Any Given Doomsday (The Phoenix Chronicles)

by Lori Handeland

They stood together, neither speaking nor touching, though the air seemed ripe with the promise of both. He’d conjured her; for what purpose, who could say?

  The Navajo are superstitious about their ghosts, their legends and magic. Yet I knew, even before she glanced up, that what I was watching I was not meant to see.

  I never moved; I did not—could not—make a sound, but suddenly her glistening black eyes left his and instead bored into mine. The spell over me broke, and I dove beneath the covers, shivering, whimpering the night away. In those eyes I’d seen all that was dreadful in the world— hatred, murder, evil for the sake of evil alone and an underlying joy of it.

  With the light of day, the fear should have left me, but it didn’t. I felt that being seen by the woman of smoke was a very bad thing; she would come for me. Not that day or the next, but someday. Her coming was inevitable.

  Sawyer still stood in the hall watching me. I could ask him about that night, but I knew with a certainty I had about very few things that he wouldn’t answer me. Most likely he’d deny ever having conjured her at all.

  I slammed the door in his face, then changed my clothes. Moments later I followed him across the long expanse of land toward the sacred mountain of the south, Tso dzilh, better known as Mount Taylor.

  “You aren’t going to lock the house?” I asked.

  “Why?”

  “Anyone could come by and take things.”

  “Do you know why I live out here, Phoenix?”

  I had a pretty good idea.

  “My people have very little tolerance for witches. In order to avoid the constant assassination attempts, I live as far away from the rest of them as possible. But I can’t leave. I need to be within the circle of the sacred mountains. To leave here is to die.”

  “Seriously?”

  He cast an impatient look over his shoulder, then paused. “Do you really think killing me would be as simple as tossing me across the imaginary line that separates the Glittering World from the land of the Bila-gaanal?”

  “Bilagaana,” I repeated.

  “Whites.”

  When he talked like this it made me believe that we were not only from different generations, but, most likely, different centuries.

  “So you could go; there’s nothing stopping you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “What exactly?”

  “I can only depart the Dinetah as an animal, never a man.”

  “Seriously?” I repeated.

  “Do you think I make this up?”

  “Sometimes. So, if you step over the invisible line, bam, you shape-shift?”

  He shrugged, which I took as a yes.

  “Bummer.”

  “There’s nothing I need that isn’t here with me now.”

  My gaze went to his face, but as always it was inscrutable.

  “All right,” I said slowly. “Let’s get back to the no-lock policy.”

  His eyes glittered for just an instant—animal, man. animal—before he turned away. “While they might try to kill me, they’re a little too scared of me to steal from me.”

  I could understand that.

  We walked for an hour at high speed. Luckily I’d stayed in shape since leaving the force. Still, keeping up with Sawyer left me breathless.

  “What’s the rush?” I managed.

  “You heard Summer. A seer in New York is dead.”

  “Yes, and I’m sorry about that. But why is this one different from Ruthie or any of the others who’ve died?”

  “The seer in New York was very old, very powerful.”

  “And Ruthie wasn’t?”

  “Ruthie appears to be a lot more powerful dead than she ever was alive,” he said softly, as if the thought had just occurred to him. He paused in his headlong rush, then zoned off as if several other interesting thoughts had come on the heels of the first.

  I cleared my throat, and he glanced up, eyebrows lifted. “New York?” I reminded him. “You were going to elaborate on why this seer’s death is more catastrophic than any of the others?”

  “Yes.” He still sounded distracted, but he went on. “New York has always been a place where the Nephilim throng. Without that seer in place, chaos is coming.”

  “I thought it was already here.”

  “Things are taking more of a downward turn than I ever thought they could.” His distraction fled, and his gaze bored into mine. “You will come into your full powers immediately. I don’t care what we have to do to make that happen.”

  I didn’t care for all this talk of making something happen, especially when that something involved me.

  “So the answer to everything is to hightail it into the mountains for a vision?” I asked. “I couldn’t have one on level ground?”

  In his face I suddenly saw something I’d never seen before. Not fear exactly. I doubted I’d ever see that. But grave concern. For me.

  “You think they’re coming here,” I said.

  He looked north again. “I know they are.”

  The sun shone with a fury, yet suddenly I was so damn cold.

  “I can take care of myself.”

  “You can’t. Not yet.” He started to walk again. “I won’t let anyone hurt you while you’re with me.” He said the words as if he were telling me what we’d have for dinner. “But you can’t stay with me. We both know that.”

  There was something in his voice that made me twitchy, something I didn’t want to examine too closely, so I went back to walking and talking.

  “Jimmy thinks you sent a chindi after us.”

  “I didn’t. Not that he’ll believe me.”

  “Make me believe you.”

  “Why?”

  “Dammit, Sawyer!” My shout startled a few birds from the nearby scrub. “You want me to trust you, let me trust you. For once, just answer a question.”

  He continued inexorably on. I had to follow or be left behind. I considered the latter, but in the end I hur-ried to catch up. I wasn’t a complete idiot. I was safer with him.

  “Do you think I mean you harm, Phoenix?”

  I considered the question. If he’d wanted me dead, he’d have killed me years ago. Why wait until I was stronger? Unless he hadn’t known what I’d become.

  I snorted. He’d known. Probably before anyone else.

  “All right,” I allowed. “You didn’t send the chindi after me.”

  “Obviously, since I gave you the turquoise.”

  I touched the stone where it rested beneath two layers of clothing. Funny, that only made me suspicious again.

  “You think 1 sent it for Sanducci?” he asked,

  “Did you?”

  “No.”

  “Someone did.”

  “That goes without saying.” He sounded bored. I suspect being accused of sending evil Navajo spirits to kill people did get old fast.

  “I wish I knew who,” I murmured.

  “I’m sure you’ll find out.”

  He had that much faith in me? Despite myself, I was warmed by the praise.

  “Anyone who has the power to send a chindi has the power to send a whole lot more. Something new should show up to kill you any day now.”

  The warmth died. Constant references to my imminent death were getting old fast, as well.

  “Jimmy said a chindi is a vengeance demon.”

  “That’s one interpretation.”

  “It isn’t true?”

  “A chindi is a malevolent spirit released with the dying breath of a Dineh.”

  “A ghost?”

  “Perhaps.”

  I loved it when he was so specific.

  “Chindis wander the night. Never whistle after dark or you will call one to you.”

  I frowned. Had the chindi been summoned because someone whistled after dark?

  “I doubt there were any wandering Navajo ghosts in Wisconsin,” Sawyer murmured.

  My gaze flicked to his back. I hadn’t said that out loud.

  “A witch is the only one capa
ble of sending a chindi on a mission of vengeance.”

  “Like you.”

  “We’ve already established that I’m the most likely suspect. Yet still I deny it.”

  This wasn’t getting us anywhere. I couldn’t prove he’d sent the chindi. Even if I could, what good would proving it do me? I had to stay; I had to learn. If Sawyer had tried to kill Jimmy by possessed cougar, that didn’t change one damn thing.

  Conversation became too difficult as we continued up the mountain. I had no idea where we were going, but Sawyer seemed to. Our path was direct; our pace rapid.

  I was thankful I’d eaten the eggs that morning, because there was no stopping for lunch, even if we’d had any; all water was consumed on the trail with barely a pause to tilt our heads, swallow, and move on.

  Eventually, night hovered just above the horizon, pressing down on the last orange remnants of day like great black clouds. Stars winked against a curtain the shade of midnight. The moon burst free of bondage, spreading a glorious wash of silver over the scrubby bushes and crooked trees surrounding us.

  “That’s it.” I sat on the nearest smooth, large rock. There were quite a few. “I’m done.”

  Sawyer kept walking, disappearing quickly into the darkness. The night closed in around me, chill ebony air. I shut my eyes, tilted back my head, and tried to open my mind, my heart, myself. I still couldn’t.

  In the distance something howled. Wolf? Coyote? Dog? I couldn’t tell. Did it matter? Tiny animals scuffled through the underbrush. Insects buzzed around my head. I could have sworn a snake slithered around the rock upon which I sat. As long as the reptile didn’t start to rattle, I’d ignore it.

  Sawyer had refused to allow a weapon of any kind on this trip. According to him, a vision quest must be completed without them. I’d taken his word for it, but right now I wished desperately for a gun.

  I caught the scent of wood smoke and my eyes flew open. Either a forest fire was cruising down the mountain, and I was dead, or Sawyer had made camp.

  My gaze swept the tree line. Flames did not dance merrily in my direction like escapees from Fantasia. I didn’t hear the telltale whoosh that would signal impending, agonizing death.

  Must be suppertime.

  Though I’d sworn not to move, the prospect of food, however bad, changed my mind. I strode into the stand of pine and fir exactly where Sawyer had disappeared.

  The ground tilted downward; the foliage thickened. I could smell water along with the smoke. Cool, clear water.

  My pace picked up. The sharply canted path spilled me out of the trees so fast I nearly fell into the lake.

  A fire burned in front of the hogan built on the bank. The night had turned chilly, and I hurried closer, reaching out to the flames.

  “Sawyer?” I called. No one answered.

  I stepped to the door of the hogan, rapped on the wood, stuck my head inside. Empty. However, his backpack leaned against the wall.

  I set mine down, then snatched a sheepskin bedroll from the ground and placed the bedding next to the fire.

  Without anything to do, I stared into the flames. My head would nod, and the jerky movement would startle me awake. Each time it did, I caught the drift of shadows at the edge of my vision. But when 1 glanced at the trees, the lake, the mountain, nothing was there.

  I dragged my eyes open one last time before I lost consciousness. The flames had turned every shade of the rainbow, and they smelled just like sun-warmed grass.

  Chapter 23

  Sawyer walked out of the trees wearing nothing but his tattoos. If I hadn’t known this was a dream, I might have run for my life. But since it was, I got to look my fill.

  The firelight played across his skin, etching the curve of his hip, the ripple of his abdomen, the spike of his rib cage in sharp relief. As he stalked toward me, the shadows came alive, swirling around him, taking on the shapes of his beasts. The air seemed to whisper in an ancient language, and the flames leaped higher than before.

  He didn’t speak; his eyes shone pale against the bronze of his face. They seemed lit from within, the way a small animal’s eyes glow when caught by the headlights of a car.

  I’d come to my feet; I don’t know when. He stopped so close I could feel his heat, along with his erection. I made an involuntary movement, rubbing the delicious hardness against my belly. Too bad I still wore all my clothes.

  He smelled like grass. Had he been rolling in it? Perhaps the scent was merely invading my senses from the blazing fire, which now illuminated the clearing like a spotlight spewing a rainbow. Colors sparkled all around us like rain.

  Reaching out, he brushed a fingertip across my cheek-bone, and when he pulled it back, a dewdrop twinkled, silver on bronze.

  His spooky gray eyes holding mine, he lifted his finger to his mouth, and the moisture dissolved on his lips. He suckled the tip. I felt the pull in my stomach, then lower still, as a moan threatened to break free.

  The flames leaped and danced. I was suddenly so hot. I shrugged out of the flannel shirt, lost the jeans, boots, underwear, and socks. The air stirred like springtime against my skin.

  I wanted to feel every inch of him with my hands and my mouth. I wanted to lick the wolf, scrape my teeth against the shark, suckle the skin where the tiger paced.

  Since this was a dream, I could touch him and more. So I did.

  He didn’t make a sound. His hand cupped my head gently, fingers tightening as I roamed ever lower.

  I licked the long, hard length of him, my tongue twining along the same skin as the image of a rattlesnake.

  Was that supposed to be a joke? I didn’t bother to ask.

  He sank to his knees, bringing us hip to hip, heart to heart, face to face. I look his hand and saw the centuries. They were long; they were lonely. No one had ever been like him until me.

  I jerked, and our hands separated. I wasn’t like him. I never could be.

  “Shh,” he murmured. As he leaned closer, his hair brushed my face; then his lips took mine.

  I no longer saw anything; I could only feel. His tongue in my mouth, his hand on my back, his palm cupping my breast.

  Energy surged between us. If 1 didn’t know the night was clear, I’d have thought lightning had struck nearby. But the breeze was gentle, warmed by the fire, not a hint of rain anywhere. Yet that sensation of electricity, the faint scent of ozone, lingered. The more I touched him, the more I wanted to. What should be weird, if not downright frightening, I understood now to be inevitable.

  He pulled me closer, held me tighter. I caught at his shoulders, unbalanced, then found myself captivated by the amazing smoothness of his skin. My fingertips traced the places where his tattoos roamed. I felt nothing, as if they weren’t even there.

  His thumb flicked my nipple, and I gasped as the sensation shot through me, arching into his palm, begging for more, wanting everything. He replaced his hand with his mouth, his hair shrouding his face, cascading over my skin. I hung on as he suckled me and behind my closed eyelids beasts of prey flickered.

  Like an X-ray—white against black—wolf, eagle, tiger, rattlesnake; everything I touched I could see. While his scalding mouth did such remarkable things I nearly came from that touch alone—hey, it had been a long time since I’d had sex of any kind, even imaginary—I dreamed what it would be like to become those animals, and I wanted it almost as much as I wanted him.

  I lost any semblance of control, hands groping, nails scraping, teeth too. I had a sudden desire to mark him, as any animal would. My mouth learned his shape, his size and scent. My lips wandered through boundless tropical waters where predatory sharks roamed, across deserts inhabited by venomous snakes, then traversed continents— American eagle to Siberian tiger—where my teeth drew on the tender skin of his thigh until I’d left my mark.

  He growled, the sound untamed, when I closed my hand around him, ran my thumb over his damp tip. The sky seemed to fill with the hiss of a rattler, and I froze. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea I’d had
in years.

  “Lie back,” Sawyer murmured, his hand on my breast no longer caressing, but urging me to recline. “Close your eyes. Breathe.”

  I inhaled—wood smoke and grass, a soothing, familiar scent—and forgot everything but him, me, us, and what we could do right now.

  His body slid along mine as he joined me in repose. He traced a finger across my belly, the skin rippling in its wake. The finger took the path down my hipbone, across the soft skin at the juncture of my thigh, then tangled in the black curls for an instant before unerringly finding the part of me that awaited it.

  One stroke and he stopped. Before I could complain his mouth replaced his finger. My legs fell apart to give him access. His tongue flickered over me, quick and clever, teasing me to a gasping, arching peak. Then he blew on the dampness left behind, his breath an August breeze, cool and soothing after a scorching hot day.

  Suddenly he licked me, a long, thorough lap, like a cat. His tongue even felt rough, and 1 cried out, my hands flying up, finding nothing, no one.

  When 1 opened my eyes, I was alone, my body glistening in the firelight.

  “Shh.” The word was the wind. Smoke billowed all around me, creating a curtain between this clearing and the world. I breathed it in, any panic eased, and my eyes slid closed once more.

  I drifted, both awake and asleep, aroused, unsatisfied, waiting for—

  A hand on my belly.

  Lips against my neck.

  Legs entangling with mine.

  One sharp thrust and the dissatisfaction fled. Still damp and engorged, I nearly sobbed at the friction—so good, so right, so there.

  I needed, I wanted. Oh, how I wanted. More. Harder. Deeper. Every thought that 1 had, he obeyed.

  The connection went on and on; the orgasm seemingly just out of reach, nearly there, almost and then suddenly farther away. That strange sense of lightning, ozone and smoke, of flowing energy, continued. Where before I’d been limp, almost drugged, the longer he thrust, the more aware, the more alive 1 became.

  There was something I needed to do, something I needed to know, and that something was just on the other side of orgasm.

  “Open,” he said, the word like thunder crashing all around us.

  I opened—my eyes, my legs—and I saw him above me, too solid to be a shadow, too ethereal to be real. His eyes sparkled—the moon, the lightning, just him—who knew? He shifted my hips so he could reach into the very center of me, and at the first driving thrust, he came, heat like fire inside, bursting me open just as he’d wanted.