Dark Side of Morning (Wind Dancer Book 1)
Page 18
“How long have you been waiting here?” Two Feathers nodded toward one of his sons who fished out a bottle of water from his backpack and handed it to the yawning Pawnee. Two Feathers stood with a kind of stoic resolve as did the others. Two Feathers knew they envied the man from the past; their past, they would never know except through books written by anthropologists, historians, and screenwriters. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes. Do you want to hunt with me?” Wind Dancer surveyed his surroundings then narrowed his eyes against the sun. “There is not much to make a cooking fire.”
All the men but Two Feathers snickered until their leader leveled a threatening glare. “We can’t cook here. There is a place inside we can get something.”
“Yesterday I ate hamburger and before that I had pizza. Do they have pizza?”
The older man smiled like a patient father. “Maybe we will find something healthier.”
“Okay, Two Feathers. We are brothers so I trust you.” They climbed the wide stairs leading to the doors. “I need your help, too.”
“How can I help?”
As they passed through the rear-facing doors of the Field Museum, the old Pawnee listened to Wind Dancer explain what happened the night before when he’d lost Cleo. He showed little emotion other than the flat threatening sound of his voice when he spoke.
“I can feel a great storm coming. The opening to my world will return. Neosho must feel this, too, as I do. Now he has Cleopatra and will try to leave here. She could not survive such a land. Our ways, as you know”—he nodded to the entire group as if they were one with him, as if nothing had changed in one hundred fifty years among the native people of North America—”are for strong men and women. Cleopatra is like a flower, beautiful, but without tender care she will fade and die. Even her father struggled at first, but had prepared for the possibility of parallel universes his entire life.”
Two Feathers pondered on this information, struggling with the realization they, too, may not be up to such a transition. The night before, they’d discussed with excitement of crossing over if the opportunity presented itself. They all agreed; they would jump at the chance to be on the front lines of their history in hopes of changing the winds of time.
The coffee shop opened right as they stood with some other museum employees. Two Feathers ordered two fruit parfaits, muffins, juice, and two coffees. After arranging the selections on a tray, he took out money and paid.
“I have no money.” Wind Dancer felt his pockets and withdrew a few dead leaves from the bush he’d been sleeping behind.
“My treat.” Two Feathers nodded toward a table big enough to seat his entire group and set the tray down.
When his new friend made no attempt at taking any food, he opened the parfait and demonstrated how to eat it then lifted the paper from the muffins. Opening the juice box gave Wind Dancer the most trouble, but he drank it down in one gulp followed by a loud, “Ahh.”
“Sweet. The food in this time is good. Is this why everyone is so fat?”
The men laughed and Two Feathers couldn’t resist joining in this time. “Yes, I believe this is part of the reason. Men do not work hard with their hands like long ago. The land is full of concrete where buffalo, elk, and white-tailed deer fed our people. Today, we hunt bargains at grocery stores. We need permission to hunt and even then, it can only be certain days of the year. Men of all colors will soon forget how to work the land in order to feed their families.”
“This is very bad news for Pawnee.” He popped half a muffin in his mouth then held up the other half for closer examination before finishing it off. “But these are good.” He grinned at his new friends. “I will have to tell Cleopatra to buy these.” He stared thoughtfully into the cup of coffee. When he lifted his eyes, they no longer hid his concern and heavy sadness. “I must find her before Neosho… She is in danger.”
“Tomorrow is the day of the sacrifice to the Morning Star. We have planned this for people to come experience the blessings and the spiritual awakening given to us from long ago.”
“Do you have a human sacrifice?” Wind Dancer sounded surprised.
“No. Such things are against the law, and was even in your time. I am surprised you don’t know this.”
“Yes. The government of the white man tried to stop us. I did not like the sacrifice and insisted my village stop the practice. Some did not approve, but I believed it to be a serious waste of life. We continued the ceremony each year without the human sacrifice in my village. But even we used a captive for this purpose. Neosho witnessed this ceremony on several occasions. In my opinion, he enjoyed it too much, in the wrong spirit of the ceremony. He thinks it holds magic and gave him new strength. I never did. I believed it holds a closer walk with the spirits who guide us.”
Two Feathers chewed his bottom lip as he turned this information over in his mind. “Does he know we are here and what we are planning?”
“We have watched your programs many times”—he pointed to the Native American Exhibition hall—”through the glass cases. We were not close enough to see your faces.”
“I have led this ceremony for years. My sons come with me each time.”
Wind Dancer shifted his observation to the sons, eyeing them head to toe. “Neosho will know the time of year has come. Both of us are different here: stronger, more sensitive to the world around us. If he comes here with Cleopatra, you could be exposed to smallpox.”
The delegation of Pawnees began a rapid disjointed conversation of concern.
“There is a vaccine.” He rolled up his sleeve to show the slight swelling on his upper arm. “The CDC has this. Detective Marquette can get this for you. If you take it today, I’m told you will be protected.” He told the story of how Neosho, and the military had been affected with the disease.
“I still don’t understand how we can help you. Shouldn’t the police handle this?” Two Feathers held up his hand for the others to be silent.
“They cannot stop Neosho. There may be others with him from gangs of this city. With them at his side, there will be much trouble. Detective Marquette says they are dangerous. If this is true, then we will fight.”
The group shifted in their seats to stare at their leader, Two Feathers, to see what his reaction might be. The older man laid his weathered hands upon the table, sitting as if he’d become stone. Wind Dancer did not break his senior’s concentration.
Two Feathers finally shook his head. “Thank you for waiting with respect. You of all people know that time means little to people of the earth lodge. I cannot speak for them, but I will fight if needed.”
One by one, the other men voiced support.
“But I want something from you, Wind Dancer.” The words flowed like warm honey.
“I stand willing to help my brothers.”
Two Feathers cocked his head at his delegation with some unspoken question. When his oldest son nodded then his youngest, he closed his eyes and tilted his face toward the ceiling. “We want you to take us to the other side. Let us warn the people of the earth lodge what is coming.”
“You might never return home.”
“We are going home.”
Wind Dancer sat silently as his Pawnee brothers talked among themselves about the possibilities that lay before them. He listened to their enthusiasm and longed to tell them of the dangers in the land of their ancestors. Yet he missed the wind songs rushing across the plains and the sound of thundering buffalo as they brought life to his people. The smell of a cooking fire and the taste of meat he’d hunted made him homesick. Would these men love the land they claimed was part of their heritage?
The warrior stood to his full height and raised his chin, his dark eyes narrowed.
“What is the plan?” asked Two Feathers.
“Tomorrow, on the dark side of morning, we sacrifice Cleopatra Sommers to the Morning Star, to save this land and preserve the land of our fathers.” He knew in his heart the price of saving Cleopatra would also mean losin
g her.
Two Feathers stood, followed by the rest of his delegation. “Tomorrow, we paint our faces for the first time.”
“You must be ready to cross.”
“I have been ready my entire life, Wind Dancer.” The senior somehow stood taller than usual, proud to be a Pawnee.
~~~~
“Where are we going?” Cleo found herself in the van again, surrounded by several thugs who had decided to ignore her after Neosho’s threatening posturing toward them earlier. Only the one called Ty dared speak to her. Neosho sat on the floor next to her like he stared into a campfire on the plains one hundred fifty years ago.
“Ashanti thought our place might draw attention if anyone saw you. You don’t exactly fit the description of the ladies who come and go there.” Ty chuckled and elbowed one of his friends without getting a response. “So, another place. We’re going to make a couple of stops first to pick up supplies.”
Cleo eyed two of the men she’d bandaged up the night before when they’d returned from some kind of altercation. A great deal of excitement and bragging about how they’d taken back their street and taught their rivals a lesson had continued through the night. What she did know was a number of other people had been exposed to smallpox since Neosho participated in the rumble. They spread the possibility of infection to a hospital full of compromised immune systems. She hoped Jacque figured out the seriousness of the situation and had the CDC heading off yet another disaster.
It had been a terrifying night, locked in what felt like a closet, tied, with duct tape over her mouth. Forced to break into the CDC storage facility, she’d set up for the lifesaving vaccine, she stole only one small box, convincing Ty the other boxes needed to cure another two days before they would be ready. He bought the lie, she guessed, because he worried about his own health and the possibility the police would swoop down on them any second. Because of the heavy security system in place, no guards patrolled the area. Thanks to her knowledge of the system, passwords, and codes, she slipped in without setting off any alarms or getting herself killed.
She’d begged Ty to release her, but Neosho stood nearby whenever anyone came too close. The others continued to be intimidated by him. He may have suspected they plotted against him, but showed little concern. Even after they’d returned from the street fight and she’d patched them up, no one dared linger. If they killed Neosho, her prospects of a safe return grew slim. She’d seen too much.
The van lurched to a stop, and in seconds everyone climbed out into a grungy alley at the rear of an apartment complex smelling of sewage. They hurried inside a storage area where some of the men she’d given first aid waited. This area of the city seemed more familiar to her. In spite of landing in a spot needing a fresh coat of paint and a good scrubbing, she knew the Field Museum couldn’t be too far, maybe a few miles as the crow flies. If she could escape, then maybe she could reach help before something else went wrong.
“What do you plan to do with me, Neosho?” She couldn’t keep from shuddering at the images plaguing her.
He stood still next to her, observing the inside of the building as others moved about, claiming a spot to rest. When his eyes landed on her, he seemed to remember her presence.
“I will take you to my time.” He grabbed her elbow and led her into a shadowy corner. “You will be my wife.” He stared at her face then her body as his hands came up to touch her hair and face. “Very soft.”
She tried to step away from his touch, but her actions only managed to bring him closer. “You don’t even know where or when you can cross to your time.”
“Soon. I can feel it.” A twisted smile spread across his mouth, chilling Cleo. “I will make Wind Dancer pay for his mistakes. He brought the sickness to my family. I will take what he wants most. You.” He stole a glance behind him and frowned. Cleo noticed Ty watching him. “I will want sons. You will give them to me.”
“I will never be your wife, Neosho. I can never love you.”
“You don’t have to love me, Cleopatra, and you will be my wife.”
“Wind Dancer will never let you take me.”
This made him chuckle. “He has two choices: I take you to be my wife or, by my own hand, I sacrifice you to the Morning Star.”
Cleo cowered against the splinter-ridden wall, feeling the flood of fear wash over her. The choices left her with little hope of surviving. She tried to put on a brave face and took a deep breath. “I won’t go. I’ll fight you with every ounce of strength in me.”
With the slowness of a boa constrictor, Neosho wrapped his hand around her neck and squeezed tight enough to make her paw at his hands. “I like a fighter, Cleopatra. It will give me pleasure to break you.” He loosened his grip only enough to pull her to his body where he crushed his mouth against hers. She could barely move, but her breath came in gulps when he released her. “Hmm.” He moaned as he pressed his thumb across her bruised lips. “I do not want to kill such a fine woman.” Another evil expression widened his mouth. “I think, before we cross, I will make Wind Dancer watch what he will never have.” He shoved her against the wall, causing her to grunt.
“Hey, man. You don’t want to hurt the lady doctor. She patched us up.” Ty glanced over his shoulder at the others who had perked up at the commotion in the shadows. “They might not help you if you start messin’ ‘round with her.”
“She belongs to me, not you or the others. I will do as I please.”
Ty moved a little closer and peered around the large Osage at Cleo who rubbed her neck, tears trailing down her cheeks. “Maybe so. I’m just sayin’ you better be careful. These guys think they owe her for last night. Okay?”
Neosho evaluated Cleo with one swift glance. “Okay. You watch her. I will rest.”
“Sure thing, bro. You rest. I’ll make sure the lady doctor stays put. Go on.” He nodded toward the others who had either slouched down on a couple of worn-out sofas or stretched out between chairs.
When he moved away, Ty approached Cleo and held his finger to his lips. “Shhh. Don’t cry,” he whispered. He knew the Osage’s senses were more acute than any other human. He mouthed the words, “I’ll help you.”
Chapter 22
Jacque gave the okay to kick in the door, with backup spread out to cut off any retreat of the Death Apostles, but they came up empty. The one thing they managed to accomplish was to stir up dust and mold spores. Agent Farentino had a sneezing fit.
“Nothing,” the FBI agent said, holstering his weapon.
“Yeah. But this is the place.” Jacque pointed to trash, beer bottles, and fast-food wrappers. “But here is the best evidence.” He pointed to an empty five-gallon paint bucket with bloody bandages and empty vaccine vials. “I guess Cleo administered first aid after all. Must have taken it on the chin a little more than we first thought.”
“I’ll get my forensics team over here to collect evidence.” Jacque arched an eyebrow of discontent forcing Farentino to add, “Bring your guys in, too, if you want. Make sure they stay out of our way.”
“Screw you,” he barked. “If it weren’t for me, you’d be eating fish instead of getting a new lead. Stay out of our way.”
“This isn’t a pissing contest, Marquette,” the agent growled after being put in his place.
“Just get it done.” He ordered everyone to tread lightly so as not to compromise the crime scene and shooed unnecessary officers outside. After moving around the downstairs, he took the stairs to the second level. Agent Farentino joined him.
“My team is headed this way.” Agent Farentino moved to a window overlooking the yard between the house and garage. They waited for a second warrant to search the house. “I didn’t see the dog when we came in. Think someone let him out of the house. Nobody answered when Agent Crosby went to the door.”
Jacque came alongside him and spotted the same pathetic mutt that had been stalking him. He tapped on the window until the dog spotted him. He jumped around, like a puppy, barking his head off.
“How do you know?”
“Saw him over at the fish place,” he lied. “Probably followed us. Geez, we smell like fried hush puppies. I’m surprised the entire canine unit hasn’t taken off our legs.” They continued to stare down at the prancing animal.
“Speaking of the canine unit, look at those two German shepherds cowering behind their handlers.” He snickered. “Some police dogs you got there, Marquette.”
The skinwalker hiding inside the dog wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon. The detective noticed some discarded duct tape by a chair tipped over on its side. Careful not to compromise evidence, he removed a disposable glove from his jacket and picked it up.
“Find something?”
“Duct tape. There are a few strands of hair attached, same color as Cleo’s.”
“Then she’s alive.” The agent could have been reading from the phone book.
“We need to find Wind Dancer. Maybe he’ll know what Neosho might do next.”
“Well, I’m all ears on finding him. So far there’s been no sign of him. Even put a call in to the Field Museum.”
“And?”
“Got put on hold after listening to ‘our menu options have changed’ ten times.”
“I’ve got a few ideas. Can you finish up here?” Jacque figured the Feds could handle this end. No use sticking around when he could be doing other things.
“Don’t leave me out of the loop, Marquette.”
The detective handed off the evidence before heading down the stairs. “Wouldn’t think of it,” he mused with a smirk, even as the agent trailed after him. “You Fed boys are certainly paranoid.”