by Jeanne Rose
He couldn’t let himself off the hook so easily. “I already told you I have no problems believing in the supernatural. I knew in my heart what had gone on. I dreamed of a red-hot blaze.” He went on, “After everything was over, I took off, got drunk and stayed that way for months. When I finally came to my senses, I was in a small town outside of Tucson. I got a job as a dishwasher and went back to painting. Art was the only thing that straightened out my brain.”
They headed for flatter land, a dry river bed. Their feet kicked up sandy earth. But there was moisture left beneath the soil, enough to allow for a few small box elders, some buckthorn and sagebrush. Beyond and around them on the rolling hills, pinons dotted the sandy earth, turning and twisting their reddish trunks as they reached for the sky.
Mara mused, “How strange. Everything that’s happened seems like pieces of a puzzle, and that if only we could figure out how to put them together we could get to the truth. I was thinking about that before you rode up.”
“The truth.” He snorted. “Might as well chase a shadow.”
He loved the way the wind was ruffling her light brown hair. Despite the seriousness of their discussion, he wanted to run his fingers through it . . . wanted the comfort of touching a caring human being.
Mara said, “I still don’t think that you should believe you killed your wife and son. Not any more than you should presume you caused the fire in the community center . . . or created the horrible dream that killed Rebecca. Wouldn’t that illusion be a little out of the ordinary for you anyway? It had nothing to do with fire.”
“I’ve occasionally had other types of nightmares. Sometimes I even walk or drive in my sleep. I don’t know what I’m capable of.” He added, “And I’m not exactly a nice person.”
She didn’t disagree, but said, “That doesn’t make you a murderer.”
“Sounds like you don’t want me to be.”
Because she cared for him? But he supposed he shouldn’t be considering the possibility in this dismal situation.
They’d reached the end of the flat ground and faced a jumble of boulders where the riverbed rose into the hills. They stopped, turned and went back the same way they’d come. The Kisi pueblo was visible in the distance, beyond Red Mesa. Luke spotted the dust of another vehicle entering the gates, probably more of Rebecca’s relatives. Realizing once again that the woman was gone, that she’d never be coming back, his heart felt as heavy as a stone.
“Why would I know all the details about the murder dream, if I wasn’t the one who killed Rebecca?” he asked again, looking for more concrete reassurances.
“That I don’t know.” She pointed out, “But there are quite a few unusual things going on, aren’t there? Scary things. Who threw that curse doll onto my balcony and who set the coyotes on me? And didn’t your grandmother say that illusions can be created in dreams, as well as in real life? Maybe that same person sent that nightmare to Rebecca and you somehow managed to tap into it.”
The possibility almost made Luke feel better. “He’d have to be pretty powerful.”
“But you’re not denying it could have happened. What if this person made sure you tuned into Rebecca’s dream so you would think it was your fault?”
“Why would he pick on me?”
“Because you have special abilities. Power. The same reason you suggested he singled me out.”
“Power.” He smiled blackly. “I don’t even want it.”
“But we’ve got it. And we have to use it for good, Luke.” Her tone grew in urgency. “We have to do whatever it takes to save your grandmother. She’s next. Some horrible person is running amuck, throwing things out of sync. He obviously wants to destroy the traditions of the Kisi. And who knows where he’ll go from there.”
Her tone was so impassioned, she expressed such courage that she touched Luke more than he could say. And, God help him, he wanted her even more than he’d ever desired her before. He was aware of every nuance as she moved along beside him, the purposeful way she walked, the determined set of her chin. And because of her, he found himself mulling over the possibility of trying to harness his damnable abilities.
He growled, “This could be very, very dangerous.”
For, if he were the guilty one . . . may God protect all those close to him.
“I don’t care if it’s dangerous,” she was saying. “And neither should you. Wouldn’t you rather die trying to help someone else than running away? You’re a warrior in your heart, Luke. I can tell.”
Deep down, something inside him answered to the title, told him not to be afraid of his own dark side any longer.
“We’d also better be damned good sorcerers if we’re going to deal with this sicko,” he said. “This isn’t the first time he’s killed, you know.”
Her eyes widened. “Someone died before Rebecca?”
“I wasn’t aware of it to begin with. The last stormbringer priest died in his sleep a few weeks ago.”
“Victor Martinez.”
Luke gazed at Mara appreciatively. “You are a fast study.”
“I have a good memory. Your mother mentioned that a death had upset the pueblo.”
The midday sun beat down on them. Even in the high desert, noon could be very warm.
When Mara stopped to rest, leaning against a pine tree, Luke suggested they ride the rest of the way.
“The horse is cooled out now. And he might as well earn his hay.”
She stared at the animal warily, thinking the buckskin seemed very tall. As well as scary somehow. “I never learned how to ride.”
“No problem. You can sit behind me.”
Without waiting for her agreement, he placed a foot in the stirrup and mounted with one graceful movement, then held out his hand for her.
She still balked.
“Come on.” He kicked his boot free. “Put your foot right there and I’ll pull you up.” Then he grinned crookedly. “Where’s all this courage you’ve been talking about?”
That did it. Mara tightened her jaw and approached the horse, lifted her foot and took Luke’s hand. Strong, he easily pulled her up and, with only a little awkwardness, helped her plop down behind him in the saddle. The buckskin stirred, shifting from leg to leg. It was odd being on top of such a large, living creature.
“You’re not going to go fast are you?” she asked, trying to keep her voice cool.
“Not with the horse.”
Meaning he had other plans for her?
She couldn’t help thinking about the way his hands had felt on her, both in reality and dreams. She had to slide her arms about him now, in order to keep her balance. His broad back was warm, his chest hard. His muscular thighs tightened around the horse, making her wonder what they would be like naked in real life, his flesh against hers.
She sucked in a nervous breath and tried to distract herself. “Are there other strange things that have gone on out here at the pueblo?” she asked. “Besides the fire in the community center and the two elders’ deaths?”
“Some people claim to have seen witch lights, glowing balls floating around some nights. Then there’s this coyote that killed several sheep.”
She remembered the carcass she’d seen the first day. Sights like that always seemed to haunt her. “A big yellow coyote?”
“Supposedly. With glowing red eyes.”
“And people believe this animal’s controlled by someone? Sounds like the coyote that tried to attack me in Santa Fe. But he would have had to travel a long way.”
“Sorcery is sometimes real, sometimes illusion. You never know. That’s what makes it doubly dangerous.”
A thrill shot through her, though she wasn’t certain if the disturbing sensation came more from pure apprehension or Luke’s disconcerting nearness.
“I suppose you don’t know what my training is going to be about?”
“You suppose right. All I ever learned was the rudiments of dreamseeking.”
As the horse descended a hill, he stumb
led, making Mara grasp Luke more tightly. Ignoring the taut tension between them was becoming more and more difficult.
She tried anyway. “I’m sure I’ll have to pick out a dreaming place. Learn some Kisi.”
“If you don’t already know it. Maybe Grandmother will just have to nudge your memories.”
That remark caught her attention. “My memories? What are you talking about?”
“I’ve heard you speak the language more than once, in reality and dreams. Today, you said ‘Who comes?’ when I rode up. The Kisi believe people are sometimes reborn.”
“Reincarnation?” The idea took her breath away. She thought of her experience less than an hour ago, when time seemed to stand still. She’d been feeling a sense of cognition since first setting foot on Kisi land. “You’re suggesting I was once an Indian?”
“You’ve also got that little tattoo on your shoulder. A blue snake is a symbol of Palolokon, the sacred serpent.” He hesitated only a second before adding, “Grandmother believes you might be an ancient one, though she’s never known of anyone being reborn as white.”
Mara was speechless. She couldn’t tell what Luke believed. “What do you think?”
“I don’t think about it at all. I don’t know.”
Which helped a lot. And Mara wasn’t certain he was being truthful. “But I could have also learned this stuff some other way, right? If I have the psychic power to dreamwalk, I might also be able to pick up on a language.”
“Could be,” he said, remaining noncommittal.
They were passing Red Mesa, the buckskin’s nose pointed toward his pasture. The horse lengthened his stride. Luke tightened the reins, probably stopping the animal from trotting. Mara knew she’d fall off if that happened.
But they arrived at the pasture gate safe and sound. Luke let her down the same way she’d gotten on, then dismounted himself.
“So you’re going to agree to the training?” she asked, hoping she’d talked him into it.
“I’ll try . . . for my grandmother.”
What about for her? Mara felt a little twinge of jealousy, then told herself not to be petty.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked, gazing at her assessingly.
“Everything – dreams, visions.” And him, of course.
“We had a real nice one last time, didn’t we?”
More than nice. Intoxicating, erotic. The memory nearly took her breath away.
But she pulled herself together and said, “I think we’re going to have to be serious from now on.”
He stepped closer. “I was serious. I still want you.”
She felt the heat from his body as he stood before her. And automatically raised her lips for his kiss. Though she didn’t expect him to embrace her quite so suddenly, to pull her so tightly against his hard body.
“Do you want me?” he asked, his mouth near hers.
“Yes, but. . .”
He hushed her protest with a long, harsh kiss. She closed her eyes, savoring his taste, his scent . . . his power. His tongue invaded and stroked the inside of her mouth. One hand at the small of her back, he slid the other up to cup her breast. It seemed to swell into his palm, the nipple hardening with desire.
But Luke demanded further intimacies, pulled her blouse free of her waistband and slipped his hand beneath it. He left a trail of gooseflesh along as he slipped his hand upward. Her lacy bra posed no barrier to him. Mara moaned softly as he sought her breast again, caressed her naked flesh.
In turn, she touched him, sliding her hands along the shirt stretched over his chest. Heat surged through the material to sear her palms.
Her knees felt weak as he broke their kiss and nuzzled her neck. Then he moved lower . . .
And Mara suddenly realized that if she didn’t put a stop to this fevered exploration, they would make love . . . in broad daylight, in public. She knew the pasture was visible from several buildings, including Rebecca’s house and the burned out community center.
“Luke.” She didn’t want to push him away emotionally, but physically she had no choice. She struggled for breathing room. “Someone could be watching.”
“I don’t care.”
But she did. Not to mention that she couldn’t help longing for a time when she could trust Luke . . . at least trust his feelings. She couldn’t help wishing he’d choose another word beside want when expressing his desire for her. Even connection or bond would do. Luke had admitted he’d felt a bond in their dreams.
He seemed to notice that she’d stiffened and wasn’t responding. He loosened his hold, raised his head and looked at her.
“Now what’s the matter?” he demanded, an irritating impatience creeping into his voice. “You would have been ready for this yesterday.”
“But yesterday you weren’t interested.” She emphasized the reminder by pushing at his chest. “Not to mention that you left me at my doorway the night before without so much as a goodnight kiss. That’s a big part of the problem between us, Luke. You blow hot and cold.” She turned his words back on him. “What’s the matter with you?”
His mouth formed a straight line and he released her completely. “I’ve been telling you what’s wrong with me. Not that you seem to believe it.”
He was back to his old angry self.
Sorrow sluiced through her. “Looks like we get along better in our dreams.”
“Even if it’s sacrilege, hmm?”
“Sacrilege? What do you mean?”
“I was always told dreamwalking should be used for healing and wisdom,” he told her. It’s not meant for playing around with sex.”
Sacrilege, indeed, because he was calling what they had shared sex rather than making love, Mara realized.
Angry herself, feeling cheated by his seemingly uncaring attitude, she turned her back on him and strode away. “I’m going back to talk to your grandmother, then head for Santa Fe before it gets dark.”
Luke made no reply at all and he didn’t try to stop her. When she glanced over her shoulder, he had his back turned as he unsaddled the horse.
Damn him.
But she needed to remember that the task before her – before them unless Luke backed out – was the most important task she’d ever chosen to undertake.
THE ROAD STRETCHING SOUTH to Santa Fe appeared empty of other vehicles. Mara felt isolated and alone.
Rebecca was dead. Isabel was being threatened. And Luke seemed to think he was a demon incarnate.
He’d been convincing enough to sow some doubts. Remembering the horrific dream-illusion he’d described – Ginnie’s head hanging by its hair – she couldn’t help recalling the time he’d come to her rescue in the community center and threatened to tear off Charlie Mahooty’s head.
Had a lifetime of nightmares twisted him, filled him with such anger? What truly fueled his fiery intensity?
And why did she care so much anyway?
Perhaps the feelings, the emotional longings Luke had aroused in her during their shared dreams had been illusions as well. Lies.
She sighed, then tried to push the negative thoughts from her mind. Isabel had told her to try to keep her mind clear and serene. She’d also suggested Mara not eat anything before coming to the pueblo the next day.
While thinking on that, she spotted a tan body hurtling down a hill near the road. The pronghorn antelope took a great leap, its rump flashing white.
Wondering why the animal, a herd beast, seemed to be on its own, Mara noticed a tight curve ahead just in time to check her speed. A two-foot metal barrier stood between the car and a steep drop.
Eyes steady, both hands on the steering wheel, she didn’t expect to see the pronghorn suddenly come out of nowhere to leap the barrier and bound across the road directly in front of her.
Instinctively reacting, she slammed the brakes so hard, the car fishtailed with a squeal of rubber. But there was no collision. She’d avoided hitting the animal, thank God. Her heart pounded as she brought the vehicle to a shuddering
, complete stop. Breath shaky, she sat there for a moment, car nearly sideways in the road, thinking all she needed was an accident with a hundred-pound-plus creature.
She couldn’t remain parked in the middle of the road. Nosing the car back into the right lane, she took off, slowly picking up speed again. The state of New Mexico wasn’t kidding with all the warning signs of deer crossings.
The road wound up the side of one rugged mountain, then descended, only to climb yet another. Shaky though she was, she didn’t allow her mind to wander, not even for a few seconds. The country was rough between the Kisi reservation and Santa Fe. Miles passed and more barriers lined the curves, several dented in places from run-ins with straying vehicles.
Mara found herself eyeing the road’s shoulder, as well as the dense brush that grew on the opposite side.
Still, when another pronghorn emerged from a copse of junipers, this one running diagonally toward her, she was startled.
Heart in her throat, she knew she couldn’t avoid the animal but tried desperately anyway. The car swerved, fish-tailed again, this time the rear crashing into the barrier. Metal squealed across metal in a spray of sparks. Something clunked, probably part of the bumper tearing off, as the car shuddered to a stop.
But at least she was safe, she realized, when she was able to collect herself. No antelope had crushed her front end. The motor had died but it started up when she put the car back in gear and started the ignition.
“Thank God.”
She was thinking perhaps she should get out and check the damage when she caught a glimpse of the pronghorn in her rearview mirror. Standing alertly for a moment before leaping the barrier to disappear, the animal possessed glittering eyes that seemed to glow red . . . like the yellow coyote’s.
Sorcery?
Except this time Mara had no way to escape, no Luke waiting for her to hang onto.
Sorcery.
Real fear chilled her, icy fingers jabbing their way up and down her spine.
Sorcery is sometimes real, sometimes illusion.
Like the pronghorn. This thought came out of nowhere.
And Mara took note. Logic sank in. She must have driven at least ten miles since the last pronghorn appearance. Though fast for short distances, such an animal couldn’t have traveled this far. Or else some evil-intentioned person had a whole herd at his disposal.