Shaman

by Chloe Garner

  Samantha walked down to join them over her backpack.

  “The lead character in my books is America di Sita,” Samantha said. “She travels the country killing demons.”

  “With her lovable curmudgeon of a mentor, Lewis,” the second officer said, grinning. He reached into the bag and pulled a knife clear of its sheath.

  “These are really realistic,” he said. Samantha nodded.

  “I’ve done all right,” she said. “I’m sorry for the mixup.”

  “These are steel bullets,” the first officer said, going through the bag of clips.

  “You have to use steel bullets to kill demons,” Hank-the-fan said.

  “You buy this?” the first officer asked. Hank nodded.

  “I’ll admit it. I’m a big fan of her work, too. She’s just a writer.” He looked at bashfully. “You know, I thought you were a man? You should be careful, if you carry this in other states. Our neighbors don’t share our views on concealed weapons.”

  “I have a permit from Indiana,” she said. “And one in New York, but we all know how much good that does. I’m still not allowed to carry any of it.”

  Hank chuckled and nodded.

  “You going to do a story about a demon blowing up a house?” he asked. Samantha shook her head.

  “I already did one,” she said. “Doesn’t hurt to get another picture of how emergency response looks, though.”

  “That’s right,” Hank said. “The aluminum. That was a good one.” He turned to Jason. “Be more careful, next time.”

  “Yes, sir,” Jason answered. Hank nodded at Samantha, and his partner handed back her guns. She put them away in her backpack and swung it onto her back.

  “Did anyone survive, down there?” Samantha asked, motioning to the black corpse of a house. Hank’s smile faded and he pressed his lips together.

  “No.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  The officers nodded to her and turned to head back down the hillside. Sam and Jason came to stand next to her.

  “I’m retiring here. It’s official,” Jason said.

  “No body, no bullet, no crime,” Samantha said.

  “Why didn’t you tell us you’re a writer?” Jason asked. Sam made a noise.

  “I knew,” he said.

  “It’s semi-autobiographical,” Samantha said. “I started it when I first moved to New York, and it turned into a kind of therapy, for a while. Now it’s just something to pass the time.”

  “They opened your bag and looked into it, then just gave it back,” Jason said. “I’m floored.”

  “Know the concealed-carry laws wherever you go. If we were in New Mexico, we’d have been running for it.”

  <><><>

  Samantha sat on Sam’s knees, keeping his mind stable as he cast his vision away.

  “Keep heading east,” she said. “Find the ocean.”

  Geographical distance wouldn’t matter much longer. He still preferred to move over continuous space, but he was picking up speed fast enough that it wouldn’t hold him back. She had babysat for a family whose infant had learned to crawl so effectively that it had been late learning to walk; she worried a little that Sam would put off learning to jump in space by simply moving faster across it, but it was a coach’s concern, not an important one. She’d push him into jumping more, if he didn’t pick it up on his own, soon.

  He took a breath, as though smelling, and she smiled. He was a long way away now. He was probably standing on a beach somewhere in a Carolina, watching the waves roll in. He was content.

  “Head north, now,” she said. “To New York. Will you recognize it?”

  “Yes,” he said. He was smiling. She liked the shape of his mouth when he smiled because he was happy.

  “That’s distracting,” he said. She snapped her focus back to the neural dance between this side and the hell plane going on in his brain.

  “Sorry.”

  He was working harder to keep focus. Just moving was one thing. Identifying where he was was another.

  “I need a map,” he said.

  “You’re probably close enough for Abby to help,” Samantha said. “Reach ahead of yourself and find her.”

  You underestimate me, Abby said. Samantha grinned, not looking away from Sam.

  “Fair enough,” she said. “Go away.”

  “What?”

  “Abby.”

  “Oh.”

  “She’ll have had a few days now to come up with something interesting for her to be doing,” Samantha said. He startled, and she had to apply force to help keep him in the vision. She was getting better at that.

  “Like what?”

  “Who knows? She’s a creative woman.”

  Samantha grinned, and Sam’s brow creased as he tried to figure out where he was going.

  “There’s something… green… and bouncy… A long way away,” he said. Samantha smiled.

  “That sounds like her.”

  He nodded slightly, focusing yet harder. The dark was beginning to seep in to his brain through a couple of points. She closed her eyes to direct her focus at pushing them back. She remembered Abby at this stage. Moody, depressed, sometimes physically violent, a psychic that opened her mind up to that much seep that quickly only had so-so odds of recovering her old personality entirely, someday. Abby was the most resilient person Samantha knew. All three of them knew that if Carter hadn’t taken her on, Abby would have lost herself permanently to mental illness, and quite possibly would have died.

  Sam smiled quickly.

  “She’s having a tea party,” he said. “With an empty chair.”

  “She knew you were coming,” Samantha said. “Have a seat.”

  He frowned, and Samantha smiled. Abby was pushing him. Mastering an idea of body positioning in a vision was tricky. No more than a mental calisthenic, many psychics never bothered. He licked his lips as he tried to figure out how to manage the concept of sitting, part of his mind here with her, part thousands of miles away trying to sit down at a table with Abby. She watched his lips again, tiny expressions flickering across them, maybe focus, maybe part of a response to Abby. She was struck with the sudden impulse to kiss him, and he nearly toppled out of the vision. Caught off guard, she barely had time to catch him and help him stabilize again.

  “What was that?” he asked. She dropped her eyes away from his mouth, and caught a glimpse of the silver chain he wore where it crossed over the top of his shoulder. He twisted away from her, and hunched over the bed, dry heaving.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. He heaved for another minute then shook himself and sat up again, pushing his hair out of his face.

  “It’s okay,” he said. She realized she was still sitting on his knees and moved to get up. He put his hands around her waist to hold her still, shaking his head.

  “My turn.”

  He looked into her eyes and she turned her head away, feeling herself blush. The night she had finally cured him, the bond had reasserted itself with such shocking intensity that she didn’t think either one of them even considered what they were doing until they found themselves on his bed, his shirt wadded in her hand again. She couldn’t figure out why she kept doing that. Her conscious mind just took a walk, leaving her with just her senses and her wants. Like being in a black ocean with no concept of which way was up. It terrified her, even as the warm of his hands through her shirt drew away her attention and his engaged attention to her body made her want to bite him. Across that line was no control.

  She turned to look at him again and his chemical reaction to her softened with affection. She touched his lips with a fingertip and he kissed it. He knew. He knew that she wanted to press her mouth against his and bite him and leave marks on his skin, at some level of detail. There was no playing coy or lying to him that her affection for him was platonic. She had kissed him - twice - and stirred up memories of physical happiness that she had managed to put away. And, for whatever version of the story that lived in his he
ad, he wanted the same.

  And yet, she sat in his lap.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  He felt the flare of anger and let her go. She rolled over to one side and lay on the bed, and he lay to face her.

  “This is insane,” she said. He nodded. She reached out and slid a finger under the chain around his neck and pulled the pendant clear of his shirt.

  “You don’t like it,” she said.

  “It’s blood magic,” he said. “I don’t trust it.”

  “I would never…” Samantha started, then stopped. That wasn’t actually true, was it? It would have been true a month ago, but now she actually would use dark magic. Dark blood magic. Let him drink blood as part of dark blood magic.

  “What?” he asked. It was about the guilt, not the unfinished promise.

  “I can’t tell you,” she said. “I don’t believe in pragmatic solutions. It’s right or it’s wrong. And this,” she said, holding up the pendant, “this is right. It’s good. I have no doubts.”

  He nodded.

  “I believe you. It’s just… My mom would have melted it down and sprayed it into a thousand droplets, then scattered them. All magic is bad, blood magic is the worst,” he said. Samantha nodded.

  “She would have been right to, in general. If you don’t know the rules, don’t play with it. Someone will eventually take advantage and ruin you for your ignorance.” She held the cross in her palm. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s probably vestral. I’m not a strong enough historian to verify it, but the pewter mix is right. I did the specific gravity calculations before I bought it.”

  He took it from her and looked at it.

  “That does help.”

  The door opened and Samantha sprang off of the bed, landing in a crouch on the floor.

  “Sorry,” Jason said, beginning to close the door, then turning back to look at them again. “I thought I didn’t have to worry about knocking with you two.”

  “Nothing,” Samantha said. “There’s nothing going on.”

  He grinned.

  “Sure.”

  She blushed harder.

  “What’s up?” Sam asked.

  Jason’s face flickered as he transitioned quickly from mocking to confused.

  “Strangest thing,” he said.

  <><><>

  “I didn’t know she had any way to reach us,” Sam said as they packed the Cruiser.

  “I sent her a card a few years ago,” Jason said. “Just in case.”

  Sam took a step back and looked up at the sky, remembering.

  “I would have never guessed she’d call, though,” he said. “After the first couple of years, I figured we were actually done.”

  “Amazing what idealisms people are willing to give up when they need you,” Jason said.

  “You sent her the card,” Sam said. Jason grinned.

  “Only way I was ever going to get a shot at being right.”

  The front door of the house opened and Sam turned to watch Samantha traipse down the stairs with her duffel bag and her backpack. The wind caught her hair, tangling it over her head and into her face, and an instinct flared to put his fingers through it.

  “Don’t start,” she said, tossing the duffel into the Cruiser. She was strong and angry. It didn’t seem to occur to her that being angry didn’t help.

  “I said stop,” she said. Jason threw his arms up in exasperation.

  “You two have been in the middle of some secret fight for the last three days. What is going on?”

  Samantha looked at him and something flashed through her mind that roused her, and she gritted her teeth and looked away again.

  “Jason, common trivia. How many times a day do guys think about sex?”

  “Thirty-seven,” Jason said without dropping a beat. She looked at Jason and shifted her backpack, glaring. Whatever it had been, it had been good. She was still buzzed.

  “Every time he looks at me,” she said. “And I know about it every single time.”

  Jason grinned and started to say something, but Sam held up a hand.

  “Hey, it’s not just me,” he said. His thumb along the muscle under her jaw, tilting her head up…

  “Cut it out,” she said, answering with an idea that made her sizzle. Jason chewed on his tongue out the corner of his mouth.

  “What did you just think?” he asked Samantha. She looked at him wide-eyed. “I’m serious. Tell me.”

  She opened her mouth then closed it, then looked away.

  “I’m serious,” Jason said again. She looked over at Sam and pointed, walking close enough to find the chain under his shirt.

  “Words,” Jason said.

  She opened her mouth, then bit the tip of her tongue. “I want to lick the chain on his necklace,” she finally said. Jason snorted and she glared at him. The new flare of heat mixed with rage.

  “Normal. You’re normal. I was actually beginning to worry a little,” Jason said. Sam looked at him. “Not you, dude. You may be a camel, but you know how to enjoy yourself.” There was a flash of panic from Samantha. What ideas was Jason giving her? Jason looked at Samantha. “But you. You need to go find a quiet corner and have sex. With someone. Anyone. You’ll feel better.”

  She slapped him and went to get in the Cruiser, slamming the door behind her. He closed the hatch and winked at Sam.

  “About time you two figured it out,” he said. “No more pushing her at me, huh?”

  Sam thought of the complete blackout that came with kissing her and shook his head.

  “It’s not a good idea,” Sam said.

  “So?”

  “Say it were just a normal bad idea. What happens when it goes bad?”

  “It’s not going to go bad. You’re too good a guy. You decide it doesn’t work, you go back to being friends. Problem solved.”

  Sam laughed.

  “Because you’re so good at being friends with girls,” he said. Jason slapped his shoulder.

  “No, you are. That’s the point. Take a chance, dude.”

  Sam looked at the back of her head. She was steaming, but she wasn’t paying attention to them. She wasn’t mad at Jason. She was mad at herself. Which confused him. He followed Jason’s lead and went to get into the car.

  “So,” Samantha said. “North Carolina. We’ve been within like, what, an hour of your Aunt and Uncle’s house?” Her tone completely belied what was going on in her head. Sam was impressed.

  “We passed the Chapel Hill exit on the way to Raleigh,” Jason said passively.

  “So…”

  “Maybe ten minutes,” Sam said.

  “Is that where you lived with your parents?” Samantha asked. Sam nodded.

  “Mom was a teacher at the middle school,” he said. Samantha shuddered. That was the first honest expression of emotion she had made since he had gotten into the car.

  “Middle school,” she said.

  “Yeah.”

  “So…”

  “Don’t ask why we never stopped,” Jason said.

  “If you’re that angry at them, why are we going now?” she asked.

  “Because they need us,” Jason said. “Or, at least, Aunt Connie is willing to admit that she does.”

  Sam dropped the back of his seat back and stretched out. Today would be a short day, only ten hours driving, then they’d stop over with Heather and Elizabeth. Tomorrow would be the long day, eighteen hours, if Jason behaved himself, across the entire South in a day. He rolled his head to look at Samantha, and she glared at him, still touchy about Jason teasing her. Jason caught it.

  “Look, we’re on the road, off to kill something evil, and for the first time in a long time, there isn’t anything hanging over our heads. Can we please just enjoy ourselves?” he asked. Samantha undid her seatbelt and crawled over his seat. Jason put his arms up defensively, but she just reached for the console, pushing the cassette tape into the player, then scrambled back into her seat, pulling out her laptop and plugging it in. She turne
d the music up beyond where they could have possibly heard each other talk, and started to sing.

  <><><>

  They pulled into the front yard at Heather’s and got out of the Cruiser. Samantha saw a curtain in Elizabeth’s room fall closed, and the front door opened. Heather stepped onto the porch and crossed her arms. Samantha followed Jason and Sam over to the house. Heather’s scowl didn’t budge.

  “You may stay the tonight, but don’t expect any other hospitality, and the other one isn’t welcome,” Heather said.

  “Carly isn’t with us any more,” Jason said. Heather looked past him at Samantha with no warmer reception.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I put a knife through her skull,” Samantha said. Heather narrowed her eyes.

  “If you’re trying to impress me, witch…”

  “It’s true,” Jason said. Samantha frowned.

  “She was a demon and she bewitched Sam.”

  “You really ashed her?” Heather asked. Samantha nodded. “That earns you dinner. Come in.”

  “Why does everyone call me a witch? It’s insulting,” Samantha said.

  “Now isn’t the time for that fight,” Jason said.

  “What would you prefer, witch?” Heather asked.

  “White Knight,” Samantha said.

  “I can’t believe you can say that with a straight face,” Jason said.

  “I worked hard to get to be a White Knight,” Samantha protested. Jason snorted.

  “Pretty words to hide an ugly face,” Heather said.

  “Come on, Heather,” Sam said. Heather slashed him with a look.

  “You were wiser not speaking in my home,” she told him. He looked away.

  “You and I didn’t leave things like this,” Samantha said. “What changed?”

  “You left the boys on their own, and then they brought that,” Heather said a harsh Kiowa word, “into my home. You abandon them, you take a share of responsibility for what they do.”

  “She didn’t abandon us,” Jason said.

  “I sent her away,” Sam said, easing into a chair without moving it. Heather leaned against the wall in the dining room and looked at Samantha.

  “You should not have left them,” she said. Samantha nodded agreement.

  “It isn’t that simple,” Sam said.