The only thing in disorder was the bedsheets.
“I didn’t,” he growled. “Couldn’t sleep.”
Did you dream too?
She bit her lip and walked to the plastic coffeepot. “They don’t have any tea.”
