“I don’t understand,” she said quietly.
“Me neither,” I said.
“I don’t think you should do this anymore.”
“I can’t stop now.”
“Why? It’s not good for you, Lucas.”
“There’s too much on the line,” I said.
“It’s just money. You’re a talented artist. You’ll get more work. This is just weird, and it’s not affecting you in a good way.” She reached out and touched me lightly on the arm.
What happened next shocked both of us. I pushed her arm away with a sweeping motion and reached out and grabbed her by the shoulders. I stared hard into her eyes. The muscles in my face tightened so hard, I thought they would snap. I scowled. I shook her hard. There was a cold hardness in my chest. I was shaking. The voice that came out of me wasn’t mine.
“The doorway is open. It will stay open, girl child. When I emerge, you will see real power!”
Amy scrambled out of my grip. She backed into the corner and stared wide-eyed at me. When I took a step, she held both hands out in front of her to ward me off. My feet were heavy, bulky. My arms and shoulders were tight. The scowl was still on my face. I put my hands up to my face and clutched both temples. I was terrified and sick and suddenly very weak. Before I knew what was happening, I had collapsed onto my knees in the middle of the room and was shaking violently.
“What’s happening to me?” I howled.
“Not exactly feeling like yourself, Lucas?” I looked up. Gareth Knight stood in the doorway. We hadn’t heard the door open. He was still dressed in black. The room felt colder all of a sudden. Amy strode over to kneel beside me. “The work is proceeding well, I see,” Knight said.
Amy put her arms around me, and we watched as Knight stepped over to my work table. He laid a hand on his chin as he studied the mask. There was a small grin at the corners of his mouth, and he nodded.
“Very good,” he said. “The spirit is growing stronger. Any interesting dreams lately, Lucas?”
“He’s not going to do your work anymore,” Amy said, standing up to face Knight. “You can keep your commission.”
Knight smiled.
“Very bold, Ms. One Sky,” he said. “I think I like that. But you see, Lucas and I have a gentleman’s agreement. Don’t we, Lucas?”
He tilted his head a little and looked at me. His eyes seemed to swim. They were like black seas. I felt I was being swept up in their tide.
“Yes,” I said dully.
“You see, Ms. One Sky? He understands the nature of our deal. And besides, you really want to see this through, don’t you, Lucas?”
“Yes,” I said again. The word slid from my mouth with a hollow sound.
“Not a very wordy reply, but you can see he wants to do the job,” Knight said. “It’s not a good idea to cross an artist when he wants to create. It’s not good to get between them and their work.”
“He doesn’t know what he’s saying,” Amy said. “Can’t you see that?”
“Oh, I think Lucas knows exactly what he’s saying. Don’t you, Lucas?”
I looked at him. I stared into his eyes. Now they were glittering. I couldn’t look away. I felt pulled deeper into them. My head felt cloudy, dreamy. I held his look and stood up slowly. When I did, I felt the odd heaviness in my body, and the room seemed suddenly smaller.
“The doorway is open,” I said, and I heard Amy gasp.
Knight smiled again and broke the look.
“Yes. The doorway is open. You want to keep it open, don’t you? And you won’t let Ms. One Sky talk you out of it, will you?”
“The doorway will remain open. It will be finished. The girl child will not stop it.” The voice was cold and stern. Amy stepped away from me.
“Who are you?” she asked Knight. “Where did you come from?”
“I’m just a simple art lover, my dear,” Knight said. “As to where I came from, well, where do we all come from, Amy child? Are we not the same?”
“We’re not the same,” she said. “We don’t walk around scaring people for the thrill of it. And I’m not a child.”
“No. You’re not. You’re an adult. Just like Lucas is an adult. Free to make choices, free to decide what he wants and what is good for him.”
“You’ve got him under some kind of spell or something,” Amy said.
Knight laughed. It was a wild, rollicking laugh. But his eyes showed no humor. They were cold and flat and hard. He crossed one leg behind the other and leaned on the cane he carried.
“There is no spell. There is only desire. Your desire is to finish the mask, isn’t it, Lucas?”
“Yes,” I said dreamily.
He nodded. Amy looked at me and I felt my head clear. When we looked at the doorway, Knight had vanished.
CHAPTER EIGHT
"I’m so worried,” Amy said.
Soon after Knight left, my head had begun to clear. I recalled everything that had happened, but I could make no sense of it. It felt as though I had only been an onlooker. Now, sitting at the table sipping tea with Amy, I was worried too.
“It’s like I can’t do or say anything when that guy’s around,” I said.
“We need to find a way to get you out of this,” Amy said.
“I don’t think there’s a way. The guy scares me actually. I kinda think he’s a half step away from crazy.”
“I think he’s already there. But I think what we need to do is get out of here for a while. You need groceries anyway. Let’s do the market thing.”
“Good idea,” I said.
I was starting to feel back to myself, glad for her company and eager for some regular routine. Going to the market was one of our favorite things. We always rode our bikes. We got to pedal through our favorite parts of the city, and both of us enjoyed the trips. I was more than ready for an outing.
“Let’s do it. We can get some of those muffins you like.”
She smiled, but there was still a grave look in her eyes.
The day was brilliant with sunshine. There was only a hint of a breeze, and the sidewalks were filled with shoppers and people busy with their lives. It felt good to be out among them. We stuck to the bike lane and pedaled slowly, side by side. I took in the sights that I never seemed to grow tired of. When you’re down to your last dime like I had once been, you get to like simple things. When your butt is on the sidewalk, even simple things seem a thousand miles away from you. Riding a bike and seeing so much activity was a pure pleasure.
The market was in one of those cool areas where there were bookstores, cafés, art shops, clothing boutiques and music stores. The people were mostly young, and there was a nice energy. No one ever looked twice at you, so you could just settle, feel relaxed and go about your business. That’s why I liked going there. We found a rack to lock our bikes in and walked hand in hand to the market.
Amy had turned me on to really good food. I was just a regular Kraft Dinner and tuna kind of guy before I met her. A can of beans and wieners was a big night for me. But Amy knew about all these different sorts of veggies and fruits, crackers, cheeses, soups and things I never would have imagined in a million years. So shopping with her was like exploring. I never knew what we’d come out with.
We separated, and I took my time browsing the aisles. I liked the language of food. There were all kinds of cool words, like wasabi, cannelloni and gourd. I liked the way they felt on my tongue. One of my favorite things was to grab a can or a box and repeat the words on the label to myself. I was doing that when I saw a tiny lady down the aisle, trying to reach something on the top shelf. She couldn’t get at it.
She looked to be about eighty. She had big cheekbones, dark eyes, brown skin and long white hair tied back under a kerchief like the one my grandmother wore. She was obvious
ly Native. I put the box I was holding back on the shelf and walked over to her.
“Let me help you,” I said.
She looked at me kindly. Then, as I got close, her expression changed. She looked scared. She started backing away from me quickly, with her hands up in front of her.
“No!” she said. “Get away!”
I looked behind me. I couldn’t believe she was shouting at me.
“Lady,” I said, “chill out. I’m just trying to help you.”
“I didn’t invite you,” she said. “You are not welcome here!”
She backed away faster, and when she tried to turn, her feet slipped out from beneath her. I hurried toward her. She scrambled to her feet and began trotting toward the exit. I couldn’t understand why she was so scared. I wanted to show her that I wasn’t a threat. Plus, I didn’t want any heat from security or the cops. So I followed her.
She tried to round a corner and ran straight into another old lady’s shopping cart and tipped it over. Amy came out of the next aisle to see what the noise was all about. She saw me approach the old lady, who was scrambling amid the cans and boxes and trying to get to her feet.
“Ma’am,” I said, “it’s all right. I’m only trying to help you.”
“You’re not welcome here,” she said again. “Go back where you came from.”
Amy looked at me curiously. The manager came hotfooting over and bent to help the woman to her feet. But his feet slipped in some spilled milk, and he tumbled down beside her. Amy went to the woman and knelt beside her.
“What is it?” Amy asked. “What can I do to help you?”
The old lady clutched Amy’s arm. Hard. She pointed at me.
“Him Standing,” she said shakily, almost in tears. “Him Standing.”
“What?” I said. “Me?”
“You are not welcome. I did not invite you,” the woman said.
Amy helped her to her feet. The woman just stood there for a moment. Then she grabbed Amy by the elbows and looked into her eyes.
“The shaman has returned,” she said.
“What shaman?” Amy asked.
The woman pointed a shaking finger at me.
“There,” she said.
“That’s my boyfriend,” Amy said quietly. “That’s Lucas.”
“No,” the old lady said. “No!”
She broke Amy’s grip and again made for the exit. We looked at each other. When we tried to go after her, the manager and a security guard blocked our way.
“Sir,” the security guard said, “you’re going to have to come with me.”
CHAPTER NINE
I explained what had happened as best I could. After checking the tapes from the security cameras and seeing that I had never touched the old woman in any way, they let me go. There was nothing they could hold me for. Amy was waiting outside the security office. When she saw me, she ran up and gave me a big hug.
“Lucas,” she said, “what was that? Why was that woman so terrified of you?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “What was it she called me?”
“It was odd. A name, I think.”
“Him Standing,” I said. “The shaman has returned.”
“Yes. That’s what she said.”
“What does it mean?”
“I have no idea. It was weird though. Really, really weird.”
“Got that right.”
We walked past the mess in the aisle. The janitor was sweeping up the dry goods. His partner had a mop and was sopping up the spills. I shook my head at the weirdness of it all. Amy grabbed my arm and stopped me in my tracks.
“Lucas,” she said, “what’s that?”
She pointed to something lying just under the edge of the shelving. It looked to be a small feather. I got on my hands and knees and slid it out. I picked it up and handed it to Amy. It was a small brown feather with speckled bits of brown and white at its bottom end. The spine was decorated with three tiny beads and a loop of leather thong. The beads were wonderful.
“What are they?” I asked.
Amy studied them awhile and rubbed them with the nub of a finger.
“Glass,” she said. “They look handmade.”
“People make handmade glass?”
“Artists do. They use a torch to melt glass together to make beads.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at the beads. Do you see how they have all kinds of different swirls of color in them?”
“Yeah. So?”
“So,” she said with a smile, “a glass artist heats glass into a blob with a metal rod through the middle. Then they turn it so it gets round. Then they melt other colors of glass into the original blob and create unique kinds of beads. That’s what this is.”
“You know a lot about this,” I said, impressed.
“I have a lot of jewelry that’s made out of glass. I read up about how they make it.”
“So you think the old lady made this?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Maybe. Or she bought it from someone who works with feathers and Indian kinds of materials.”
“It’s nice,” I said. “We should get it back to her.”
“And maybe we could ask her what she meant by all that shaman stuff,” Amy said. “I don’t know what she meant by you are not invited either. It was weird.”
We rode our bikes over to Amy’s place. She lived in a nice condo in a cool, light pink building. The color reminded me of a drink they serve with tiny umbrellas sticking out of it. It was a nice place. I liked going there. Her place had floor-to ceiling windows that let in a lot of light, and it just felt good in there. Amy also had a lot of nice furniture and a kick-ass stereo system. She got me to listen to music I’d never heard before. I liked doing that. She knew I was embarrassed because I was poor, but she always took care to make me feel comfortable. I never felt out of place there. But I still preferred to sleep in my room.
She had a computer too. After we’d eaten and had some coffee, we went into her den to search online for places where glass beads were made and sold. It was odd, but with all the light in Amy’s place, I didn’t feel any of the strange things I’d felt working on the mask. She was a whiz on the computer, and it didn’t take her long.
“Look, Lucas,” she said, holding a finger to the screen.
I leaned in and read.
“Sally Whitebird. Fused glass from a Native perspective.”
“She would know where this came from,” Amy said. “And it’s only a short walk away. Wanna check it out?”
“Sure,” I said. “It’d be good to get a handle on this weirdness.”
Amy smiled. “Nice to have you back,” she said.
I kissed her. I felt safe. I felt like myself. Amy was good medicine.
We walked out of her building and headed into the neighborhood where Sally Whitebird’s glass studio was. Whitebird. It sounded like an Ojibway name, but I had never met anyone called that. I wondered if she knew anything about some shaman called Him Standing, and why someone might confuse me with him. I wondered if she knew why the woman in the market would be so scared.
We found the place easily. It was small, like a cottage. There were a lot of trees and bushes in the yard, and flowers and ferns everywhere too. It looked peaceful.
Amy rang the bell and we waited. We could hear a drum and chanting. The sounds stopped, and there was a moment of silence before we heard footsteps. I took the beaded feather out of my jacket pocket and held it in front of my chest. We heard the rattle of several dead bolts, and the door opened a crack. We saw a brown eye. Then we heard a groan. Then a cry. Then the sound of a body falling to the floor.
I tried to push the door open, but the body was blocking it. I pushed harder and got it open just enough
for Amy to slide between the jamb and the door. I heard her rustling around. Then the door opened and there she stood, with the body of a woman lying on the floor behind her.
“My god,” she said. “It’s the woman from the market, Lucas. She’s Sally Whitebird.”
CHAPTER TEN
She must have given herself a good conk on the noggin, because she didn’t move at all when I moved her to her couch. She was tiny. She felt like air in my hands. Amy arranged pillows behind her head. I found the kitchen and returned with a glass of water and a cold cloth. The old lady still hadn’t stirred.
Her home was what some people would call exotic. All the furniture was made of wood. There was no glass or chrome anywhere, except for mirrors. The carpets were the old-fashioned rag kind. The kind old ladies like my grandmother used to make. The only flowers were dried, and there were tree branches in the corners of the room. The branches were hung with feathers and beads like the ones we’d found. There were a couple of stuffed birds and a hornet’s nest on a shelf. On the wall above a small fireplace was a bear hide. A large seashell decorated a coffee table that looked like a section of tree trunk.
“Interesting,” I said.
Amy looked up from mopping the woman’s brow with the cloth and scanned the room.
“She really likes to keep nature close,” she said.
“Wonder what the rest of the joint looks like?” I said.
“Probably a lot like this room,” Amy said. “She seems like a very rustic person.”
The woman groaned. Amy laid the cloth on her forehead and took her hand. I saw the old woman squeeze it. I could see the blue of her veins through her light-brown skin. Her skin was papery and brittle-looking. Slowly she came back to herself. Her eyes fluttered and then opened, and she looked at Amy.
“You found me,” she said.
“Yes,” Amy said. “It wasn’t hard. The Internet and all.”
“A whole other kind of magic,” she said, and then she looked over at me. She didn’t panic. Instead, she gazed at me steadily. “I’m Sally Whitebird.”
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