The Parting Glass (Caitlin Ross Book 4) (22 page)

We were finishing up a breakfast of eggs and toast—Timber had discovered Lolita’s market on lower Pearl while I still slept—when a car horn sounded outside. I glanced up at the kitchen clock. Five to nine.

“That’ll be Zee, I expect,” Timber said, shoveling the last of his eggs into his mouth. “Let’s not keep him waiting.”

I had barely made it halfway through my own breakfast; not being a morning person, I couldn’t manage anything substantial until much later, as a rule. I made to pick up my plate, only to be met by a formidable Scots glare.

“Finish.” Timber growled.

“You didn’t want to keep our ride waiting,” I reminded him. But I reclaimed my fork for a few more bites.

“I dinna want you passing out from lack of food, either. We’ve no idea how long this will take.”

Meekly, I scarfed the rest of my eggs. “Satisfied?”

He cast a jaundiced eye at my remaining piece of toast, but nodded.

“Honestly.” I got up to put our plates in the sink. “Someday you’ll have to accept that I don’t eat like a horse.”

“I expect someday I will,” he agreed. “Not today.”

We headed into the showroom, where I penned a brief note explaining to potential customers that the store would be closed for the day due to a family emergency. Not quite untrue, I told myself. I wondered if the presence of an obstreperous Scot in my life would make it impossible for me ever to keep regular hours again, and found I didn’t care much, one way or the other.

“Do you need your kit?” I asked Timber as I taped the note up in the window of the front door. Outside, I could see Zee leaning on the hood of his cab, running his beads through his fingers, not at all impatient. If we had to gather supplies, we had time.

“Not yet, I think.” Timber fingered his Soul Catcher. Was it my imagination, or did it seem to project a darker aura? I fancied I could sense its weight even without touching it, which I had no desire at all to do. How Timber wore the thing all the time, I could not fathom. “I’ve no intention of rushing into anything, aye? I need to hear what the man has to say before I can make a plan.”

I examined my lover for signs that his words were no more than an excuse for not doing something he did not want to do, and found none.

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

I locked up and we headed for the cab. Seeing us, Zee wound his beads back around his wrist and retrieved a large travel mug from the car roof.

“Morning,” he greeted us, in my opinion far too chipper for the hour. I wondered how late he had worked. He seemed more awake than I was. “Ready to roll?”

“Morning, Zee,” I replied with as much enthusiasm as I could muster. Timber just nodded before sliding into the cab, antagonism deferred in the face of more important matters. I rolled my eyes. “Thanks for coming.”

“Not a problem.” We took our places in the car, and Zee started the engine. “Gotta say, I’m curious about what’s up with all this.”

“Will you be okay with never knowing?” I asked.

“Oh, sure.” He shrugged, then grinned at me in the rear view. “I have ways of finding stuff out, though.”

I thought of all the people who took cabs on a regular basis and how they might talk. And I remembered the runestones, and Zee’s confiding smile.

“I don’t doubt it.”

Chuckling, he punched the meter and pulled away from the curb, making an illegal turn to drive a block the wrong way on Spruce Street back up to Ninth. A few blocks took us to Canyon, which, in another minute or so, turned into Highway 119, heading for Nederland. Not having a vehicle of my own, I didn’t get up here much; it was pretty country. The road followed the course of Boulder Creek. There were few buildings, most of them businesses catering to tourists. From time to time a side road led to a parking lot at the foot of a trail meandering off into the hills. On a Saturday morning in mid-summer, most of these lots were jammed.

It didn’t take long to get to where we were going. In not much more than a mile, Zee veered off right onto another main road, following it for a few feet before taking a hard right onto a winding street called Canyonside Drive. Several twists and turns later, he turned onto a dead end lane, at the end of which I could see a single, large house.

“Here you go,” Zee said, pulling the cab to a halt in front. “Marilyn’s residence of the moment.”

I gazed out the window at it. The place was huge, bigger than Beljoxa’s Eye. It had to be three thousand square feet or better.

“It seems enlightenment sells well,” Timber murmured from behind me.

“I guess so,” I agreed, forking over the fare.

“So, what now?” Zee asked. “You just want me to drop you?”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to presume on Zee’s time, and we could call another cab when we wanted to go back, whenever that turned out to be. Still…

To my surprise, Timber answered.

“Wait here.” Reaching into his pocket, he handed Zee a bill, a fifty. The last of the pool money. “I dinna ken how long we’ll be.”

“You got it.” Zee flashed me an eloquent smile. His chances of finding out what we had in hand had just increased to a significant degree.

Timber in the lead, we approached the house. Before we reached the door, Marilyn opened it. I’d been curious to see what she wore at home. More white, as it turned out: another dress, this one lacey and flowing. More crystal jewelry adorned her ears, neck and wrists. I wondered if she owned anything else.

“He’s expecting you,” she said, leading us into the entry, a space nearly the size of the showroom at Beljoxa’s Eye, with a staircase leading up one side. A potted plant stood in the curve of the stair, but other than that, the room was utterly bare. Bare of furnishings, at least. Hunks of rose quartz, large and small, raw and polished, covered the floor. Some seemed to be arranged in patterns, and some just lay there, radiating pink. A feeling of peace, comfort and ease settled over me, like the sensation of being rocked in a loving mother’s arms. Safety, indeed. A peek into the next room showed me the same conditions obtained there.

“I like pink crystals,” Marilyn informed us. Understatement of the century. She started up the stairs, and we followed.

The second floor more closely resembled a place where a person might in fact live. Some pictures hung on the walls: a landscape, a Victorian-style portrait, a watercolor with pressed flowers affixed to the paper. I didn’t think they were Marilyn’s; her tastes, as I gauged them, most likely ran to Susan Seddon-Boulet. A few cherry wood tables along the walls held knickknacks, and a glimpse through a half-open door showed a furnished bedroom. So John Stonefeather wouldn’t have spent the last week sleeping on a pallet on the floor. I found the thought obscurely reassuring.

Marilyn led us to a closed door at the end of the hall. Giving a soft tap, she nudged the door open. Then she retreated, leaving the next step to Timber. With a fleeting look at me, he took it. I trailed after him.

For such a large house, the room seemed small, almost cozy. It had walls of a funny, pinkish-orange color, a bit like the sky at sunrise. A plain, pine dresser with a pitcher basin on it stood on the right, next to a door probably leading to a closet. A matching pine bed stood on the left. In front of us, a window looked out on the back of the house. In front of the window, in a pine rocking chair, sat John Stonefeather, a Mexican blanket in rainbow hues covering his knees.

I drew in a sharp breath. Timber glanced at me, puzzled. Of course, he’d never laid eyes on Stonefeather before. I had.

He’d aged. A lot. Although I’d known him for several years, I’d never thought to wonder how old he was. He always looked the same, anyway: hawk-featured, with weathered copper skin and black hair worn long. A small man with wiry strength, even in the bad times. Now he looked ancient. He seemed to have shrunk, as very old people do when the flesh dries up, leaving but a thin layer between skin and bone. The hands folded in his lap resembled a bird’s claws. His skin had faded to an unhealthy yellow. And his hair had gone completely white.

“You know,” he said to no one in particular, not looking up. “A big Shadow can be a heavy burden. But also, much of a man’s strength comes from the Shadow side of him. You should remember that.”

He raised his eyes to Timber. They were as black and keen as I had ever seen them. More so, since the last time we’d met, those eyes had been clouded with drink.

Timber swallowed. “Aye. I will.”

“So, you’re the Raven’s pupil.” Stonefeather looked my lover up and down. “Pupil not much longer, I think. I have heard good things about you.”

Timber didn’t say anything, and Stonefeather turned his attention to me.

“Hello, Caitlin.”

“Hey, John.” Marilyn had done well by him. Aged he might be, but his energy was stronger than it had been in a long time. Or, as strong as it could be, considering that half of his soul resided around Timber’s neck and half of his body’s substance had been removed. He’d bathed and had at least a couple good meals. And he hadn’t been drinking.

“I am sorry for our last meeting,” Stonefeather went on. “I had done something foolish, and I was afraid. You would have been right to turn me away. You didn’t. Instead, you promised to help me. Now you have. Now you have brought me what I need.”

His eyes flickered back to Timber, and, just like that, the oath I had given all unthinking fell away, carrying with it a weight I had not been aware of until that moment.

“Thank you, Caitlin Ross,” Stonefeather said. “You can go now.”

I looked to Timber for confirmation. He took my hand.

“Please stay.”

Stonefeather’s eyes widened briefly, and he cackled with delight. “Like that, is it? Well, it’s true, sometimes we find things for which we are not looking. And maybe, in the end, it won’t be bad to have a witch in the mix.”

He gestured to the floor at his feet.

“Sit. I will tell you a story.”

We sat.

Chapter Eighteen

F
or a time, Stonefeather didn’t speak, but sat staring down at us. Gathering his words, maybe. What would he say, when his story began? How could he justify an act so monstrous even Timber, who refrained from judging people more than anyone I had ever met, considered it an abomination? I glanced my lover’s way, wondering if he felt as impatient as I did. If so, he showed no sign of it. He seemed content to wait until Doomsday, if necessary. Considering what he’d be called upon to do when the story ended, I didn’t blame him.

“You’re carrying it,” Stonefeather said at last.

Timber made to touch his Soul Catcher, caught himself in the act, and lowered his hand with an effort.

“Aye.”

“How is that for you?” The old man cocked an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

“Heavy,” Timber admitted. “It fights being contained. All the time.”

I stared at him, stunned. He’d given no indication at all of the constant struggle he must be engaged in. It had to be a horrible drain on his energy. I flushed, thinking he’d given no hint of that, either.

“Yes.” Stonefeather nodded. “It always did. That was one reason I wanted to be rid of it, although I knew such a thing to be wrong. I knew a man, especially a man of power, should embrace his Shadow. Or, if he could not embrace it, he should at least accept it.”

He and Timber exchanged another one of those significant glances. I already knew my lover must have a strong Shadow; it went with the territory. Just how strong, though, I had only begun to suspect. No doubt it was another of those things he didn’t speak of. I determined right there that he’d speak of it to me, or I’d know the reason why.

“One reason?” Timber asked, fixing on the first part of the old man’s statement.

“One reason,” Stonefeather agreed. “There was a woman, too.” He sighed. “It seems there is always a woman. In the past, I did not find women to be a problem. I could take them, and leave them when I finished with them. This is the Shadow’s way, you understand.”

He didn’t seem to regret it. He wasn’t flogging himself with his past actions, simply stating a fact. Removing his Shadow may have been wrong, but I thought it had conferred some benefits. Stonefeather had grown calmer and wiser without it. He could see himself clearly, now.

Timber shifted his weight, seeming uncomfortable with the subject matter.

“But this time, such a woman!” Stonefeather went on. “A kind, generous, beautiful woman.”

Gina, I realized. He meant Gina.

“For this woman, I did not want to walk the Shadow path. For this woman, I wanted to be worthy. I wanted to be able to love.”

He looked at Timber again. Timber met his eyes without flinching. Stonefeather smiled.

“Also, I feared the Shadow would lead me back into bad ways,” he continued. “That had happened many, many times. Too many to count. And I was tired, and wanted to rest, without forever having to climb the same mountain, only to roll back down. You know how it is.”

“Aye,” Timber whispered.

“I had thought before, of getting rid of it. One time, I spoke to your teacher of it.”

“He told me. Told me of a man who had begun to think things better not thought,” Timber clarified. “No details. He meant it as a lesson.”

“And did you understand the lesson?” Stonefeather inquired with a lifted eyebrow. But Timber didn’t answer, and he resumed. “So. That was over a year ago, and on your teacher’s advice, I did not pursue it. But then I met this woman, and the idea came back to me. At first I told myself that this idea, itself, might come from the Shadow. Maybe it chafed at even the little control I exerted over it. Maybe it wanted to be free to do what it would. I do not think, now, that this was true.”

He seemed to want reassurance of some kind. I understood it. It couldn’t be easy, to accept sole responsibility for what he had done.

“Perhaps it was, in part,” Timber said. “It could not have known how little power it would have to act in the World-That-Is.”

“You may be right,” the old man conceded, forgiving himself a little. “In the end, it did not matter and I did not care. So I planned to do the thing that should not have been done. And maybe it could have gone better than it did. But before I could act, as I walked in spirit to seek more information—for I intended to approach this thing with caution—the Raven, your teacher, found me. He guessed what I was about, and he asked that I wait, only wait, until he could send someone to me. Someone gifted in Healing what does not want to be Healed.”

He inclined his head, as to one of superior skill. Timber, rather to my surprise, took it as no more than his due. Interesting. If he had such competence and his teacher knew it, what was the test for?

“I panicked,” Stonefeather said succinctly. “A mistake anyone can make. But at my age, I should have known better than to do anything, much less something so terrible, in a state of panic. And so I rushed, and in my great desire to be rid of the thing tormenting me, I did too little where I should have done more, and too much where I should have done nothing at all. Instead of staying in the place I had prepared for it, the thing took matter from me to create a body for itself.”

I remembered the mandrake root, and how it had looked as though something had erupted from it.

“Aye, I kent that,” Timber said. “We went there.”

“That was a terrifying moment.” Stonefeather shook his head in memory. “I had destroyed many of my things of power, to free my spirit from its grasp on the World-That-Is. To make the separation possible. That was the most foolish thing I did, maybe. Maybe if I had not, I could yet have changed my course and put the thing back where it belonged. But when I felt my power drain away, and I looked across the room to see myself standing by the hearth, I thought only to get away. So I ran. I did not consider how the Shadow itself must feel, to find itself separate, and naked, and alone. Knowing itself rejected.”

“Poor thing,” I heard myself murmur. I had some experience of being rejected by those who should have welcomed me.

“Yes.” Stonefeather’s eyes fixed on me for a long moment. He didn’t know anything about my background; he couldn’t. Still, in that moment, I felt he understood everything about me.

“I ran and kept running,” he went on. “I did not know if it would follow, but I thought it might. Before long, I knew I was right. I could feel it coming after me. Wanting to get back where it belonged. And what I had tried to accomplish turned out not to do what I wanted. This happens, you know.” He gave a sage nod at the wisdom he had acquired in retrospect. “In my horror and despair, I turned to the very things I had wished to escape.”

I remembered him showing up at Beljoxa’s Eye, drunk as the proverbial skunk. Of course he had.

“And it was for nothing. Because the woman for whom I had done this terrible thing cast me off not a week later.”

I flinched. That, at least, had been my fault. Gina would have made a go of it, if not for me.

“Why did you go back to the house?” I asked. “Gina told me she reached you there.”

Stonefeather laughed. “I wanted a clean shirt. When the phone rang, I almost had a heart attack. I have no idea why I answered it. Maybe I knew it carried a message I needed to hear.”

He fell silent for a time. We all did.

“Then what?” Timber prompted, shaking off the spell Stonefeather’s tale had wound around us.

“There is not much more to tell. I wandered. I was as lost without the Shadow as it was without me, but still I did not want it back. Then, the kind woman, Marilyn, found me and brought me here to a quiet place. I had time to reflect and understand. To decide what must be done. I think then the Grandfathers, and maybe even the
Wakhá Tháka
, took pity on me. My power had left me, but I found enough to discover what I needed to know. What had become of the thing I had thrown away, and who could bring it back. Enough to find you and leave you a message.”

He stopped talking, worn out. Used up.

“Ye ken if I put this back where it belongs, ye’ll die,” Timber told him, gesturing to the Soul Catcher without touching it. I wondered if it troubled him more, now it was so close to the person to whom it belonged. “Ye ken there isn’t enough of ye left to contain it.”

“I will die soon, anyway,” Stonefeather said with a shrug. “There is not enough of me left to continue. I would like to die a whole man, at least. Will you help me prepare for this thing?”

“Aye,” said Timber, getting to his feet. “I will.”

He’d already promised Marilyn he’d do what was necessary. I didn’t expect an additional promise to Stonefeather to have much impact. It did, though. Even without trying, I saw the oath energy wind around the two men, binding them together. Making them one in some strange way that I could not quite comprehend.

Timber stretched out his hand to me. “Caitlin. I need to talk to you.”

I allowed him to haul me to my feet. “Goodbye, John.”

He gave me a knowing look. “I’ll see you again, Caitlin Ross.”

I wondered. He didn’t seem to be long for this world.

Timber guided me down the hall. At the top of the stairs, he stopped and kissed me, hard, for a long, long time.

“I canna be with you now, for a while,” he told me when we parted, nudging me into motion again.

“I understand.” I started down the stairs. Getting ready for a ceremony of the kind Stonefeather needed required a lot of things my own tradition didn’t often see as necessary. Things like ritual fasting. Ritual vigils. And ritual celibacy.

“I’ll need your help, though.”

“Anything.”

We reached the ground floor. Marilyn seemed to have disappeared. In a minute, I spotted her through the front window, talking to Zee. I had forgotten the cabby would be waiting.

“Stonefeather hasna got long,” Timber said, confirming my assessment. “I mean to do this tomorrow. Sunrise would be good. You know the town, I dinna. I need you to find me a place.”

I thought fast. “Flagstaff Amphitheatre. People do use it for weddings and such, but it should be clear, early in the morning. I’ll make sure.” A call to the parks department would handle that.

A bit of the weight seemed to fall from his shoulders. “A sacred place in itself? Good. Still, this will be… Gods, I’ve not done anything as critical before. It’ll need a good container. I’ll need you to arrange it. Hold the space for me.”

“What?” I
had
promised to do anything I could, and for Timber it went without saying. But, “I know next to nothing about Native American ceremony! I’m assuming that’s what it’ll be.”

“Aye, mostly.” At any other time I would have expected to see his lip twitch. It didn’t. He was dead serious. “I seem to remember hearing something about a creative, intuitive person with skill at improvising.”

Yes, that would be me. “I’m not sure how I feel about improvising around something this extreme.”

“You run a magic shop, woman. I’m sure you can find out what you need to know.”

I sorted through the facts stored in random corners of my brain, leftovers from reading the odd book and attending Stonefeather’s own ceremonies. Native Americans used six directions instead of four. The directions had different meanings, different associated colors…

Timber pushed me out the door and down the walk toward the cab. Zee and Marilyn broke off their conversation and looked up.

“Marilyn, we’ll need you in the ceremony,” I said, without knowing in advance that I was going to. “You, too, Zee.”

Marilyn took the demand without surprise; I imagined she had been expecting something of the sort. Zee tried very hard to look sober, but I caught a grin sneaking around the corners of his mouth.
Yes, fine, you can know what’s going on
, I thought, feeling as if I’d sucked a lemon.

“You,” Timber pointed to the cabby. “You’re my gofer now, aye? How do I reach you if I need you?”

“Call the cab company,” Zee replied at once. “Becky’s on dispatch today, and she’s…sympathetic. She’ll radio me wherever I am, no questions asked.”

“Fine.” Timber gave a brusque nod. “Take Caitlin wherever she needs to go, and wait to hear from me. Marilyn, show me what’s out back. We’ll need to build a sweat lodge.”