by Megan Hart
* * *
Sleep was impossible.
Annie drank the tall glass of water she’d craved and collapsed on her bed, but an unease settled over her, a conviction that something bad had happened. She got up and went to the altar in the den, intent on lighting a candle to pray for Grandma Tia. A note from Miss Verbena had been propped on the mortar-and-pestle bowl, informing Annie that her grandmother had suffered a stroke.
A punch in the gut.
Sooner or later lack of sleep would catch up to her, but for now Annie was fueled with adrenaline and the need to check on her grandma. She showered, put on a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt, and drove to the Bayou La Siryna hospital.
To hell with that coerced promise to stay away.
Annie’s resolution stayed strong until she walked down the long hallway of the critical-care unit. From every door she passed, she heard a funereal fugue with its long, melancholy strains, as gloomy as Baroque organ music. Worse were the open doors to rooms housing patients in intense pain. Their aural music was sharp as glass shards, slicing through her consciousness. Deep breaths. One step at a time. Only her love for Tia was worth suffering these symphonies of agony.
Room 3182. She’d made it.
Annie pushed the cool metal door open and entered. All was quiet. The sweet scent of violets triumphed over antiseptic’s odor. Which meant Miss Verbena had recently been here, had been in vigil by the bed when she should have been the one doing so.
Tia’s eyes were closed and her breathing steady, as if in peaceful slumber. As if her physical agonies were in a state of suspension.
Annie took her grandma’s right hand in her own. Tia’s fingers were cold and rough. Her grandma would hate that. She always said that if she were meant to tolerate the cold, she’d have been born a Yankee.
She found some lotion in the hospital toiletry bin and rubbed the balm into her grandma’s cold flesh, pressing and kneading the rough skin, massaging in healing warmth. All Tia’s flashy rings were gone. She looked bare without them, oddly lonely and vulnerable.
Tia’s hands should be active—mixing potions, dealing tarot cards, lighting candles. Even saddled with a bad heart, her grandma would sit on the sofa in the evenings and read through old magic books, an index finger gliding down the page like a third eye, absorbing words. Or she would shuffle the cards and lay out spreads, searching for messages from the beyond.
Inside a metal locker was a blanket, and Annie tucked it over Tia’s unmoving body, remembering all the times her grandma had tucked her in bed as a child. She’d never felt so loved nor as safe as when Grandma Tia chanted and hummed, asking for the saints’ protection over “the young’un” while she slept. Tia would slide the sheets up to Annie’s neck and pat her large, warm hands on Annie’s slender shoulders, as if to seal in a prayer.
“Rest well, Grandma. I’ll watch over you now.” Annie pressed her palms into Tia’s broad shoulders. “Saints be with us.”
The air pressed down, and a humming rang in her ears, as if she’d been submerged in a cave. What was happening? The contact with Grandma Tia had set something in motion. Every sound magnified: the grind of tires on the distant highway, a clock ticking. Down the hall, a voice called for a nurse. The sounds were distinct yet muted and slowed down. Annie sank into the chair by the side of the bed and squeezed Tia’s hand.
“Are you there, Grandma? It’s me, Annie.”
Tia’s chilled, lifeless hand suddenly warmed, then burned into Annie’s palm and fingers. Instinctively, Annie started to pull back but stopped, afraid she’d lose this connection. Possibly the last she’d ever have with her grandma. She closed her eyes and concentrated. I’m here. Don’t be mad. I had to see you.
A pinprick of light danced behind Annie’s closed eyelids. With each flicker, a tiny note pinged...sounding like the metal triangles of elementary school. No, wait, that wasn’t right. The notes were more like the Native American flute Tombi had played in the woods.
She didn’t want to think about him. Yet, she couldn’t escape the feeling that he was calling her somehow, that he needed her. Why was Grandma Tia always pushing him toward her, even while unconscious? An image of a flute pressed into her thoughts. It was more decorated than the one Tombi had played, as if it were used in ceremonies and rituals.
She’d never seen it before. But Tia had.
“What are you trying to tell me?” Annie asked.
The image, and the music, faded to a black void. Tia’s hand cooled to a normal temperature.
The moment had passed.
Annie’s eyes flew open, but Tia’s calm mask of sleep was undisturbed. Profound relief washed over her body, and with it came a great weariness. She sank into the chair and slept.
* * *
Violets...the scent tickled her nose. Miss Verbena’s lined face came into view.
“Annie, are you okay, dear?”
She jerked to an upright position and looked out the window. How long had she been asleep? The late-afternoon sun washed the air with bright power.
My name means ray of light in Choctaw, Tombi had told her. We once revered the sun’s power. At the time, she’d laughed over his not-so-sunny personality, but his name fit. He was powerful and strong and important to his people, a central figure in a fight against shadow beings who wanted to block the light.
Her anger melted like butter in the heat. If Tombi hadn’t ever returned to find her, he’d had a good reason. A chill settled in the pit of her stomach. What if he’d been injured last night?
She had to find him at once.
“You’re so pale,” Miss Verbena said. “I’ll fetch you a glass of water. Have you eaten today?”
Her mouth tingled at the mention of food. “No. I guess I forgot.”
“Lord a-mercy, I wish I’d forget to eat a meal.” Miss Verbena patted her ample belly and dug a pack of peanut-butter crackers out of her straw bag. “This should tide you over until dinner.”
Annie scarfed them down greedily as she gathered her pocketbook and car keys. “I have to run,” she apologized. She hugged her grandma’s dear friend. “Thank you for staying with Grandma Tia. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“’Course you will. You’ve always been a good girl, unlike your...” She clamped her mouth shut in a tight line.
“Unlike my mom,” Annie said. “Have you called her? I know I should but...”
Miss Verbena shook her head. “That’s your business. Doubt she’d come, though. Always swore she never wanted to come back here again after they had that big blowout years ago.” The scowl on her face softened. “Don’t you worry, honey. I have a feeling ole Tia’s gonna pull through this just fine. You go on and do what you got to do.”
She carefully hugged the old woman, throat constricted with tears. “Thanks for understanding.”
Annie hurried out, knowing that she had to find Tombi.
CHAPTER 7
Tombi kicked at the campfire ashes, placed his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. He should be sleeping like the others in preparation for the last night of the hunt. Instead, his mind kept asking the same question over and over. Where is Annie? He’d checked her cottage, of course, but she wasn’t home. Neither was her car, which meant she could be anywhere. He’d called and left messages on her cell phone, but she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, answer.
The air’s vibration shifted, and the soles of his bare feet prickled from a subtle tremor. Someone was approaching. Tombi raised his head, and his eyes went immediately across the clearing to where a woman entered from a wooded path.
Annie.
Others might have mistaken her for a girl, but he knew better, had explored the rounded curves of her breasts and the slight swell of her hips. He rose slowly to his feet, his mind churning with passion, anger and relief. Mostly re
lief.
Graceful as a woodland sprite, she walked across the field, her brown wavy hair tossing in the breeze. She seemed to draw energy to her, as if the natural world became more animated in her presence. A dark angel, a whimsical witch who heard music where others experienced only silence.
Tombi went quickly toward her, away from the tents of sleeping hunters. A few were already stirring, preparing for various camp duties before the night’s hunt.
“Where have you—” he started.
“You’re okay. I thought maybe—”
They both stopped. Tombi reached for her, and she willingly walked into his arms. All the worry and anxiety of the past few hours vanished under the solid feel of her body pressed against his. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of flowers and musk. But he was conscious that the others would soon be stirring from their tents. Now wasn’t the time to kiss again—they would be certain she’d bewitched him. He stepped back and scanned her body, checking for injuries.
“The wisp didn’t hurt you?”
Annie blinked. “How did you know I was attacked?”
“We found the stones you threw and ashes from a released spirit.” He had to know, dared to hope. “Was it Bo?”
“No, sorry. I had the impression the soul was a girl. And she never told me her name.”
Tombi shook off the disappointment. It had been a long-shot chance at best. “I tried to find you. Even went to your grandma’s cottage, but your car was gone. I’ve been worried.”
She shrank into herself. “I went to the hospital to see my grandma,” she said shortly.
Did she still blame him for her grandmother’s illness? Hell, it wouldn’t be any worse than the guilt that nagged at him over what had happened. “How is she?”
“She’s still in a coma. The doctors said she had a stroke but they never mentioned poison, which I find strange.”
“There never is. Nalusa’s venom won’t register on medical tests. People he’s bitten were diagnosed with other conditions like heart attacks or allergic reactions.”
“Has anyone been bitten and lived?”
Her eyes were so sad, so anxious, he couldn’t tell her the truth. “Maybe,” he hedged. “I can’t be aware of every instance he’s attacked or bitten.”
“What happened out there in the woods? You never came back to me.”
“I was drawn away. I’ll explain later. But first, I need your help. Quick.” He looked back over his shoulder at the campsite. “While everyone is still asleep.”
She nodded. “That’s why I’m here. I did promise.”
Annie brushed past him and strode purposefully toward the tents. He followed a few yards after, hands clasped behind his back. None of his people would betray him; he was almost 100 percent certain of their loyalty.
Almost.
If Annie heard nothing incriminating, he’d report her finding to the others, and they could continue on as before, without the worm of mistrust wiggling in some dark recess of their minds.
She walked carefully among the tents and paused at one. A large moan erupted from inside, and she blushed. Even he recognized the music of passion. Annie scurried away, and he laughed.
She circled around a tent on the outside of the ring, her head cocked to the side. He raised an eyebrow at her, but she shook her head and moved on, tapping her lips and chin as she concentrated.
Only one more round of tents, and she would be finished. He silently willed her to hurry and be done with it. Before the last tent, the one closest to his own, she stopped. Her brows creased as she listened.
Tombi couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. No. Not this tent. Move on, he wanted to scream.
But she didn’t. She faced him and extended her right arm at the tent, pointing her finger. Quickly, he walked to her side and guided Annie away by an elbow.
“There’s your man,” she said.
“Not possible. You’re mistaken.”
Her eyes widened. “What’s wrong with you? You’ve begged me for two days, and now you act like this? Sounds like you’re making excuses for somebody.” Her voice rose. “Who are you protecting?”
“No one,” he denied, his own voice rising in anger. “Forget about it.”
Annie put her hands on her hip. “Bo spoke to me. He said to warn you about a betrayer. Well, I’ve done my duty. If you don’t want to listen to me, that’s your problem.”
Bo. Even now, hearing the name of his best friend pinched his heart.
Annie turned her back on him and stalked away from the center of the campsite. Already, hunters were stepping out of their tents to see the commotion. He hated public displays. He was a tracker, damn it. Controlled, in charge and rational.
Tombi caught up to her. “Where are you going?” he whispered harshly, not wanting everyone to hear their conversation.
“Home.”
He grabbed her hand. “Wait. I want—”
She jerked out of his grasp and kept walking. “I don’t care what you want anymore.”
Annie couldn’t leave. Not like this. He could still use her help. And she was his last living link to Bo. “I’m your only hope of learning to control your gift,” he reminded her.
She stopped, and Tombi scrambled in front of her.
“When do the lessons start?” she asked through tight lips.
“Tomorrow morning.”
“What kind of lessons are you giving her?” Hanan asked, arms crossed. He stood in front of his tent.
The tent that Annie had fingered.
Annie looked from Tombi to Hanan, eyebrows raised.
“He’s my right-hand man, my closest friend since Bo died,” Tombi explained in a low voice. “I trust him.”
“Believe what you want.” Her posture was stiff and her words clipped.
He’d hurt her feelings. Tombi tried to consider their argument from her perspective. She found his rejection of her findings as a rejection of her. Which wasn’t the same thing at all.
Hanan ambled over and nodded pleasantly at Annie before speaking to Tombi. “Is it something I can help you with? I know you’re pressed for time finishing the Anderson project.”
“Maybe. I’ll let you know.” It was true he was behind on his carpentry jobs, but Tombi doubted Annie would want Hanan as a teacher. Not now.
“Sure, if you can help teach me to guard my energy like the rest of the hunters.” Annie smiled sweetly and held out her hand.
All the frosty stiffness had melted. What was her game?
Hanan accepted the outstretched hand, covering Annie’s small hand with both of his own.
Tombi frowned at the sight. The touch was held a moment longer than necessary. Hanan broke contact first.
“Chulah and I need to talk with you when you get a minute.”
“Be with y’all shortly.”
Hanan sauntered off, joining the other men in preparing a meal.
“You would really take lessons from Hanan?” Tombi asked.
“Someone needs to keep an eye on him.” The lemon-tart tone returned. “What time should I come back tomorrow for a lesson?”
“Tomorrow?” he sputtered. “I thought you would stay the night.”
“And go on another hunt? No, thank you.”
Incredulity and frustration battled in his gut. He was used to directing everyone’s moves. But Annie? She had her own life, separate from his people, and she had her own secret agendas.
* * *
Annie bit her lip to keep from smiling at Tombi’s discomfort. He liked to wield power and expected others to fall in line with his wishes. But she was afraid if she allowed him to exert that same power over her, he’d stretch out the lessons and string her along until he got what he needed.
He took a deep breath. �
�Please, stay.”
“Why do you want me to?” she asked, confused at his insistence. “I mean, it’s not like you listen when I tell you what I hear.”
“I do listen,” he argued. “It’s just, in this case, you’re wrong. You heard thoughts about a dream he was having. Hanan isn’t conspiring with Nalusa.”
Self-doubt, her constant companion, crept in. It was possible he was right. Although, usually when she picked up dream music, it had an otherworldly, faint kind of vibe. Not the distinct, ominous tone that had emanated from Hanan’s tent. The only way to know for sure if Hanan was a traitor was to spend more time with him, to catch him unawares.
No one could keep their energy contained all day, every day. Even Tombi couldn’t. At unguarded moments, or at times of high emotion like when he kissed her, she heard the pounding of his heart like a snare drum vibrating in her gut. Still, other times, when he was wrapped up in his thoughts, she’d hear the notes of the Native American flute he was so adept at playing.
“Look, Tombi, I didn’t get much rest last night. Let me sleep in my own bed tonight, and I’ll stay for the hunt tomorrow night.”
He shook his head. “That’s no good. The week of the full moon ends tonight.”
“Meaning what?”
“We all return to our real lives. The hunt won’t resume again until the next full moon.”
“You don’t need me for hunting. You’ve done it for years on your own.” She studied him closely. “I think what you really want is to see if I can speak with Bo again.”
Tombi looked over her head, across the field to the woods. His face was hard and set. “He’s out there, trapped. I’ll do anything to release his spirit. I owe him at least that much.”
Annie felt his pain like a lump in her own chest. “And he would do the same for you if the situation were reversed,” she said gently.
“Tombi.” Hanan waved him over to his group of four hunters.