“What sort of things are you trying to heal?”
Her lip curled in a half-grin. “Are you talking about me, or the retreat?”
“Either.”
“I don’t know what I’m looking for,” she said, and Sam felt there was something in her voice that suggested she was being surprisingly honest, while burying something dark in her past. “And I still don’t know if this is the place I’m meant to find it.”
Sam said, “And the retreat. What sort of things is it supposed to help heal?”
“I don’t know that yet, either.” She looked out toward the stars that rose from the horizon, her gaze distant, as though she were a thousand miles away. “People who need healing I suppose. People who are suffering physically, mentally, emotionally, or spiritually — I’d like to help.”
“That’s noble.” His words came out more condescending than he meant. He quickly said, “What sort of healing do you practice.”
“You probably haven’t heard of it.” She made a coy smile. “And if you have, you probably wouldn’t believe in it. But hey, whatever, works, right? In the past few years I found it’s helped heal me from wounds deeper than any you could ever see.”
“So, it’s in the pseudoscience category then?”
She laughed. “Some believe so. But you’d be surprised that not everything that helps can be explained by science.”
Sam said, “I believe you.”
Guinevere met his eye for a moment. “I believe you do. But I don’t know why.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I know people. It’s a gift. I see what people are hiding as though it were in plain sight. Just one of those things that I have.”
Sam grinned. “And what do you see in me?”
“I was there when you spoke to the Sheriff. You’re military through and through. I know the type. You work with exact numbers, practical solutions, and hard facts to get the job done. Even as a civilian, you look like you’re in command of everything and everyone around you, while juggling the near razor sharp edge of balancing that command by being both authoritative and leading by example in such a way that those around you genuinely want to follow you. Honor, dedication, and duty are the unreserved codes governing your every choice in life — and I see that you’re a genuinely good person.” She laughed. “Or did I get all of that wrong?”
“No. You’re pretty good. So, what do you practice?”
“I’m a Reiki Master,” she answered.
Sam looked at her. “Sorry. A what?”
“I practice the ancient Japanese art of Reiki. Basically, the idea is that an unseen life energy, known as a person’s Ch’i flows through us all. If this life-force is low, then we are more likely to get sick or feel stressed, and if it is high, we are more capable of being happy and healthy.”
“Interesting,” Sam said. “Does it work?”
She made a genuine smile. “It did for me.”
“Good for you,” Sam said. He meant it, too. Deep down, many people are looking for something in life, and very few have the good fortune to find something that works. There were plenty of things he didn’t understand, but if Reiki helped her, who was he to judge?
He said, “How long have you been out here?”
“Just a few days.”
“A few days. Where’s all your stuff?”
Guinevere looked bemused. “What stuff?”
Sam said, “I don’t know. Change of clothes. Food. You know… that kind of thing? I noticed you’re only carrying a day pack.”
“I travel light. I find the universe generally delivers what I need. Not always what I want, though.”
“What do you want?”
She made a coy, teasing smile. “Actually, right now, I’m kind of hungry.”
“I don’t know what’s open at this time of night, but I’ve got some muesli bars in the glove box, if you’d like.”
She went to answer, but Caliburn beat her to it. The dog sat up, his ears perked, and he made several quick barks.
Sam laughed. “You’re hungry too, are you Caliburn?”
The dog barked again.
“Well… help yourself.” Sam said, “They’re in the glovebox if you want them.”
Caliburn barked with delight and pressed his paw against the glovebox button. The lock unclicked, and the glovebox fell open, revealing a handful of muesli bars.
Sam grinned and turned to Guinevere. “Smart dog.”
“Really smart dog,” Guinevere replied.
“Do you think he knew what I was saying, or he could have just picked up the scent of something to eat inside?”
Guinevere shrugged. “Beats me. But these muesli bars are sealed in plastic wrappers. There’s no way even a dog could pick up the scent through that. Besides, if he had just smelled them, why did he wait until right on cue to sit up and try to find them? No, I think it’s safe to say Caliburn happened to be listening to what it was you had to say.”
Sam said, “I mean, that can’t be normal, can it?”
“I’ve never owned a dog. But don’t think so.”
“Are you just really smart, Caliburn?” Sam asked. “Can you understand what I’m saying?”
Caliburn mewled and nudged the plastic wrapper.
Guinevere said, “He’s only interested in the food. At least that’s more what a traditional dog would do.”
She opened a bar and gave it to Caliburn, who gave an appreciative bark before hoeing into the meal with tremendous gusto.
Guinevere took a bite out of the second one and offered the third to Sam.
He took it, opening it and eating it with about as much delicacy and temerity as the retriever.
The dog stared at the fourth one still in the glovebox.
Guinevere said to Sam. “You want it?”
“No. I’m okay. You have it.”
“Okay, Caliburn. I’ll split it with you.”
Caliburn barked and offered a paw to seal the deal. She gave it a perfunctory shake, and then handed the dog half of the remaining muesli bar.
Sam grinned at the sight.
The day had had its share of ups and downs. But at least it was finishing on a high. He, Guinevere, and Caliburn made a ridiculous union of traveling companions. She was intelligent and fun to be around and Caliburn vacillated between super intelligence and the silliness of a much younger dog.
A moment later, the smooth sound of the engine wavered to something resembling metal on metal. Sam took his foot off the gas, trying to ease the pressure on the 1956 engine. Instead, the sound became increasingly loud, before something made a great bang, and the car went silent as the engine stalled.
Sam tentatively tested the accelerator pedal, but nothing happened.
He went into damage control mode, and coasted the Thunderbird over into the break down lane.
He tried the ignition key.
Nothing happened.
Which meant all three of them were out of luck.
Chapter Fourteen
Sam glanced at the small set of engine gauges. Every one of them appeared to be within their normal range.
He tried the ignition again.
Nothing happened.
He opened the glovebox and retrieved a flashlight. He switched it on and then popped the hood. A cursory glance of the engine block showed that everything was where it belonged. The mechanic’s repairs to the radiator appeared intact. The coolant reservoir was full. The sparkplugs were all connected.
A moment later he stopped and fixed the flashlight’s beam on the rusted remains of a split timing chain. Sam sighed. That must have been what the mechanic had spotted when he removed the radiator to work on it. The timing chain was mostly concealed under normal circumstances.
It was obvious now.
But that was only because the timing chain had snapped.
Sam said, “Well, it looks like the T-Bird’s not going anywhere tonight.”