“Tell me, Ellie.” Lenore stood, and Baby Gregory screeched, as if sensitive to his mother’s anger.
“The power,” Ellie said, “to move injuries from one body to another.”
TWENTY-THREE
AS ELLIE STOOD before her three-person audience, two women and a baby, she experienced the same broil of anxiety and excitement that a Broadway performer must feel before her first show-stopping solo piece. Ellie paced as she spoke, and Kirby, still visible, followed her heels. He thought they were playing a slow and monotonous game of chase.
“On the evening of the murder,” Ellie said, “Dr. Allerton was in a serious car accident. I first suspected this at the wake. He drove a new car. Awfully convenient timing, right? He said he just liked buying cars, but I figure it’s more likely that Dr. Allerton had to replace one. Especially because he drives like he’s playing a real-world version of Grand Theft Auto. Did you see him floor it out of the gravel parking lot?”
“No,” Lenore said. “I didn’t see him at all at the wake.” Her expression darkened. “Lucky man.”
“Not lucky much longer,” Ellie said, and Lenore smiled.
“There’s more evidence than a new car, right?” Vivian prompted. “You found a crash site.”
“Uh-huh. It’s where Dr. Allerton crashed. He must have been going twice the speed limit when he swerved off the road and hit a tree. I also got reason to believe that he was drunk.”
“What reason?” Vivian asked.
If Ellie told her mother about the beer-filled recycling bin, there’d be trouble. She didn’t want to outright lie either, though. “Circumstantial stuff. Anyway, by the time Jay and I found the crash site with his aunt Bell, it had been cleaned up, but we found enough plastic and paint that I’m sure the car was totaled. It’s also possible that Allerton wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. Here’s the thing: he had this accident along Cuz’s route home from work. It’s an isolated road near Willowbee.”
“Trevor was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?” Lenore asked, and Ellie wondered if that made her feel better or worse.
“Yes. He must have noticed the wreck right after it happened. Based on Aunt Bell’s psychic reading, he pulled over and tried to help. But Dr. Allerton was in a bad condition. Drunk. Injured. Maybe losing consciousness. The doctor must have realized that he could die unless … unless he used the terrible secret of Nathaniel Grace, a secret that has survived in the Willowbee medical community, to steal my cousin’s …” Vivian’s nephew. Lenore’s husband. Gregory’s father. “… his health. That’s how Cuz got those injuries. They weren’t his to begin with. Dr. Allerton must have done something. Touched him, maybe. I don’t know what it takes to cast a spell like that.”
“That murderous son of a—” Lenore stopped and looked at her own son, reconsidering. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah,” Ellie said. “I do. It was murder. There’s no doubt. After inflicting those terrible injuries on Cuz, Dr. Allerton left him to die. He didn’t call an ambulance. Didn’t even try first aid. No. Instead, he—alone or with cronies, I don’t know—returned Cuz to his car and abandoned it on a different road. They wanted him to die. Counted on it.”
“Trevor isn’t the doctor’s first victim, is he?” Lenore asked.
“Nah,” Ellie agreed. “All these miracles Allerton has performed? The ones praised on Rate-a-Doc? Vanishing brain tumors. Repaired spinal injuries. They must come at the expense of victims. Maybe, some are willing. They can’t all be. He’s not a healer. He takes money from the sick to make different people sick. He isn’t the first one, either. The doctors in Willowbee, probably all descended from Grace’s line, have been magically swapping injuries since the town was founded.”
“You said you had proof,” Lenore said. “Where is it? We can contact those city police your mother knows and send them everything.”
“Jay and I got proof at the library, actually. In October 1906, Theodore Roosevelt—President Roosevelt—visited Willowbee with a serious injury. A grizzly bear tore apart his leg.” Ellie scrolled through the pictures on her phone. After a few shots of melty ice cream cones and Jay’s embarrassing chocolate mustache, she found the picture of Roosevelt’s letter to the Willowbee Sanatorium. “Here. The president wrote Dr. Allerton’s predecessors a thank-you letter after the procedure. The doctors miraculously healed everything. Not a scar! This was before penicillin, too! It would have been impossible without supernatural assistance.”
“Hm,” Vivian said. “Are you sure it isn’t a joke? If the first naturalist president, the one who inspired the teddy bear, got mauled by a grizzly, we’d learn about it in every US history textbook.”
“Unless it was kept secret,” Ellie said. “Look. Jay found this article.” With a swipe, Ellie opened her smartphone “downloads” folder and loaded the PDF image Jay had sent her. It was a scanned copy of a yellow-tinted newspaper dated October 16, 1906. A headline midway down the page read, “Grievous Bear Attack Claims Life.”
“How’s this for a coincidence?” Ellie asked. “Same week Roosevelt was a patient in Willowbee, a local farmer discovered a body in his cranberry bog. The corpse had a seriously chewed leg. Bear attack, he said. But he’d never seen a grizzly near his property, and the dead man was a stranger.”
“There aren’t cranberry bogs in Texas,” Vivian said.
“Maybe it was a misprint?” Ellie said. “This is definitely from the Willowbee local paper.”
“Do you think Roosevelt … knew that an innocent person would die in his place?” Lenore asked. “I always thought he was a decent man.”
“Didn’t he say that the only good Indian is a dead one?” Ellie asked.
“That’s true,” Vivian said. “And he celebrated Indian removal and the destruction of tribal land. That body in the bog wasn’t a Native, though. Right?”
“Well,” Ellie said, “the article doesn’t mention it, so probably not. Actually, you make a good point. If Roosevelt knew that his treatment would kill a random person, he’d insist on a Native victim. Right? I bet he was ignorant. Or just ran out of time.” Lost in thought, she watched shimmering Kirby scamper around the living room. He nudged Gregory’s plastic blocks across the floor, playing a one-dog game of fetch.
Ellie continued, “I hope that none of the patients at Willowbee knew the truth about their cures.”
“It’s quite possible that they believe Dr. Allerton and his ilk are miraculous healers,” Vivian said. “When you’re hurting, dying, and out of options, few remedies seem too good to be true.”
“So let’s say there’s an investigation,” Lenore said. “The clinic might get shut down. Great. I still want proof that’ll send Allerton to prison for murdering my husband. Where’s that?”
“On your husband’s body,” Ellie said. “Must be. Why else would Dr. Allerton want to know its burial location? He’s worried that we’ll find something to link him with the death.”
“DNA evidence?” Vivian asked. “Possibly, he came in contact with Allerton’s blood.”
They mused in silence, until Lenore offered, “What if during the spell, Allerton transferred something that could be used to identify him? A gold tooth, prosthetic hip, or …”
Ellie recalled her last dream of Trevor and the pain in her back that she’d blamed on a pencil.
“Or a tattoo,” she said. “One Dr. Allerton got publicly for charity! The spell might consider inked skin to be an injury. Lenore, did the hospital document any tattoos on Cuz’s body?”
“I don’t know. Trevor had no tattoos, so I didn’t ask.”
“This one would be on his lower back,” Ellie said. “It’s a signature.” She searched her phone and pulled up the feel-good news article about Dr. Allerton’s charity tattoo. “This one,” she said. “Dozens of witnesses saw him get it from the mayor.”
“I’ll call my friends,” Vivian said, rummaging through her purse. “They can set up an exhumation. We’ll also need to ask the elders for help. Thank creatio
n that we keep grave sites secret.”
Lenore grabbed Vivian’s arm. “Wait,” she said. “I think …”
“What?” she asked.
“I think I was followed.”
“Followed where?” Ellie asked, though she could guess what the answer would be. Kirby stopped playing, as if he could sense Ellie’s horror.
“The burial site,” Lenore said. “When I visited it.”
“What makes you believe that you were followed?” Vivian asked.
“I just … I thought I saw somebody in the woods near the grave. I noticed a shape out of the corner of my eye. It resembled a man. Or a man-shaped tree? I turned my flashlight toward the figure, but there was nobody. Still. If Dr. Allerton is friends with vampires, one might have followed me. They can be fast, right?”
“His property was crawling with vampires that night,” Ellie said. “Remember, Mom?”
“Who could forget that?” Vivian said. “Here’s what we’re going to do: Ellie, get some rest. It’s late. Lenore, I’m going to call my friends, as planned, and they will help us. The hard part—determining what happened, and why—is over. Okay?”
“I should check on his grave,” Lenore said. “Tonight.”
“Hon, no,” Vivian said. “It won’t do any good. Look, maybe you did see a tree. If so, the site is still safe. Returning tonight will only put it and you at risk.”
“And if she was followed?” Ellie asked. “If his body is gone?”
“In that case,” said Vivian, “it’s already too late. And, I might add, a matter for the police. Be patient. Have faith.” Vivian put her arms around Lenore and Ellie and pulled them into a hug.
“Faith in what?” Lenore asked, and she sounded genuinely curious and a little bit spiteful. “Justice?”
“Family,” Vivian said. “It’s all we’ve ever had.” She closed her eyes, as if fighting exhaustion. “I need to speak with you in private, Ellie. Elder Dan was right. It’s time for you to learn how your six-great-grandmother died.”
TWENTY-FOUR
ELLIE AND VIVIAN moved to the backyard patio. They lit a mosquito-repellent candle, and Vivian waited for its scent to wash over them before she spoke, as if concerned that insects might eavesdrop.
“This story cannot be repeated.” Vivian held up her index finger. “You will hear it once and must only share it once.”
“Huh! Seems dangerous,” Ellie said. “Maybe we should wait until the Dr. Allerton situation is resolved.”
“It’s riskier to wait. Come on. Don’t you wonder how your six-great-grandmother died? She wasn’t immortal.”
Truthfully, Ellie never dwelt on that question. To her, Six-Great was immortal; the stories made her that way. They carried her personality through generations. Ellie was worried that the final story would be like a second death. A final one.
“I’ve had my fill of bad news lately,” Ellie said. “Don’t cram my head with more sad stuff. Let’s watch a comedy movie instead.”
“Every year, when I teach my students about the law of buoyancy, I begin the lecture with a story. Once upon a time, in ancient Greece—”
“If this is about Icarus, I’ve already heard it, Mom.”
“—a king commissioned a goldsmith to make him a special crown. It was a finely sculpted piece: golden leaves and vines twisted into a metal wreath. However, the king was a cautious, suspicious man. He feared that the goldsmith had diluted the gold with silver, a less expensive metal. But how could anybody tell? Pure gold and impure gold looked very similar, and in those days, people didn’t have complex technologies, like spectroscopy, to analyze metals.
“The king summoned a genius named Archimedes. ‘You’re a brainy man,’ he said. ‘Devise a way to test this crown. If you succeed, I’ll give it to you. If you fail …’” Vivian ran a finger across her throat, miming a knife. “Archimedes asked, ‘Do I have a choice?’ And the king just laughed. He wasn’t very nice. In fact, deep down, he hoped that Archimedes would fail almost as much as he hoped that the crown was a fake. Both of those outcomes would lead to bloodshed. Something the king relished more than precious metals.
“Poor Archimedes pondered the question all day long. He was so nervous, his robes became soggy with sweat, and he started to smell … ah … like an athlete’s sock. It happens to everyone, even geniuses! So he decided to take a bath. In ancient Greece, there were public baths, places where people shared big tubs. Archimedes was so eager to wash off, he hopped into the water, causing it to slosh over the edge of the tub. That’s when he had a revelation! He knew how to solve the king’s problem! ‘Eureka! Eureka!’ he shouted, much to the dismay of the other bathers. ‘I have it now!’ The man was so excited, he leapt from the tub and ran through the city streets, naked and dripping wet! How did Archimedes solve the king’s riddle?”
“Oh, yeah, I’ve heard that story before,” Ellie said. “Gold is denser than silver. That means a gold coin weighs more than a silver coin, if they have the same volume. Archimedes just needed two things: a bucket of water and a bar of pure gold that had the same weight as the crown. He’d put the crown in the bucket. Measure how high the water level rose. Take out the crown. Put the bar in the bucket. If both were pure, they’d have the same volume and displace equal amounts of water. You know that probably didn’t happen, though? The story was first spread by some guy centuries after Archimedes died.”
“But you knew the story,” Vivian said. “Somebody told it to you?”
“Yeah. A teacher. I can’t remember which one. Could have been during English class a few years ago.”
“Did it help you learn about volume, density, and displacement?”
“Uh-huh. It’s hard to forget a story about Archimedes streaking through a city. The mental image alone is burned into my mind.”
“It helps my students, too,” she said. “That’s why some stories are particularly important. They’re more than entertainment. They’re knowledge.”
“So we’ve circled back to Six-Great-Grandmother.” She sighed, gagging when the deep inhale filled her nose with the sickly, sweet-bitter scent of bug repellent. “Maybe I don’t want that knowledge.”
“You aren’t the only Elatsoe to visit the underworld, Ellie,” she said. “You’re just the only one to return alive.”
“Wait. Mom. That’s how she died?”
“Yes. I warned you, didn’t I? There are many stories about people who visited that place, but few have happy endings.” Vivian clasped her hands in her lap. “This is hers. It started during foaling season. A mild, sunny spring. Your six-great-grandfather loved all his animals, but one—a quick mare with a dappled coat of gray and black—was special. They had a bond; he delivered her, raised her, trained her to run through mesquite fields and over mountainous terrain. She was pregnant with her first, overdue by several days. Six-Great-Grandfather was worried about poor Dapple, so he spent his free time near her, just in case she had trouble.
“Sometimes, foals were born at night, so your six-great-grandfather camped outside, near the horses. He slept on a bedroll in the grass. Alone.
“That night, a gunshot woke Six-Great-Grandmother. Either the gunshot or her dogs. They were howling and whining. The dead ones, anyway. As if they knew what had happened.”
“They did,” Ellie said, softly. “Like Kirby the night Trevor died.”
“I believe it. Dogs are extremely sensitive when they’re alive, and without a body to restrain them, great feats are possible. However, the whining and howling could not save his life. By the time your six-great-grandmother reached the campsite, the men who shot her husband were gone, along with several horses. Thankfully, they did not take the dappled mare. The poor creature wouldn’t leave her master’s body.”
“That’s …” Ellie hesitated, searching her vocabulary for a parent-appropriate substitution for her preferred curse. “That’s terrible. Why would somebody murder Six-Great-Grandpa? Was it a revenge thing? Did the monsters target him to hurt Six-Great-Grandmoth
er?”
“Only one kind of monster uses guns,” Vivian said. “They were … uncommon in the eighteenth century, but the Spanish, British, and other invaders used them, especially for military purposes. I believe that muskets were the gun of choice for soldiers. The long, unwieldy kind that used musket balls and had to be loaded with each shot. Unreliable things. Hard to aim, unless they were fired at close range or enchanted. Your six-great-grandfather was on his bedroll when he died. They must have surprised him.”
“That still doesn’t explain why. I mean. I know that lots of settlers hated us, but he wasn’t doing anything.”
“True. That happened before there were bounties on Apache scalps, but it could have been a message. A warning for the rest of our people. He was an easy target. And yes, your six-great-grandmother had a reputation as a formidable warrior. She was very successful at defending her family. So you may be right. It could have been a retaliation assassination. There was no good reason for anyone to hate your six-great-grandfather personally; it’s not like shy horse whisperers make many enemies.”
“I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.” Ellie crossed her arms and bit the inside of her cheek. It would have been easier for her to accept Six-Great-Grandfather’s murder if some two-faced fish or blood-sucking ancient creature had been responsible.
“The dappled mare threw a fit when men removed your six-great-grandfather’s body,” Vivian continued. “The poor thing had to be restrained with ropes and tied to a tree. She almost uprooted it.”
“Aw!”
“It had to be done. Everybody was afraid that the mare, if freed, would follow them to the burial ground, remember its location, and return to her favorite human’s grave again, again, and again, until the rhythm of her hooves reanimated his ghost like a heartbeat.
“For two days, your six-great-grandmother mourned with her children, sisters, brothers, cousins, and friends. On the third day, after the dappled mare gave birth to a healthy foal, your six-great-grandmother conferred with her eldest daughter. ‘I will find the people who stole our happiness,’ she said. ‘Take care of things until I return.’
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