Stormwalker (11 page)

On the other hand, they could be immensely powerful, if you could handle them. They’d watch out for you, protect your home, let you communicate through distant magic mirrors and sometimes even ordinary mirrors. They stored knowledge for centuries and remembered everything they saw with computerlike precision. If one broke, the pieces could be used separately or the whole thing melted down and re-formed without losing the magic. The mirror’s personality might change, but the essential magic wouldn’t fade.

They also didn’t have to be mirrors as we think of them—any reflective surface could hold the magic. In fact, I knew that some of the large polished copper disks found in archaeological sites in Rome, Britain, and the American Southwest had been magic mirrors.

Magic mirrors were extremely rare. Witches scoured the world for them, because a sorcerer with a magic mirror could easily double or triple his or her power. But only if the sorcerer could handle the mirror, which could be touchy and rude at best, psychotic at worst.

I wondered how it had come to be hanging in the saloon downstairs, but perhaps whoever had brought it in hadn’t realized it was magical. Or maybe they had—this was Magellan.

Mirrors could communicate only with the magic-touched; normal human beings couldn’t use them and couldn’t hear them. However, a mirror could, if it was very talented, make nonmagical humans hear faint, unexplainable sounds. Some haunted houses were simply magic mirrors having fun. I wondered whether I’d stumbled onto the reason the Crossroads Hotel had kept closing; maybe the magic mirror had scared people off.

I studied it with mixed feelings. On the one hand, it could be a powerful weapon in my arsenal against my battle with my mother. On the other, I now had to deal with a magic mirror.

“I’ve been living here two weeks,” I said. “I’ve gone through the place with spells twice. Why didn’t I know I had a magic mirror?”

“I’d gone dormant, darling. So many years, so long alone. And then, last night, all that
sex
you had with that gorgeous man. Your manic Tantric woke me up. Activated me. Oh, it was
wonderful
. I thought I’d need a cigarette.”

“Terrific.”

“Next time, hang me in your bedroom and let me watch.”

I got to my feet. “Not in a million years.”

“Sweetie-pie, you are so
mean
.”

“How did you get here?” I asked it.

“On a train. A long, long, long, long time ago. Back when men were men. Movie stars used to come out here to get away from it all. That Dougie Fairbanks was, ooooo, so handsome.”

“Who made you?”

The voice quieted. “Now, that, I don’t want to talk about.”

Only a very powerful sorcerer could create a magic mirror. The technique, the energy, the magic all had to be precise, and it took a long time, years even. I’d never be able to make one because my power came and went. The magic had to be concentrated and sustained for a great length of time.

That sorcerer, if he or she was still alive, could claim the mirror anytime he or she wanted. Once created, the mirror belonged to its maker. However, in the absence of that sorcerer, the mirror belonged to whatever powerful mage could tap it and wake its magic. Which, in this instance, meant me and Mick.

“Who was the woman in the basement?” I asked it.

“Woman?” The mirror sounded blank.

“The one my electrician found behind the wall yesterday morning. Do you know who she was?”

“Oh, that woman. No. I’ve been asleep, I told you, until last night. Until all that wonderful,
glorious
sex.”

“Thank you, you’ve been a lot of help.”

“I didn’t see anything. Believe me, if I had, I’d tell you all about it. Or better still, send that man of yours up here. I’ll tell him anything
he
wants to know.”

It was true that if a mirror went dormant, which it could after years of nonuse, it became nothing more than a piece of glass to comb your hair in front of. If the mirror had been dark when the murder occurred, it would not have recorded the act or even who’d gone in and out of the building that day. Just as well, I thought. I couldn’t imagine myself trying to explain to Nash Jones that the sole witness to the woman’s murder had been a magic mirror.

“You’re in touch with the building,” I said. “Didn’t you feel her down there?”

“No, sugar. I didn’t notice. The dead are of absolutely no use to me.”

“Your compassion runs deep.”

“I’m a mirror, honey. I reflect; I don’t feel. But I do have interests. Tell me about your lickable boyfriend. Is his ass as firm as it looks?”

I rose, grabbed drop cloths that lay in the corner, and flung them over the mirror. The mirror gave a muffled shriek. “Oh, sweetie, don’t do that. I’ll be good. I know what your Micky is, you know. I can see his true nature.”

I lifted the edge of the cloth. “All right, what is he?”

“I felt his magic last night.” It drew a long, happy breath. “Is he powerful, or what?”

“Tell me,” I said in a hard voice.

“Trust me, darling, it’s something you wouldn’t, wouldn’t like.”

I knelt down, peering into its depths. “I order you to tell me. I awakened you, and you belong to me.”

“Funny thing about sex magic, sweetie. It takes two. Or more. More is so much fun. I belong to you, but I also belong to the lovely Micky. I know he doesn’t want you to know what he is, so I can’t tell you. My lips are sealed.”

“Not even if I threaten to pound you into shards?”

“No, not even then.” It hesitated. “You wouldn’t
really
do that, would you?”

“I haven’t decided.”

In truth, I already knew I wouldn’t destroy the mirror, no matter how tempting it was to drive it to the dump and leave it there. A magic mirror was too powerful a talisman to ignore, and I needed all the help I could get.

“I can give you clues if you want, honey,” the mirror said. “Like, what’s black and red and hot all over?”

“If you mean he’s a demon, he’s not.” At least, I didn’t think so. I remembered the black creature with red eyes I’d glimpsed when we made love, but I had no idea whether that was Mick’s true form or whether it had been a manifestation of the magic we’d been driving away. “I already guessed that one.”

“I’m not going to answer. Not straight questions.”

I stood up. “Here’s a riddle for you. What happens to mirrors who don’t shut up?”

“I give up, darling. What?”

I bent to it. “They get melted back into sand.”

“Oh.” It sounded nervous. “Really?”

“Yes, really. So what’s it going to be?”

There was a silence. “Well, if you put it like that . . .” “Good.” I rose and dropped the cloth over it.

It shrieked. “Oh, that is
so
not fair.”

I ignored it and left the room. As I headed back downstairs, the mirror called to me, pleaded to me, shouted to me, and finally lapsed into swearing. Because I’d been born with strong, latent magic, I’d always be able to hear it.

Lucky me.

“Fremont says you blame yourself.” Charlie’s mom was about fifty, with short gray hair, a slightly overweight body, and brown eyes filled with tears. “But I know it wasn’t your fault, dear. A skinwalker did this. Oh, yes, I know they’re real, though some people disagree.” Her look at Nash left me no doubt to whom she was referring.

Her graciousness made me feel even worse. “I’m truly sorry, Mrs. Jones.”

“I’m glad you were there; that he wasn’t alone in his last moment.” She caught tears with a tissue. “The vortexes around here draw evil magic as well as good. I wish the New Agers would understand that.”

Yes, they would be safer if they did. I stayed for the brief but sad service, drifting away to leave Charlie’s immediate family and close friends to say good-bye to him. I walked a few blocks to the mechanic shop, found out my bike was a long way from being finished but that at least the mechanic was well qualified to work on Harleys. We talked bikes for a few minutes, before I walked another block to a rental car agency. I drove back to Magellan in a bright red SUV, the windows down, feeling claustrophobic as I always did in an enclosed vehicle. I preferred the openness my Harley provided.

As I neared Magellan, watching the sun sink toward the pile of mountains far to the west, the temptation to keep going was incredible. I could drive away from the vortexes, my mother, Amy’s disappearance, Mick, Nash Jones, and a host of other problems, and keep going.

Which was what I’d done my entire life. I’d made the vow this time to stop and face my problems. I wanted to help the McGuires, and I needed to stop running from what I was. I sighed, slowed the SUV, and pulled into the parking lot of my hotel. Mick’s bike was there, and I wished with everything I had that I wasn’t so happy to see it.

I watched Barry tending bar and talking to his regulars, mostly bikers who liked this back-road haven. If Barry heard the whispers in the room about him and Sherry Beaumont being from the same metropolis, he made no indication.

Mick was his usual charming self. He talked with the bikers and kept his arm around me, radiating protectiveness and possessiveness. Without saying a word, he made it clear that I belonged to him and that anyone who touched me would be toast.

I’d loved that about him when we’d first met. No one had ever protected me like Mick had. I’d always been certain that, no matter what happened, Mick would take care of me. Trusting him with my whole being had been so easy, so comforting. I remembered sitting across from him at the restaurant in Las Vegas, letting myself be lulled by his deep voice and beautiful blue eyes. I’d wanted to fall in love with him, and I’d done it.

Now I was thinking about things that had bothered me from the beginning. How had Mick happened to be on hand to rescue me that night north of Las Vegas—the only being I’d ever met who could draw off my power? And how had he known that I was here in Magellan, when I hadn’t communicated with him for five years? And why had Coyote said to me,
He’ll try to stop you?

Damn it, stop me doing what? I suddenly didn’t want Mick’s arm around me. I told him I had to use the ladies’, and when he released me, I walked out the front door i nstead.

Mick caught up to me before I even reached the hotel. He said nothing, only held the carved front door open for me and locked it behind us.

“I needed some air,” I said defensively. “The smoke was thick in there.”

“So was the bullshit.” Mick started for the stairs. “I want a look at this magic mirror.”

“It’s annoying.”

“They all are. I’ve never had one under my control before.”

“I also think it’s flaming.”

Mick laughed. “It’s a mirror. They don’t have sexual orientation.”

“This one does.”

When we reached the third-floor room, Mick pulled the drop cloths from the mirror and crouched to peer into it.

“Well, hel-
lo
, firewalker,” the mirror said. “Nice view, honey. Spread those knees a little wider.”

Mick didn’t even flinch. “A pretty strong one,” he said to me.

“You’ve seen a lot of them?” I asked.

“About a dozen, I think. They’re good, solid earth magic. Made of silicon and silver, elements that have been part of the earth for eons.”

I bent down. The mirror reflected us side by side, a muscle-bound man and his slim, Navajo girlfriend. “Why do they have to be so mouthy?” I asked.

“They know they’re powerful, but also helpless,” Mick said. “The mage who owns one controls it completely.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” the mirror purred.

“Now we own it, according to it,” I said, leaning closer.

“Mmm,” the mirror said. “Nice cleavage.”

I straightened up in a hurry. “I thought you preferred men.”

“I swing both ways, honey. I’m an equal opportunity mirror.”

Mick laughed. He left the drop cloths off, to the mirror’s delight, took my hand, and led me out onto the roof.

I greeted the cool desert night in relief. I really did need air. The stars were out in abundance, but far to the east, heat lightning flickered.

I sat down with my back against the wall, liking how the cool of the stone leeched through my shirt. Mick folded himself next to me, brawny arms around his knees. We lapsed into silence. The night was beautiful, the cool bite to the air pleasant after the warm day.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Mick said. “Something happen at the funeral that upset you?”

“No. It was just a funeral.”

Mick didn’t pursue it. One thing I’d liked about him from the start was that he never would make me talk when I didn’t want to, unlike my grandmother, who demanded to know every single thing going on inside my head. Tonight, however, his casual attitude irritated me. I wanted Mick to be easy to love or easy to hate. Gray areas are a bitch to navigate.

“I know you don’t want me here,” he said. It was a flat statement, not a question. “But I’m not leaving.”

“I wasn’t looking for an argument.”

“I’m not giving you one.”

His quiet stoicism brought my anger to the surface. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong, Mick,” I snapped. “I’m tired of people asking me things about you, and me not having any answers.”

Mick’s brows went up. “People like Nash Jones?”

“For one.”

“You let me take care of Jones.”

“He’s not stupid. He’ll keep poking and prying. Not like me. I just let you have sex with me and welcomed you back with open arms.”

I felt his stare through the darkness. “I’m not expecting us to pick up where we left off.”

“Well, I’m acting like I do,” I said. “I’m the stupid one. I don’t know who I’m more mad at—you or me.”

“I came back to help you,” Mick said. “You need help, and I was worried about you.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” I folded my arms, breathing hard. I didn’t like arguing with Mick, because our arguments always ended one of two ways—me storming off or Mick persuading me into bed. Arguing with him solved nothing.

Lightning flared again at the edge of the horizon, and an answering flicker shone in the darkness much closer to us. The blackness of the desert was absolute out here, Magellan’s lights too few to penetrate the night. North of us lay the small smudge of Flat Mesa, but east was one big empty nothing.

“Janet, go back inside,” Mick said, coming alert.

I stood up. The tiny star of the flashlight barely pricked the darkness. “Oh, gods, I bet it’s Fremont. He was upset today, and he told me he wanted to go after the skinwalker that killed Charlie.”

“That skinwalker is dead. You got it.”

“So I told him. I don’t think he believed me.”

“Is he stupid?” Mick asked. “Even if he doesn’t find a skinwalker, there are plenty of things out there to hurt him.”

Rattlesnakes. Mountain lions. Even javelinas, if he pissed one off. The big porkers were having babies, it would be easy to stumble into a nest, and Mama Javelina wouldn’t be happy.

The desert floor was also pockmarked with holes made by rodents and snakes—easy to twist an ankle in one and lie there helplessly, waiting for the sun. On top of that, there were things out there no human could handle, and I wasn’t talking only about skinwalkers.

“Go inside,” Mick repeated. “I’ll find him and bring him back.”

“Not alone, you won’t.”

“I’ll move faster on my own.”

His blue eyes glittered in a way I didn’t like. But as angry as I was at Mick right now, I also didn’t want him running into something dangerous and dying.

“That’s my territory out there, whether I like it or not,” I said. “I have to face it sometime.”

“Not when there’s no storm. That one’s too far away.”

“Fine. Come and protect me. But I’m going.”

Mick wasn’t happy, but he stopped wasting time with words and followed me off the roof. We went downstairs, and Mick grabbed a couple big lantern flashlights I kept in my bedroom before we left the hotel.

I saw no sign of Coyote as we crested the railroad bed and stopped to get our bearings. A trickster god would be helpful about now, but of course one was never around when I needed one.

For a few minutes I saw nothing—no flashlight, no movement. Then Mick pointed far to our right, and I spotted the pinpoint of light moving in the emptiness.

Mick took the lead, his long stride breaking a path and eating up distance. I kept my flashlight beam directed alongside his, trying not to trip over loose rocks or stare into my own light. Night-blinding myself wouldn’t help, and Mick was right—I was essentially powerless without a nearby storm.

Mick dropped down a wash, navigating between brush that clung to the banks. I heard the quick slither of snakes, the reptiles fleeing our light, and lizards skittering over pebbles. We climbed up the other side of the wash, startling a group of rabbits who’d tried to freeze into invisibility.

Ahead of me, Mick stopped. I followed suit, in silence, and listened. Not a breath of wind moved the air.

Mick snapped off his flashlight and motioned for me to do the same. He navigated the uneven ground with ease, making me feel clumsy and ineffectual. He must possess incredible night vision, another thing I hadn’t known about him.

Mick’s stride quickened. I let him go ahead, knowing that if I ran after him, I’d only fall on my butt and slow him down. Mick was sure-footed as a mountain lion, bounding from rock to rock, jogging up a ridge laced with rock that made footing treacherous. I followed more slowly, quickening my pace when I heard someone yell.

When I caught up to Mick, he’d stopped near an anvil-shaped boulder, its silhouette weird against the night sky. Mick had a man pinned against the rock, and I turned on my flashlight to reveal a white-faced, red-eyed Fremont.

“What the hell are you doing out here?” I asked in exasperation.

Fremont’s eyes glittered. “I’m going to get one of the bastards even if it kills me.”

“It
will
kill you,” I said. “A skinwalker will rip you apart before you can blink.”

“I don’t care. I’ll take it with me. It should have been me that died, not Charlie.”

“No one should have died,” I said in a firm voice. “If you want to blame someone, blame me. The skinwalker was going for me and missed.”

Fremont shook his head. “You’re a cute girl, Janet, but it wanted
me
. It’s been stalking me for a while, because of this.” He wriggled his fingers. “It wants my powers. Charlie was driving my truck because . . .” His voice broke. “I wanted to head home early. I had a date. But I got a call that a part I’d been waiting for, for another job, had come in up in Winslow. Charlie offered to run and get it for me, so I wouldn’t be late for my date, and I let him.”

I think the most surprising revelation in that confession was that Fremont had had a date. He’d never talked about interest in any particular woman. “That’s not your fault,” I said. “You couldn’t have predicted that Charlie would be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“I should have run my own errand, or waited until the next day. I was in a hurry and nervous. And Charlie died.” He hefted a metal pipe in a shaky hand. “So I’m going to get the son of a bitch.”

“I told you. I already got him. He died in the storm when he chased me to Flat Mesa.”

“I have to do
some
thing. I’m a mage. I can fight it.”

Mick gave him a shake. “Your magic could barely light a candle. You keep wandering around out here and the sheriff will be hunting for
your
body.”

“I’m not going back until I get a skinwalker.”

I winced as he said the word again. Fremont hadn’t been wrong when he’d told Maya that talking about skinwalkers could call them. We’d been fairly safe from them in broad daylight at the warded hotel, but out here in the dark, in their territory, we were vulnerable. The lightning was still too far away for me to touch, and Mick carried no weapons.

In a sudden move, I wrenched the pipe from Fremont’s hand and knocked his flashlight to the ground. Fremont yelped and grabbed for the pipe, but Mick easily held him back.

“If you’re going to be disarmed that quickly, you have no business being out here,” I said. “Are you going to fight me for this?” I hefted the pipe.

“No. You’re a girl.”

I laughed and swung the pipe against the stone. A chunk of sandstone broke away and fell to the ground. “What if I were a skinwalker? They can take human guise, did you know that? If they’re very powerful, they can steal a human’s skin and their essence.”

Fremont’s eyes bulged. “You’re not. You’re Janet.”

“Yes, but is that what you want? For a thing to kill you, wrap itself in your skin, and pass itself off as you? Who else do you think would get hurt besides Charlie?”

Fremont stopped. Being familiar with vengeance myself, I knew that pointing out to Fremont that he couldn’t possibly fight the things wouldn’t change his mind. But if he thought that his actions might hurt more people he cared about, maybe that would move him. It sometimes worked with me, making me a good little girl. Mostly.

Mick came alert, whipping around and peering down the ridge into the darkness to the east. “Janet,” he said softly.

I smelled it in the next heartbeat. A rotting, fetid smell, a cross between backed-up sewers and weeks-old corpses.

“What the hell?” Fremont whispered. “What is that?”

“What you came to hunt.” I pressed the pipe back into his hands. “Hit anything that comes near you, except me.”

“Where will you be?”

“Right next to you.”

“Janet,” Mick repeated, his voice still controlled.