Kissed by Smoke (11 page)

Inigo went to guard the door while I stood
up and held my hands over Trevor’s body. I felt like a dork, but
what else was new? Closing my eyes I reached down into that place
where the Fire and Darkness lived, down to that new power that
curled and wrapped around them.

Air.

It played coy at first, but I coaxed it
until it began to gently unfurl up and out of my center and through
the middle of my chest. It wrapped itself almost lovingly around my
brother. Almost as though it channelled my own love for him.

Then, as if waking up, it began whipping
around the room like it had with Vega. Faster and faster, until
Trevor and I were caught in the middle of a mini tornado. The
curtains thrashed wildly against the windows and the chair I’d been
sitting on spun across the room until it crashed into the wall.

The palms of my hands grew warm as they
hovered above the bed. My vision tunnelled down until it was just
my hands, and Trevor, and the Air. And then another shape began to
take form within the silvery smoke.

This time it wasn’t human shaped. It was
something else. A tattoo on a man’s arm. A symbol. A symbol I knew
very well indeed.

The symbol of the ancient Atlantean Royal
House. The same symbol my brother wore around his neck.

“Morgan, no one with any connection to that
symbol would ever harm me,” Trevor insisted.

“So, there are people out there with the
crest of the Royal House of Atlantis tattooed on their bodies?” I
was pacing back and forth in front of Trevor’s hospital bed.

“Yes, of course,” he nodded. “My father —
our father — told me about them when he gave me the amulet. They
are descendents of the Atlantean Sentinels. Sworn to protect the
Bloodline.”

That stopped me in my tracks. “Say what?”
This was the first I’d heard of any Sentinels.

He shifted in bed a bit, wincing as he
jarred his injured arm. “I don’t really know much about it. Dad
just said that if ever I met a man with a tattoo matching the
amulet, I was to trust that man with my life.”

“And have you met anyone with that
tattoo?”

“About a year after Dad died, yes.” He
rubbed absently at his forehead. He probably had a throbbing
headache, and no doubt little nurse Emily would be in to throw us
out any minute. “I was hanging out with some friends and this old
Native American guy came up to me. Said he knew my father, and he
was sorry. Usual stuff. I shook his hand and that’s when I saw the
tattoo on his inner forearm.”

“So, he was letting you know he was there.
Watching over you, or whatever.” It made perfect sense. If there
really was some super-secret society of Sentinels out there. Say
that three times fast.

“Yeah, that’s my guess.” Trevor nodded,
fatigue beginning to show around his eyes. His normally rich, latte
skin had a decidedly chalky cast to it. I was betting he was more
hurt than he let on. Men and their machismo.

“Okay, we’re out of here. You get some
rest.” I leaned over and gave him a peck on the forehead. “I don’t
suppose the old guy is still alive?”

“Sure. His name is Tommy Waheneka. He’s a
tribal shaman and he still lives on the Warm Springs
Reservation.”

***

Tommy Waheneka lived beyond the last
outpost, and then some. Seriously, his cabin gave new meaning to
the word “rugged.” I was halfway to hearing duelling banjos in my
head by the time we finally arrived at his front door in a cloud of
dust and screeching chickens.

Tommy looked about a thousand years old,
leathery face worn and creased by sun and time. His eyes, they were
ageless. Bright and new and filled with humor that mocked the
world. I liked him instantly.

“Nice car.” He glanced at the Mustang and
went back to rocking gently on his front porch and whittling a
stick into what looked like some kind of animal.

“Thanks. Tommy?”

He didn’t say a word, just kept rocking.

“Stupid me. Who else would you be out here
in the back-ass of nowhere? Can I see your arm?” When in doubt, be
blunt.

Tommy’s fingers stilled. So did the rocking.
I thought for a moment he’d refuse. Instead he held his left arm
out and then slowly turned it over and pulled his jacket sleeve up
to expose the inside of his forearm. Tattooed on the coppery skin
was the same symbol Trevor wore around his neck: The symbol for the
Royal House of Atlantis.

“Took you long enough.” His voice was
scratchy, but surprisingly strong for such an old guy.

“You’re a Sentinel.”

“Not exactly,” he said with maddening calm.
His fingers went back to whittling and he went back to rocking.

“What do you mean, not exactly? Trevor Daly
told me the Sentinels bear the mark of the Royal House. He told me
you were a Sentinel.”

He was quiet so long, I thought he wouldn’t
speak. “I knew your father.”

I had expected it, but it still kind of
floored me. “How?”

“He was a good man, Alexander Morgan.”

It didn’t exactly answer my question, but I
had a feeling that pushing wouldn’t get me anywhere, so I kept my
mouth shut. Not a common occurrence for me, but I was trying.

The rocking chair squeaked over the porch
boards, the knife scratched against the small bit of wood in
Tommy’s fingers. The old man was silent for what seemed like ages.
“You look a bit like him around the eyes. A little like his son,
too.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re stronger than him, though. Your
Father.”

“I am?” I couldn’t imagine that.

“How many do you carry inside you now?”

My heart stopped. Then it pounded in my
throat so hard I couldn’t breathe. “What?” I glanced over at Inigo
who shrugged. Obviously he was as confused as I was.

“Elements.” His voice was so calm. So quiet.
As though nothing could ruffle the man. “How many do you carry
inside you?”

I swallowed hard. How on earth did he know?
“Three.”

He nodded as if it all made perfect sense.
“Three more.”

“What? Did you say three more?”

He nodded placidly, still intent on carving
whatever it was in his hands. “There are six.”

“Six? Are you fu … freaking kidding me?”

His face remained placid, but I could almost
feel the laughter coming off him in waves.

“What are the other three?”

Tommy rocked gently as he whittled away.
“What do you think?”

More riddles. Lovely. “Well, going with the
whole elemental theme, I’d say water and earth. But the sixth? No
idea.”

“It’ll come to you. In time.”

“How do you know all this if you aren’t a
Sentinel? Why do you have the Sentinel mark? How did you know my
father?” The questions spilled out. I couldn’t stop myself.

Without a word, Tommy got up out of the
rocker and went into the house, leaving the door open behind him. I
just stared. What the hell?

Inigo gave me a little nudge. “I think he
wants us to follow him.”

“How can you tell that?”

“He didn’t slam the door in our faces.”

Good point.

The cabin was a single room, warm and dim.
Shadows swam in the corners and the air smelled of burning sage and
wood smoke. Dried herbs hung from the rafters. Small bottles of
various powders and liquids lined the shelves along one wall.

Tommy was stirring a pot of something on the
woodstove. “Sit.”

The only place to sit was at a well-worn,
oak table against one wall of the cabin. “Are those for brewing
potions or something?” I pointed at the wall of bottles.

Tommy gave me a look that told me I just
said something really stupid. “They’re cooking spices.”

“Oh.” Gods I felt dumb.

Inigo looked like he was holding back a
laugh. I glared at him.

“Do you even know what a shaman is?” Tommy
placed two bowls full of some kind of stew in front of us. It
smelled divine and my stomach let out an embarrassingly loud
growl.

“Um, no. I know Witches and Hunters and, you
know, stuff like that. I’ve never met a shaman.” I felt like a
freaking idiot admitting my lack of knowledge, but there was no
point denying it. I’d already made a major faux pas with the
herbs.

Tommy joined us at the table with his own
bowl of stew. “There is power all around us. In the sun. The moon.
The trees.”

This I knew. Kabita had drilled it into my
head enough times.

“Anyone can draw on this power for their own
purpose. A small amount to aid in the hunt, or for good luck. But
only a shaman can draw large amounts of this power for the good of
his or her people. To heal. To defend.”

It made sense. I knew from my own experience
that anyone could draw power from the Universe. Some called it
Reiki. Others, Prayer. Whatever. Energy was energy.

And then there were those who could channel
enough energy to do some seriously scary shit. People like me.
Though I wasn’t sure I counted, since my ability came from
channelling weirdness.

“So, you’re a healer.” I took a bite of
stew. It was divine.

“One of my talents, yes. That was the reason
your father came to me.”

I paused mid-bite. “He came to you?”

Tommy chewed thoughtfully. “I don’t recall
when it was. Time isn’t important. But he came to me. He was
dying.”

“What do you mean? Trevor said he was
murdered.”

“Yes.”

I wanted to scream in frustration. “Then how
was he dying?”

“We are all dying.”

Dear gods, the man should win a medal for
cryptic. “Listen, I just need to know about my father. And Trevor.
Do you know why someone is trying to kill my brother? Why someone
killed his friend? Can you tell me … ”

The old man waved a hand. “So many
questions. All in due time. Eat your stew.”

He shut up after that and refused to answer
a single question. My stomach was in knots and my fuse about to
blow.

Patience, love. If we want answers, we have to let him give
them to us in his own way.
I felt Inigo’s soothing voice in
my mind, but I was in no mood to be soothed, so I sent him a death
glare. It didn’t faze him a bit. Sometimes it was a wonder he put
up with me.

The rest of the meal passed in silence. Even
the washing up was done quietly, Tommy Waheneka refused to speak
until every dish was washed, dried, and put away. By the time we
were done and gathered around the woodstove in the world’s most
uncomfortable chairs, I was about ready to blow a gasket.

Tommy sat for the longest time, starring
into the flame dancing in the window of the stove door. I was just
about to start demanding again when his voice broke the silence. “I
met your father on the day he died.”

I wondered if I looked as shell-shocked as I
felt. “What?”

“That is how I was able to see him, of
course,” Tommy said, as if that explained everything.

How he thought that explained anything, I
did not know. I was about to tell him so in no uncertain terms when
Inigo gently pre-empted my tirade. “Shamans are like me, Morgan.
They can often see the spirits of the dead, the dying. Sometimes
they can even communicate with them.”

I glanced over at Tommy who nodded in
confirmation. My mind was a whirl. “So, you saw my father’s spirit
when he was dying?”

“Yes. He came to me,” the old man said. He
stared off into the distance so long I was afraid he wasn’t going
to continue. “He was worried about his son. His daughter was safe,
but his son … not so much. I promised to keep watch over the
boy.”

My brain ticked over. “You had yourself
tattooed so Trevor would know our father had sent you.”

“Yes. Your father showed me the symbol.”

Well, shit. Could this get any weirder? Oh,
don’t answer that.

“Trevor said our father was murdered.”

Tommy shook his head. “We spoke of many
things, but never of that.”

Damn. I’d hoped he could shed some light on
my father’s death. “But, why you? Are you sure you’re not a
Sentinel?”

He cracked a laugh at that. “Not a drop of
Atlantean blood.” More staring off into the distance. “We spoke
many times about things not of this physical world after he died.
Interesting man, your father. Keen mind. Troubled soul. Although we
never met in person, at least with both of us on this side, we
became friends. When he had nowhere else to go, he came to me.” The
old man shrugged.

I was about to open my mouth and ask why ,
when it hit me. Shamans protected their people. From the moment my
father asked Tommy Waheneka to watch over my brother, Trevor became
one of Tommy’s people. To guard. To protect.

“So, you’ve been watching over Trevor all
this time.”

“Since he was fifteen years old.”

“And you still watch over him now.”

The shaman gave me a shrewd look. “As
promised.”

“So, you can tell me why he was attacked the
other night. And why you didn’t stop those assholes.”

“Morgan.” There was warning in Inigo’s
voice.

I wasn’t surprised. I was walking
dangerously close to being disrespectful. But if you wanted to get
cliché about it, sometimes you gotta break some eggs. Or walk where
angels fear to tread. Or something.

Tommy waved Inigo’s warning aside. “She’s
her father’s daughter. Can’t help herself.” Those shrewd brown eyes
bored into mine. “I can’t tell what I don’t know, but I do know
this: It wasn’t Trevor Daly they were after.”

That got me. “What do you mean?”

He leaned back in his chair and gave me the
silent treatment. Naturally I wanted to get all up in his face, but
I had the oddest feeling he was testing me. Fine. I leaned back in
my own chair with my arms crossed over my chest, sending Tommy a
death glare.

We sat like that for what seemed like ages
as I let my mind click through everything that happened. I squirmed
first. Damn, but those chairs made a person’s butt sore. I had no
idea how a man old as dirt could stand it. I made a mental note to
buy nothing but cushy chairs.