He looks at it again, distasteful y, but chooses to pursue more important matters. “What did you find?” he asks, heading away from George’s.
“Not what I expected.” I dig into the other pocket and pul out the pottery shard wrapped with John-John’s hair.
When Kayani sees it, he slams on the brakes so hard, my seat belt snaps taut, my head whip lashing forward and back.
“Ouch.”
He reaches over and snatches the thing out of my hand.
“You found this in the shed?”
“Do you know what it is?”
I can tel by his expression that he does, but he barks,
“What else did you find?”
I tel him. The pelts, the blowgun, the bone charms. I pause a beat when I’m finished to ask, “He is a skinwalker, isn’t he?”
His dark eyes pierce mine. “You know of such things?”
“Only what Frey told me. But that—” I point to the charm in his hand. “That I don’t know about. It’s John-John’s hair. What did he intend to do with it?”
Kayani peers at me again, searching my face for something. . Wrestling maybe with how much he can confide to this outsider. I can’t come clean with everything, but if I tel him I’ve had personal experience with a skinwalker, perhaps that wil gain me some measure of trust.
“I was shot with a bone charm. I’m pretty sure now it was George who did it.”
Kayani’s eyes widen. “What? When?”
“The night of the accident. The night Frey and I spent in the hogan.”
“You should be dead.”
“Frey recognized what it was right away. He got it out of me in time to prevent the poison from working.” That and the fact that I’m vampire and my body could heal itself once the charm was removed.
My shoulders tighten, waiting for Kayani to ask why George would target me, a question I’m dreading. I may have to tel him what I am.
While I wait, Kayani is silent. Then, “Why didn’t Frey tel me?”
“I suppose he wasn’t sure you’d believe it.” Flimsy but plausible. I don’t give him time to think about it, either. Relief, impatience and concern for John-John make me cut off any chace for more questions. “What were they going to do with John-John’s hair?”
His eyes refocus. “How did you know it was John-John’s?”
He keeps answering my questions with questions of his own, but I’l give him this one. I already laid the groundwork. “I told you — good sense of smel. Try it yourself. You’ve been around John-John a lot. His hair smel s like a little boy who spends a lot of time outside.”
He raises the charm warily to his nose, closes his eyes, inhales. “I guess my nose isn’t as sensitive as yours.” He touches the hair, examines it. “It’s the right color and texture, though.”
He bangs his hand against the dashboard with so much force, I jump. “Why would he be after John-John?”
I choose this moment to advance another theory. “I think maybe he caused the accident that kil ed Sarah and Mary, too.”
I say it softly, then brace myself, expecting heated denial and unequivocal rebuttal to blow with gale force my way.
Instead, I get more silence so I forge ahead.
“Could Mary and Sarah have heard something the night of the meeting? Maybe a conversation between George and the men he was sitting with on the deck?”
Kayani presses the palms of his hands against his eyes.
“Did you find anything to connect George with the counterfeiters?”
“No.”
“Then they might have been tourists he took out that day.
We need something concrete to connect them.”
I touch the charm. “If George goes looking for this, he’l know someone has been in his shed. He’l know someone recognizes what he is. How do you think he’l react?”
“Skinwalkers are reviled in Navajo society. He’l want his secret protected.”
“How does one become a skinwalker? Frey said it had to do with desecrating the body of a loved one. He didn’t believe George could ever do that.”
“Wel, it looks like he was wrong, doesn’t it?” Anger flares in his voice. “It is said that if a Navajo pronounces the ful name of a yee naaldlooshii, a skinwalker, that person wil die for the wrongs they have committed.”
He draws in a breath, a look of purpose tightening the lines around his eyes and mouth.
I put a hand on his arm. “No. Don’t. If you speak George’s name and it works, we may never find out if he is behind the counterfeiting. Or who is working with him. Protecting the good of your people is important, isn’t it?”
Kayani breathes out. His eyes narrow a bit as he looks at me. I suppose he’s wondering why I, a stranger to the Navajo, so easily accepts that he could kil with the invoking of a name.
But he doesn’t ask.
Wordlessly, he takes the charm from my hand, opens the car door, steps onto the desert floor. He throws the charm down, crushes it with the heel of his boot. Then he picks up the strands of hair and lets them gust away on the breeze.
“Let’s get back to Daniel,” he says. “He must be warned.”
CHAPTER 42
FREY IS WAITING FOR US ON THE PORCH WHEN WE
arrive back.
“Where’s John-John?” Kayani asks the minute we’ve jumped out of the truck.
“Inside. He’s already asleep. The poor kid is dead tired.”
He looks from Kayani’s face to mine and back again.
“What’s going on?”
There’s so much Frey doesn’t know about our afternoon excursion that it takes both of us several minutes to bring him up to date. His reaction is predictable.
He directs his anger first at Kayani and me. “You two went off without letting me know what you were doing. What if you’d gotten caught? What if George had decided to shoot you again with a bone charm? Or you, Kayani? John-John would be next and I would have known nothing about it.”
Kayani accepts Frey’s wrath. “You are right. It was stupid not to let you now where we were going. But at the time, we thought we were hunting smugglers, not a yee naaldlooshii.
It wasn’t until Anna found the proof in George’s shed that we realized John-John was in trouble.”
“Did you destroy the charm?”
“Of course, my friend.”
“Then it is time I pay George a visit.”
Kayani nods in understanding. “It was my first reaction, too. But Anna reminded me we don’t yet have proof that he is behind the counterfeiters. We must be sure one way or another before we act. There is a greater good to consider.”
“Not to me there isn’t.” Frey is on his feet, ready to sweep any obstacle out of his path. “I won’t give him an opportunity to harm my son.”
“I love John-John, too,” Kayani says quietly. “I have known him since he was a baby. I wil die before I let harm befal him. We must come up with a way to protect John-John while pursuing the truth of the other matter.”
“And how do you propose to do that? Do you have a plan?”
“Maybe,” Kayani replies. “We wil take turns tailing George round the clock. At least one of us wil always be here with John-John. We wil make sure no one, especial y George, gets close to him.”
“And how do we tail him when he’s out on one of his tours?” Frey’s voice is tight with frustration. “There’s no way to fol ow him in a car. He’d spot that in a minute.”
“I’l take care of that,” Kayani says. “On horseback. I know the land as wel as George. I know where he takes the tourists. If he makes any unplanned spots, speaks with anyone not part of a group, I wil see it. He wil not spot me, I can promise you that.”
Frey is not ready to let go of his rage toward George. “I wil give you twenty-four hours,” he says. “Not a minute more. If you find nothing you can use to stop the counterfeiters in twenty-four hours, I wil go after George on my own. I wil make him talk.”