by P. R. Frost
“What did he say?” Gollum asked. This time he slowed down to half turn toward me.
“Nothing. He’s gone again.”
“The turnoff to the Valley of Fire is just up here. Scrap’s view of the place would really be helpful.”
I sat in silence, gawking at the undulating landscape. At one time, something like two hundred million years ago—you’d have to ask my deceased husband the geologist for more exact details—this entire area had been under an inland sea that cut the North American continent in two. Gently rounded layers of multicolored sandstone flowed up and down with ripples revealing ancient tidal and current action. Mostly creams and yellows with occasional hints of rust and brown didn’t show the promise of the fiery landscape I expected. Some of the hilltops and mountain peaks twisted into jagged out-croppings born of volcanic action and earthquake upthrust.
Towering clouds built up from the south, casting it all in weird yellowish light. I picked out sharp details on one rock formation and lost the next in shadow.
“I didn’t expect so much plant life in the desert.” I shifted back and forth looking at new green foliage and bright yellow, pink, and red flowers.
“End of April. Two-week window for wildflowers when the winter rains are balanced with the increasing spring sunshine. Not that there’s that much sunlight today. We might get some rain out of those clouds,” he muttered as he slowed to a crawl onto the access road. The narrow two-lane (more like one and a half in places, no shoulder) pavement wandered around following a natural depression.
“Look at all those cairns! Stop, I want to take a picture.” I was out of the car, camera in hand, almost before he finished pulling up the emergency brake.
This was a scouting expedition, after all; never know when something weird that attracts my attention might turn out useful.
I knelt before a two-foot-high pile of stones. Someone had carefully balanced each rock atop another into a kind of memorial. I’d read about rock cairns in Celtic lands many times, marking the location of the death of a loved one, a special romantic tryst, a sacred spring, or even an ancient peace treaty.
“I wonder if Scottish sheepherders brought the custom with them?” Snap, snap. A bunch of pictures loaded onto the memory chip. Strange, the automatic flash came on for one but not the next.
“According to my source, the locals call them Hoodoos,” Gollum said. Of course he’d read all he could about this area before coming with me. He was an anthropologist. He’d left me at the door to my room last night with just a gentle peck on the cheek so that he could bone up on this place. “No one will tell me what the cairns are for or why they call them Hoodoos. It’s possible they trap evil spirits, or ward against them. Perhaps they commemorate successful vision quests. There are certainly a lot of them.”
Long lines of rock piles, ranging from tiny to several feet high, marched off into the distance, mostly lining the road.
“I like to think some of them at least mark the moment a couple fell in love. Some of the ones in Britain do that.” I sighed, remembering fondly each and every one of the men I’d loved, from Bobby Smith in third grade up to my husband Dill, and then, in a strange erotic needful way, Donovan.
And now . . .
“I like that tradition.”
Quickly, Gollum wrapped an arm around my waist and drew me close. His mouth hovered over mine.
I held my breath, savoring the quick intensity of the moment.
And then I rose up on tiptoe, he bent his head, and we met in an explosive kiss that chilled and warmed me from crown to heel. We melted together, arms and bodies entwined. Our lips melded, then parted to allow tongues a more intimate exploration.
“Wow,” I whispered several long minutes later.
“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I met you, back on that hillside in Alder Hill in the aftermath of an attack on adolescents by a hell hound last September.” His breath brushed my cheek.
Passion flared in me again. The two inches that separated us was too much. We kissed again, slower this time, sweetly and gently, exploring possibilities.
Chapter 34
Card counting, while not illegal, is highly frowned upon. Not many casinos use fewer than three decks to discourage the practice.
TESS NEEDS THAT RING to open the portal fot the faery dancers. I’m the only one who can get it for her. Once she’s completed this mission, I have to find a way to free the imp inside. No creatures, no matter how bad they are, no matter what crimes against the universe they have committed, should be trapped forever inside a diamond prison.
The facets reflect only that imp’s image. He must examine his crimes over and over again until he goes insane or repents. Even then there is no escape.
Only more insanity.
He calls to me through the cracks in the diamond. He tells me of his agony. I share it. I have to free him.
Since I’m already in the chat room, tracing the ring, I’ll just pop along to see where it is now.
Gregbaum still has it on his pinky finger. He hasn’t sold it back to Donovan, nor has he given it to Lady Lucia.
For once the slimy lounge lizard is alone. Actually he’s sitting on the john, just like any normal human being. PeeeUUuuuuu. He stinks worse than I do. Wonder if he knows about milk and what it does to a sensitive tummy. He probably doesn’t care. He’s so angry at the world he must think his indigestion is the result of a conspiracy against him fostered by Lady Lucia.
The ring bulges through the fabric of time and dimension, as much in the chat room as it is on his hand. That’s because of the imp inside. Now if I can just wiggle my body into that translucent fabric of woven energy, sort of half merge with it as if I’m about to pop into that stinhy bathroom with Gregbaum.
I have to stay right on top of the ring and slide my talons around it.
Nope, that won’t worse. It slips out of my grasp, moving partially into another dimension of time and space.
Hmmmm.
I catch my claws into the elaborate filigree, making my energy part and parcel with it.
YES!
Now I just wiggle it downward, ever so slowly, pausing at the swollen knuckle. A second talon pulling on the other side of the ring activates the bit of faery magic in the metal. Inside Faery, everyone is the same size. So I have to let the ring know it needs to change size to fit the next recipient.
Gregbaum gives off another smelly grunt. He clenches his fists.
Ugh. This is one of the most unpleasant jobs I’ve ever done. I’ll take Mum’s freeze-dried dump any day. Nothing smells when frozen that deeply.
Oooh, ahhh, I kind of grunt along with Gregbaum to encourage him.
At last he relaxes his fingers and the ring pops off his hand and into mine.
Before he can notice it’s gone, I’m fully back into the chat room in firm possession of the key to any dimension.
Oh, crap. Which rhymes with Scrap. My claws scratched Gregbaum and drew blood and smeared the ring. Now—if he knows how—he can track me or the ring through any dimension.
I’m betting that Junior knows how.
No time to think, or gloat. I’ve got to get this thing to Tess, the rightful owner now. It’s hers, both as a descendant of the first Noncoiré and a descendant of Lady Lucia’s son. I’ve checked the family tree Tess’ sister Cecilia keeps. The first Noncoiré to leave France for Quebec was indeed the fair-haired boy. Somehow, Lucia must have taken him back to his grandparents where he grew up not knowing his true heritage—human or demon.
Tess isn’t going to like that little bit of information. I can only hope that the demon in her is so diluted with human blood that she can’t accidentally transform into a bat under extreme duress or anger. I don’t think Lucia knew her own heritage when she escaped Tuscany. If she did, then she would have transformed and flown over the wall and out of harm’s way.
Tess’ blood is almost two hundred years more dilute. She should be safe. I hope. She’s never ached to transform at the quarter waxing moon l
ike other mixed bloods.
I think Lucia knows her connection to Tess. The name is not common. And she has this fondness for my babe. If she knows, then I doubt she’ll harm her descendant. After all, she went to great lengths to protect her child. The family ties are blood ties. Tess’ blood calls to her great, great, multigreat grandmother.
Not harming Tess doesn’t mean she will go out of her way to protect Tess.
I pray my babe is safe.
I can’t smell any demon in her, and I bonded with her like any good imp will bond with a human Warrior. Never heard even a whisper of imp and Kajiri pairing up.
So let’s just keep that a secret from her for now. She really hates bats. Fears them, too.
Cecilia has a lot to answer for. It was she who scared three-year-old Tess out of her wits in a bat Halloween costume. Scared her so much that she quakes in fear and goes all sweaty at the mere mention of a bat.
Gulp. Maybe her phobia really stems from knowing deep in her hind brain that part of her wants to take on the natural bat form of a Damiri demon.
Later. I’ll deal with all that later.
Right now, I’m going to drop this ring in her lap just to see how she reacts.
Now, where is Tess?
A sharp wind swirled around us.
“That storm is likely to dump rain soon. We’d best get going,” Gollum said, sounding as reluctant to separate from our kiss as I.
“The sooner we see what we need to see, the sooner we can return to the hotel.” I swallowed my smile. We both knew what would happen back at the hotel. Tingles ran all through me like champagne bubbles in my blood.
“Right.” He kept looking into my eyes, almost reading my mind.
Well, my thoughts were pretty close to the surface.
Before he could tug me back to the car, I bent and placed two loose stones together, the little one atop the other. “Ours.”
Laughing and holding hands, we climbed back aboard the huge SUV.
“What do you think the Hoodoos are for?”
“I don’t know. No one wants to talk folklore about this place, though they’ll talk forever about the stories depicted in the rock paintings,” Gollum rambled on, much as Gollum was wont to ramble about favored subjects. Just one of the things I love about him. He’s a wellspring of information.
“There’s one string of images of a steam train and a trestle that depicts an actual wreck in the late 1800s. Another very ancient one shows a tragic fall of a young man from a high place and the ordeal he and his father went through getting him back home. The obvious truth behind these incidents leads anthropologists to think the others are more than random graffiti.”
“I’d like to see some of those paintings. Maybe they’ll give us some insight, or directions.”
“First stop is the Visitor Center. The best petroglyphs are beyond it.”
The road climbed a slight hill and turned a corner . . .
“Oh, my God!” My mouth fell open. Towering walls of red filled the valley below. Single weathered rock formations stood out in a barren plain of brown. Clusters of rocks nestled together in fanciful outlines. Tall mountains with rounded slopes and sheer cliffs. Cave openings, arches, everywhere signs of time’s slow erosion.
All red.
As if the rocks themselves burned with an unholy fire.
Chapter 35
No reliable dating process exists for petroglyphs. In cases where the images were created by scraping off the black patina, regrowth of a new patina suggests approximate time spans.
GOLLUM DRONED ON ABOUT iron in the rock. I didn’t care. I twisted and turned, afraid I’d miss something.
“We’ve got to find the Goblin Rock. Just like the one in the show,” I said over and over.
“This valley stretches for miles. There are side roads and trails. People get lost hiking around here. And there’s no water.”
“Then look for activity of the mutant faery on steroids kind. I’m sure Gregbaum has set them to guard his private portal.”
“Maps at the Visitor Center. And photos. We’ll find the goblin, but it’s going to take some time.”
“We only have today. Waxing quarter moon tomorrow night.”
“And a fierce storm building. Looks like enough water in those clouds to cause flash flooding.” Gollum sped up, taking the twisting road a little too fast for my taste. But he got us to the Visitor Center in only a few moments.
Inside, native art, sculpture, and baskets tempted me. CDs of music and books made my fingers itch and my credit card burn. Lots and lots of books. I needed to examine each and every one. I needed to talk to the people who worked here. If only I had the time to totally immerse myself in the magic of this beautiful valley.
“Have you ever seen a rock formation that looks like a goblin?” I finally asked one of the guides.
“Um. Describing a particular formation is very subjective.” The young woman wearing the gray-green ranger uniform cast a wary glance at a large group of people milling around. With jet-black hair pulled into a ponytail and a coppery cast to her skin, I guessed that more than one indigenous aboriginal lurked in her family tree.
All the people in the group she indicated wore badges that boasted a large cross in each corner with barely enough room for the name in the center.
How politically correct of her. Don’t use the goblin word in front of church-going tourists.
Gnashing my teeth, I turned my attention to a rack of postcards. Lots of different views naming the rocks innocuous things like “Lion” or “Turtle.”
“I’ve got a line on some petroglyphs that might help us,” Gollum said. He tugged on my arm and handed me a stack of maps, books, fliers, postcards.
“Spend your entire expense account?”
“Not quite. But I may come back for some of those baskets worked around deer horns. Magnificent examples of symbolism for my classes.”
I liked the way he placed a firm hand at the small of my back and leaned close to speak to me. He radiated clear signals that we belonged together. I envisioned us going on together like this, working closely, sharing ideas and careers and goals, for a long, long time.
Funny I never had thought of a distant future with Donovan, only a passion-filled present.
Hot monkey sex isn’t everything.
“I don’t suppose you fence?” I asked as we climbed back into the car.
“I know the principles and can quote the rule book, but no, I do not engage in that violent sport.” He looked sad.
I wanted to reach out to him comfortingly. “Oh, well, we’ll find other things to do together.” Damn, I was hoping to replace Donovan as a sparring partner.
The next stop in our quest was an area called “Mouse’s Tank.” We drove north from the Visitor Center along a two-lane paved track imitating a road. Buses and cars filled the tiny parking lot. As we drove in, three buses hastily loaded their passengers, all of them anxiously looking at the sky.
Luminous white clouds with black underbellies roiled higher and higher. Rain soon. I hoped we had time. An intense storm could wash out the roads. Good thing we’d opted for four-wheel drive.
“Late 1800s, an outlaw Indian hid out here for months. It’s the only reliable water source at the surface in the entire valley,” Gollum paraphrased the pamphlet he read. “It’s rich in petroglyphs.”
“And there’s an interpretive sign.” I pointed at a large set of drawings covered in plexiglass and mounted at eye level.
Gollum opened the back hatch and retrieved a hefty looking backpack.
“What?”
“Two years in the African bush. I learned to never venture into an unknown area without supplies.” He clamped his mouth closed.
“The two years you spent in the Peace Corps?” Those years had come into question before—by Homeland Security and the Marines no less. I wondered what secrets he guarded regarding the dark continent.
“Yeah, the Peace Corps.” He slung his arms through the pack straps
, and walked to the sign.
He looked over the top of his glasses at drawings and nicely lettered translations. “Some of these are okay. Some of them have been whitewashed to make them politically correct—but no one will admit that. We’ll be better off taking a bunch of digitals and downloading them into the laptop. Then we can interpret them ourselves.” He set off down the marked path with long strides, too absorbed in the anthropological treasure to remember me.
I shrugged and followed. Good thing I run five miles most mornings when I’m at home. I had to pump my legs double time to catch up with his long strides. A sharpness in the stretch of my inner thigh reminded me I’d hurt myself, badly, only a few days ago.
If we did indeed become a couple, would my life be one long catch-up with his brain and his long legs?
“The footing is tricky here.” He paused at a slight drop-off, holding out his hand to me with a grin.
He hadn’t forgotten me after all. I clasped his fingers. My world brightened far more than the gloomy cloud cover should have allowed. The three metal stairs installed by the parks department—or whoever maintained the trail—were covered in sand and looked a bit rickety. The jumble of rocks beside them didn’t look any steadier. We balanced each other and jumped to safety.
We walked about one hundred yards hand in hand, comfortable together. We fell into a rhythm of steps that almost matched.
“This place is truly ancient,” I whispered. “I feel like an intruder into sacred space.”
“Me, too. It’s something akin to the atmosphere inside a cathedral. Something waiting and observing.”
Like a gargoyle. Like Donovan.
I looked around anxiously. No sign of anything visible.
“We won’t linger,” Gollum reassured me. He wrapped an arm about my shoulders. “And remember, we’re here to learn, not to desecrate.”
“Every place is sacred. It’s the actions of people that desecrate it,” I quoted a half-remembered book.
More people returned to their cars than traveled in our direction. The twisting canyon channeled a chill wind. I was glad I’d worn a sweater over my jeans and T-shirt.