“What for? Where’s Manny?” she repeated.
Gonzalo hesitated, then said, “He’s at the hospital with Señora White Horse. She was concerned for your well-being, so Manny sent me to check on you.”
It took Sadie a moment to figure out who that was. “So she’s okay?” she asked.
“She’s recovering, no thanks to you.”
“Hey, if she hadn’t—” Sadie broke off what she’d been about to say. She took a breath and forced herself to at least sound calm. “I need to talk to her.”
Gonzalo laughed without any humour.
“Seriously. I’m not going to hurt her.”
“Because we won’t give you the opportunity.”
Sadie took the utility knife out of the pocket.
“Relax,” she said when she sensed the crow man stiffen.
She drew back her arm and threw the knife off into the darkness. It hit something metal with a sharp ping, then clattered on the ground.
“See?” she said. “Now I can’t hurt anybody.”
Gonzalo stood silent for a long moment.
“Manny still says no,” he finally said.
Sadie gave him a puzzled look, then realized he must have a Bluetooth earpiece.
“Give me your phone—let me talk to him.”
“I don’t have a phone.”
“Then how can you…never mind. I get it. You’re all magic people. You can change into birds and now it turns out you’re telepathic. But that crap doesn’t make you the boss of me. You tell Manny I’ll find out what hospital she’s in and I’m going to talk to her whether he likes it or not.”
“I’ll stop you.”
Sadie smiled. She wasn’t sure if he had superhero night vision on top of everything else, and she didn’t really care.
“You know what?” she said. “You probably can’t. I’ve still got that witch’s spell working for me. I’ll bet as soon as you try anything with me I’m just going to disappear and you won’t even know where I am.”
“Wait.”
“No thanks. See you later, loser.” She started to walk away.
“No, wait,” Gonzalo called after her.
She paused, but she didn’t turn around.
“He wants to know why you want to see Señora White Horse.”
Sadie made him wait a couple of moments before she finally came back. “Tell him I want to apologize.”
Gonzalo just stood there, but a moment later he said, “Manny says that’s not going to change anything.”
“You think I don’t know that? But it’s important to do it anyway.”
Again there was the lag while Gonzalo mentally filled Manny in.
“For you or for her?” he asked.
“For both of us.”
Pause.
“Okay,” Gonzalo told her. “Manny says you can come by. But if you try anything…”
Sadie kicked the dirt. “What the hell am I going to try?”
Gonzalo gave a slow nod. “Come along then.”
He set off, easily picking a way through the junk. Sadie trailed behind at a slower pace. When they got to the chain-link fence, Gonzalo hopped easily onto the top. He balanced there for a moment before jumping down on the other side. He didn’t make a sound. Sadie thought she was going to have to climb it herself until she realized that he’d led her to a spot where someone had cut a hole in the chain-link.
Gonzalo looked back before continuing down the street. Sadie squeezed through the hole and hurried after him.
62
Steve
The past few days have given me a whole new understanding of just how weird-ass the world can be, but this takes it to a whole other level. Because it’s not just a helicopter with the damn thing flying itself. It’s a dog that’s turned itself into a helicopter. We’re inside a dang dog. I remember my dad’s old expression, that dog won’t hunt, that he’d use when he was telling you something wouldn’t work. This sure is a whole other dog story, and I’m as happy as anyone on board when we finally come up over a rise and there’s Sammy’s hunting lodge nestled in the pines.
I never even noticed the transition between the otherworld and here. But I don’t care. All that matters is we’re off that mountaintop.
The chopper takes us over the pines before coming down on a helipad on the far side of the lodge. Reuben pops the door open and we all pile out. I’m the last one. As soon as my feet touch the tarmac, the helicopter shrinks and is gone. Just like that, the big black dog is back sitting on his haunches staring at us. Or maybe not us. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I can’t shake the feeling that most of his attention is on me, expectant.
I break eye contact and look around. A path leads off under the trees, back toward the lodge, no doubt. At the edge of the helipad are a pair of ATVs. One’s the usual two-seater. The other looks like a golf cart on steroids: big, fat monster tires, a roof overhead, probably seats six. After that, there’s just the mountain dropping away, its forested slopes marching off into the deeper darkness below.
“Well, it’s been real,” Sammy says. He starts for the path, but Reuben grabs him by the collar of his shirt like a pup by its scruff and brings him to a stop.
“We’re not done,” Reuben says.
Sammy grunts and shakes himself loose. “We worked out what I need to do. Now you’re not okay with it anymore? Make up your mind, Little Tree.”
“It’s provisional, depending on what the Aunts have to say.”
Sammy rolls his eyes. I can feel Reuben’s hackles rising and put a hand on his arm.
Reuben takes in a breath, lets it out. “But while I’ve got your attention,” he finally tells Sammy, “the other thing you need to do is to treat the animals you hunt with respect.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sammy asks.
“It means that when one of your trophy hunters bags a bighorn, you give sincere thanks to its spirit for the gift of its life. And you don’t leave the carcass rotting on the rocks.”
“Oh, come on. What do you expect me to do with it?”
“Lot of folks on my side of the rez would be grateful for the meat and hide. You can have one of your boys drop it off at the trading post and I’ll see it goes to whoever needs it the most.”
“You mean you’ll sell it to them.”
Reuben frowns. “See, that’s the white man in you talking—no offense, Steve.”
I wave it off.
Sammy’s jaw is out. “People come out with crap like that when they’ve got nothing and need to bow and scrape to make ends meet,” he says. “But I remember what it was like to be dirt poor, and I’m never going to live like that again.”
“I’m never poor in spirit,” Reuben says.
“Sure, that’s what everybody who’s got nothing wants to believe. Like the white man’s Bible, where it says the meek are going to inherit the earth. But I’ve got news for you, Little Tree. That’s never going to happen. The meek don’t come out ahead. Not ever. Money’s the game changer, even for a traditionalist like you. Once they get a taste of it, nobody turns their back on it.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” I tell him.
Sammy laughs. “Says the desert rat who’s got less than the poorest blood on the rez.”
I look at him and then back at Gordo.
Sammy holds up his hands. “Hey, don’t get me wrong.” He nods in Gordo’s direction. “I’ll play the game your way because you’ve got the big gun pointed at my head. But don’t kid yourself. Your ideals don’t change the way things really work.”
“You can say that after everything you’ve seen today?”
Sammy shrugs. “So the ma’inawo are real. I know they’ve got me over a barrel and I need to adjust my game to their demands. But off the rez? Outside of these mountains? How many of them do you see as CEOs or politicians? None. Want to know why? Because they’re not the movers and shakers of the world. If they were, they’d be running it instead of humans.”
I think abo
ut how Sammy was, back in the otherworld—so scared I was surprised he didn’t crap his pants. But here, with that big hunting lodge on the other side of these pines—just one accomplishment out of the many he’s managed to pull off—he’s regained all of his old arrogance.
Reuben smiles as though Sammy’s just said something particularly stupid. I’ve seen that look before when someone around him has messed things up.
“I guess you’ve got it all figured out,” he drawls.
Sammy nods. “Damn straight I do.” He points a finger at Thomas. “I know it’s too late for Little Tree, kid, but if you ever want to make something out of your life, come see me. I can show you how there’s more to living than eating dust and scrabbling to make ends meet.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Thomas says.
Sammy shakes his head. “Yeah, sure you will.”
He faces Reuben again. “Tell Morago I’ll be by to see him.” Then he turns away and heads down the path toward the lodge.
“Phone Jerry while you’re at it,” Reuben calls after him. “Clear up that bullshit story you tried to sell him about Steve and me.”
Sammy doesn’t stop, but he lifts a hand, thumb up, and keeps going.
Reuben turns to me. “I wish we’d just tossed him off the mountain.”
“Me too, but you know why we didn’t do that.”
“Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
He looks from Gordo to Thomas. “What do you think?” he asks Thomas. “Do we still owe the ma’inawo anything?”
Thomas looks at the dog. “How would I know?”
“I owe Si’tala,” I say.
Reuben’s attention jolts back in my direction. “What? I guess nobody warned you not to make bargains with ma’inawo.”
“I guess not.”
He sighs. “What did you promise her?”
“I told her I’d make her a body,” I say.
“Out of what?”
I shrug. “She said it doesn’t matter. Doesn’t matter what it looks like, either. Apparently it’s just my intent while making it that’s important.”
“What do you get in return?”
“A marker that I can call in when I need to.”
Reuben sighs. “You should have talked to me or Morago before you agreed to anything.”
“That wasn’t really an option, considering where I was.”
“Maybe so. But when you see how batshit crazy Consuela’s turned out to be, do we really want another one of her walking around sticking her nose in everybody’s business?”
I start to say something, but he waves it off. “It’s too late now,” he says. He rolls his shoulders. “Time we were heading back to our part of the rez anyway. But talk to Morago about this when you can, and maybe Calico, too, if you ever see her again.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I get that look again. “Doesn’t matter if she’s ma’inawo or human,” he says, “I know a pissed off woman when I see one, and that fox girl of yours has a serious mad on.”
“Come on. She knows what I meant. And if she doesn’t, she’ll be back and we’ll talk it out.”
He shakes his head and looks at Thomas. “Is it just me or did you feel it, too?”
Thomas give him a puzzled look. “Feel what?”
“How the collective intelligence here just dropped another few IQ points,” Reuben says.
“Real funny,” I tell him.
His gaze is back on me. “I’m not joking, Steve.” He gives his shoulders another roll, stretches the muscles in his neck. “Let’s head out. It’s a long way home.”
He walks toward the path that Sammy took.
“Can’t you just step us into the otherworld?” I ask.
“Sure. If you want to be in the otherworld version of this same mountain. Like I told you, I don’t have the same gift of getting around as Calico does.”
“Great.”
After the past few hours, the last thing I feel like is a hike through the mountains. But Reuben stops at the big ATV.
“What?” he says. “You didn’t think we were going to walk, did you? Sammy owes us the use of this machine.”
He gets behind the wheel. When Thomas and I take our own seats, Reuben looks back at the dog.
“What do you say, big fellow?” he calls over to Gordo. “You want a ride?”
The dog stands up, takes a step in our direction, and disappears.
Reuben laughs. “Yeah, you couldn’t just give us a lift?”
He starts the engine. It sounds loud and the head beams seem too bright as he steers us onto the rough trail that’ll take us down the mountain.
63
Leah
There was an old, rusty pickup truck out front in the patient drop-off zone. A white teenage boy dressed in a bright Hawaiian shirt, baggy shorts and sneakers leaned on one of its fenders. His hair was blond and messy, and even in the dim light from the lamppost overhead, his eyes were a startling blue against his tan. He looked like a surfer, Leah thought.
The boy straightened up as Diego led them in his direction.
“Dude!” the boy said. He grinned. “You never said there were going to be ladies.”
“I didn’t say there wouldn’t be, either,” Diego told him. “Now behave.”
The boy nodded. Still grinning, he ushered Leah and Marisa to the passenger’s side and opened the door for them. Leah eyed the bench seat, built to fit three.
“Don’t worry,” the boy said. “The boss man prefers riding in the back.”
Leah glanced at Diego, who nodded and hopped into the bed of the truck. He gathered up what looked like a pile of horse blankets and made a seat for himself, his back leaning against the cab.
Marisa slid into the middle, then Leah got in. The boy went around to the driver’s side. Once he was behind the wheel he waited for them to buckle up, then called out the window to Diego.
“Where to, Boss?”
“The Silver Spur Motel,” Marisa replied before Diego could speak.
The boy waited for a nod from Diego before he put the truck in gear and pulled away from the curb.
Leah hadn’t known where the hospital was, and felt completely lost as they navigated through backstreets that all presented what seemed to be the same series of adobe buildings, dirt yards and cacti.
Neither she nor Marisa had a lot to say on the drive, but the boy behind the wheel kept up a constant stream of chatter. At any other time Leah would have been amused—the kid was smart and funny—but right now it just exhausted her, so she tuned him out, leaving Marisa to hold up their side of the conversation. Fortunately, Marisa seemed happily engaged enough.
Finally, the neon of their motel’s sign came into view, and Leah began to feel grounded. When they pulled into the dirt parking lot and the boy brought the car to a halt, Leah popped her door and got out as quickly as she could.
“Thanks for the ride,” she said, not really looking at either the boy or Diego.
“No probs, dude,” the boy said. Diego lifted a lazy hand.
Marisa slid over and hopped onto the ground. For a moment, she looked as though she might lean back into the truck for a final word, but Leah stepped forward and closed the door.
“Drive safely!” she said, giving the pair a small wave. They heard the boy laughing as the pickup pulled away.
“You must be tired,” Marisa said as they watched the taillights disappear. “You were so quiet on the ride back.”
“I am beyond tired,” Leah said, turning back to their motel room. She plopped down on one of the two cast iron chairs on either side of the table outside their door. “But it’s mostly from all of this…I don’t even know what to call it. Magic?”
Marisa sat across from her. “Magic,” she repeated.
“You know. Otherworlds and animal people, floating people and falling, and just…everything. The world doesn’t make sense anymore. Take that kid in the truck. He looks like a kid, but what kind of an animal person do
you think he is, really?”
“He’s not necessarily any kind,” Marisa said.
Leah gave her a tired smile. “Right. With Mr. Mountain Lion Head for a boss.” She sighed. “I don’t know what to think about anything anymore.”
Marisa regarded her for a long moment, then looked off into the darkness.
“None of this fazes you, does it?” Leah said.
“It does and it doesn’t. It’s just… Look, if you want things to feel normal again, they will, if you let them.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know why, but the way our brains are wired, we seem to forget any inexplicable things that happen to us, as though our minds prefer to file them away as impossible. Most people take comfort in not having to deal with this stuff. But if you do want to remember, you have to work at it or else you’ll find some more plausible explanation for what you experienced, and it all fades away. Much sooner than you’d expect.”
“I can’t imagine forgetting anything about today. Ever.”
“And yet you will, if you let it. Jilly told Alan and me about it after the whole business with Isabelle’s numena, and we didn’t believe her any more than you believe me right now. But we could feel it start to slip away within just a few days, so we made a pact to talk about it with each other and Jilly on a regular basis. I think it’s pretty much hardwired in us now.”
Leah put her face in her hands. “Oh God. Jilly. When I think of all the times I’ve teased her for her stories about faeries and ghosts and—what were those odd fey girls that she claimed lived in junked cars? Gummy-somethings?”
“Gemmin.”
Leah let her hands fall away. “So that’s all real? The things Jilly paints, the stories Christy tells?”
Marisa smiled. “Jilly, yes. But with Christy you might want to take them with a grain of salt. He’s been known to make things up.”
“God, I can’t believe I’m stuck in a Christy Riddell story.”
Marisa laughed. “It’s not that bad.”
“But now I get it,” Leah said. “Why they’re telling their stories, why Jilly does those paintings. That’s their way of not forgetting—of getting the story out so that it becomes a part of the world we know, instead of this weird secret other place that only exists on the fringes.”
The Wind in His Heart Page 37