Never Look Back

by Sheri WhiteFeather

  "And that's what you did with Vanessa?"

  "Yes, but Zinna tried to stop me." He frowned at his cup. "The witch was always nearby. Always tainting my life."

  * * *

  Raven listened to the Drum, to the singers, his heart beating in time to the music. While a campfire burned bright, he stood beneath a copse of trees, watching the young ladies dance. It wasn't time for them to choose their partners, to pair up with the men.

  He knew Vanessa would pick him, but that didn't ease his fears. What if he missed a step? He'd been practicing for weeks, but he was still anxious.

  Footsteps sounded behind him. Slow and slithery. He turned, sensing it was Zinna. She always crept up on him like a snake. She'd attended the same boarding school, but she'd charmed her way through it. The teachers hadn't believed that she was a witch. He wasn't sure why. Maybe her beauty had fooled them. Or maybe she'd cast a spell, befuddling their minds.

  When she angled her head, the silver streaks in her hair glowed like beams of light. Her hair had been like that since she was a child, and he wondered if the color was part of her power.

  "Hello, Raven." She leaned forward, inviting him to peer down her blouse. She was tall with a lithe body. "Do you like what you see?"

  He didn't react. She'd been trying to have sex with him since their school days, since he'd first shown an interest in Vanessa.

  She wet her lips. "I can use my mouth on you. I'm good at it. I've practiced on other boys."

  The thought aroused him, but not with her. "I would never let you do that to me."

  She hissed through her teeth. "Why? Because you think Vanessa will? That you'll marry her and she will be the ideal lover?"

  "Yes," he told her. "That is exactly what I think."

  "She is going to disappoint you," Zinna spat.

  "No, she won't."

  He walked away, leaving Zinna by herself. She didn't try to follow, to attend the festivities. Witches weren't welcome. During the lover's dance, medicine men mingled with the couples to keep the evil spirits out.

  Raven moved closer to the dancers, admiring Vanessa, mesmerized by the sway of her body. She turned and noticed him, as well. They gazed at each other from across the lawn, where the grass had been freshly cut and the campfire sent sparks in the air.

  Finally the young men were allowed to join in, and he entered the circle and stood in the middle. He no longer worried about missing a step. He wouldn't ruin this ceremony. This was his destiny.

  Vanessa and another maiden came toward him, and they danced, along with everyone else, in groups of three. When the warriors danced backward, the ladies moved forward. And when the ladies danced backward, the warriors moved forward.

  Raven kept his gaze on Vanessa. Nothing mattered but her. She'd never looked more beautiful with her slim figure and colorful cotton dress. Even her moccasins, decorated with a traditional design, dazzled him.

  After several hours, the music changed.

  Raven assembled in the center of the circle with the other warriors, and Vanessa approached him, selecting him as her partner.

  Just the two of them.

  Every inch of his body went warm.

  He towered over her by nearly a foot, but that didn't make her seem frail or shy or afraid to flirt. He could tell by the way she looked at him that she wanted him as badly as he wanted her. That she longed to be intimate with him.

  They danced until dawn, until the sun broke through the clouds. They'd never kissed, never touched beyond fleeting moments, making them want each other even more.

  But as he asked her to marry him, to be his wife, a chill caught his spine. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the witch lurking in the shadows.

  Watching him with malevolence in her eyes.

  * * *

  "I'm sorry," Allie said.

  "You don't have to keep apologizing for something you didn't do."

  "I know." She wrapped her hands around her cup. "But Zinna is my great-grandmother." Her responsibility, she thought.

  He didn't respond. He tore off a chunk of banana bread and ate it. A trio of young women walked by and checked him out. He didn't return the favor.

  She sipped her cappuccino. By now, the drink was lukewarm. "What you and Vanessa had was romantic. I envy you that. Except for being cursed by a witch."

  "Zinna was wrong about Vanessa. My wife was an exceptional lover. She—" He stalled and snared Allie's gaze.

  Her heart hit her chest. Suddenly the table seem cramped, their chairs much too close. "She what?"

  "Did what Zinna talked about." He reached out to smooth a strand of her hair, to stop the wind from tangling it across her face. "I asked her if she would." He blew out a hard breath. "I shouldn't be telling you this. Or touching you." He pulled his hand back. "You confuse me."

  He confused her, too. He was staring at her mouth, and she sensed that his blood was zinging through his veins. "Was she shocked?"

  His eyebrows furrowed. "Who?"

  "Vanessa. Did it shock her when you asked her to do that to you?"

  "Yes. She didn't know that wives did such things. Or that husbands would want them to."

  "Who did she think did them?"

  "Wild girls and whores."

  "Times have changed."

  "Maybe so. But she liked pleasing me that way."

  So would I, Allie thought.

  He glanced at her mouth again. "Do you do it to your lovers?"

  "Sometimes."

  Neither of them said anything after that. They just stared at each other, with the traffic rushing by, with shoppers carrying packages at a downtown pace, with a flustered lady just a few feet away, jangling the change in her purse, sorting through coins to feed into a parking meter.

  Allie broke eye contact, reminding herself to get back on track, to talk to him about important issues. "Did I tell you that someone stole your necklace from Sorrel?"

  "No." He jumped to attention. "Who took it?"

  "I don't know. I was thinking it could have been Vanessa. Do you think that's possible?"

  "Maybe. But I doubt she would have kept it in her possession. She would have feared Zinna's retribution."

  "Then what would she have done with it?"

  "I'm not sure. Maybe she would have given it to a medicine man for safekeeping."

  "Can you tell me the names of the shamans in your village?"

  "Yes. Only they would all be dead now."

  "I know. But it's a place to start."

  Allie and Raven went upstairs to the loft to finish their conversation. She wrote down the names he gave her. She hoped it would be easy to locate their descendants.

  She got a sketchbook from the studio and brought it into the living room, where Raven sat on the sofa with Samantha in his lap. The cat was rubbing her face on his thigh, itching her chin.

  "Tell me what the amulet looks like," she said. "Every detail."

  He leaned over. "You're going to draw it?"

  "I need to know exactly what I'm looking for. There could be other necklaces out there that resemble it."

  "There wouldn't be. It was unique."

  "Still, I need to know."

  He gave her a description of a flat black stone, about two inches by an inch and a half, with a raven engraved in the center, the bird's wings expanded in flight.

  "What kind of stone was it?" she asked.

  "The kind that can be red, too."

  She wasn't sure what that meant. She made a mental note to look it up on the Internet. She kept her computer on a cherrywood worktable in a corner of the massive living room. "What about the engraving?"

  "It was simple. Like this." He drew a figure on the side of her paper.

  His artistic skills were limited, but he did the best he could, providing her with an image from his memory. She studied the rendering. At a glance, it could be any black bird. But then she recognized the wedge-shaped tail of a raven.

  "The carving was raised about this far." He created a smal
l space between his thumb and forefinger.

  Allie worked on a detailed sketch, using the information he'd provided. "Where did Vanessa get the necklace?"

  "She made it. She carved her name on the back, too."

  "That does make it unique."

  "Yes." He sat back and petted Samantha. The cat had fallen asleep in his lap. "Vanessa got the stone from a trader."

  Allie completed the drawing and showed it to him, checking for accuracy. He pointed out some errors and she made the changes. Finally, the likeness met his satisfaction.

  The day continued with sparse communication between them. Allie got online and did a Google search. As far as she could tell, Raven's necklace was probably made of hematite, an iron oxide that came in forms of black, gray-black and brown-red.

  He leaned over her shoulder, fascinated by the Internet. She checked her e-mail, and he got curious when she grumbled about spam, asking her what it was.

  She explained the concept of unsolicited junk mail, then let him play online while she called Daniel.

  Daniel wasn't home, so she left a message on his voice mail. She didn't give him much information over the phone, just that she needed his help locating an old artifact.

  When she returned to Raven, she discovered that he was on a porn site. Apparently he'd clicked on a spam link that had taken him there.

  He didn't say a word. He just sat there, staring at the monitor.

  Allie stood next to him. She could barely breathe. "You shouldn't be looking at that stuff."

  "You're looking, too."

  "I am not."

  "Yes, you are."

  Okay, so maybe she was. But only because of him. She rolled the mouse to the X at the right side of the screen and closed the site. "Now neither of us is looking at it."

  "I've never seen photographs like that." He paused. "Did you like them, Allie?"

  "No."

  "Not even a little bit?" he pressed.

  "Maybe."

  "Me, too." He stood up, leaving the computer behind.

  And then they were stuck, eye-to-eye, with erotic images in their minds, blatant reminders of the conversation they'd had earlier.

  She glanced at the phone, wishing it would ring, wishing Daniel would save her. She wanted to put her mouth all over Raven, to recreate those pictures, to give him what she knew he was hungry for.

  But she offered him an early dinner instead.

  Keeping herself busy, she made fry bread tacos with beans, cheese, lettuce and tomatoes. He seemed pleased with the meal. Fry bread was a food from home.

  At bedtime, they disagreed about where he was going to sleep. She intended to put him up in her room while she took Olivia's room, but he got all hotheaded and macho, insisting that she didn't need to protect him from the "haunted mirror."

  "That's not what I'm doing," she argued. "Zinna can appear in any mirror."

  "Then why does it matter where I sleep?"

  "It doesn't."

  "Then I'm taking your sister's room, where the men's clothes are." He frowned at her. "Your room is too pretty. It will make me think of you."

  She twisted her fingers together. Why did he have to be madly in love with his wife? With her memory?

  He ended up in Olivia's room, where he had access to her sister's bathroom. Allie offered him an extra toothbrush and anything else he might need.

  He spent nearly an hour in the shower, but this was probably his first experience with modern plumbing, other than splashing around in sprinklers and fountains.

  Finally, he came out wearing a pair of West's sweatpants. His shampooed hair fell to his shoulders in damp disarray, and his skin smelled like blackberry soap.

  They said good-night and parted ways. She crawled into her own bed, feeling unsettled.

  Uncertain of what the night would bring.

  Chapter 7

  Allie awakened to the shatter of glass.

  A window breaking.

  She'd left her bedroom door open, and the sound echoed in her ears. Like a rocket, she shot up and ignited the bedside lamp.

  Instinctively she grabbed a pair of boots and shoved them on. A .44 Magnum, a gun her sister had given her, came next. She fitted it into her hand.

  Combat gear. She was ready to defend her home. To protect Raven. To shoot the intruder, if it came down to that.

  More glass shattered.

  She crept into the darkened hallway, where an electrical outlet night-light glowed like a firefly stuck to the wall. She caught a glimpse of movement and saw a small shadow lurking in a corner.

  Samantha.

  The cat was huddled outside of Olivia's room, where Raven was, where the sound emerged. Allie's heart struck her chest.

  Gun in hand, she entered the room and flipped on the light to surprise the intruder. Only, there was no stranger, and the sound she'd heard wasn't a window breaking. It was the closet-door mirror.

  Raven pounded the glass.

  Dear God.

  He didn't even turn to look at her. He just kept hitting the surface, like a madman, like a warrior possessed to kill the entity inside it.

  Yet the broken mirror was empty. It didn't reflect anything but a distorted image of him.

  She put her gun on the nearest piece of furniture, a rolltop desk, and spoke his name. "Raven?"

  He ignored her.

  She moved closer. He wore the pale gray sweatpants he'd had on earlier, and they were smeared with blood where he'd wiped his hands.

  "There is no one there," she told him. "You're only hurting yourself."

  Finally he reacted to the sound of her voice, looking at her with glazed eyes.

  "I saw her," he said.

  Allie's pulse pummeled her body. Why hadn't she sensed her great-grandmother? "Zinna?"

  "No. Vanessa." He turned his bloodied hands toward the mirror. "I saw her being buried. Like a moving picture in the glass."

  Someone had shown him his wife's burial? Who? And why? If it wasn't a witch, then who else had that kind of power? A shaman? A ghost? The only ghost Allie knew was her father.

  He continued talking. "I was in bed, but I couldn't sleep. I felt hollow. Lonely. And then the mirror lit up and I saw her family burying her. She was wrapped in a blanket, but I knew it was her."

  And he'd pounded the glass from grief, from an unbearable pain. Allie understood that kind of ache. She'd reacted horribly when her father had died.

  Her father. Had he shown Raven the burial?

  "I missed Vanessa when I was a raven," he said. "But not like this. Not like this." He rocked on his heels. "It hurts being a man."

  Birds didn't mourn, she thought. But people did. She reached for him. He didn't return the embrace, but he let her hold him.

  He whispered something that sounded like an Apache kinship term. She suspected that he wasn't talking to her. He was probably speaking to his wife, to the blanket-wrapped body he'd seen in the mirror.

  "Come into the bathroom with me," she said. "Let me get you cleaned up."

  She took his arm, and he moved like a zombie, seemingly unconcerned about the glass imbedded in his skin or the blood on his hands.

  Allie told him to sit on the edge of the counter. He obeyed, and she removed the glass from his hands, then doctored the cuts, which hardly mattered. He didn't need bandages. The bleeding had stopped and the wounds were closing. He was healing already, like an immortal being.

  But wasn't that what he was until the curse was completed or broken?

  She knelt on the floor to check his feet, using tweezers from Olivia's medicine chest, picking out the tiny slivers of glass he'd stepped on. No bandages needed there, either. Another healing was occurring.

  "I'm sorry I broke your sister's mirror," he said.

  She glanced up at him. He'd come out of the zombie state, but his eyes were still glazed. "It's okay. It can be replaced."

  "You're kind to me, Allie."

  She stood up. "I know what it feels like to hurt, to lose someone you lov
e."

  "Your father?"

  "Yes." The ghost. The Lakota wanagi.

  "I lost my father, too," he said.

  "I know. You've had a lot of pain in your life."

  He got off the counter. "I can still feel the battle inside me. The fight between your power and someone else's. I think I will be a raven by morning."

  Which meant her magic was losing. She touched the side of his face. "I'm going to break that curse."

  He covered her hand with his, and they gazed at each other, just as they'd done so many times before.

  "Make love with me," he said.

  Allie caught her breath. "What about your wife?"

  "Vanessa will forgive me." He lowered his voice, using it like a balm, soothing her, consoling himself. "I need you."

  His desire stemmed from grief, she thought. The burial he'd seen was still raw, still clear in his mind. Yet for her, saying no didn't seem like an option. He was her fantasy. She'd painted him before she'd known he was real. She'd wanted him from the beginning.

  She led him out of Olivia's quarters, and they passed the damaged mirror. It glinted like a jagged memory, something neither of them would ever forget.

  Together they entered Allie's bedroom. The lamp she'd turned on earlier shimmered, the amber bulb creating misty light.

  She removed her boots, but left her nightgown on. The unmade bed beckoned, and they climbed onto it and kissed. Hot and wet. His tongue tangled with hers, and her sexual senses came alive, magnifying to a ravenous level. She became aware of everything, every sensation.

  He broke the kiss. "Take off your clothes, Allie."

  She glanced up at him. The canopy over the bed draped him in pink and gold, in fairy-tale colors. Without hesitation, she removed her nightgown and a pair of white cotton panties. She tossed both articles and the panties caught on a dresser-drawer knob, where they remained.

  Like a flag of surrender.

  He took the opportunity to touch her, to take what he wanted, to roam her body. His hands were callused, battered from years of working in the fields, but the fresh wounds were gone.

  She closed her eyes. He cupped her breasts, slid to her belly and stroked between her legs.