Nightwalker (7 page)

I went inside, calling to Olivia to please go soap off the doorframe. She looked irritated and said a few choice words in Spanish to whoever had made extra work for her. She was related to Maya all right.

Bear had vanished by the time I came back out, but I was no longer shocked at the way she came and went without warning. She had much in common with Coyote, who’d she claimed, to my vast surprise, was her husband.

Mick straddled his big bike, which he’d brought around front, preparing to leave. I closed my hand over his where his rested on the handlebar.

“You can’t interrogate Drake on the phone?” I worried about him every time he went to the dragon compound, though the dragons had more or less promised not to touch him. But if anyone could bend rules, it was a dragon.

“Better to talk to dragons face to face,” Mick said. “Trust me.”

“It’s not face to face I worry about, but flame to flame.”

He chuckled like I was joking. I wasn’t.

He leaned down and kissed me. I touched his cheek, wishing he’d stay, but also knowing I had to stop hovering around him, babying him. He was a grown dragon. I had to let him go.

I kissed him again, didn’t miss his promising look, then he started up the bike and rode out of the parking lot.

I’d almost lost him this winter, forever. Paranoia was a bitch.

*** *** ***

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, except for the crap that goes along with running a hotel. Clogged drain in room Four. Loose tile in the hall. A pair of low-level witches complaining about the noises in their bedroom, which turned out to be the magic mirror teasing them.

Those with minor magic can hear
something
when the mirror makes noise, and it plays things up by moaning and screeching like special effects in a low-budget movie. The witches could hear only muffled sounds, but I, of course, got the full force when I walked into their bedroom. The magic mirror was channeling through the mundane mirror over their dresser, wailing and moaning like a stage banshee.

I didn’t want to let on that I had a magic mirror in here. Even the weakest witch can use one to her benefit, but the mirror’s current owner has to die before it can be used by the successor. Don’t think that doesn’t deter a mage who really wants a mirror.

I positioned myself in the middle of their bedroom, raised my hands, and shouted the magic words: “Would you shut
up!
”

“Aw, come on. Don’t ruin it for me. Let me have my fun.”

“I banish thee, evil thing,” I said loudly.

“Make me,” the mirror said, and made a raspberry noise.

The witches held each other while I walked closer to the wall on which the mirror hung. I said in a low voice, “If you don’t stop it, I’ll tell Mick to flame you.”

It was tough to kill a magic mirror, even to melt it, but Mick’s fire could make it suffer for a while. I’d seen Mick hurt it before.

“Oh, that is
so
not fair.”

“I don’t care about being fair; I’m trying to run a hotel. You have a cushy place here. Don’t wreck it, or I’ll toss you out with the trash.”

The mirror went silent, and I held my breath. It was supposed to respond to my every command, but the mirror constantly figured out ways around that when it wanted to.

“All right.” The mirror heaved a sigh, which made the glass rattle. “I’ll shut up. But I’m not withdrawing from this room. They’re a couple, and no way am I not watching that.”

I knew I shouldn’t be disgusted with an inanimate object, but the mirror was a complete pervert. “If they complain again, you’re out of here.” I turned to the two young witches, who watched me in awe and admiration. “The demon was trying to come in through the mirror,” I said. “I’ve banished it for now, but just in case, you might want to put a blanket over the mirror at night.”

They nodded, eyes wide. Behind me the mirror said, “Aw, now that’s just
mean
.”

Tough. I ignored it and walked out.

*** *** ***

Ansel hadn’t woken before I left for the séance, but I wanted to hear what Laura’s sister had to say. I’d shake Ansel’s story out of him when I got back.

Cassandra drove me and Bear—who’d showed up again as we were leaving—to Magellan two miles south of my hotel, Cassandra’s look still disapproving. When she dropped us off at Paradox, I thought she’d admonish me to be careful, but she said nothing. Cassandra put her car in gear and drove on toward the apartment she shared with her shape-shifter girlfriend.

Rows of wind chimes whispered as we entered the store, letting in the warm summer wind from outside, the air inside layered with the scents of incense and sage. Trays upon trays of crystals glittered in the central aisles, and one wall was covered with books on every topic from places to visit around Magellan to spells using sex energy to ways to communicate with the dead.

Heather stretched out her bangled hands as she rustled forward. “So glad you could come. Is this your friend called Bear?” Heather bowed and a said a few words in mispronounced Diné.

Bear accepted the greeting graciously. “
Ya-at-eeh,
friend of my friend.” In the traditional way, Bear didn’t use Heather’s given name—names had power, and using a name could draw demons to that person. The younger generations didn’t always pay attention to that, and my grandmother called me by name plenty, but Bear did it as a courtesy.

Heather, looking pleased, led us to the back of the store and through a beaded curtain to a short passage that ended in a French door, which led to fairly large private room. Heather’s store was one of the oldest buildings in town, originally built of brick, and shored up with plaster, wood, and cement over the years. The walls bowed, patches of new brick were mixed with old, and the wooden floors squeaked and sagged as we walked on them.

This had been a rancher’s house, way back when, and supposedly haunted. Heather had purchased the abandoned building and fixed it up, much as I’d done with my hotel. She’d wanted the place for its atmosphere. I’d wanted the hotel so I could have something of my own, a permanent place that was part of me.

Heather’s research had told her that the ghost that haunted her store was a child called Pearl, who’d died of a fever when she’d been about ten. Poor kid. That Pearl had existed, I believed—town records confirmed it. The story that she haunted the store was a load of shit.

There aren’t any ghosts. What people think of as ghosts is usually psychic residue, which some people, me included, are good at detecting, whether they know they have the ability or not. The psychic aura can be strong, especially around places of violent death, but it’s not a ghost. Nightwalkers and Changers are real, but ghosts—no.

Heather, however, believed in Pearl as hard as she could. She waved at a corner in the hall as she led Bear and me into the back room. “You can go to bed now, Pearl. I know you don’t like séances, but it’s okay. I won’t ask you for help tonight. I put your dolls in your trundle bed upstairs.”

Bear and I exchanged a glance. There was absolutely nothing in the corner, not a presence, not a psychic residue, and definitely no ghost.

A table had been set in the middle of the room with chairs drawn up to it. Candles clumped in the middle of the table, their thick fragrance battling with the incense that snaked from holes in a wooden incense burner.

Another woman was already seated at the table. Her features and her dark blond hair told me she was Paige, Laura DiAngelo’s sister.

Heather introduced us, but Paige didn’t seem interested or impressed with us, even when Heather told her I was a powerful magic user. I took the seat next to her, and Bear sat next to me, composed as usual. Bear spread her large hands on the table, her turquoise bracelets clinking.

“A few more are coming,” Heather said. “Not long now.”

The few more were my plumber, Fremont Hansen, and his cousin, Naomi Kee who was now married to my oldest and closest friend, Jamison. With them was Naomi’s deaf daughter Julie.

Naomi greeted me with her usual big smile as she took the seat across from me. Fremont said a warm hello and took the chair across from Bear.

Fremont believed himself a great mage in the making. He did have a little bit of natural magic, enough to get him into more trouble than he knew how to get out of. Then he came to Janet Begay, his local Stormwalker, to pull his balls from the fire. Fremont loved séances and ghost lore, so I wasn’t surprised to see him there.

But Naomi and Julie, no. Naomi had once been the biggest Unbeliever I’d ever met—though she’d changed that status when she’d married the shape-shifting Jamison. Even so, she was skeptical about most of the woo-woo magic our town was famous for, and ninety percent of the time, she was right.

“I didn’t think this would be your scene,” I said to her.

“Heather invited us, and we were curious,” Naomi answered. Julie, who had sat down next to her and across from Paige silently signed to me:
Séances are a bunch of crap.

I bit back a laugh as I signed back the way she’d taught me. “I know.”

“The sun is completely down now,” Heather announced, shutting the French door behind her. “I think we can begin. Paige, did you bring the things?”

Heather took the seat at the head of the table, and Paige began fishing items out of a tote bag—a photograph, a bracelet, and a hat. Heather gathered them in front of her, put her open hands on top of them, and closed her eyes.

The aura of the belongings floated around Heather’s fingers like dust motes, a tint of warmth from the missing Laura.

Heather shivered. “She’s trying to get through.”

Fremont leaned forward, his balding head shining under the lamplight. He had soft brown hair that he kept cut short and the warmest brown eyes I’d ever seen. “You can feel that?” he asked.

“Yes,” Heather whispered.

Heather had less magic in her than Fremont did, but both were responding to the faint psychic buzz that clung to Laura’s things.

Heather let go of the bracelet, hat, and photo, arranged the lit candles around them, then instructed us to hold hands.

I took the ice-cold hand of Paige in my right and Bear’s warm, strong one in my left. Bear gave my hand a little squeeze.

Heather turned out the lights and sat down with us, telling us to close our eyes.

I’d prepared myself for an evening of Heather moaning and then talking extensively to her Native American spirit guide, who didn’t act or speak like any Indian I’d ever met. Heather had a great imagination and conjured things so real to her that she convinced herself she had extensive powers. It made her happy, and she truly believed she helped people, so I let her enjoy herself.

I was therefore unprepared when the windows in the back of the room burst open, and an Arctic wind rushing through the close room, stirring my hair and rattling the blinds.

“Ah,” Heather said, in an excited whisper. “She’s here.”

The temperature today had topped out at a hundred and three, and while the desert cools down pretty rapidly at night, the balmy seventy-five degrees outside now was a long way from the icy air that poured in on us.

Half the candle flames went out. Bear jumped, her eyes as wide open as mine. I looked out the windows, but saw nothing but a strip of dark desert and a strand of streetlights about a mile away.

“Laura?” Heather asked.

She alone had her eyes closed—the rest of us were trying to figure out what was going on. I looked around for special-effects machines. I’d once watched a movie being made in New Mexico, and they’d faked everything—wind, sunshine, snow, rain . . . even when it was raining. The director had wanted to control every detail.

The machines had fascinated me, and the techs had showed me a lot of stuff. That was back when I’d been traveling the country with Mick, us carefree on our Harleys. He’d known the technical director on the film, who’d let us hang out with him on the movie location. Mick had known everyone, I’d thought, and I’d been starry-eyed in love with him.

I was still in love with him, with fewer innocent stars but more strength. Some things are better second time around.

“Are you there?” Heather asked.

The wind picked up again, and the rest of the candles died.

“Are you there?” Heather called.

“Yes!”

The voice echoed through the room, and everyone but Heather swiveled heads trying to see who’d spoken.

I am here.
Softer now, a woman’s voice, a bit muffled, with both a touch of anger and sorrow.
Paige, have you come?

“Laura?” Paige’s hand clamped down on mine so hard that I clenched my teeth. “Where are you?”

In a better place.

“Then it’s true. He killed you?”

Heather’s eyes remained firmly closed, her body rigid.

Yes, sister. He murdered me. He drained me of blood and left me to die.

“The Nightwalker?”

I thought he was my friend.
A long, despairing sigh. Avenge me.

“I will,” Paige said, still crushing my hand. “I’ll get him for you, Laura. Do you understand?”

Yes.
Another sigh, this one relieved.
Avenge me, sister. Avenge me . . .
The voice drifted away.

“Wait!” Paige called. “Laura, don’t leave me . . .”

Julie frantically tapped her mother’s shoulder and pointed out the open windows. All of us except Heather and Paige craned to look. I froze, astonished.

A white light whirled out in the desert a foot above the ground, the wind kicking up dust and giving it an eerie glow. I’d seen light like that swirling above vortexes, but there were no vortexes in this part of Magellan. Vortexes are ancient things—they don’t just form—so this wasn’t a new one.

The light danced, back and forth, back and forth. I couldn’t help thinking it was making fun of us.

And then, everything stopped. The light vanished, the wind died, the voice was gone. The seven of us were left sitting in the dark around a table in a windswept room, the only light coming from faint starlight outside.