“What happened to me?” Maggie seemed unfazed by Pat’s intensity, and she no longer looked disdainful, just mildly sad and old beyond her years. “Well, for one thing, you were raised by this woman.” She brushed one finger across the smiling image of Pat’s grandmother. “I was raised by Selly Abequa.”
Pat nodded.
Maggie helped her move the hearth screen to settle another log on the fire.
*
Jo was dreaming again.
It must not have been a bad nightmare, she decided, as nightmares go. As with all her dreams lately, she couldn’t remember a moment of it; only that it had been a rather disturbing one. Becca was curled against her back, deeply asleep; Jo’s waking had not even been startling enough to disturb her.
Happily, Jo was not well versed in nightmares; until recently, poor Becca suffered more from them. Jo wondered how Becca’s clinical training would interpret the fading remnants of these dreams, the ones she couldn’t remember. Becca had mentioned once that she favored Jung. She liked his mysticism. What would she make of this onslaught of forgotten delusions?
Jo scrunched the pillow beneath her neck and tried to drop back to sleep. There was no telling what Elena Montalvo had put into her tea to make her dream such things. Jo knew what valerian was. It was a common enough herb, but whatever that brew had contained, it wasn’t valerian. She was unable to fathom what Elena might be up to, couldn’t begin to understand the thought processes of that devious little witch.
Jo closed her eyes on the harshness of that characterization, troubled all over again by her lack of generosity. She knew Becca genuinely liked Elena, was beginning to think of her as a friend. Becca made friends so easily, and she had an uncanny knack for seeing the good in others. Jo remembered the gentleness of Elena’s hands as she tended Maggie last night, the concern in her eyes as she helped Jo at the Abequa compound, after she fainted.
Well, Jo amended, after she sat down so suddenly. She had not fainted. In any case, Elena deserved better than snobbish insults from a crazy woman.
And Jo had been crazy earlier, in the living room. Even held in Becca’s arms beneath a warm comforter, she was chilled by a rush of shame, remembering her behavior. What had gotten into her, turning on the others like that, hurling ridiculous accusations? Her motives were as mysterious and elusive now as that forgotten dream.
Jo frowned into the darkness, wondering what time it was. At least the odd storm seemed to be abating; the high whistle of the wind had lessened. She had apparently slept through dinner and into full night. None of them had thought to call her to eat, which was annoying. Grady Wrenn had doubtless feasted well on Jo’s groceries, on the dinner Becca had doubtless prepared for her.
Her stomach rumbled with hunger.
*
You might be silent, sweet Goddess, but You are here.
Elena warmed the side of her face against Grady’s sleeve as they carefully descended the stairs. Her Diosa was everywhere; how could she have forgotten that? Even if her weak mortal ears couldn’t hear Her through the static flung up by this Windigo, her Mother still reached her somehow, to bring comfort and strength.
Elena was able to sense her Goddess, recall a more benevolent universe, through Grady’s touch, her fingers inside her, her tongue. Their lovemaking had been so sweet, after that first fervent groping, so rich and satisfying. Her knees still wobbled as they stepped off the last riser together, and she heard a low chuckle near the crackling fire.
“What’s so funny, officer?” Grady’s tone was light as she spoke to Pat, and Elena was relieved to know she was refreshed and relaxed as well.
“You two do look a little like the holy family.” Pat lifted a stoneware mug toward the shadows they cast on the wall, and Maggie laughed too.
Elena had to agree. The tall candle Grady held aloft outlined her taller form, wrapped in a blanket, her arm around Elena’s shoulders. Close against Grady, Elena carried bundles of blankets, and together they resembled a lesbian Joseph and Mary picking their way down cobbled streets.
“Sheesh, I can almost see your breath.” Maggie waved them closer, then lifted a kettle from the hearth. “It’s colder than a witch’s tit in here. Have some of this; we heated up some cocoa the old-school way.”
“Thank you, both my tits are really cold.” Elena accepted the mug of steaming cocoa gratefully and wrapped her chilled fingers around it. There was no sound from the master bedroom Jo and Becca shared, which was good news. It might be wise to keep Jo in a drugged sleep until she could figure out what to do. She would ask Jo to take more valerian later.
“A fine way to celebrate the passing of that dang storm.” Grady settled cross-legged on the pine floor before the hearth and sipped from her mug. “I don’t suppose there might be any brandy, Pat, lurking around in a drawer somewhere? I cheerfully admit I’d love to spike this chocolate.”
“No, Jo had me…” Pat trailed off, and her features closed subtly, the quiet shutting of a door.
“It’s all right, hermana.” Elena respected Pat’s instinct for privacy, but this was not the time to keep things from each other. “Finish what you were going to say.”
The gold light of the flames flickered over Pat’s face, and then she nodded. “Okay. Jo has always had liquor in the house. She never drinks much, but she likes a glass of wine at night, or a shot of really good bourbon. But before you all came up this weekend, she asked me to throw everything out.” Pat shrugged. “I figure Becca’s had a problem with drinking in the past. My sense is she’s beaten it; she’s just too smart to spend much time in a place with booze lying around.”
“Yeah, Becca’s smart there.” Maggie lifted one of the blankets they brought down and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’ve been in and out of rehab and drunk tanks since I was fourteen. I shouldn’t be around the stuff either. I’m glad Jo had you throw out the bottles, Pat. None of us should be drinking this weekend.”
Elena felt a niggling at the back of her mind and tried to grasp it, but it slithered away before it made sense. Maggie’s face was so lovely in the firelight, and so pensive. She had been through much more than even Elena had suspected, brought up in that heartless family, beset by the demons of addiction.
Can’t we do better than this, Diosa? Elena’s Goddess might not answer her, but She still had to listen; that was their deal. Shouldn’t we women who love women do a better job of looking after our daughters? In these enlightened times, why did this beautiful girl have to go through her painful adolescence all alone?
It was there for just a second, a light shimmering around Maggie’s head, a sign that Elena had long recognized as a signal that the Goddess had bestowed a gift. She realized that this was Her gift to Maggie, their very presence together in this firelit room.
Maggie had been deserted by her family, threatened by a monster, and stranded in a freak blizzard, and yet in that moment of divine shimmering, she was revealed to Elena as safer than she had ever been in her young life. For the first time, Maggie was in the company of like-souled women, strong and loving friends. Short of finding a lifemate, the Mother could offer no greater blessing.
Pat knuckled steam off the pane of a side window. “Maybe it’s calmed down enough out there that I can take a look at the generator out back. There isn’t an excuse in the world for this place losing heat so fast, lines down or not.”
Elena smiled, because Pat sounded so personally offended by the chill in this luxurious cabin. Then her smile faltered because she mustn’t lose sight of the truth. No, their ordinary world held no excuse for this growing cold.
“Has it stopped snowing?” Grady asked.
“Yeah, and the wind’s died down.” Pat sighed and came back to them. “At least it’s getting late enough in the day that it’s supposed to be dark, this time of year.”
“Well, if there’s any wind at all, you won’t be able to check a generator by candlelight, genius.” Maggie tossed Pat a folded blanket. “Since none of these flashlights are
—”
A sharp cry rang from the back bedroom, and alarm streaked through Elena. Pat was moving before the sound faded as the rest of them scrambled to their feet.
“Was that Becca?” Maggie ran after Pat.
The door to the bedroom slammed open just as Pat reached it, and Jo nearly knocked her off her feet. They were almost the same height, but Jo pushed past Pat aside as if she were a doll and lunged into the living room.
“See to her!” Jo hissed. She was white as chalk. She flashed a commanding hand toward the bedroom and then started for the front door. Elena dodged to one side or Jo would have plowed straight into her, and she struggled hard to gather her wits.
Pat ducked quickly into the bedroom, then emerged just as quickly as Jo threw open the cabin door and raced outside. She spoke with amazing calm. “Elena, talk to Becca. I’m going after Jo.”
“We’re going after Jo!” Maggie was already snatching jackets off the pegs on the wall. “The idiot is out there in shirtsleeves!”
Elena made herself move toward the bedroom; one running step, two.
The story Grady had told, of the Cree Indian Swift Runner’s six cannibalized children, his wife. The shreds of their mangled remains strewn through a cabin in Canada’s deep winter, their innocent blood frozen in rusty pools on the wood planks.
Elena shook her head fiercely to shake off the terrible vision; Becca needed her. But it wasn’t until Grady gripped her hand that she was able to run with her to the master bedroom, breathing a prayer for the safety of the others.
Her first sight of Becca filled Elena with such relief she almost sagged against the doorway. Pat had seen at once that she wasn’t badly hurt. She sat on the wide bed, the heavy comforter snarled around her waist. Her eyes were wide with shock, but Elena saw no blood, and Becca’s chest lifted and fell with her gasping breath.
One of Becca’s full breasts was exposed. Elena clenched her fingers hard around Grady’s hand and bared her teeth in a sudden snarl. Grady was seeing this, the lush blue-veined swell of Becca’s pale breast, capped by a tan nipple. And in the next heartbeat, with great effort, Elena reclaimed herself. She was a healer, a curandera of her people and her Goddess, and this was a frightened sister she was growing to love.
“No, no, sit still, please.” Elena moved to the bed and sat beside Becca, keeping her from rising. “Let me take a look at you. Grady, would you bring that candle closer?”
“Elena, where is she?” Becca’s voice shook, but she was visibly collecting herself. Her hair was tousled around her shoulders, her face still lined with sleep, and she pulled the torn neck of her T-shirt up over her breast. “Jesus, she was out of here before I could even wake up—”
“Don’t worry about Jo. Pat and Maggie have gone after her.” Grady held the candle so its faint wash of light touched Becca. “What the hell happened in here?”
“She pinched me. Or she…took a bite out of me.” A half-laugh sputtered out of Becca and her fingers brushed her breast. “I don’t know. I was sound asleep. It’s not bad. It just hurt for a moment.”
“Let me see. It’s all right, hija.” Elena spoke to Becca with the same tenderness she would show a young child frightened of a vaccination. She rested her hand over Becca’s fingers until she moved them and allowed Elena to uncover her breast again.
The candlelight revealed what she had not seen before—in that first moment when Elena had been so shamefully consumed with rage. The white curve of Becca’s breast was marred with a perfect half-moon of deep red indentations. Jo’s teeth had not broken the skin, but she had come close.
“Ay, this must have been painful.” Elena brushed Becca’s hair back gently. “But you’re right, Becca. It isn’t too bad. You can expect some bruising, but I have a salve upstairs that will help this heal quickly.”
“What’s happening to her, Elena?” Becca stared at them both. “Jo would rather jump off a cliff than harm a hair on my head. I promise you that.”
“We believe you, amiga.” Elena looked at Grady because she had to see her face. How terrible it must be, to fear for the life of the woman you loved. Becca may not yet understand how high the stakes of this battle were, but the darkness in her eyes meant she was beginning to grasp Jo’s danger.
“Pat and Maggie will bring her back.” Grady spoke to Becca kindly, as she would to a frightened family friend, and Elena cursed herself as a shrew and a fool to ever suspect otherwise. “When they do, we’ll work on this together.”
“Sí. And your color is better.” Elena touched Becca’s throat to measure her pulse. “But you are not getting off this bed until you can show me a slightly slower heart rate.”
“Elena,” Becca protested. “We need to—”
“Hush, you pinche little boob, I’m counting.” Elena winked at Becca, because winking had become a friendly language between them, and she did use this brief silence to count her pulse. But mostly she prayed.
Chapter Ten
Maggie followed Pat blindly out of the cabin, gasping at the stunning bite of the night air. It was suddenly Minnesota cold out here, killing cold, and it might kill Jo if she got away from them. Maggie hefted the jackets higher in her arms and almost stumbled into Pat’s broad back.
“There.” Pat pointed, and then Maggie saw Jo too. Her distant figure stood knee-deep in snow at the top of the rise leading into the forest, her back to the house. Christ, the woman probably only had socks on her feet!
“Maggie?” Pat kept going.
“Right behind you!” Maggie slapped her back. They followed quickly and carefully in the deep holes Jo’s feet had punched in the snow. They were both practiced at plowing their way through hard snowpack, but thankfully, this city dweller seemed less so. If Jo took off on another bat-crazy sprint, they’d be able to catch her.
“Joanne,” Pat barked. “You wait right there!” Maggie figured this was Pat’s Park Ranger tone, the one she used to order drunk teenagers out of their cars, and Maggie for one would have heeded it.
When they reached Jo, she was trembling spasmodically, her bare arms prickled with gooseflesh, her dark hair a tangled fury around her pale face. Pat slung a jacket over her shoulders at once, and Maggie tied the sleeves of a second around her waist. Jo didn’t resist their efforts, but she didn’t help them. Her gaze was locked on the dark trees, and even in the faint light reflecting off the snow, Maggie could see the muscles in her jaw standing out.
“Becca?” Jo’s voice was guttural.
“She’s fine. Elena’s with her.” Pat took her arm. “Jo, you need to come back to the house. Right now.”
“Listen to me.” Jo looked at Pat, and Maggie shivered. Her eyes were coated with an odd silver sheen. “I take it your service pistol is in your trailer. I want you to get it and carry it with you at all times.”
“All right. We can talk about this and walk at the same time.” Pat tugged Jo’s arm, and Maggie took her free one, but she didn’t budge.
“Listen to me first. Get your gun and watch me carefully every minute until we get out of here. If you see me threaten Becca again—if I do anything, make any move that might harm her—put me down like a dog. I need your promise on that.”
“This isn’t the time for drama, Jo,” Pat snapped. “I’ll discuss anything with you, but not out here.”
“You can’t let me hurt her, Pat.”
“Becca is fine!” The steam of Pat’s breath plumed from her mouth in an angry burst. All three of them were shaking like aspens in the bitter chill, but even through her anxiety, Maggie wondered if Pat realized Jo’s breath had been invisible. “You’re no threat to her. Now move your—”
“Patricia.” Jo’s fingers closed over Pat’s, and it struck Maggie that she hadn’t seen this Jo before. She wasn’t an imperious rich white woman issuing orders now, and she wasn’t a crazy psycho possessed by a Windigo. She spoke to Pat quietly, as an equal and a sister. This must be the Jo both Pat and her grandmother loved. “Promise me you won’t let me hurt her.”
Pat closed her free hand over Jo’s fingers. “Yes. You’ve got my promise.”
Jo nodded. The night was eerily still around them, the heavy cloud cover oppressively low above their heads.
“Jo, seriously?” Maggie turned Jo toward the house. “You might lose some toes if you stay out here much longer.” Actually, she was no longer certain Jo could freeze, but she and Pat sure could. “Come on back now.”
“I’ll go back.” Jo extricated herself, slipping her arms free of their grip with an odd courtesy. “You two will go to Pat’s trailer and get her gun before you join us.”
Jo started toward the dark house at an awkward pace, lifting her knees high to step in the prints they’d left. Trembling, Maggie watched her go, resisting the image of the looming mansion as a black void against the white trees around it, preparing to swallow Jo whole again.
Maggie realized she was able to see with increasing clarity as a sick greenish light flooded the plain of snow. She turned and looked up into the dense bank of clouds and saw a near-perfect circular break drift open in them. She felt Pat’s shoulder brush hers as they stared up at the strange moon.
It was full and recognizably the moon, but she doubted any orb like this had ever gleamed down on this mountain, bloated and fat and pulsing with a slick light that looked almost wet, circled by a nimbus of dull green.
“My grandmother taught me all the stages of the winter sky.” Pat’s voice was hollow next to her. “I’ve never seen a moon like this, Maggie.”
“Me n-neither.” Maggie’s teeth were chattering hard. “I think maybe no one’s seen a moon l-like this for—Pat, it’s so fucking cold…”
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