With her fears growing, Mallory had contacted every law enforcement agency in the state, but no trace of Marissa could be found. And her feelings of foreboding had grown worse.
The police provided little assistance. They filed a missing person’s report, searched Marissa’s house, ran her name through their computers and put an APB out on her car. But since there was no sign of foul play, no leads, and nothing other than Mallory’s “feeling” that something was wrong, there was little else they could—or would—do to help. It was Sergeant Sam Begay at Navajo Tribal Police Station in Tuba City who had suggested Benjamin Graywolf. Mallory was determined to find Marissa, and if that meant sitting in front of this dingy bar in the middle of nowhere all night waiting for Graywolf to show up, that’s what she’d do.
Just then a flash of headlights glared bright, lighting up the interior of her rental car and temporarily blocking her vision with a curtain of white. Mallory squeezed shut her eyes, but it was too late. Large, brilliant white circles filled her view, blinding her to everything else. She blinked in a frantic effort to regain her sight, but it took several minutes for the ghostly circles embedded on her eyeballs to fade into the darkness. They just cleared in time for her to see Benjamin Graywolf’s towering frame disappear behind Barney’s sagging, paint-chipped front door.
“That’s him,” she gasped aloud in the empty car, jumping with such surprise that she knocked her knee painfully against the gearshift knob. She reached for her purse and slid toward the door, but when her hand reached the handle, she stopped abruptly. She sat there, with one hand on the door handle and the other absently rubbing the spot on her knee where it had made contact with the gearshift.
She thought of Benjamin Graywolf, and a sudden chill had her shivering involuntarily. Something about the man bothered her, gave her an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Just thinking about those cold eyes of his, and their menacing stare, made her want to start the car and get out of there—put as much distance as she could between them. She remembered the fury she had seen in them—fury, and anger, and rage. They were strangers. He’d never set eyes on her before, and yet he’d glowered at her as though he’d hated her. What was he so angry about? What had she ever done to him?
She glanced at her hand on the doorknob. Was she sure she wanted to do this? Was she sure she wanted to risk that fury and that rage again?
But her thoughts turned to Marissa, and she felt her sister’s fear in her heart. A feeling of urgency clutched at her, and she shoved the door open and stepped onto the gravel lot. Marissa needed her help, and for that reason and that reason alone, she would risk the anger of Benjamin Graywolf once again.
Mallory’s first impulse when she’d stepped into Barney’s dreary interior was to rush right back out, but she knew she couldn’t do that. Smoke filled the stuffy, dark room, hanging just below the ceiling like an ominous, murky cloud. Somewhere in a far corner a jukebox played—Tammy, or Dolly, or Reba singing a sad but clear lament. A row of patrons lined the bar, quietly downing one drink after another, but a noisy group had gathered at a table nearby, laughing and hooting in a loud game of cards.
Unfortunately, Mallory’s entrance had not gone unnoticed. Like a silent alarm that had spread through the din, laughing stopped, drinks paused and heads turned. Mallory realized with no small degree of discomfort that not only was she the only white in the place, she was also the only woman.
She wished now she’d taken the time to slip her linen blazer over the sleeveless shell she wore. The cotton blouse and linen walking shorts were hardly revealing, but that didn’t stop her from feeling very vulnerable and exposed at the moment. Gratefully, however, she spotted the imposing form of Benjamin Graywolf sitting with several others at a table in the rear of the bar. Feeling terribly conspicuous, as though every eye in the place was on her, she slowly started across the cluttered floor, squeezing between tables and stepping over moccasined feet.
She was aware that he watched her as she approached, and her fists clenched tight with anger. He knew she was there to see him, and yet he made no effort to meet her halfway. Instead, he simply sat there—chair tilted back, leg propped against the table, and shot glass poised at his lips.
“I’ve come to talk to you,” she said, making a conscious effort to keep her voice from quivering.
“I told you before, I don’t talk to reporters,” he said, tossing the amber liquid down.
“But I’m not here as a reporter. I don’t want to interview you. I need your help.” She was aware of the two other men at the table who sat grinning up at her and listening to their exchange. “Perhaps you’d let me buy you a drink,” she said uneasily, pointing behind her. “At the bar? I could explain?”
Graywolf closed his eyes and let the whiskey burn his throat, then cracked his lids to look up at her. “You can say what you need to in front of my friends. We have no secrets.” Pushing his chair upright, he raised his glass to the others. “And we’re all thirsty.”
“Right, that’s right.” The other two nodded and laughed.
Graywolf reached for the bottle on the table and poured them all another drink. “And the white man knows how loose an Indian’s tongue becomes when he drinks the dark water,” he said, raising the glass to her. “So buy away.”
“I see,” Mallory murmured, wiping her sweaty palms against her shorts. “Uh—okay. It’s my sister. She’s—she’s...missing, and I’d like to hire you to help me find her.”
Graywolf shook his head, tossing his glass down onto the table. “Sorry white lady,” he said as he rose to his feet. He reached into his pocket and threw some money onto the table. “I’ve retired from that business.” He and the others made their way across the room toward the door.
“Wait, please,” Mallory pleaded, running after him. “You don’t understand. I have money, I can pay you.” When he continued on, she grew more desperate. “I’ll—I’ll give you anything you want.”
“Anything?” Graywolf repeated, stopping and turning to look down at her. He stared into her wide, blue eyes, feeling the alcohol coursing through his system—hot and potent. He moved forward, backing her against the bar, trapping her with his body. “Anything, lady? Are you sure?” Stepping close, he pressed lewdly against her, grinding his hard body against the softness of hers. “Did you hear that, brothers? The biligaana woman says she’ll give me anything.“
A crowd seemed to have gathered out of nowhere. Everywhere she looked, there were faces—leering, jeering, laughing and goading Graywolf on. She was no longer in the safe, sane world she understood. She’d been transported to some foreign soil, some place wild and untamed—a world so different from her own she’d been rendered defenseless. Fear rose up in her throat, overwhelming her and tasting bitter and black on her tongue. How could this be happening? She’d come here looking for help, but who would help her among these rough people?
“Please,” she whimpered, looking up into the cold eyes of Benjamin Graywolf. “Please don’t.”
Graywolf had wanted to be crude, he’d wanted to be savage, he’d wanted to humiliate and frighten her away this time so she’d never come back. She was white, she was a reporter, and as far as he was concerned, that made her nothing at all.
But when he looked into her pale, perfect face, heard the pain in her voice, and saw the plea in her eyes, he not only saw her terror, he felt it. She wasn’t just some faceless, unfeeling creature from a world he wanted to forget. She was the vision—his vision—crying and reaching out for help.
Revulsion had him stepping back. His vulgar, thoughtless actions left him feeling sick with self-disgust. He turned his face away from hers.
“Enough!” he shouted angrily at the others when they called for more. What was the matter with all of them? They were acting like the worst kind of savages. “Get back. Get away.”
Grabbing the terrified woman by the arm, he pulled her through the crowd and out the door of the tavern.
The fresh air revived Mallory
, bringing feeling back into her paralyzed body. It took her a moment to realize that the danger had passed, that she was outside and that Graywolf held her by the arm.
“Let go of me,” she snapped, yanking free of his grasp. She stepped away from him, rubbing at the spot on her arm where his fingers had left their mark. “How dare you?” she accused, heading down the crooked, uneven steps to the gravel lot. “Is that how you and your friends entertain yourselves?”
“Look, I’m sor—” Graywolf started, moving toward her.
“Don’t you come near me,” she warned, cutting him off. As angry as she was, it wasn’t enough to make her forget that awful fear. She turned and ran toward her car.
“I’m sorry, I really am,” Graywolf repeated, following her. “I—we...we were just fooling around. No one meant any harm, not really.”
Mallory fumbled for the car key. Finding it, she shoved it into the lock and yanked open the door. “Look,” she said, putting her hand up to halt Graywolf. “Either you stop right there, or I’m going to report you and your friends to Sergeant Begay.”
Graywolf came slowly to a stop on the opposite side of the car and studied her from across the roof. A full moon made her blond hair glow like white satin, and he suddenly remembered how it had felt to press against her body. “You know Sam?”
With the safety of the car between them, Mallory felt better. “For some ridiculous reason he thought you’d be willing to help me.”
Graywolf took a deep breath, pushing his long hair out of his face. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you were here for a story.”
“Sergeant Begay said you are good at tracking missing persons.”
“I don’t do that anymore.”
“I’d be willing to pay you,” Mallory said quickly, the need for help finding Marissa taking precedence over her anger and fear.
“Who’s missing?”
“My sister.”
“Have you talked to the police?”
“They’re no help. They won’t even admit she’s actually missing.”
“What makes you so sure?”
Mallory thought for a moment. Did she tell him the truth? Did she try to explain her...feelings? She’d finally managed to get Benjamin Graywolf’s attention. The last thing she wanted was to come off sounding like a crackpot. What she did tell him was about the plans they had made, about Marissa’s failure to meet her at the airport, about Marissa not showing up at work or for her tutoring appointment on the reservation. But Mallory elected not to mention anything about their “twin-telepathy” just yet.
“I know something’s happened to her, Mr. Graywolf. I’ve just got to find her.”
“Maybe she had a change of plans,” Graywolf suggested halfheartedly. “Just couldn’t reach you?”
“You don’t understand, Mr. Graywolf. Our time together is...special. My sister and I are very close and we’ve been apart a long time. We were both looking forward to being together. She wouldn’t just go off without letting me know where she is.”
Graywolf thought for a moment, remembering his visions. Was this the reason for them? “Do you have a picture of your sister?” he asked finally, knowing that sometimes looking at a face would trigger a sign.
“There’s no need,” Mallory said excitedly, rushing around the front of the car. She forgot all about her precautions and safeguards. For the first time since this nightmare began, she felt a stirring of hope.
As she rushed toward him, Graywolf was distracted by the delicate necklace that slipped out from beneath her cotton shell as she ran. The light from the neon sign caught the gold charm dangling down from the chain, reflecting colorfully from the small crescent moon.
“You don’t need a picture,” she said, coming to a stop in front of him.
“I don’t?” he questioned, experiencing an odd rushing feeling propelling him forward.
“She looks exactly like me.”
Chapter 2
“We’re identical,” Mallory explained. “Twins!”
“Twins,” Graywolf repeated with a murmur. He pointed to the gold crescent around her neck. “What about that?”
“What? This?” Mallory asked, surprised. Her hand reached for the charm and she looked up at him quizzically. “My necklace?”
“It’s a crescent moon.”
“Yes,” she said carefully, growing cautious.
“Where did you get it?”
“Why?” she asked, her suspicions returning.
He glared down at her. “Just tell me.”
“My father,” she said warily. “He always said he’d give us the moon and the stars, so when Marissa and I graduated from college he gave us these. Mine is the moon and Marissa’s is—”
“The stars,” Graywolf said, finishing for her.
“That’s right,” Mallory whispered, trying to read something in his coal black eyes.
Graywolf looked away. He should have known there was a reason for the visions—there always was, one way or another. “Tell me again why you’re so sure your sister’s in trouble.”
Mallory took a deep breath. “My sister and I,” she began, then paused. “We’ve always been close, and there’s always been this...feeling between us. The doctors have told us it’s not uncommon for twins—especially identical ones—to have a sort of sixth sense about each other. I don’t know.” She shook her head. “Marissa and I have just always had this...thing between us. I don’t know what it is—ESP, mind reading—you can call it whatever you want. We’re able to tell when each other is happy, or sad, or afraid, or...in danger. I know it sounds crazy, I know it’s something most people can’t understand—that’s why I didn’t say anything about it to the police.” She shook her head again and looked up at him helplessly. “I know my sister’s in trouble. I can feel it.”
Graywolf felt oddly winded, as though he’d finished a long run across the desert. He gazed down into her clear eyes, seeing the fear and uncertainty in them.
She was afraid he would think she was crazy—no doubt that was what the police would have told her had she gone to them with her story. But she didn’t sound crazy to him. He understood all too well about special “feelings” and sensations of foreboding. Too many times he’d seen the doubting looks and questioning stares when he’d tried to explain to others about his visions. He’d learned the hard way to keep his foresight to himself, to trust no one with his secret and to deal with the pain alone.
“I think you’d better come with me,” he said suddenly, reaching for her arm.
“Where?” Mallory asked as he led her around the car and opened the driver’s side door.
“Follow me,” he said, practically pushing her behind the wheel. He nodded to the Jeep parked nearby.
“But where are we going?” Mallory asked again, but it was too late. He had slammed her car door and was off across the gravel lot.
She watched as he climbed into the Jeep and coaxed the motor to life. She didn’t understand Benjamin Graywolf, or anything about him. He hadn’t exactly said he was going to help her, and yet he’d seemed interested in what she had to say. Still, standing in the dimly lit parking lot in front of Barney’s tavern hardly seemed an appropriate place to conduct business.
But then, she thought as she started her car’s engine and pulled out of the lot behind him, none of this was going as she’d expected. What was he so suspicious of? He’d acted as though he’d hated her at first. What had happened to change that? How was it he could look at her with such contempt one minute, and then with such intensity the next that it left her feeling dazed and uncomfortable?
Maybe it would be wiser to forget about all of that and not look a gift horse in the mouth. At least he hadn’t looked at her as though she were some kind of nut, at least he hadn’t called her crazy and sent her packing. She’d told him about her “feelings” and the special method of communication she shared with her sister, and he’d still been willing to listen. Maybe he really would be able to he
lp her. Maybe he was just the man for the job. But driving down the lonely Arizona highway with only the glow of the Jeep’s red taillights to serve as a guide, she had to admit she had her doubts.
* * *
“I don’t understand,” Mallory said, her hand absently going to the pendant hanging from her neck. She stared down at the neat rows of silver crescents and star clusters that lined the cluttered workbench and felt a chill travel down the length of her spine. “They look just like...”
“Your pendants,” Graywolf said. “I know.”
“But how?” she asked, looking up at him. The room was dark, lit only by the small light above the workbench. In the white glow of the bulb, Graywolf’s dark skin looked strangely pale, causing the hard, precise features of his face to seem dreamlike and unreal. Mallory thought of the ancient masks she’d seen on display at the Smithsonian last year while she covered an exhibit of Native American artifacts for the paper. Their wild, timeless expressions looked no more primitive, no more feral, than Graywolf’s did now.
“How do you know what your sister feels?” he asked simply. He lifted his gaze, looking at her from across the workbench. “It’s just there, right?”
Mallory drew in a deep breath, straightening up. “You’ve lost me.”
“Feelings,” Graywolf said. It wasn’t necessary that the biligaana woman know everything about him. She didn’t need to know about his visions and dreams, his hunches and intuitions. The visions may have made him feel compelled to help her, but they didn’t make him trust her.
“You have them, too?” she asked. That would explain why he hadn’t laughed in her face. “You get...feelings about people?”
Graywolf shrugged, reached for a wooden match from a ceramic pot on the workbench and struck it against the edge of the table. “Something like that.”
Which is what made him good at finding missing persons, she concluded silently to herself. It made sense. “And you’ll help me find my sister?”
Graywolf lifted the chimney of an oil lamp hanging from a hook on the wall and lit the wick. “I can try.”
Tears of the Shaman Page 2