“I don’t know,” he said close to her ear. “Something isn’t quite right. Less like an earthquake and more like a banshee has found us.”
A banshee? He was talking Greek to her now. She’d never heard of a banshee. “A what?”
“The screams,” he said. “According to Granny, a banshee always screams when it shows up.”
“That’s crazy. This is nature, not the paranormal.”
He pulled her closer. “No. It’s not nature and it’s bad. Nature doesn’t screech like this.”
Like the screams were the only things bad about this. What about the blackness and the shaking ground? “It’s an earthquake,” she insisted, her lips pressed close to his cheek. Just touching him gave her strength in this cavern of darkness. As long as they were touching, she could hold it together.
“Death,” he said into her ear. “A banshee brings death.”
He was an Irishman through and through. It was one of the things she so loved about him. That said, it also filled him with fanciful stories. She’d spent many an evening listening to him regale her with tales his grandmother had told him when he was just a little boy. Granted, this was the first she’d ever heard of a banshee, but he’d shared stories of fairies, demons, fire-spitters, and even witches. Not the Molly kind of cool, bright-light witches, but rather the evil, destructive types who eat small children who don’t behave. They were great stories of a rich, colorful cultural folklore, but that’s all they were. This wasn’t folk legend; this was hard reality, and that meant something more earthly had to be behind what was happening. The ground gave a huge shift, throwing her harder against Angus. His arms tightened as she screamed. Such a girly thing to do. She couldn’t help it. The reaction was knee-jerk. “Make it stop!”
And just as the word “stop” flew from her lips, it did just that. Silence dropped as quickly as the sudden rain that had sent them rushing into the cabin. The ground stilled, and light flowed into the room, making her blink against the unexpected glare. Dust mites danced in the light as though the room was feeling joy instead of dread.
“I knew it,” Angus said a little loudly for the now-quiet room. “A banshee.”
Winnie blinked and turned her head to look up at him. “What?” Her ears were still ringing.
“Granny was right-on. The banshees are still with us. She swore that they were not just folklore but actually shared our universe. This was most assuredly the work of one. How I wish she was still with us so I could tell her she was right.”
She still wasn’t buying in. Even with Molly’s very real background in things beyond the regular person’s ability to see, in this instance Winnie believed nature was playing its hand rather than something magical was happening. In Spokane, they experienced occasional tremors, and that’s why she was sure this was a full-on quake. It had really felt like the tremors on speed. The screams she heard? Well, that had to have an explanation too.
Then again, she looked at her dear friend, whose face was particularly pale. Molly was, after all, a real-life, flesh-and-blood witch, so Winnie’s argument against anything supernatural wasn’t quite as strong as she might hope. All that fell by the wayside as she studied Molly. She wasn’t simply pale; she was pasty and, for lack of a better description, stunned. For a second, she didn’t get why. If she understood earthquakes correctly, they might produce some mild after-tremors. She could deal with mild shakes. After all, the cabin had made it through without falling on top of them, and no one was hurt. She felt almost giddy and not in the least as sick as Molly appeared to be.
Slowly she turned and gazed around the room. No wonder Angus was talking about banshees and Molly looked about ready to pass out. Something was seriously fucked up here. Yeah, they were still in the cabin in the little clearing, only it wasn’t the cabin they’d walked into. This one wasn’t crumbling and stinky, with a decrepit roof. Not at all. There was the window with the broken glass in the corner. That was the only thing that was the same.
This one was relatively new, with a table, a bed, a fire, and shelves against the wall with bowls and cups. More surprising than the condition and the furniture was the little fact that four people were now in the cabin.
Standing tall and beautiful, with long black hair and dark, intense eyes, was a Native American woman. She was holding one end of the book from under the floorboard and staring right at Molly. She nodded and said in perfect English, “I’ve been searching for you.”
Chapter Six
1837
Aquene felt whispers along her skin, as if someone were brushing an eagle feather across her bare arms. The air had shifted, and the shadows became something more. Again and again in her dreams, her visions, she had seen a woman’s face, beautiful and haunted as if she were lost. As if the Great Spirit had failed to show her the way. It was the same face she now gazed upon as they stood close enough for her to feel breath upon her cheeks, each holding one end of the book that had lain hidden beneath the floor.
“You,” she whispered. “It’s you.”
The other woman stared at her with an expression that spoke not of fear but of something much deeper. Surprise and shock were there, and that she would expect. At the same time, she did not appear in any way afraid. That did surprise Aquene. So many of the people who came here, particularly the women, were afraid of her, as if they believed she would harm them. Little did they know that she was a healer and would not consider taking a life, any life, whether that of her people or those who invaded her lands. Not unless someone she loved was in danger. That had not happened to her.
Yet.
Aquene let her hands fall away from the strange book. It felt odd against her flesh. Not in a bad manner, but only as if it was filled with something not of this world. The moment she let go, the strange sensation in her fingers vanished.
“Who are you?” the woman asked, her eyes still on Aquene’s. She liked the sound of her voice. It was not high or screeching. It was not filled with fear or accusation, such as she had heard again and again in the speech of other women who came here. In this woman it was infused with only the simplicity of her question. It told Aquene much about her in such a few words of her language.
For a moment, she stared at her and thought how pretty she was, so oddly dressed in pants like none she had ever seen on anyone, man or woman, and some kind of brightly colored overcoat. Again, it was strange and not something she had seen before. She had been around many people who had traveled to her lands, and she had learned their language and their ways. Their clothing had a similar familiarity to her, at least until this moment. This woman, this beautiful woman, with the strange clothes and the eyes she had seen many times in her dreams, was like no other. Thanks to her dreams, she already felt close to her, but now that she gazed into her face, she felt as though an invisible bond tied them together.
“I am Aquene,” she said solemnly. “Of the Liksiyu.”
“Of the what?” Her dark eyes were the color of the beaver pelts they often traded for guns, knives, and axes. She hated the weapons, though she understood their importance to her people. Much had changed in the season just past, and her spirit told her that more was beyond the horizon.
“The Liksiyu.” Those who traveled to her lands knew of her people. They had found an uneasy peace, which allowed Aquene to trade with them and to learn their language and their ways.
“The Cayuse.” It was a man’s voice, and until this moment Aquene had not noticed that she and the woman were not alone. She had been focused on the dark-eyed beauty that had haunted her dreams and her visions.
At the sound of his voice, she turned her head and studied him. Or, rather, she studied them, for he stood not alone but beside yet another woman. He was interesting, with long, thick hair that was wild about his head and a strong body that spoke of power. He was much like the warriors of her tribe, save for his eyes, the color of the forest moss. His words were unlike the others here, for he spoke in a strange voice, which told her that he came from
another place. Where might that be? She had never been beyond the limits of the lands of her people, though she had come to understand that a vast world existed beyond the horizon.
The woman at his side was also quite different. She wore the same man-like clothes of the other one but did not possess the same beauty that Aquene was beginning to think of as a gift from the stars. Kindness peeked out from behind her stunned expression, and Aquene knew this traveler was true-hearted. She carried no magic, but she also carried no ill-will. They were strangers to each other, but Aquene knew she could trust her.
Aquene gave the man a slight nod, acknowledging the word for her people that she had heard pass the lips of others who came here. Her language, at least to her, was beautiful and simple, yet the wagonloads who traveled through the vast prairies and mountains could not make it cross their tongues. Instead, they made their own words for them.
“Yes. We are the Cayuse.” She still did not like the way the word sounded. It was too rough, too unfamiliar. They did not need another name, for the one the Great Spirit had bestowed upon them was enough.
“How did you get in here? One minute it was just the three of us, and then, poof, you appeared.” Her dream woman cradled the book they had held together close to her chest, as though afraid Aquene would take it from her.
The book was not of importance to her. Not at this time. “Poof?” She did not understand that word and did not know what she was being asked.
“It means you appeared from out of the air. One moment nothing was there, and the next, there you were.”
“Oh.” Aquene smiled. “Poof.” Now the strange word felt fine when she said it. “Yes, I did poof. You do not know why you have been brought here?” It seemed so very clear to her, and she always believed it would for this woman as well.
Still holding the book tight to her body, the woman shook her head. “Ah, no. I have absolutely no clue.”
Aquene did. “Why, it is simple…you are here to save my people.”
* * *
This was a godforsaken place. The wind blew without break, the water of the wide river so rough with whitecaps that it reminded him of those he had seen on the ocean voyage when he left his home and came to this country. The thick weeds that smelled faintly of herbs grew everywhere. Great distances separated any type of shelter, and thus he was forced to sleep on the ground, where the faint scent of sage made him sick to his stomach night after night. At least it had not rained since he left the warmth of the fire in the home Tobias had shared with him. Despite the crudity of the accommodations, he missed the comforts it provided. He did not miss the evil taint that Prudence had left.
His path was taking him nearer and nearer to the witch’s tiny cabin, and for that he was grateful. The thought of sleeping under her roof repelled him, though the thought of sleeping on a bed—any bed—did not. He would endure the indignity of taking shelter in her dwelling, knowing that he had destroyed her ability to perform evil deeds. He would say a prayer and cleanse it, as he also searched it again for the grimoire. She had been destroyed, and now he had to make certain her knowledge was as well.
He should have done a more thorough job at the time. The quick search he had undertaken on the night of her destruction while surrounded by the men who had come to help him stop the witch had been inadequate. He had not wanted them to witness the discovery of the book and had been pleased to believe it was not there. He could not trust regular men to resist the lure of something that powerful. It would not be the first time he had seen it happen. In this place of wilderness and violence, he did not wish to expose it to willing eyes and minds. After what he had witnessed with Prudence, he felt a particular urgency to return to the cabin and find it, now realizing with certainty that it was within the four walls. No hands beyond his should ever touch something that evil. He alone possessed the knowledge to destroy it.
“Ho, there.”
Matthew shifted in his saddle, surprised by the sound of another man’s voice. His gaze fell upon a trapper, his horse laden with furs. He was a slight man, wearing dirty buckskin and a hat that drooped low on his head. His beard was long and thick and, Matthew feared, home to any number of small creatures. His stomach rolled.
“Fellow pilgrim, how do you today?”
His hearty laughter revealed several missing teeth, the ones still in his mouth of a color he had not seen in many years. This man had been out here for some time, and the elements had not been kind to him. Matthew resolved to stay upwind. Continuing as if Matthew had not backed his horse up, the stranger said, “It’s a pleasant day, yes indeed. Where are you off to, my fine fellow?”
He thought fast, for he did not want this man to know of his true mission. “The Hudson Bay Company at Les Bois.” He had passed through the area east of his current location when he first made his journey out here. Given all the fur hanging from the trapper’s horse, he was taking a risk by suggesting Les Bois. He just hoped it was a distance too great for this creature’s business.
“Ah, my man. You should follow me to Fort Colville, up north. It is an easier route and a good place to trade. If you grow weary riding there, the old Spokane House provides a fine night’s shelter. I have stayed there many times.”
Matthew had not traveled that far north yet and did not know of either Fort Coville or the Spokane House. It pleased him that this trapper would not hamper his mission by suggesting they travel together. That would put him in a position he did not relish, for he could not have him at his side. At times, help was necessary, but this mission required solitude, and he would do whatever he must to make it so. Sometimes innocents perished to accomplish a greater good.
“I must continue on to Les Bois. Others await me there.” It was a necessary lie, so God would not reproach him.
The rough man laughed again. “I hope for coin in my pocket and a return to Kanesville.”
“Kanesville?” The question was out of his mouth before he thought. He did not want to engage this man in conversation, and yet he did just that.
“Iowa, my good man. Kanesville, Iowa, where I intend to find a pretty girl to settle down with. This has been my life for five years, and it is time to go home.”
Five years? Matthew studied the man more closely. He would have guessed ten or twenty. If he had, indeed, been here for a mere five years, they had been rough ones. The sun had hardened his face, and his hair hung matted and dirty. There was no way to tell just what color it might be. It would take much coin in his pocket to make him presentable for any woman, if it was even possible. This time Matthew managed to keep his thoughts to himself. Instead, he rode beside the man until the sun began to dip in the sky, hoping with each passing minute that he would leave Matthew be. When he did not, he decided he must take the matter into his own hands.
“Here is where I must leave you.” Matthew turned his horse toward one of the random grouping of trees that sprang up some distance away from the river. He hoped his chattering companion would continue to where he would turn and head north. God was watching over him, for mercifully his plan worked.
“Travel well, my friend.” The man tipped his hat and spurred his horse on. He rode along the river, growing ever smaller.
Matthew smiled once he was alone and brought his horse to a standstill in order to gaze into the distance. In his bones, he felt a vibration and instinctively knew he was closing the miles between him and the witch’s cabin. He might have left it behind a year ago, but soon he would find what he sought, and the world would be safer for it. Giving the man long enough to be out of sight, Matthew waited and then trotted back down to the river. He watered his horse before mounting once more and continuing. They had gone only a short distance when the clouds covered the setting sun and thunder crashed through the sky.
Chapter Seven
Molly had no damn idea what had just happened. She might be a witch, but honest to God, something like this had never occurred to her before. Her throat was still raw from the scream that had burst out w
hen she touched that book.
Given her family origins, she’d seen her share of grimoires, but she’d never come across anything like this. It had been old and dusty when she saw it, and obviously down beneath the floorboards for a good long time. At least that’s what she’d thought when she first reached in and took ahold of it.
Now as she stood cradling the book, it seemed to be different. The cover was no longer cracked and dry, or coated with a deep layer of dust. It didn’t feel brittle against her fingers. In fact, as she pulled it away from her body to study it, the grimoire appeared to be relatively new, as if someone was in the process of creating it. The leather was soft and supple, with only a light layer of dust across the cover.
Slowly, she brought her head up and stared at Aquene. As if the book wasn’t weird enough, where had this woman come from, this vision in a fringed skirt, beaded dress, and decorated leggings? Her long black hair hung down in braids on either side of her head like silken cords. And while her dress was fascinating, her face captivated Molly. Her broad cheeks, expressive dark eyes, and thin lips suited her, as did her skin, the color of a warm latte. In short, she was gorgeous.
Molly finally found her voice. “Save your people?” What exactly was that supposed to mean? She was a witch by birth but a baker by trade, so not exactly a caped crusader for the people. Any people.
“Yes, you—” Aquene squinted. “I do not know your name, only your face.”
“Molly,” she said without thinking. Her mind was still swirling around the last part of her statement: only your face. Unless she’d seen one of Molly’s promotional ads or logged onto her website, how could she possibly know what she looked like? On the other hand, if she really did recognize Molly, that meant her efforts at promotion were working and not that this was some moment of madness, right?
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