Dark Side of Morning (Wind Dancer Book 1)

by Tierney James

“That’s why we get things done,” Farentino quipped. He slipped the duct tape into an evidence bag once downstairs. He gave some instructions to Agent Crosby as he continued to trail the detective.

  “You keep saying silly things like that but it doesn’t make it true, Farentino.” Jacque called for someone to drive his car around to the front of the property then slipped the phone in his pocket.

  “Agent Farentino. Would it hurt you to show a little respect?” The agent halted when the scruffy dog trotted up to Jacque and pranced around like he expected a treat. “Are you sure you don’t know that mutt?” The animal sat down and growled at the agent.

  “Positive.” He glanced down at the dog but continued toward the street where a uniformed officer stopped his car and got out.

  “Where are you going?” Farentino sidestepped the dog and followed.

  Jacque braced one hand on the car and opened the back passenger-side door. The dog barked again as he looked in the direction of Michigan Avenue. For a split second he wondered if the skinwalker tried to tell him something. Even though he planned to head to the museum, Jacque preferred the FBI not know his every move. “Gotta see a man about a dog, Mr. FBI. Do you mind?”

  “Way too much information.” He frowned.

  The detective opened the door and watched the dog trot up only to sit down quietly as he focused his red eyes on him. “Are you comin’?” He raised his chin while cutting his eyes to the inside. The dog jumped into the backseat. Shutting the car door, Jacque hurried around the front to get in before he changed his mind.

  “So you’re a softy for animals,” the agent mocked as he bent down to peer inside the car.

  Jacque powered down the passenger window in the front seat and leaned over to speak to the agent. “Let me know if you learn anything.” A gust of wind shook the car as the agent bowed his head. “News says we’re in for a rock-and-roll night in the weather department. I’ll keep in touch.”

  “Same here.” When the dog pressed his face against the glass and bared his teeth, the agent laughed. “That is the ugliest dog I’ve ever seen.”

  Jacque adjusted his rearview mirror to check on the dog. In the same instant the animal met his eyes.

  He turned the car key on and felt it come alive then eased away from the curb. After finding a place to make a U-turn, he headed out onto another side street. Traffic was always more manageable in a small neighborhood comprised of shops and duplexes under various stages of rehab.

  When a sigh came from behind, he checked the rearview mirror to discover his twin staring at him. The skinwalker dog had transformed into the Frenchman.

  ~~~~

  “I think Neosho is kind of crazy in the head, Cleo,” Ty whispered as the Osage sat on the floor in a vacant corner of the room. “All these guys are crazy, Doc.”

  “What’s going on? And why are they taking orders from Neosho?” She rubbed her hand across her bruised lips, an attempt to wipe the still-rough touch of the Osage away.

  “Because they’re scared of him and envious at the same time. Ashanti, the guy snoozing on the table, thinks Neosho is some kind of enforcer for him. We gained a lot of territory by putting those guys in the hospital last night. They won’t be messin’ with us for some time. Neosho over there would have killed all of them if he’d had time, but they ran off like a bunch of scared little girls.” He let loose a nervous snicker. “Truth is, he scared me, too. That guy is crazy strong.”

  “Why are we here?”

  “Neosho says if we go to the Field Museum there will be money, maybe even some gold.”

  “That’s ridiculous. They keep only enough money to do business, nothing more. I grew up in there. I should know.”

  “So why would he try and trick us to go?” Ty’s gaze darted to Neosho.

  “The police want him. He’s sick and infecting everyone he comes in contact with.”

  “But you gave him the vaccine, too.”

  “It won’t work on him. He’s already infected and running a fever. I felt it when he kissed me,” she said touching her neck and face. “This is a mission of revenge. He wants to kill my friend because he blames him for the death of his family.”

  “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but why didn’t he go to the police?” The bewildered expression on Ty’s face forced Cleo to pause before answering.

  “He’s not from around here. He doesn’t trust the police and I believe he wants to return home.” A radio playing hip-hop music switched to giving a weather report of storms moving in later in the evening. Cleo imagined with Neosho’s heightened senses he could already feel the pressure changes and knew this would be his chance to cross over to his home.

  “You’ve got to get me out of here,” Cleo begged.

  “And let the police haul me off to jail? No thanks. These guys have a long memory and that’s all I’d be if I let you go or betrayed them.”

  “Come with me. I have friends at the FBI and Chicago PD. You don’t want to be with these guys when they come for me.”

  The young gang member chewed on his bottom lip as if mulling over the idea for the first time.

  “Please. I can help you. Do you really want to be a part of this? Neosho is a killer, and he doesn’t care who gets in his way.”

  “How does a fine lady like yourself get mixed up with a guy like him anyway?” He stole a glance over at Neosho as if in awe of the man with abnormal strength.

  “Shh. Keep your voice to a whisper. He can hear us if our voices are much louder. Come closer,” she coaxed with a nod. “He’s not like us.”

  He stepped closer, a grin toying with his mouth as his eyes widened in interest. “You one of those women who like the bad boys?”

  Cleo hesitated at his accusation but decided to use it to her advantage. “I used to be but not anymore.” She didn’t want to give Ty any false hopes of hooking up with her. “He used to be different. If I tell you the truth, will you help me?”

  “No. I have a feeling the words comin’ out of such a pretty mouth are going to confuse me.” Ty stole a glance over his shoulder at the others snoring. “Neosho wants to head to the museum during the night. Says there will be some kind of magic that will help us get the gold.”

  “And this makes sense to you?” Cleo frowned. “He’s talking about the sacrifice to the Morning Star. And who do you think the sacrifice is going to be? Me, that’s who. It’s always a female who gets the bad side of a deal.”

  “Nah. He likes you.”

  “Doesn’t matter. The ceremony has great power for Native Americans. If he doesn’t use me, then he’ll use someone else, maybe someone at the museum. Do you really want to see somebody get sacrificed to some Morning Star deity?”

  “Hell no. My grandma is a Baptist. She’d whip me with a belt.”

  “Please. I’m begging you. Get me out of here before it’s too late.” She stepped closer so her breath touched his face. “You aren’t like them.” For a split second, he appeared to get lost in the close proximity of her body and the penetrating gaze of her green eyes.

  “I dunno—”

  Before he could finish the sentence, Cleo grabbed his gun from his waistband and jammed it under his chin.

  “Careful there.” He spoke through gritted teeth with bulging eyes.

  “Get us out of here.”

  “All I have to do is call to my bros.”

  “And all I have to do is scream for Neosho. What do you think he’ll do to you if he thinks you’ve put your grubby hands on me?”

  Ty remained silent, so Cleo continued. “He may want me dead in the end, but he will protect me until the time is right. Heaven help you if he decides to make an example of you or anyone else here tonight.” She jabbed the gun up, making Ty catch his breath. “What’s it going to be?”

  He nodded and dared to slowly lay his index finger on the gun to reposition her hand. “Careful, Doc,” he mumbled as she stepped sideways with the weapon pointed at his chest. “Okay. You owe me.”

  Cl
eo chose to force her brow to crease in hopes it displayed a kind of toughness.

  ~~~~

  Two Feathers expected the press to converge on the Field Museum to take pictures of the recent crime scene. The Ceremony of the Morning Star also got a sixty-second sound bite with an interview with him showing them preparing sacred bundles at the earth lodge. An invitation to the public to come enjoy the ceremony over the next couple of days wasn’t near as interesting as when the reporter focused more on the recent stolen artifacts than the actual ceremony. At this point, the old Pawnee focused his attention on the possible journey ahead of him.

  Fortunately, the bigger story remained the weather; storms that rumbled across the plains like an out-of-control locomotive. From Nebraska to the Great Lakes, dire warnings of destructive tornadoes popping up led to charts on how to stay safe. The warm, moist air from the Gulf of Mexico continued some kind of terrifying dance with the cold air of the north as it moved across the map. All of this kept tourists and locals away. The Cubs game canceled in hopes of protecting people who didn’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain. Then, one by one, other attractions announced they, too, were closing in hopes of keeping folks home or safely tucked into a hotel.

  “Two Feathers, everyone is going home to wait for Stormageddon.” The Native American Curator examined the work the Pawnees had accomplished before catching a glimpse of Wind Dancer standing near the platform built outside the earth lodge. “I don’t remember him, although he is vaguely familiar.” He moved toward the Pawnee but stopped when the warrior disappeared into the earth lodge.

  Two Feathers stepped in front of the curator to block his line of sight. “Our work is not done. Can we stay longer?”

  The curator tilted his neck to see Wind Dancer, but shrugged with the inquiry. “I thought you might ask. Sure. The two security guards patrol every thirty minutes. Most of the place will be locked down.” He nodded toward some cameras. “You’ll be watched the whole time and recorded so if you need anything, give them a sign. Hopefully they won’t fail like they did during the last storm. Lucky for us the place was full of police.”

  “Lucky.”

  After checking his watch, the curator shook Two Feathers’ hand. “See you tomorrow. With any luck, we won’t get blown away.”

  “With any luck, we’ll have already gone home,” he mumbled under his breath as he watched the man leave. He laid his fist on his heart and closed his eyes until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Are you well, Two Feathers?” Wind Dancer joined him.

  A thin smile spread across his lips. “Never better. My heart and soul can hardly wait for the moment when I see the land of my fathers.”

  Wind Dancer spoke with a kind of sadness. “It is not an easy life. But you will be free of this world’s trappings. I’m counting on you to teach our people the ways of the future. When the senior Dr. Sommers speaks of this, they do not always listen. They think he is a storyteller. But with you, I hope they will believe.”

  Two Feathers nodded as his eyes moved toward the earth lodge. “We will do what we can.” He noticed the warrior lift his chin as his hands went to his ears. “What is it?”

  “I’m not sure. Pressure.”

  “Storms are coming. I don’t feel anything. You are very sensitive to change here.”

  “We are running out of time. I must find Cleopatra. I also need to reach Detective Jacque Marquette. Can you help me with this?”

  He carried his cell phone in a shirt pocket. “Let me show you how it’s done. I won’t be needing this much longer. If you ever return here, then you’ll know how to use it.” He punched in some numbers. “Yes. I need to speak to Detective Marquette.”

  Chapter 23

  Darkness fell enough to make streetlights flicker to life even though the time indicated early evening. The weather hinted at the things to come. A quick thunderstorm blew in, lasting only ten minutes before the setting sun peeked out. Black clouds appeared to swim across the surface for seconds at a time.

  Jacque kept one eye on the congested street and the other on the rearview mirror to keep track of the skinwalker’s movements. He sat like a statue staring at him, eyes glowing from red to opaque then to a shade of blue that matched his own. The detective wondered if he remained quiet because his former life knew driving in rush hour traffic required a great deal of concentration. When his cell phone vibrated in his pocket, he flinched but managed to answer.

  He listened to dispatch inform him someone at the museum wanted to speak to him as he initiated his flashing light and whipped his vehicle into a lane where he could make better progress.

  “Patch him in,” he instructed as he glanced at the skinwalker who smiled at him. A chill crept up his spine. “Yeah. What can I do for you?”

  “Jacque, is this your voice?”

  “Wind Dancer.” He shouted his friend’s name in relief. “Are you at the museum?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t find Cleopatra. Have you found her?”

  “No. But Neosho has her and is hiding among some gang members of the Death Apostles. I’m heading your way.” He glanced in the mirror at the skinwalker again. “I’m bringing a friend of yours.”

  “I do not understand. I have no friends but you and Cleopatra.”

  Someone pulled in front of his car, causing him to slam on the brakes then the horn as the phone dropped to the floor. A few colorful words escaped his mouth as he zipped ahead of the car, the man inside flipped him off as he passed. His first instinct was to cut him off, followed by jerking him out of the car for a little come to Jesus talk. No time for nonsense, so he let it go. Besides, the skinwalker might decide to do a little damage of his own if he stopped. At least he knew Wind Dancer was alive and well; one less thing to worry about.

  “Where in the hell are you, Cleo?” he said as he pulled into the circle drive of the Field Museum.

  “We will find her,” the skinwalker spoke, breaking the detective’s concentration.

  “I hope you’re right.” The detective twisted his body around to give the skinwalker a once-over with a narrowed glare. “Get out. We’re going in to talk to Wind Dancer.”

  The skinwalker remained so still, the only way Jacque knew he might be alive came with an evil grin forming on his pale blue lips of death.

  Jacque jumped out the car and circled the front to open the door for the skinwalker. The last few days had opened up a whole new world of possibilities to him. He’d never believed in parallel universes, or even cared. Native Americans came with John Wayne when he watched his favorite Western movies. Stories about skinwalkers or other hobgoblins reminded him of people who had too much time on their hands or smoked too much weed.

  Here he’d spent his day babysitting a skinwalker, trying to rescue a doctor from a time-jumping Osage, and feeling a bond of friendship with a guy who probably would end up dead before the end of the week, considering his lack of twenty-first-century survival skills. Throw in the FBI and Colonel Jefferson from the Pentagon, who thought he could just close down the city to stop smallpox, and his life had gotten a great deal more interesting.

  When the skinwalker didn’t get out, he bent down to release a combination of threats and colorful language when he found the seat empty. “What the hell,” he groaned.

  He pivoted in a complete circle in search of the creature only to spot a mangy dog about halfway up the steps to the front door of the museum. With a sigh of exasperation, the detective hustled up the steps, pausing when he caught up with the dog. The dog stared out at Lake Michigan, and the detective followed his haunting gaze.

  When the dog moved a little closer, he drew his gun and touched the barrel to the animal’s forehead. “Stay. I don’t want you anywhere near me.”

  The dog gave a couple of barks then continued the rest of the way up the stairs.

  A gust of wind tousled his hair and moved his sport coat enough to make it feel like a parachute fighting flight. Although the worst of the weather wouldn’t move i
n until way after dark, he knew his city could face a blizzard better than tornadoes and super-celled thunderstorms. Those things didn’t make any sense and their indiscriminate path of destruction unnerved him. This would be a long night.

  He took hold of the door only to find it locked. Banging his fist brought a security guard who stared at him with the obstinate glare of a man too tired and too bored with his job to put up with much nonsense. After Jacque held his badge against the glass, the guard unlocked the door and stood aside for him to pass through. To Jacque’s surprise, the guard failed to mention the dog trotting alongside him. Either he really didn’t care or he couldn’t see the skinwalker—which disturbed him more than he wanted to admit.

  As the sound of securing the door echoed throughout the grand foyer, the detective heard a familiar voice.

  “Jacque.” Wind Dancer hustled out of the Native American wing toward him with a raised hand in greeting, until his eyes fell on the dog, which made him stop abruptly. The dog halted, too, and cocked his head. He wagged his tail as if recognizing the Pawnee from his former life. “You are playing a dangerous game, my friend.”

  Jacque didn’t know if the Pawnee spoke to the dog or to him. “Yeah, well it is what it is. I don’t know about all this skinwalker crap, but I don’t see we have much choice in the matter. He keeps showing up and I’d rather have him where I can put a bullet in him instead of his sneaking up on me when I least expect it.”

  The dog bared his canines as a stream of saliva oozed out of one side of his mouth. There was no growl, but the gesture impressed the detective enough to tread lightly with his threats.

  Wind Dancer kneeled down to face the animal. This time a growl did escape from deep in the dog’s throat. “I gave you time to do what you must do. But I have to save Cleopatra. You must let me do this first.” The dog moved away until it stood beside Jacque where it sat down on its haunches and continued to stare at Wind Dancer.

  “You know I don’t believe in any of this. Right?” But then again, Jacque couldn’t explain how the Frenchman appeared in his car either. When this ended, he planned on taking a long vacation somewhere he could fish and drink as much beer as he wanted without answering to anyone.