Chills & Thrills Paranormal Boxed Set

by Flynn, Connie

  Lily continued to the door. When she reached it, she looked back over her shoulder. "When is the inquisition?"

  "The time hasn't yet come. I wait for the sign and will let you know when I receive it."

  Although it was no answer at all, Lily simply nodded and left the longhouse.

  Shala was waiting for her, a straw basket in one hand and some thin blankets draped over her shoulder. "I came to see if you would like to bathe now, lady."

  "Lily," she corrected the girl absently, glancing toward the ladder leading to her room. A long climb, and she wasn't sure she was ready for it.

  Apparently noticing Lily's reluctance, Shala tapped the basket. "I got clean clothes for you from your room."

  "Clothes, hmm?" Lily peered at the goods Shala toted. "What else do you have? Shampoo, maybe? How about conditioner?"

  * * *

  Riva was sitting in front of her loom when Tony entered the longhouse. She looked up when the door opened.

  "Welcome home, Tony. You've done well."

  "Thank you, but the praise is undeserved."

  "Oh, you've earned it unquestionably. Despite your personal feelings you brought Lily safely to us. I suspect you also had some success with shapeshifting. Am I right?"

  Tony pulled up a nearby chair, sat down, then put his elbows on his knees to rest his chin on his folded hands. "My last success was before Tajaya's death," he said. "Now this. I don't understand." He went on to tell her of what had happened in Lily's room. "And when I saw her life's blood gushing out . . ." Tony glanced away, remembering the intense alarm that had compelled him to save her. "I've wanted this woman dead for years, Riva. I can't comprehend why I was able to shapeshift then . . . and for that reason."

  "Didn't I tell you it would come when needed? Don't question the Universe's gifts. You'll understand in due time."

  Tony gave her a frustrated glance. "You came from the outside too, Riva. How do you reconcile your faith with what you learned out there?"

  Riva laughed gently. "Ah, Tony, I didn't have logic drummed into me the same way you did. I had the advantage of not being college-educated."

  Grinning, he replied, "But you can't program a computer either."

  "Since we have none here" — she laughed again — "I don't feel the loss."

  Tony rubbed the back of his neck, taking his eyes from Riva's smiling face. "We need to talk about Shala and the she-wolf."

  "I wondered when the subject would arise." Riva paused, clearly weighing her next words. "You must keep in mind that Lily isn't a werewolf anymore."

  "Not in form. But in her heart. Wickedness does not die with the form."

  Riva's luminous golden eyes clouded. "You're twisting the truth, Tony, and you know it . . . here." She tapped her heart. Her eyelids began fluttering. Soon they closed, and in a radically deeper voice, she started talking.

  A herd of deer surrounded White Wolf Woman, and several stags lowered their thick necks, aiming their pointed racks at her exposed belly. The does behind them squealed encouragement.

  "Kill the traitor!" they urged. "Kill her!"

  Suddenly Quetzalcoatl appeared. "Deer People, what are you doing to my daughter?”

  Jeshra, the largest stag, stepped forward, lifting his antlers proudly. "Though Sienna Doe swore to protect us, she has betrayed us grievously. One of our sisters lies dead in the clearing beyond, slain by her fangs. We seek only justice, Great One."

  "By betraying yourself?" asked Quetzalcoatl. "Do deer feed on Four Leggeds? Nay. By doing violence on this one, you do violence only to yourselves. Do you question the creatures I make, the natures I give them?

  "Jeshra lowered his proud head and the herd backed away," Tony mumbled, completing the story and shamed by the truth it revealed. He couldn't meet Riva's now-open eyes, but still felt compelled to defend himself.

  "You're right. I can't know what changes have come over Lily. Yet she shows no remorse about killing Tajaya, and her pride is insufferable. I'm worried about Shala's safety. How can that be wrong?"

  "Shala is of you, Tony, but doesn't belong to you. You can't shield her from life for fear she'll suffer Tajaya's fate. She expressed interest in Lily, which I've permitted her to explore." Riva turned back to her weaving, signaling that their talk was over. "She'll soon tire of the woman."

  "I wish I were as convinced," he replied uneasily, rising and moving to the door.

  "Walk in beauty," Riva said absently, without replying to his remark.

  But then he hadn't expected her to.

  * * *

  Restless and uneasy, Tony wandered aimlessly around the village center for a while, stopping at a hearth for a nibble, chatting briefly with Kessa, the fire tender. As he started back to his wickiup, he realized he wasn't behaving like the warrior and shaman he proclaimed himself to be.

  Since when did a warrior wallow in his conflicted conscience? From his first days at Riva's knee, he'd been taught to face such turmoil head-on.

  He checked first on Shala, learning from Kessa, who delivered the news with a frown, that his daughter had accompanied Lily to the woman's pool. Tempted to go after them, he wavered, remembering Riva's counsel.

  His daughter had her own will; he must allow her to use it. And the woman's pool was safe enough with so many other bathers there. He smiled grimly, thinking the she-wolf had no idea of the snubbing she would receive. Mothers mourning their lost sons and daughters were the most vengeful of them all.

  Not true. His own vengeance ran far deeper. And he knew he must come to terms with it, knew exactly where to go to do that.

  The air had grown still by the time he reached the glen, and Tony's T-shirt close to his sweating body. Accustomed to the harsh summer heat, he barely noticed. He came often to this place where he'd scattered Tajaya's ashes—to speak to her, to listen. At first she appeared every time he called her—either in memory or in a vision—but this last year she'd often failed to come.

  She'd moved on, he'd told himself, renewing the Circle of Life within All That Is. But his grief had remained, twisting, growing darker, until it turned into a warped loathing for her slayer. Although it violated everything he believed, Tony clung to his hatred.

  He settled under the shade of a mesquite, plucked a moist blade of grass from the ground, and chewed on the tender end.

  Tajaya had been his light, his beacon. Through her, he'd learned the mysteries of love and finally the mysteries of the Universe.

  And now he was betraying her.

  The thought startled him. Betray? What had he done? The question was answered quickly with images of Lily. Her saucy remark on the train about her nanny, and his barely suppressed amusement. The admiration he'd felt for her strength upon debarking the train in Flagstaff. Worse yet had been the laughter they'd shared when she'd tumbled during her clumsy struggle with the sleeping bag. And he'd almost enjoyed that tender moment when he'd massaged her aching feet.

  Sharing laughter and tenderness with his wife's killer? He hadn't just betrayed Tajaya's memory, he'd defiled it!

  His misery couldn't have been more intense, and he lowered his head to his knees, seeking some word, some sign that his wife's spirit still abided here. Only she could ease his torment.

  He almost knew what she'd say. He'd first caught sight of her when he was still a string bean of a boy hiking in the forests on the canyon rim. From that first day he'd recognized her gentleness. She'd taught him to respect the Creepy Crawlers, to kill no more of the Four Leggeds and Finned Ones than his family could eat, and she followed the shaman's way without fail.

  A cactus wren twittered and Tony looked up. Removing the chewed-up grass from his mouth, he waited for a vision. The wren grew silent and he slumped back against the tree.

  Yes, he knew what she would say. All creatures had their place in the Great Spirit's domain. The Circle of Life rolled on and shamans used all at their disposal, never complaining when they themselves were used.

  No! He wouldn't accept that! And wishing
that his thoughts had come from Tajaya's spirit, he affirmed to himself that a shaman's life should not be plucked just before her final rites. A daughter should not be robbed of her mother, a husband of his loving wife.

  He close to her memory furiously, fearing if he stopped, she'd be gone forever. If this fueled his hate and anger all the more, so be it. Bless it, in fact. He would not let Tajaya's spirit die!

  With this, he flung the grass blade on the ground and sprang to his feet. The wolf woman had robbed him of his wife and he'd be damned by all that was sacred before he'd let her steal his daughter.

  Chapter Ten

  "Tell me more about the mechanical world," Shala begged, splashing water as she swam in the secluded grotto.

  Luxuriating in the silky feel of the milky substance Shala had given her to use as a shampoo, Lily massaged it into her scalp. The girl stared at her with avid interest, having obviously forgotten sometime during their walk that she shouldn't look Lily in the eyes.

  "What would you like to know?"

  "Everything!"

  Lily laughed. "All at once?"

  "Hmm. Guess that would be hard." Shala scrunched up her pert little nose. "I know! Tell me about the superbig markets where you pick whatever you want from shelves! Are there really such miracles?"

  A short distance away a group of women also bathed. They'd been laughing and talking when the two of them arrived, using an odd combination of English and their own language, but lapsed into silence when Shala and Lily had entered the water. Now they glanced over surreptitiously, all ears.

  Realizing that interest in the mechanical world wasn't limited to children, Lily was half tempted to change the subject, but Shala was waiting so eagerly. . . .

  "It's not a real miracle, Shala. Many people work very hard to put food on those shelves and when others take something, they must give money for it."

  "What's money?"

  Having never been around children before, Lily had no experience with these type of questions. At a loss for how to answer, she said she had to rinse her hair and dipped beneath the water. Feeling marginally better prepared, she broke the surface of the water with a big splash, sending drops flying as she shook her head. Shala squealed when the spray hit her face, and the carefree sound wormed its way into Lily's heart. She smiled broadly and Shala smiled back.

  "Still want to know about money?"

  Shala nodded excitedly.

  "Well, it's complicated. People have been trying to explain money for years. Instead of trading—you know, like giving fur for corn or baskets for venison—we print up paper which we get when we work and give back when we take things."

  "This is really confusing, isn't it?" Shala took a quick dunk under the water. When she bobbed back up, she said, "I've never heard of this trading either, Lily."

  "Don't your people trade?"

  Shala shook her head.

  "I mean, if one family has a farm, don't they get gifts from those who take their food?"

  "Oh!" Shala's face brightened. "Some of the latecomers do that at first, but after a time they stop."

  Now it was Lily's turn to frown. "If you don't trade, how do you exchange what you make?"

  "Everyone does what is needed, and everyone takes what they need. Is that wrong?"

  "No. Just different." She turned around, wanting to drop the difficult subject. "Would you wash my back?"

  "Sure." Grabbing the soap, Shala paddled closer and lifted a spongelike scrubber hanging from a cord around her neck. She started running it gently up and down Lily's peeling sunburned back. Although Lily had foreseen possibly three or four strokes before Shala lost interest, the girl scrubbed with amazing patience.

  "Shala," Lily said, rolling her arm so the girl could reach a particularly itchy spot beneath her shoulder blade, "who are the latecomers?"

  "Most of us are born here." Shala dribbled water down Lily's back. "But some come from the mechanical world after they grow up.

  "From the beginning of our time," she continued, her tone and words making Lily think she was reciting something she'd heard many times before, "others joined the Dawn People—the Utes and the Pawnee, the Cherokee and the Apache, the Navajo and Cree, and many more. Some sought refuge from drought or famine or ma-ma . . ."

  Glad Shala couldn't see her face, Lily smiled at the stutter.

  "Marauders," Shala said, having finally tamed the word. "And some came just to live by the old traditions, but each brought the customs of their own tribe. And still they come, now in greater numbers as the days outside Quakahla draw to an end."

  Apparently tiring of reciting a school lesson, she added more perkily, "Papa is a latecomer. So is Star Dancer."

  "But they're both shamans," Lily responded in surprise.

  "Oh that doesn't matter. Shamans are sent by the Great Spirit. Mama was a shaman too, and she was a trueborn from the line that came from Quakahla. She returned to the spirits when I was very small . . ."

  Lily heard a small hitch in Shala's voice, which made her heart twist. What thought had she ever given to the pain her werewolf acts had caused? None. But here was the aftermath in the form of a small, sweet girl who was scrubbing her back in an aquamarine pool.

  "Werewolves killed my mother, Lily." The sponge stopped moving and Shala's voice grew very soft. "Did you know that?"

  "No, Shala," she lied.

  "But you were a werewolf once, weren't you?"

  Suddenly Lily wanted to sink under the water and swim away from the girl who asked impossible questions. She couldn't undo the past, and she had nothing to be ashamed of — all she'd done was survive according to her werewolf nature. But she wanted to ease Shala's misery, so she said what she knew the girl wanted to hear.

  "Yes, but I know nothing about your mother."

  "I didn't think so." Shala sounded relieved.

  When Shala started stroking her back again, Lily looked over her shoulder, forcing a smile.

  "You've done such a fine job on my back, I think you can stop now." They'd treaded water during their entire bath. Lily's legs were tiring, and she suspected Shala was also getting weary. "Think we're clean enough?"

  Shala grinned impishly. "Very clean. Much of your skin is now in the water."

  With a laugh, Lily headed toward a floating platform. The Dawn People valued modesty highly, and the women used lightweight blankets to cover themselves as they entered the water. These were then placed on the platform. As she and Shala retrieved their blankets, the other women shrank back, averting their gazes. Lily quelled a desire to snarl at them as she covered herself and waded out of the grotto after Shala.

  Now at Shala's side, Lily realized she'd responded mostly from instinct because with this small girl beside her she didn't really much care what the women thought or did. Glancing down at the top of Shala's head, she ached to stroke the black water-sleek hair and smooth it around that impish little face.

  Werewolves didn't bear children, at least not in the ordinary sense. They initiated other adults into their race, as she had done with Morgan and Jorje, teaching and nurturing them until they came into their full Lupine powers. But Lily had once dreamed of having a child—a girl much like Shala, on whom she could shower all her love. After she'd joined the Lupines, she sometimes felt regret over what would never be.

  Shala renewed this half-forgotten dream.

  "What a sweet one you are." Lily bent and impulsively kissed the top of Shala's head. "Thank you for scrubbing my back."

  Shala slid her arms around Lily's neck and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "You're welcome."

  Unexpectedly, Lily's eyes filled with tears. Forcing a small laugh, she patted the girl gently on the back, saying, "Go dress now."

  As Shala scampered into the shelter of the shrubs and Lily turned for the place she'd left her own clothing, the tall cottonwoods came alive with birds. With raucous whistles and trills they rose as a group and flew away. A moment later a branch sagged and Lily saw a flash of white. She stared briefly the
n started forward.

  White Hawk blocked her path.

  "I told you to stay away from Shala."

  Pulling the wet dingy blanket away from her body, Lily adjusted it before meeting White Hawk's glare. "I enjoy her company. Since she also enjoys mine, I don't intend to send her away."

  "Do you think I care what you enjoy? I'm only interested in my daughter."

  "Papa! What are you doing at the woman's pool?" Shala stood off to their right, her hands planted scoldingly on her hips.

  Immediately White Hawk's expression softened. "I came to take you to your lessons. You're late, little one."

  Shala glanced up at the sun. "Oh dear." She looked back at her father. "I'm sorry. But Lily and I were having such fun–"

  "That you neglected your studies." He moved forward, reaching out his hand. "Now let's hurry. Star Dancer is waiting."

  Shala took her father's hand and followed him to the trail leading back to the village. As they started to round a bend, she grinned over her shoulder and wagged her fingers good-bye.

  Lily smiled back so hard her face almost hurt.

  * * *

  "The wolf appeared to me in exalted form."

  Arlan Ravenheart kept expectant eyes on Star Dancer's face, his pulse racing. He knew what she would think—what he wanted her to think—yet he had cleverly avoided any falsehood.

  She sipped from a cup, her expression guarded. Coveting his gift from the spirits, he concluded, and unwilling to admit he'd won them.

  "White Wolf Woman came to you?" she finally asked.

  "I was lifted to the clouds where the wolf came in human form. Coat of silver. Tall. Strong as many buffalo, yet gentle." He feigned a catch in his voice and looked humbly into the distance. "So heavy was my shame for my prideful thoughts, I wept. Then the creature said to me, 'Ravenheart, lift your head and go forth. You are cleansed.' "

  He paused for several measured breaths, then looked directly at his teacher. "Can you tell me what this means, High Shaman?"

  Star Dancer remained silent. Ravenheart heard sounds outside. The clunk of a utensil against a heavy pot. Children laughing. Frequent footsteps passing the longhouse door as workers headed for Quakahla.