Trio of Sorcery (22 page)

There was something not quite right about the day.

It had started out badly; overcast, humid, threatening-but-not-quite-going-to-rain. She hated those kind of days, and so did David; they snapped at each other all morning, and Grandfather had taken the hint early and made himself entirely scarce, which was just as well. Some people called this “tornado weather,” because conditions were good for big supercells to boil up. But it wasn't just the weather that was making them all nervous. Every time the phone rang, both she and David jumped, and whenever Jennie picked up the receiver she had a feeling of dread, for some reason expecting bad news.

Lunch was in keeping with the day, lousy barbeque sandwiches that had too much spice and garlic and not enough sauce, on buns that had gone soggy by the time David made it home with them. After they had both picked at the food and tossed most of it in the compost pile—the phone rang again, and finally it was bad news.

“It's Nate. Nathan Begay,” said a weary voice on the other end of the line, a voice that sounded as if the speaker was in pain, and was having trouble with his mouth. “I'm in the Indian Hospital in Claremore. The thing's back and it kicked my ass.” There was a long pause. “I can't face it again.”

Jennie swore, and David went as alert as a hound that has caught a scent. He focused on her, but managed to keep quiet.

“We'll be right there,” Jennie said, and hung up. “Begay,” she told David, looking bleakly at him across her desk. “The
mi-ah-lushka
is back, and Nate got hurt. Bad enough to end up in the hospital.”

It was David's turn to swear and look stunned. Well, he should. They had both heard of Little People messing with live folks, but they weren't usually able to physically beat a man badly enough to land him in the hospital. “We need to roll?”

“He's at the Indian Hospital in Claremore. Let me grab the kit; we need to get him smudged before he gets an unwanted visitor.” She fished her “traveling Medicine kit” from under the desk as David took off like a sprinter, then
grabbed her purse, and headed out the door at a run. David had already gotten his car started; she yanked open the door and threw the kit inside, hurling herself in after it.

David had been in the area long enough to know where the speed traps were, and between them, he bent the law over backwards. Jennie was grateful that he was driving; even more grateful that Begay was in the Indian Hospital. Nobody was going to say a thing about smudging, chanting, or any other carrying-on, as long as the participants didn't start stripping to the skin and taking it into the hallway.

Another advantage: they knew her there, and she got the same access to patients that chaplains did, including after visiting hours, and no fussing about whether she was kin to the patient or not.

Begay was in a four-patient room, and he looked like hell.

David stopped in the doorway and stared.

“I know,” Begay managed out of a swollen face that looked like it belonged to the loser in a bar fight. “Told 'em I was thrown by a bull and trampled.”

That was an excuse that would definitely wash around here, especially now that it was rodeo season. Jennie nodded as she stepped past David and began setting up for her ceremony. This wasn't the first time she'd done this sort of thing, confusing the trail and the “scent” so a
mi ah-lushka
couldn't hunt someone down. “Don't talk right now. Wait until I'm done.”

She had the feeling they hadn't arrived a moment too soon; there was a malevolent taste to the air in the room that vanished once she was done with her cleansing and smudging. A passing nurse warned Jennie not to overwhelm the smoke detectors, but since no one in the room was on oxygen, she otherwise left them alone. Jennie was used to working in hospital rooms; she and Grandfather got a fair number of calls from people in here, or their relatives, wanting to be sure that there was nothing bad lingering around someone who'd gotten sick or hurt.

“All right,” she said, once the sage and cedar bundle, the hawk-wing fan, and the abalone shell were put away. She sat down in the chair next to Nathan's bed. The other three patients pretended they were asleep, but she could almost feel them straining their ears to listen. What would they make of it? There were plenty of Native Americans who didn't believe, or were Christians…. Still, if the other patients thought all three of them were crazy, that wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. If they disbelieved hard enough, that very disbelief was a kind of shield.

“Went over to Caro's place, later than usual,” Begay said with difficulty, around his split and swollen lip. “She was gone. Boom box too. Started for the clearing. Heard the drums before I got there. Then…” He shook his head a tiny bit. “Dunno. Got hit in the back of the head then, not sure. Stuff hitting me, me hitting trees. Wound up by the trailer. Got the truck goin', got as far as QuikTrip. Clerk called cops, cops called ambulance.”

Jennie's heart plummeted. The spirit was stronger. A
lot
stronger. It had ambushed Begay before he even got to the clearing, and now it was clearly able to work in the waking world; if the
mi-ah-lushka
was strong enough to bash the poor man in the back of the head with a heavy branch, there was no telling what was going on while it beat him further, maybe indeed throwing him against trees as he tried to stumble out.

What was clear was that Begay had given up. The despair in his voice told her that, and the sag of his shoulders, and the way he wouldn't look straight at her. She didn't need to hear him say it—it was all there in front of her, his capitulation as easy to read as a highway sign.
How does an ordinary man fight something that's already dead?

Well, damn if
she
was going to give up that easily.

“Can you stay here and keep watch?” she asked David abruptly.

“You're not—” He stopped himself just in time, before putting his foot in it, which showed a lot of restraint on his part and better sense than he'd had before.

“I'm going to get Grandfather,” she replied, and tried not to lose her temper at the relief on his face. “I've heard of Little People that were this strong before, but I've never seen one. Even the ones that were going after that contractor were only doing little things in the waking world, not beating people up. But there has to be something we can do besides let it take Caro.”

“I—” David began, but she was already out the door and out of hearing range before he got any further.

She hoped he hadn't been about to say “I don't know what else we can do.” Because she'd have smacked him with a chair if he had.

She'd left her Medicine bag with him, and the moment she got into the car, she realized that was a mistake—because everything went eerily quiet and very, very cold.

She felt a presence beside her and heard a mocking voice say, “The trail has disappeared. But you are just as good for my purposes. Come fight in
my
world, if you dare.”

And then she felt a shove, and for the first time ever, found herself
physically
in the other world. As he said—his world. The one that was half of the waking world, half of the spirit world.

She was standing next to the car, but everything was grayed out and dim except for her and the
mi-ah-lushka,
and the car itself was empty.

“So,” said the ghost, a sardonic smile on his lips. “Will you give this up and admit defeat? Or must I beat you too?”

With an effort of will, Jennie tried to change her form to something better suited to a knock-down, drag-out fight than a skinny, undersized woman—

And nothing happened.

She knew immediately why; it was because she was here physically. She could change her spirit form, but not a real, solid body.

“So you've descended to knocking a little woman
around?” she replied, trying to put up a brave front. This was probably how he beat up Begay—and Jennie hadn't even known this sort of thing was possible.

“Oh, but I am
mi-ah-lushka,
I have no honor to be concerned about,” he retorted. His eyes flashed. “Only what is mine, and what I will have. That is all that concerns me.” He stepped forward, hands already formed into fists.

Well, she might not be able to change form, but she wasn't exactly helpless. She'd had big brothers—and some martial arts training too. Dirty-fighting stuff. She hadn't been taken by surprise the way Begay had, and she hadn't been knocked half silly by a hit in the head.

Yet. And I need to figure out how to get back to the waking world, fast!

Meanwhile, when he swung his fist, she wasn't where he was aiming; and as his hand passed through empty air, she grabbed it to throw him—

Or tried; he was still a spirit—he could decide to be solid or not, and he reacted as quick as a rattlesnake. Her hands passed through where his arm had been, and he reappeared ten feet away.

“My world,” he said, and vanished to appear at her side. This time he managed to backhand her before she could kick him. Her head rocked back on her shoulders and she staggered. The pain started a moment later, in a hot wash all down the left side of her face. He disappeared and materialized on her other side.

This time she caught his fist and managed to wrench it
enough that he gasped, then kicked his feet out from under him—and ran.

She had no other option, really. He could keep fighting forever. She couldn't. She needed to get back to the real world. But how?

She looked back over her shoulder, expecting to see him in pursuit, and only a hint of movement in front of her warned her to dodge as he appeared right in front of her. He didn't telegraph his blow, just punched; she ducked just enough that he hit her forehead instead of her eye, but he still knocked her to the ground and her head nearly split with the pain.

As he pounced on her, she rolled out of the way, got onto her knees and
finally
managed to concentrate. With a word of prayer and a lot of intent, while he was still sprawled on the ground, she hit the back of his neck with both hands clasped together.

There was a flash of something and she found herself on her knees in the parking lot. There was a huge knot forming on her forehead and she was bruised from head to toe.

David came running out of the door and headed straight for her. “I felt something bad,” he said, landing on his knees beside her, already fumbling in the kit for the smudging stick. With a shaking hand, he got it alight, and did for her what she had done for Begay. She stayed bent over her knees, panting, feeling every ache.

“He pasted me,” she said, getting her breath at last.
“He ambushed me, brought me into his world, and pasted me.”

David was silent as he finished, extinguished the stick, and put everything back in the bag.

“I didn't know that was possible,” he said finally.

“Neither did I,” she said grimly. “But that's how he managed to beat up Begay. We can't fight him in his world. He's way stronger than us and he can fade in and out at will. Unless we can find a way to tap into that—”

“Brute force isn't going to cut it.” David fell silent as he stood up and offered her his hand. “Let's get back to Grandfather. Maybe he has some ideas.”

“I didn't know that was possible,” said Mooncrow, deeply troubled. “I've never heard of such a thing.”

Jennie held the ice pack against her forehead. “I—I'm at a loss. If you don't know what to do—”

“I didn't say that.” For once her Grandfather was being entirely straightforward and not posing things in riddles. “I know what to do. Obviously we don't have the whole story. We need more information.” He raised his chin, fire in his eyes. “I am not giving up. This
mi-ah-lushka
cannot be permitted to continue in this way. I do not like what he can do now, and if he takes this woman, I do not think he will stop with her.”

The phone rang, and David went to answer it. When
he came back, his face was even grimmer than Mooncrow's. “That was Caro,” he said, his voice tight. “She said that she doesn't want anyone else hurt. Not you, not me, and especially not Begay. She said to leave her alone with the ghost. She says she's pretty sure that he thinks she's the gal that killed herself rather than be taken by him, because he's calling her by a name she doesn't recognize. Basically, she wants us to stop trying to stop him and she wouldn't take no for an answer.”

Jennie felt tears of anger and frustration welling up in her eyes. “Dammit!” she swore angrily. “That means we can't do anything. She's not under my protection anymore, and—”

She couldn't help it; she broke down, crying silent, hot tears while her head felt ready to split. She didn't like losing at the best of times, but losing like this? It was—unacceptable. Caro was going to die, danced over a bluff, danced until her heart gave out, or even danced out in front of a car. The ghost was going to win, get what he wanted, and then, who knew what would happen next?