Dark Side of Morning (Wind Dancer Book 1)

by Tierney James

  The Pawnee waited until his fellow tribesmen sang an ancient song and moved about the scaffold before he slipped off into the darkness.

  Chapter 27

  The lightning continued to flash, causing the museum to periodically brighten for seconds and sending an eerie glow to spill across the scaffold bed. Although quiet, Cleo moved her head back and forth, watching the Pawnee circling her with their chant-like songs as they lifted their arms up toward the ceiling. Jacque thought for several seconds he felt something powerful flowing through him but shook it off, fearful it could be the skinwalker trying to pick up where he left off.

  The detective inched toward the unguarded foyer, the others oblivious of his escape. In spite of the darkness he spotted the coffee shop, lit by red exit signs and a few in-wall emergency bulbs near the floor. He stumbled only once, tipping over a chair that seemed to echo like thunder in his ears when it hit the floor. He whirled around to see if his absence had been discovered, only to see the Pawnees run out of the Native American wing with bows and arrows in hand. Soon the darkness swallowed them as they darted toward the noise coming from the other end of the museum.

  Something brushed up against his leg causing him to yelp and jump into a table so hard it flipped over with a bang. The scruffy dog whined then barked as he kept looking toward the exhibit room.

  “You just took ten years off my life, you mangy mutt.”

  Ty complained about the pain as he rolled to the side of the table then promptly fell off.

  “What a doofus.” Jacque backed up toward the counter where he’d seen a paring knife earlier, managed to grab it, and returned to Ty. The man groaned with such exaggeration as he stood, Jacque wondered if he could fall into him with the open blade to shut him up once and for all.

  “Take this and cut me loose.”

  Ty relieved him of the knife and sawed slowly through the restraints.

  “Come on! I don’t have all day!” Jacque grumbled through clenched teeth.

  “I’m hurtin’, man.”

  “What a baby. I took a gunshot to the chest once, along with one in the leg, and still managed to bring down two bank robbers.” Jacque felt the bands fall away. “Thanks.” He hobbled out of the coffee shop, the lingering pain from the leg wound he’d discounted returning with the bad weather. Cleo had told him the Frenchman limped as well.

  “Hey! Where is everybody?” Ty called after him, cursing as crashing noises accompanied his cried. Stumbling over furniture couldn’t be helping his injuries. “You can’t leave me here.”

  The dog trotted at Jacque’s heels, providing a strange feeling of comfort. The Pawnee left his weapon holstered so this, too, increased his level of confidence as he barreled into the exhibit room. Stumbling over one of the downed guards propelled his body toward the scaffold.

  One of the LED flashlights on the floor provided enough light for him to discover the sacrifice scaffold was empty. He peered beneath it, calling her name then whirled around, pointing a flashlight in several directions. Cleo had disappeared.

  ~~~~

  Cleo tried to squirm free as Neosho dragged her away from the far exit of the Ancient America. He had found her in the darkness and jerked the restraints from her hands and feet. A red exit sign highlighted his troubled face enough for Cleo to suspect he had become disoriented. His eyes glanced around as he held her squirming efforts to escape with ease. She watched him sniff the air then pull her in the opposite direction of the earth lodge. She winced at his grip on her bandaged arm, but it didn’t stop her from pounding at him or digging her nails into his skin.

  The Osage was naked from the waist up. If the situation had not been so dire, Cleo realized she would have thought him a beautiful specimen of male strength. The bottom half of his chiseled face was painted black, and some kind of red adornment, attached to the strip of hair on the middle of his head, created an even more menacing impression. But the glare of pure evil filling his hooded eyes erased any fleeting admiration. The fever in his skin alerted her he was indeed sick, probably with smallpox. He’d received the vaccine too late to protect his body from what already brewed deep inside him.

  He must not be allowed to cross over to his world, his time. Such an event could be catastrophic for all populations of man. Where would it stop? What would be the geopolitical ramifications of such a disaster? It wouldn’t take long to spread to other parts of the world, possibly causing a pandemic making the Black Death seem like a head cold. She needed to convince him or stop him.

  “Neosho. Let. Me. Go.” Her voice rode on the thunder rattling the walls. “I won’t run away.”

  He halted, jerking her in front of him. “You lie. You run away before, while I rest. We find a way to my time.”

  “Only because I was scared of those men. I hated the way they watched me, and Ty said they would hurt me if something happened to you. Besides, the earth lodge isn’t this way.” Cleo stole a glance over her shoulder and thought she saw someone moving in the shadows. Was it Jacque or Wind Dancer? If she could get him turned around, maybe help would be close by.

  “Where are Wind Dancer and the others?”

  “Searching for you. They planned to sacrifice me, Neosho, to the Morning Star.” She did her best to pucker her lips and sniff back a tear before falling against him. Circling his body with her arms, Cleo realized he was bigger than Wind Dancer and maybe stronger. The beat of his heart intensified as he relaxed enough to return the gesture.

  “Do you wish to be free?”

  Staring up into his cold dark face, she added a catch in her voice. “Yes. Please. Don’t let them kill me.” She stepped away enough to feel his embrace withdraw, but close enough not to make him feel threatened she would escape. If he knew of another entrance to his world, then all would be lost. “The earth lodge will open soon. You must know this from watching from the display case so many years.”

  “There are other openings. We go there. Safe to go. The Death Apostles will come and fight Pawnee. They have guns. Come.”

  Neosho grabbed her hand and tugged her after him but whirled around when Cleo resisted and protested with a no.

  His face darkened with rage.

  “I’m afraid, Neosho. Please. Let me give you more medicine to make you strong. You are sick. Your eyes are full of fever and”—she pointed to his neck— “the blisters are starting. If you cross without my medicine, everyone will die, even you and me. This sickness changes each time a person crosses over. It gets stronger. No one can survive.”

  She hoped the pause meant he processed the scope of what leaping to his world meant. He cocked his head toward her, his eyes narrowing suspiciously then he glanced at his shoulder. “I see nothing.”

  “I’m a doctor. I’m trained to see the start of sickness.” She gently touched his face with her hand, which he grabbed and squeezed until she cried out. “I only wanted to touch you, Neosho. We have been friends for too long.”

  “Friends?”

  “Yes. Friends. Like Wind Dancer, you watched me grow up. I had no way of knowing either of you watched and listened to me. I knew little about the Osage because my father taught me only about the Pawnee.” He relaxed his grip, but she didn’t withdraw but laid her other hand on his. “When I found out what Wind Dancer and the Frenchman did to your family, your people, I hated that I wasted so much time for so many years.” The forced smile, although weak, drew his gaze to her mouth. “I feel so foolish.”

  “The sacrifice is strong medicine. I have seen it. The white man doesn’t like for the Pawnee to do this, and most do not. If Wind Dancer wants this strong medicine to take to his people, to save them from more white man trouble, he will sacrifice you to get it.”

  The lightning and thunder rattled the building as hail pummeled the museum so hard the sound of glass shattering somewhere caused them both to cling to each other then turn their eyes to the second floor balcony. The moment of weakness evaporated when Neosho grabbed her forearm, dragging her toward the exhibit hall whe
re hundreds of animals remained encased, like he had been days earlier.

  All of the animals sprang to life. Lions lunged at the protective glass as hyenas snarled and snapped at them when they passed. Freed of their trophy status, the beasts prowled back and forth in their enclosures.

  Neosho slowed, taking it all in until he came to a buffalo grazing peacefully on something that mimicked grass. He released his grip on her arm, stepped forward, and laid a hand on the reinforced glass, drawing the attention of the beast.

  The bison lowered his head and charged, ramming his head into the glass so it split like a spider web. She fell backward to the floor as a scream escaped from deep in her throat. But Neosho retreated slowly, showing little concern toward the beast.

  “Go to sleep, old friend. This is not your day to be free.” He reached down, catching Cleo by the collar, and jerked her to stand on wobbly legs. “They’re coming.”

  The Death Apostles slunk in with their drawn guns, gaping at the moving creatures inside the maze of display cases. With open mouths, jerky movements, and the occasional stumble, they stopped by several cases to stare at the animated movements of the beasts. They reminded her of the almost-childlike surprise of children seeing Disneyland for the first time.

  She prayed they wouldn’t start shooting. Random bullets would destroy priceless collections in a matter of minutes.

  She tried to hide behind Neosho. Their scowls morphed to bulging eyes and shoulders. Did they blame her for Ty’s defection or for their leader, Ashanti’s, disappearance?

  “Where to, Neosho?” the sour-faced man closest to them asked. “This place still has people inside. I saw a bunch of Indians carrying bows and arrows.”

  “Yeah. They like you?” Another man whispered.

  “Yes!” Cleo shouted, hoping someone would hear her above the raging storm shaking the building. “And they will destroy you. This is not a safe place.”

  “What she talkin’ about?”

  Neosho returned to the great hall but stopped to peer into the darkness lit by occasional flashes of lightning.

  “You should stay close,” was all he said to the gang as he dragged Cleo by the hand so hard she stumbled several times.

  The Death Apostles followed, swinging their weapons around like squirt guns at a Baptist church picnic on the creek. Their fumbling in the dark as they crashed into each other made their progress louder than it should have been. They rushed in to an exhibit area to find shadowy figures waiting for them. Cleo realized they’d entered the front end of the Native American exhibit. Finding her way in the dark here was second nature to her. This was home.

  “What is this?” They bunched up near Neosho who observed the shadows with the calm of a displeased father with his children.

  “Nothing. Do not be afraid.”

  Cleo jerked free and whirled around. “Oh. You’d better be afraid because the Pawnee will destroy you. You are nothing compared to their skill.”

  Wind Dancer stepped out, the blush of a safety light, giving him a demonic red glow. “She is right. If you want to live another day, you must go into the night.”

  “All I see is a bunch of Indians with bows and arrows.” The chubby gangbanger chuckled as he peered around at his buddies to gain their amused support. “I think revolver trumps some kids’ toy bow and arrow. Right, Neosho?” When Neosho didn’t answer, they all directed their attention to him.

  Neosho stood rigid, silent with his legs apart and his arms out from his sides. The Death Apostles fanned out in nervous jerks then positioned themselves in a similar posture to his.

  Cleo stepped forward as she took in Wind Dancer with one foot in the past and one in the future. In spite of the lack of emotion on his face, smeared with some kind of red and black paint, creating a sinister vibe, she remembered his warm embrace and the press of his kiss that seared to her very soul. His boyish expressions and inquisitive nature had morphed into something more lethal and terrifying, but she chose to remember how he’d saved her the first night with Neosho in hot pursuit.

  “I want Cleopatra to come this way.” Wind Dancer’s voice became void of emotion except for the coldness characteristic of a resolute heart. Gone was the rugged beauty, replaced by a hardened look of a dangerous warrior.

  Neosho switched his stare from Wind Dancer to her.

  She took a chance and lunged forward, only to feel Neosho’s arm fly across her chest. He elbowed her, knocking the wind from her lungs as she sprawled across the floor. In the second when she gasped for air, she noticed Wind Dancer take a step in her direction, only to stop when Neosho faced him again.

  “I will not release her,” Neosho growled deep in his throat as he motioned toward his gangbangers to spread out around the room.

  “She will not survive in our land.” Wind Dancer’s voice continued to show little emotion. “She must heal the sickness you brought to this place. If you return, more of our people will die. This sickness you carry is much worse than what I or your family suffered.”

  “I no longer care. Cleopatra and I will start a new life in the mountains to the west, where the air is cleaner and the water clear. Our children will grow strong while you struggle to find your way home.”

  “I will not let this happen.”

  “Then I will kill you.”

  “No!” Cleo stammered as she struggled to her feet. “I’ll go with you, but don’t harm Wind Dancer or any other Pawnee. I’ll go.” She grabbed his arm and felt it flex beneath her fingertips.

  “She’s not going any place with you,” came a voice from out of the darkness. Jacque slid from the doorway to stand next to Wind Dancer, holding his weapon as if he’d fire any second. “Drop those guns right now.”

  The Death Apostles exchanged glances then and broke out in laughter as they aimed their pistols. The heavyset man pointed his at Jacque.

  “I said drop ‘em or you’ll be my first target, fat boy,” Jacque said, lifting his weapon a little higher.

  An arrow whizzed by the detective and straight through the right shoulder of the Death Apostle, which burst into flames. He screamed and ran out into the grand hall.

  Jacque cringed as Two Feathers stepped forward from the darkness into a security bulb’s pool of light. “I’m a little rusty. I aimed for his heart. My bad.”

  Chapter 28

  Thunder crashed, followed by a breeze, before it picked up like tornadoes do before they eat the world around them. Gang members gawked at the display cases holding other examples of Indian tribes as they came to life and began pounding on their enclosures to be set free. Their cases, now brightly lit, gave off the needed light for Cleo to watch things unfold. She could only imagine the gangs’ fear, much like the first time she’d witnessed it a few short days earlier.

  Other destructive sounds echoed outside the North American Indian exhibit. Perhaps a tornado had dipped down to rip away part of the museum. The gangbangers crouched near her when the Pawnee delegation let lose their arrows at them, barely missing her as she fell behind a statue of a bear.

  She could hear them calling to Neosho for guidance, but in her heart, she knew he only cared about the revenge he needed to inflict on Wind Dancer. Cleo realized his lack of concern for their welfare might lead to a speedy surrender.

  One of the gangbangers edged close to her and shoved her out in the open so she became completely exposed. Here she could see that with each man who took an arrow, it burst into flame. Guns, too, expelled their death with little success, driving even the Pawnee to take cover behind built-in seats, and other freestanding walls the height of a man for protection.

  The two security guards stirred, but Cleo yelled for them to stay in place below the flying arrows and bullets. She watched in morbid curiosity as the other gang members moved in slow motion until their movements stopped altogether like the night Wind Dancer crossed over into her world. Their eyes held confusion and terror as if concrete encased their feet so they could no longer move. Cleo felt paralyzed with fear, ev
en though her body remained free from the powerful forces manipulating the evil in the room.

  The Osage reached down to remove a Taser from the belt of a security guard, and Cleo dodged for cover as he eyed the new machine in his hand. In two steps, he’d reached her and jerked her in front of him as he wrapped an arm around her neck. Trying to escape only caused him to tighten the hold.

  The swirling wind failed to remove the smell of burning flesh and gunpowder as Neosho dragged Cleo in the direction of the earth lodge. His skin had become searing hot, dripping with sweat that rubbed into her hair and through her clothes. She could smell his breath, raw with the pungent odor of death.

  When they reached the sacrifice platform, he used only one hand to toss her onto the surface. Wind Dancer and Jacque took a chance and lunged forward, but another man jumped into the fray.

  Cleo crabbed crawled away as Ashanti batted both men aside like pesky flies. She realized the Frenchman turned skinwalker had taken over the gang leader, Ashanti’s, body.

  “I will kill you for the evil you’ve become, Neosho.” The voice came out of Ashanti in a French accent but sounded hollow, almost wistful. He took a determined step in his direction.

  Cleo watched Neosho glance her way and tried to escape off the opposite side, but he caught her foot to pull her back to him. In one swift movement, Neosho snatched one of the arrows that landed on the scaffold and jammed it into Cleo’s arm. She screamed, the sound of Wind Dancer’s voice fading on the wind as a flash of fire rose up from her wound. She cried out in agony, drawing the buffalo hide over her burning arm to stifle the flames. She fell back just as the Osage jammed the Taser into the skinwalker.