by Domino Finn
After the horrific reveal of her dead brother, a mob had built up. Maxim had taken her back to the house but returned to the scene to coordinate with local police. She hadn't seen him again.
She had cried in her grandfather's arms before retiring to the guest room, frightened and unsettled. Her dreams had brought her nothing but disturbing images. Her brother's skin lay on the floor, curled and grotesque. A susurrant voice beckoned her with words that were beyond comprehension. The body began filling with a ghostly spirit; it struggled to stand. Carlos was inside, yearning for answers. Kayda kept calling for Kelan but was ignored. She was alone with Carlos. Empty flaps of skin stared at her, eyeholes with the depths of hell behind them. And his crumpled, twisted arm reached for her.
Kayda shook the thought from her head. Kelan and Wicasa turned at her sudden motion. She wanted to explain but didn't know how. Instead, tears welled up in her eyes.
For the first time, the hard lines around her brother's face relaxed. He put his arms around her and made a calming noise with his voice.
"What happened to him?" she cried. "I saw him in my dream, begging for help, but no one was inside. I don't even know if it was him."
"There's nothing to worry about, Kay." Her brother spoke with a strong confidence that assured her. "I'll fix everything."
She stared blankly past him, past the guilt. In a way, she had always expected this outcome. Carlos was a wanted criminal. He had always acted precipitately, without remorse or caution. How could this not have happened? "How?" she asked.
Kelan simply shook his head. She could hear his words repeating in her head. Stay out of it. She knew he didn't want her involved. For now, she didn't argue. She just closed her eyes and yielded to her tears.
"He had the wolf's strength," said their grandfather softly, "but not its wisdom."
Kayda felt her brother tense up again. He turned away from her. "He asked for your wisdom, grandfather. Remember? Where were your words of guidance then?"
"His ambition was louder than this old man before you. Do not let your anger drown me out as well."
"Or what?" demanded Kelan, leaning forward onto the table to give the old man a defiant look. "You'll turn your back on me as well?"
Wicasa smiled. It was an expression filled with more pain than Kayda thought possible. But love was in his eyes as well. It was as if he were scolding a young boy for his own good. "When you were young," started the old man, "you had wide eyes for the world. You used to look on it with hope. You once told me you would scale every mountain in Arizona. You used to try so hard with the other boys. But you were smaller than them. You couldn't run faster or climb higher or swim farther. You never had the physical gifts of your older brother, yet you remained so hopeful."
Kelan drew back, suddenly disarmed. Kayda had never heard about a young, hopeful Kelan before. He was ten years older than her. He and Carlos had always been cut from the same cloth, as far as she had known. But recognition was in her brother's eyes. A remembrance of something he once was. Of something lost.
Suddenly the mundane moment became overwhelming. Magical. The three family members understood each other unequivocally. No denials or accusations were spoken. Nobody stormed away or tried to change the subject. They paused in the kitchen as the bond between them became something tangible. Something real and hard and unbreakable.
Wicasa took a long breath and slowly shook his head. "I never blamed you, sweet Kelan, but I have never forgiven Carlos for what he did to you."
And just like that, the moment shattered. Kelan spun away, his defenses at full alert, his anger welling. "This again!" he exclaimed, moving to the other side of the room. His shoulder carelessly brushed Kayda as he passed. "The wolf is a part of me now. It could have killed me, but it didn't." Kelan turned to face his grandfather, scowling at having his childhood weakness revealed. "Don't you see, grandfather? I'm not that powerless little boy you remember. I proved strong. I lived. Carlos knew what was inside me. He knew his bite wouldn't kill me. He was the only one in this family who ever put that kind of faith in me. But ever since then, you thought us animals."
Wicasa shook his head again. "I do not blame the wolf for its nature. I blame the little boy."
Kelan shoved the first loose object he could reach on the counter. It was an old plastic toaster and it exploded against the wall in a rain of burnt crumbs. "And this is what comes of turning your back on your family," he said solemnly.
"Keekee," chided Kayda, seeing the wounded look on Wicasa's face. "He didn't mean for this to happen. None of us did."
"But it happened," returned Kelan. "We need to deal with it."
"First," cut in Wicasa, his voice sounding more authoritative, "we need to understand it."
The old man gestured for them to sit down. Kayda didn't feel like it but she respected her pahmi's wishes. Kelan stood firm, attentive but willful.
"Many nights ago," said Wicasa with a reverent wistfulness, "during a period of long drought, Wolf searched desperately for water. Days passed. Wolf was dying. His bones began wilting from the inside out. But then he saw Crow in the sky above him, flapping his strong wings proudly. Wolf followed Crow as he flew across the plains until he landed by a small bank of water and drank. Wolf was hungry and thirsty and couldn't believe his good fortune. He ran at the water, guzzled greedily, and snapped at Crow any time he neared. 'Stand your ground, Wolf,' said Crow. 'There is more than enough water for the both of us.' Wolf laughed and said, 'But I am hungry as well, and it is my nature to devour the weak, just as it is yours to fly away from the strong.'"
Kayda and Kelan stood surprisingly silent. They had heard about the wolf and the crow before. Wicasa was a sage of the tribe, passing on the old stories, which he thought were more than trite lessons. It had been so long for Kayda that she smiled as she heard the words, both familiar and foreign, as if they were a homecoming.
The old man continued. "So Crow did what was in his nature and flew away. Wolf laughed and drank and filled his belly. But then the watering hole dried up, and Wolf went thirsty again. This time a great storm cloud came into the sky. It approached slowly and, just when Wolf could not take it anymore, thunder cracked, and it rained.
"But Crow flew under the cloud and spread his wings. The rain never made it to the ground, and Wolf was never able to drink. 'I am of the sky,' said Crow. 'It is my nature to soar, and it is yours to scurry below. So go, Wolf. Scurry. Scrounge. And look to me no more.' And so it was that Crow taught Wolf a lesson."
Kayda smiled as her grandfather finished. It must have been ten years since she'd heard the parable. It made her reminisce about her childhood on the reservation. The folktale didn't have the same effect on Kelan.
"This is all we are now," he intoned. "Storytellers. All this talking and sitting. We're content to let our greatness slip away like it never was. Well, that's not good enough for me. You can talk of wisdom and animals and lessons. I'm going to teach the Seventh Sons that the Yavapai are strong."
"And so the wolf is destroyed by his own nature," said Wicasa.
Kelan scowled. "There's more to the story, grandfather. That's the short version—the one in the children's books. Carlos always told me that the wolf eats the crow in the end. That it gets the last laugh. And besides, I'm not gonna let words stop me from avenging my brother." Kelan stormed from the kitchen and Kayda followed.
"Where are you going?"
"Keep away from this, little sister. Keep away from me."
"I want to help."
"This is no place for schoolgirls."
"Carlos was my brother too. I won't just forget about this!" Kayda screamed the last part just as Kelan was about to leave the house. Her brother turned to her, hard lines etching out his scorn.
"That dream you had was a charade. You think Carlos would have turned to you for help? We don't need you." And he was gone, the door slammed in his wake.
Kayda stood at the edge of the kitchen, feeling brittle again. She leaned against the wal
l and pondered Kelan's words. "Maybe he's right. Carlos picked on me just as much as the others. In fact, everybody in the tribe wanted to be like him. They probably picked on me because of him. Carlos was the last person who would have sought my help."
She heard the metal leg of the chair scrape against the kitchen tile and turned to see her grandfather standing up. "Let me help you, Pahmi." She moved to support the man but he brushed her away.
"Wolves and wisdom," he said. "They are stories, but they are told for a reason. You are a woman. You don't have the strength." Kayda didn't say anything. For a moment, she thought her grandfather was taking Kelan's side. "You lack the wolf," he said. "To compete, you need to be wise."
The words hit the young woman like a rock. She thought about the crow and the wolf. She thought about her brother's crumpled skin, reaching out to her. Then she thought about the raven, flying high above the Jewel of Prescott. The hunter's moon.
"Who are the Seventh Sons?" she suddenly asked with razor focus.
Her pahmi glared at her. It was clear he didn't want to answer, but he surprised her by doing so. "Wolves. Criminals. Associates of your eldest brother."
"The other Paradise Killer? She was one of them?"
"She was their leader. Like Carlos, she crumbled under the weight of her decisions. Shame has been brought to both our families. Now your brother is in the same danger. The blood of brothers is a vile stimulant. It incenses the body into action."
"I want to help, Pahmi."
He nodded slowly. "So you do not mean to leave us?"
Kayda bit her lip. She tried to hide her shock. How did her grandfather know she was just stopping by? But then she understood the deeper meaning of his question. If Kayda truly wanted to help the family, what else was she willing to put off for it?
"I... I don't know. I'd like to help. We both know that Kelan could use a level head."
He nodded. "And what would you do?"
Kayda ruminated on the question. It made her feel silly because she didn't have a strong answer. She bet her brother already had a plan. He was probably already working at it. "I need to understand first. Carlos was killed in Sanctuary. That police officer talked to me last night. He already knew Carlos was dead. I need to talk to him again. And maybe talk to the Seventh Sons."
It wasn't a good answer, but she knew her grandfather would approve. Information seeking was his way, not warfare. "Wiha, you must open your eyes. Attune yourself to the world." He led her to the garage door and opened it. "See what everybody else sees, but understand more. Then you will see more."
Kayda beheld the dusty garage as her grandfather flipped the light on. It was filled with tools and boxes and old keepsakes from her grandmother. The room was used as storage instead of housing cars and had a musty smell, as if the door hadn't been opened in a long while. But one thing didn't fit.
Kayda passed the boxes and lifted a tarp. Underneath it was a motorcycle, black and rusty and worn. The girl had grown up around the bike. She'd hitched a ride on it before but had never driven it. It belonged to Carlos. It was his hobby. Not many of the other Yavapai had followed suit.
"Your brother left it here when he got a new one," he said. "The police have that one now, I think."
Kayda turned back to the bike and ran her fingers along the metal handlebar. It was rough under her skin.
"I want you to have it, Wiha. If you need to go to Sanctuary, you have my blessing. If the Yavapai depended only on the wolf, then we would doom ourselves."
It was clear they shared the same worry: Kelan might do something rash. Kayda didn't see how her involvement could harm anything, but she also wasn't sure what she could do to stop her brother. He had a mind of his own, more than ever, now that Carlos was dead.
"Is it true what Kelan said?" she asked plainly. "About the wolf eating the crow at the end of the story?"
Her grandfather's lips stiffened. After a moment of hesitation, he finished the folktale.
"Wolf and Crow made a pact. They agreed to be friends and help each other. But the next time Wolf was hungry, he pounced on Crow and ate him up. 'You should have known,' he said. 'It is my nature.' Then when the rains came he drank and drank and worried about Crow no more. But the rains didn't stop. The clouds kept coming. The rivers widened and the waters rose, overtaking the land. Mighty Wolf climbed the highest mountain, fighting off all the other animals who tried to stand with him and save themselves. And the tide kept climbing. 'Where are you, Crow,' he cried, 'that could pick me up and fly me to safety?' Even as the sea flooded over him, Wolf never saw his mistake."
Chapter 19
Omar's bike shouldn't have been knocked on the ground like that. It was immediate cause for concern. Either the kid was injured or in a hurry and let his bike fall over as he rushed into the clubhouse.
Diego cursed to himself. He parked his Scrambler next to the Harley, right off the building's porch. If anybody was inside that wasn't supposed to be, they would have heard him already. Diego cut the engine and slipped out his Benelli M4.
"Omar!" he called out, eyeing all the windows. "You in there?"
There was no answer. The biker threw his gold helmet to the dirt and sprang to the porch.
He hadn't heard from the kid since his call to Gaston that warned them of the state troopers. Diego had assumed that he was waiting for them in Albuquerque, but this was evidence to the contrary. Evidence that something wasn't right.
If Diego didn't know any better, the Seventh Sons were being played.
But that was just it. Diego didn't know any better. He wasn't familiar with the illicit relationships and pay-offs. He'd never talked to the leadership in El Paso before. He didn't know how well Gaston knew Cortez, or for how long. Pointing fingers in every direction was easy, but how many accusations were correct?
That was club business, reasoned Diego. How much longer would it be his?
The biker set the shotgun against his shoulder and headed for the front door. It was unlocked. Diego quickly swung it open and swept the long barrel of the M4 across the room as he scanned it. A single, bloodied body lay in the center of the room. The kid's leather bomber jacket was riddled with bullet holes.
Diego surveyed the immediate area, but he knew: whoever had done this was long gone. He didn't bother with an exhaustive search. It was reckless. He had been trained by the Commissioned Corps to secure an area completely, but something told him in his gut that this was over.
Diego bolted for Omar. The kid was on his back, eyes staring uselessly in a mixture of shock and fear. But he was a wolf. Maybe not as strong as Deborah had been, maybe not as tough as Gaston, but he could still live. The biker felt for a pulse on the kid's neck.
Nothing. Omar was dead. With a fractured sigh, Diego slid the kid's eyes closed.
How could this have happened?
Diego set the shotgun aside and examined the carnage. Omar was lying in the middle of the foyer. The entryway was mostly barren but ransacked all the same. Pieces of a glass vase were scattered in the corner. Blood was on the floor and walls. Omar still gripped a revolver in his right hand that smelled of gunpowder. He had fought back, at least. But he was overcome.
His body was peppered with holes from his waist up. There were too many for Diego to count. Some shots had been wild, hitting the wall behind; others right on their mark, a cluster centered on the torso. There was even a hit on his forehead.
Was that what could have killed him?
No, thought Diego. Not unless it was silver.
But who had known to put stock in the werewolf rumors? Who would know how to take down a wolf, besides another wolf?
Besides the MC, and after Carlos Doka had disappeared, Diego only knew of two other werewolves in Sycamore. Kelan and Hotah, Yavapai mercenaries. No love was lost between the two outfits, but why would they wait nine months after losing their leader to strike?
Shit. Diego realized his boot and knee were in a pool of blood. He recoiled, knowing he was contaminating evide
nce. He needed to think about this carefully.
This couldn't have happened very long ago. The body would be more stiff, guessed Diego, right? Or there would be more of a smell.
Damn it. He didn't know what he was thinking. The Commissioned Corps hadn't trained him for this.
His mind went numb as he noticed just how many bullet holes studded the walls and front door. For a short window of time, this room had been a war zone.
And then the anger came. Diego's heavy boots kicked the wall as hard as he could. He knew this would happen. The drugs. The money. It was like asking someone to come take it from you. Omar had been a Seventh Son longer than Diego, but he had been the youngest of them all. He had always been treated like a rookie. Like a prospect. Diego had sometimes worried about him and now, when he gazed down at the destroyed body on the floor, Diego saw himself.
This was the end for Omar. Where would it be for the rest of the MC? For him?
One thing that was now firm in his mind was that he couldn't leave the club. Not like this. Not with Omar on the floor.
The biker paced back and forth, trying to sort his thoughts. Focus them. Then he set his jaw. Diego wasn't a wolf, but he had other resources. He had other strengths. And he had other friends.
He reached into the kid's jacket with a final moment of mourning, and then he pulled out Omar's cell phone and made a call.
"Detective Dwyer," answered the voice on the other end. "Who's this?"
"Diego."
"You really need to start carrying your own cell phone with you. You know that?"
"I got another body for you."
Chapter 20
Kayda Garnett had the sinking feeling that she wouldn't be able to get to Sanctuary in time. She had gotten a late start and it was already the afternoon. After Kelan had abruptly disappeared, she had spent more time with her grandfather, then found help getting the motorcycle running again. After that came the practice riding. Hotah and Kelan were long gone by then.