In that helpless moment, a blast of light seared his eyes, his optic nerves throbbing.
Only Waapake’s vicious growls accompanied the assault.
Keir swung a fisted arm in the direction of the light but met only air. “Aggie, stay back.”
A grip, strong as steel, clamped onto his shoulder and pushed him backward through the door, while the light remained fixed on his face. When the door clicked closed, the light extinguished.
Thuds sounded from inside the basement, as if Waapake lunged at his cage walls.
“Rowe?” Aggie’s voice quavering, uncertain.
His eyes still blinded, Keir couldn’t validate what she saw.
Shuffling sounded both in front and behind. A gentle hand hooked his elbow and guided him to the steps.
He negotiated the first as a raucous cry of a crow cackled above him—the same as the one at the creek that stole Waapake’s dreamcatcher. Keir twisted, trying to focus on the bird, and a laugh accompanied its harsh caw, nearly matching the discordance.
As Keir turned back to the recognizable laughter, his vision accommodated. Under the dim glow cast by a security lamp, Adara stood beside Rowe, flashlight dangling from her hand. Despite his friend’s squared shoulders and crossed arms, by his contorted grimace and pallid skin, he appeared as if he wanted to vomit. Oppositely, Adara looked a remarkable vision: she wore a black satin evening gown that clung to every curve, her face powdered white and adorned with glimmering earrings and dark red lips.
It took a moment for Keir’s eyes to see, and a moment longer for his brain to understand.
He grappled for Aggie’s arm—but an instant later suspected her as part of this deception—and pulled free to brace himself against the railing. Had Aggie set him up? Did they really wish him to be under Adara’s control? He dragged up the steps, mind reeling. His emotions whirled within his mind, like the vortex of a tornado poised to cyclone through the rest of his body, long before any words could form.
At the top, he turned to face them—surprised to find Aggie standing behind him, her eyes wide, body shaking. He glanced at Rowe, his childhood friend, who’d only yesterday called him family, his brother. “What the hell are you doing?” Keir demanded, trying to bite back the anger which escaped with every word.
“Whatever it takes to keep you in the coven.” The hollow-sounding words came out of the dark—out of nothing Keir knew.
“You’re siding with her? You said you’d refute her accusations against me. Are you now planning to help smear my name?”
“No. Just stopping the rumors before they start.” Rowe’s words were tight, measured.
Leaning a shoulder against her newfound ally, Adara cast a casual grin, her advice lilted and smug. “He’s got it right. Let’s make it easy for everyone.”
“At what cost?” Keir shouted. Ignoring her, his eyes tore at Rowe. “Mine or yours? Are you willing to step up to the plate—play her game—and jeopardize your relationship with Jancie?”
Rowe held Keir’s stare for only a moment, then dropped his gaze.
“I thought not.” Keir turned and strode into the darkness—not caring whether Aggie or anyone followed in support. The noise of his boots against the gravel driveway crushed the discourse continuing behind him.
Only Aggie’s shrill, frightened tone pierced the rumble. “What’s wrong with you? Did she put a spell on you?”
Relieved to not hear more, Keir couldn’t decide which jabbed the pit of his stomach harder, Adara’s expectations or Rowe’s justifications.
Keir turned onto the road’s asphalt and forced his legs into a faster rhythm, ignoring the complaints from his cramped muscles. He widened his stride, pressed harder, struggling to keep pace with the turmoil churning inside him.
A small patch of starlight shone upon him, so bright and isolated, he paused to crane his neck upward as Aggie caught up to him. A cloud trailed away, revealing the same purple twinkling star.
He replied to the Great Coyote, If this was your lesson, I failed…again.
Keir chucked all hope, steadied himself with a deep breath, and prepared for what lay ahead—blinders on, not looking back.
Chapter Sixteen: Bad Medicine
At the door to Rowe’s house, Keir blew past Jancie and headed toward the stairs. “Is Rowe here?”
“No. He’ll be back soon though. Is everything okay?”
Not wanting to encounter Rowe, Keir relied on Aggie, who entered behind him, to explain. Gripping the banister, he glanced over his shoulder. Her downcast look set the tone.
“What’s wrong?” Jancie touched Aggie’s arm.
He took the steps two at a time. From his guest room, he listened, best he could, to their conversation and, more importantly, for Rowe’s arrival while hurriedly packing belongings.
Jancie’s piercing exclamation carried upstairs. “I can’t believe he did that. What was he thinking?”
Aggie squeaked a nervous reply.
“I know he’s desperate to keep Keir from moving away. But geez—there must be another way—this puts Rowe back into Adara’s clutches. After I worked so hard, risked eveything, to get her off him. I just don’t get it,” Jancie said, her voice flaring loud and fast as a locomotive.
“Me neither.”
Hard steps on the stairs shot adrenaline through Keir. Jaw clenched, he prepared to square off against Rowe.
Muffled by the blood pounding in his ears, Keir didn’t register Jancie’s voice calling to him until she stood at his open door. “What can I do to help?”
Registering her concern, he bit back the adrenaline and shoved aside his anger. He shouldered his duffel and picked up the suitcase, weighing what he should say. Extreme accusations could unleash undeserved rage on her and cost him time to defend or explain. “Try to knock some sense into your boyfriend.” Close within her personal space, he locked his gaze onto hers until she moved out of the way.
She descended the stairs as he reached Aggie, white-faced at the bottom, and passed her. Jancie cried, “Where are you going?”
“Not home.”
The two women caught up to him at the front door. Jancie opened it. Her lips pursed, she gave a single nod. “Good.”
“Be careful,” Aggie patted his shoulder. “If you need anything, call me or Logan.”
“Or me—but send a text instead.” Jancie’s voice quivered to a ragged whisper, as if choking on the realization of what lay ahead. “This isn’t going to be easy dealing with Rowe.”
Her eyes flitted in all directions, but when Keir captured her glance, her throat bobbed with a hard swallow. He regretted the confrontation that would pit her against her boyfriend. Keir reached his free hand to touch her arm. “Thank you.”
She bit her lip, then rose onto her toes and kissed his cheek. “It will all work out.”
He hurried though the door and across the dark lawn to his car. While stowing his bags, oncoming headlights shone along the road. Thrust back in fight or flight mode, he jumped into the car and sped in the opposite direction. Pulse thundering in his ears, eyes glued to his rearview mirror, he took the first turn; no good would come from a clash with Rowe tonight. The hot, angry words would separate them with a wall of flames that could ravage their friendship.
Keir drove toward the reservation, glimpsing the Coyote Stars peeking between the hills, and reminded himself: it will all work out.
***
In the early morning hours, Keir turned onto the lane for Awenasa’s cabins. During a stop for gas, he’d made a quick call to reserve his lodging. She only laughed and said she knew he’d be back, just not this soon.
He dampened his headlights to not disturb her family or other guests. A sliver of a crescent moon helped him park and drag his gear to the cottage’s porch. He located the key under the ash bucket where she said she’d leave it.
Inside, he smiled, finding the furnace already on and the bed turned back. He dropped his bags and wriggled out of coat and boots. Sprawled on the mattress
, he sank into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.
At sunrise, outside Keir’s window, a pair of jays squawking in fits and starts woke him. Listening to their endless quarrel, he wondered whether he and his best friend would ever agree again.
He lay in his street clothes, hadn’t risen once during the night. By the nightstand clock, he’d only slept five hours yet felt surprisingly refreshed. After the past two days—including two seven-hour drives, a heated encounter with Rowe, and too many illusionary showdowns with Adara—Keir needed to recharge.
He stretched and made for the main room. When he collected his bags, a thermos and plate of muffins greeted him from the kitchen table. Neither had been there last night. Beneath an edge of the plate, a note read, “Doubted you’d have time for breakfast but knew you’d need some black-as-a-snarling-bear coffee. Chuquilatague is expecting you.”
Keir grinned, poured himself a steaming mugful, and scarfed down a blueberry muffin. He marveled at her thoughtfulness but wondered whether she’d alerted the shaman, or took it for granted he’d already be aware of his arrival. Musing on that, he went to the bathroom to bathe and dress in whatever he could find. Rumpled jeans and a French-cuffed dress shirt for his coven suits—mismatched but at least clean.
An hour later, he parked at his teacher’s cabin. Keir stepped from his car and filled his lungs. His chest expanded high and wide with the mountain air. Free of manipulations and exploitations he left behind in the Hollow, the air here smelled even more refreshing. Jancie had been right: this place was his safe haven, though bittersweet without Waapake. Keir clenched a fist. I will save him.
Chuquilatague opened his back door and stood on the stoop, a pensive expression on his face. From behind his shoulder, Unole beamed. Compared to her father, who dressed in drab khakis and a threadbare flannel shirt, she looked like a bright spring flower in a turquoise silk blouse, red miniskirt, and fringed suede boots.
Impatient and wishing to dispense with formality, Keir hurried to meet them and rose to the first step.
The wise man’s hand extended to rest upon Keir’s shoulder. The action blocked him from advancing, as Chuquilatague explained, “What we do today requires extreme focus. We will take every precaution.” For several moments, his contemplative gaze read his student’s face. Lines on his brow and creases along his mouth etched deeper.
Keir clenched his teeth, bracing for the gravity of their impending discussion, aware that what he was about to learn would require his utmost skill and responsibility. He stood quiet, outwardly calm but struggling to restrain anxiety; any sign of weakness might prevent his teacher from proceeding. Under this close scrutiny, Keir didn’t dare slide his eyes the slightest angle to Unole, no matter how much he needed her peacefulness. His eyes must remain fixed, proving his confidence and strength for the task Chuquilatague intended. The more Keir forced his emotions to calm, the more they frothed with impatience or boiled with rage.
Chuquilatague blinked slowly and cleared his throat—a dismissal? Did I fail the test?
His thoughts churned. He reached for the wise man, to prompt him to reconsider, but stopped short of making contact.
In that instant of internal chaos, a fragrance floated to Keir—the white floral of honeysuckle—Unole’s gentle restraint. Could Chuquilatague detect her scent? If so, would her aid disqualify Keir? Before he could evaluate the possibilities, his mind floated upon the sweetness with secondary notes of tuberose and flowering tobacco.
A wide smile sliced between the deep-set wrinkles of his teacher’s face. His hand, still on Keir’s shoulder, gave a brief squeeze. “Be welcomed. I knew of your coming with the last setting sun and have already prepared our study.”
Keir released a mental sigh he dared not show, or Chuquilatague might change his mind. Keir tried to catch Unole’s eye so he could offer her a smile of gratitude, but she’d already turned into the house. As he followed, he marveled at how Awenasa had been correct about not needing to alert the shaman. Never had Chuquilatague put him through such a confrontational greeting. What did that indicate about the magnitude of their impending discussion?
Seated in his customary, well-worn overstuffed chair, the wise man gestured across the room for the others to be seated.
Keir took a spot on the couch, this time at the other end from where he’d sat earlier. Perhaps the extra distance from the shaman might inhibit another encounter with his uncomfortable mind-brushing technique.
Instead, Unole assumed that seat. Exposed below her short skirt, her bare thigh, two feet from his, presented a different but equally invasive mind-altering force. Only when Chuquilatague spoke was Keir able to tear his eyes away.
“Three visions of you meeting Waapake came to me, each controlled by the witch woman.” Chuquilatague glanced at his daughter. “Unole shared your conversations through the winded willow. Also, the Coyote Star she chose to protect you related visions.”
Keir gaped at her. “That purple star? It was you helping me?”
“Of course. Who did you think it was?” She drew a hand to cover her giggle, though her dark eyes shined bright and unwavering, as if lit from within by the Coyote Stars that seemed to follow them everywhere.
“I thought it was the Great Coyote laughing at me for failing his lesson.”
At that remark, the shaman burst into a guffaw that clattered amulets hanging against his chest. “Great Coyote did teach his first lesson, and you mastered it, for you are here.”
Keir tilted his head. “How is that?”
Rather than answer, he looked to his daughter. “Unole, you also realized the same learning, at the same moment. Do you know what it was?”
Hands clasped in her lap, she squarely met his gaze. “To not dwell overlong on the past, but look to happiness lying ahead.”
Keir reflected—his conflict with Rowe had not been arbitrary. And as a result, Keir embraced Jancie’s words: all will work out. Heartened, he lifted his chest and replied to his teacher, “Yes, I did move forward away from both evil and anger.”
“Very well.” Chuquilatague steepled his fingers. “Both of you have achieved.”
“I’ve come to stay here permanently. I’d like to work as a shaman for the reservation or assist your practice as you might need,” Keir added with a cautious grin toward Unole.
Her cheeks lifted, crinkling the corners of her eyes, and his grin warmed to a smile.
“In time, that may well be your correct future, and with my health waning, I might appreciate your aid. However, evil still clings to you like a parasite; you must first remove it to embrace a full life. To do so, let us now build upon that valuable first lesson. It will be different. You won’t walk away, as was the case in the first learning, but will take a stand for what is good.”
Keir fingered one of his own amulets. He’d not escaped last night’s cozenage with Rowe and Adara’s deceit. He shouldn’t have expected any different; Chuquilatague’s trainings were never easy.
“You must now destroy the witch woman’s evil.” The teacher dug in his pocket and withdrew a folded paper. “To do so requires serious medicine, such that I have not shown you before. This medicine is only taught at the end of a successful apprenticeship, when a practitioner fully recognizes the difference between good and bad works. The implications of this medicine can be grave with irreversible consequences.”
Unole shifted.
“Please read this silently.” Chuquilatague raised the page, then handed it to Keir. “Do not speak the words.”
Keir read the incantation, noting references to a progression of colors, which he knew would impart a psychological impact. Hairs raised along his arms—his suspicions about his teacher’s dangerous practices had been correct.
Unole leaned into him in an attempt to view the verse.
“May I share this with her?” Keir asked.
“You may.” The two tight words shook from low in Chuquilatague’s throat.
As she read, a whimper escaped Unole—a sound of
weakness Keir never expected to hear from such a strong woman. Her shoulder, pressed against his, trembled.
“What is it?” He looked into her ashen face but received no reply. He reread, allowing the verse’s images to linger in his mind, then addressed his teacher. “The color progression—”
“From black to white, as evil is transformed to good. If recited with focus, those words are powerful. But it is the intent of the shaman’s focus which forms the consequence. I have always trained you to do good, avoid temptation of the slightest evil because it will feed upon you. Evil is always a parasite. You must block it with a peaceful heart—if not, this medicine will cause serious harm, even precipitate death or loose a soul from a body.”
Though Unole clamped her arms against her sides, her shoulders shook as she ran from the room.
Chapter Seventeen: The White Crow
Locking herself in her bedroom the rest of the day, Unole refused to answer her father’s repeated calls through the door. Her heart ached having to disrespect him; she was the one at fault, not him, by hiding a secret. However, if she told Father, he would press her for more, maybe even forcing his way into her thoughts with his mind-brushing, for knowledge she wasn’t ready to give.
When she saved Adara’s life last autumn, Unole didn’t realize the chain of consequences that would haunt her. And now, possibly put her in serious danger if Keir misused the medicine her father gave him to battle the witch woman.
Only Adara and the Death Spirit knew what Unole had promised. Though her choice had been a coward’s, she made it—an irreversible deal bound by black magic—of her own free will. She didn’t tell her father because not even his great magic could waive her obligation.
At first, the implications of the deal seemed benign, as insignificant as a single snowflake among the many that fell during the past winter. Her life continued as if nothing had happened. She never expected to be in such a dire situation.
A gentle knock sounded against her door, and Elogi urged, “Unole, I have soup for you. You’ve missed dinner. You must eat.”
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