Page 64 of Eternal Devotion

But not with Ensley.

We couldn’t come into contact again. I couldn’t risk his memories returning. I’d already struggled to impose a mind block in my weakened state. At this point, it would be impossible.

I took to hanging out in crowded and noisy bars, listening to the conversations of virile youth since they fit the mold for Valerius’s stereotypical hunter. Egotistical men with more muscles than brains. Ones that didn’t shy away from conflict and dogmatically expressed their opinions to anyone who listened.

With a beer as a prop, I lingered for hours, attending to their complaints about wives, girlfriends, bosses, and children. Sometimes, talk veered to sports as they discussed the latest televised game. A few times, I endured tales of clandestine love affairs or moans about the government, taxes, and inflation.

Cristofer called often, demanding updates. Seamus is worried, he’d say. But I had nothing to share, and my miserable attitude made him suspicious.

“Are you depleted?” he asked one night as I closely followed a group of twenty-something men from a restaurant. Their quiet chatter and allusion to matters they didn’t openly discuss piqued my interest.

“No.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Can I call you back? It’s not a good time.”

I’d been watching this group of six men for two days. They struck a nerve. Their cryptic conversations raised red flags. Something in their demeanor suggested further activities were on the agenda that evening. If I didn’t focus all my attention on their scattered departure, I would lose them. I was under no illusion that their night was ending at an all-you-can-eat buffet.

“Mordecai—”

“I’m fine, Cristofer. Lay off.”

“You forget I know you.”

“You forget I’m busy. I’ll call you back.”

“Fine. Stay safe, duck,” he said as I disconnected the call.

“Stupid cellular phone,” I muttered, stuffing it into a pocket. I missed the days when keeping tabs on one another was not so easy.

My instinct proved correct. The six men left in separate vehicles but headed in the same direction. Aerial travel was among the simplest of abilities, but the transformation in my weakening state caused extreme exhaustion. Recovery was an issue.

By the time I stood on a secluded part of the Bruce Trail, hidden among trees as the men disembarked from vehicles they’d parked on a vacant side street, I was ready to collapse. It was nearly as bad as standing in the midday sun. My body ached like I suffered from influenza.

I remained out of sight as they traveled single file along the trail before diverging to follow the Sydenham instead of venturing deeper into the forest. Their rambling conversations, restrained and quiet, were too difficult to discern, particularly as they were muffled by their noisy advance across the leaf-encrusted terrain.

It wasn’t long before the men drew to a stop at a rickety dock. A dozen or so planks formed a walkway, jutting from the river’s embankment. Two tall pilings at the end supported the structure. Tied to one was a ramshackle rowboat that might accommodate the six of them without capsizing if they were careful.

A few of them carried backpacks, and without preamble, tossed them into the rowboat before climbing in. Their companions followed suit. Before long, with a man fore and aft taking up oars, they rowed away under the quarter moon, across the still waters of the Sydenham, and toward a stretch of land in the distance.

I’d registered the eyot during investigative passes over the city but dismissed the small island as unimportant. From above, it seemed deserted. Dense trees. No visible structures. Uninhabited. A forested nook in the middle of the Sydenham River, home to wildlife and nothing more.

Was I wrong?

I remained a comfortable distance from the shore, watching as the men steered toward the eyot. They pulled up next to a similar jerry-built dock and got out. Other men emerged from the forest, and the two groups converged, greeting one another with handshakes and backslaps. I caught the odd burst of laughter, but the distance was too great to hear what they had to say. Perhaps if my powers weren’t so compromised.

I hated when Cristofer was right.

They spoke for a time before the second group boarded the boat and made the return trip, while the men I’d been following vanished into the trees.

A secluded eyot away from the general population.

One that appeared uninhabited.

Did I find the location?

It was the best lead I’d discovered since arriving in the country, but I was in no state to further investigate. I couldn’t draw fog or mist. I was too depleted to take another form. The river’s proximity had a detrimental effect on my nerves.