Reckoner Redeemed

by Doranna Durgin

  Garrie winced. “I just shouted all over you, didn’t I?”

  “I could have shielded,” Lucia said shortly, propping the paint roller on the pan and handing Garrie a rag for her sticky fingers. “I didn’t. I think that counts as eavesdropping.”

  Outside the house, car doors opened and closed, and then so did the front door. Garrie readily recognized Quinn’s tread on the steps, and Drew’s clunkier movement behind. She raised her voice. “We need to have a conversation about knocking.”

  Quinn said, “We need to have a conversation about what happened last night.” He stood in the doorway to peruse the wall, frowning at the patch job. Drew came up behind him, looking warier than Garrie expected.

  *See? The Quinn person. Nosy.*

  Part of the team, Garrie wanted to tell him. Except she had been keeping secrets, and she was still keeping secrets. Not much teamwork in that. Guilt prodded into already swirling emotions, and she made a determined effort to steady herself into a matter-of-fact response. “Dana-Bob got the mountain entity all stirred up. It took me by surprise.”

  “It took us all by surprise,” Quinn said. Like Lucia, he bore signs of the previous evening on his person—a bruise on his cheek, a small cut over his wrist. “But I thought you were keeping tabs on the thing.”

  Garrie drew herself up at the blame in those words. “Not to the exclusion of everything else in my life.”

  “Look,” Quinn said. “I get that things have changed since the rest of you followed Trevarr to San Jose—”

  Garrie spoke through mildly gritted teeth. “I get the feeling you’re blaming me for this entity. Maybe for all of them.”

  Drew said, “Well, you’re the one who fell in with this Trevarr guy. Right into his—”

  Lucia snapped, “Drew!”

  Quinn barely noticed the interruption. “I never wanted you to go to San Jose with him. You know that.”

  Garrie laughed in disbelief. “And what do you think would have happened to this world if I hadn’t?”

  “Quinn,” Lucia said quietly, “the krevata were already here. Garrie stopped them.”

  “He knows that,” Garrie said, throwing aside the rag she’d been clutching, her fingers aching with the strain. “He’s just scared. It’s easier to make this someone’s fault—my fault—than it is to face the fact that this mountain thing is bigger than we are.”

  Quinn bristled—actually bristled, taking a step forward as though he might use his height and athletic nature to bolster his point.

  Lucia sent Garrie a startled glance. Quinn might be pedantic, he might be stubborn...but he’d never tried to intimidate them into seeing things his way. Not until...

  Until...

  Garrie targeted Drew over Quinn’s shoulder, found his eyes narrowed in something between focus and satisfaction, and instantly did something she never even considered before—she shielded Quinn from one of their own. From Drew.

  Drew flinched. Quinn jerked slightly, blinking.

  “Drew,” Garrie said, silken quiet, “what have you learned while you were gone? And who’s been teaching you?”

  Quinn looked between them in confusion. “Wait. What—”

  Lucia drew him into the room, leaving her hand comfortably in his—searching his eyes, his expression, and quite probably open to his emotional shedding. “Quinn,” she said. “Is it Garrie’s fault that the krevata came here? That what they did has had such an effect on us all?”

  He frowned. “Actions have—” And stopped. “Wait. I mean, I would have done some of that differently, but...” He looked at Garrie and frowned. “I don’t know what else...I mean, if anyone’s paid a price...I mean...” Annoyed, he stopped on a sharp breath. “I think maybe we have different priorities right now. I don’t like the way we’re divided between this mountain thing and Trevarr’s situation. But the last time things got hard, it was because I took us to Sedona to help Robin, so—” One more time, he shook his head. “I’m really confused right now.”

  Garrie raised her brow, looking at Drew. “I think Drew can explain.”

  “Hey,” Drew said. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just thought it would be good if someone else got a say—”

  “No,” Garrie said. “I don’t care what you’ve learned or what you think. We never use reckoner mojo on people. And of all the people we never use it on, we don’t use it on our friends.”

  “Drew?” Quinn said, hurt in those blue eyes of his—a wrenching expression in a face usually so filled with casual confidence. “How long have you—”

  “Since he started staying at your place, I think,” Lucia said. “Given some of the un-Quinnie things you’ve said.”

  Drew eyed Garrie with a certain defensive wariness. “If we don’t use mojo on people,” he said, “then what are you going to do now that I have?”

  She stopped short—took a step back, at that. “To you? Geeze, I’ll do what anyone would do to a friend who’s been an asshole. I’ll be furious at you. I won’t really trust you. Maybe I’ll decide I don’t want to be your friend at all.” She nodded toward Quinn, who was still clearly trying to absorb what had happened. “Tell you what, though, if you were staying at my place, you’d be looking for new digs.”

  Quinn scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he said. “You know...yeah. Dude, you gotta go.” He sent Garrie a rueful look. “Bad enough I’m going to have to come clean with Robin about the way you’ve meddled with me, because who knows what she’s been putting up with. It sort of blurs over for me.”

  “Give her a call,” Lucia said, understanding. “And then help me paint.”

  “Paint,” Quinn repeated, looking at the blotch on the wall. “Yeah, that might be just the thing.” He glanced at Drew. “Then we’ll go pick up your stuff. There’s a Studio 6 off Osuna that’s pretty cheap.”

  “Look, I didn’t mean anything by it,” Drew said. “I was trying to help. Garrie gets so sure of herself—she needs to—”

  Too sad to hold her anger, Garrie still couldn’t keep the sharp note from her voice. “Garrie gets to say what Garrie needs. “

  “Pick up a paint brush, Drew, if you still want to be one of us.” Quinn still sounded dazed—but nonetheless certain. “Or don’t. Your choice.”

  “It’ll go faster if we all work on it,” Lucia said, hope in her voice.

  Part of Garrie thought Drew would walk away. Part of her wanted him to, because none of them needed this—not now. Not when they had a mountain entity bigger than all of them, a forest ranger who might make more trouble than Garrie could handle, and a bounty-hunting half-breed to rescue.

  But Drew was one of their own. She’d drawn him in and influenced him and made this world a stronger part of who he was, whatever he’d done after parting from her. She might not do people, but...

  When it came to this, she did friends. So she said, “Come on, Drew. Don’t make any decisions right away. Just get in here and paint.”

  And Drew didn’t walk away.

  ~~~~~~~~~~

  Chapter 26

  The Short Supply of Mercy

  Rhonda Rose

  “This is it,” Lisa said, looking out at the empty lot in the Southwest area of Albuquerque where I’d directed her. The South Valley area was a curious mix of tightly packed farmlets with an urban feel, long shadows sprawling in the spring desert’s morning sun.

  Lucia Reyes cast the empty lot a glance, both uncertain and haughty—and entirely unaware of my presence. “People really hire you to take care of their woo-woo issues?”

  “It’s not like they can do it themselves.” Lisa spoke most practically. “And just because it looks empty doesn’t mean there’s not something going on.” She slanted a clandestine look at Lucia—both expectant and disappointed.

  Lucia made an unconvinced but ladylike noise and crossed her arms—tall, gracefully lanky in the way that meant she’d grow into herself beautifully, and perfectly groomed and appointed. Lisa stood beside her in tight contrast, short a
nd wiry and only now beginning to evince signs of hip and bosom, her perpetually untamed hair sporting streaks in an unlikely color.

  She shrugged at Lucia’s response, tugging her lavishly pocketed pants into place at her hip. “Whatever,” she said. “But I gotta get this done. Nina expects me back to work on her tarot card inventory.”

  Lucia perked to attention. “That sounds like fun.”

  “You can help if you’d like,” Lisa said. The shop proprietress might not have Lisa’s native talent, but she certainly kept the building cleansed and protected, safe for one such as Lucia. Safe enough to encourage Lucia’s wary repeat visits with Lisa. She was otherwise too shy, too delicate...too worn down from so many years of dealing with wispy ethereal emotional leftovers, as well as from her aristocratic family’s very mundane response to her situation.

  Medications. Poorly disguised treatment resorts. Isolation.

  Lucia Reyes, well-hidden family secret.

  No small wonder that Lucia’s eyes narrowed in obvious suspicion that Lisa might be offering such sanctuary out of pity. But Lisa casually added, “Bring some of those fritter things, too.”

  “Bunuelos?” Lucia stopped to ponder this. “Cream or marmalade?”

  Lisa shrugged again. “Whatever. So here’s the deal. Every time they get a solid buyer for this place, freaky things happen. One got swarmed by bats and yeah, they did get stuck in his hair. Flat tires all around for another guy, and the first buyer got struck by lightning.”

  Lucia gave her a skeptical look.

  “Okay, just a little bit struck by lightning.” Lisa looked out over the two undeveloped acres with hands on hips—it was old river plateau bosque ground, with elms and stunted willows barely surviving and a much desired acequia ditch along the edge, badly maintained but nonetheless running on this day, the spillover soaking half the land. “And he was standing out in the middle of a flat field with a monsoon storm coming on. But he swears it headed straight for him.”

  “Uh-huh. And ghosts can do all that?”

  Lisa didn’t react to the ongoing skepticism. She took off her sunglasses to squint out over the property. “They can especially do that.”

  Lucia took a step back, not hiding her annoyance. “Okay, whatever—there’s no reason to get so mad about it.”

  “Who’s angry?” But Lisa understood as soon as I did, and cast a grin at her new friend. “Oh, sparkling awesome! That’s our ghost, I’ll bet!” She sent out a little puff of energy, such as she might poke a friend on the shoulder. “Bob! Come on out and play!”

  “Bob?” Lucia looked at her askance. “You already know his name?”

  “Oh...er...it’s just a thing,” Lisa said. “What I call them. You know.”

  Lucia clearly didn’t know, but Lisa had found and focused in on her quarry. “There he is,” she said, and pointed. Not that there was much of him—a vague, unfocused blur of energies with two eyes and a mouth full of bad teeth, the hint of one brow and an ear.

  Lucia took an uneasy step back. “I don’t see anything. And I don’t think you can call a ghost like that.”

  “A Bob,” Lisa said. “It’s a special skill. Like a dog whistle. A Bob whistle. I kind of like that.”

  “You know, I was thinking that I kind of liked you,” Lucia told her. “But I’m changing my—oh, me cago en la leche!”

  “Language!” I admonished sternly, for all she’d not hear me in my current state. Not that I didn’t understand her reaction, for the spirit had taken affront with his visitors. What Lisa and I saw in vibrant, gooey color, this young woman apparently felt just as clearly.

  “I’m outta here!” Lucia said, clear panic in her voice.

  Lisa only gave her a curious look. “You can’t go. You need to see me fix this.”

  “Says who?” Lucia demanded, her face flushed more strongly than the morning sun deserved.

  “Just wait.” Lisa turned to the spirit—little more than a remnant at this stage. “Hey, listen—we’re not here to mess with your space. We just want to help. Because you’re obviously not happy here and honestly, no one’s really happy to have you.”

  “Atrisco!” the ghost spat at her, losing a tooth in the process. “Find me! Bury me! Atrisco!”

  Lucia took another step back, her flush faded to an unhealthy paleness beneath olive skin. “It’s my car,” she said. “I’m going!”

  Lisa frowned at the ghost. “What do you mean, find you, bury you...Atrisco?” She glanced back at Lucia. “Not in that order, though.”

  Lucia cried, “I don’t care!” And then she said, “Atrisco? The land grant?”

  “You know about it?” Lisa asked her. She casually set up a shielded perimeter and the spirit pressed against the cleverly compressed breezes, distorted facial features flattening like a child’s nose against a window.

  “My family goes back to the original Spanish settlers, don’t they?” Lucia said it like a challenge.

  “Sometimes I think I need a walking encyclopedia,” Lisa said, not in the least sarcastic as she pondered the distorted face, the hands clawing at her shields.

  Lucia regained some of her emotional balance, lifting her chin. “The Atrisco land grant has caused a lot of trouble in this area. It was very bad when grandmother Aba was young.”

  “People died, that kind of trouble?”

  Lucia lifted a delicate shoulder, refusing to commit one way or the other. “It was a big deal,” she said. “A really big deal. Worse than water rights—people getting shares, some people not getting shares, family fighting—”

  “Right. A big deal.” Lisa gave the angry spirit a contemplative look. “Okay, Bob, so you were in on that. And you’re hanging around unresolved after all this time. Find you, bury you...”

  “There are special cemeteries for the Atrisco families,” Lucia offered—still pale, but fully participating now. “Maybe he wants to be there.”

  She no longer questioned the presence of the spirit, I noticed.

  “We can probably make that happen,” Lisa said. “Small price for these people to sell the lot, I think. But first we have to—”

  “Find me!” demanded the entrapped ghost.

  Lucia winced. “Boy, he’s mad. Are they all like this?”

  “Mostly just confused,” Lisa said, pondering the spirit as it snarled against the shield.

  “So this guy is buried somewhere he doesn’t like, and he wants to be found so he can be with the Atrisco families.” Lucia said this as if it was obvious, and I wanted to applaud. She added in an aside, “I bet he wasn’t even chosen for Atrisco. I bet he thinks he should have been.”

  “I bet you’re right.” Lisa turned directly to that distorted face, its gaping mouth now grown to absurd proportions as it attempted to swallow the shielded area whole. “Quit playing around, Bob. Just show me where you are.” She give the spirit a little bump, demonstrating her impatience as well as her lack of concern over the spirit’s antics. When it barely paused its aggressive gnawing at the shield, she bumped harder.

  The spirit spun away like a balloon, bouncing back, then out again...and back, finally slowing to linger over a central portion of the lot.

  “All right then,” Lisa said. “We can work with that.” She bent to gather several stones, no doubt to make a marker. “Bet he was murdered—he’s got the look. Wish I had time to look it up.”

  Lucia said, “You do need a walking encyclopedia.” And then she lifted her face to the sky, as if absorbing something new. “I...I think he’s... He’s hopeful.”

  Lisa grinned. “And that’s why you get a percentage today. You’re my walking barometer.”

  Lucia straightened her already proper posture. “Why...yes. I did that for you.” She looked out over the field, of which she could see nothing but the land features anyone could see, and then she looked at Lisa, and then she smiled. “You know, you’re just a little chicalet of a thing, but...you’re okay.”

  Lisa made an indelicate noise as she picked her way acro
ss the weedy field. “Awesome. But don’t forget the fritter things.”

  ~~~~~

  A Strong Whiff of Power

  With more hands at work, Lucia’s room quickly reflected the delicate lilac color she’d chosen. Inevitably, Garrie and the team then found themselves out in the fresh air of the upper porch, the strong sunshine of an early winter day plenty enough to keep them warm, a quick lunch of subs and salads already downed.

  “Ugh,” Garrie said, and groaned dramatically, flopping down into the worn cushions of a wrought iron chair. “I must digest.”

  “No one said you had to finish off that sub.” Lucia took a measured swallow of her ice water.

  Garrie smiled and patted her stomach happily. “Oh, but I did.”

  “Damn,” Drew said, staring at her with a little too much intensity from where he sat against the porch railing. “You really do sparkle.”

  Garrie held an arm out in the sunshine. “Yep,” she said. “I sparkle a lot. I farking gleam.”

  “Tsk,” Lucia said, off with her own little distraction beside the house. “This blood will be hard to get out of the wood.”

  “It’ll fade.” And the arm wouldn’t always ache as badly as it did this day.

  Quinn settled into another chair, but hardly seemed relaxed. “Look, I know we’re shaken up right now, but we need a plan. For starters, we need to know more about this mountain thing—” He stopped, an unsettled expression pulling his brow into a frown. “Wait. I was...wasn’t I supposed to look into that?”

  Garrie cast an eye at Drew. “Why, yes. In fact, you were supposed to do that. Since you’ve got Trevarr’s Bestiary and all.”

  Quinn floundered a little, shifting in the chair. “Trevarr’s big heavy book. Right. I should have that. Lots of pictures, text I can weirdly sometimes read... Do I have that?”

  Drew cleared his throat. “It’s here, actually. In my truck. You said it ought to come here and that I could take a look in the meantime.”

  “Did I?” Quinn’s troubled look was anything but reassuring.

  From the roof there came a thump, a scratch of claw over shingle—a blur and a skitter, and Sklayne landed on the mosaic-topped table, only to bounce off and come to a stop at Drew’s feet. *Book. Given. To. The Quinn person.*