She’s deceiving you, insisted Aunt Tatiana.
No, I replied back. She just cares about me. She wants to help.
To Sydney, I said, “Okay. You’re right. It’s not a good idea. I won’t engage in the dream. I’ll just find . . . some way . . . to explain things to Nina.” I felt guilty going back on my word to Nina, but I had greater vows binding me to Sydney. When I saw the relief those words brought to her, I knew I’d made the right choice.
Nina isn’t going to like this, hissed Aunt Tatiana.
I’m not married to Nina, I retorted.
Sydney moved her hand over mine. “Thank you, Adrian. I know it’s not easy. I know you just want to help.”
“I do,” I admitted, still conflicted by the decision. The instinct to help Nina was so, so strong. “But there’s a cost to it. My sanity’s not worth it.” I squeezed Sydney’s hand back. “Our relationship’s not worth it.”
I told you, Nina isn’t going to like this, warned Aunt Tatiana again. You can pat yourself on the back for protecting your sanity, but hers is long gone. She’s not just going to let you walk out of your deal.
I’ll deal with Nina. For now, it’s worth it just to have some alone time with Sydney and not be fighting for a change.
It was true. Sydney and I hadn’t had anything even remotely close to this kind of freedom in a long time, and even if we were stuck in the middle of the United States instead of some tropical island, the options before us suddenly seemed limitless. After mulling over some internet maps, we finally made our way to Council Bluffs, Iowa. It didn’t exactly scream excitement, but that was kind of the point. Most importantly, it was far away from the Alchemists in St. Louis and even farther from Palm Springs, where Alicia was hoping Sydney would show up. We debated checking into a large chain hotel and finally settled on a small country inn just outside the town. We pulled up to it late in the morning and were greeted by a sign proclaiming, WELCOME TO THE BLACK SQUIRREL LODGE.
“Oh no,” groaned Sydney. “Please don’t let this be like that place in Los Angeles. I don’t know if I can handle a room full of squirrel decor.”
I grinned, thinking back to the time Sydney and I had investigated another bed-and-breakfast that had taken rabbits to an unprecedented height in tacky decorating. “Hey, come on, after everything else we’ve been through, that’d be the least of our worries.”
But when we stepped inside, we were pleasantly surprised to see everything was actually pretty tastefully decorated in neutral colors and modern decor. No quilts with squirrels on them or squirrel-shaped wicker sculptures in sight. The innkeeper, though surprised to see guests this early in the day, was happy to welcome us and get us into a room.
“What’s with the inn’s name?” I asked as I paid for the room.
The innkeeper, a kindly middle-aged woman, beamed. “Oh, that’s in honor of Cashew.”
“Cashew?” asked Sydney.
The innkeeper nodded. “Our resident black squirrel. I’d call him our pet . . . but, well, he’s so much more than that.”
I peered farther into the lobby. “Does he have a cage here or something?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “That’d be cruel. Also illegal. He’s . . .” She shrugged and gestured vaguely with her hand. “Well, he’s around somewhere.”
“What do you mean ‘around’?” asked Sydney uneasily. “Like, outside?”
“Oh, no,” said the innkeeper. “Poor thing wouldn’t know what to do out there.”
Sydney’s eyes widened. “Wait. If he’s not outside, then does that mean—”
“Let’s get you two into your room,” said the innkeeper sunnily. “I’ve got your key right here.”
The room she took us to had a cozy sitting area and access to a private porch, as well as a big, plush bed. After an uncomfortable day of travel, I was looking forward to catching up on sleep and finally getting some real rest. Before I could throw myself on the mattress, however, I knew I needed to get in touch with Nina and tell her the deal was off. When Sydney said she wanted to take a shower, I saw the perfect opportunity. It was just around the time Nina would be asleep, waiting for me to contact her through a spirit dream. I didn’t have to be asleep for that, simply in a meditative state.
I sat on the bed, calming myself and closing my eyes, calling on just enough spirit to reach across the dream world to Nina. My tranquil state was shattered, however, when I heard a scream from the bathroom. I opened my eyes and tore across the room, flinging the door open.
“Adrian, look out!” cried Sydney.
A small, furry black form leapt off the counter, landing right on my chest. Out of instinct, I swatted it off. It landed on the floor and went scurrying off across the room. Sydney, wrapped in a towel, stepped out and stood beside me.
“I think it went under the bed,” she said.
“That thing better not get on me again,” I muttered, walking gingerly over to the edge of the bed.
You’ve faced much worse than this, Aunt Tatiana said scornfully. Stop being foolish.
Sydney followed, and when I lifted a corner of the bed frame up, she waved her hand in what I recognized as a gesture for casting spells. Seconds later, I felt a breeze stir and blow under the bed. Moments later, the squirrel—Cashew, I presumed—came tearing out and began frantically racing around the room. Sydney, courageously overcoming her earlier shock, darted over to the door that led to the porch and opened it. After a few circuits of the room, the squirrel noticed and ran out. Sydney slammed the door shut behind him, and for several seconds, we both just stood there.