by Jeanne Rose
Was this a real wolf? Or a skinwalker?
Terrified, Frances ran with jaws snapping at her heels. Then the creature fell back. Ran along one side...then the other. It was playing with her.
Without any weapon with which to defend herself, she realized the beast could kill her if it chose.
A weapon?
Frances looked around frantically, but saw nothing she could use to threaten the wolf. Then she remembered the pouch. But did she believe it would work?
Hadn't she just decided she could take her own path? That in matters of faith she could make her own choices? Then she chose to believe that Geronimo was the powerful shaman and protector he was said to be, and that his magic was the good that would turn away evil.
Charging up a hill, she slowed to a stop a fourth of the way to the top. The wolf began circling her, each pass closer than the last. Fear pounded at her heart and dried her mouth. Praying to the God she had always believed in that she was doing the right thing, she freed the pouch from beneath her shirt and gripped it tight.
When the wolf made a move for her, Frances held it out. "Evil, be wary of a greater power!" she shouted, trying not to feel foolish.
Halting immediately, the wolf let loose a horrible almost-human-sounding shriek.
Of frustration?
Frances backed away. Though it followed, the creature kept a wary distance, head hung low. And Frances clung to that pouch for all she was worth. Her blood flowed fast and furious and she experienced an exhilarating sense of achievement.
It was working...
Encouraged, she looked around. Her horse was nowhere in sight. Uncertain of how far she might have to walk – and how unpleasant that experience could be with a wolf trailing her – she thought the sensible thing would be to wait someplace safe. Surely someone would come along eventually and give her a ride to the estancia.
After a better examination of the surrounding hills, she noticed an opening in the rock above a short distance away. A cave? It appeared cruder than the one Louisa and Strong had taken refuge in, but it could provide her with shelter nevertheless. On closer examination, Frances decided that it would do.
Resting in the opening, she was protected on three sides. The wolf would have to come for her straight on. She watched the shaggy creature pace back and forth as if trying to make up its mind. Finally, it turned and came straight for her. Holding onto the pouch with her left hand, Frances picked up a rock with the right.
And when the wolf was within mere feet of her, its muscles bunching as if it was ready to spring, she threw the rock and shouted, "Evil, begone!"
Yelping at contact, the wolf slinked away, belly close to the ground.
And Frances took a shaky breath and sank to the floor of the cave, where she gathered more rocks into an ammunition pile. Hopefully, someone would come along before she had to use them. She had a clear view of a winding section of road below. All she had to do was to remain alert.
A harder task than she had imagined.
Minutes stretched into what seemed like hours. The early afternoon sun beat down on the cave's entrance. The growing warmth dried her mouth and made her eyes heavy. She fought the urge to doze lest she miss some movement from below.
She concentrated on Chaco. Thought about how much she loved him. Sent him a silent message that she would soon be at his side.
Surely someone was bound to come along before sunset.
What if no one came? What then? Should she have set off for the estancia on foot? It wasn't too late to do so now. While trying to make up her mind, she heard a scrabbling sound nearby, like loose rocks being disturbed.
Had the wolf returned?
Her heartbeat quickened. Increasing her vigilance, she picked up other sounds more clearly. Quick, light footsteps and a ragged sobbing.
Another woman?
Armed with a large rock lest she be fooled into letting down her guard, Frances inched out of the cave's mouth for a more encompassing view of the area. She was startled by the sight of a bedraggled dark-haired woman, clothes ripped, hair straggling around her face and neck, dragging a leather bag and stumbling in her general direction. Good Lord – Ynez de Arguello. Frances caught her breath. The Spanish woman didn't realize she was being observed. She seemed disoriented, running aimlessly, and rivulets of tears rolled down her dirt-streaked face.
Tripping and falling to her knees, she gasped, "Help me! Dios, someone help me!" while fearfully gazing over her shoulder.
Before Frances gave herself time to think about it, she yelled, "Over here!"
It was only when a sobbing Ynez turned wide eyes toward the cave that Frances remembered the skinwalker was a woman. And Ynez was certainly suspect.
But the woman's expression of relief and gratitude seemed real when she staggered toward the cave. "Thank God, thank God! A wolf frightened my horse and the carriage overturned. I was lucky to escape with my life!" Then her brow furrowed as she focused on Frances's makeshift weapon. "And you? Why are you here?"
The rock prickled her hand. "The wolf." But unable to bring herself to throw it at a fellow human being without proof of that person's guilt, Frances lowered her hand, though she kept a sturdy grip on the rock. Her suspicions were not completely eased. "You had no weapon?"
Ynez slashed a palm across her tear-ravaged cheeks. "I despise guns."
"Then how did you get away?"
"That creature was distracted feeding on my horse's throat." Ynez shivered delicately but kept herself in control. "Then it followed. It is there – the ears in the chamisa." She pointed. "You see?"
Frances didn't. She stiffened when the other woman drew closer. What should she do?
"You used mere rocks to keep the beast away?" Ynez asked, sounding amazed.
Frances edged the truth. "I didn't have a choice."
"You do not think..." Ynez licked her lips. "The creature the Apache were after. Could this be the one?"
"The skinwalker?" Frances gazed hard at Ynez. The woman seemed utterly distraught. "Possibly."
The Spanish woman touched her fingers to her forehead and chest as if to cross herself, saying, "Then mere stone would not be enough to protect you." And when Frances didn't respond, Ynez focused on the base of her throat. "Is that a medicine bag?" Without waiting for an answer, she said, "That must be it, then! Magic kept you safe!"
Responding to Ynez's desperate tone, Frances finally admitted, "This was given to me by a great di-yin."
"You will share the contents," Ynez pleaded softly, "to keep me safe?"
"Share?" Frances's hand went to the pouch. Already feeling guilty at not instantly agreeing, she murmured, "I don't know."
"Have you no gratitude?" Tears spilled down Ynez's cheeks again. "I sent a servant to you with the message from your Chaco."
"You did? Luz didn't say."
Before she could ask how Chaco was, Ynez added, "And this after my husband forbade it. Don Armando was so furious with me that he made me afraid for my safety." She lowered her eyes. "How ironic that I was heading for shelter with a friend when the wolf..." Swallowing hard, she continued, "Surely you would not let another human being die when you could prevent it."
Frances knew Ynez was right. "But I don't know what would happen if I disturb the contents of the pouch."
"They would work the same. Please," Ynez said, fumbling in her skirts and pulling out a lace-edged handkerchief, which she held out in the flat of her hand. "Just a pinch. I promise you won't miss it."
Guilt would plague her if anything happened to Ynez because of her refusal. Reluctantly, Frances dropped the rock, removed the pouch from around her throat and loosened its neck. As she made to pour a bit into the other woman's handkerchief, Ynez lunged forward, knocking the little bag out of her hands. The contents sprayed everywhere.
Ynez screamed and frantically rubbed at her face where some of the powder had settled.
Frances at once flew to the ground and tried to gather up the contents. But Ynez intercepted
her – pushed her so hard that Frances sprawled on her back – and began stomping the white powder with her booted foot, scattering it and grinding it into the earth.
Too late, Frances realized her mistake in allowing her heart to rule her head.
Ynez's features seemed to change. Her teeth looked longer, her nails sharper. And her hate-filled eyes seemed to glow as they turned on Frances.
"Stupid fool. Your silly kindness has destroyed you. First coming to rescue your lover when he has no need of you. Then allowing yourself to be taken in by a simpering woman!"
Ynez wasn't simpering now. She was gloating despite the terrible burns marring her beauty. The powder had burned her badly, Frances realized, so that Ynez would probably be scarred for the rest of her life.
"Now you no longer have protection against me," the witch said with an evil laugh. "You, Frances Gannon, will die!"
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
"YOU MEAN TO KILL ME?" Frances asked in a too-calm voice.
Furious that she might have been maimed by the insipid woman's potion – the skin on one side of her face still sizzled as if it had been torched – Ynez stared at her latest victim through hate-filled eyes. Beauty being her greatest asset in the mortal world, she would revenge herself for its slightest loss.
"I shall feast on your blood."
She could already taste it, all the more sweet because it would give her power over Chaco, as well. Unfortunately, having once turned herself into a creature by light of day – an incredible feat that exhibited the extent of her true strength – she could not do so again until sunset, when power once more would infuse her spirit.
"Why?" Frances asked, expression both puzzled and horrified. "What makes a human being turn into an animal?"
"Being treated as an animal. The man whom I believed was my father raped me after my mother died when I was twelve." Ynez revealed this without emotion, for she had learned to believe this incident gave her the strength to become who she was. "That is when I learned that my true father was an Apache slave, making me nothing but chattel. The bastard could do what he wanted with me. And he did...until I killed him."
"And with that you turned into a skinwalker?"
"Of course not!" Annoyed, Ynez paced the narrow entrance of the cave. "I learned magic from my real father's mother who was an Apache diablera. She thought I would turn my gifts against the Anglos and Spaniards who decimated 'our' people." Ynez spat on the ground. "I never wanted to be Indian."
"There's nothing wrong with being part Apache."
Ynez held herself back from striking out at Frances now. This putrid Anglo did not understand the pride she had had in her Spanish conquistador ancestry. Pride that had died a quick and painful death. Even so, she had never let on to anyone that she was not descended from the pure blood of Hidalgos.
"Taking the wolf's spirit was a difficult, painful process." The little fool knew nothing of the rigorous ceremonies, the difficulty of capturing a wolf, tearing out its throat while it still lived and drinking its blood. "I almost died. But I was strong. I survived."
"You didn't make yourself better." Still on the ground, Frances shook her head. "You've killed so many people...and for what?"
"More than you can ever know...and for good reasons. My first husband and many, many servants. Armando's legal children and that cow Mercedes whom he worshiped."
Ynez remembered her horror at being forced to marry an old Spanish Don her supposed aunt chose for her so many years ago, this before she had come to terms with her true strength. To think that her first husband had expected her to birth his little bastards. Disgusting. She had had no choice but to warm his bed, but she had used an ancient method of preventing conception.
And after she had grown weary of his demands, she had slowly poisoned him to death, just as she had begun to do with Armando until the question of the inheritance had surfaced. She had married a second time merely to add to her own wealth, not to find herself placed back under the thumb of some distant relative. As powerful as she was, she was still a woman living mostly in a mortal world, and therefore subject to the vagaries of custom and law.
"Did you ever think of turning your strengths to something positive?" Frances asked.
Ynez was amazed. "Why?"
"You are a human being...or were."
"Human beings are ambitious and unafraid to crush those who stand in their way."
"If they're warped, yes."
"And if they are not, they are weak. Like you, Frances Gannon. Prepare to suffer a terrible death, as did the men who thought they might use me to their will."
Ynez smiled, baring her sharp teeth at the Anglo woman, who seemed unable to take this all in. The stupid fool was closing her eyes, moving her mealy mouth in what was undoubtedly a silent prayer.
More fool she...her god would be of no help to her now.
SITTING WITH HIS BACK against a twisted pinon trunk on a hill overlooking the land that was his for the taking, Chaco felt a sense of urgency he couldn't identify. Kind of a buzzing started at the back of his brain – a sound like a bee made – and he couldn't make it stop. As he stared out at the gentle slopes, and at the small cabin in their midst, the odd feeling that plucked at him intensified.
Maybe it was a sign. Maybe if he increased his effort, he might see the diablera at last.
He'd been trying to summon the skinwalker in her human form off and on for nearly a day now. After a short obligatory visit to the estancia the morning before, he'd made himself at home in the isolated cabin. Going without food or drink, he'd spent most of his time communing with nature. Earth. Water. Sky. Wind. All he'd gotten for his efforts so far was a light head and a naggingly empty stomach.
Calling up a vision wasn't as easy as he'd hoped, but Chaco was determined to keep trying until he succeeded.
Focusing on the buzzing, he closed his eyes and took deep, slow breaths. Inside his mind, he created the image of a wolf. Large, shaggy, open-jawed and red-eyed. The woman riding him in the dream had been red-eyed, so he concentrated on that part of the creature, as if he could mesmerize it to reveal the hidden human features behind the long nose and tawny fur.
He met resistance.
And sensed a wild terror that was not his own. His heart beat hard as he concentrated. The buzzing clarified into words. A woman's voice. But saying what? Dry as the air of the Southwest was, beads of sweat broke out along his skin as he tried to remove himself from everything but this presence that sought him.
Chaco, I need you.
A chill shot up his spine when he sensed rather than heard Frances's plea.
She'll kill me when the sun goes down. Find me, please, but be careful...don't be fooled.
"Fooled by what? Who? Who is she?" he whispered, but the vision-Frances didn't answer.
He pictured her hazel eyes, wide with fright. Her generous mouth set in a grimace. Her golden-brown hair tumbling around her dirt-streaked, heart-shaped face. Dirt-streaked? Why? He pulled back, peered around her into the shadows.
He again sensed rather than saw...but this time the something was evil.
The skinwalker.
Inside his mind, he backed up even more, but no matter how far he went, the creature remained elusive. The harsh echo of her laughter was haunting. And maddening. She was playing with him and enjoying herself. He would enjoy wringing her neck when he could get his hands around it.
He backed up further until the sun bathed him with its fading light and saw himself sitting in this very spot overlooking the cabin.
Opening his eyes, Chaco rose, mounted his buckskin, and, as if still in a vision, turned the horse back on the road toward Santa Fe.
Chaco, I know I can make you hear me!
He urged his horse faster toward the voice carried to him on the wind...
And he soon came across another. A sorrel mare. Frances's horse, loose, scared, but too exhausted to try to elude him. Using a gentle voice, he coaxed the horse into remaining calm. Calmer than he was feeling
, for now he was certain Frances was nearby and in harrowing danger. He gathered the mare's dangling reins, then tracked the horse's route to find its rider.
A while later, he slowed when he found the spot where the mare had dislodged Frances.
The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He was being watched. He whipped around and his gaze connected with a dark maw. A cave. Waves of invisible evil assaulted him. Hatred. Bloodlust. Death.
Instinct kicked in, allowing him to sense more. Anguish. Fear. For him.
"Frances?"
"Chaco!" her voice echoed. "Be careful or...ah-h!"
His gut wrenched and a fist squeezed his heart at her cry. Frances was afraid for him when she was the one in imminent danger. Urging the buckskin up the face of the hill was a futile effort. His horse whinnied and side-stepped, and the mare lunged away from him, trying to tear her reins from his hand. The buckskin made to follow. There was nothing to it but to dismount and free both horses. Then he could concentrate on the evil who posed as a human being.
Without taking his eyes off the cave entrance, he dropped lightly to the ground, and gave both horses a pat on the rear. "Stay close," he ordered softly, hoping they would respond to his firm tone if not understand his words.
At last he would face the skinwalker.
He hadn't seen her in his vision, but he was certain he knew her identity. He'd guessed it, and now he felt a familiar chill that had enveloped him every time he'd visited the de Arguello estancia. And so, when he touched boot to the ledge that spread before the rocky shelter, and Frances came flying out of the cave's mouth with Ynez's hand attached to her golden-brown hair, Chaco wasn't surprised. He continued moving toward the women only to freeze when he saw the gun Ynez dug cruelly into Frances's side.
"Do not be too daring, Chaco, or I shall be forced to shoot her."
He could think of worse ways for a person to die, especially if Ynez was able to skinwalk on command. Totally attuned to her now, though, he sensed a weakness. If he remained alert, he might be able to use that to overpower her.