B.J. had given the 'Mysterious One,' Harry Keogh, specific post-hypnotic instructions to cal her early tomorrow morning before the three-week stricture she'd placed on his departure was up. She had supposed that by that time she would know beter what to do about Harry; which she did, courtesy of the dog-Lord Radu. Now she had other, more important orders to pass on, and she must speak to Keogh before he commenced his search abroad, which from now on would be that much more important and so much more dangerous. But she daren't miss his cal, in case this close to the ful of the moon Harry took this to be his 'obligatory' cal - in which case it could be the last opportunity she would have to speak to him for more than a month, until the next ful moon.
Ful moon, aye, in just a few days' time. B.J. could even feel it, tugging at her mind. But these sudden complications in what were once long-established, uninterrupted routines. Harry Keogh; and Radu's -what, churlishness? - his impatience, anyway; the changes taking place within herself, of which she was ever more aware. And the unknown watcher, this Drakul or Ferenczy thral. And al of it weighing on B.J. 's shoulders.
Upon a time, no problem. She could have dealt with al of this and much more. She had dealt with many problems, down the decades. But her system, thought processes, mutating emotions, were badly out of kilter. And even if Radu hadn't detected it - even though he might deny it - still B.J. knew what was happening to her. But she, too, must deny it ... or deny him! And after al this time, that last was unthinkable.
She wasn't giving her best concentration to the road, her driving; her hands were too loose, or occasionally too vicious, on the wheel; her speed was too great for the bends and uneven camber. When the front offside tyre blew it was as much as she could do to hit the brakes before the car skidded off the road, smashed through a fence, nose-dived down a grassy decline, and slammed to a halt in the pebbles of a sluggish beck.
On impact, B.J.'s head snapped forward, banged down hard on the centre of the steering column -
- And for quite some time that was all...
So maybe Radu was right after all. For would a little knock like that have put a true Lady of the Wamphyri to sleep? Even as B.J. realized that the thought was her own, she felt a hand fumbling on her shoulder through the shattered mess of the driver's window.
And as the hand went round her neck, seeking her pulse, she wrenched herself free and snarled, 'What?' And then, in a more reasonable, even a pained voice - feeling the aching in her neck and head, and turning the latter to squint into the early morning light
- 'W-what?' It had to be six or six-thirty in the morning. She must have been out for hours!
A policeman stood beside the car, ankle-deep in the cold water of the beck. His face was full of concern. 'Dinna try to move, miss,' he told her. 'We're calling help right now. Ye'll be out o' there in no time.'
He was right, and sooner than he thought! 'I'm . . . okay,' B.J. said, unfastening her seatbelt and wrenching at the handle of the door, which at once sprang open. 'I'm all right. Just a bit shaken, that's all.'
There were two of them, the second one leaving his vehicle to come scrambling down the bank. They assisted her back up to the road and into their police car. 'How long were ye there? We would'nae hae known if not for the broken fence. We'll take ye into town for a check-up,' the driver glanced back at her. 'That bruise of yours - '
' - Is just a bruise,' she told him, then smiled. 'Look, the last thing I need is a check-up. I'm fine. As for my car: a tyre burst. But if you really want to be helpful, you can take me on to Perth where I can get a taxi. I've an important appointment in Edinburgh, and I'm late already.'
They looked at each other. B.J. dug in a pocket, produced documentation. 'Details of the car,' she said. 'Insurance documents, for your notebooks. I hired the car. You could do me a favour and let them know. It's their ... junk, after all!