Shadow's Dream

by Jami Gray

  Not wanting to continue this conversation in the hall, he motioned for the two to follow him in the other direction to the small waiting room. Thankfully, no one was in there.

  They sat around a low table, and Cheveyo relayed what caused Rory’s accident in succinct detail. When he was done, Danny was shaking his head, his worry evident, and Tala was frowning.

  “A mirror spell takes a delicate touch,” Tala stated.

  “Very delicate,” Cheveyo agreed, watching her turn the information over in her head.

  “And strength to hold at that distance,” Danny added. “Since it was anchored to the car, it also explains why I couldn’t pick up on it.”

  Cheveyo nodded, but Tala cut in before he could say anything more. “But why target Rory?”

  “Because he saw something he shouldn’t have.”

  She gave him a gimlet eye. “Stop being cryptic and spill, Cheveyo.”

  “If you’d let me finish, I’d be happy to,” he drawled. When she mimed zipping her lips, he continued. “The re-son he was in the coma was two-fold—the accident caused physical trauma, but there was a compulsion spell woven within the mirror spell.”

  Tala’s mouth fell open, but she held her tongue. Next to her, Danny gripped the arms of the chair until his knuckles turned white.

  “Every time he tried to move forward, the spell held him back, telling him he there was something he needed to tell you, warn you about. Unfortunately, he really couldn’t remember, so he ended up stuck in an endless loop. He couldn’t break it because he has no memory of what he wanted to tell you, just that he needed to warn you.”

  “Which makes the mirror spell the initial attempt to ensure he never spoke to me.” She leaned forward. “There are those who could do one spell successfully, but not both.”

  “You sent one of the few people we have who could’ve cast such magic with Chay.” Danny turned to Cheveyo and his next question proved he hadn’t missed a damn thing. “Why?”

  “Don’t ever mistake underestimating Chay.” Cheveyo warned. “If Wyatt is involved, Chay will sniff it out.”

  Danny’s eyes darkened, obviously not liking Cheveyo’s implication. “And if he’s innocent?”

  “Better to know either way. At this point, we can’t afford to overlook any possibility, no matter how unpleasant.”

  Tala and Danny exchanged a long look, before she sighed and agreed, “No we can’t.” She took a deep breath. “All right, what’s next?”

  “You and I need to find out who Rory was meeting and work our way backward. Maybe we’ll get lucky and figure out who or what he saw.”

  “Or we come up with nothing,” she muttered, her frustration evident.

  “Got a better suggestion?” Because he was all for something easy, right about now.

  Danny rose, drawing their attention. “How about you start with the bag of Rory’s stuff the nurses gave Anne? I don’t think she’s had a chance to go through it. Maybe they’ll be some clue there.”

  Amused by Danny’s obvious attempt to stem an argument before it could gain traction, Cheveyo got to his feet. “Brilliant as always, Danny.” He offered Tala his hand. “Shall we?”

  She took it and let him help her to her feet. “Fine.”

  When they got to Rory’s room, most of the hospital personnel had cleared out, but one nurse stayed behind, making adjustments and notes. Anne’s tear-stained face was lit with joy as she sat by Rory’s bed, his hand wrapped in hers, his eyes open.

  Tala tugged her hand free and slipped into the room, while Cheveyo and Danny waited by the door. Anne turned, her smile huge. Tala murmured their request. Anne nodded her head and pointed to the small side table. Tala gave her a hug then went and pulled the bag out of the drawer. As she passed between them, she muttered, “Let’s go do some snooping.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cheveyo’s loss of temper with Chay worried Tala. It wasn’t the carefully controlled reaction she was familiar with, but one indicating there was more happening beneath the surface than he was sharing. Was he closer to the edge than she initially thought? The fears she harbored since his last visit crept closer.

  Last year, despite her worries that all was not right with him, she let him return to Portland, unwilling to risk undermining his position. Something she would never willingly do to him. Their personal history aside, Cheveyo was a leader she not only respected but understood. There was much more to him than he ever shared with anyone. She hadn’t understood his carefully maintained emotional distance until she carried the mantle of the Southwest Magi, then his choice became crystal clear.

  The Kyn leaders walked a thin line between fear and respect, a necessary path to control the powers in their respective houses. Unfortunately, sometimes fear became the more productive motivator. Much like today’s exchange with Chay. Even if the young witch was a Wraith, questioning Cheveyo’s authority could be detrimental to one’s health.

  But where Chay couldn’t tread, as Cheveyo’s peer, she could. And she would. Just not right now. Later, because she had a feeling their impending conversation would wander into much more private areas. She pressed the bag of Rory’s things harder against her churning stomach as she headed back to the semi-private waiting room with Cheveyo and Danny at her back.

  Once everyone was settled, it didn’t take Tala long to find out why Rory was in Phoenix. After confirming his lock code with Anne, Tala accessed his emails first, but nothing raised any red flags. Up next was his calendar. On the day of his accident, he attended an all-day forum at the local university on proposed revisions for the Tonto National Forest’s management plan. Since all Rory had was the event title, time and location she went to the internet and found the posted agenda. Pulling it up, she scanned the listed topics. Everything from hunting to wildfires to water rights to conservation issues seemed to be covered.

  Sitting next to her while reading over her shoulder, Cheveyo asked, “Any idea of where to start?”

  Holding back on her snarky comment regarding crystal balls, she shook her head and continued to slowly scroll through the agenda.

  “You could try tracking down every person who attended the seminar.” The unhelpful suggestion came from Danny, who lay on the couch, an arm over his eyes and his feet propped on the far armrest.

  She didn’t have to look up to know Cheveyo was shooting the older man a dirty look.

  “Wait,” she murmured, clicking on the topic ‘Arizona Land Management and Collaborative Organizations.’ She pointed to one of the listed panelists. “I know this name.”

  “Mason Atwood, ALMA?” He frowned in puzzlement. “What is ALMA?”

  “Arizona Land Managers Association,” Danny clarified and slowly sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. “Atwood.” His gaze narrowed in thought, then he looked at her. “Isn’t he the one who met with Tomás a couple months back?”

  Tala slowly nodded. “I think he’s the one Andrew had to escort off the ranch, actually.” To give Cheveyo perspective, she explained, “A couple months ago, Hadley swung by to drop off some papers for Tomás to sign. She said she barely got to the door before it was swung open and Tomás was all but screaming at Andrew to get ‘that piece of government shit Atwood’ off his ranch.”

  “Hadley have any idea of what was going on?” Cheveyo didn’t look up from his phone as his fingers flew over the screen.

  “Not a clue,” she answered, wondering what he was looking for. “She only mentioned it because she found Tomás’s behavior more erratic than normal.”

  “Or what had become his normal,” Danny corrected.

  “‘Mason Atwood, Director of Arizona Land Managers Association for the last seven years,’” Cheveyo read aloud. “Looks like he straddles the bridge between the local land managers and various organizations and the federal government. Seems, along with his current job, he sits on a couple of sub-committees in Washington. Busy man.” He turned to her, a shrewd light in his eyes. “Thinking what I’m thinking?”

&n
bsp; “The land deal,” she murmured, notching this latest information in with what they currently had, which wasn’t much. “Considering his position, if anyone has information on that land deal, it would be him.”

  Cheveyo nodded even as he hit his screen and then brought his phone to his ear.

  It took less than three minutes to confirm Atwood was available and for Cheveyo to charm his way onto Atwood’s schedule. When he hung up, his smile was all teeth. “Shall we?”

  Midafternoon was closing in as Cheveyo and Tala made their way to Atwood’s office in the heart of downtown Phoenix. The location meant parking a couple of blocks away and hoofing it. The area served as a home to an eclectic mix of corporate businesses, entertainment venues and the local university campus.

  Tala couldn’t help but notice the covert looks she and Cheveyo garnered as they made their way through the mix of college students and young professionals. As they passed a glass-fronted building, she caught their reflections—a statuesque blonde and the strikingly handsome male—but it wasn’t so much their looks catching attention as the auras they carried. Most of the time she wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or curse, but regardless, the mantles of leadership left a lasting impression.

  Finding the building housing Atwood’s office, Cheveyo held the heavy glass door open for her to pass through. As they walked into an airy atrium bustling with activity, he took off his sunglasses and hooked them on his collar. The bright burst of laughter, the murmur of conversations, the clicking of heels over tile, and the background dings of elevators all combined into the typical business soundtrack.

  They joined a handful of people on the elevator and took it to the ninth floor. When the doors opened, they stepped off, leaving behind the last three occupants heading to the higher floors. The short hall played gallery to a series of photos capturing pieces of desert sceneries. There were the color-drenched canyon walls, the twisted beauty of Joshua trees, noble guards of saguaros, and haunting scenes of ancient dwellings, all mixed with breathtaking shots of the Colorado River as it carved its way through sheer walls.

  They stopped at the long counter spanning the front and the young man who sat in front of the wall with the list of offices behind him.

  He flashed a professional smile. “Hello, can I help you?”

  She moved in front of Cheveyo. “Yes, we’re here to see Mr. Atwood. I believe he’s expecting us.”

  “Of course, if you would give me just a moment to let them know you’re here?”

  She nodded then joined Cheveyo where he stood next to the last picture. Done in black and white, it showed a half drained small canyon from Lake Powell and the Anasazi petroglyphs still visible on its wall. “Such history drowned,” Cheveyo murmured, his gaze on the image.

  “Change is inevitable,” she offered sadly, her heart aching as she studied the image.

  “I’m not sure it’s worth the cost,” he answered.

  It was an argument initiated when Lake Powell first came into being and submerged the ancient Native American sacred burial sites, and it still raged on today. But there was a depth to his response, which left her wondering if they were talking about the same things.

  “Mr. Cheveyo and Ms. Whiteriver?”

  They turned to find a woman, dressed in a tasteful blue blouse paired with inky slacks, waiting to the left of the desk. Tala put her age somewhere in her mid-forties. As they drew closer, she held out her hand. “I’m Olivia, Mr. Atwood’s executive assistance. If you’d follow me?”

  They exchanged handshakes and greetings before heading down the hall. Olivia led them past a series of other offices until they reached a corner office. She knocked on a door set into a wall of tinted glass before opening it and motioning them in.

  Tala stepped through first, her attention caught by the wall of windows overlooking the downtown cityscape. She wasn’t aware she stopped moving until Cheveyo’s hand at her back gently nudged her forward.

  “Mr. Cheveyo. Ms. Whiteriver.” Atwood came out from behind his paper-strewn desk, his smile relaxed, his dark hair streaked with silver. Sporting a collared button-down shirt, no tie, and tucked into gray slacks, he looked like any other businessman. Again, with the round of handshakes before he motioned them to sit at the chairs clustered in a casual manner around what appeared to be a highly polished tree trunk supporting a glass top. “Could I offer you some water?”

  Tala and Cheveyo both demurred and took their seats. Atwood took a seat, hitching his foot to his knee as he leaned back. “I’m sorry, your names sound familiar, but Olivia was a little vague on why you wanted to meet. What can I help you with?”

  On their way over, she and Cheveyo discussed how best to approach Atwood and decided to play it from the worried business partner angle. To justify his presence, he would be playing the role of her concerned fiancé.

  She took the lead. “Mr. Atwood, we were wondering if you currently had any business dealings with a Tomás Chavez?”

  His polite expression dimmed a bit, and his voice lost some of his affability. “I’m afraid I’m not comfortable answering that. May I ask why you would like to know?”

  “Mr. Chavez is—was—” She made the slip deliberately, gauging his reaction. “—a business associate of mine—”

  “Wait,” he interrupted before she could finish, dropping his leg and sitting up. He leaned forward, his gaze intense. “What do you mean ‘was’?”

  She bit her lower lip, snuck a quick look to Cheveyo, before turning back to Atwood and offering with a touch of hesitancy, “I’m sorry, didn’t you hear? He passed away yesterday.”

  Atwood’s shock, real though it was, couldn’t hide a flash of calculation as he templed his fingers under his chin and frowned. “What happened?”

  “A heart attack,” Cheveyo cut in smoothly. “He was out on his ranch when it hit. By the time his ranch hand found him, it was too late.”

  “My god. I just spoke to him a couple weeks ago.” Atwood shook his head, before raising it, a sheen of remorse in his gaze. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

  She nodded and dropped her gaze to hide her flare of cynicism. Unfortunately, due to the brief glimpse of the ruthless executive she caught earlier, Tala wondered at the sincerity behind it. She did manage to murmur a soft, “Thank you.”

  “You mentioned you’re a business associate of Mr. Chavez,” Atwood said.

  “Yes.” On their way in, she made a quick call to Toby to prepare for just this question. “I’m one of the majority partners in Rojos Lobos Limited.” A legitimate business front for the myriad of Southwest Kyn businesses, one where each of the leaders held a seat, and if there was a land deal on the table, Tomás should have informed them before starting any negotiations—if he hadn’t been bat-shit crazy and out for blood. “Are you familiar with us?”

  His eyes widened as if he was finally putting the pieces together. “Of course, now I recall your name. Rojos Lobos’s partners are listed as Whiteriver, Castle, and Chavez. I believe my office has mediated a few conversations between your company and the BLM over the years,” his voice oozed political savvy, setting her teeth on edge. “I’m sorry I didn’t put it together sooner.”

  Ignoring the fact that his apology rang insincere, she inclined her head. “It’s come to our attention that Mr. Chavez may have been in the midst of negotiating a land deal we were not made aware of.”

  A practiced frown of concern creased Atwood’s face. “As much as I appreciate your concern, I’m not sure how I can help.”

  This time it was Cheveyo who spoke, “We were hoping you could confirm if this is the case or not.”

  Atwood turned to him, “And your interest in this?”

  Tala put a hand on Cheveyo’s wrist. “I apologize, this is my fiancé, Cheveyo. We were visiting a friend in the hospital when Mr. Castle asked me to stop by and talk with you.” She studied him carefully as she dropped that nugget of information and caught the minute tightening around Atwood’s eyes, as if he tried to stifle a wi
nce.

  “I see,” he murmured then pushed to his feet and paced to the window, hands in his pockets. With his back to them, he said, “Normally, I’d be reluctant to discuss my conversations with Mr. Chavez, but—” He paused and half turned to face them. “As you represent Rojos Lobos, I can confirm that, yes, Mr. Chavez had approached me to serve as a mediator between him and the BLM. We were in the midst of discussing the particulars of not only, the land’s ownership, but water and mineral rights.”

  “Which land parcels were included in this discussion?” she pressed, stifling her rising anxiety.

  He removed his hands from his pockets and linked them behind his back, his shoulders stiff. “If I remember correctly, the land in question belonged to the ranch Mr. Chavez owned, plus fifty acres to the north of his property.”

  Stunned, her mind scrambled to put his answer into context. “Doesn’t that border the reservation?”

  Atwood’s nod was stiff. What he described belonged not only to the Red Thunder Pack, but to the Magi house as well. Some part of her still held out hope Tomás hadn’t completely lost it, but hearing how far he’d been willing to sell out both houses, left Tala reeling.

  While she fought to regain her footing, Cheveyo stepped in, no sign of anything other than general interest in his voice, “How would that work if the land belonged to Rojos Lobos. Wouldn’t it require agreement from all three partners?”

  Atwood came back and perched on the edge of the chair, his hands clasped between his knees. “Mr. Chavez assured me he had all partners on board.” He looked at Tala. “This is not the case, is it?”

  Finally finding her voice, she shook her head. “No, Mr. Atwood, it is not.”

  He sighed. “This is not good.”

  “I’m sorry.” She leaned forward. “We didn’t intend to put you in a difficult situation. We were hoping it was an unsubstantiated rumor.”

  He gave her a wan smile, one at odds with the dark storm in his eyes. “I suppose there’s no chance of changing your or your partner’s mind?”