Shadow Walker (6 page)

“People aren’t exactly signing up to work out here in the back of beyond,” Maya said. “Counties with bigger populations pay better. So why is he here?”

“Maybe he likes the quiet life,” I said.

Maya snorted. “No one likes things this quiet. Maybe no one else would hire him.”

That was more likely. Hopi County was small, sparsely populated, and far from cities. Most people didn’t even know we existed, except that Magellan had the reputation for being steeped in woo-woo magic. The biggest industry in the county was magical tourism—though I knew that the tourists saw the façade, the fake magic. They wouldn’t be able to handle the real magic.

“He’s nuts if he wants this all done in a week,” Maya said. “I’ll need to order more supplies. Besides, he’s a liar if he says there’s anything wrong with my wiring.”

I believed her, just as I’d believed Fremont. “Could you take a look, though? To prove it’s fine? Then I can get a lawyer and rub Ted’s face in it.”

“Be careful of Wingate, Janet,” Nash said. “I got him to back down, but he’s a troublemaker, the kind who will use the letter of the law to get at people. If he comes after you, it won’t be pretty.”

I knew that. Strange, I usually only feared people with powerful magics, but plain old Ted had me sweating.

Nash ended the discussion by standing. “You can take me to work, Janet. I agree I shouldn’t drive until the dizziness goes away, but Maya won’t take me anywhere.”

“Damn you.” Maya jumped up with him.

Nash walked away from her down the long hall toward the bedrooms in the back of the house. Maya started to follow, then stopped, looking unhappy, when Nash shut his bedroom door in her face.

“Take me out to the highway,” Nash said as we pulled away from his house. “The one to Holbrook. I want to look at the scene.” He’d dressed in his sheriff’s uniform, every crease knife-sharp, his boots shining. He wore a heavy uniform coat against the January cold and his usual black sunglasses against the glare.

“Why?”

“For my report. I want to see it.”

“Big hole, lots of debris. Mick went out there last night—he said he found nothing.” And Mick had returned home acting strangely, and I hadn’t seen him since. I didn’t bother mentioning that.

“Mick had no business being out there. The area’s cordoned off. A danger zone.”

“Like police tape is going to stop Mick. He’s a fire-breathing dragon, remember?”

“Yes.” Nash’s lips firmed. “Now I want to see what
I
can find. Turn here.”

I took the backstreet he pointed to and, after dipping through a wash, emerged on an intersection with the highway. I guessed that Nash had probably asked Maya to drive him out here and Maya had refused. Maya Medina was the only person in Hopi County who could stand up to Nash Jones and get away with it.

About three miles down the highway we reached a barricade. Lopez had closed the road here, but I drove around the barrier through the dirt at Nash’s instruction and proceeded to the site.

Six

I hadn’t gotten a good look at the hole I’d fallen into, and now that I was standing on its edge, I was glad I hadn’t. The fact that Nash and I had survived at all was a frigging miracle.

A hole about forty feet wide gaped across the highway and into the desert beyond it. Asphalt buckled at the hole’s edges, twenty feet separating the two ends of the road. Boulders, red earth, roots, grass, and the remains of a cedar filled a ledge just inside the hole. Then that too broke off and plunged down into darkness. The sides of the hole were sheer and straight, as though cut by a razor.

“Sheriff!” Deputy Lopez made his way around the huge hole from the other side in his usual brisk stride. He regarded Nash anxiously. “You all right, sir?”

“Fine,” Nash said.

“We’re holding the fort, sir. You can stay home and rest if you want.”

“I’m going crazy doing nothing at home. I’m heading to the office to catch up on paperwork.”

I hoped Maya never heard that Nash considered staying home with her doing nothing. “You were home, what, half a day?” I asked him.

“I’ll rest again tonight. Any sign that someone caused this deliberately?” he asked Lopez.

“Completely natural, sir,” Lopez said. “We had a geology professor out here this morning. Underground caves collapse, the roof over them comes down. The pavement was probably weak and ready to give, and then you two happened to drive over it. You were damn lucky to get out alive.”

I sat down near the edge of the hole. Sitting, I didn’t get as disoriented, and I could look into the hole without feeling queasy. “Deputy, do you have a flashlight? You wouldn’t have any binoculars too, would you?”

“Don’t get too close,” Lopez said. “The geologist said more could collapse.”

Every instinct I had made me want to scramble back at that news, but I made myself stay put. “This won’t take long.”

Nash was interested in what I was interested in. He ordered Lopez to provide what I required, and Lopez gave him a salute.

“Good to see you’re feeling better, sir.”

Lopez didn’t have binoculars, but Nash found a pair in Fremont’s truck. I lay on my stomach on the edge, digging the toes of my boots into the hard earth.

I turned on the flashlight and stabbed the beam into the darkness. At first, I saw nothing but boulders, large and small, slabs of sandstone, weeds, tree branches, and the flash of metal that had been a piece of my motorcycle or Nash’s SUV.

I felt warmth on my right side as Nash stretched out beside me, his bandage white against his black hair. He peered down with me, saying nothing.

I moved the beam back and forth, lower and lower, and froze. “What is that?”

Nash gripped the lip of the hole. “Looks like glyphs.”

Not, as I feared, the skeletal hands. I saw a tight grouping of them: spirals, stars with coronas, a crescent moon.

Lopez looked over our shoulders, as curious as we were. “Were those on one of the boulders that fell in?”

“Nope.” I moved the flashlight over the pictures chipped into the sandstone, light red against darker brown. “These are on the cliff wall.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Lopez said. “How can someone make glyphs on a buried wall?”

“If it wasn’t buried at the time.” I played the flashlight over the area, turning up more and more glyphs. I hadn’t seen these when I’d been down there, but then, it had been pitch-dark, plus I’d been distracted by the scary skeletal hands. “There might have been dry caves way down there once, maybe with the entrance now sealed.”

“Interesting theory.” Nash pried the flashlight from my hands and trained it over the glyphs. “I don’t see anything that looks like skeletons.”

“Skeletons?” Lopez asked in alarm.

“Something I thought I saw,” I said.

I didn’t see the skeletal hands now either. The glyphs were similar to what were in nearby Chevelon Canyon and up at Homol’ovi: observations of the night sky and natural events, plus drawings of men, animals, and strange beings New Agers claimed were aliens. No thin lines that ended in spidery hands.

But I sensed something down there, something that made my skin tingle and my blood chill. It wasn’t so much a presence as a cold air seeping up through the rocks. Seeking.

I grabbed the flashlight from Nash. “Time to go.”

“What’s the hurry?”

“Lopez said the edge was unstable, and I don’t feel like falling back down there.”

Nash gave me his annoyed look, but he got to his feet with me and moved from the edge. “You know, neither of us should be alive after a fall like that.”

“I know.”

“So, what happened?”

“Why would I know?”

“Because you usually do,” he said.

I handed the flashlight back to Lopez. “Not this time. I have no idea why we didn’t break our necks or splatter all over the rocks.”

Nash stared at the hole, rubbing the bandage on the back of his head. “I want to know.”

Lopez shrugged. “God had other plans for you, maybe.”

Nash, the Unbeliever, frowned at him. “I want to know
what
plans. Janet.” He hesitated.

I raised my brows. “You want me to look into it? Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“This is your specialty, isn’t it? Poking your nose into things that don’t make sense?”

“Yes, but usually you tell me to stay the hell away and mind my own business.”

“But something’s going on I should know about,” Nash said. “I want to know why glyphs came to life and tried to grab you, and why someone pretended to be my mother and tried to kill me. I don’t have time for woo-woo crap; you do. I have real criminals to catch.”

“You can be so flattering, Nash.” I was aware of Lopez, standing next to us, listening hard. “Sure, I’ll do it. I’ll even give you a discount.”

Nash’s eyes narrowed. “I thought you didn’t charge for your investigations. You’re not licensed.”

“I was joking. Why should I need a license to look into woo-woo crap, as you put it?”

Nash shoved his sunglasses back on. “Just do it. Now drive me to my office. I have work to do.”

The man didn’t have a gracious bone in his body.

I dropped Nash off at the county jail and sheriff’s department and didn’t ask how he’d get home. I suspected that Maya would be back here at dark, prodding him out and into her truck.

I returned to Magellan, still worried about Mick and hoping that he’d returned. If I’d found the petroglyphs without looking very hard, Mick must have seen
something
in the sinkhole. I wanted to know why Mick’s eyes had gone white, why he’d snarled at me, and why his tattoo had burned my fingers. Whether or not the skeletal hands were responsible for all that, we needed to fix him.

I gave Fremont back his keys when I reached the hotel and went into the kitchen in search of food. Mick was there, making himself a sandwich.

“Hey, baby,” he said when I stopped in surprise. He lifted the bread knife well out of the way, came to me, and kissed the top of my head. “Want pastrami? Or turkey? If your guests are okay with sandwiches, I can be head chef.”

He went back to slathering mustard onto bread, his muscles working. His eyes were blue and warm, his aura black and fiery as it should be.

“Mick,” I said cautiously. “Are you all right?”

“Sure.” He smiled his bad-boy Mick smile. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“What did you find out at the sinkhole last night?”

“Not much. Dark and quiet.” He chuckled. “Nash’s guard was asleep.”

“What did you see down there? Any glyphs?”

“No.”

“You were pissed off about something.”

He gave me a puzzled look. “When?” He sliced the turkey sandwich in half, put it on a plate, and handed it to me.

I didn’t take it. “When you came back last night.”

Mick set the plate back on the counter. “I didn’t come back here last night. I looked into the hole, didn’t see anything but rocks and dirt, and I left. I got back this morning in time to see you drive off in Fremont’s truck. Fremont told me you went to find Maya. Did you talk to her?”

I stared at him, openmouthed, until he put down the knife and gave me a look of concern.

“Mick, you came back in the middle of the night, got mad at me, and took off again.”

“I didn’t, Janet. I was out all night. I went into Flat Mesa and had a beer. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Bars close at two.”

“And then it was nice and dark and quiet, and I decided to get dragon. I don’t have much chance to do that. It felt good to stretch my wings.”

All of which made perfect sense. Of course Mick would enjoy himself flying around while the rest of the world slept. Except . . .

“Mick, I didn’t dream you coming back here. The mirror heard and saw you. It said shadows had touched you.”

“Magic mirrors exaggerate. Especially that one.”

I put my hand on his. “Let’s eat in the saloon. It’s closed, and we can be alone.”

“You want the mirror to read me?” Mick flashed me a grin. “Fine.” He scooped another sandwich onto a plate, snatched a beer from the refrigerator, and followed me out.

The mirror was strangely silent as Mick and I took a table near the bar. I looked up at the mirror where it hung broken in its unbroken frame. Pieces were missing from one corner, where Mick and I had pulled off bits to put in other parts of the hotel or carry with us. Magic mirrors were a hell of a lot more reliable than cell phones, and this one had saved our butts more than once.

If I didn’t repair it, Ted might demand I haul the mirror out of the saloon and throw it away—at least, he could try. I’d protect the mirror with all I had—it was damn powerful and I owed it. Magic mirror repair was a bitch anyway. Only specialized witches could do it, and then you had to worry about the witch claiming a share of the mirror’s loyalty.

“Well?” I asked it impatiently.

Glass tinkled as the mirror shivered. “He’s cold. Shadow touched.”

Mick’s skin had been plenty warm when I’d taken his hand in the kitchen, not to mention the heat of the flame tattoo on his back last night. “What do you mean?”

Mick went on eating, unconcerned. “A shadow found him,” the mirror said. “It’s freezing me.”

Mick looked up, his eyes black with sudden rage. Fire flared on this fingers. “Get warm, then.”

“Mick, don’t you dare—” I lunged at him.

Too late. The fire left Mick’s hand and engulfed the mirror in flame. It screamed, a loud, long, fingernails-acrossglass scream. The fire burned merrily for a few seconds; then, the instant before the flames threatened to crawl onto the walls, Mick closed his hand, and the fire vanished.

I plopped back down in my chair and stared at Mick. “What the hell did you do that for?”

Mick shrugged and picked up his sandwich. “That thing has always bugged me.”

“Mick, what is the matter with you?”

“Nothing. I’m trying to eat my lunch in peace, that’s all. Give it a rest.”

I stood up, fists on the table, and tried to peer into his eyes. “Did something come out of that hole? Did it possess you, maybe?”

Mick looked up at me, his blue eyes as clear as ever. “Do I look possessed to you?”

Not really, but something was going on. Cassandra must have thought the same, because she came rushing in.

“What the hell was that? What’s wrong with the mirror?”

“Oh, honey,” the mirror cried. “It was terrible. Our Micky, he
flamed
me!”

Cassandra drew a breath to ask why, but I cut her off. “Can you check and see whether Mick is possessed?” The possessed don’t always realize they are.

Mick gave me a long-suffering look, but he let Cassandra take his face in her hands and study him, looking deep into his eyes. Mick returned her gaze without flinching.

Cassandra finally drew away, shaking her head. “He’s himself. His aura hasn’t changed either.”

It had last night. But today Mick’s aura was back to normal: black with crackles of fire. The fire crackled even more as he shoved aside his plate and stood up.

“I came here looking for lunch, not an interrogation. Next time, I’ll try the diner.”

He opened the outside door and walked out into the sunshine without looking back. We watched as he mounted his bike and drove away in a cloud of dust.

Cassandra watched him speculatively. “I can’t read his thoughts, Janet, but something’s up with him. It might be magical or it might be mundane, but something’s upset him.”

“Shadows,” the mirror groaned. “I’m telling you.”

“What does that mean, exactly?” I asked in annoyance.

“Search me, honey. I’m just a mirror. I reflect impressions; I don’t interpret. Now, if you want to get into his pants and see why he has ants in them, I don’t mind watching.”

“I can see that the fire didn’t damage you too much.”

“That kind of fire can’t destroy me, sweetie. I’m hard to get rid of.”

Tell me about it.

“If you need a spell . . .” Cassandra began.

“No,” I said quickly. A good truth spell might get something out of him, but Mick wouldn’t thank me for it. Which rankled a little. Mick was in the habit of minding
my
business whether I liked it or not. Everything I knew about
him
, I’d had to pull out a tiny piece at a time.

“Have a sandwich.” I pushed my plate to Cassandra. “Or give it to Fremont. I need to go talk to a petroglyph expert.”

I meant Jamison Kee, my oldest friend, who knew everything there was to know about ancient glyphs and the stories that went with them. But as I walked into the lobby, Maya came hurtling out of the door to the basement, followed closely by Fremont.

Maya waved a bundle of wires in my face. “Janet, what the hell is this?”

“Wires,” I said. “Why are you pulling wiring out of my walls?”

Fremont was pale and breathing hard from running up the stairs. “This is bad, Janet.”

I didn’t get a chance to ask why. Maya went off in Spanish, then said in English, “Some son of a bitch has been down there, ruining all my wiring. There’s some kind of nasty disintegration, and everything is worse than it was before you started renovating. Like I never fixed it at all.”