by Sara Clancy
“Nicole,” Wapun cut in before Nicole could do anything other than stare. “Would you be kind enough to gather some bedding for me? And perhaps put the kettle on?”
Apparently, her anger didn’t outweigh her inclination to be helpful, and she begrudgingly got to her feet.
“Oh,” Cheyanne said to regain Nicole’s attention. “Stay away from my son.”
Nicole gave her a dazzling smile. “Come and get him.”
Her hair fanned out around her as she spun on her heel. Benton fell in step beside his best friend as the started down the hallway. His mother called for him but was quickly distracted by Wapun and the necessary introductions. The walk to the first bedroom was quick. Still, Nicole barely managed to get behind the closed door before lapsing into a toddler’s temper tantrum − all foot stomping and arm flinging.
“Sorry,” Benton said.
Nicole instantly latched onto him, encasing him in a bone-crushing hug and burying her face in his neck. Fine trembles rattled her body.
“Nic?” Benton asked.
“It’s a Skinwalker,” she said, suddenly sounding small and broken.
The word meant nothing to him. But, as he felt Nicole’s fingers twist in the back of his shirt, he decided that it wasn’t the right time to ask. They’d have to go through it all soon enough.
“It’ll be okay,” Benton told her, holding her back just as tightly.
Whimpering, she tightened her grip. This is what Mic was warning me about. The thought settled upon his mind, reminding him yet again that he wasn’t ready. He didn’t want to die.
“You’re going to be okay,” Benton whispered to her. If nothing else, I’m going to make sure of that.
Nicole squeezed the air from him before skirting across his shoulders to grip either side of his face. Almost holding him in place so she could rest her forehead against his.
“We’re going to be okay,” she promised. “You’re not angry that I was mean to your mom, are you?”
“No.”
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Honestly, I have no idea what to try and process first.” He gave it a second of thought. “You’re not hurt, are you? It didn’t make me do anything?”
“I’m fine. You?”
“I don’t think I have any new injuries,” he chuckled.
Seemingly channeling her father, she shook his shoulder.
“I guess we should go out there soon,” she said at last. “Wapun will wait for us all to be together before explaining it all to your parents.”
“Why are we getting bedding, anyway?”
“We’re all going to have to bunker down in the same room,” she said. “You don’t go anywhere by yourself when a Yee Naaldiooshii is following you.”
Pulling back, she cupped his shoulders and grinned. Bright and happy. Completely covering any trace of fear that had shattered her only moments ago.
“Ready?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“Where’s the enthusiasm?” she asked.
Chapter 11
Benton sat at the small kitchen table, keeping a close eye on the back door as the others settled. It was hard to feel the same level of foreboding he had now that Wapun had blessed the ground. The night sky was lit up with dancing ribbons of flourescent green. Living auroras swam through the air like eels, drifting across the windows before disappearing out of sight. It was one of the few perks of being what he was; being able to see the display. It was hard to fear the dark when it was filled with the strange hybrid of an aquarium and a laser show.
“What is a Yee Nandil?” Cheyanne asked, her curt voice tugging his attention away from a neon pink light-serpent and its fascination with the windchime.
“Yee Naaldiooshii,” Wapun corrected.
Cheyanne’s brow furrowed. “Jee Keealdiookey?”
“How did you even get that one?” Logan asked.
He had one of the kitchen table chairs flipped around so he could rest his arms along the backing, a glass of scotch dangling from his fingers.
“Seriously, you’re not even close.”
“Logan,” Dorothy sighed.
“What? She’s not even close! It’s almost insulting.”
“I’m in a great deal of pain,” Cheyanne said.
“Oh, please,” he scoffed. “Show of hands. Who here has been stabbed and was still able to form simple words?”
The ice in his glass tinkled as he shot his hand into the air. Dorothy rolled her eyes but humored her husband. Nicole, Wapun, and Benton all lifted their hands, each one having grown increasingly frustrated with Cheyanne over the few minutes they had all been sitting around the living room.
Both Cheyanne and Theodore glared at their son.
“When were you stabbed?” Cheyanne demanded.
“A Leanan Sidhe scratched me. If that doesn’t count, I was also shot by a Baykok.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Theodore asked.
Benton shrugged, absently pulling at the neck of his hoodie. Since the excess material bunched around his shoulders, he had succeeded so far in keeping his bruises hidden. That was another conversation that he wasn’t ready for.
“Don’t worry about it,” Benton mumbled. “It doesn’t matter right now.”
“So this,” Cheyanne tripped over the name again.
Wapun rescued her. “What about the term Skinwalker? I’ve heard that’s far more popular amongst you European types.”
Cheyanne and Theodore shared a glance. Since both of them worked from home and had no real friends to speak of, they hadn’t adjusted to small-town life at all yet. It still struck them both as weird to be reminded that they were the minorities here.
“I think we saw a horror movie about them once,” Theodore said. He turned to his wife. “It was about werewolves, right?”
“Oh, yes, that’s right.” She turned to Wapun with a frown. “It didn’t look much like a wolf.”
It was the Rider family’s turn to look at each other in disbelief.
“No. A Skinwalker is not a werewolf,” Wapun said.
“Then what are they?” Cheyanne demanded.
“Mom,” Benton sighed.
“I’m sorry, but I’m under a bit of pressure at the moment, and being treated like an idiot isn’t helping. I just want some direct answers. What is that thing? What cut me? What is going on?”
Benton licked his lips and didn’t try to argue. That was until his Cheyanne leveled a glare at Nicole and spat.
“What the hell have you dragged my son into?”
“I’m not exactly your son, am I?”
His parents flinched as if he had hit them.
“We’ve been trying to talk to you about that for weeks,” Theodore said carefully.
“I’ve been busy,” Benton replied, surprised by a surge of resentment. “But I had a whole heap of free time when I was ten and stuck in a hospital bed.”
“You were a child−”
“Yeah. I get it,” Benton cut him off. “You made a choice. You guys have made a lot of bad choices.”
“We’re trying the best we can,” Theodore said.
“I know that!”
Benton’s outburst startled him as much as it did everyone else. Everything he had been trying to ignore pushed at the corners of his mind. He couldn’t breathe.
“I know,” he said when he felt steadier. “We don’t really have the time to talk about that right now. Just, be nice to Nicole.”
Tension filled the room until just about everyone was squirming. Cheyanne cleared her throat and forced herself to meet Nicole’s gaze.
“I apologize.”
“It’s okay,” Nicole replied, quickly rushing to add, “I’m sorry, too. I know I get overly protective about Benton. He’s just not that good at taking care of himself.”
“Exactly,” Cheyanne declared.
For the first time, the two women had found common ground. Benton wasn’t exactly sure how to feel about it. Luckily, Wapun
regained control of the conversation before he had to decide.
“Did you see this Skinwalker?”
Cheyanne and Theodore nodded, absently grasping each other’s hand.
“It didn’t look like a wolf,” Theodore restated.
“They often don’t,” Wapun said. “Yes, they can transform themselves into almost any animal. But most eye-witnesses describe a monstrous combination. Something halfway between human and beast.”
“But,” Cheyanne stammered, as if her brain and mouth were battling for control, “what I saw. It’s not possible. Something like that can’t exist.”
“Oh, it does,” Wapun corrected. “Its kind has been amongst us for centuries. What perplexes me is what it’s doing so far north.” Seeing the confused expression leveled at her, she added, “Skinwalkers normally stay on Navajo land.”
Nicole shrugged. “I don’t think they really care about that sort of stuff anymore. After all, Benton’s a Banshee. They’re Irish.”
Theodore released a choked scoff. “A Banshee? Now Banshees are real too?”
Logan perked up, shooting his wife a smirk. “So, Banshee is where you draw the line? Skinwalker is cool, but Banshee is crossing a line?”
“None of this is alright,” Cheyanne shot back before catching herself. “I didn’t mean anything by that, Benton.”
“It’s fine. I’m the first to admit that this is messed up.”
Nicole poked up from behind her Aunt’s laptop to chime in, “He really does.”
“Really?” Benton asked.
She sheepishly went back to what she was doing.
“I suppose the most simplistic way to describe a Skinwalker is as a Shaman that turned to black magic.”
“Learning some dark spells does that to you?” Theodore asked.
The Rider family smirked.
“It takes more than that,” Wapun said. “Far more.”
Cheyanne asked, “How much more?”
“To seal the deal with the dark forces, a Shaman must offer a sacrifice. One of a blood relative.”
“So, this man was willing to kill a relative to have this power?” Cheyanne clarified slowly. “And it wants my son?”
“Yes, I believe it does,” Wapun said.
“Why?”
“That’s the question, Mrs. Bertrand.”
During this time, Nicole had set herself up at the kitchen table with Wapun’s laptop.
“I’ve been working on that,” Nicole declared, bouncing in her seat like a child eager to show off something they had just learned.
Benton arched an eyebrow. This time, his reproach wasn’t enough to dampen her enthusiasm.
“Let me just add this little disclaimer; my research makes it necessary for me to visit some sites of disrepute.” She paused to grimace, then continued on with a smile. “Okay, so from what I’ve found, Skinwalkers have a kind of pecking order − a rank determined upon the power of the rituals they can complete.”
“You found a Skinwalker chat room or something?” Logan asked.
“Of course not. They’re way too secretive for something like that,” she said. “But there are a few people that had relatives that became Skinwalkers. And a few others that run websites like mine.”
“Paranomal.com,” Benton offered before his parents could ask. “She’s really good at this sort of stuff.”
“I’m awesome at this sort of stuff,” Nicole said sharply.
Theodore leaned forward, waving one arm while keeping a tight grip on his wife with the other. “I’m sorry, how does this help us? We fled from town. It’s clear that you’re all scared of it. We already know this thing is dangerous.”
“Well…” A trace of self-doubt entered Nicole’s voice. “From what I’ve seen, our Skinwalker is incapable of actually touching things.”
“It threw a knife at me,” Cheyanne snarled.
“Nah, that’s on you,” Logan said. “You opened a boobytrapped door. Go on, Angel. I want to know what you’re thinking.”
“Skinwalkers have always been physical in the stories. It got me thinking that something must have happened to this particular one. My guess? A ritual gone bad. I’ve seen it in enough forms by now, all of them twisted monstrosities, by the way, to know that it has to be strong in its own right. So, I researched the heavy hitters, focusing on the consequences. I found this.” She paused only to turn her screen to her approaching Aunt. “Third off the bottom. When that one goes wrong, the Shaman can be trapped between reality and the ghost world.”
“Ghosts?” Cheyanne mumbled to herself.
“Exactly.” Flinging herself back in her chair, Nicole held her hand up for a high-five and waited expectantly for a response.
Benton gave her the requested high-five. “That’s why it wants me.”
“Does this make sense to anyone else in the room?” Theodore boomed.
“Skinwalkers take their power from the ghost world,” Wapun said absently, squinting to read the laptop screen. “But they can only use it in ours. If he’s stuck between worlds, he’s essentially neutered. He needs to break through into either one or the other to regain his power.”
“And that’s why it wants Benton,” Nicole declared. Again, she waited for accolades and was forced to elaborate. “Okay, how to explain. Ah. Skinwalker screwed up showing off and its demon friends shoved him in time out. They’ll let him go if he offers them a big old apology. Something powerful and unique. Benton’s a male Banshee. You don’t get much rarer than that. And it’s got to be an added bonus that he’s Death’s favorite. But that’s just speculation.”
“I can see it,” Benton said. “I mean, both Death and demons claim souls. And demons are, you know, evil. There has to be some kind of rivalry going on there.”
Wapun rested one hand on the tabletop to steady herself. “Benton is part of both worlds. Death with a heartbeat.”
“Are you honestly suggesting that a creature of legend wants to perform a human sacrifice with my son?” Theodore asked.
Wapun nodded. “Yes, I’m afraid I am.”
Closing his eyes, Benton tried to block out the flood of violent images trying to take over his brain. A single thought still emerged from the depths of his mind. This is how I die.
Cheyanne clenched her jaw. “How do we kill it?”
“Call it by name,” the Rider family said in unison.
“Its human name,” Wapun clarified.
Benton’s parents shared a panicked glance.
“How do we do that?” Theodore asked.
“I’m not sure,” Wapun said while Nicole snatched the laptop back and declared that she was working on it.
“I think Mr. Ackerman is the key.”
“The ghost in my barn,” Benton said before anyone could ask. “I found his body the first night we moved in.”
“Don’t forget the symbol on the wall.” Nicole’s bright smile became a resentful scowl. “I sure haven’t. It’s been driving me nuts for almost a year.”
“You professor friend said it was from an ancient cult,” Benton prompted.
“And the room of cursed land that we found in the Leanan Sidhe pit had the same markings.” One hand continued to fly across the keyboard while Nicole flopped the other against his chest. “You didn’t see it because you can see the cursed fire.”
“That, and I was blinded with pain from getting burnt by it,” Benton said, lifting his scarred palm as proof.
She ignored that bit.
“Where’s this pit?” Logan asked, finishing the rest of his drink in one gulp and leaning over to see the screen.
“The ghost town,” Dorothy said.
Nicole once again lifted a hand from the keyboard, this time to push her father out of her personal space. “And you get there by traveling down the road we found Benton sleepwalking on. That’s where it wants him to go. That has to be where the ritual went wrong.”
Benton tried to squash the prickling, fluttering sensation that had invaded his stomach. “Has to
be?”
“You’re the math boy. You work out the probability.”
“So, we have a place of significance and a possible victim.” Dorothy visibly winced as the thought hit her. “His family. Not one of them knew that Oliver had disappeared. They had no recollection of anything suspicious. Just a sudden, strong urge to leave Fort Wayward.”
Logan whined. “No. You’re thinking that the Skinwalker possessed them and forced them to sacrifice him, aren’t you?”
“Daniel Long Fisher and Rowtag Smoke were good friends with Oliver, weren’t they?” Wapun said. “I’m going to make a few calls. With any luck, they might recall someone acting weird towards him the days before his disappearance.”
Dorothy shook her head. “I asked after we found the body. Nothing.”
“They didn’t know to look out for a Skinwalker before. There’s a reason why it picked him.”
“Ask if they ever went down the Highway of the Lost,” Nicole added absently, engrossed in her work. “I’m thinking our first trip through there is where it caught Benton’s scent.”
Dorothy rushed toward the computer. “I’ll log onto the police database. Check his record and coroner’s report.”
“Already got it up,” Nicole chimed.
“Whoops,” Benton whispered in his best friend’s ear.
The fact that she had just admitted to stealing her mother’s confidential password, again, hit Nicole like a brick. She snapped her head up, hands freezing in place.
Then the lights suddenly died.
Chapter 12
Bathed in the glow of the laptop screen, Nicole rapidly took in the room around her.
“It’s here,” Dorothy said.
She moved as a shadow through the gloom of the room, retrieving her gun and moving swiftly to the doors.
“How did it get in?” Cheyanne asked. “The blessing.”
“It’s not alive. The dead can go where they please,” Wapun said.
Logan placed his glass on the table and leaped over the chair, his firearm already in hand.
“Come on, Bert-ies,” he said, ushering the Bertrand family closer together. “There’s going to be some gratuitous violence. But, if you do what you’re told and, you know, survive, I’ll take you all out for ice cream.”
