by C. T. Adams
“Coming right up.” She smiled back at him, moving with brisk efficiency to fill his order and prepare another round for the group surrounding the pool tables. Rick breathed a silent gratitude that the losers from the match had left. All that remained in the bar was happy feelings. He allowed them to soak into him until he was feeling a little giddy. Maybe he wouldn’t automatically listen to everything Raven told him with immediate, unreasonable distrust if he was a little tipsy. He could feel Raven moving from pleasantries to business. His mood darkened, but it couldn’t quite cut through the glow that filled his pores.
After a moment of brooding, Raven spoke—his tone serious. But the words didn’t match the mood. “You’re not going to want to leave that Indian parked in an open lot at a motel somewhere. What say we take it up to my dad’s shop and lock it in the garage ’til you get back from our headquarters in Boulder?” The barmaid appeared from the other end of the long bar, carrying an open bottle and chilled glass. The tall man accepted them with a smile and passed a twenty to her.
“I was hoping not to have to check in with the pack.” People and politics, along with all the “visiting dignitary” social crap wolves did sounded like too much of a bother to Rick after a long day’s ride. Still, the offer of a locked garage appealed to him. The Indian was special. If he had to play nice with the locals, he would. He’d be damned pissed to get the bike stolen from sheer carelessness.
“Right now there’s nobody to check in with.” Ignoring the glass in front of him, Raven took a long pull directly from the bottle. “It’s absolute chaos around here lately.” He swiveled his seat so that his back was to the bar and he could keep an eye on the room. “Nobody’s going to know or care if you’re here. Trust me.”
Rick’s sandwich arrived and he decided that discretion would be the better part of valor, so he ate to keep himself from saying the wrong thing. He’d been out of circulation a long time. He didn’t have a clue what had been happening in Boulder. But a wolf pack as large as he remembered this one being, without strong leadership, was a disaster waiting to happen.
“Damn that smells good.” Raven’s nostrils flared and narrowed as he took a long sniff. Almost immediately his stomach started growling and hunger overpowered the other sensations in the bar to push against Rick and make him eat even faster.
The burger was, in fact, surprisingly good—better than he would’ve expected from a non-Sazi-owned business. Humans had to worry so much about food poisoning that they always seemed to overcook their meat, making it tough and ruining the flavor. But this burger was actually ground steak, cooked rare enough to still have some taste to it. Rick let the combined flavors of rare meat, tangy mustard, and onions sit in his mouth so that he could savor them. When his companion reached a hand across to steal one of the salted potato wedges that had come with the meal, he only gave a half-hearted snarl, not even bothering to swat the offending hand away.
The two men each ordered another beer as the waitress delivered Raven’s meal. They ate and drank in companionable silence. It was nice, Rick reflected, to find someone who didn’t feel the need to fill every minute with chatter. Ramirez seemed absolutely content to listen to the music playing on the jukebox, watch the barmaid, and relax. When the plates were empty and the beers downed the two men rose in silent accord, heading toward the front door and the business that awaited them.
The man in the vest, and his companions with him, gave Rick and Raven plenty of room to mount up, even though they didn’t disguise their admiration of the bikes. One or two of them shook their heads and smiled when the engines roared to life. Rick could still feel their eyes boring into his back as he followed Raven out of the driveway, down Speer to the highway exit.
The drive up to Boulder didn’t take long, and Rick didn’t begrudge a minute of the time spent. Raven had been right. The Indian would be safer locked in the garage where people or Sazi could guard it, and Rick would have one less thing to think about while he was on assignment. Raven checked in with the night shift, letting them know they were leaving the bike, while Rick unfastened the saddlebags and gathered up his belongings.
“You ready?” Ramirez appeared at the door of the garage, keys in hand.
“Yup.” Rick tossed the saddlebags over one shoulder and grabbed his sleeping bag by the belt that he’d used to keep it rolled into a tight bundle. He followed the other man outside, his footsteps echoing in the large open area of the metal garage building. Outside a tow truck was waiting, engine running. Its black paint gleamed, the elaborately painted logo on the doors bright and colorful, even in the pale silver light of the moon. The truck was a large model Ford with an extended cab. There was plenty of room for Rick’s saddlebags next to the battered Coleman cooler that took up a section of the backseat.
When Rick was strapped in the passenger seat and they were on their way back down to the hotel in Denver, Raven began his briefing.
“Spiders? They really exist?” Rick shuddered. Of course, there had been rumors of a race of shapeshifting spiders that preyed on Sazi for his whole long life, but nobody had actually encountered one—save Lucas. But the tale Raven told about his time in Chicago last fall made him absolutely believe.
Raven nodded in frustration and flipped on his turn signal as they neared the hotel. “So far there have only been two of them, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t others out there. And we know they’re actively working with some of the more violent snake separatist groups—the ones who think ruling humanity is some sort of divine right. The snakes were up to something in Germany, but then they always are. Thankfully, Ahmad’s been able to keep them in check so far.”
Rick didn’t like Ahmad al-Narmer, the were-cobra who represented the snakes, but he had to admit that the man wasn’t nearly as bad as some of the others of his species.
“By the way,” continued Raven, “Have you seen the photo of what Aspen did to Ahmad in Chicago?” Curiosity beat at Rick and he shook his head.
Raven pulled into a parking space at the hotel and pulled out his wallet. Rick snickered at the photo of Ahmad and his men pinned to the ceiling—wallets and change raining down onto the heads of the council members and the Chicago pack—as Raven spoke. “She not only did this, she did it with style. I can’t even imagine how much power it must have taken to throw them up there and just leave them there for hours while she casually made the trip home.”
Rick thought back to the few meetings he’d encountered between Josie and Ahmad. It was only through outside intervention that they hadn’t killed each other. “Well, I know their tempers, and it was probably good that she did it this way. If they’d gotten down while she was still handy, Ahmad would have made a challenge for sure. The cobras are an especially proud bunch. They wouldn’t sit still for that type of insult—particularly from a woman.” He motioned to the picture and then offered the wallet back. “I’m not surprised that she’s been getting more assassination attempts after…this.”
Shaking his head, Raven put the wallet back into his pocket, then pulled the key from the ignition and opened his door. “But it wasn’t a cobra that attacked her at the house. The corpses buried were male rattlesnakes. The DNA was for a female of the same species. And what had the female been doing in her house?”
“Well, explosions are a common enough Sazi tool for getting rid of evidence.” There was nothing quite like an explosion and fire to eliminate most of the evidence at a scene. Had she simply gotten careless while setting things up? It was possible, but it didn’t seem likely.
“True, but Angelique found tire tracks and footprints for a second set of intruders, with the unmistakable scent of humans—as well as the distinctive scent of a tiger. You remember Natasha Fausek?”
Rick nodded his head. “The redheaded Bengal at Wolven? Oh sure. She was in the service when I was. Good record of captures, and dynamite on a chessboard.”
The other man motioned with his head toward the upper balcony of the motel. “She just got into town and
is going to tell us exactly what happened with Aspen that night. After that, you might be interested in a little moonlighting job Charles’s old guard, Yusef, did for her, including everything there is to know about a little town called Pony, New Mexico.”
Chapter Seven
IT WAS A BEAUTIFUL vehicle, a lovingly restored and updated 1969 Firebird convertible. It had a 350 horsepower engine, a glossy black paint job, and lipstick red interior. It had been love at first sight, smell, and sound for Josette. The engine had purred like a very large kitten from the minute she’d turned the key. It might be completely impractical, but it was absolutely perfect. She couldn’t help but glance at it again out the window of the tiny motel, the Shooting Star.
Rick would love this car.
She took another sip of coffee and lifted the clean, but worn, drape. The Shooting Star Motel wasn’t nearly as well maintained as some of the larger chain motels. It stood on a corner lot at the very outskirts of Pony, directly across the access road from an old-fashioned drive-in theater that had been fully restored. The moment Josette saw the tall neon sign with its five-pointed star she had a sinking sensation of déjà vu. Pulling into the parking lot she’d recognized every detail of the place. The office was a small separate building of tan brick with large tinted windows that sat in front of two long rows of cabins with what should have been a narrow grass courtyard between. From where she parked she could see that the “courtyard” was nothing more than a mass of overgrown weeds. Still, the small tan brick cabins looked as though they were in fairly good condition. Each was separated from the next by a covered parking awning. The corrugated metal of each awning had been given a new coat of dark turquoise to match the window trim and cabin doors.
The place was familiar, but try as she might, Josette couldn’t remember the content of the vision. It had been long ago, in a time before motels—before even the cars that had spawned them.
The harder she tried to chase the details, the more they eluded her. But the tightness that wouldn’t leave her back and shoulders made her think it was bad.
In fact, everything felt bad lately…as though she had walked into a future war zone without knowing when the battle would start or, worse, who the enemies were. When they’d arrived in town the day before, Ellen had taken her to Mrs. Hunt’s house to pick up the car. She had the strange feeling that they were being watched, but nothing seemed out of place to her sensitive nose or ears. Even trying to force a present-time vision hadn’t been effective like it had so many times in the past.
After picking up the Firebird, they’d made the long trip back to Albuquerque with Ellen, already an accomplished driver at seventeen, driving the SUV. Leaving the rental in the outskirts of Albuquerque in a nice suburb might not have been the best solution, but at least there was a good chance the snakes or whoever came to claim their bodies wouldn’t be able to track them beyond the city limits. The persuasion magic she’d used had kept the humans there from being interested in watching. Nobody should be able to identify them, even if tortured.
Ellen had cocked her head when she’d gotten in the passenger seat of the convertible, as though something was tickling at her memory. “Are you sure you haven’t met my parents? I could swear I’ve seen your picture somewhere around the house. In fact, I know I have.”
Josette felt herself shrug once more, as she tried again to remember like she did the previous day. “I suppose anything’s possible but I’ll be honest—the last time I traveled anywhere was fifty or sixty years ago. If your parents are human, I sincerely doubt I’ve met them, and I never get any visitors at home.”
Get…used to get. A tiny slip of the tongue. What a difference a few short words made. She had no home anymore.
She needed to call Amber. Her sister might not even be aware of what had happened by now, but if she was, she’d be worrying. Josette was too cautious to call her from the motel phone, or any landline. Calls to and from the residences of the Chief Justice were routinely traced. There’d still been no sign of anyone looking for her thus far, but Josette was going to assume the worst and act accordingly. She’d wait, buy a cell phone at the little grocery store on the other side of town, and call while driving. It wasn’t a perfect solution. She’d need to keep the call very short. But to her mind it was better than the alternative. After all, Aspen Monier was gone. Only Josette LaRue remained.
The Josette LaRue who’d picked up the vehicle and checked in yesterday was very different than the person Ellen had met at the truck stop. Gone were her shoulder-length curls that she’d worn for a century. Her blond hair had been cut short before they left Albuquerque, so that it bounced and moved with her. Chandelier earrings graced each ear, giving a soft, musical tinkle if she turned her head quickly. She’d indulged herself with just a single drop of her all-time favorite perfume. It was barely enough for the humans to notice, but she knew.
Her finger and toenails were polished a vivid crimson that exactly matched the tight scooped neck T-shirt she wore over her new black jeans. Strappy sandals with a three-inch wedge heel put a wiggle in her walk, which had drawn admiring glances from more than one man in the grocery store and a sharp elbow in the ribs for one particularly unlucky gent. The only thing that was the least bit out of character was the watch, but she wouldn’t have traded it for all the rest combined.
It was, admittedly, ugly. Bulky and black, made of plastic with Day-Glo numbers it was the kind of sports watch that could tell you more than you wanted to know in several time zones. But it had one feature that made it priceless to Josette. With the push of a button it showed the date, with the year. Any time she wanted she could simply look at her wrist and know when she was. No more asking embarrassing questions, searching for a newspaper, or scanning the area for clues. She could just hit the button and viola.
And the date was so very critical right now. Visions from two hundred years were all converging on this time and place. Her mind had been worrying at the issue like a terrier with a bone. So many things were about to happen, and some needed to not happen. It was difficult to know what to influence and what to leave alone.
Part of it was the responsibility. Whether they meant to or not, people blamed her when she saw something awful…and truthfully, most of the time what she saw was awful. But it was more than that. She didn’t really trust her foresight completely anymore. There were too many people doing too many important things. Every action affected the whole cloth that was the future in new and unpredictable ways. Sometimes the consequences were good; sometimes bad. But there were always consequences, and it played merry hell with her memory every time Charles and Lucas started mucking about with things. And they both insisted on doing it. They were both so confident that they knew the best course of action. She wished she could be so sure.
It was as if thinking about the vision brought it on. She felt it coming just before it hit. Translucent images superimposed themselves over the rugged rural scenery outside the window. Then the room disappeared, and she found herself in another place and time.
The cave was dark and cool, lit only by the flickering fire of the torch in his trembling hand. The scents of verdant jungle greenery were almost overwhelming. He gathered his courage, forced himself to be strong. The punishment he would receive was well deserved. He should have known better than to delegate such an important project. He should have gone after the cat himself. She was too strong for the ones he had sent to take her out. Now two of their people were dead, and she had vanished.
They would find her. He would find her, and she would die. It was necessary. The Sazi must have no warning of what was about to happen.
A breeze caused the tangled vines that hid the cave exit to sway. He used the snuffer to extinguish the torch, sliding it into the holder with the others. Squaring his shoulders, he brushed the vines aside with one arm and stepped into the blinding daylight.
A knocking sound seemed to come from everywhere at once. It beat against her mind, one moment a booted foot on oak
planks, then the hollow tones of iron on stone, and finally settling into light knuckles on a cheap painted door. The last was a tone she recognized. It was the same sound as when Ellen had stopped by the previous evening to deliver towels. Josette gasped for air and fought her way back to the present until she stood blinking in the center of the motel room, the coffee in her cup now ice-cold.
As she walked toward the door, a scent hit her like a blow—warm and musky, tinged with oil and gasoline and just a hint of lemongrass cologne.
Rick! Her brain screamed the name and her heart began to beat frantically. Another knock, this one a little heavier, followed by his voice. “Josie? Are you in there? Are you okay, mon chere?”
How long had she waited to hear his voice again—prayed someone would call her and say his death was all a mistake? But he’d even disappeared from her visions of the future. She couldn’t seem to move from where she stood, as though she was bolted to the floor by the weight of indecision.
Anger…apprehension…delight—they all fought for dominance in her heart and she had no doubt he’d be able to feel all of them through the door.
As in times long ago when they’d fought, she heard him rest his head against the door. His voice was soft, because he knew she could hear, and it answered the questions she couldn’t seem to get out of her mouth. “I know I hurt you, mon chere, my beautiful Josette. I never meant to. But I was too consumed by what was happening to me—to my gift—to do anything more than disappear. I swear to you, though, when I heard you were missing, that you might be in danger, all I could think of was finding you. I want to help you face whatever future you’re running from. Please, I just want to talk to you, to tell you what I’ve learned from Charles and the others. And then, if you want me to go, I will.”
The last few lines did it. He was lying. She could smell the black pepper so strong that she sneezed. But she couldn’t decide why, or what part was the lie. Maybe he wouldn’t be willing to leave; or perhaps there was more to his visit than he was saying, but her logic clamped down on her emotions. The annoyance at grieving for him for so long flooded her, so that when she put down her cup and opened the door, she was more than a little suspicious.