The Green Children: A Sycamore Moon Novel (Sycamore Moon Series Book 3) (14 page)

 

 

 

 

When his senses returned, everything was at peace.

Diego was cold and wet. He scanned the darkness and knew it was blacker than before. It was already past sunset.

The biker jerked to a sitting position. He turned—panicked for the slightest of moments—but he was alone. The serenity was not an illusion.

The woods looked different now. It wasn't just a play of the low light; he was in a different physical location than he last remembered. Not that he could recall much. He'd been alone. Searching the forest. He was following... someone.

Hunger pangs tore at his side and commanded his attention. His stomach wasn't just reminding him to eat, it was scolding him. His survival instincts took over.

Diego checked himself over. He wasn't wounded. There was no clear reason he'd passed out. It had to still be the same day.

This was one of those occasions when he wished he carried his phone with him. Checking the date would have gone a long way towards settling his nerves, but he liked the transient feel of life without the clock. Without being tied down. Frankly, the best use for his phone right now would have been as a flashlight.

Instead, Diego searched his pockets. The wet leather pulled at his skin. Strangely, the copper wind chime tube was missing. It wasn't in his jacket or pants, meaning he must have dropped it. Diego wiggled on the floor and pulled the plastic lighter from his pocket. Good thing he'd started smoking again.

The flame illuminated enough to get a better look. Diego was wet from head to toe, but the dirt next to him was dry. He pulled off his steel-toe boots and wrung his socks out. It didn't help warm him up much.

He stood up. Spikes of pain surged through his legs. They were sore from walking already. That was too soon, he thought. A gym workout would take a day for the large muscles in the leg to burn. Maybe he
had
been sleeping longer than he thought.

He clicked the lighter on again. A few yards away, the shine of silver caught his notice. A knife was stabbed into the dirt. Diego felt at the sheath on his wrist and was amazed to find the blade missing. That was his knife in the ground.

He went to recover it and noticed it had been used to scratch a symbol into the earth. A circle, two feet in diameter, with two intersecting lines traced through it. The knife was plunged directly into the center of the cross.

The biker hesitantly plucked up the blade. It was his prized silver hunting knife, undamaged. He wiped it off and returned it to his wrist. Someone had known about it—or found it—and drawn this symbol in the dirt. It could only have been Red.

The implications of the situation dawned on him. Diego had been searched while unconscious. The knife had been procured to deliver a message, but much worse could have been done with the weapon. Diego's life could have been taken.

Whoever it was—Red or someone else—they had decided to spare him.

 

 

 

 

It took Diego more than an hour to find his Scrambler. Luckily, he stumbled onto the tracks and followed them back to Red's place. He walked the bike in the quiet of the night until he was far enough away to rev it up and get out of there.

His little apartment in Sanctuary was a welcome sight. Diego's legs almost gave out as he dismounted. He shuffled to his door, thankful he didn't live on the second floor. At this point, the concrete steps would've made a more inviting bed than obstacle.

Because of his weakened state, Diego didn't notice the person inside the parked car he passed, or that the driver exited and followed him. It could've been a costly mistake in different circumstances.

"Diego?" The biker spun around and almost tripped backwards. Julia's voice was hesitant. "I've been calling you all day. Where've you been?"

The biker backed up and relaxed against his apartment door. "I didn't see you. Why are you here?" He tensed. "Do you have any news?"

An expression of sorrow overtook the mother's face. She almost broke out into a cry. "No. I was hoping you did."

Diego released a heavy breath from the depths of his soul. He wasn't sure what to say. He'd promised this woman his best yet couldn't even account for the majority of his day. He knew he was on to something with Jason and Red, but he couldn't make sense of it. Not yet. Nor could he wrap his head around why he'd passed out in the forest.

And after all that, Diego now needed to face Julia and tell her he'd failed to find her daughter. Of his many problems, that was the worst.

Diego put his arms around her. He supported her weight just as she supported his. It was comfortable there, in the silence, and he thought that at least there were some good things in this world.

"Come on inside," he said, turning the key in the door. He tried removing his jacket but it was too difficult to stretch his arms back. He gave up.

"Why are you all wet?" Julia asked.

He groaned. It was the best response he could come up with.

"Look at you," said Julia. "You're exhausted. You need to rest. When was the last time you ate anything?"

Diego shrugged. His mind was clouded, half from the elements and half from noticing just how beautiful Julia was. He didn't have any brainpower left to remember when he'd eaten.

Julia escorted him to the couch. She pulled his jacket off and sat him down. As she removed his boots, he noticed his cell phone on the cushion beside him. The notification light blinked. He'd probably gotten several messages from her today. The poor woman had been desperate for any word from him.

"Just rest there. Let me see if you have anything in the kitchen."

Diego inhaled deeply. He was so relaxed that he didn't bother telling Julia she'd find an empty refrigerator.

"What do you eat?" she asked.

"Anything but squirrel."

"What?"

Diego shook his head at the bad joke. "There's some stuff in the cabinet."

He heard a few doors open and close, then she entered the living room holding a can of food. "You can't be serious. SpaghettiOs?"

"Ooh, yeah, that," he answered. He ignored her glower, and something about his pained face must have caused her to give in.

"Oh, all right. Be right up in two and a half minutes." Julia found a bowl and the can opener and put the food in the microwave. "You know, you live like a kid." As she waited, she whistled a singsong melody. It was unfamiliar but catchy.

Diego smiled and shut his eyes. If he'd known Julia was going to cook for him, he would've bought a porterhouse or something. But it was nice enough to be able to kick his feet up on the table and wait. In the meantime, he listened as Julia whistled. It was a sad tune that sounded old, like a long lost nursery rhyme. He imagined being a kid, lying on a blanket in the grass, basking in the sun. It wasn't a memory, but a vision. Just a sense instilled in him by the melody. It made him think of family.

Julia surprised him when she put the bowl down and sat beside him. His eyes flicked open.

"Okay, eat up now."

The man leaned forward and did as he was told. "What was that?" he asked after a few bites.

"What?"

"That song."

"Oh. I didn't even realize I—" Julia suddenly quieted. The peace abandoned her face and she took a moment before answering. "It's just something I sing to Hazel when I cook for her. She likes to help out..."

Her words trailed as their destination became meaningless. Julia fought off a tear. Diego put his arm around her.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to mention..."

"It's okay. It's not like I can forget her. But sometimes, like when I first wake up, or when I'm not paying attention, I almost forget, just for a second, that she's missing. And then, when I realize, it's like my entire body wants to seize up."

Diego tightened his grip. "It's nice to remember," he said. "The song. It's lovely. I promise you that you'll be whistling it to her again."

Her glassy eyes bobbed between different points on his face. Her lips jerked but froze. Almost a smile, he thought. When her gaze avoided his, Diego put his hand to her chin and lifted her head. Their faces were inches away.

"I promise," he repeated. His voice was confident and smooth, and he meant every word of it. And although he really wanted it, what happened next was not his intention. Diego de la Torre leaned in for a kiss.

"Don't do that!" Julia shot to her feet and threw her fists to her sides. "Don't do that. You can't say that. You can't keep telling me that." She brushed away his reaching arms and left the room, slamming the bathroom door behind her. She ran the faucet but Diego could hear the sobbing anyway.

What an idiot he was. He didn't know why he'd done that. Making moves on the mother while the daughter was missing—it was disgraceful. And his words, they were supposed to be reassuring, but what if they were a lie?

Diego took another bite of canned pasta and his face twisted in disgust. He studied the spoon with the sticky red sauce on it before dumping it into his unfinished bowl. He needed to get his shit together. And not just for himself.

Diego snatched up his phone to call Maxim for an update. The notification light blinked again. He decided to check his voicemail first. He deleted a message from Julia and a hang up, but the third message was from Maxim making good on his promise to call.

"Listen, Diego, it's Maxim. Things... I don't want you to get your hopes up. It's been a slow day."

The biker rolled his eyes.

"I'm only calling because I told you I would, but there's not much to say. The therapist wasn't much help. He said more than he should've but he doesn't know anything. I don't think Annabelle trusts him."

"Big surprise," said Diego to the recording. "What about Red?"

"I'm gonna take another stab at her. I know I can get through. I just need to figure out what it'll take to convince her."

Diego repeated, "What about Red?"

Maxim breathed into the phone. "I saw something in her face today. In the car, when I dropped her off. I think she finally believed me. That I want to help."

Diego snorted loudly as if the voicemail could respond to him. "What about Red?"

Maxim cleared his throat. "As for Munro..."

Diego smiled.

"We still don't have a whole lot on him."

Diego cursed.

"I think we've been derailed here," continued the detective. "We're trying to force pieces together that don't fit, and it's not getting us anywhere. Tomorrow morning, I'm going to restart the investigation from the bottom up. Don't worry. That sounds worse than it is, but it's a common procedural technique when we hit dead ends. It might not feel like it, but we know a lot more than we did two days ago. Looking at all the evidence and clues with a fresh start might trigger..."

Maxim kept talking, but Diego tuned him out. He heard the false assurance in the detective's voice. The man wasn't hopeful anymore, not on the inside. Diego also heard Julia, still crying in the bathroom. She still clung to hope, but it was tearing her apart. And if it turned out that she was only holding onto air, she'd float away with it.

The outlaw tightened his grip on the phone. He'd done what he was supposed to do. He'd turned to his friend. The police. He'd held back. And it hadn't gotten him anywhere.

When the message ended, Diego deleted it without a second thought. He would now need to do this his way. The hard way. Opening up old wounds would be uncomfortable, but Diego couldn't think about himself anymore. When the law no longer worked, it needed to be cast aside.

Diego was about to hang up his phone when another message started. It was Harry Pendle, his boss at the tow yard.

"Hey look, Diego," he started meekly. "I'm sorry about that missing girl and everything. You've got a nice heart, but... you're irresponsible as fuck, man. You're just not a reliable person. I think it would be best if we just parted ways, okay? Just... just don't bother coming back to work. Sorry."

Diego hung up. Maybe Harry was the smart one here.

 

 

 

 

Diego swallowed hard as he stared at the woman through the chain-link. Kayda Garnett crouched beside several schoolchildren in the playground. The Yavapai reservation elementary school did not appear well funded, but if they had anything aplenty, it was dreary desert space. Some of the kids climbed the faded jungle gym equipment and others played in the sand, but the other half attended their mentor on the flat swath of concrete. Bars of colored chalk scattered the walkway as boys and girls alike drew images.

Kayda was pretty, with a tan that belonged in the sunshine. She was naturally affable and worked well with the children. It was good to see her face again. Diego remembered a time when she was receptive to his charms, but the extent of that relationship was a single flirty conversation.

Diego didn't have regrets. He didn't know if anything had been there, anyway. But he did feel the burden of Kayda's ire. What Diego had done was necessary but unforgivable in her eyes.

Diego's boot scrubbed the sidewalk. He knew he couldn't afford to stall any longer. He hadn't spoken to Kayda in almost a year, a part of his self-imposed exile. He knew he had to break the oath for the sake of Hazel Cunningham.

Finally willing the boot to take a step, the biker moved to the entrance. He didn't know what he expected, but it wasn't Hotah Shaw leaning against the gate at the opening. More faces from the past. More enemies for the present.

"I had my money on you turning tail after a quick look."

The man flexed his strong arms across his chest. His wild hair covered most of his face, but not enough to miss the glint of hatred in his eyes. Hotah was one of the reservation's top enforcers, and Kayda's personal bodyguard. Diego had dealt with men like him before, but Hotah was dangerous because he was precise. In the outlaw world, he was a survivor, and the only one of the old regime to remain standing. Just the fact he was still alive was a testament to his abilities.

Diego squared his body to the side, keeping his knife arm away from the man. "Believe me," he said, "if it were up to me, I wouldn't even ask for that much."

Diego had agreed with him and been respectful—that didn't leave a lot of room for objection. Still, Hotah found a way.

"No Seventh Sons allowed on the reservation."

The biker shook his head. He was still friends with the motorcycle club, but he'd left their ranks. "You know I cut all ties with them."

Hotah shrugged. "Kayda's an important woman now. She's busy volunteering with the kids."

Diego glanced her way, disappointed that she hadn't noticed him yet. She was holding a little girl's hand, tracing out a symbol in red chalk. Those glyphs. They were the reason he was here.

"I only need a few minutes."

"I can't help you."

"It's not your help I need."

Hotah stood up straight off the fence and broadened his body into an obstacle. "You can't get past me without my help."

Diego snorted. "So you're a glorified bouncer now?"

"Don't start, little man."

"You should know me better than that, Hotah. Last time you got on my bad side, things didn't go so well for you."

The man's face soured. "Don't mix things up. You fucked with my crew—with a lot of help—but you never laid a finger on me." Hotah clenched his fists in anticipation. "I see you, readying for that knife up your sleeve. You think you're fast enough to get it?"

"That's not why I'm here."

"Well, you can't kill Kayda's brother again, so why are you here?"

The words cut deep. Diego's reply dried up in his mouth. It was true; he'd dealt her brother a lethal blow. He'd slashed the wolf's throat with the very same silver knife strapped to his arm. But Diego had been strung up at the time, at the mercy of Hotah's old crew. The biker had tried to help Kayda, even after her brother turned on her, but the guilt of dealing that kind of blow to her family couldn't be shaken.

Diego eyed the woman again. This time with a different kid, her back to them. She didn't need this. His intrusion into her life. And he didn't need to get into a beef with this cocksure muscle head. Diego had crossed the line with the authorities two days ago. This situation was more risky because the tribal police were in Kayda's pocket. He knew it was dangerous to be here, even without his motorcycle club affiliation.

Diego retreated from Hotah and headed down the sidewalk, back to his bike. He shook his head as he stomached the insult of being turned away. He needed to stop finding himself backed into corners. Information didn't always need to be obtained through violent means. He could start thinking like Maxim, a real investigator. This fly-by-night thing was clearly not working out for him.

Diego started his Triumph and felt the power rumble beneath him. Something about the sensation sparked his mood.

Being the reasonable one wasn't in Diego's repertoire.

He revved the motorcycle loudly a few times. Everyone in the yard, including Kayda, finally noticed him. But that didn't mean he had their attention yet.

Diego bore full-speed toward the playground entrance. Hotah, who'd already laughed him off, spun around. Diego expected the man to swing, but when his tire jumped over the curb, Hotah was still in shock. His superb reflexes saved him from harm as he leapt away from the bike.

Diego sped past him and headed to Kayda. She stood as she began to understand the situation. She waited calmly as he swerved on the cement, giving a wide berth to the children.

But that precaution hadn't taken him near enough to the woman, and Hotah was faster than he looked. When Diego dismounted the Scrambler, the Yavapai enforcer tackled him.

The two men rolled on the concrete. Diego's thick riding gear protected him from scrapes, but he was more concerned about the overbearing strength of the man now on top of him.

"Not with the children!" shouted Kayda with authority.

Hotah—on one knee with an arm above his head to strike—stopped cold. Diego panted beneath the man, relaxing the arms he'd raised in defense.

"A well-trained dog, I see."

"Don't push it," said the woman he had come to see.

Diego shot her a slanted smile. She was right. He raised his hands in surrender.

Hotah glared at him but took to his feet and stepped back. Diego sat up and rested his arms on his knees. The children who weren't frightened were giggling. Diego winked at an especially precocious girl and gave her a nod for his performance.

Kayda wasn't as easily amused. "Okay kids, go play with the others." Some of them objected but Kayda's face was firm, and the children all ran to the playground equipment. "You too, Hotah."

The man raised a single eyebrow.

"I'll be fine," she said.

Hotah cracked his knuckles and took up position at the gate entrance once again. Diego couldn't help but smirk as he ended up alone with Kayda. As he stood, he dusted off his leather pants and noticed the chalk drawings once again. Intersecting lines of brown and red dominated the artwork, all simplistic symbols that resembled cave drawings.

"Indoctrinating them young?" asked the biker, finally turning to Kayda.

The woman was younger than him, probably just twenty-two, but she had changed dramatically from when she'd first returned home last year. She was still slightly heavyset but stood with a more authoritative posture that matched her new personality. Gone was the lost little girl he'd once met. Kayda Garnett still possessed her worldly manner, but she'd taken to her half Yavapai side. She'd become more tan from long days in the Arizona sun. Feathers dangled from her right ear and long brown hair, and a string of tattoos, each with a signature style, banded her left forearm.

"I'll admit I'm surprised to see you here," she started. "I thought Kelan would do in spirit what he couldn't do in life."

"What's that?"

"Keep you away."

Diego dropped his gaze to the walkway. The mention of her brother was expected. He had to confront what he'd done to her if he wanted to get past it. But a simple apology was too trite.

"He was going to kill me, Kayda."

She nodded grimly. "I still haven't decided whether you deserved it."

"He tried to kill you too." The woman didn't respond, and he didn't give her a chance to. "Speaking of which, you look good for someone who took a bullet."

"Don't change the subject. The Seventh Sons have a lot to answer for."

"They're not that bad. They just want to operate unimpeded."

"It's their operations that concern me. The wolves of Sycamore are dangerous. They don't even have the guile to wear the clothing of the sheep they prey on."

Diego shrugged and rested a cigarette on his lips. New day, new pack. "It's nothing your clan isn't guilty of."

Kayda had been polite so far, but her face finally betrayed scorn. "That was the old way. The way of the wolf. The crow rules here now." The woman pointed to a chalk symbol at his feet. Diego realized he was standing on the symbol. He jumped backwards as if it were capable of biting him. The red circle surrounded a T with two vertical crossbars. The top one was larger and had a small triangle rising from the center.

"I may not have been around Prescott lately," said Diego, "but I've heard the stories. They call you the moonwitch."

Kayda smiled. "It's a customary title."

"Is it? That's what you're teaching these children? Customs?" Diego peered at the symbol. "That's a moon, isn't it? Or a sun because it's red."

"Your first instinct was correct. The color of the chalk represents the medium of the glyph, not the meaning."

"The medium?"

She nodded. "In this case, blood."

Diego shook his head. "You've got a hell of a way with children."

Kayda crossed her arms, annoyance marring her patience. "Blood represents strength. Vitality. It flows through every living thing and connects us all. The Yavapai know the importance of instilling a sense of place in the younger generations. A sense that there is more meaning to the world than which iPhone model they have."

Diego relented. He wasn't a fan of technology himself. He'd decided to stay in Sanctuary because of the freedom of the road. An office job glued to a monitor would never be for him, even if that meant driving a tow rig or operating a forklift. Or who knew what now.

Diego checked the yard and saw Hotah giving him the evil eye from afar. The biker raised the lighter to his cigarette and let the silence speak for itself. Still, he thought it best to change the subject more forcefully.

"What about that double-T thing with the triangle? What's that?"

Kayda Garnett put her hands on her hips. "I've already told you."

Diego cocked his head, thinking back on their conversation. He didn't have a head for this kind of metaphysical stuff, but he was pretty sure they hadn't discussed the glyph yet. After a moment, he searched her face for the answer.

She shook her head. "You make a worse student than these nine-year-olds." Kayda crouched and pointed to the T. "This is a crow, the one who sees all. These lines are his great wings, and this tip his beak."

Cave scribbles. Diego could see it now, but it was crude. "And the blood? Why scrawl a crow and a moon in blood?"

The woman chuckled and looked away for the first time. It seemed she did have some secrets. "You didn't come here to speak of glyphs," said Kayda. "Yet you are commanded by a purpose. Out with it."

The biker raised an eyebrow. "That's where you're wrong." He leaned down to pick up a piece of chalk. The thought of blood didn't sit well with him so he chose brown. In a small empty space, he also drew a circle. Except within it he scratched out a cross.

"The lines are sloppy," said Kayda.

"That's how I saw them."

"What's going on, Diego?"

He sighed. "You know I wouldn't have come to you if I wasn't desperate. There's a man in the woods. He's linked to a missing girl somehow. I found several of these symbols scratched into the bark of the trees around his camp, and some deeper in the forest."

Kayda's eyes narrowed. "What kind of man?"

"Not an Indian, if that's what you mean. He said he was Scottish, born overseas, but now he just lives in the woods. But I'm getting the feeling he's not the important one. You see, I've been hearing rumors of children in the forests of Sycamore. Red—that's the man's name—says the kids have been hounding him. Stealing stuff. You should see the poor geezer. He carries around a metal pole everywhere he goes. Says he has a bum leg but walks fine. I think the crutch is a weapon. And the symbols, I think he's sort of marking his territory or something."

"A warning," interrupted Kayda. "If he lives among the trees, he could be steeling himself against a foe within." The woman stared at the symbol and frowned. "You should have drawn it in green."

"It was in bark. Wood's brown."

"But nature is green. Blood is power, nature is life." Kayda paused and studied Diego. "And death."

"Death," repeated the biker, lingering on the word for some time. "What are you saying these kids are?"

Kayda took time to measure her response. The very fact that she considered holding back convinced Diego he was in the right place. Those without knowledge couldn't keep secrets, after all.

"My people speak of this land as a home for the dead."

Diego grunted. "Sycamore has lots of stories."

"And you are well familiar with some."

"What, wolves? Disease? That's science. But you're talking about ghosts. I don't buy that."

"Science is simply the explanation," she said. "It's what makes the supernatural natural. It behooves the scholar to admit there are things in the world that are ill understood. I know the northern locals have fanciful imaginations. My people here are no different. But truth can sometimes be learned from fable. You of all people should know that, Diego de la Torre."