by Domino Finn
"No Seventh Sons allowed on the reservation."
The biker shook his head. He was still friends with the motorcycle club, but he'd left their ranks. "You know I cut all ties with them."
Hotah shrugged. "Kayda's an important woman now. She's busy volunteering with the kids."
Diego glanced her way, disappointed that she hadn't noticed him yet. She was holding a little girl's hand, tracing out a symbol in red chalk. Those glyphs. They were the reason he was here.
"I only need a few minutes."
"I can't help you."
"It's not your help I need."
Hotah stood up straight off the fence and broadened his body into an obstacle. "You can't get past me without my help."
Diego snorted. "So you're a glorified bouncer now?"
"Don't start, little man."
"You should know me better than that, Hotah. Last time you got on my bad side, things didn't go so well for you."
The man's face soured. "Don't mix things up. You fucked with my crew—with a lot of help—but you never laid a finger on me." Hotah clenched his fists in anticipation. "I see you, readying for that knife up your sleeve. You think you're fast enough to get it?"
"That's not why I'm here."
"Well, you can't kill Kayda's brother again, so why are you here?"
The words cut deep. Diego's reply dried up in his mouth. It was true; he'd dealt her brother a lethal blow. He'd slashed the wolf's throat with the very same silver knife strapped to his arm. But Diego had been strung up at the time, at the mercy of Hotah's old crew. The biker had tried to help Kayda, even after her brother turned on her, but the guilt of dealing that kind of blow to her family couldn't be shaken.
Diego eyed the woman again. This time with a different kid, her back to them. She didn't need this. His intrusion into her life. And he didn't need to get into a beef with this cocksure muscle head. Diego had crossed the line with the authorities two days ago. This situation was more risky because the tribal police were in Kayda's pocket. He knew it was dangerous to be here, even without his motorcycle club affiliation.
Diego retreated from Hotah and headed down the sidewalk, back to his bike. He shook his head as he stomached the insult of being turned away. He needed to stop finding himself backed into corners. Information didn't always need to be obtained through violent means. He could start thinking like Maxim, a real investigator. This fly-by-night thing was clearly not working out for him.
Diego started his Triumph and felt the power rumble beneath him. Something about the sensation sparked his mood.
Being the reasonable one wasn't in Diego's repertoire.
He revved the motorcycle loudly a few times. Everyone in the yard, including Kayda, finally noticed him. But that didn't mean he had their attention yet.
Diego bore full-speed toward the playground entrance. Hotah, who'd already laughed him off, spun around. Diego expected the man to swing, but when his tire jumped over the curb, Hotah was still in shock. His superb reflexes saved him from harm as he leapt away from the bike.
Diego sped past him and headed to Kayda. She stood as she began to understand the situation. She waited calmly as he swerved on the cement, giving a wide berth to the children.
But that precaution hadn't taken him near enough to the woman, and Hotah was faster than he looked. When Diego dismounted the Scrambler, the Yavapai enforcer tackled him.
The two men rolled on the concrete. Diego's thick riding gear protected him from scrapes, but he was more concerned about the overbearing strength of the man now on top of him.
"Not with the children!" shouted Kayda with authority.
Hotah—on one knee with an arm above his head to strike—stopped cold. Diego panted beneath the man, relaxing the arms he'd raised in defense.
"A well-trained dog, I see."
"Don't push it," said the woman he had come to see.
Diego shot her a slanted smile. She was right. He raised his hands in surrender.
Hotah glared at him but took to his feet and stepped back. Diego sat up and rested his arms on his knees. The children who weren't frightened were giggling. Diego winked at an especially precocious girl and gave her a nod for his performance.
Kayda wasn't as easily amused. "Okay kids, go play with the others." Some of them objected but Kayda's face was firm, and the children all ran to the playground equipment. "You too, Hotah."
The man raised a single eyebrow.
"I'll be fine," she said.
Hotah cracked his knuckles and took up position at the gate entrance once again. Diego couldn't help but smirk as he ended up alone with Kayda. As he stood, he dusted off his leather pants and noticed the chalk drawings once again. Intersecting lines of brown and red dominated the artwork, all simplistic symbols that resembled cave drawings.
"Indoctrinating them young?" asked the biker, finally turning to Kayda.
The woman was younger than him, probably just twenty-two, but she had changed dramatically from when she'd first returned home last year. She was still slightly heavyset but stood with a more authoritative posture that matched her new personality. Gone was the lost little girl he'd once met. Kayda Garnett still possessed her worldly manner, but she'd taken to her half Yavapai side. She'd become more tan from long days in the Arizona sun. Feathers dangled from her right ear and long brown hair, and a string of tattoos, each with a signature style, banded her left forearm.
"I'll admit I'm surprised to see you here," she started. "I thought Kelan would do in spirit what he couldn't do in life."
"What's that?"
"Keep you away."
Diego dropped his gaze to the walkway. The mention of her brother was expected. He had to confront what he'd done to her if he wanted to get past it. But a simple apology was too trite.
"He was going to kill me, Kayda."
She nodded grimly. "I still haven't decided whether you deserved it."
"He tried to kill you too." The woman didn't respond, and he didn't give her a chance to. "Speaking of which, you look good for someone who took a bullet."
"Don't change the subject. The Seventh Sons have a lot to answer for."
"They're not that bad. They just want to operate unimpeded."
"It's their operations that concern me. The wolves of Sycamore are dangerous. They don't even have the guile to wear the clothing of the sheep they prey on."
Diego shrugged and rested a cigarette on his lips. New day, new pack. "It's nothing your clan isn't guilty of."
Kayda had been polite so far, but her face finally betrayed scorn. "That was the old way. The way of the wolf. The crow rules here now." The woman pointed to a chalk symbol at his feet. Diego realized he was standing on the symbol. He jumped backwards as if it were capable of biting him. The red circle surrounded a T with two vertical crossbars. The top one was larger and had a small triangle rising from the center.
"I may not have been around Prescott lately," said Diego, "but I've heard the stories. They call you the moonwitch."
Kayda smiled. "It's a customary title."
"Is it? That's what you're teaching these children? Customs?" Diego peered at the symbol. "That's a moon, isn't it? Or a sun because it's red."
"Your first instinct was correct. The color of the chalk represents the medium of the glyph, not the meaning."
"The medium?"
She nodded. "In this case, blood."
Diego shook his head. "You've got a hell of a way with children."
Kayda crossed her arms, annoyance marring her patience. "Blood represents strength. Vitality. It flows through every living thing and connects us all. The Yavapai know the importance of instilling a sense of place in the younger generations. A sense that there is more meaning to the world than which iPhone model they have."
Diego relented. He wasn't a fan of technology himself. He'd decided to stay in Sanctuary because of the freedom of the road. An office job glued to a monitor would never be for him, even if that meant driving a tow rig or operating a
forklift. Or who knew what now.
Diego checked the yard and saw Hotah giving him the evil eye from afar. The biker raised the lighter to his cigarette and let the silence speak for itself. Still, he thought it best to change the subject more forcefully.
"What about that double-T thing with the triangle? What's that?"
Kayda Garnett put her hands on her hips. "I've already told you."
Diego cocked his head, thinking back on their conversation. He didn't have a head for this kind of metaphysical stuff, but he was pretty sure they hadn't discussed the glyph yet. After a moment, he searched her face for the answer.
She shook her head. "You make a worse student than these nine-year-olds." Kayda crouched and pointed to the T. "This is a crow, the one who sees all. These lines are his great wings, and this tip his beak."
Cave scribbles. Diego could see it now, but it was crude. "And the blood? Why scrawl a crow and a moon in blood?"
The woman chuckled and looked away for the first time. It seemed she did have some secrets. "You didn't come here to speak of glyphs," said Kayda. "Yet you are commanded by a purpose. Out with it."
The biker raised an eyebrow. "That's where you're wrong." He leaned down to pick up a piece of chalk. The thought of blood didn't sit well with him so he chose brown. In a small empty space, he also drew a circle. Except within it he scratched out a cross.
"The lines are sloppy," said Kayda.
"That's how I saw them."
"What's going on, Diego?"
He sighed. "You know I wouldn't have come to you if I wasn't desperate. There's a man in the woods. He's linked to a missing girl somehow. I found several of these symbols scratched into the bark of the trees around his camp, and some deeper in the forest."
Kayda's eyes narrowed. "What kind of man?"
"Not an Indian, if that's what you mean. He said he was Scottish, born overseas, but now he just lives in the woods. But I'm getting the feeling he's not the important one. You see, I've been hearing rumors of children in the forests of Sycamore. Red—that's the man's name—says the kids have been hounding him. Stealing stuff. You should see the poor geezer. He carries around a metal pole everywhere he goes. Says he has a bum leg but walks fine. I think the crutch is a weapon. And the symbols, I think he's sort of marking his territory or something."
"A warning," interrupted Kayda. "If he lives among the trees, he could be steeling himself against a foe within." The woman stared at the symbol and frowned. "You should have drawn it in green."
"It was in bark. Wood's brown."
"But nature is green. Blood is power, nature is life." Kayda paused and studied Diego. "And death."
"Death," repeated the biker, lingering on the word for some time. "What are you saying these kids are?"
Kayda took time to measure her response. The very fact that she considered holding back convinced Diego he was in the right place. Those without knowledge couldn't keep secrets, after all.
"My people speak of this land as a home for the dead."
Diego grunted. "Sycamore has lots of stories."
"And you are well familiar with some."
"What, wolves? Disease? That's science. But you're talking about ghosts. I don't buy that."
"Science is simply the explanation," she said. "It's what makes the supernatural natural. It behooves the scholar to admit there are things in the world that are ill understood. I know the northern locals have fanciful imaginations. My people here are no different. But truth can sometimes be learned from fable. You of all people should know that, Diego de la Torre."
He snorted. "But ghosts?"
"Believe it or not, the spirits are very active here."
Diego turned his back on the woman and watched the kids playing. He also wanted to keep an eye on Hotah without being too obvious. Kayda was acting friendly so far—he just wasn't sure how long he could count on that goodwill.
"You get all that," said Diego, pointing to the glyph he drew, "from these crosshairs?"
"Emphasis on cross. There's a lot of power in that old symbol. Whether you believe or not, history has proven that many do. What better way to ward off vampires or demons?"
Diego rolled his eyes. "You were just selling me science. Now you're straying into religion."
"They are just points of view."
"Sure, but don't tell me you believe Sycamore is crawling with creatures of the night".
"I haven't yet encountered any," she answered. "Besides the Seventh Sons."
The concession was aggravating. "And Hotah."
"And my dead brothers," she finished. "But why limit ourselves to the world we already know? The point is that lots of people over time have put faith in that symbol. It's a Celtic cross, a Christian cross, but ancient usage was different. Prehistoric cultures viewed the wheel cross as a representation of the sun. The Middle Ages saw this symbol adorned on many monuments, and the Victorians relegated it to gravestones. Many meanings. What's important is what the one who drew it believes."
Diego thought he understood. "So the glyph alone has no power?"
"I didn't go that far. But without context, power can be invisible. Intent can be misunderstood. Watch this." The woman crouched and picked up a red piece of chalk. She traced familiar lines on the sidewalk. "What do you see?"
"A swastika."
"Yes, but what does it evoke?"
"Nazis. White supremacists. Racism and evil."
The witch nodded. "Naturally. Except the gammadion cross is a symbol of well-being. Its significance ranges anywhere from holy symbol to good luck charm. Even so, modern usage has a habit of erasing old meanings. Something once sacred is now printed on Hot Topic T-shirts."
The biker scratched his goatee. "So symbols are reused and abused. They rarely mean today what they once did."
"Unfortunately," conceded Kayda. "And in this case, it's hard to understand everything from just your glyph." The woman frowned as a thought came to her. "You said this man in the woods carries a metal pole. It's widely believed that spirits and fairies don't like metal of the earth."
"You're talking about fairy tales."
"I'm talking about belief. Historically, iron guards against the fay. It's a life-giving metal. A vital component to our blood. It threatens them. If that's what the old man believes, it would explain his penchant for the metal."
"It's just metal."
"Funny words from a man armed with silver. But it's not just any metal. Old metal. Iron. Steel. Of the earth. Ask yourself what this man knows that we do not."
Diego thought of Red's weapon, spiked in the dirt while he was safely home but in his hands when trekking to the city. Over the tracks, he realized. Red always stuck to the old metal of the tracks.
"Protection," he said, and was pleased to see Kayda nod. He recalled the iron leg brace Red wore without seeming to need the support. How did that protect him? Then Diego studied his own boots, with buckles and toes of steel. He remembered his heavy legs in the forest, wanting to continue but needing to stop. He'd considered taking his boots off completely. Maybe the steel had protected him.
"That settles it, then. I need a gun."
"Lead won't help you."
"Let me worry about that part. It's dangerous out there. This is what I do." He began to walk away, then stopped and turned halfway to her. "There's a light. Someone. Or something. It knew I was following."
Kayda moved square to him again. "Don't fall for the glamour. The only light you need for guidance comes from the moon. The crow knows this."
"It's too dark," said Diego. "The trees cover the sun and moon. Besides, what if the moon's not out?"
"It's always out, even when in shadow. I thought you were the outsider most likely to know this, given your history with wolves."
"Fine," he said, dismissing the mystical moonwitch stuff. As Kayda had said, facts were filtered through perspectives. Some truth likely hid behind the stories. "What about the girl, then? How do I track her down?"
Kayda Ga
rnett released Diego and turned away. She used the silence to consider her answer, but it also highlighted the futility of his mission. "That depends," answered the woman, "on whether or not she wants to be found."
Diego pictured Hazel with a crooked smile. A sweet and unassuming girl. He was positive she'd want to be back with her mother. Kayda's esoteric response couldn't have applied to her. But then he recalled Annabelle Hayes dashing into the forest, making a break from civilization.
"And what if she doesn't?"
Chapter 33
Olivia Hayes turned her nose up at Maxim. She threw him a hard look and spun around, her eyebrow raised just enough to let Maxim know his visit wasn't entirely unwelcome.
"You sure you won't have a glass of wine?" she asked for the second time, swirling a sparkling white in her hand. "I appreciate that you're taking an interest in me and my daughter, but you'd be more supportive if you eased up a little."
Maxim sighed and followed the woman into the living room. He relaxed into a cream leather couch and decided to play this differently. "Do you have something heavy and red?"
Olivia smiled and seductively rubbed the back of her neck. "Now you're just trying to be difficult. Let me see what I can open."
Maxim shrugged as the woman went to the kitchen. He didn't feel bad about making her open a bottle just for him—she was the one who had pressed the issue—but the last glass of white he'd drunk was in memory of his late wife. If Maxim had anything to say about it, he'd never touch the stuff again.
After a minute in isolation, the detective rose. The house was large but not the type to get lost in. It couldn't hurt to look around. After lapping the room twice, he wandered into the hall.
Where the living room was prim and sterile, the den he entered was used and messy. The living room was a place to impress guests, but now Maxim found the real heart of the home, the part that was lived in. In place of a posed family picture on the mantel and a large impressionist painting, the den was strewn with personal items. A small blanket on the recliner next to a book. A set of fur slippers. Two magazines on the end table. The flat screen plugged into a cable box. But something struck Maxim as odd. The paperback was a trashy romance novel. The magazines were about home fashion. No video game systems or anything more modern like tablets were around. To the detective, it was clear this was Olivia's space. If he had to guess, Annabelle preferred her room.