The Bluejay Shaman (Alix Thorssen Mystery Series)

by Lise McClendon

  Elaine stared at the fire, her deer hooves in one hand, tapping against the other palm. The flickers of the fire lit up her smeared face, especially around her nostrils where she hadn't applied any black. She seemed to be in a trance, her shoulders slumped forward, eyes wide. Zena, on the other hand, seemed very much awake. Her eyes flicked from place to place as she kept her head completely still. Her black hair was braided now by each ear. She told me she had taken a nap earlier in the evening; she did look rested. Her rattle tapped against her palm.

  Sylvie sat opposite me, in the position closest to the cave opening. She stared over the tops of the flames at the bluejay painting on the rock wall. Her face was a fortress. Without warning she put down the rattle and began to chant. I had heard it before, in Tilden's sweathouse.

  Zena and Elaine took the cue, setting down their rattles. They joined in the low, three-note chant, rhythmic and soft. It reminded me of rocking a baby to sleep with nonsense syllables. Sort of a "oi-ya-ya." The lull of the words without meaning, droning on and on. I wanted to ask him about Shiloh and Charlotte, but when? Had Elaine and Zena already done it?

  Tilden pranced around the circle. He paused behind Sylvie and looked at me with his owl eyes. "You will chant. You will all chant." He continued his dance.

  I sat taller. "I don't want to chant." Maybe I could get him talking.

  Tilden was behind me. He came high-stepping around again and repeated himself: "You will all chant."

  "No, I will not."

  Even Elaine flashed me a look from the corner of her eye. Tilden continued dancing as if I had said nothing. I tensed, waiting for his reply. It came unexpectedly, a sharp kneecap down on my back, raking my rib cage. I moaned and leaned forward from the blow.

  Quickly, though, I gasped for breath; it was an angry one. "Hey!" I said. "Cut it out."

  The chant had almost died out. Sylvie was the only one left, a whisper. Mad Dog rounded the circle again. His makeup was smeared on one knee.

  "You will all chant!" he boomed. Zena and Elaine picked up the chant, eyeing me.

  I said nothing. Mad Dog padded in the sand floor, a small scuffing sound. He twirled once, a flourish, then continued. I tensed as he was behind me but he kept going around. His face was set in a stoic pose. Some divine grace. His night of all nights? What a case. And how did he get these women to do his bidding? Were they as frightened as I knew Elaine to be? Tilden moved around again, the chanting soft, the beat even. I gritted my teeth, moving my back to feel the pain in my ribs. I kept my eyes on him as he pranced to the rhythm around again toward me.

  This time I was ready for him. A glimpse, a minute one, just before he rounded behind me, told me to beware. I leaned to one side just as his knees came down. One knee caught my shoulder, the other missed. Mad Dog reeled into the sand, catching himself on his hands and knees, leaning against Elaine. She let a small scream escape and pushed him off her.

  Thunder crashed outside the cave. The walls of rock cushioned the sound, a freight-train rumble passing deep below us in the mountainside. The rain began falling, heavy wet drops bouncing off the earth.

  Tilden picked himself up. Sylvie began to chant loudly. Zena and Elaine chimed in. Mad Dog took up the dance again as if nothing had happened.

  Something snapped in me. This whole scene revolted me. Why were these women doing this stupid ceremony for this deranged man? What hold did he have over them? Even Elaine's explanation was weak. But she was weak, and afraid. Were they all afraid of him? Was it because they knew he killed two women and were afraid he would kill them? Whatever their reasons, I hated this submissive crap. No man ties me up and makes me sit in a cave all night. I began to wiggle in my twine while looking out for the kneecapper. The rope cut into my skin.

  My blood began to boil. I could keep my mouth shut no longer. "This is no bluejay dance," I declared, my voice loud over the chanting.

  Tilden was opposite me. He gave me a bored look. "Quiet," Sylvie said. I let Tilden dance around behind me.

  "Where is the bluejay pictograph, Dr. Ti1den? Did Shiloh steal it?"

  Elaine stopped chanting and looked at me, her mouth agape. No, she hadn't brought up Shiloh before I arrived. Zena pretended I hadn't said a thing. The reaction for Sylvie and Ti1den was just what I had hoped. Both stopped what they were doing. They froze in place. Took them by surprise, I did. I smiled.

  Then Sylvie began to chant again. She gave Tilden a look I couldn't comprehend from my angle, a look that started him dancing. I guessed they weren't going to dignify my question with a response. That was all right. I had my answer. Tilden pranced around again. "Or was it Charlotte who took off with it?"

  The reaction this time was muted. Surprise only works once. Sylvie closed her eyes and chanted louder. Zena and Elaine chimed in. Tilden bent over, dancing furiously.

  I worked on my wrists. They felt raw but the twine was loosening. My eyes followed Mad Dog, the high•stepping, jiving, jamming bluejay shaman. He seemed to hunker down now, serious at last without my impertinent questions. He made no attempts to kneecap me again but I kept a wary eye on him. The twine broke with a snap. I glanced at Sylvie but her eyes were closed. She hadn't seen the twitch of my sack dress as my wrists popped free; my arms were free, my legs weren't. Not much chance of making a run for it. The short sack dress didn't provide any cover to work on the ankle twine. And my arms were still inside the burlap sack, with little chance to make a quick getaway out the armholes.

  I racked my brain for a plan, trying to think of a way to communicate with Elaine or Zena without rousing suspicion. I rubbed my sore wrists. I stole glances at my two compadres. They appeared asleep except for their moving lips. And all along the three-note chant, oi-yo-yo, oi-yo-yo, the padding of bare feet on the sand floor, the smell of the rain pummeling the hillside and the rocks, the flash of lightning and its mate, the rolling thunder. The fire popped and flickered. It should have warned me. But it didn't.

  Tilden stopped behind me and let out an incomprehensible sound. A foreign word. And tapped me hard on the top of my head. "Untie her feet." He stood behind me, his knees pressing against my back. I leaned forward but he pushed harder. I sat up straight, pushing his goddamned bony kneecaps back. In the lull that came when the chanting stopped, we played seesaw. With each push I lost more playfulness.

  The three women looked at us from their grotesque blackened faces. To me they looked pitiful; it made me wonder how I looked. I threw my hair back off my face. Sylvie stared at her husband.

  "That's not a good idea, Marcus," she said, low but firm.

  "I am the bluejay shaman!" His deep voice bounced off the rock walls of the cave, gaining with each echo. Sylvie stood up and came toward us. "She will ruin everything" she whispered.

  "I am the bluejay shaman!" His voice was louder, and off-key. Sylvie's hand shook as she brought a Swiss army knife from the pile of clothing and opened a blade. I held my breath as she brought the blade near my white ankles. She slipped the blade under the twine and snapped it.

  As she stood Sylvie grabbed my arm through the rough burlap and pulled me up with her. My legs ached from sitting on the cold dirt floor; red lines ringed my ankles where the twine had cut into the skin. Sylvie turned me toward Tilden by the shoulders.

  He stood facing the rock painting again, his head bowed in reverence. Beyond him, around a bend in the cave, I could see a dark recess that appeared to have a pile of straw on the floor. A small, fat candle burned in a metal can, flickering on the cave walls. Sylvie gave me a push from behind toward the recess. I stumbled, brushing into Tilden. The flap of his breechclout brushed aside, baring a white cheek. A half• moon, sickeningly bright with scraggly black hairs curling on it. Was it the sight of that one white cheek that made it all come clear? Or the private, romantic glow of

  candlelight in his little love nest?

  Whatever it was, it came clear: Tilden got these women to do his bidding in more ways than one. And the big one occurred back here. The whole enchi
lada, the nine yards. Spread it, baby, let the bluejay come to roost.

  The revelation hit me square in the gut, followed by blinding rage. I thrust back my elbow into Sylvie's stomach as hard as I could, sending her backward, bent over, gasping for air. Tilden spun around and came toward me. I struggled my arms out of the slits in the sack dress but he was on me before I finished. My knee connected with his

  breezy little breechclout, but he turned, protecting his groin with his leg.

  "Sit down!" he commanded as he took my shoulders and tried to push me to the floor. My arms finally free, I batted at his while kicking his shins with bare feet. My toes felt like mincemeat before I gave up. I tried to twist away but his hands tightened like iron on my shoulders.

  I gasped in frustration. "Let me go!"

  Sylvie came back to life then and tackled me from the side, her arms tight around my knees, sending me sailing back against the straw. I landed hard on my butt. The blow shivered up my spine and rattled my skull. Tilden followed her, trying to get hold of my arms. I doubled my fist and tried to punch him but I must say I never learned to fistfight. I was flailing, grunting, using my elbows, my fingernails, pulling hair, anything.

  "Elaine! Zena! Help me!" I yelled between pulling Sylvie's braids and trying to get hold of Tilden's ears. I connected on his face with a long scratch down his left temple that didn't slow him. "Bring the twine. Elaine!" Sylvie said. I looked toward the campfire, hall-hidden by the bend in the rock wall. As I did Tilden grabbed my wrists. I groaned, trying to pull them away.

  "Elaine! What are you doing?" She appeared with the rope.

  "Help me!" Tilden shoved me back on the straw. "Help me!" Tilden shoved me back on the straw. I was now flat on my back with Sylvie on my legs and Tilden holding my arms down at my sides. He bent over me, his face reddening under the makeup, his breathing heavy.

  "You'll never teach again." The anger swelled in me, trying to escape. The twine circled my ankles, tight and cutting. Lightning flashed, sending an electric charge through the cave. The thunder came quick on its heels, cracking open the sky right outside. It sounded like a tree had been hit. Then the rain came down in torrential sheets, pounding everything in its path. The wind blew in the cave over the campfire, sending sparks flying.

  "Zena, tie her wrists. Elaine, you hold them," Sylvie said. With my ankles bound, she stood up. Her face was in shadow from my vantage point but it probably would have shown nothing but the fury I had produced by disrupting the professor's cozy cult.

  The two other women came toward me. "Elaine. Zena. You can't be serious. Don't do this. Don't let him do this to me." I searched their faces, trying to plead with them without letting Tilden know we had prearranged this meeting. I didn't know what danger they might be in if he knew. Tilden held my shoulders down as Elaine took my wrists.

  "Elaine," I whispered. "Please." I began to panic. I could feel it growing within me as if the thunder had entered my body and was fighting its way out. A roar rose in my ears. A scream collected in my throat. This couldn't be happening to me. It couldn't.

  Then the voice: "All right, everybody. The party's over."

  25

  MENDEZ STOOD IN the cave, both hands on his gun leveled at us. The gun was the first thing I saw, glistening in the dim light, hard, metallic, and cold. Mendez stood astride, feet firmly planted in the dirt next to the campfire. His face held no emotion. It was as cold and hard as his PoliceSpecial. My first instinct was that he had come to kill us all: He is the killer. The panic that had been rising in me began to flood my eyes, my nose, my ears. This is it.

  This is it.

  The people around me had frozen in place. Then suddenly Sylvie turned to her husband, a look of unmistakable terror in her eyes. She knows Mendez is the killer, I thought. She knows he will shoot us all. Tilden rose slowly, gathering himself to a dignified stance. As dignified as possible with black smeared all over your skin and your privates flapping in the breeze. "What do you want?" His voice was condescending. He was the bluejay shaman, after all.

  "I want you to move away from her. Slowly." Mendez twitched the gun to his right, toward the rock painting. "Over there. All of you."

  As if in a state of suspended animation Sylvie, Tilden, Elaine and Zena stepped away. Sylvie came behind my head, stepping up beside her husband, her hand on his arm. I lifted myself up on my elbows, then sat up.

  "Are you all right, Alix.?" Mendez asked, glancing away from the others for an instant. I tried to clear my head. Why is he concerned about my safety if he has come to kill us all? I shook my head to clear it. "Alix? Are you hurt?"

  "Umm," I stammered. "No. I'm all right." He had come here to rescue me-- not to kill us all. I tried to sink into the dark recesses of the cave to hide. But as I put my hand back on the straw I felt the heat. Gasping, I pulled my hand back. A pile of straw sat on the candle. As I looked back it flashed up, a golden rocket of flame.

  "Fire! Fire!" Someone yelled.

  Confusion followed, running, shouting, stamping, screaming. Mendez kicked away the straw and stamped it out with his shoes. Elaine took up a wail, sinking against the side wall of the cave with her hands over her ears. Sylvie pulled Tilden past the campfire into the night. For an instant I saw Zena hesitate. Her eyes were wide with fright. Then she bolted out of the cave.

  When the fire was out I realized I had sat immobile through the melee, doing nothing. I was scared shitless, frozen to the spot. Totally useless. I pulled my knees up to my chest and hugged them. My forehead dropped against them. I swayed to the sound of Elaine's screaming. My mind was a void. A great black void.

  Mendez was shaking me. "Alix!" I lifted my head. Everything was blurry. "Alix, it's over." He whispered my name. It sounded like Rollie's voice, my father's voice. My cheek was on his shoulder now, his hands on my neck. Tears streamed down my face. I swallowed hard and pulled myself away, wiping my face.

  "Can't you get her to stop?" I got my first good look at Mendez. He had been drenched by the thunderstorm. Everything he wore--a dark windbreaker, jeans, chamois shirt, boots--everything was soaking wet. His black hair fell over his forehead in wet ringlets. His hands were damp as he wiped my face with a handkerchief. He glanced at Elaine. She sat slumped in a heap, wailing her lungs out. It echoed around the cave, bouncing off the craggy angles. A smile crept onto Mendez's lips, a slightly mocking smile, as he got up and walked to her.

  "Miss?" He shook her shoulders very lightly.

  "Her name's Elaine," I shouted over the wail. "Elaine!"

  Elaine paused. She opened her eyes for a minute, saw Mendez, and opened her mouth to scream again. "Wait, Elaine. It's over now. They're gone." His voice was gentle and soothing. She closed her mouth.

  "Gone?" Her eyes darted around the cave. "Did you shoot them?"

  Mendez shook his head. "They ran out."

  Elaine took another look, then heaved a sigh of relief. "Thank God." She stood up and walked to the corner where the clothes had been heaped. The Tilden's and Zena had grabbed things on their escape. "Oh, no. I hope all my stuff's still here." Without a thought to Mendez's presence she hiked the burlap sack dress over her head and began to dress in her civilian clothes.

  Mendez stooped down to untie the twine from my ankles. The knots were still loose. In a moment I was free, standing in the pile of straw that I had dreaded so. I kicked it off my bare feet and looked away from Mendez to Elaine.

  "I have to get dressed," I said. Does humiliation flow from humility? I never considered them the same thing. To have humility means you don't take yourself too seriously. To be humiliated is something else entirely. It is demeaning, degrading. You are crushed, flattened.

  That was the way I felt on the drive back to Missoula. I drove Elaine's Valiant again, since she was shaking all over, wet and hysterical after the walk back to the cars. Besides, I couldn't ride with Mendez. He had come to rescue me and I thought he meant to kill us!

  The thought was base and humiliating in itself. Even if he wasn'
t the gloating, I-told-you-so type (and I didn't know that for a fact) I could feel the message in the air around him. Oh, I was grateful he had come to the cave. A rescue by anyone was preferable to being raped by a maniac. But it humiliated me. Just being in the entire situation, tied up, helpless, was almost unthinkable. I considered myself a resourceful, independent woman. I could get along. I had been getting along. It wasn't that I didn't like men, I did. I liked them a lot. But I didn't need them for my work. That I could do quite well on my own, thank you very much.

  That's what I thought. But I had gotten myself in too deep. I could have been hurt or killed. Just like Melina had told me at supper. We had argued about going up to the cave with Elaine and Zena. I won the argument but she made me tell her all the details, where I was going, when I would be back, everything. So she could tell the police where to look for me when I didn't come back.

  The police. She had told Mendez. Of course. But how, when? I slowed to a stop before entering the main highway. The El Dorado shone its headlights through my back window; I squinted into the rearview mirror and made the turn. Elaine shivered against the door. We had all gotten soaked in a last downpour of the thunderstorm before it moved off onto the plains. The hike back was helped by Zena's flashlight until it burned out in the middle of the forest. Wet branches slapped us, scolding us for our defective judgment.

  Exactly what Melina would say. Could get you killed. I couldn't live with it if something happened to you because of me, Alix. I talked to Wade about it this morning when I visited him. Don't take any chances because of him. Don't take any chances. She had been upset by the visit to Wade. Hondo had told them the trial may get delayed by the investigation into Charlotte Vardis's death. The police thought they were linked. I knew that. I also knew they didn't know how they were linked.