Elatsoe

by Darcie Little Badger

  “What’s that for?” Ellie asked.

  “Your mother needs a car, so we’ll drive to the burial. I can leave the van with her and take a plane home.”

  “Will Mom be gone a long time?” Ellie’s mother, Vivian (Ms. Bride to her students), taught high school math. The job might not be easy, but it came with one major perk: she had two months of summer vacation. “I can help her!”

  “Are you sure? She wants to live with Lenore until things are settled. Might take weeks.”

  “I’m sure.” She couldn’t protect Trevor’s family with an eight hundred-mile gulf between them.

  “Thank you.” Her father traced a path from North to South Texas. “This is our route.”

  “When do we leave?” Ellie asked.

  “Two days.” He leaned closer to the map, squinting, and pointed to a spot near the bottom of Texas. “What’s that town name, Ellie? I’m not wearing glasses.”

  Ellie peered at the word above his fingertip. It was faint, as if printed incorrectly. “It says Willowbee. Dad …”

  “I thought the name sounded familiar.” He checked the map scale. “Willowbee is about thirty miles away from the elementary school, and ten miles away from the road.”

  “The road?” she asked.

  “Where your cousin was found.” He looked up. “I believe you, Ellie.”

  FOUR

  THE FOOD COURT was packed with shoppers, but Ellie found an empty table near the pretzel kiosk. There, she nibbled on honey-roasted peanuts. Frustration did no wonders for her appetite. It filled her stomach like a boulder. Every honeyed bite tasted stale. Was that how Jay felt when he ate ice cream from a carton?

  Ellie drummed her fingers on the tabletop and tried to redirect her thoughts from murder and grief. It was difficult to take her father’s advice. To trust that police—strangers!—would give Trevor the justice he deserved. Especially after Trevor visited her dream. Entrusted her with his family’s safety.

  She hadn’t cried about Trevor’s death yet. Not much, anyway. A few tears had slipped down her cheeks as she biked to the mall, but the wind swiftly carried them away. When Kirby died, Ellie held his favorite squeak toy and wept on and off for hours. At the time, she didn’t know if he’d return. Ghost-waking was a tricky technique, and not everybody excelled at it. Ellie’s mother could only summon the dead in a state of deep meditation.

  Maybe her dry-eyed spell was for the best. Crying helped blunt the edge of loss, and Ellie wanted her current pain to stay sharp. To prod her in the ribs until Trevor was avenged.

  Hopefully, it happened through a police investigation that led to an arrest that resulted in a successful trial by jury and a murder conviction. However, the justice system was imperfect. Many crimes remained unsolved, especially violence against Natives. Plus, Trevor’s death was so strange, magic might have been involved. That was a potential death blow against justice. Magic, as energy from another realm, corrupted and altered the fabric of reality. The defense for Abe Allerton could argue that any trace of magic at the crime scene negated his chance for a fair trial, since there was no way to trust the evidence beyond a reasonable doubt. Nine times out of ten, that argument worked for people with million-dollar lawyers. Strangely, it rarely worked for anyone else.

  If the police failed, Ellie would have a busy summer vacation.

  She sent a text: “Sitting near pretzel place. Bring your sundae.” Ellie had to stay put, or she’d lose her spot. There were several food-laden people weaving between the tables, adrift and looking for a place to land. The tables were squeezed so close to each other that she could hear the conversation at the table beside her.

  “Oh my God,” a woman said. “Scarecrows?”

  “Yes,” a man said. “The kind with straw, but their eyes … they had real human eyes.”

  “Oh. My. God. I’ll never drive through Iowa. How large was the corn field?”

  “Who knows? We turned around after twenty-five miles. Gas was low, and I worried …”

  “Yes?”

  “The scarecrows. They were watching. If we broke down in that field, they might—”

  “Hi, Ellie!” Jay said. Banana split in hand, he slid onto the empty seat in front of her. He wore a green polo, tan slacks, and bright white shoes. The outfit was definitely more his style than an all-black getup.

  “Perfect timing,” Ellie said. If she’d eavesdropped a moment longer, the scarecrow story might have given her the chills before her drive across Texas. Iowan farms had a reputation for strangeness, just like the prairie that once blanketed the Midwest.

  “How are you?” Jay asked. His voice sounded gentler than usual. Concerned.

  “Bad,” she said.

  “What happened?”

  How could she answer that? Ellie didn’t want his pity, kindness, or condolences. The prospect that somebody might comfort her was viscerally upsetting, although Ellie didn’t know why.

  “Somebody murdered my cousin,” she said. “That’s why Kirby had a fit last night.”

  “Wh—Trevor?”

  “Careful. Don’t say his name.”

  “I’m sorry.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. She looked down, studying the differences between their entwined fingers. His nails were short and evenly trimmed. She’d painted hers neon green and filed them into points. “Is there anything I can do?”

  She drew her hand away from his and drummed the table.

  “The man who hurt him needs to pay,” she said.

  Jay said, without hesitation, “Let me help.”

  “Thank you.” They ate quietly. She lingered on a honey-roasted peanut. He prodded his ice cream with a plastic spoon. It wasn’t a companionable silence, Ellie realized. At least not to her. She felt awkward around her oldest friend. Maybe that’s because they’d never had to deal with heavy stuff like murder before. Life’s problems used to be graffiti mistakes and dogs afraid of googly-eyed skulls.

  She missed that.

  “What happened to the bridge heart?” Ellie asked.

  “I … oh. Oh. Right. That. It’s not a problem anymore. My sister cornered me last night. Ronnie knew I’d been up to something weird.”

  “Did the black clothing tip her off?”

  He tilted his head in agreement. “She promised to keep the graffiti thing secret, but I guess boyfriends don’t count, because now Al—that’s Ronnie’s guy—wants to climb the bridge in my place, like a stand-in.”

  “Can Al climb?”

  “Probably. He’s cursed.” Jay cupped his mouth to hide it from eavesdropping lip readers. “The vampire curse.”

  “Whoa. That’s uncommon.” The United States tracked cursed individuals through Vampiric Citizen Centers. The VCCs provided yearly checkups to monitor curse progression. Once deleterious side effects crossed a “safe” threshold, the cursed were moved to a sanatorium until death. To avoid confinement, many vampires lived outside the US in more permissive countries.

  “How’d they meet?” Ellie asked.

  “During school. Ronnie and Al are both at North Herotonic.”

  “I need to talk to them before college application season,” Ellie said. “Herotonic is on the top of my list.”

  He sat straighter, intrigued. “College? I thought you wanted to start that PI business.”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking …” If she wanted to be a paranormal investigator, a college degree wasn’t strictly necessary. Ellie had researched options online. It was, after all, her top career goal. Her second goal was paleontologist, since she could always double-check her reconstructions with careful use of ghost dinosaurs. That said, although Ellie had summoned dogs, mosquitoes, butterflies, and mice from Below, she’d never attempted to wake up an extinct species. She had to practice that skill. Maybe the summer break would be a good time to start. “North Herotonic has a good invasive monster program and field-work opportunities,” she continued. “Like, last semester, the ParAb department funded a trip to the panting caves outside Austin
.”

  “The panting caves? Those are dangerous. Eat people dangerous.” He sounded more fascinated than afraid. It was the kind of reaction Ellie expected from Jay.

  “See, that’s the beauty of field trips,” she said. “The cave uses tricks to attract prey. So, if you’re prepared, it’s no worse than a normal underground tunnel. That’s why I want a degree. To learn from experienced PIs and build on their knowledge. The same way I learned Six-Great’s secret. Like my mom always says, ‘Don’t reinvent the wheel.’”

  “Saves a lot of time,” he agreed. “I’m applying to Herotonic too, if my parents let me. They aren’t happy about Al.”

  “Because of his curse?”

  “Yeah. They offered to pay for his cure. He’s only been vampiric for a couple years. Al refused, though. Said the benefits outweigh the drawbacks.”

  “Does he think it makes him immortal?” The average vampire lived ninety-two years. A decent lifespan, yes, but immortality? Not even close. As the curse fermented, its drawbacks multiplied. Sunscreen wouldn’t always protect Al, and elderly vampires needed fresh blood; the bagged stuff turned their stomachs.

  “I don’t know.” Jay seemed to realize that his ice cream was melting around the banana, because he shoveled a few soupy spoonfuls into his mouth before continuing. “That’s probably why he’s being so nice to me, though.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah.” Jay rested his chin on one hand and sighed. “I get where Al’s coming from, but … it’s awkward. Is he really a good man, or just faking it to get my approval? I don’t enjoy feeling like a pawn.”

  “That’s because you’re a knight. They jump.”

  “Yeah! And can a pawn do this?” He half-stood, glanced over his shoulder, and then slowly sat again. “It’s too crowded right now.”

  “Were you going to jump?” Ellie asked.

  “Do a cartwheel.”

  “That would’ve been fun.”

  “Uh-huh.” Another sigh, this one a bit less heartfelt. “I’m meeting Al at the bridge tomorrow. Sunset.”

  “Can I come?” Ellie asked. Why not?

  “You want to?” Jay asked.

  “What, worried I’ll ruin the brotherly bonding?”

  He straightened, dropping his spoon in the ice cream dish. “Brother? Al and Ronnie aren’t married, you know.”

  “I assumed it was serious, since your parents offered a cure. That’s expensive.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “It’s serious, but no engagement. They’re both too young! Can you imagine getting married at twenty?”

  “Me? Personally? I don’t imagine getting married at all.”

  “Fair enough,” he said. “Um. Ellie, I know you have more important things to deal with right now. Seriously, if—”

  “I’ll meet you at the bridge,” Ellie interrupted. “We can’t do anything about Allerton until I’m in South Texas.”

  “When are you leaving?” Jay asked.

  “Thirty hours,” she said. “I can barely stand the wait.”

  FIVE

  LATER, ELLIE AND JAY met near the skull-and-crossbones PCB warning sign. Under a sky lit by ripening sunlight, the Herotonic River glinted like quicksilver.

  “You’re early!” Ellie said. They were supposed to gather at sunset, but because the definition of “sunset” was unclear, she’d decided to play it safe and arrive before the color show began.

  “I didn’t want to make anyone wait,” Jay said. He thrust his hands in his jean pockets. Tragically, his pants were so tight, he reached an impasse at the knuckles. “But I guess Al won’t show until the sky is red.”

  “No worries,” said a third person with a faint Minnesotan accent. “I use sunscreen. Plus, early birds eat toast, kiddos.” Ellie and Jay each whirled around so quickly they almost collided. A young man stood on a granite boulder near the riverside. He dressed like a retro greaser: leather biker jacket, white T-shirt, and slate jeans. His pale brow shone under pomade-slicked black hair. Opaque-looking eyeglasses completed the outfit, although Ellie suspected that they were more functional than fashionable. She also noticed a white film around his ears, evidence he was good for his word.

  “Isn’t it worms?” Jay asked, smiling. “Early birds get the worms?”

  “Yeah, but birds prefer toast,” Al said. “It’s not a healthy choice, but when does that stop ’em? You ever see a goose turn down scraps of bread? They’re self-destructive. Poor bastards. ” He laughed, real loud, and Ellie wondered if Al always projected his voice like an opera singer. He might also be nervous. Hard to tell sometimes, especially with strangers.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I volunteered at a bird rehab center once. First thing they taught us: don’t give the animals bread.”

  Al hopped off the boulder and approached, still grinning. Although his teeth were unusually white, the color of fresh snowfall or a news anchor’s smile, they didn’t seem sharp enough to pierce skin. Did he possess a hidden pair of needle-sharp second canines? Even newly cursed vampires had to consume more blood than solid food, and although they could purchase blood bags from private facilities, prepackaged supplies often ran low.

  “Al, this is Ellie,” Jay said. “Ellie, this is Al.”

  Ellie went for a handshake, but signals must have crossed, because Al stuck out his fist instead. It was the old fist bump vs. shake conundrum: if she didn’t act decisively, the confusion would transform into a cringeworthy series of half-greetings and awkward laughter. Ellie grabbed his hand, the same way she folded “paper” over “rock” during a game of rock, paper, scissors, and shook it.

  “I hear you’re studying at Herotonic University,” she said. “What major?”

  “Chemistry,” he said. “Same as Ronnie. We’re both pre-med.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Jay said. “Ronnie says she wants to research …”

  “Yeah. Biomedical research. We’re going to start a private facility someday.” He crossed his arms. “I don’t want to bore you. Where’s the heart?”

  “Just a moment,” Ellie said. “Can you climb?”

  “Like a spider on a water spout.” Al looked up. “No rain, so I’m good.”

  “Great,” she said. “Where’s the heart, Jay?”

  “This way.” Jay started toward the bridge. Again, his fingers burrowed into his pockets. As the trio crossed the metal walkway, Ellie and Jay clomped, tapping a techno beat against the walkway. Al made no such commotion with his feet, though he did chatter enough for all of them.

  “Do you guys enjoy bowling?” he asked. “I want to start a team and compete in local tournaments.”

  “I think it’s fun,” Ellie said, “but that doesn’t mean I’m good at it. Although …” Perhaps she could train Kirby to stop her rolls from landing in the gutter. “Do the tourneys have prizes?”

  “Trophies and gift cards,” Al said. “Last year, the winners each took home fifty dollars for Jukebox Burger. Good stuff. They have seasoned sweet potato fries. What about you, Jay?”

  “Bowling team? Um. No thanks. I’m busy. Cheer practice.” Jay leaned against the bridge’s safety railing and pointed at a beam over his head. “There it is. See?”

  A gust whistled through the grand steel trusses and kicked ripples across the sunset-kissed river. Al and Jay switched places.

  “What a view,” Al said, and he inhaled deeply. “Eugh. Bad idea. Can you smell that? Rotting fish, sewer discharge, rust. I hate how spoiled the world has become.” Al coughed, shuddering, and spat into the river. The spit blob was pink. Blood-tinted. Ellie wondered if his tears were bloody, too. “It’s the running water,” he explained. “Makes me sick. Don’t know why. Something curse-related.”

  “What?” Jay asked, dismayed. “You don’t have to do this. Seriously.”

  “It’s no big deal,” Al said. “Before the change, I used to feel pain all the time. A little congestion is fine.” He shook a black spray-paint can—clack, clack, clack—and tilted his well-coiffured head in contemplation. “
Okay. Go time.” He hopped onto the beam and climbed its horizontal face.

  “He really does look like a spider,” Ellie said. “Four-legged one. So. Spider-Man.”

  “Or a lizard,” Jay offered. “Somebody invented a paint that repels vampires. They can’t cling to it. It’s useful for preventing burglaries, I guess, but don’t cursed people need to be welcome in a house?”

  “Sort of.” She lowered her voice. “They can enter any property, but if their welcome is revoked, the curse makes them sick. We shouldn’t discuss that around Al, though. It might be a sensitive subject.”

  “Ah, sorry. I just—”

  “You want me to put an X through it?” Al shouted. “An X for your ex?”

  “No, a zigzag,” Jay said. “Like a broken heart!”

  “That’s a bit pitiful, kiddo,” Al said. “Are you sure?”

  “Stop with the ‘kiddo’ stuff, okay?” Jay said. “You’re just three years older than me.”

  “Force of habit.” With a hiss of aerosolized paint, he inked a lightning bolt break into the heart. “It’s what I call my little sisters.”

  “I’m not … What are you implying?” Jay called. “Ellie, ask him the question.”

  “Fine, fine,” Ellie said. “Al, how serious are you and Ronnie?”

  “Funny you should ask,” Al said, “because I’m about to demonstrate.” He started climbing. Within a minute, Al reached the highest horizontal beam on the Herotonic Bridge. Over sixty feet above the river, the upper chord was the most prominent and dangerous canvas available.

  “What’s he doing?” Jay asked.

  “Painting something? Writing? Hard to see.” Ellie leaned farther over the rail. From her vantage point, she could barely see Al, much less the beam. “Definitely writing. Take my hand. I don’t want to fall.”

  With Jay as an anchor, Ellie could lean far enough to read his message. She recited, “R-O-N-N-I-E-W-I-L-L. Ronnie, will … Y-O-U. You! Ronnie, will you—”