“I’m … going … to kill … you …” I tell Tío Goyo.
“You have my permission to try,” he says. “But first absorb this wonderful experience.”
I don’t feel wonderful. I feel kind of sick.
I’m overcome with the sensation that I’m sinking and floating at the same time, and I get the distinct impression that my body is no longer mine to control. Never mind getting to my feet. I can’t even keep upright.
Then I make the mistake of looking down, only to realize I’m looking at myself, swaying back and forth. I’m floating in the air, but my body is still sitting on the ground below me. As it starts to tumble over, Tío Goyo catches me and lays me carefully on the ground.
Except that’s not me. I’m up here, floating.
And as I watch from this disconcerting perspective, my body starts to dissolve. It just melts away until it’s absorbed into the ground.
What the hell did you do to me? I yell.
Except I don’t have a physical body, so I don’t have a physical voice. It’s just my thought that rages out into the afternoon air.
In. Which. I’m. Floating.
Without a body.
Relax, a familiar voice says.
I don’t have a head or eyes, so it’s my awareness that turns to find a hawk riding an updraft beside me.
Relax? How am I supposed to relax when you just made me melt away?
You didn’t melt away, the voice answers. Your spirit is who you are. Your body is just matter, and you borrow it as needed from the earth, to which it will return. It will be waiting for you when you need it back.
What are you saying? I ask.
Did you never wonder how a boy such as yourself can take on the bulk of a mountain lion with a mere thought?
Not really.
It’s because you take as much matter as you need to shape yourself.
But it’s only borrowed. What never changes is your spirit. That always belongs to you. But since your spirit has no matter, you have no true shape.
Except you’re a hawk.
No. You only perceive me as a hawk. The same way anybody looking up at the moment would perceive you as one, too.
It all makes a crazy kind of sense. And for some weird reason, it calms me.
You couldn’t just tell me what you were going to do? I ask.
I’ve learned that people don’t truly understand an experience such as this until they’ve lived it. Trying to explain it in advance is futile. Are you really so upset?
Honestly, I tell him, it’s kind of cool.
I feel him smile in my head.
So how long does the effect last? I ask.
It’s not an effect. It’s reality. It’s what you see when you stop dreaming and wake up to how the world really is. And it lasts as long as you wish. When you’re ready to reclaim your place in the physical world, return to the earth and will your body back to you.
How do I do that?
The same way you change from human to mountain lion.
Which means that I’d better remember that I want to be wearing clothes when I come back.
Does this work anywhere, I ask, or only in the otherworld?
The first time is always easier in the otherworld, but you can do it anywhere.
So how do we move around?
Again the smile in my head. All you are is spirit, so all you have is your will.
I consider that for a moment, then imagine myself being closer to the ground. As fast as I can think, it happens. I’m so close that every piece of dirt and pebble is enormous in my perception. I let myself rise back up through the air until again I’m beside the hawk that is Tío Goyo.
So this is the secret of the Halcón Pueblo, I say. You don’t turn into hawks. You turn into spirits that look like hawks. It must be good for spying.
I’m thinking of all the times I’ve seen hawks watching me.
It is a secret, he says.
And now this is something that I can do?
Normally, I would say no. But to the best of my knowledge, no one has ever shown this to a cousin before. Since the knowledge to make it work is the same as what you apply to change shapes …
I get the equivalent of a mental shrug.
After that we spend a while getting me used to moving around. We fly fast in between the big trees and drop straight off the mesa’s edge, pulling up from the ground at the last moment to soar high in the air again. So high that we can take in the whole slightly oval shape of the mesa.
It’s exhilarating. Like skateboarding on steroids. I wish Des and Marina were here and able to experience this with me.
Finally, just as the sun is setting in a sky of reds and oranges, we return to camp. I watch the hawk that is Tío Goyo descend. When his talons touch the ground, his human shape rises up out of the dirt and stone, and wraps itself around the hawk. The last I see of it is the beak disappearing as it’s swallowed into his chest.
Then it’s my turn.
You’re wearing clothes, I tell myself. Just like you were before the tea melted you away.
My own talons touch the ground and my body rises up to embrace my spirit. I know I’m doing it right because climbing back into my body is the most familiar sensation I’ve ever felt. I cheat just before the transformation is complete, so that when I’m standing in front of Tío Goyo, my little dreadlocks that got shaved off from my time in the ValentiCorp lab are back. And longer.
I push them back over my shoulder.
Now that’s cool.
Tío Goyo regards me with surprise, but all he says is, “Interesting.”
I walk with Cory and Donalita as they trek along the Pacific Coast Highway, both of them showing a confidence I don’t feel. Think about it. I don’t want to come off as a pussy, but dude, we’re going to the Ocean Avers’ compound—a place that’s off limits to everyone but the gang. Sure, we know Chaingang and he’s all cool with us and everything, but the other guys? Not so much. Let’s face it: they have a rep to maintain and there isn’t going to be any welcome committee when we go waltzing into their backyard.
It’s not like Auntie Min’s going to ask permission, considering how she feels she owns all of Santa Feliz, and don’t even get me started on what Donalita’s reaction would be if someone tells her she can’t do something. So yeah, I’m worried about what kind of first impression we’ll make.
Out of nowhere I hear the theme to the last James Bond movie. Then I realize it’s my phone.
“Dude, your pants are singing,” Donalita says.
“Better than having them on fire,” I tell her.
But then I answer my phone, and as I talk to Chaingang, all my humour drains away. So much for hoping that Marina’s out catching waves, and looks like Josh’s mom is still in danger.
“Dogs attacked Theo’s grandma?” Donalita asks when I’ve hung up.
Sometimes you forget how good a Wildling’s hearing is.
I hold up a finger. “Just a sec.”
I call Agent Solana and tell him that Josh’s mom might be attacked by dogs. He starts to ask more questions, but I just say I’ve got to go and hang up.
“But she’s okay,” I tell Donalita. “His grandma, that is.”
“Good. I like her.”
“What did he mean about her standing them off with a shotgun?” Cory asks.
“No clue, dude, but sounds like she’s cool. It’s Marina and Josh’s mom that I’m worried about.”
We get to the lane leading into the compound way sooner than I’d like. Eucalyptus and oaks line the narrow roadway, and you know what? It’s actually kind of pretty till we get to the homemade wooden sign that reads: “Private—Keep the Hell Out!” in drippy red paint. Nice. Beyond the sign is a dusty lawn with a couple of chopped motorcycles parked in front of a long rambling ranch house.
At first there doesn’t seem to be anybody there, but then we hear angry shouting around back. Cory picks up his pace, where I might have beat a quick retreat. I follow, cr
aning my neck to see if there’s some dude hiding with a shotgun, ready to take our heads off.
There are more bikes in back, not all of them in working order. Bike and car parts are strewn all around. A rusted panel truck and a couple of cars are also parked in that dusty yard. There are a few more oaks back here, but beyond the open space, it’s mostly just scrub and dead grass. We pass a small building on our right, which I think Josh described to me as Chaingang’s personal crib, before the scrub opens up into a junkyard. Who knew they had all this crap back here?
But the shouting gets even louder and my attention locks on this big black dude who’s towering over Auntie Min and yelling at her to get her ass out of here. Like that’s going to happen. But on the plus side? He seems to be the only one of the Avers here at the moment.
I’m sort of looking forward to hearing Auntie Min tear a strip off him, except knowing her, she’ll probably sweet-talk him into calming down. But now I start to notice the dead dogs scattered around in the dirt. Five or six of them, or what’s left of them. Worse, there’s a dead dude lying on the ground right beside Auntie Min and the Ocean Aver. The dogs and the dead guy are a mess, covered in blood. Pools of it are seeping into the dirt all around them. A heavy-duty battle went down over here. Flies are buzzing and crawling all over the open wounds.
Cory drops to his knees beside the nearest of the dogs. His shoulders sag as he lays a hand on the bloody fur. The dog was shot a couple of times and half its head is gone. There’s not much brain matter left in there, and the wound in its abdomen has spilled bloody intestines onto the dirt.
I don’t know why Cory’s so upset. I mean, it’s horrific all right, but dude. These are more of the dogs who wanted to kill us, aren’t they?
But the longer I stand here, the more gross it all looks. It’s nothing like it is in a movie. The colour of the blood isn’t even the same and the flies are starting to drive me a little crazy. In the end, I have to turn away. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Ocean Aver make a threatening move toward Auntie Min and suddenly she seems twice her size, now looming over the biker. The dude takes a quick step back.
“You should go,” she says in that calm voice of hers that also holds a touch of menace. Sure, Cory says she wouldn’t actually hurt anybody, but I’m not sure I believe it. The biker doesn’t seem to think she’s kidding, either, but he’s got his rep to think of and he doesn’t back down.
“Like hell I will,” he tells her.
He reaches behind his back and starts to pull out a handgun from under his T-shirt. Before he can do anything with it, Donalita is over there and on him, gripping his wrist. She yanks it up behind his back with all her Wildling strength, forcing the big dude to yelp and drop to his knees. She snatches the gun away as he goes down, and throws it aside, out of reach. It lands with a thump in the dirt.
The guy struggles to get free, so she applies more pressure until he’s lying flat on the ground.
Cory’s hand is still on the dead dog. “I knew him,” he says, a dazed look on his face. “His name was Hector. This wasn’t something he’d do. Hector would never try to hurt anyone.”
“Look at his shoulder,” Auntie Min says softly.
I look down and see a mark there—the same one that was on the dogs that treed Donalita and me. It looks like a brand, the kind you’d see on horses or cattle in a cowboy movie.
Cory nods. “I saw the same brand on the others. When one of them shifted into his human shape, it became a tattoo on his shoulder.”
“It’s not a brand or a tattoo,” Auntie Min tells him. “It’s a binding.”
Cory gives a slow nod. “I figured as much. Clever to target los perros.”
“Anybody want to tell me what you’re talking about?” I ask.
Cory touches the brand on the dead dog’s shoulder. “These symbols on their skin bind their will to someone. Whatever he or she tells them to do, they must obey. And our foe is clever to use the barrio and rez dogs because there are so many of them. Tío Coyote never could keep it in his pants.”
“Who’s he?”
“My uncle. Old Man Mischief. Over the years he’s fathered hundreds of these dogs.”
I have to ask. “Dude. Are you talking about the Coyote from all the stories?”
Cory just shrugs. I look from him to Auntie Min. She doesn’t answer, either.
“Okay,” I say, “so if this binding makes them do stuff that’s totally out of character, why would they let anybody burn a brand onto them? I mean, that’s got to hurt like hell, right?”
“That’s an excellent question,” Cory says.
The Ocean Aver that Donalita’s got in lockdown picks that moment to try to break free again. Donalita puts more pressure on him without any real effort on her part. The guy strains, veins popping in his neck and arms, but he might as well be trying to lift a truck off himself. He gives up with a grunt of pain.
“Señora,” Donalita says to Auntie Min. “When do I get to break his arm?”
Auntie Min smiles at her without any humour. “Patience, little coati. Maybe, later.”
“You hear that?” Donalita tells the Ocean Aver pinned under her.
As she gives his arm a little jerk, Auntie Min turns her attention back to me.
“I don’t know what los perros hoped to gain from this alliance, but I think they trusted and respected whoever did this to them. I think they were chosen because of their loyalty.”
“And then,” Cory says with a bitter tone in his voice, “Chaingang had them butchered.”
“Dude, if they were attacking him …”
Cory stands up, but his shoulders are hunched as though he’s in pain. He wipes the blood from his hands onto his jeans.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Chaingang still needs to answer for this.”
I don’t think I want to see a knock-down between those two, but it looks like I’ll have no choice. Above the sound of the surf comes the roar of motorcycles pulling off the highway and racing up the narrow lane to the Avers’ clubhouse. A moment later the gang pulls into the junkyard, tires spitting dirt as they bring their bikes to a sudden stop. I recognize Chaingang and a couple of others from seeing them around town, where I always make sure to give them a wide berth. But the guy straddled on the chopper beside Chaingang I know from pictures in the paper. That’s J-Dog, Chaingang’s brother and the leader of the gang. He’s also supposed to be completely batshit crazy.
He puts his bike on its kickstand and jumps off it to glare at us. It’s weird. The dude’s not as big as Chaingang—not by a long shot—but he seems taller, like he takes up more space. He’s like one of those tough guys in a rap video—all tats and muscles and a thousand-yard stare that tells you he’d just as soon shoot you as to have to look at your face. And here we are, on his personal territory.
“You people know who I am?” he yells. “You know where you are?”
Chaingang puts a hand on his arm. “Jason,” he says. “This is not a fight you can win.”
J-Dog shrugs him off. “Have a little faith, bro. This is our turf. These dipshits need to find out why I’m the one says what’s what here.”
Those crazy eyes fix on us again, tracking us one by one until they settle on where Donalita still has the other guy pressed face down in the dirt.
“—The fuck?” J-Dog says. “What the hell’s the matter with you, Coltrane? You have any idea how little the girl holding you down is?”
Then J-Dog pulls the biggest, shiniest gun I’ve ever seen from behind his back and points it in Donalita’s direction. She smiles back at J-Dog and grinds this Coltrane dude more into the dirt.
“Don’t worry,” Cory says softly to me. “We can take them. Except for Chaingang, they’re only human.”
“Dude,” I tell him. “So am I.”
“This ends—now,” Auntie Min says.
She’s doing that whole I’m-bigger-than-you-think deal, but all it does is focus J-Dog’s attention her way and now the gun’s poin
ting at her.
“Shouldn’t have done that,” Cory mutters.
He moves so fast it’s like he’s invisible. One moment he’s standing beside me, the next he’s plucked J-Dog’s gun out of his hand and kicked the gang leader’s legs out from under him. By the time Cory stops moving, J-Dog’s lying on the ground and the gun’s now in Cory’s hand, the muzzle on J-Dog’s temple.
It takes a moment before what happened even registers on the other bikers. When it does, their hands fill with guns. But we all know J-Dog will be dead before they can pull a trigger.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Chaingang tells Cory. “These people are my brothers.”
“What about my brothers?” Cory says, yanking J-Dog to his feet while keeping the gun on his temple. “It’s okay to kill them?”
Chaingang’s eyes go dark and his whole body tenses. I realize that I’ve never seen him seriously pissed off before.
“You sent those dogs?” he growls.
Cory meets that dark gaze with his own anger. “Don’t be any more stupid than you’ve already been. These boys you killed were being forced to do what they did, but I wasn’t the one who put the order on them.”
Chaingang shakes his head. “Doesn’t change anything. They were coming after us. They went for my grandma. And Marina.”
“You’re wrong. It changes everything,” Cory tells him. “Do you blame the weapon, or the hand holding it?”
“You better shoot me right now, boy,” J-Dog says before Chaingang can respond, “or first chance I get I’m going to cut a new asshole for you in the middle of your face.”
Cory looks at his captive like he’s only just remembering J-Dog is there with the muzzle of a gun pressed up against his head.
“Here’s what we do with tough guys in my world,” he says.
And then they both disappear.
Chaingang’s eyes narrow. Behind him, the rest of the gang starts shouting. Chaingang raises a hand and they shut up—just like that. He points a finger at Auntie Min.
Out of This World Page 12