They are down at the corral, brushing the horses with big, flat brushes. John-John stands on a wooden crate to reach his horse’s back. He and Kayani are talking softly in Navajo.
The expressions on their faces are identical — serious, intent.
I marvel at how mature John-John is — four going on forty.
Kayani spies me first. He raises an eyebrow. “Daniel?”
“He’l be down in a minute.”
I place a foot on the lowest rail of the corral and boost myself up. “How are you two doing?”
John-John is grinning. “Want to help? We haven’t brushed Geronimo yet.”
He points with the brush to the big buckskin, watching in the corner while his two compatriots practical y swoon with delight as the brushes scratch and tickle their hides.
Geronimo looks a little resentful to me.
“Maybe another time. I’l just watch.”
John-John giggles. He knew I’d say that. His laugh says
“sil y city girl.”
Frey joins us then, freshly showered, his skin smel ing of soap. “Kayani, can I speak to you a minute?”
I release a breath. “You go ahead. I guess I can help John-John brush the horses.”
Kayani ducks through the fence and hands me the tool—
it’s not real y a brush. It has teeth.
“Currycomb,” Kayani says in response to my puzzled inspection. “Always brush in the direction of the hair.” He demonstrates with a sweep of his hand. “And by al means, avoid those back hooves. Good way to get kicked.”
Great.
John-John is giggling again behind his hand.
“Thanks a lot for the tip,” I cal out to Kayani’s retreating back. He waves a hand and keeps walking.
John-John is watching so I gather my courage and step over the fence. John-John shows me how to guide the currycomb over the horse’s back. I expect the animal to shy away and bare his teeth at me.
To my surprise, he rol s his eyes once, dances a little against his tether, then settles down to let me o work.
I grin at John-John. “Not bad, huh?”
John-John grins back. “Not bad at al.”
WHEN WE FINISH WITH THE HORSES, I SMELL OF sweat and horse shit. The look on John-John’s face, though, is worth the olfactory assault. He thinks I did a good job. We hose our faces and hands and head back to the house.
Frey is on the porch. Alone.
“Kayani?”
“Gone to take care of some business.”
John-John plops himself down beside his father. “Why didn’t you join us at the corral?”
Frey slips an arm around his son’s shoulders. “You and Anna looked like you were having so much fun, I didn’t want to interrupt.”
He leans his head against his father’s chest. “What is going to happen now? Wil you be going away?”
Much as I want to know the answer myself, I take that as a hint to leave the two alone. “I’l be inside. Showering.”
On the way to the bathroom, I stop in Mary’s bedroom to pick up fresh clothes and underwear. Her laptop is gone from the desk.
Kayani took it, I’m sure. Maybe there’s something on it to confirm George’s story. Maybe there’s nothing and Mary was never working with them at al.
But there is one other thing.
I look around. What is it that George said? Mary kept cash hidden in her room. Where would she have hidden it? Sarah didn’t strike me as the suspicious type. Mary’s “hiding place”
is most likely in plain sight.
I start with the drawers — desk and wardrobe. Pul each one out and look top and bottom. Nothing.
The closet? Clothes hung in no particular order. Nothing on the shelves.
I get down on my knees and look under the bed. A smal suitcase. I pul it out and open it.
Three stacks of one-hundred-dol ar bil s held together with rubber bands. I fan one but don’t bother to count it. A smal envelope holds a bone charm and a piece of rock. A note: Your cut from the last batch. Buyers want more. Meet me at the lodge tonight.
G.
I imagine handwriting analysis wil make it easy to verify that George wrote the note.
Here’s the proof. Al together in one neat package. I’l give it to Kayani the next time I see him.
But does it matter?
There’s no left one to face justice. Everyone’s dead.
Only the ancient drawings prevailed, saved from further exploitation.
exploitation.
Perhaps that’s enough.
I close the suitcase, shove it back where I found it.
Then I do what I started to do — head for the shower.
CHAPTER 47
SHOWERED A RID OF MY PUNGENT JEANS (I HOPE the smel of horse comes out in the laundry), I’m ready to rejoin the world. Frey and John-John have moved into the living room. I make a pot of coffee and sit myself down at the kitchen table, stil unwil ing to intrude on father and son.
The events of the last few days flood over me. My heart is heavy with guilt. My presence precipitated al that happened.
There’s no denying or rationalizing that fact.
And what have I accomplished?
Frey and John-John appear at the door. “We’re going to make breakfast. Care to join us?”
But instinct tel s me they have more to discuss. John-John’s eyes are red-rimmed. Did Frey tel him that he lost another friend — George? Or that he was leaving? My heart breaks for the boy.
I pick up my coffee mug and push away from the table.
“You two eat. I’l be on the porch.”
Frey gives me a weak smile, and I know it was the right decision.
I take the same old porch chair that I’ve occupied how many times since we arrived? Each time I sit here, it seems there’s a new question to puzzle out.
This time I’m the puzzle. Sani said I would see him again. I am no closer to a resolution now, though, than I was twenty-four hours ago.
Sani said I would see him again. If Sarah never presented my petition, how did he seek me out? Why did he?
The sun rises higher in the sky, reminding me of the first time Frey and I saw the house and Mary Yel ow Bird. I thought her an Indian princess. Now she and her sister are dead. No storybook ending here. Greed and disrespect for her own heritage brought about Mary’s death. Nothing supernatural or otherworldly about it.
So, could I have found the answer if I’d been mortal? Or would the bone charm have ended my life the first night I was here?
Everything that’s happened since I became vampire, everything I’ve accomplished, everyone I’ve saved or harmed, has been because I am no longer human.
But the price. My family living across the ocean. My business partner put in danger twice. No chance of a relationship that lasts longer than it takes to have sex or feed.
Stephen. Too soon yet to see if we can make it work. And if we did—
Twenty mortal years.
If I married, could I bear a child? Or would the stress on my body from the transformation back to mortal make it impossible? Certainly, if I were able to conceive, I would not live to see my grandchildren. Would my enemies in the vampire universe launch their attack on the mortal world knowing I was no longer able to confront them? Would they seek revenge on my family?
What legacy would I leave?
A world of terror? No less crime or injustice? A world stil threatened by Chael’s lust for power?
Sani said there have always been those asked to sacrifice personal happiness for the greater good. Could I real y be one of those? I know my shortcomings. I’m rash, impulsive, quick to judge. I lack the wisdom of the shaman. I’m not pure of heart. I stumble through each crisis blindly. One step at a time. If not for my family, for my friends, Frey and David and Tracey, I doubt I would have survived this last year.