The grip of the mendihar, the scimitar claws of four fingers and thumb.
Only a light grip of that terrible gauntlet, at that.
Nevahn knelt beside him, sad beyond all expectation. “Oh, my poor boy. I thought it would be me.”
Ardac grabbed Nevahn’s wrist with a surprising grip. “I told her nothing. Or maybe I told her everything. I don’t know!”
“It doesn’t matter if you did,” Nevahn said, twisting his wrist free to take Ardac’s hand in his. “You don’t know what she needs. Neither do I, if it comes to that. And Solchran has no secrets to keep from Ghehera.”
Because it mattered little whether they faced another relocation, or even a formal scattering. They had no secret plans, no wagons ready. It was all they could do to stay alive here and now.
Ardac shuddered with chill, here in the full glare of the sharp sun. “But—” His hand tightened around Nevahn’s. “But—”
“Sha, there, son,” Nevahn said, exchanging an uneasy glance with the oldest of the women. She gathered her full pants and stood, hastening away to their healer. “Sha,” Nevahn said again. “The worst of it is over.”
Except for the nightmares.
Except if she comes back.
Ardac shuddered again, perhaps chilled straight to the soul. His gaze, great and hurt and full of new understanding, latched onto Nevahn’s. “Trevarr... lives with this?”
“Not when he can avoid it,” Nevahn assured Ardac, more dryly than he’d intended. It was, after all, Trevarr’s persistence on his own terms that so alarmed Ghehera. “Be easy, son. Healer Dahn is prepared for this. His herbals will soothe you.”
But they could not soothe Nevahn, no matter that Ardac knew nothing of Anjhela’s answers, revealed nothing of them — revealed, in all likelihood, no more than Ardac’s own personal guilts and concerns. Because Nevahn knew...
If Anjhela ever got her hands on Trevarr, she wouldn’t wield the gauntlet with that same light hand.
She would turn him inside out.
Chapter 22
Split Up
“Initiate ethereal activity from a defensible position.”
— Rhonda Rose
“First, we put our backs to a wall.”
— Lisa McGarrity
“Aiie! ¡Caray!”
— Lucia Reyes
Sklayne sat on the Lucia person’s lap, the car air conditioning blasting ineffectively into the oven of the car, water jugs in the foot well.
The problematic Caryn person had thrown herself into the back as the car started to move, and no one looked very happy about it. Not the Lucia person; not the Quinn person. Not the problematic one.
Not Sklayne, either.
The Lucia person fussed with her seat belt, fussed to get herself settled. Patted her tote for reassurance. The Quinn person said, “I brought my kit. Duct tape, screwdriver... Leatherman. Don’t know what good any of that will do us.”
“We can always use duct tape,” the Lucia person said, so firmly that Sklayne recognized her tone right away. Knew she was only trying to convince herself that all was under control.
She certainly hadn’t convinced Sklayne.
They approached their turn. ::Here,:: Sklayne said, with plenty of time to make the turn, if anyone had listened. And, ::Here.:: And, ::HERE.:: A slash of his tail, farking deaf humans, and he slapped his unsheathed paw down on the Lucia person’s leg.
“Aiie! ¡Caray!” The Lucia person jumped beneath him. “Don’t do that!”
Sklayne lifted his paw, so deliberately. Replaced it, so firmly. Squeezed down his claws.
“Right!” the Lucia person cried. “Turn right!”
Sklayne eased back his claws and sat on her lap. Ever reaching, reaching, reaching for that small thread of awareness that was the Robin person.
He wondered what duct tape tasted like.
~~~~~
Garrie looked around the tidied room while Trevarr waited in the doorway, the blood gone and the furniture rumpled and not quite squarely placed. The lerkhet approached, and Sin Nombre approached, and she needed to pick the right spot to meet them. Showdown at the not-at-all-OK Corral.
Trevarr stood just how he’d been since he’d taken up that post. Tall, straight — and as if something in him had drained right out through the soles of his feet.
And then suddenly she saw only what she’d ever seen. The strength of him. The drive behind him. The very intensity of his nature.
He looked into the room through his sunglasses and said, “Too confined.”
“The rock, then,” she said, knowing it was too exposed. She hoped very hard that the other Journey Inn guests were off being tourists, soaking up what was left of the vortexes and admiring the views and wearing out their jeans at Slide Rock falls.
She didn’t expect him to agree, never mind to take off for the rock. But she found herself running to keep up with his long, urgent strides. “Wait!” she cried, thinking of the lerkhet and its mutated creepiness, thinking of Huntington and his willingness to aim and fire whatever weapon he had to hand. Thinking of how she’d never faced human opposition, and how she barely knew how to handle what she had within herself.
Thinking that just maybe they had their own weapon here.
Because when Trevarr had captured the Krevata at the Winchester House — when he’d sucked them up in the ekhevia and dragged his battered body back to Kehar, he hadn’t quite taken everything with him. Almost, but...
“Little time, atreya.”
“I know, I know. But... what about—” She hesitated. She’d grown used to his warmth, his understanding, and even his touch, but she also remembered well this determination. How well it matched hers. How much grimmer it was.
So it took all her nerve to say, “The storage stones. Maybe we should—”
“The storage stones.” He said it so flatly she knew he had no idea what she meant.
Well, how could he? They hadn’t talked about it, had they?
“Those things,” she said, oh-so-glibly. “That the Krevata left behind.”
That name got his attention, all right — even as he lifted his head, all but scenting the air. The lerkhet closed in on them, disturbing the breezes, its distance impossible to gauge.
Though she really, really hoped it wasn’t far. Not if it was this strong already.
“The portal power,” she continued, somewhat desperately. “The thingies they were using—”
One sudden, long stride and he’d caught her up, taken both upper arms and squeezed her shoulders together slightly — even given her a little shake. “You have their trokhilar stones?”
Not as frightened or even annoyed as she probably should be, she nodded. “Hidden in—”
“Do they know?” he demanded. Again with the shaking. “The other two of you?”
She didn’t hide her annoyance. “They have no idea. Should I kick you now?”
Only then did he seem to realize how aggressively he’d responded. She had the impression of rustling feathers, mantled and settling... the dry dusty scent of ash. It faded quickly, leaving him unsettled and Garrie bemused as he eased his grip, lifting his head to stare into the distance.
She thought she heard a car.
His hands tightened on her arms again, if briefly this time. “We will talk about the trokhilar after,” he said. “But know this — that power, trapped by the Krevata as it was, will not maintain stability. It is not safe to harbor. It is not safe to use.”
Garrie looked back at him, brow climbing. “Do we have a door number three, then?”
“After,” he repeated, grimly enough.
Definitely the slam of a car door in the near distance.
“Okay,” Garrie said. “First, we put our backs to a wall.”
Or to a rock.
Huntington found them there in the shade of Feather’s cleansing circle. Garrie sat on the rock with her legs crossed — the flat stone hard beneath her bottom, the ground far beneath her feet, the rock itself
stable and grounded.
Garrie herself felt nothing of stability. Wild flutters beat against the inside her chest; cold heat riffled goose bumps across her skin even in the full oven of the summer day.
Trevarr stood slightly aside and mostly in front of her, everything about him still and balanced. Lukkas slanted loosely from one hand, the knife from the other. The duster swirled around his legs, and he didn’t look the least bit hot for it. He looked cold and hard and ready.
A trickle of sputtery breeze told Garrie they weren’t alone; a trickle of rock down the bluff confirmed it. Bobbie Ghost lurked, quiescent and thoughtful. She’d apparently seen enough these past days to inspire caution.
Huntington came alone. He looked like exactly what he was — a red rocks guide, tanned and fit and totally belonging at the organics section of the local health food store. The previous night had left its marks, but he moved well enough. If he’d brought a weapon, it didn’t show.
He just looked at them.
“Kind of awkward, huh?” Garrie asked him, chin planted in her palm. “Meeting us, after all you’ve done. But it’s good that you’re here, because it gives me a chance to tell you to stop messing with this land. And with these people.”
His mouth twisted a little. “And you think you can do something about it if I don’t?”
“Well,” Garrie said, all modesty, “I kinda do.”
“And my new pet? Do you think you can stop that?” He might have been genuinely curious.
“That lerkhet belongs to Trevarr. We’d like it back, now.”
“To him?” Huntington tread carefully, there, as if he wanted to be dismissive but knew better. “But he has no skills.”
Garrie laughed, a little more freely. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” She sat up straighter. “The cops are going to get you for Jim Bob Dandy’s death — whatever you think, you left evidence — so leave that for now. But what you’ve done to this land... what you’ve done to the spirits resting here...” She shook her head. “I don’t get it. You live here. You know this place.”
A flush rode the sides of his neck. “With progress comes sacrifice.”
“That,” Trevarr said, his baritone gone rugged, “is not your choice to make.”
Huntington flinched, ever so slightly. “Bud shot you,” he said, his gaze drifting to Trevarr’s side.
Garrie kept a perfectly straight face. “He got better.”
Huntington’s flush crept on up the side of his face, but he let it pass. “Sometimes,” he repeated, all righteous dignity, “with power comes sacrifice.”
Garrie sat ramrod straight, the dragon beating wildly within her and fury coalescing into one tight, bright spot in her chest. “With power,” she said distinctly, clearly, hearing Rhonda Rose’s precision tones overlaying her own, “comes responsibility. And if there’s sacrifice, it isn’t a choice that you make about other people. It’s a choice you make about yourself.”
“Hmm,” Huntington said, unaffected — or maybe amused. “I guess we’ll have to disagree about that.”
“Do you even know how many people died last night because you went Disneyland with your new toy? Do you even know how many ghosts are tearing themselves up, losing their own journeys, because you came along and screwed with their anchor?”
“No.” He looked at her with genuine curiosity now. “Do you?”
A familiar voice drifted down from the hill, ethereal and acutely interested. “I do. It has to stop.”
“Yes, I do.” Garrie saw clearly that Huntington hadn’t heard Bobbie Ghost. “And I’m not the only one.”
“The ghosts?” Huntington laughed, and this time he didn’t try to hide his scorn. “They’re not going to bother me. And neither are you. Not when I have this.” He made a grand gesture, indicating the path leading from the parking area.
Garrie heard a faint rattly rolling noise; Trevarr alerted to it. And...
Nothing.
“So hard to get good help these days.” Huntington shot a look of pure annoyance over his shoulder.
Garrie scowled. “You’re taking this Evil Overlord thing way too seriously. I really hope you read the manual. You know, the part where it doesn’t end well for you?”
“Cute. But here’s where we stand: I want to know more about you, and I also want you out of my way. I don’t care who gets hurt, but you do. In the end, you’ll give me what I want in order to avoid that. My vote is, we skip to the end.”
“Well, that’s a problem,” Garrie told him, well aware of Trevarr’s impatience. “Because I don’t want to know anything about you. And I’m not getting out of your way.” She tugged at the breezes, gathering them. Her hands, resting over her knees, fisted. I’m sorry, Rhonda Rose.
I’m sorry, me. This isn’t who I am.
But maybe it was who she’d turned into. Even with her stomach churning beneath the anger and regret heavy beneath the knowing.
Because if she didn’t stop this man, then who? If she didn’t stop the lerkhet, then who? And how many would die along the way? The dragon stirred and grumbled and fluttered inside her, building icy-cold heat. “Please,” she said. “Please don’t make me do this.”
For that part of her hadn’t known Rhonda Rose. That part of her wanted retribution and control and release, and didn’t care about the tenets on which she’d built her life.
Please. Don’t make me do this.
If she even could.
~~~~~
By the time they reached the outskirts of Sedona, Lucia found herself well-trained to the tap of Sklayne’s tidy red foot on her knee. “Right!” she said, and then helped steady the cat as Quinn took the sudden turn.
Not-cat.
Amazing how very much like a cat he looked. Felt. Soft, short fur, luxurious against her fingers. Dark ticks of color on each hair textured the red-color when she stroked smoothly down his back; large ears flicked expressively at things Lucia couldn’t discern. Long-legged, lean in body... a little predator, sitting in her lap, occasional growls vibrating against her fingers.
In the back, Caryn kept her thoughts to herself. Until they made that last turn into a desolate looking area — all hard-packed desert and grit, native growth beaten down so nothing remained but invasive weeds and tumbleweed husks. “He brought her here?”
“Where is here?” Quinn asked instantly, as they passed a dirt cross street to nowhere and forged on.
Caryn pulled herself up between the front passenger and driver seats and pointed down the street — barely paved, definitely no longer on the beaten path. Tattered chain link held a collection of tumbleweeds, nearly obscuring the collection of sunbaked buildings beyond. “Here,” she said. “Huntington’s storage for his guide business — his camping gear for the overnighters, a couple of canoes, portable sweat lodge gear—”
“Gross,” Lucia said. “Who even wants one of those?” She jumped under Sklayne’s sudden application of paw and motioned Quinn left, left, left!
“He shares the space with a couple of other tour groups,” Caryn said. “He does the spiritual tours, and one of the others does birding, and there’s one who does climbing...”
“Not that it’s a tourist-based industry around here or anything,” Lucia noted, alert for the next tap of Sklayne’s paw.
It came in a quick emphatic stutter and she ended up blurting, “Here, here, here!” without directionals, but it hardly mattered. These were the only buildings out here. A defunct old gas pump stood off to the side beneath a ratty lean-to; tumbleweeds loafed at the edges of the lot, and unclaimed desert spread out beyond, red soil and stark green junipers. Prickly pear jutted up between, a few blooms of outrageous magenta peeking through.
“Charming,” Lucia muttered.
Quinn just looked grim. “It’s gonna be damned hot in there right now if they don’t have that swamp cooler going.”
Lucia gave the swamp cooler a skeptical look. It perched crookedly on the roof, not looking the least bit promising. “Poor petirrojo!”
>
As soon as Quinn pulled the vehicle to a stop, there in the hard stone and scattered gravel, Lucia reached for the door handle. “Hold on,” he said. He jerked the car into reverse, swinging it around in a quick backward arc. Then, he took a moment before turning off the engine — looking around. Taking stock.
“I don’t think anyone else is here,” Caryn said.
“Can you tell?” Lucia asked her, immediately interested.
“Tell? I — no, I...” Caryn trailed away. “Tell?”
“Garrie could tell,” Lucia told her. “Well, never mind.”
“Fine, I’ll check it out the way I can,” Caryn told them. She reached for the door handle, suddenly all brisk and take-charge and quite clearly prepared to march forth. “Besides, there aren’t any other cars.”
“Uh-uh,” Quinn told her, sharply enough to get her attention. “You’re following. Period. Following. That’s the whole point, isn’t it?”
Caryn looked a bit stunned — possibly at the correction, possibly to realize she’d been about to take over again. She looked at Lucia — whether in search of consolation or ally, Lucia couldn’t say.
Lucia didn’t especially care. “That’s it, chueca. That’s the way it is.”
“What does that even mean, that word?”
“You don’t want to know,” Lucia told her, and pushed her own door open. “You really don’t.”
Quinn dropped the keys into a cup holder. “Leave it unlocked. This way, any of us can get this thing moving.”
“But no one’s even here,” Caryn said. “What’s the worry?”
“You don’t want to know,” Lucia told her.
You really don’t.
~~~~~
Garrie stared down at Huntington, drawing her knees up under her chin. “I want the lerkhet,” she said. “And then I want you to stop what you’re doing.”
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