by C. E. Murphy
Full of hope.
I turned the photograph over and found one word written in pencil on the back: Sorry.
“Yeah.” I turned it again, brushing my thumb over our faces. “Yeah, me too, Lucas. For everything. Rest in peace.”
I opened my hand, releasing hope.
Chapter Thirty-One
Friday, March 31, 7:37 p.m.
Dad didn’t ask, when I came out of the holler, and I went back to telling him about the adventures of the past fifteen months as we worked our way home again. He occasionally interjected with stories about his own past several years, and by the time we got out of the mountains I thought maybe a hatchet had been buried. It felt good, if a little weird, and I ended up saying so just as the sun started slipping over the horizon.
Dad, watching it, crooked a smile. “And all it took was a day alone. I’m sorry, Jo...anne. For the mistakes I made. I thought I could protect you by keeping you away from your heritage, and for years I watched you heading right down that path anyway. I should have known better.”
“Probably, but—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—I’m not exactly one to throw stones about knowing better.” I hesitated, then offered my hand. “Friends?”
He looked at my hand, then took it and pulled me into an awkward hug. I grunted and knocked him on the back a couple of times, more overwhelmed than I wanted to admit. Then, very guy-like, we broke apart clearing our throats and pretended none of it had happened. I giggled about that all the way back to town.
When we got there, it turned out we’d been missed, after all. Half the CDC and all of the military was looking for me, apparently. A red-eyed Sara and patient Morrison were handling the crush when we arrived. The truth was I had no better answers than they did about what had happened, but I had been appointed ringleader in my absence. Sara got out of my sight as soon as she could, and Morrison stood by me as long as he could. After I gave the authorities a series of unsatisfactory answers, they hauled me off for blood testing and a military grilling which eventually led to me flopped in a chair-and-desk unit in a high school classroom with its windows boarded over, repeating, “The car doesn’t fly, General. It’s a car. I’m sure your people are completely reliable, but don’t you think a flying car would have come up on somebody’s radar before now?”
The general in question, a slender man in his late fifties who looked like he still ran a ten-mile PT course every morning, glowered at me so ferociously I reviewed what I’d said and winced. “I didn’t mean radar like...radar. I wasn’t trying to be clever.”
“I’m certain of that. Start again from the beginning.”
I sighed and started again. High-speed chase, yes. Impressive air under the wheels, sure. That happens in a car with a souped-up V-8 engine. But really, flying? I was okay with that party line until they brought Lieutenant Gilmore in. He was the only survivor of the chopper crew who’d seen Petite roar across empty air, and knew perfectly well that she had. Guilt stabbed me, but Gilmore kept a very calm steady voice as he denied their afternoon reports. It had been a mirage, a combination of dust and heat and the strain of awareness that they were working within American borders and were yet also on unfriendly territory. Yes, he knew what the in-flight recorders had them saying, but, permission to speak freely, General, thank you, frankly, sir, didn’t it sound like they were all a little hysterical? Himself included, sir, and no disrespect meant to the dead, but it had been an unusual and stressful situation—
Gilmore talked the entire military off the cliff, saved Petite from being eviscerated by men trying to figure out how she’d flown, and did it all with only the occasional glance at me that let me know he was absolutely aware he was feeding them a line of bullshit and had no other choice in the matter. When they finally, finally let us go, unsatisfied but unable to come up with any plausible answers to fit the described scenario, I was left alone with Gilmore for a minute or two.
I stood up, then grabbed the back of my chair as a head-rush slammed me around. He put his hand under my elbow, concerned, and I wobbled a minute, waiting for the dizziness to pass. “Sorry. I haven’t eaten in days. I just wanted to say thank you, and that I’m sorry. And...did they burn the bodies?”
“Yes, ma’am. All of them.” Concern flickered over his face. “We’ve been unable to locate the source’s body, though.”
For a few seconds that made no sense. Then clarity came like a knife’s point in my gut. “You mean Danny? You can’t find his body?”
“Not yet. We will, though.” Gilmore looked determined but not especially convinced.
I did not want Danny Little Turtle’s Raven-Mocker-infested body out tromping around the world, and had an unpleasant flashback to my little Pandora’s Box scenario earlier. “Let me know either way, will you?”
“Yes, ma’am. How will I contact you?”
I gave him my phone number and checked my phone at the same time, idly surprised to discover it still had a battery charge. There was a voice mail notification on it. I figured it was Morrison, calling sometime earlier in the day to wonder where the hell I was, and slipped it back into my pocket with a mental note to check it later. Gilmore escorted me out of the high school, where we both blinked in tired surprise at the rising sun.
Wonderful. Now I had neither eaten nor slept for days. My stomach roared and I got dizzy again. “If somebody doesn’t get me some food in the next ten minutes I’m going to start chewing my arm off.”
Gilmore smiled faintly. “Wish I could help, ma’am, but I have some duties to attend to.”
“No, it’s fine. I really am sorry, Lieutenant. Call me if you just want to talk, too, okay? It’s been a hell of a couple days.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” He left me, and Morrison, who had apparently chosen to wait all night outside the school, came down the walkway looking far more refreshed than I felt.
I staggered over and flopped against him, much like I’d flopped in the chair earlier. “Oh, God, I’m glad to see you. I’m starving. Do you have a car?”
“I thought you were getting Petite.”
“Dad took me on a...thing. Side trip. And I don’t know what happened to the Impala I rented. Forget it, the diner can’t be more than a ten-minute walk.”
“Nothing’s ever as close on foot as you think it is when you usually drive, Walker. I’ll get us a car.” Morrison left me wondering how he would arrange that. I sat in front of the school and tested my arm for edibility until he came back ten or twelve minutes later with a set of keys. “Your Impala,” he reported. “Les took it off the mountain.”
“Okay.” I got up, fighting off another dizzy spell. “You drive.”
Morrison’s jaw fell open. “Walker?”
I chortled woozily, aware that I would have startled him less by taking my clothes off and marching down the highway starkers. That was fair enough. I wasn’t sure the words you drive had ever passed my lips before in that combination. Just this once, though, I not only said them, but also meant them wholeheartedly. “Seriously, you drive, Morrison. I’m in no shape. I can’t even stand up without nearly passing out. I’m so hungry I’m dangerous.”
“That diner better be open.”
“If it’s not I’m breaking down the back door and firing up the grill myself.”
Fortunately, it was open. Even in a crisis, people need food. Especially in a crisis, maybe. The place was packed, with nobody in any visible hurry to leave. Well, not until some of them saw me, and, angry at my part in the deaths of their elders, got up and left in protest. I would worry about that later. For the moment I took a seat in one of the booths, said, “One of everything,” when the waitress came by, and put my head on the table to wait for food to arrive.
Morrison said, “I think she means it,” to the waitress, which made me lift my head again. “I do. I want one of everything except coffee, I
can’t drink coffee right now, my stomach is too empty. But one of everything else, starting with the breakfast menu. Include the desserts. No, hold off on them, I don’t want the ice cream to melt. Otherwise, one of everything. No, wait, start with a piece of pie, you can bring that right away, right? Apple pie. With ice cream. I don’t care if it’s warm. The pie. The ice cream probably shouldn’t be. And then cherry pie if there’s nothing else ready yet. Pie until food. Yes. Please.”
The waitress stared at me, then looked at Morrison as if expecting rescue. He smiled. “She’s hungry. I’ll have some of hers, and some coffee.” After a few more seconds, the woman shrugged and went to put an order in for one of everything. The apple pie arrived within forty seconds and I ate it in five bites. The cherry pie appeared less than thirty seconds later, and I ate it in five bites, too. Cherry pie was followed by blueberry, and I had an ice-cream headache building by the time a couple fried eggs with bacon showed up.
I ate that, and pancakes, and scrambled eggs and French toast and an omelet and some waffles and grits and oatmeal and more bacon and lost count of how many glasses of orange juice I drank. Then I burped loudly enough to silence the conversations around me, and started in on more fried eggs and corned beef hash and hash browns and toast and a piece of lemon meringue pie, and by then enough of the edge had left that I started to get picky about my food. I retracted the one-of-everything request and ordered a cheeseburger with bacon and cheese fries.
Morrison, by that time, was starting to look ill. There were occasional respectful murmurs at the sheer number of empty plates piled at my elbow, which I thought the waitress was leaving there just to see how many I went through before I was done. Somewhere after a chili dog with onions and cheese piled so high there was no actual evidence of a hot dog in the bun, my hands stopped shaking. I ordered a Rueben with potato chips and a milk shake, and by the time I got done with that, people were taking bets on how much I could eat, and I was feeling nearly human again.
Humanity demanded greenery, apparently. I ordered three salads with three different kinds of dressing, some proper Southern sweet iced tea, and worked my way through those, finally sighing in contentment. Only then did Morrison dare to speak. “I have never seen anyone eat that much. Ever. Are you all right, Walker?”
“You said I was too skinny.” I laughed at Morrison’s expression, then laughed again and put my hand over his. “Joking, I’m joking, Morrison. No, shapeshifting from this and last week took it out of me, and then that stunt with Petite, I just wiped myself out. I need fuel. Speaking of which, can I get one of those brownie sundae things, Tilly?” The waitress and I were good buddies by now. She got me a sundae, and when I finished it and indicated that I was perhaps done eating now, the whole diner broke into spontaneous applause. I stood up and took a bow, then sank back into the booth. “Oh my God, that was good.”
“That was disgusting.” Morrison looked torn between admiration and horror, but another voice said, “Nah, it was cool.”
I turned around to see Aidan a couple booths back. He looked older than he had been, and weirdly pale with the still-white hair. I wondered if it would grow back black, or if he’d been through so much it had left scars.
Ada, beside him, saw me noticing the changes and tried not to let herself look too worried. I wanted to hug her. Instead I smiled and waved them over. They came, and we scooted around our booth until we could all see each other over the mile-high stack of plates from my feast. “That,” Aidan said again, “was cool. I think you ate more than a whole football team.”
“I’ve never eaten a football team before, so I can’t compare the amount of food they would be to what I just ate.”
Aidan kicked me under the table, which made me yelp and laugh all at once. His mother gave him a scolding look that no one took very seriously. “How’re you doing?” I asked both of them, and they exchanged glances, then nodded.
“Okay,” Aidan said. “That all kind of sucked.”
I was in full agreement with that assessment. “You did a good job, though, Aidan. You were...” I spread my hands helplessly. “A hero. I mean, holy crap, kid. The ghosts. Holy crap.”
He got a little smile that looked like it was trying hard not to burst out all over the place. “That was good, huh? It was mostly the walking sticks. It’s a good thing you found yours, Joanne. Two wouldn’t have been enough.”
I actually smacked myself on the forehead. I hadn’t thought about it, but of course Renee had been drawing on my magic as well as her own. No wonder I’d been so utterly wiped out. I noticed the others peering at me and put my hand back down, trying to act like a grown-up. I didn’t feel much like one, really. I was feeling a little floaty and relieved, like everything was going to work out, but I thought I should try. “Glad to have been of help. But what even made you think of it? I mean, how could you possibly know there was any old magic in that valley to bring forward? Were you just working on a wing and a prayer?”
Aidan lifted one eyebrow. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, seriously! I recognized the valley after the fact, when the ghosts showed up, but you, you weren’t even there, Aidan. You got sucked off to the Ohio River Valley when we went back in time, so how could you even have any sense of what was there?”
The kid gave his mother an incredulous glance, as if she might be able to explain my astonishing stupidity, then looked back at me. “I’ve been going out there since I was eight, with the elders and the others who want to learn the old ways. We’ve been all over that valley. Don’t you know what’s on the north end?”
“Of course I don’t know what’s on the north end. How could I know what’s on the north end?” Maybe I hadn’t eaten enough, after all. My brain was still fuzzy.
Aidan kept giving me the bemused look for a while, then took a napkin and some crayons off the end of the table where the “keep kids entertained” material was mostly buried under my empty plates. A minute later he pushed a drawing across the table at me. I stared at it a moment, then turned red from my elbows to the top of my head.
It was a rough sketch of a pair of stick figures. A man and a woman, their bodies inverted triangles, their heads unattached to the shoulders. They were leaning back-to-back, their arms folded across their chests, and they were both looking out at the world.
One was wearing a short black jacket, and the other, a long white coat. I’d been proud of that touch, when I’d made the petroglyphs four hundred years ago: the rock had shaped itself under my will, bringing all the dark bits to Morrison’s jacket and all the sparkling white to my coat. I’d completely forgotten about the petroglyphs, and I was still blushing when I met Aidan’s eyes again.
“Everybody’s been wondering about those for like ever,” he announced. “Everybody goes up to check them out. They’re obviously old, ’cause they’re all soft and worn and stuff, but I didn’t figure out it was you until I saw you and him—” he nodded at Morrison “—there in the power circle, wearing those coats. And then I knew you had to have been in that valley a really long time ago, and if you were there that meant there was some kind of power I could reach back for. So I did, and the ghosts came.”
“Holy crap, Aidan. Wow. That’s amazing. I don’t think I could have done it myself.”
“Are you just saying that?”
“No. In the condition I was in yesterday, I definitely couldn’t have, and normally, well, maybe, but I don’t think I would’ve thought of it. No, you definitely kicked ass and took names. You gotta keep studying with Dad, Aidan. You’re going to be amazing.”
His grin cracked, after all, spreading wide across his face. “Know what?”
“What?”
“I think you might turn out okay, too.”
I laughed, but my heart filled up with relief so big it felt like it might pop out of my chest. “Thanks. Thank you, Aidan. That means a lot.”
; “Y’welcome.” He slid a glance between me and Morrison. “You guys gonna hang around a while?”
“I dunno. Maybe a few days?” I looked at Morrison, who tipped his head sideways in a noncommittal maybe-trending-toward-yes manner.
“That’d be cool.” Aidan hunched his shoulders. “Maybe you can tell me what happened to Lucas.”
I sighed and cast Ada an apologetic look, not knowing how to tell Aidan anything except the truth. “Dad would be able to tell you better. Lucas got caught in the Nothing, Aidan, and thrown into a battlefield. Dad went after him, but it was too late. He’d already been killed. Did you know him very well?”
Aidan shook his head, eyes fixed on the table. “I met him when he and Sara would come back, but it wasn’t like he was my mom or dad. I didn’t want him to get killed, though.”
“Neither did I.”
“D’you think the ghost shaman was right? If you’d tried to rescue him do you think he woulda come back a sorcerer?”
“I don’t know, kiddo. I do know changing things, messing with the timeline, makes it possible for really bad things to get a foot in the door and kick it open.”
“But you woulda tried anyway, if Sara hadn’t said you shouldn’t.”
“Yeah.”
“Because that’s what good guys do.”
I smiled. “Yeah. Because that’s what good guys do. The right thing, even if it’s the dumb thing.”
Morrison snorted, reminding me he and Ada were there. “It’d be all right, Walker, if you did a little less dumb.”
“I’m working on it, Boss.”