Smoke already fills the air. Clouding visions. Fogging the mind.
He jumps out of the car before Chris even comes to a complete stop. Running. Racing toward the house engulfed in flames.
Firemen everywhere. Hoses crisscross over his dad’s carefully manicured lawn. Through his mother’s prize rosebushes in the front flower bed. Water hissing as it hits the hot flames.
Someone grabs him. He turns, ready to do battle. A fireman shakes his head. “You can’t go in there. It’s about to collapse.”
“My parents are in there. My little sister.” His throat burns as he shouts above the din of noise.
The fireman’s face falls. Nickolai knows. Truth be told, he knew before he got here that they were gone. He’d felt it in his chest. The burning. The aching. The inability to breathe or think or feel.
“My sister. She’s barely fifteen.” Dare he hope?
The fireman nods toward the ambulance parked haphazardly on the side yard. “She’s in there. We’re waiting on the police to get here.”
Nickolai turns and darts toward the ambulance. Lisbeth! He has to see her. She has to be okay. She just has to. He can’t take losing everyone all at once. Too cruel.
She sits in the back of the ambulance, staring at their burning home. Her eyes wide, pupils totally dilated.
“Lisbeth!” He pulls her into his arms. “You’re okay. You’re really okay?” He releases her just enough to hold her at arm’s length. “Are you hurt anywhere? Burned?”
She shakes her head, still staring at the fire. “Look at it, Nicky. It’s eating the house. The flames are licking away the wood planks. It’s beautiful.”
Chris halts beside Nickolai. “Are you okay, Lisbeth?”
Her eyes brighten as she smiles at Chris then looks back at the burning house. “It’s wonderful. So powerful. And grows so fast.”
Nickolai’s heart clenches. His sister had started rambling to his parents about fire being the source of true power recently. He’d assured them it was all a fad. Just like her cutting herself. Their station had so many reports of teenagers cutting themselves. Over 90 percent of them just did it because someone else did. Surely that’s what Lisbeth had done. Just trying to be part of the crowd.
But that sinking feeling in the pit of Nickolai’s gut screams that there is more. That he’s missed some serious signs. That he’s been wrong.
“Lissy, what did you do?”
She stops staring at the flames to look at him. Holds eye contact. “Why, I set the beast loose, of course. I freed him.” She smiles and looks back at the fiery rubble that was once his home. “Isn’t he truly magnificent, Nicky?”
Nickolai’s hands shook. “Are you ready to get out of here?” He knew his voice came out short, and he didn’t mean to snap at Landry, but his emotions were tangled and he needed to get out of here.
“Sure.” She stood, eyeing him.
He grabbed their tray and emptied the trash then led the way to the parking lot. He had just unlocked and opened her door and helped her climb up into the passenger seat when a man stuck a microphone in his face. “Mr. Baptiste, we understand that you’re here on a treasure hunt and that you’ve received threats if you continue. What are your thoughts?”
“What?” He glanced at another man holding a camera directed right at him.
“The police reports filed show you and Ms. Parker have received warnings to abort your hunt for the Dutchman’s Lost Mine. How do you respond?”
“We aren’t on a treasure hunt. We aren’t looking for the lost mine.” Press vultures, they were the worst. He tried to take a step back so he could shut Landry’s door.
Landry blocked it with her foot. “Our investigation is based on a private client’s need to recover a lost item.”
“You’ve obviously been hurt because someone wanted you to stop investigating. Are you going to?”
Nickolai pushed her foot into the Jeep.
“This doesn’t scare me off in the least. It actually makes me more determined than ever to uncover the truth of everything to do with this case.”
He shut the door and turned to the reporter. “I realize once the marathon is over, you’ll have limited fodder for your news, but you need to leave this alone.”
“Is that a threat?” The reporter took a step backward, nearly running into his cameraman.
“Not at all. Just a friendly bit of advice.” Nickolai rushed around the car and got behind the steering wheel. He started the engine and set the temperature.
“Well, that was interesting.” Landry adjusted the vent.
“They needed something to report on for when the marathon’s over. I should’ve known they’d pick up the police reports and think this was newsworthy.”
“It probably is, to them. I doubt Apache Junction sees any crime in comparison to our New Orleans.”
He chuckled as he put the Jeep in gear and eased out of the parking place. They passed the reporter and cameraman getting into their van. Landry waved. He sped up. The last thing they needed was a reporter following them.
“I should’ve just said no comment. I know better.”
“You aren’t a cop anymore, Nickolai.” Landry moved her neck to reposition the sling. “You don’t have to be so rigid.”
“We shouldn’t encourage them. A ‘no comment’ reply usually kills the story after one airing.”
“I wanted whoever is behind all this to know he didn’t scare me off. I’m still going to do my job, threats or no.”
Nickolai held tight to the steering wheel. How could he make her understand that being public like that put them more at a disadvantage than an advantage?
“Um, do you have any idea where we’re going?” She broke his mental argument with himself. “Or are you just trying to get away from the reporter?”
“I thought we’d try to find Tarak and talk with him. Don’t know how much we’ll learn, but it’s worth the time to ask.”
She nodded. “According to Vanessa, my copy seemed to help him pinpoint where the mine was. She indicated he seemed very sure. Do you know where he lives?”
He nodded. “When I spoke with Officer Hogan, I asked if he knew Tarak. I figured an officer like himself would know most every local. I was right.”
“And he just gave you Tarak’s address?” Even she wouldn’t have done that, and she played much looser with the rules than the average bear.
“No. But he did mention his last name—Chatto. A quick Internet search later, and I have his street address.” He chuckled at her expression.
“Color me impressed. I figured you would find a way around actually looking it up yourself.” She wrinkled her nose when she spoke.
Nickolai shook his head. “Should I be offended by that remark?”
“Do you resemble it?”
“Touché.” He laughed with her. It felt good. Felt natural. Felt more comfortable with her than he had around anybody except Chris for a very long time.
Nickolai found himself wanting to tell her everything … his parents, the fire, Lisbeth. But a nagging fear cut off his voice. How could he explain? She’d really think he was a jerk when he told her that he was responsible for his parents’ deaths. How would she react if he told her he’d left his sister in the hospital because he didn’t know what else to do for her?
He grabbed the steering wheel, letting his fingers dig into the cushy leather grips. “Landry, about earlier. At Burger King …”
“Yeah?” Her voice was soft and caring.
He took a deep breath, keeping his eyes on the road as he spoke. “My sister set the fire that burned down my parents’ house.”
“Oh, Nickolai, I’m so sorry.”
She clearly didn’t understand. “Lisbeth set it on purpose. She’s a diagnosed schizophrenic, who focuses on fire.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
He could hear the pity in her voice and knew he didn’t deserve it. “When Lisbeth started showing signs, I misinterpreted. You have to understand, I’d made
detective and thought I knew everything. I’d been exposed to extensive training in criminal behavior, as well as behavior triggers and socialist trends. I thought I knew.” His throat got tighter and tighter.
Landry put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed.
He couldn’t let her think it was minor, just an oversight. “Lisbeth had been cutting herself for months. I knew that was a big fad with a lot of teens in the New Orleans area. Schools had counselors on speed dial to deal with the self-harming. I thought she was just jumping on the ‘cool’ bandwagon because everyone else was doing it. I told Mom not to worry, and I told Lisbeth to knock it off.”
Nickolai focused on his driving but continued to talk. He had to tell her everything. Now that he’d started, he had to let it out or he’d erupt. “All the signs she showed, and there were many—social isolation, aggression, agitation, compulsive behavior, anger, self-harming, rapid and frenzied speaking … I thought it was Lisbeth just being a rebellious teenager. Acting out because her friends were.”
She squeezed his shoulder again.
No, he didn’t deserve empathy. “I told Mom and Dad not to play into her pity routines. I told them she was just acting out. I discouraged them from taking her to the doctor, telling them it was a waste of money. Even when she burned down the doghouse, I blamed it on her rebellious streak and advised Dad to take away her phone and privileges.”
She slowly withdrew her hand. Ah, there it was. The realization of what he’d done … what he’d allowed to happen.
“I didn’t know some of the signs she exhibited were classic schizophrenia symptoms: the delusions, how she believed that fire has a special and personal meaning just for her, her strange assertion that her thoughts weren’t really her own, so much disorientation, and her false belief of superiority, even over me, Mom, and Dad.”
He shook his head as he pulled onto Tarak’s street. “I thought she’d snap out of it. I thought if we didn’t play into her for-attention drama, she’d straighten up.” His lips had trouble wrapping around the words. “I was so wrong.”
Nickolai pulled in front of Tarak’s address, put the Jeep in PARK, and finally looked at Landry. She had big tears in her eyes. “She set the house on fire after Mom and Dad had gone to bed. Lisbeth sat in the yard and watched it burn down. Watched it kill our parents, and she told me it was beautiful. The fire eating everything was beautiful.”
He felt himself blinking against the burning of his eyes, but he had to finish. Had to get it out. “They took her away and had her tested. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia and put in the hospital. She’s been there for two years, sometimes better, sometimes not. But every week when I see her, I can only think that she might have been the one to start the fire, but it’s my fault our parents are dead.”
All. His. Fault.
THE WOPELA
Gopan had much to be thankful for, so he prepared for the wopela custom with a pure heart.
Just as their custom dictated. Just as tradition demanded.
He moved slowly, his joints stiff from the rebirthing time of his guidance journey. He would have to relearn how to use his body. Even though he craved the traditional buffalo soup he could smell that the others in the tribe would eat, he would not. His body would have to adjust to assimilating food. For tonight, the fourth and final night of his journey, he would sip water with lemon and soup broth.
The eldest shaman of the tribe, Paco, ducked into Gopan’s tepee.
Gopan bent his head, in respect and reverence for the old man.
“Sadnleel da’ya’dee nzho.” By way of greeting, Paco gave the tribe’s adage: long life, old age, everything good.
“Yes.” Gopan kept his head bent. The visit by Paco was an honor. Not every warrior received instructions from the chief shaman.
“Tonight, your wopela is saying thank you. This is an honoring time. It is a time of giving things away.”
“Yes.”
Paco continued in his Apache tongue. “Tonight is a time of great celebration as your family tribe celebrates with you that the Great Spirit has allowed you to come back into this world from your journey.”
“Yes.” Gopan glanced over to the gifts he’d arranged—for the medicine man and the helpers, and for the children of the tribe.
“Stand tall, Gopan.”
Gopan did, looking down into the old man’s eyes. “Tonight, you will join me, Nantan, and Dyami as the fourth shaman of the Bedonkohe. You now represent the North.”
Paco touched Gopan’s forehead. “The Rest and Cleansing Moon will rise in the sky tonight. This moon is when you will communicate well within the tribe. Your intellect has risen. The Rest and Cleansing Moon develops your abilities and uncovers your own true being.”
Gopan reached for the blanket he’d worn during his journey. Usually given to someone who has been a great helper, Gopan felt he needed to give it to Paco. He wrapped it around the old shaman’s shoulders.
Paco shivered, even though it was quite warm in Gopan’s tepee. “As a shaman for our tribe, you are also a warrior and must live by the warrior’s code of honor.”
Nantan stepped into the center of the tepee, almost startling Gopan. When had the other shaman arrived? He didn’t have time to think as Nantan spoke, his deep baritone vibrating Gopan’s chest. “Warrior, there are no shades of gray in the question of honesty and justice. There is only right and wrong.” He placed his hand on Gopan’s shoulder.
Dyami joined the men and spoke, his older, softer voice like a salve against Gopan’s aching limbs. “Warrior, be courteous even to your enemies. Without this respect, we are no better than the animals.” He placed his hand on Gopan’s other shoulder.
Paco moved his hand to Gopan’s chest. Heat radiated all the way through to Gopan’s back. “Warrior, live with heroic courage. This life is risky and dangerous. The warrior way is living life completely, fully, wonderfully.”
Placing his other hand on Gopan’s waist, Nantan spoke again. “Warrior, there is but one judge of honor, and this is yourself, from whom you cannot hide.”
Dyami placed his other hand on the other side of Gopan’s waist. “Warrior, be quick and strong, with a power that must be used for the good of all … compassion.”
Paco shifted under Nantan’s six-foot stature to place his other hand on Gopan’s back. Tingling pulsated down Gopan’s legs, to the very tips of his toes. “Warrior, you are to do as you say you will. No promise need be given. A warrior’s word is heavy.”
The three men began swaying, sweeping Gopan up into the motion. He closed his eyes as he envisioned an eagle soaring overhead in the evening sky.
“Warrior, stay loyal to those in your care, to those you are responsible for, and in protection of the tribe and gods. Remain fiercely true.” The three shamans’ voices blended together in perfect Apache as they swayed. Gopan couldn’t decipher between their voices.
Their chanting filled the tepee … his head … his very being.
We are one. We are one. We are one in Shis-Inday.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Nickolai, I don’t know what to say.” Her heart broke. For him … for his parents … for his sister. A real tragedy.
His face clouded. “There’s nothing to say. I just thought you should hear the truth from me.” He reached for the door handle. “This is Tarak’s address. Let’s go see if he’s in.”
“Wait. Nickolai, I want to tell you how sorry I am that you had to go through that. This.” She followed him up the driveway.
“Just drop it, okay? I shouldn’t have burdened you with my life story.” He stomped up the stairs to the shotgun-style house. A loose board creaked under his weight.
Burdened her? She wasn’t burdened. She ached for the pain he’d endured—still endured. But he clearly didn’t want to discuss it any further at the moment. She’d bide her time, but she would let him know what she thought when the time was right to broach the subject again.
He knocked hard on the door then looked back at Lan
dry. “It’s a weekend, so maybe we’ll get lucky and he won’t be at work.”
She joined him on the steps. “From the way Vanessa talked, I guess I just assumed he didn’t have a job.”
The door swung open, and a younger Native American glared at them. “What do you want?”
“We’re here to speak to Tarak.” Even Nickolai’s voice sounded commanding.
“He cannot speak to anyone.”
Landry leaned against the door frame. “Is he here? Just ask him. I’m a friend of Vanessa’s.” That was reaching it a little—she and Vanessa weren’t friends—but it did soften the young man’s intense expression when he looked at Landry.
“Then you should know Tarak cannot talk to anyone. He is in prayer.”
Oh, yeah. “Right. The twenty-four hours of prayer.”
The young man raised his brows. “You do know.”
She nodded. “That’s what I need to talk to him about. I’m the one who had the copies of the map.” She grinned at Nickolai and decided to wing it. “I knew he was close to finding where the warriors were, so I’m glad my copies helped him locate them.”
He nodded somberly. “This has been Tarak’s journey since birth. The shaman foretold his destiny.”
She had to think fast. “So you understand I’m part of Tarak’s destiny. I need to see the complete mapping Tarak compiled.”
The young man took a step back. “Tarak did not say this.”
“He didn’t know I would come. This was foretold to me, not him.” She inched in front of Nickolai. “I know that he can’t be bothered while he’s in prayer. I’m just to look at his work.” Inspiration hit. She rose to her full height and squared her shoulders. “I’m supposed to see if he has located the Shis-Inday before his prayer journey is complete.”
He hesitated.
“I only need one minute. That’s all that I’m required to see.” Just long enough to snap a picture with her cell.
The young man nodded. “But not him.” He jutted his chin toward Nickolai. “He is not to enter the house.” She smiled at Nickolai and tapped the cell in her hand. “I’ll be right back.”
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