"I don't know what to do," she confessed. "I feel so helpless where he's concerned."
Something sagelike flickered behind M'Adoc's pale glowing eyes. "You shouldn't have trapped him here or yourself for that matter. It's dangerous to stay in this realm too long."
"I know, but what else could I have done? He won't stay put and was determined to leave my cabin. You know I couldn't allow that." She paused and gave the Dream-Hunter a pleading look. "I need guidance, M'Adoc. I wish I could talk to Acheron. He's the only one I know who could tell me about Zarek."
"No. Zarek could tell you."
"But he won't."
He met her gaze. "So you're giving up, then?"
"Never."
He gave her a rare smile that let her know he was siphoning off her emotions. "I figured as much. Glad to know you're no longer daunted."
"But how do I reach him? I'm open to any and all ideas and suggestions at this point."
M'Adoc held his hand out and a small, dark blue book appeared in his palm. He gave it to her.
Astrid looked at the copy of The Little Prince in her hands.
"It's Zarek's favorite book, too," M'Adoc said.
No wonder Zarek had been able to quote it to her.
M'Adoc stepped back. "It's a book of heartbreak and survival. A book of magic, hope, and promise. Strange that it would speak to him, isn't it?"
M'Adoc flashed out of the dream then and left her flipping through the book. She saw that M'Adoc had marked certain passages and paragraphs.
Astrid closed the door and took it to the comfortable recliner that had suddenly appeared in the cabin.
She smiled. All the gods of sleep liked to speak in riddles and metaphors. They seldom said anything outright, but made people work for their answers.
M'Adoc, the head of the Oneroi, had left her clues in this book.
If this could give her any insight into Zarek at all, she would read what he had marked.
Maybe then she might have a hope of saving Zarek.
Jess ducked into the small convenience store and shook himself like a wet dog coming in from the rain. It was so damn cold up here that he couldn't stand it.
How had Zarek survived in Alaska before central heating? He had to give his friend credit. A man had to be hard and dangerous to make his home here without any help from friends or Squires.
Personally, he'd rather be pistol whipped and thrown naked into a nest of rattlers.
There was an elderly gentleman behind the counter who gave him a knowing smile as if he understood why Jess had cursed as soon as he entered. The man had a thick head of gray hair and a salt-and-pepper-colored beard. His old green sweater had snags, but it looked good and warm. "Can I help you?"
Jess lowered the muffler from his face and gave a curt, friendly nod to the man. Manners dictated he remove his black Stetson while indoors, but damned if he'd do that and let even an ounce of his body heat escape.
He needed ever bit of it.
"Howdy, sir," he drawled all polite like. "I'm searching for some black coffee or anything else you've got that's hot. Real hot."
The man laughed and pointed to a coffeepot in the back. "You must not be from around here."
Jess headed for the coffee. "No, sir, and thank God for that."
The old man laughed again. "Ahh, stay up here for a little while and your blood will thicken up enough to where you don't even notice it."