She removed Wind Dancer’s hand while shooting him a nod of warning. He lowered his lips to whisper in her ear. “You are everything I hoped, Cleo. Soon we will be together. I don’t want to rush you into our joining. I’ve waited so long to meet you. All those years I wanted to speak and couldn’t. I am searching for words to tell you how I feel.”
A shiver traveled up her spine causing her to exhale a pathetic sigh of resignation as to her fate. “This is still a little overwhelming for me, Joseph. I need to concentrate on our current problem. We’ve got to find Neosho.”
~~~~
Jacque parked the car in the precinct parking lot and assisted Wind Dancer, who always appeared a little unsteady on his feet when they exited a car. He recovered in short order, whether it was to save face in front of Cleo or him, remained anyone’s guess. Either way, the Pawnee would roll his shoulders, raise his chin in some kind of pride then stare down his nose at him as if he might issue a challenge of some kind. He hoped their budding friendship wouldn’t come to that.
The three found their way into the detective’s office and sat around the desk. He watched Wind Dancer take in the room with a concentrated effort. After watching Jacque break the point off his pencil and then shove it in the electric pencil sharpener, the Pawnee picked it up, examined the hole, held the cord, and traced it to the wall where he jiggled the connection. How funny would it be if the guy got a shock? No sooner had the thought occurred than Wind Dancer shoved his finger into the sharpener hole.
“Hey! Stop it, you idiot.” Jacque jumped out of his chair and slapped at his hand. “That will hurt. There’s no parallel universe in there. Let me show you.” He showed him the pencil shards in the bottom tray.
“This world is very curious to me. So many things I don’t understand. Everywhere I see magic. The Morning Star must live here.”
“Before you ask,” Cleo chimed in, “the Morning Star is one of the important deities of the Pawnee. She lives in the eastern sky. They often sacrificed a captive to her.”
“Nice folks, you people.” Jacque spoke with a degree of cynicism. “We don’t do those things anymore and, for your information, the government put a stop to all kinds of nonsense when it came to the Native Americans.”
Wind Dancer turned his head to Cleo for clarification. “What does he mean?”
“The Ghost Dance, sacrifices, multiple wives, hunting buffalo—”
“They took hunting the buffalo away, too?”
“Yes. They moved many native people to small parcels of land because they feared you, discovered gold, or hated you.” Cleo cringed. “I’m sorry, Joseph. Your people, all native peoples, did not fare well with the government. You trusted them, and they betrayed you.” She reached for his arm, but he stepped away and stepped to the glass windows that created a partial wall to stare into activity of the precinct.
Jacque felt a twinge of regret toward what history did to the Native Americans. He’d never known one until Wind Dancer. He seemed like a straight-up guy. How he could ever survive here without continued assistance needed to be addressed later. He didn’t like feeling guilty and didn’t want to play nursemaid to a renegade universe jumper.
“Here is a map of the gangs in Chicago, Cleo.” He laid a rolled map on the table and smoothed it out.
“So many,” she gasped. “I had no idea. What are these symbols?” She pointed at several designs next to the names.
“Usually it’s their tattoo or the design you’ll find on their clothing. They all have colors, certain words they speak. Some are ethnic in nature, and others are a mix. You’ll have neighborhoods where a single gang holds the territory. Doesn’t mean other groups don’t try to come in. There are always problems. It’s gotten almost too big to handle since the mayor cut our forces in these areas. Now he’ll have to rethink the mess he’s created. Put out the fire while it smolders, or it will burst into flames.”
“How are we going to find the right gang? Maybe Neosho won’t even try them?”
“From what the homeless shelter guy said about the Osage, he strutted around like a major pain in the ass. If he is still wearing the Green Bay Packer jacket around town, someone will notice. Cops on the beat have the information and are asking questions in the area last seen. Someone from the river cruises called in about an hour ago saying a couple of thugs were spotted near their boarding ramp. Some of the tourists backed out of the cruise. Wanted the cops to do a walk by?”
“And?”
“They mentioned a tall guy with a Mohawk haircut wearing a green jacket. Couldn’t say as to his ethnic coloring, but the guy with him was definitely black. Wearing a dark-colored bandana around his head. They left together.”
“Neosho is intimidating to others. It is the way of the Osage. I have known braves surprised by their sudden appearance who surrendered without a fight. Their tribe can be menacing. Can I see your paper, Jacque?” Wind Dancer’s voice lacked emotion and sounded flat.
Jacque motioned closer. “Do you know what a gang is, Joseph?”
“Is it like a tribe?”
“Yes. Except they do bad things. They frighten people into following their orders, murder and a number of illegal activities. They’re bad for the city.”
“My people would make them outcasts to live on the fringes of our village. They could not participate as good Pawnee. You should do this.”
Jacque chuckled. “You cannot even imagine the outcry of injustice such an order would stir up in this day and time.”
“Maybe this is why you have a problem. There is no consequence to be a gang member. Separate him from all the right and good. Give him nothing.”
“You may be onto something, Joseph, but, unfortunately, we’ll have to explore those options another time. Here are the gang locations.”
“What does this mean?” He pointed to a yellow star.
“Death Apostles. Wear DOA on their shirts meaning ‘dead on arrival.’ Purple bandana.” Jacque imitated a wrapping around the forehead. “One pant leg cuffed. Tattoo of a five-pointed yellow star on their body, usually their neck or upper arm. Sometimes they have more than one, depending on the crime or accomplishment. The more stars, the more important.”
“Are they Pawnee or another tribe?”
“No, Joseph. There are no indications of gang activity among the few Native Americans in the city. Most live north of here in Wisconsin or Michigan.” Jacque straightened.
“Then I think Neosho will go to these Death Apostles.”
“Why do you think so?”
Cleo examined the map a second time. “Joseph is right. Their symbol is the yellow star. The Morning Star would be familiar to Neosho. Even though the Osage didn’t necessarily follow the Evening and Morning Star deities, he might be superstitious enough to believe in the possibility of their importance. He would want as much power on his side as possible.”
“Neosho has lived among the Pawnee from time to time. He would know of the religious powers in belief of the sun and stars. He has seen firsthand the miracles of sacrifice and belief.” He tapped the map with his index finger and met Jacque’s gaze. “You will find him here.”
Jacque dared stare at the Pawnee for a few seconds before going to send several officers into Death Apostle territory. “I’ll call the police commissioner so he can pass it along.”
~~~~
While Jacque talked on the phone, Cleo led Wind Dancer outside the office. “What about your friend, the Frenchman? Should we be searching for him as well?”
“He will find us soon. Then we will go after Neosho together. You must not tell the detective. He will not understand the power my friend holds. He could easily take Jacque’s body and make it his own, and no one would know the difference. Skinwalkers can do much harm if unleashed. My friend wants to destroy Neosho, but I am not sure if he can do it without a human body.”
“Will he try and take yours?” Cleo’s voice cracked as the words left her lips.
“It would be easier to take Jac
que’s. I have no way of knowing what a skinwalker thinks, if they do at all. I must remember he is part evil, like Neosho. I am not sure if he will try to get me to help.”
“What if he decides to occupy Neosho’s body?”
“I do not know if this is possible.” Wind Dancer frowned. “I am hoping there is enough of my friend left, he would not want to do that. He hates the Osage for murdering his sons and wife, as do I.”
Cleo gripped his hand. “Was his family Pawnee, too?”
“His wife was my oldest sister. I loved the boys like they were my own.”
A wave of sadness welled up inside her at the pain he must feel at so much loss. She stepped closer letting Wind Dancer slip his arm around her waist. “We’ll find him.”
“My fear is he will take you when I can do nothing to stop him. You must never be alone, Cleopatra. Do you understand?”
She smiled up at him then pointed around the bustling precinct. “I think I’m pretty safe here.”
Jacque hurried out into the hall. “Let’s go. A beat officer spotted Neosho fifteen minutes from here.” He eased Cleo out of Wind Dancer’s embrace and glared at the Pawnee. “Can you help us or not?”
The Pawnee raised his chin with an expression of determination. “I help you, Jacque.”
Chapter 11
The Frenchman stepped out of the shadows to discover people on the street ignored him. Dressed in jeans and a dark hoodie he’d secured from a street stand while the owner attended to a tourist, he managed to blend in enough to be like everyone else. The cold sidewalk pressed against his bare feet but did not cause any kind of discomfort for the once trapper and mountain man. After seeing a street maintenance worker slip into an alley to take a leak, the Frenchman followed and relieved him of his work boots, orange vest, and hard hat. He remembered from his recent life how such men moved and imitated the swagger of confidence that came easier since his limp had disappeared.
The steam rising from manhole covers reminded him of clouds as he passed through them toward a rendezvous with retaliation. Without knowing why he chose his direction, he headed to a busy street where police cars roared in and out of traffic. He found a place where uniformed men and women entered a nondescript building bearing the scars of time and years of neglect.
Stopping, he raised his nose to the wind and inhaled. The Frenchman squinted, listening. A satisfied twitch toyed with one corner of his mouth as someone bumped into him and complained he needed to move. The sudden reality check caused him to step away and wait, while he lowered his head and cocked his ear to the building.
A tingling crept up his arms when he spotted three people running down the steps of what must be the police station, the shorter man he’d fought at the museum among them. As a result of that battle, he dwelled between the living and the dead. Except for having a bit more weight around his middle, the detective could pass for his twin. Something inside him whispered of a chance to survive this world if he chose to harvest the soul of the man with a badge.
Then he recognized the daughter of his friend Dr. Daniel Sommers who’d tried to save his wife from her injuries. Although smart, the daughter remained clueless as to what lay ahead for her if Neosho found her.
The Frenchman had crossed over to bring her to her father as a thank-you gift but stayed too long, having been caught up in the ways of this world. Like Wind Dancer, he’d been a student of Dr. Sommers, learning the ways of modern man. He’d been gone from his time for what seemed like years but must be only weeks. When he’d seen her on the water taxi coming from the Field Museum, he knew life would again morph to yet another event he couldn’t comprehend. Even then, he could feel in his bones the coming storm that could change everything. He wanted to warn her but managed to frighten her instead. Once he’d picked up her scent and heartbeat, tracing her movements became a rescue mission. Surprisingly, he could feel the flutter of her heart against his eardrums, reminding him of a baby bird.
“Wind Dancer,” he breathed. The Pawnee stopped. Had he heard him?
The Frenchman dressed like the other modern men around them, allowing him the freedom to invite trust among these people. The question of whether the two with him had any idea the power the Pawnee possessed toyed at the recesses of a mind oscillating between good and evil.
“Wind Dancer,” he sighed again. His friend reached for Cleo’s arm and escorted her to a car, his gaze darting around. “I will take her, Wind Dancer. I am sorry. It is the only way I can draw out the Osage. Do not try and stop me.” The detective held the door open and the other two climbed inside.
The detective navigated out into traffic, accompanied by the sound of squealing brakes and a horn blast. Lights flashed on the roof of the car and other vehicles ceded right of way to the official vehicle. Wind Dancer pressed his face against the rear window and placed his palm against the glass, connecting to him.
“I understand, old friend, what you must do.” Wind Dancer stepped into his friend’s mind like a warrior counting coup. “And I will finish what the detective tried to do to you at another time. If harm comes to Cleopatra, however, you will wander among the dead forever.”
The Frenchman nodded and touched the brim of his hard hat in salute.
“What is it, Joseph?” Cleo asked and touched his arm. “Is it riding in the car? You don’t need to worry.”
Wind Dancer faced forward and fastened the seat belt as Cleo demonstrated earlier in the day. “No. I am fine.” He took her hand in his. “You must stay close to me at all times. Do you understand? Only then can I protect you.”
“I’ll be surrounded by police carrying really big guns, Joseph. It will be okay.” She patted his hand.
Wind Dancer switched his interest from her to the streets packed with traffic. The Frenchman could follow their trail since he’d picked up their scent. Guns would have no effect on him.
~~~~
“What do you mean you lost them?” Jacque didn’t try to hide his irritation as he pushed his face into the young officer’s. His focus switched to another, even younger officer. “What good are those long legs of yours if you can’t keep up with a couple of misfits?”
“Sir, with all due respect, we were told at command to wait for backup.”
Jacque exhaled a grunt of disapproval, knowing he spoke the truth. “Tell me what you saw.”
“Some tall dude wearing a green jacket, Mohawk haircut…”
“White? Black?”
“Neither, detective. Brown. Kind of like him.” He nodded toward Wind Dancer, who stood a few yards away. “The other guy was definitely black, wearing gang colors.”
Jacque fished out a picture of another gang member from the Death Apostles from his coat pocket. He glanced at it before shoving it toward the officers. “Like this?”
“Could be. Dark purple or black. Too far away to see any tats. We’re not far from Firestorm Park. Gangs meet up there all the time. Ten shootings in the last two months. Two kids playing on the swings got in the way, ended up dead.”
“I remember.” He motioned for the officers pouring out of their cars to join them. “Joseph, you come with me. Cleo, I’m going to lock you in the car with an officer posted here.”
“No. It isn’t safe,” Wind Dancer protested, positioning himself between Jacque and Cleo.
“Well it sure as hell won’t be safe where we’re going. You see the officer approaching? He’s got a gun that could bring down a stampeding buffalo. Understand? Not even Neosho can stand up to one of those.”
“Can it stop a skinwalker?”
“Hell, yes,” Jacque lied. He remained unclear as to what a skinwalker was or if they even existed. He could tell Cleo bought into the story. Understandable since her father forced the stories on her as a child. Some kids had the boogeyman and she had a skinwalker.
“I’m not so sure, Jacque.”
“Trust me.” Jacque put a hand on the Pawnee’s shoulder. “My job is to serve and protect people like Cleo. I’m locking her in the car
and putting Dirty Harry in charge of her protection.”
“Dirty Harry?” Wind Dancer eyed the officer who bore a gray mustache and eyebrows. Jacque caught the officer straightening at the comparison and guessed he’d try to live up to the compliment.
Cleo chuckled as she opened the car door. “Dirty Harry means he is really brave, mean, and protective.”
“More words I do not understand?”
“I’m afraid so, Joseph.” Cleo slid into the backseat. “Go with Jacque. He needs your help. If Neosho is there, only you can confront him or at least stop him. You have the same strength he does.”
Wind Dancer put his hands on top of the car and spoke to the officer. “Dirty Harry, take great care. She is in much danger.”
The officer jutted out his lower lip and frowned at Wind Dancer then cut his eyes to Jacque before speaking. “Sure. Got it. Safe as a baby in its mother’s arms.” He smirked as he spoke in a gravel-like voice. “This will make my day.” Jacque and Cleo chuckled, but Wind Dancer continued to glower at the two men.
The words somehow reassured him enough to shut the car door. “Thank you, Dirty Harry.”
Jacque shrugged at the officer as a questioning glance crossed his face. “Stay close to me, Joseph. Maybe you can sense something we can’t.”
“I understand.”
They hurried across the street to join the others already searching for Neosho. Park visitors hustled away, speaking in low voices. A few stopped to talk to the officers, shook their head at whatever answers they received before looking around them.
Dark Side of Morning (Wind Dancer Book 1) Page 9