by P. R. Frost
“Ms. Noncoiré, on behalf of the Marine Corps, I extend to you an apology for the ill treatment we gave you. We have restored your car and offer you a check for the destruction of your personal property.” Vlieger almost saluted as he proffered a slim white envelope.
“Thank you,” I replied. What else could I say?
“Tell me,” I said after staring at the envelope for a moment. “Why did you have to trash the car?”
“Profile vehicle. White SUVs are a favorite among certain terrorist groups,” the suit replied.
“My Marines were careful to disassemble the vehicle and keep the parts in order. We put it back together without damage,” Vlieger added. “You should not have to pay for any damages to the rental agency.”
“Whatever.” I tried to push past them.
“Ms. Noncoiré, we do have a few more questions for you.” The suit snaked out an arm to block my passage.
“Your questions will wait until after breakfast.” I stared at his arm as if it offended me and smelled bad.
“The security of our nation may be at stake.”
“It will wait until I’ve eaten. Or do you want me fainting in your lap from low blood sugar?”
“The lieutenant and I will join you.”
“Does he have a name?” I asked Vlieger.
“Ben Miller,” snapped the suit. He had fewer manners than Scrap.
Ten minutes later, Gollum, Cynthia, and I took places in a booth across the street at the steak house. I wore my hair twisted up in the comb. I wanted to see everything and everybody for what they were.
An aura surrounded Cynthia’s head. In just the right light I almost detected an ancient woman of great wisdom overlaying her personality. Scary and yet satisfying.
She was easing into her role as the weaver. Or her shamanistic heritage was showing through.
The suit and the Marine were forced to take places at a table adjacent to us. They had no compunction against moving the table so that it butted up against our booth and effectively blocked our exit.
Miller finally removed his sunglasses and placed them in his breast pocket. He turned pale brown eyes on me, assessing me, trying to peer past my reserves into my soul.
That was something I allowed no one. Not since I’d left the Citadel anyway. I forced my face into neutral, but felt my spine stiffen and tingle with wariness.
Where the hell was Scrap?
At least I couldn’t see anything unusual or otherworldly around either of them.
“Ms. Noncoiré, explain to me the significance of the— er—rather interesting bodies we found inside Fort Snoqualmie,” Miller stated rather than asked the moment the waitress had taken our orders. He didn’t seem concerned that she hovered nearby with full coffeepot ready to pour while she eavesdropped.
I looked at Gollum for inspiration.
He shrugged. “You might as well tell them the truth. They’ll put their own spin on it anyway.”
Cynthia and I both raised eyebrows at him.
“Illegal genetics experiments that failed. The monsters ended up killing each other.”
“That’s what we thought,” Miller said, taking a long drink of the super-strength coffee, black, no sugar.
The waitress must have used the pot they reserved for local law enforcement rather than the milder one she used for tourists. I had to dump extra cream and sugar in mine to make it palatable. Scrap would have loved the leftovers.
Where was the imp anyway? I’d never known him to stay away this long. Even when the imp’s bane separated us, he hovered close by. Or, rather, played in the rafters. I had a brief vision of him swinging from them like Tarzan swooping through the trees.
But then he’d never had to recover from such an extensive battle with demons before.
I missed him.
“What about the bodies of the men we, er, Estevez shot?” Vlieger burst into the conversation. He, too, took his coffee black with no sugar.
I wondered if coffee had become the new contest to prove manhood.
“More genetics experiments and Kevlar, or maybe the new carbon fiber armor. You didn’t kill them. In the confusion they melted away to nurse their wounds. They’ll be back to fight another day.”
Thank Goddess our food arrived. The waitress took her time refilling coffee cups.
“What about the kid? What’s their interest in her?”
Miller spat. Or was it an accusation? Every statement or question seemed to be an accusation.
“My name is Cynthia Stalking Moon,” the girl jumped in. She faced the man defiantly, demanding he acknowledge her as a person and not just a victim, or thing.
“Where do you fit into this puzzle, Ms. Stalking Moon?”
“I… I don’t know for sure. I think they want my DNA. I come from a long line of shamans. We have… powers.” She lied. I knew it. Gollum knew it. Did Miller?
On the other hand, maybe she didn’t lie. Maybe Sapa singled her out because of her genes; more than just being of Indian blood, she might be a direct descendant of the old woman who had originally woven the blanket.
The old woman had to have been a shaman to maintain the power of the blanket.
Curiouser and curiouser.
“I’m the last of my line,” Cynthia added. That was true enough. “The last of the great shamans with special powers of insight and prophecy.” She fell into the now familiar chant of her people reciting old legends.
Miller looked askance at that statement.
“There are more things on this earth than you can perceive with your limited imagination, Miller,” I added, trying to sound spooky and cryptic like an old horror film. Then I took a big bite of toast so I wouldn’t have to say more.
“The study of anthropology has revealed a number of instances when humans have been able to reach beyond the realm of what we call reality to tap powers and secrets.”
Gollum put on his professor face and proceeded to expound in big words and the most boring tone I’d ever heard. Usually he had more animation with his favorite subject.
But then, this was information that Miller didn’t want.
Vlieger, however, looked very interested. He’d been there and seen some pretty weird things yesterday.
“As you explore Fort Snoqualmie, you might be looking for a back door, probably underground,” I said casually.
“The boys kept bringing in fresh pizza and beer. And pot. Lots of pot. And Cynthia.” And they always smelled like lake water.
I examined Cynthia speculatively.
She shrugged and mouthed, “Later.”
“Where is this genetics lab?” Miller demanded. He’d barely touched his sausage, pancakes, and eggs.
“I have no idea.Why don’t you ask Donovan Estevez?”
“Maybe we will. In the meantime, don’t leave town.”
Miller pushed back from the table, giving me an exit.
“Sorry. I have professional commitments in Madison, Wisconsin. I’m flying out of Moses Lake with connections to Seattle on Wednesday.” I sat placidly eating my own meal. “I’ll be back Sunday night unless my agent has other plans and projects that demand more time.”
Miller threw a twenty on the table and stalked off.
Vlieger scooted closer, all traces of yesterday’s antagonism vanished. “So what really happened up there?”
“My kidnappers are demons who came through an underground portal. I allowed them to keep me hostage so I could learn their true motives for claiming the fort. When they kidnapped Cynthia and tried to molest her, and killed and ate her uncle, I called up my imp from another dimension and slew them one and all,” I said with a straight face. “Well, maybe not all of them. I think a few retreated back down the portal.”
Vlieger burst out laughing. “Good one. I can see why you write fantasy fiction. With your imagination, you’ll go far. I kept one of your books by the way. One of the damaged ones that we paid for. Not bad. Not bad at all.”
He, too, threw a twenty on the tabl
e and left.
Gollum and I breathed a big sigh of relief in unison.
Chapter 38
I’M GOING TO KILL that cat.
Cats are evil.
I’d just finished a good feed in the lake and returned to my babe to find the cat crouched in the middle of Tess’ bed, waiting for me. If I dare move from this shelf above the bed, it will attack. If I leave the shelf, I have to abandon access to the box of tissues. The longer I stay the more my nose runs. My eyes are swelling shut.
I can’t smell anything!
I don’t have the strength yet to fly.
It just stares at me, unblinking, with those vicious green eyes, like I’m a mouse or something. It won’t even tell me its name.
“That’s a secret,” it says. “That’s precious,” it says.
Big honking deal. How important can a name be? I mean, even the demons tell people their names.
Gollum has been duped by this cat. It is not a pet. It keeps Gollum as a pet. Gollum is not evil. But that damned cat is.
If I could transform, I’d kill the beast.
Not enough strength or rest. I need to eat more. Where is my babe? She’ll give me beer and OJ. That always helps.
But I can’t get past the damn cat. Achoooooo!
“You know, Tess, if I don’t start weaving on that blanket, humanity is going to lose its integrity, dignity, and honesty,” Cynthia asserted, hands on hips, feet grounded soundly, and head cocked in that all-knowing teenage way she had.
I’m afraid I snorted at her statement. “When have you noticed a lot of integrity, dignity, and honesty in humanity? Have you watched the news lately?” I mimicked her stance.
“My point exactly. Sapa should have gone looking for a new weaver a century ago. But the old woman was still alive, just not very effective.”
We entered a staring contest. All the while, my feet itched to show her the cave where I believed the old woman had lived and worked.
“Those qualities are already woven into the blanket,” Gollum said, peering up from a book. He had a pile of them around “his” chair in my living room. And the bloody cat in his lap. He seemed to have moved in, except for his clothes and toiletries. “Humanity can still tap into those qualities, if they choose. The blanket has another, deeper purpose that we need to address.”
“Such as?” both Cynthia and I asked.
“Such as sealing a portal to the demon dimensions. It is precisely the integrity, dignity, and honesty of humanity that allows the portal to be sealed.” He returned to his book as if he’d had the last word.
“A rogue portal that the Citadel doesn’t know about because it was sealed centuries before the Citadel was founded, and bypasses the chat room,” I mused. That would explain a lot.
“That still doesn’t explain why Donovan doesn’t destroy the blanket,” I said.
“Because he’s half human,” Cynthia replied.
Out of the mouths of babes.
Gollum put down his book and stared at the girl. His hands stroked the cat in rhythm with his breathing as if the action helped him think. Or maybe the cat’s purr soothed and ordered his thoughts. “Of course. If Donovan destroys the blanket, he destroys half of himself. He’s not trying to go back to the demon world, nor is he trying to integrate completely with the human world. He wants a homeland for half-breeds, like himself.”
“There’s a story in history…” The brief glimpse I had of an answer passed. “Come on, I need to show both of you something.”
“I need to start weaving.”
“You need to come with us.” I threw Cynthia my running jacket and grabbed a sweater. Gollum could fend for himself.
An hour later Gollum boosted Cynthia and then me up the last boulder to the ledge outside the cave. Cynthia had delayed our trek by constantly stopping to gather bits of grass and plants, bird feathers, a tuft of animal hair, anything that might enhance the blanket when twisted together into a rough yarn.
Instinctively I looked up the cliff face, ready to duck at the first sign of observers with guns.
As Gollum hauled himself over the edge of the rock, he paused, still supporting himself with his arms and shoulders at an awkward angle. He was stronger than I thought. He studied the rocks beside his hands for a long moment before continuing up to our level.
“Looks like a bullet hit the dirt right there,” he commented casually.
Automatically, I touched my arm where a rock chip had sliced me on the ricochet. It had healed cleaner and faster than the two dog bites. I didn’t want to think about the demon bite. Scrap’s ministrations helped, but it would still take a long time to heal. I had needed Gollum’s broad shoulders and well-muscled arms to help me over the last barrier.
Why hadn’t I noticed his strength before? He had to do more of a workout than just tai chi.
Gollum raised his eyebrows, keeping his eyes on my arm.
I nodded briefly, then turned to face the crease in the cliff. “In here.”
“Doesn’t look like much of a cave to me,” Cynthia said skeptically.
“Trust me. It’s bigger than it looks.”
I paused before ducking inside. “Please do not reject us,” I pleaded with the unseen guardians of this place.
“We mean you no harm. We honor this place and will not desecrate it.”
Then I swallowed deeply and entered the narrow defile.
I didn’t really expect the ghosts to heed me, but it couldn’t hurt.
Goose bumps rose on my arms and back the moment I moved from sunshine to shadow; far more than the change in temperature from outside to inside would account for. Gollum shivered as well the moment he stood upright within the dim confines of the cave. Cynthia, however, poked into the ashy remnants of the fire without visible concern.
“An old campfire. So what. It could be two weeks or two centuries old.” She shrugged and scuffed the dirt.
“Can you tell if it’s old or new?” I asked Gollum.
He was already on his knees, sifting through the rockfall.
In moments he had collected a hand full of… of pottery sherds. They looked like rock chips to my uneducated eye.
“This looks precontact, but I’d need to do some tests in a lab to be sure. People are turning out some great fakes these days.” He held up one of the larger sherds with traces of pigment on it that might have represented a lizard, or a snake, or rippling water. Or it might just be a squiggle.
“If it’s precontact, and the construction above caused the rockfall, can we get the casino shut down?” I asked.
“Probably. There’s enough here to call the state archaeologist and get an investigation started.” He came to one knee, ready to rise to his full height.
Suddenly, the temperature in the cave dropped at least another ten degrees. We both froze in place.
“What?” Cynthia asked, still oblivious to the eerie chill.
Mist developed around the fire, drifted a moment, then coalesced into three vaguely human forms.
I caught glimpses of long dark hair and feathers, bone beads and leather.
Pressure fell on my chest. My breathing came in short sharp pants. I had to leave. I had to go outside. There wasn’t enough air in this place.
Gollum, too, breathed with difficulty.
“Leave the sherds. We’ve got to get out of here,” I panted.
“What?” Cynthia protested. Then her eyes grew large.
I saw understanding dawn in her gaze.
She smiled hugely and walked right up to the trio of ghosts. “Hi, guys, are you here to protect me?”
Tess is in danger. I can feel it. I have to brave the cat to go to my babe.
I have battled and bested all forms of demons in the chat room. I survived my Mum. I can handle one lowly cat.
“I am not a lowly creature,” it deigns to advise me. Its tail swishes and churns. It narrows its eyes and bunches its muscles, ready to pounce.
“Tell me your name and I won’t kill you, this time,
” I snarl at it.
“Sit still so I can kill you, imp.”
That’s it. I take a deep breath, unfurl my wings—grown quite a bit after the last battle, and I got six more warts—and leap.
I skim past the highest reach of the cat’s paws, lean down, and grab a pawful of tail hair.
Gleefully, I pop over to my babe, trophy in hand.
Chapter 39
The Incas and Aztecs used slave labor to collect bat fur as clothing decoration. They probably used only pelts from large fruit eating bats as most do not have enough fur to make collecting economically viable.
THE CAVE MIGHT HAVE warmed a degree or two. Nothing more. Cynthia might feel at home here with the spectral guardians. Gollum and I still were not welcome.
“What?” Cynthia turned her big dark eyes on me once more. “They won’t hurt you.”
“Tell that to them.” I jerked my head in the direction of the three solemn figures who had moved into a semicircle around the rockfall.
I heard mad laughter in the back of my mind. It sounded a lot, more than a lot, like Dill when he’d told one of his outrageous puns that insulted the entire world without being totally offensive because he touched a universal truth. He was good at that.
Suddenly I wondered why I had found his humor so endearing. In retrospect, he seemed immature and unsympathetic, almost racist. And definitely insulting.
The three native ghosts remained the only ones I could see. If Dillwyn was present, he wasn’t visible. I chose to ignore him.
“Listen, guys, these are my friends. They take care of me in the outside world. I welcome them, so you should, too,” Cynthia addressed her new friends.
They remained implacable.
“You might be a little more respectful of them,” Gollum whispered. “Ghosts are not usually in tune with teenage flip attitudes and vocabulary.”
Cynthia rolled her eyes. But she turned back to the ghosts and bowed ever so slightly. Just a token, barely a show of respect at all. “Listen, my friends, I’m the new weaver. Times have changed. I’ve got to live out there as well as weave the blanket.”
“If we ever get our hands on it again,” I muttered.