“Abernathy!” Ben exclaimed immediately.
Miles shrugged. “Could be.”
“Did they give his name? The dog’s?”
“Nope. Just the man’s. Davis Whitsell. He’s a dog trainer and showman. But he lives right there in Woodinville, same place this Ard Rhi keeps his walled tower. What do you think?”
Ben sat forward, his mind racing. “I think it’s an awfully big coincidence, if that’s all it is. But, if not, what’s Abernathy doing with this Whitsell character instead of Ard Rhi? And what are Willow and I doing here? Could be Questor messed up with the magic and sent us to Nevada instead of to Washington. Damn! I suppose I should be grateful he didn’t deposit us in the Pacific Ocean!” He was thinking out loud to himself now, and Miles was staring at him. He smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m just trying to sort all this out. You did a heck of a job, Miles. Thanks.”
Miles shrugged. “You’re welcome. Now are you going to tell me what’s going on here?”
Ben studied his old friend a moment, then nodded. “I’m going to try. You deserve that much. You want a Glenlivet while we talk?”
Miles had his scotch, then another, then a third as Ben tried to explain the story behind Abernathy and the missing medallion. This, of course, necessarily involved some minimal description of Landover, and that, in turn, took them off on a variety of side trips. Ben didn’t tell Miles everything, particularly where it involved anything dangerous, because he knew it would only worry Miles. Willow appeared from the shower, and Ben sent down for dinner. Miles seemed to grow more comfortable in the sylph’s presence after a time, and she in his, and they began to talk with each other like real people. Much of what Miles had to say to Willow left her mystified, and much of what she had to say to him left him speechless—but they got along. The evening wore on, the questions mostly got answered, and the lights of the strip began to brighten the casinos and lounges against the night skies.
Finally, Willow drifted off to bed, and Miles and Ben were left alone. Ben poured them a brandy from the bar stock, and they sat together staring out the window.
“You have a place to stay?” Ben said after a time. “I never thought to check.”
Miles nodded, his gaze distant. “Down a floor or two. Down with the commoners. I booked it with the plane tickets.”
“That reminds me.” Ben was on his feet. “I have to call the airport right now for a flight out tomorrow.”
“Washington?”
Ben nodded. “Where the heck is Woodinville?” he called back as he crossed to the phone.
“North of Seattle.” Miles stretched. “Make sure you make reservations for three.”
Ben stopped. “Wait a minute, you’re not going.”
Miles sighed. “Sure, I’m going. What do you think, Doc? That I’m leaving just when this is getting interesting? Besides, you might need me. You don’t have all the connections you used to. I do. Not to mention credit cards and money.”
Ben shook his head. “I don’t know. This could be dangerous, Miles. Who knows what we’re up against with Michel Ard Rhi? I don’t like the idea—“
“Doc!” Miles cut him short. “I’m going. Make the call.”
Ben gave up arguing, made the reservations on an early morning PSA flight, and returned to the sofa. Miles was staring out the window again.
“Remember when we were kids and we did all that pretending? Remember how we created all those make-believe worlds to play in? I was thinking about how lucky you were to find one for real, Doc. Everyone else has to live with the world they’ve got.” He shook his head. “Not you. You get to live what others can only wish for.”
Ben didn’t say anything. He was thinking about how differently they looked at things. It was the difference in their realities. Landover was his reality; Miles had only this world. He remembered how desperately he had wished for exactly what he had now just two short years ago. He had forgotten about that. It was good to remember it again.