Geordie was back.
She didn’t know exactly where he was, but that wouldn’t be hard to figure out. What mattered was that he was back.
“You,” Christiana said, pointing at Galfreya. “Can you call up an image of where he is? Something sharp and clear—none of your murky fairy riddles. I can’t cross over to someplace I haven’t been before unless I have a clear picture of it.”
“Here,” Granny Cross said, before Galfreya could consult her own scrying bowl. “I have it.”
As Christiana walked across the table to where the other seer was sitting, Galfreya rose from her own chair.
“Fm coming with you,” she said.
The shadow turned to look at her. “You? Why would you want to come?”
“Because I love him, too.”
“Right. With spells and enchantments to keep him at your side.”
“You know why I laid those.”
“So what are you going to do?” Christiana asked. “If you don’t use spells, do you think you can actually hold him? It means going out into the world, you know. It means making a commitment to living, instead of holing up in that mall you’ve made into a fairy court for yourself.”
“I know.”
“And what makes you even think he’ll listen to you? He knows what you did.”
“It doesn’t matter. I still need to see him. To talk to him. I need to tell him how I feel.”
Christiana cocked her head. “You really do care, don’t you?”
Galfreya bit back the sharp retort that sprang to her lips. What was it about this woman that made her constantly want to slap her?
“I thought you said he loved this other woman,” Tatiana said.
Galfreya nodded. “Jilly.”
“So then . . .”
“They circle and dance around each other,” Galfreya said, “neither able or willing to commit. But I am ready. I can give him what she can’t.”
“And being this immortal seer in skater gear?” Christiana asked. “How does that play into a normal relationship?”
“I would give it up for him.”
Galfreya ignored the shocked response of Tatiana and the rest of the court.
“Wow,” Christiana said, then she smiled and nodded. “Cool. And you know what? If you’re on the level, I’ll even make sure he hears you out.”
Galfreya blinked in surprise. The shadow was going to help her? What sort of game was she playing now?
But Christiana’s eyes were guileless. She reached out a hand to Galfreya.
“Come on,” she said. “Time’s a-wasting.”
With her hand still proffered, she turned back to Granny Cross and her scrying bowl.
“Show me that picture you’ve got.” She put on a pretty smile to make it sound less like a command and added, “If you please.”
Galfreya shook her head, but she walked over to where Christiana was waiting for her, red curls falling in her face as she bent over the image in the bowl.
Tatiana caught Galfreya’s arm as she walked by her.
“I have to do this,” Galfreya said. “I should have done it a long time ago.”
“But to give up your heritage . . .”
“We’ll see. Maybe it will need to come to that, maybe it won’t. But I’m determined that this time, I’ll do it properly. That we will share our lives. If he’ll have me. If he’ll listen to me.”
“Oh, he’ll listen to you,” Christiana said. “Unless you keep lollygagging, because then I’m just going to leave you behind.”
Tatiana dropped her hand from Galfreya’s arm.
“Good luck,” she said.
“I don’t need luck,” Galfreya said, her gaze going to where the shadow waited impatiently for her by the bowl. “I’ve got her with me, don’t I?”
Grey
There’s a long uncomfortable silence after the red-haired girl leaves, neither cousins nor humans quite sure what’s coming next. I figure the situation’s under control now, and we can just go and get on with the rest of our business, but I’m taking my cues from Jack and he shows no sign of leaving. He winks at me and lights a cigarette, then lifts his eyebrows and offers it to me. I shake my head and look back at where the buffalo war chief is standing.
Minisino seems unrepentant, a tall, formidable figure, even without his army at his back. He has one hand on his hip, the other around the handle of a weighted club that’s stuck in his belt.
“Is it over?” I hear one of the humans ask, pitching her voice low.
You’d think it would be, but something’s still going on. Whatever it is, it’s all under the surface where I can’t access it.
I glance over to see that it was Lizzie’s cousin who spoke, her arm still in a sling. She’s leaning close to Cassie who, in her bright yellow T-shirt and even brighter pink baggy cotton pants, is pretty much the only splash of colour in this place.
I don’t know what Siobhan and the other members from Lizzie’s band are doing out here on the plain with us, what they thought they could possibly do against the buffalo army, but I have to admire them for taking a stand like this. If the red-haired girl hadn’t come through the way she did, it would probably have meant their deaths. You don’t see that kind of commitment much anymore—the realization that the world is everybody’s responsibility, so we’ve all got to do our part, no matter how tough that might be sometimes.
Oh, who am I kidding? Hardly anyone’s ready to stand up and be counted anymore, not cousin or human. But here these humans are, nevertheless. Siobhan with only one arm that’s of any use and the other two: the guitarist and the accordion player. Musicians, not fighters.
I feel like I owe Lizzie an apology. I guess I owe her a lot of things. If I hadn’t been so brusque with her at first, if I’d stayed around and kept watch against the bogans, none of these friends of hers would be here. Hell, I probably wouldn’t be here.
But this apology would be for being so dismissive of the music she and her band play. If they’ve got enough heart to be here when it matters, in a fight that’s not even really their own, then there’s got to be more to that diddle-dee-dee music I’ve heard them play. I guess it comes from the heart, too, but I just wasn’t listening. I’d already made up my mind as to what both it and they were like.
Anyway, because it’s so quiet, everybody heard Siobhan’s question, and she looks embarrassed at the sudden attention directed her way. Before Cassie can answer her, Minisino stomps a hoof on the dirt and opens his big mouth.
“No,” he says. He points at Joe. “This one and I—we have unfinished business.”
I don’t believe this.
But Joe sighs, then stands straighter, shoulders going back.
“You think?” he says.
Minisino’s only response is his fixed glare.
Joe gives another sigh. “I suppose we do. You know, I was hoping I wasn’t going to have to whup your sorry ass, but you’re not leaving me a whole lot of choice here.”
“You’ve already stolen all my choices,” Minisino says. “Why should I leave you with any?”
Joe shrugs. “I don’t know. For the sake of common sense? Maybe for the fact that this is over, and we both know it, but you still figure you need to hit something?”
Minisino responds by letting his hands fall to his sides and assuming a combat-ready stance.
“Don’t play into his game,” Cassie pipes up. “You don’t need to do this anymore.”
Listen to her, I think.
But, “Yeah, I do,” Joe says without turning to look at her. “You know how it goes. If we don’t finish this now, we’re just going to have to go through it all over again another time. And maybe the next time it won’t end so pretty.”
Keep this up and it’s going to end anything but pretty, I think. I don’t know what he plans to do, but it’s painfully obvious from what happened earlier that if they go at it again, the buffalo war chief’s going to pound Joe into a lot of little pieces. Cassie’s right. There’s
no need for this kind of posturing crap anymore. The army’s gone and maybe Minisino’s big and tough, but all we’ve got to do is stand together, and we can take him down. Just Jack and Joe and me, if it comes down to that.
I give Jack a meaningful look, but he shakes his head.
Let this play out, he tells me.
C’mon, Jack, I tell him. He’s going to kill Joe—just out of spite.
You don’t know Joe like I do. He’s got resources he can call on. Ones he couldn’t use when he was trying to be diplomatic.
Diplomatic? I repeat, remembering the things Joe told the war chief earlier.
Yeah, diplomatic. The one on one was for the benefit of the army. But now the army’s gone and Joe doesn’t have to play fair anymore. I figure he’s about to let Minisino see his real face . . .
I have no idea what Jack’s talking about, but then I look back at where the pair of them are facing off. There’s something wrong here. Minisino had towered over Joe, but now they’re about the same size. No, Joe’s bigger, and he’s still getting bigger as I watch.
I sense the crackle of power in the air—an old, dark power.
“Joe,” Raven says.
There’s a warning in his voice, but he sounds nervous, too. I look at Walker and Ayabe and they’re both backing up a little. Walker motions to the humans for them to move further back as well.
What the hell’s going on here? I ask Jack.
Joe’s a bit of a wild card, Jack says. Everybody talks about him being the clown crow dog. They point at his mixed blood, like it makes him less, but it only makes him more.
I still don’t get it.
Joe’s got something old inside him, something that came down from the long ago through the mixed blood of a red dog and a black crow. Wake it up too much and you could have some serious world-shaking on your hands.
But—
Yeah, I know. Look at him most of the time and he’s just some raggedy cousin with crazy eyes. But it’s like all the old powers.
He starts counting them off on his fingers. Raven and Ayabe here. Cody and Grandmother Toad. Old Man Hummingbird and you don’t want to forget Turtle, who bears the weight of us all. They don’t walk around with that old power hanging from them like a cloak for anybody to see, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t there.
I remember that moment in Raven’s study, when he was suddenly more.
And the thing is, Jack adds, if Joe plays this right, he doesn’t even have to kill Minisino. He just needs to take it to where that cerva knows that he’d better be walking the straight and narrow in the future, or he’ll have that on his ass, looking for the reason why.
He nods with his chin, and I look over to see that Joe’s the one towering over Minisino now.
I have to give it to the cerva. He knows he’s screwed, but he’s still not backing down. Or maybe he isn’t brave. Maybe he’s just stupid, because I sure as hell would be trying to smooth things over right about now. Either that, or running like hell.
That feeling of some old, dark power’s continuing to build. It’s like we’re standing in the middle of an approaching thunderstorm that’s about to let loose a torrent of rain on the back of a swath of lightning bolts that’ll be as thick as the old redwoods back home. One of those wild storms that has no conception of friend or foe. It just takes down everything in its path.
Isn’t this . . . dangerous? I ask Jack.
Sure it is. Why do you think Raven and Ayabe are so nervous?
But you’d think the two of them would be enough to keep Minisino in check.
Jack shrugs. If it was only about power. But you know them. Like most of the old spirits, they just stop paying attention to the world after awhile. But Joe’s always in the world. Jack shakes his head and smiles. And you know what’s funny? He won’t even remember this when it’s over. He’ll just remember Minisino backing down—or at least I hope that moron’s going to back down. But that won’t stop Joe from taking that buffalo man down hard if he forgets and tries any of this crap again.
We never get to find out which way it’s going to go, because Anwatan speaks then. I guess she doesn’t know what’s going on, the way Raven and Ayabe do, or the way I do now, since Jack’s just explained it to me. She’s been standing there like her father and the humans, knowing that something bad could be coming down, but not knowing exactly what. And since no one’s speaking up, I guess she decides it’s up to her to defuse what looks like a real bad situation.
“There’s something else,” she says.
For a moment it seems as though no one’s going to listen to her. Then slowly Joe changes again. He’s back to his own size and turns from Minisino to look at Anwatan. None of us seem to know we’ve been holding our breath until we let it out in a collective sigh. There’s some foot shuffling as people adjust their weight. One of the humans—I think it’s the guitar player from Lizzie’s band—coughs.
“What’s that, darling?” Joe says, sounding more like Cody than himself.
I guess it’s the widening of her eyes that warns him. I never saw it coming, and it seems no one else was looking either. Only Anwatan. But we all see it now: there’s Minisino taking a swing at his head with a weighted club he’s pulled from his belt.
Joe turns, but he’s not quick enough. The business end of that club catches him in the back of the head—hard—and he goes down.
The rest of us aren’t much quicker than Joe in our reaction times. Cassie got out a late warning cry, but too late. The other cerva and humans don’t seem aware of what’s happening until it’s over. Raven and Ayabe stare, motionless, too surprised to immediately respond.
I understand perfectly.
There are a lot of things I don’t admire about Minisino, but the last thing I expected from him was such a cowardly attack.
Only Jack’s instincts are good. He doesn’t think, he just acts.
At the instant the club connects with Joe’s skull, a big grey coyote is already closing the distance between himself and Minisino, launching himself at the war chief’s throat. Minisino manages to turn just enough to protect his throat, but the coyote gets a hold of his shoulder and his weight throws Minisino off-balance. The two go down. Minisino closes a big hand around the coyote’s throat and raises his club.
But that’s as far as he gets.
We’ve all started forward, but Raven gets there first. He just picks Minisino up, like the big buffalo has no more weight than a child, and gives him a shake. We all hear the sharp crack as his neck snaps.
Raven drops the body and turns to Jack. The coyote’s gone and Jack gets up, brushing dirt from his clothes.
“How’s Joe?” Jack asks.
We turn to find Cassie kneeling beside him, cradling his head on her lap. She has her hand on the open wound and blood streams from between her fingers.
It might look worse than it really is, I try to tell myself. Head wounds always bleed a lot.
But his brown complexion’s got a grey cast to it and there’s a bad feeling in the air. I reach out to send him some positive thoughts, but they just dissipate in the air because there’s nothing there to receive them. Like there’s no one home.
Cassie lifts her head to look at Raven.
“Do something!” she cries.
He lifts his head and roars the word into the sky: “Healers!”
I put my hands on my ears, but it doesn’t diminish the howling call because he’s sending a thought demand that’s louder than the physical cry.
“Oh, crap,” Jack says at my side. “This doesn’t look good.”
Jilly
I make my way toward the old house, step by reluctant step, pushing through the tall weeds, circling around the tangled thickets that are too dense for me to negotiate. I know why I’m dragging my heels. I want to get this over with, sure, but I don’t know that it’s actually going to happen—at least, not in a way that will make things any better for me. But hope springs eternal and all that, and whatever else I might be, I
’m so not Quitter Girl, though right now I’m certainly Pokey Girl.
It’s hot in this field, but not like it was back on the mesa where I left the others. The air’s humid and close here. It makes my hair frizz and my skin feel damp and sticky under my clothes—in other words, typical Tyson County summer weather, which is pretty much my least favourite. But why should the weather be any more pleasant than anything else here? This whole place seems to have been designed to make me as miserable as possible, and so far—between the last visit and this one—it’s been doing a pretty good job.
But at least no one else has to suffer this time. There’ll be no mouthless Lizzie, no Geordie getting killed. No chance of Honey getting shot. Nobody else will get hurt because it’s only me in here and either I finish this, or I stay here. Either way, Del won’t be able to hurt anyone else again.
Okay, so that’s all it’s got going for it, and everything else is just a horror show, but it’s enough. And who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky. Maybe I’ll figure out how to circumvent this hold Del’s got over me. Maybe I’ll actually beat him, instead of just running away like I did when I was a kid.
But I don’t know where to start.
I will not let anyone have power over me, Honey told me.
I know exactly what she means. Ever since I got off the street, I haven’t backed away from either a problem or a bully. It didn’t matter if I was in the hot chair, or if it was somebody else—I stood up and dealt. I made the same vow Honey holds to, and I’ve stayed true to it.
So what’s the problem here? What’s the hold Del has on me besides fueling the occasional nightmare that I still wake up from in a cold sweat? Those days—the days when I was just a kid and he was in control—are done and gone. Del’s just a fat old drunk living in some trailer park now. I know that for a fact because Raylene tracked him down a couple of years ago, looking for payback for what he’d put her through, but when she finally found him, she decided he just wasn’t worth the bother. Instead, she came away with a lost soul that needed her help—taking up the rescuing of strays just like her big sis.
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