by Liliana Hart
“There’s no need for that, son. We’re cooperating with you,” Archie said in a calm voice.
“Don’t call me ‘son,’ old man. You ain’t my daddy, and I ain’t no fucking ugly Indian like you.”
He raised the mask to strike Archie, but a shout from Doug interrupted him. “Fueled up. Now let’s get the fuck out of this shithole freezing village.”
“Untie the rear line and shove us off!” Nick shouted through the open window. To Archie, he said, “Fire up the big engine. Let’s roll.”
“You moron. Didn’t you hear anything I just told you? We can’t turn on the main engine until we’ve cleared the third buoy. It’s too shallow.”
“Then turn on the little one and haul ass.”
Archie powered the small engine, and, as promised, it sputtered. They inched away from the dock. “I’d better go check the fuel line,” he said in a convincingly resigned voice.
Sienna’s brain was still rattled from the blow, but she didn’t have the luxury of gathering her wits. This was it. Time to jump in arctic waters and pray she didn’t die.
“Doug, check on the fuel line to the small engine, will ya?”
Shit. If Nick stayed in the pilothouse, he couldn’t be caught in dropped rigging.
Doug disappeared belowdecks. It was now or never. “I need air,” she said and shoved at the door.
“No, you don’t—” Nick said, but he couldn’t grab her because his hands were full of the mask. He dropped it and lunged, but she’d darted forward and had just enough of a head start to get away. On the deck, she swung rigging in his direction, and a thick line caught him across the face. She shouted to Archie, “Drop the Zodiac into the Sound and go!”
They were picking up speed, and there was enough clearance from the quay for Archie to swing the Zodiac over the frigid water. She darted to the railing and reached it just as the rigging holding the small boat released. Rhys was a blur as he rode the boat down to the water.
She climbed on the rail to jump, but Nick caught her foot, stopping her. She caught sight of Archie at the rail closer to the pilothouse. He would make it.
She’d wanted to grab the mask but hadn’t really had a choice. She kicked Nick in the face, then launched herself into the sea.
The shock of water was so cold, it burned. Her whole body flushed with the sharp scorching pain. She took an involuntary breath and inhaled salt water.
This was the burn of the vision. Not fire. Icy cold.
Archie. She had to find Archie before her muscles seized. He wouldn’t know which way to swim to shore. If her vision of flames was also correct, they needed to get away from the boat, fast. She caught a glimpse of Archie and tried to get her frozen muscles to take her to him.
The water was cold unlike anything she’d ever imagined.
She couldn’t swim. Couldn’t breathe. Archie was ten feet away, and she’d never reach him. The shore was thirty, forty feet away at most, but it might as well be a mile.
She would die.
“Sienna!” Rhys shouted from behind her.
She’d been so focused on spotting Archie, she’d forgotten to look for the Zodiac.
A hand gripped her wrist. Rhys pulled her into the boat in one smooth movement. She coughed and sputtered and her teeth clattered even as her skin burned. She tried to sit up, to help Rhys paddle to Archie, but her arms wouldn’t support her.
A moment later, Rhys had Archie in the boat too. She hugged the old man to her chest, and Rhys spread a canvas cloth over them. It was stiff and wasn’t warm, but at least it blocked the cool wind.
“Sonofabitch, I’m too old for swimming in Kotzebue Sound,” Archie complained.
Sienna laughed. “So am I, Archie.”
If Rhys hadn’t been in the Zodiac, she doubted she or Archie would have made it to shore.
As Rhys rowed to the quay, she looked out at Archie’s old fishing boat, not surprised to see that instead of returning to reclaim their hostages, the Pelligrews were heading out to sea. A glance back at the quay showed the line of feds, explaining the brothers’ hasty retreat. An ambulance siren wailed in the distance. She guessed Agent Upton had called when she and Archie had jumped in the water.
“Did you set the explosive?” she asked Rhys.
“Yes.”
“Damn, I’m going to miss that boat. But I’m glad those sonsofbitches will be taken care of.”
“When will it blow? Is it on a timer?” she asked.
“Sort of. When will they fire up the big engine, Archie?”
“Third buoy.”
“Any second now, then.”
Sienna kept her gaze fixed on the vessel as it headed for open water. It passed the third buoy, and a moment later, a massive explosion rent air and sea.
The boat fireballed, and flames licked at Sienna’s face. Not really, but she realized now it was the mask that flamed along the cheeks, the mask whose hair had burned. She’d put on the mask. She’d seen through its eyes and had felt the fire from its perspective.
She hoped Jana had gone to the other side before destruction of the mask closed her portal.
One piece of debris stood out as it arced through the air. Sienna frowned, uncomfortably certain it was the mask. Singed but not completely burned.
The small item flew far clear of the burning, floating wreckage, and she kept her gaze locked on it. “Rhys. The mask is floating over there. Should we go get it?”
“You and Archie need to get warm. We’ll get you into the ambulance, then I’ll go after it.”
But in the end, there was no need. Something moved rapidly toward the floating mask, and it took Sienna a moment to realize it was an orca fin. The incredible creature did a full arching breach over the mask, then swam back out into the open sound, taking the mask with it.
Epilogue
Six weeks later, Sienna was still cold. Sometimes it seemed the only time she was warm was late at night, when she was wrapped tightly in Rhys’s arms, their naked bodies as close as two people could be. At those times, she burned with heat and loved every moment.
Enough of the Pelligrew brothers’ remains had been plucked from the water to confirm not only that they were dead but also that they were the same white supremacist brothers who’d run afoul of both their supremacist sect leader and the FBI in Idaho a year before. It appeared they’d taken to selling the artifacts in an attempt to buy their way back into the movement. They’d hooked up with Adam Helvig because he’d apparently been performing artifact laundering services for wealthy collectors for several years, but he’d always handled pieces given to him and had decided to venture into procurement because he wanted a bigger piece of the action than his small laundering fee.
The FBI had offered Sienna a contract to comb through the museum’s files to find other items that had been laundered so they could go after both buyers and sellers. The contract would keep her busy for at least a year, a relief as her sister was still stuck in Hawaii with no sign she’d be returning soon. Somebody had to keep Aubrey Sisters Heritage Preservation afloat.
Sienna patted the air mattress she’d set up in the backyard of her Gig Harbor home and said, “Come to bed, Rhys.” They’d chosen her house tonight over Rhys’s because the city lights of Seattle would hide most of the meteor shower, which was a shame because, while it was early for the Perseids, it was a clear, moonless night, prefect for stargazing. And Sienna had another sexual fantasy she wanted to fulfill.
He smiled at her over the top of some sort of legal brief. “Almost done.” In the weeks they’d been together, they spent far more nights at Rhys’s house in Seattle due to his longer work hours, but this weekend, she’d lured him out to the wilds of Gig Harbor for some fantasy fulfillment. Eventually, Sienna would probably move in with Rhys in Seattle, but for now, with her sister gone for an indefinite period of time, she needed to hold down the fort, so they juggled the commute.
She settled inside the double sleeping bag then stripped off her clothes, planning to s
urprise him when he climbed in. She’d always wanted to make love outside, under a canopy of shooting stars.
While Rhys finished working, she stared up at the clear night sky. Later tonight, midnight Itqaklut time, the tribe would hold a ceremony to honor Jana, the shaman who’d shared his mask with her so she could complete her work, and the orca that’d transported both their souls to rest.
The night after the explosion on the boat, Chuck had had a dream. He dreamed about a shaman in ancient times, whose spirit inhabited his ritual orca-motif mask because his work in this realm wasn’t yet complete. Centuries later, the mask came to the attention of the Itqaklut collections manager, who knew it was special. One day, she returned to her life’s work—the gathering of her tribe’s heritage—and found men full of hate had desecrated the sacred collection. Those men killed her, but she died protecting the shaman’s mask. The shaman let the woman’s soul share his mask. But it wasn’t her mask, so it was difficult for her to remain on this side. She had no bond with the object to tie her down. But she did have unfinished business.
Trapped in a synthetic box—plastic, slippery, and suffocating—there was nothing the soul could do. Finally, a woman opened the box. This woman could hear the pleas of the desperate soul, and the spirit clinging to the mask set about learning the woman’s emotions, to determine how to get her to return the mask home, where her work could be completed.
And so the mask brought people together—people with the skills needed to solve the heretofore unknown murder of the woman and the murder of the museum curator, all while preventing even more deaths. The tribe’s entire cultural heritage was in danger, and the mask spirit ensured a man with the proper skills would save everything. Then, in the final moment, when the mask would have burned, the ancient shaman pushed the spirit of the woman safely to the other side. Her work was done.
The shaman’s work was done as well, and the mask was delivered to the sea, taken by the orca, which honored his spirit.
Chuck had woken up refreshed and exuberant, knowing deep in his soul he had the full story and that his beloved wife had passed safely to the other side, carrying his love in her heart. After the dream, he’d been healthier, robust again, and it appeared he wouldn’t need dialysis in the future. Chuck had shared what he could of the story with the tribe, and they’d begun to plan tonight’s ceremony.
Rhys and Sienna had been invited to participate, but they’d declined. This was a ceremony for the tribe, to close the spiritual wound opened by the Pelligrews. Sienna and Rhys had wounds of their own, but they were different from those felt by the tribe.
For the two of them, their healing came from being together and living up to the promises they’d made in Itqaklut.
The first meteorites began to streak across the sky when Rhys joined her in the sleeping bag. He grinned when he discovered she was naked. They made love under a sky full of shooting stars, and Sienna felt warm and loved.
So strange to think that the mask that had started by giving her nothing but grief had later ended up introducing her to her greatest joy.
Rhys held her as they watched light flash across the sky, and slowly, she drifted off to sleep. Sometime later, Rhys nudged her awake. “Sweetheart, wake up. I think… I think Jana is saying thanks and good-bye.”
Her eyes fluttered open, too groggy to see or understand.
“It’s midnight in Itqaklut. The ceremony has started. And look up at the sky. Jana is thanking you.”
The sky was a blur, but it didn’t look like the shooting stars were spelling words, let alone ones for her. She rubbed at her eyes and opened them again. When she finally managed to focus, she gasped. She’d seen the aurora borealis twice from Washington, but neither time had been anything like the play of colors that danced across the sky now. It was a symphony of light. Green, red, violet, and blue hues all flowed together. But on the edge of the red was a shade Sienna knew as well as her name—because it was her name—burnt sienna—a warm earthy orange in the celestial sky.
Sienna smiled and whispered, “You’re welcome, Jana.” Then she added, “And thank you for Rhys. I don’t know if you intended for it to be permanent or not, but I’m keeping him.”
Author’s Note
In October 2013, a large collection of artifacts that had been stored at the University of Washington’s Burke Museum for nearly sixty years was returned to the Suquamish Tribe. The artifacts had been excavated from the Old Man House site in Kitsap County, which was the winter village for the Suquamish Tribe and home of Chief Sealth, also known as Chief Seattle. Transported over Puget Sound by ferry, the artifacts were escorted by a very rare and large pod of orcas. Nearly three dozen orcas surrounded the ferry as it entered Eagle Harbor at Bainbridge Island.
Tribal members were on the ferry to witness the remarkable event, and many believe there is a spiritual tie between the orcas and the tribe. In June of 2014, the tribe held a ceremony to honor the killer whales who led the treasures of Old Man House back to Suquamish.
You can read about the orca escort in this Seattle Times article, or watch this King 5 news segment, which describes the significance of the artifacts to the tribe’s cultural heritage and includes footage of the orcas.
Acknowledgements
Thank you to the amazing Robin Perini for inviting me to be a part of the Twelve Shades of Midnight anthology, which gave me an excuse to start this new series and dabble in the paranormal.
Thank you to the other fabulous authors in the anthology for participating in this fun project and the wonderful support and camaraderie that developed as we worked out the details.
Thank you to Jenn Stark for the online plotting sessions and for critiquing this even when you were under deadline. I’m forever grateful! Thank you to Darcy Burke for her always spot-on critiques.
Thank you to my editor, Linda Ingmanson, for helping me make this book shine.
Thank you, as always, to my husband, David Grant, for sharing his knowledge about Iñupiat prehistory, archaeology, artifacts, daylight fireworks, fishing boats, and C-4 explosives, and for helping me find the information I needed on those subjects and more when my question couldn’t easily be answered with an Internet search. I love you.
Thank you for reading Midnight Sun! I hope you enjoyed it! If you’d like to know when my next book is available, please sign up for my new release e-mail list on my website at www.Rachel-Grant.net.
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Books By Rachel Grant
Evidence Series:
Concrete Evidence
Body Of Evidence
Withholding Evidence
Grave Danger
Midnight Sun
SPIRIT WOODS
Trish McCallan
Copyright © 2014
This book is dedicated to Luna, Sawyer, Bubbles and Swagger: the four golden retrievers who share my life and provided the inspiration for Max Midnight.
Chapter One
As her last client of the day—Keystone, an aging bulldog—waddled out of her exam room, Kaylea Armund sprayed the stainless steel exam table with disinfectant and ripped a handful of paper towels from the dispenser. Absently she listened to Keystone’s snorting, wheezing progress through the clinic, and sent a prayer to St Francis that the Clavamox she’d prescribed would clear up his respiratory infection quickly.
The poor old guy was of an age where the simplest ailment could turn life threatening, and that was without prior breathing conditions clouding the issue. Unfortunately, Keystone’s file was bulging with his respiratory history. The Stenotic Nares alone when combined with the bronchial infection could prove fatal. It was too bad she’d never been able to convince his owners to send him to the specialist for the surgery necessary to widen the animal’s nostrils and give the poor guy more room for airflow.
Scrunching her nose against the acidic bite of the sanitizer, she wiped the counter down, a smile blooming as she ticked off her plans for the weekend.
“Lea,” Janine Campbell, her office assistant, said from the doorway. “Logan Yates is here. He needs to speak with you.”
Her hand freezing mid-swipe, Kaylea’s contentment vanished. She hadn’t heard that particular name in ten years. Scratch that; the man who claimed that name hadn’t spoken to her in ten years, but she’d been hearing his name far too often since he’d joined the Jamesville police department.
She’d even seen him a couple of times… a tall, lean, semi-stranger with a confident stride and the unwelcome ability to stir feeling better left buried.
There were thousands of police stations around the country. Why the heck did he have to pick her hometown to jump start his new career?
“Tell him I’m gone for the day.” She briskly resumed wiping down the table. Since discovering he’d moved to Jamesville, she’d been wondering whether he’d seek her out for an uncomfortable rendition of “remember whens”…
Assuming, of course, he’d remembered where she’d been raised, and had given any thought to whether she’d returned home after graduation.
“Lea,” Janine said, her voice soft—as though she were trying to hide the words from the clinic’s unwelcome visitor. “He’s a police officer.”
“Yeah? So?”
Kaylea knew exactly what he was.
If she’d known ten years ago that he’d switched his major from pre-law to law enforcement, she could have saved herself an ocean of grief. She would have avoided him from the get-go, instead of getting to know him enough to actually like the man; instead of finding herself insanely attracted to him.