by E. A. Copen
He flashed me a grin and a wink. “Nothin’, darlin’.”
“Call me darlin’ again and you’re going to be in trouble.” I turned to stare out the window as we pulled back into the reservation.
Sal grunted. “Trouble find Tanto even when he not go looking. Kimosabe always drag Tanto into mess.” He handed his ID out the window to the border patrol. “But Tanto not mind so much following Kimosabe into battle. Kimosabe have nice ass. Worth saving.”
I may have rolled my eyes, but I also smiled. It was always hard not to smile when I was with him, no matter what was going on.
He got his ID back and drove us back toward the house. Paint Rock wasn’t completely underwater. There was still four to six inches of water in the streets and low-lying areas. The closer we got to the rear of the reservation, though, the more water we ran into. My house was on a small rise and the water still came up to the stoop. Meanwhile, Sal’s trailer was, of course, far enough off the ground that his place was fine.
Sal pulled into my driveway and let the truck idle a minute. “Promise me something, Judah. Promise me you won’t run out there in the dark looking for this thing? That you’ll wait until the sun comes up, at least?”
I gave him a skeptical look. “You think I’m going to go running around in the dark and high water looking for some mythical snake?”
“I think you care enough about a grumpy werewolf and his boy that you’d wade out into shark-infested waters if it’d help.” He smiled, but his voice told me he was worried. “You’re a good woman, but you’re damn stubborn. I worry about you.”
“I’ll be fine.” I put my hand on the door handle, but paused when Sal’s hand touched my shoulder.
“I’m serious. I don’t want anything to happen to you. I... I do care. That’s not just something I say. You know I mean that, right?”
I didn’t turn around to meet his eyes. I knew if I did, this conversation could go places I didn’t want it to go. He might have been ready to talk about that unspoken thing between us, but I wasn’t. So, I said, “I know,” and opened the door.
Hunter woke up as I hopped down out of the truck and I held the door for my son as he shambled out, griping about the water.
“Night, Sal,” I said.
“Night, Judah.”
I guided my half-asleep son through the yard and into the house, not turning around to watch Sal drive away.
Once Hunter was in bed, I struck a match and lit the storm lanterns I kept on a shelf. They were antiques, one of the few things I’d kept from my life before, from when I was someone other than Judah Black. I thought about those days less and less now, but it’s hard to forget twenty years of your life. When I’d joined BSI, I gave up more than just my name. I had a whole identity, a life with friends, family and experiences that I could never talk about. There’s no feeling in the world so lonely as starting over.
I pulled one of the lanterns down and went to the closet at the end of the hall where I kept my boxes of books. With the internet out, there was no way to do research on the computer, so I resigned myself to the old-fashioned way. I was pretty sure I had a book on Native American monsters and demons. Maybe it had something in it about the giant snake.
I found the book I was looking for in the bottom box, along with another on Aztec myths that I dragged back to the living room. There, with pen and pencil, in the flickering light of a storm lantern, I flipped through both books, looking for any mention of giant, venomous snakes. I found snakes aplenty, but not much talk about venom. There were some mentions, but more in a general sense. Some groups seemed to believe the venom had healing properties rather than being harmful. Whatever was happening to Valentino, it didn’t look like it was healing anything.
Exhausted, I leaned back after several hours and rubbed my aching eyes. The sun still wasn’t up, but judging by the spreading pale brightness in the sky, it wouldn’t be long before it was. Maybe I should get a little sleep before I went out snake hunting.
A knock came at my door as soon as I stretched out on my sofa. I seriously considered not answering, especially given the hour. Whoever had bothered to come to my door before dawn should be shot, drawn and quartered. Unless it was Sal. But no, he would have called me. Even with the power still out, our cells still worked. In fact, anyone who knew me well enough to come knocking at this hour would have had my cell number.
I sat up, my back stiff, and narrowed my eyes at the door when the knock came again. Then, I grabbed my gun from the table and walked cautiously to the door. Fingers wrapped around the doorknob, I positioned the gun with my other hand, barrel flesh with the door. “Who is it?”
There was no answer.
Guess I’m opening it, then.
I turned the knob and jerked open the door, ready to shoot whoever was on the other side. When I saw who was there, however, I hesitated.
She had dark hair, straight and silky looking. Her eyes too were dark, as if she were wearing eyeliner, but not quite. The woman on my doorstep was all curves and strange, natural beauty, the kind I’d only seen in the faeries I’d met. She was also completely nude except for the many bright red chevrons tattooed over her face and arms and two silver studs in her lower lip.
The naked woman lunged forward and gripped my shirt in weak desperation. Her wild eyes searched mine, as if we somehow knew each other. “Save me,” she breathed and then collapsed.
Chapter Seven
I caught her before she hit the floor. Not knowing what else to do, I dragged her inside and put her on the sofa, covering her with the crochet blanket I kept on the back of it.
Now that she was all laid out, I decided to get a better look at her to see if I knew her from somewhere on the reservation. My first glance had made me think she was a faerie. A lot of beautiful people in the world are faeries in glamors, and some don’t bother with glamors at all. Fae tended to be naturally beautiful, and the more beautiful they were, the more dangerous they were. However, faeries also tended to be fair skinned, fair haired and preferred to appear according to Irish, Scottish, and Welsh stereotypes. This woman didn’t fit any of those.
In the light, it was clear she was of native ancestry like Sal, Chanter, and Logan, but her features were markedly different. The bone structure was slightly off, as if someone had gone over all the sharp edges with sandpaper to smooth them out.
I leaned forward to study one of the chevrons tattooed on her cheek. They were gold, which was just as odd as the rest of her. I’d seen all sorts of tattoos. Sal had a few—possibly using silver needles and a lot of pain, he said—but not like this.
I wondered if I should call someone, especially since I didn’t know her, but who would I call? She clearly acted like she knew me. Maybe we’d met in passing, or maybe she really did need my help. If that was the case, then the fewer people that knew she was here, the better.
Maybe she’s injured, I thought. Or sick. Maybe this is another victim of that snake. I’d better check to see if she’s injured.
I pulled the blanket up to her knees and examined her legs, looking for bites. There was nothing there, not even a scratch. I pulled the blanket up further and cringed when I saw a strange mark on her hip that stretched all the way up her side. It looked like a tree, or a fractal with many reddish orange arms branching out from a central trunk.
I’d seen something just like it while I was digging in those books, so I turned back to the pages I had spread across my coffee table, frantically searching back through what I’d read. I found it in the Native American book in a story detailing an end-of-days type battle between the mythical Thunderbirds and a creature known as the Horned Serpent. The drawing on the opposite page depicted the same kind of branching pattern etched into some rocks. The caption beneath labeled it as a Lichtenberg Figure, the scar a lightning bolt left behind.
I gave the unconscious woman a cautious glance. Had she been struck by lightning? Could people get up from that and go knocking on other people’s doors? Come to think o
f it, there hadn’t even been any lightning recently, not since the storm rolled through earlier. Maybe she’d been hit and knocked unconscious for a while and just now woke up to stumble to my place and ask for help. Or maybe that was just what I was supposed to believe.
With a huff, I pulled out my phone, intending to dial Doc.
“Don’t.” Frail, delicate fingers gripped the sleeve of my shirt.
I lowered the phone and met her eyes. They were a pale, almost yellow shade of brown. “Last time a naked person came knocking at my door, I was in college and he was stoned out of his mind. How do I know you’re not just some tweaker? Or a serial killer, for that matter? I’m told one’s on the loose.”
She let go of my sleeve. “I am the one you seek.”
The one I seek? I blinked and rubbed some exhaustion out of my eyes. Could it be? The girl in the photo hadn’t had all those marks on her, and her hair had been shorter, her face a bit thicker, and her hair a slightly different shade, but maybe. All of those things were cosmetic. A long time on the run with a poor diet and little hair dye would explain away most of it, but not the tattoos. Those didn’t look fresh.
“You’re Zara?”
She nodded.
“That’s not exactly a compelling reason for me to put down the phone. By all accounts, I can get in a lot of trouble if I don’t turn you in.” I crossed my arms, but kept the phone out and unlocked. “Besides, the guy hunting you seems to think you can turn into a snake and inject venom into people.”
“Venom?” She shot up into a sitting position and then quickly grabbed her head with one arm, reaching out to steady herself with the other. “You speak of the man-wolf.”
“Valentino,” I growled. “He’s fighting for his life in the hospital, and if Logan is right, that’s your fault.”
“Logan?” She lowered her hand and fixed her eyes on the wall with a far-off glare. “Is that what he is calling himself now? I see.”
“Look, lady—” I waved the phone in front of her. “—you’ve got about ten seconds to explain yourself before I call for back-up and start putting cuffs on you.”
Zara swung her legs off the sofa and reached around me to grab the book I’d just been looking through. She flipped through a few pages before she held it up and pointed to the picture of a winged serpent with horns rising out of the water to devour the sun. “This legend speaks of Uktena, who was an instrument of vengeance, sent to swallow the sun after God cursed mankind with an incurable sickness. The people were angry at watching their kin die and used ancient magic to create the spirit.” She lowered the book and stared at the pages. “But she did not succeed in devouring God. She failed and so God sent down his own vengeance.”
She turned the page a few more times before holding it up again. This time, the picture was of a winged bird with large talons and an angry glare. “The Thunderbird. He snatched up Uktena and took her to Galunlati, the land beyond the sun.” She lowered the book again and caressed the picture. “But no one speaks of what happened to Uktena once the Thunderbirds bore her hence. They don’t speak of her pain, her fear, her love.”
I sank down to the sofa next to her. “Hold on. I’m not following what you’re saying. What are you?”
She closed her eyes and tilted her head to the side. A tear slipped out and trailed down her cheek. “I missed the sun.”
I felt bad for her, whoever she really was. She was probably a few peas short of a crazy casserole, but she was clearly in pain. She believed her story, or at least some version of it. That didn’t excuse her for what she’d done.
“My friend is dying.” I put a hand on the book and pulled it from her hands. “If you know how to help him, please tell me.”
Zara nodded and wiped away a tear. “The bite is medicine.”
I was getting nowhere. It felt like there was some sort of communication barrier between us. She clearly knew something, or thought she did, but wasn’t able to say it in a way that I could understand. I needed help from someone who knew more than me.
Screw that, I thought. I need a translator to understand half of what she’s saying.
I could call Logan to come pick her up. He seemed to think he knew her well. But if he came, he might just arrest her and carry her away for the bounty. He didn’t care about Valentino and getting a cure. Bounty hunters only do the job for profit. They were unscrupulous types who’d either become obsessed with their prey like Logan had, or let the bad guys walk when the going got tough. I didn’t trust the guy as far as I could kick him.
Maybe Sal would be of help, but he might also lose his shit if he thought she could help Valentino and was holding out. Werewolves weren’t known for their level temper.
“Holy shit.”
I looked up to see Hunter standing in the doorway, eyes practically bulging out of his head.
“Mom, there’s a naked lady on the couch. A really hot naked lady.”
I reached over and jerked the blanket up to Zara’s chin. “Hold this,” I growled at her. “Hunter, go to your room.”
He frowned at me. “Are you going to explain to me why there’s a naked chick sitting there with you?”
I rolled my eyes. “Room. Now.”
He turned hesitantly and sulked back down the hall to his room.
I turned back to Zara with a sigh. “Well, if you’re going to stay here, you should put some clothes on.” I stood. “But you’re really going to have to give me something to work with here. I don’t normally let crazy, naked killers hang out in my living room.”
After digging around in my room for a few minutes, I came back with a red sundress that was a size too small on me. When I held it out to Zara, she made a face that reminded me of a toddler who didn’t want to eat their carrots.
“Come on,” I said and pulled her up. I had to help her into the dress, too. “You act like you’ve never worn a dress before.”
“Not in a very long time.”
“Well, I hate to break it to you, but it’s kind of a crime to go wandering the streets naked. Indecent exposure.”
She turned sideways, tugging at the dress. “Why is this form indecent?”
“It’s not. It’s just...” I sighed. How do you explain that to someone who doesn’t understand?
Before I could, she darted away to pick up the TV remote and turn it over in her hands, apparently awed by it.
I took the opportunity to unlock my cell and type in a quick text to Sal:
I need your help ASAP. Be discreet. Don’t call anyone. It’s about Valentino.
She turned back to me and I tucked the phone away, smiling as she ran her fingertips along the buttons. “Come on, Zara,” I said, going to put an arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go make pancakes.”
Chapter Eight
I’m not much of a cook, so the pancakes weren’t the prettiest things, but they didn’t have to be. Zara seemed impressed with them just the same. I placed a stack of three in front of her and squirted on some maple syrup. She reached in with her hands and picked the whole sticky sweet stack up, biting into it like it was a sandwich. I didn’t want to fight with explaining kitchen utensils, so I left her to it, reasoning it was easier to wash her and mop up the mess. She seemed like she could use the shower anyway.
I was waiting to flip the next set of pancakes when Sal knocked at my door. I wiped my hands on my apron and went to answer it. He’d opted to wear sweats and a tight-fitting tank top, despite the cold. Functional, especially considering he’d probably shift into his wolf form if he thought we were going snake hunting.
He frowned when I held the door and blocked his entrance. “What’s up? What’d you find?”
“Actually, this is more about what found me.”
“I take it from the fact you’re not letting me inside that I’m not going to like it.” Sal crossed his arms over his chest.
I definitely didn’t notice how the action made the muscle definition in his biceps even more prominent. “Do you remember the lady Logan Cr
eed said he was looking for?”
“What about her?”
I opened the door the rest of the way and ushered Sal into my kitchen where Zara sat licking the plate. She looked up when we entered, tongue still lapping up the syrup while more of it poured into her lap.
Sal tilted his head to the side. “This is the dangerous murderer with a bounty on her head?”
“Shhh!” I grabbed his arm and tugged him back into the living room and out of Zara’s line of sight. “She’s not exactly what you’d call normal. I don’t know what’s wrong with her, but she seems like she’s off her rocker.”
I took up the book of Native American Mythology and showed him the picture of Uktena she’d pointed out. “I think she believes she’s this thing. She told me this story about how the Uktena was created as revenge to swallow the sun, but the Thunderbirds carried her away to some place called Galunlati. She called it—”
“The place beyond the sun.” Sal finally uncrossed his arms and cast a wary glance back toward the kitchen. “It’s the Cherokee spirit world, part of their creation myth. The story says that everyone once lived there, but it got too crowded and so the Earth was created. Then, all the animals lived on Earth until man came. One by one, all the old spirits left and went to Galunlati. It’s a story about both creation and destruction, death and rebirth.”
“So it’s like heaven?”
Sal shook his head. “Not like you’re thinking. It’s a spirit world, a magic place of peace and prosperity, but also a dark world, a world without identity and individuality. In death, you don’t retain those things which made you human. They melt away and blend together to form a cohesive whole. It’s like ice cubes. Frozen, each one has its own shape and texture on the outside. But if you melt the ice—”
“You get one puddle from many,” I answered, nodding.