Edge of Dawn

by Melinda Snodgrass

  A box of ammo lay off to one side, top partly off, bullets spilling like silver and gold treasure onto the pavement. There was an indentation in the back of the woman’s skull, and blood oozed sluggishly through her hair. Richard rolled onto his back and looked up as the belly of the plane passed overhead, gliding impossibly low. The side door was open, and Richard could see Estevan, shoulders braced against the door to keep it open, one foot resting on the wing, and only the harness to hold him in place. Of course! Richard thought. She knocked down the trees. Thus allowing his crazy pilot to go into a dive and come barreling down the road. Richard could not imagine the skill required to drop that plane into the narrow opening that had been created. And then Estevan had made the throw of a lifetime and proved that gravity won every time. The engine coughed again, then roared to life and the plane lifted, nearly brushing the tops of the trees farther down the road.

  As he lay there, Richard realized it had gone quiet. Mosi! He staggered to his feet. The woman was still breathing. Richard drew the sword and laid it on her back. She went into violent convulsions. Then cradling his wounded hand against his chest, he ran back through the fallen trees. On the right side of the highway, the exploding truck had started a forest fire. Bodies littered the road and the verges to either side. Richard glanced down at an unconscious mercenary, a marble lying nearby. Mosi had definitely given a good account of herself. While he ran, Richard keyed his headset and called the plane.

  “Jerry, you crazy bastard. Thank you.”

  “It was pretty boss, wasn’t it?”

  “Hang close for a minute, okay?”

  “No prob. We’re your eyes in the sky.”

  Weber was already at the SUV when Richard joined him. Weber threw his arms around Richard, pulling him into a bear hug. “Jesus Christ! That was close,” the ex-cop gasped. “God, your hand.”

  “Didn’t hit a bone. Hurts like hell, though,” Richard panted. Weber pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and gently wrapped Richard’s hand. The blood made a Rorschach pattern on the white cotton.

  Mosi pushed open the door and climbed out. The eyebrows were drawn into a fierce frown, and her lips compressed into a thin line. Richard acted without thought. He hugged her close. She stiffened, and he quickly released her.

  “Good job, kiddo,” he said, trying to cover the awkward moment.

  “Is the adilgashii dead?” Her voice was high and shaky, reaction setting in.

  Richard knew his expression was as confounded as Weber’s. He temporized. “Uh … yeah. Yeah, definitely.”

  “Who is he?” Mosi thrust a finger at Weber.

  “This is Damon. He’s been following us, protecting us.”

  “Didn’t work.”

  Weber gave a shout of laughter. “Well, you’re not entirely wrong there, but we won and that’s what counts.”

  “How are we going to get to Albuquerque?” she asked.

  Weber looked around at the burning truck, the battered SUV, the massive, fallen Ponderosa pines, enough dropped guns to arm a revolution, and finally the bodies. “And how are we going to explain all this?”

  Richard considered. “Attempted kidnapping foiled by my elite bodyguard?” He gave Weber a wan smile.

  Weber surveyed the carnage. “I must be one hell of a guy.” The ex-cop sucked on his teeth and stared at the crystal knives protruding from the road. “But what about those?” He pointed again.

  “The adilgashii made them,” Mosi said with the air of a mother talking to a particularly dim child.

  Weber dropped down on one knee in front of the little girl and asked, “Okay, what’s an adilgashii?”

  “You white people say witch. It’s much more complicated. It’s things and people that disrupt hózhó.” Her stance and expression had changed, and Richard realized she was once again quoting an authority figure. She had an uncanny ability to evoke that other person. “You just have to explain that.”

  “Well, we can’t tell the cops it was witchcraft.” Weber paused and rubbed a thumb across his forehead. “Even if it was witchcraft.”

  “So why can’t we tell—”

  “Enough, we’ve got to get Mosi out of here. I don’t want her pulled into this,” Richard said. He keyed his headset. “Jerry, can you take Mosi? She’s small.”

  “We’ll wallow a bit, but we’ll manage.”

  “Good. Can you set down on the road?”

  “There’s an opening about a half mile ahead. Meet you there?”

  “Yes.”

  They ran and found the Cessna waiting. The little girl’s face was set, her mouth grim as Richard helped her into the cockpit. He gave her hand a squeeze with his uninjured hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there soon. My sister is there. Pamela. She’s nice. She’ll look after you until I arrive.”

  The door closed. Weber and Richard stepped back, and the plane went taxiing away and lifted into the clear August sky.

  “Nice. That isn’t how I’d describe Pamela,” Weber drawled. “She’s never been nice to me.”

  “She’ll be nice to Mosi.” Richard glanced up at his former boss and smiled. “It’s just reactionary jackbooted thugs she doesn’t like.” He paused. “And me.”

  They jogged back toward the scene of the fight. The fire had really taken hold. They weren’t going to be able to wait for too long without risking immolation. Talk about out of the frying pan, Richard thought. Faint and in the distance they heard the ululating cry of approaching sirens.

  “And speaking of reactionary jackbooted thugs … What, exactly, is our story going to be once the cops arrive?” Weber asked.

  “I think we go with the kidnapping story. I’m very wealthy. It’s plausible,” Richard said between pants. Now that the adrenaline had faded, he felt sick and exhausted. The wounds on his head and his hand hurt like blazes, and the imperfectly healed wound on his side had decided to comment as well.

  “And all the shit caused by the magic?”

  “We’ve been cops. You know how we think. We always want the simplest explanation. We’ll just say it’s some kind of high-tech roadside … device.”

  “You know, that was my personal truck,” Weber said.

  “Lumina will replace it.”

  They were back at the SUV. Richard pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his streaming face. It came away bloodstained. “Can’t wait to tell my officers about this.”

  “Look on the bright side. It’ll make some wounded guys and one dead guy in California seem like small potatoes,” Weber offered.

  Chapter

  ELEVEN

  RICHARD and Weber rode the elevator to the Lumina penthouse shortly after eleven P.M. The effluvia in the enclosed space was half stale man sweat and the rest divided between woodsmoke and gunpowder. Richard could also smell pine sap where it had shellacked his hair. The two men had been taken to Española to be interviewed, and it went better than Richard had expected. Turned out Weber knew several of the cops. That connection and Richard’s still active badge had kept the questioning cursory and friendly. A doctor had been called and a half inch of hair around his head wound was shaved. Richard winced, more from pained vanity than actual pain. The wound was stitched, and the doctor said they could come out in a week. His hand was cleaned and bandaged. The most comforting thing was the doctor’s calm assertion that he wouldn’t lose any mobility. He would still be able to play the piano. A few hours later, Jerry had returned with a helicopter and whisked them back to Albuquerque. The pilot had even gotten permission to drop them in the parking lot of the Lumina building.

  The doors opened, and new smells overcame their stink. Roasted potatoes and grilled steak. Franz had been busy. There was a crowd in the living room: Pamela, Grenier, Kenzo, Franz, Cross, and Mosi. The little girl was huddled in a corner of the couch, clutching a throw pillow to her chest. The pillow went flying, and she came bouncing off the sofa and rushed up to Richard. He opened his arms, then dropped them awkwardly when no hug followed. She stared intently into his face,
then gave one emphatic nod.

  He hid his discomfort with a false growled comment, “What are you still doing up?”

  “She wouldn’t go to bed until she was sure you were all right,” Pamela said, and sighs seemed to hang on every word.

  “What the hell happened?” Kenzo demanded.

  “Are you okay?” Grenier asked.

  “Have you eaten?” Cross asked far too casually and with a covetous glance toward the dining room.

  “No, we haven’t. And yes, we’re starving,” Weber said. “So don’t bogart my food!”

  “May we shower first?” Richard asked. He was met with a chorus of nos. He decided if they could stand his stink, he could too. They settled at the dining room table. The light from the chandelier glittered in the glass of the buffets and off the china stored inside.

  Pamela repeated Kenzo’s question. “Okay, what happened?”

  Richard kept his eyes down, focused on cutting off another bite of steak. The blood from his preferred rare preparation flowed toward the potatoes. It brought back memories of the blood staining the pavement and his gut-fluttering fear. He set aside his knife and fork, and forced back the nausea that threatened to overcome him.

  Franz, watching from the kitchen door, darted forward and snatched up Richard’s plate. “I took the liberty of also preparing an egg custard. Perhaps you’d prefer that, sir?” Richard nodded.

  “I’ll finish that,” Grenier said before Cross could speak up. The homeless god slumped back in his chair. Franz looked at Richard, who nodded his assent. Franz set the plate down in front of the former preacher and took away Grenier’s now-empty plate.

  Weber gave Richard another look, but when he saw no evidence that Richard was about to speak, he began the tale. Partway through, Mosi abruptly spoke up.

  “I got two of them. The others stayed back after that.”

  Pamela rounded on Richard. “You gave this child a gun?”

  Richard spooned up another bite of custard. “Actually, she had a wrist rocket, and she was damn handy with it. And if guns had been working, and I had one I thought she could safely handle, then yes, Pamela, I would have given her a gun. She had a right to defend herself.”

  “You white people act like guns and knives and things are snakes,” Mosi said, scorn evident in every word. “They don’t turn in your hand and bite you. My father taught me to shoot, and he said … he said…” The girl’s lower lip started to tremble. She abruptly left the table.

  “Do you think she’s finished?” Cross asked, and glared at Grenier like a dog warning another away from his dish. When no one answered, Cross pulled over the abandoned plate.

  “Are you just going to sit there?” Pamela demanded. “Go after her.”

  “Sometimes people just want to be left alone,” Richard said.

  Franz brought out dessert, a delicate raspberry soufflé. Richard found that it went down without too much rebellion from his stomach. He waited until the coffee cups had been emptied a couple of times, and Cross and Grenier had each had thirds on the dessert, then he stood. “Some of us have had a long day.”

  “We’re meeting tomorrow, correct?” the CFO asked.

  “Yes, Kenzo. I’ll see you in the morning. Let’s say ten.”

  They all moved into the living room and one by one said good night to him. Pamela actually kissed his cheek. “Try to get some sleep,” she whispered.

  “I don’t have an apartment in town any longer,” Weber said. “You got crash space for me here?”

  “Of course,” Richard said, and led him to a guest room.

  The door to Mosi’s room was closed. Richard hesitated outside, then walked on. In the master suite, he stripped out of his clothes and stuffed them into the laundry basket, even the suit coat and slacks. Maybe dry cleaning would pull out the stink. He then stood in the shower, letting the hot water pound on his neck and shoulders. It hurt when the water hit his head, but he needed to get clean. Slowly, tense muscles released.

  He went through the bedtime rituals—water pick, toothbrush—and slid into bed. He tried to make a dent in the stack of reports on the bedside table, but it was no use. He couldn’t concentrate and he couldn’t sleep. Anxiety shivered along his nerves. What if the computers that filled Lumina were compromised? What if they were inside? He touched the hilt of the sword where it rested beneath his pillow. Rising, he put on a bathrobe over his pajamas, and put the hilt in his pocket. He would check on them. No harm in that. Richard pulled a flashlight out of the drawer and flicked it on. The bright halogen glare was a scar in the darkness. He switched it off and put it away. His eyes fell on the candlestick and candle on the dresser. He lit it and stepped out into the hall. Richard recalled that Kenntnis had done this the first night he’d slept at Lumina. So when had Richard become the guardian? And truthfully it wasn’t a role he felt he could fill.

  He went first to Weber’s room. Muffled snores could be heard through the closed door. Clearly the man was all right. But Richard couldn’t fight the need to see. To be sure. Richard softly opened the door and stepped into the room. Weber lay on his back, one foot free of the covers and hanging off the side of the twin bed. Richard had slept in this room. He’d fit in the narrow bed better than the big former cop.

  Shielding the light of the candle with a cupped hand, Richard stepped closer and studied the square, tanned face. At the acne scars along the jawline, the sharp line where the tan on his neck abruptly stopped and the pale chest began. Richard wanted to touch Weber’s tousled brown hair, now tipped with gray. Fortunately, the need to hide the light of the candle made that impossible. Richard backed out of the room.

  Next Mosi. She was in the same room where Rhiana had once slept. A shudder ran through him as if somehow Mosi’s fate would be the same as Rhiana’s. You humans and your silly superstitions. Richard could almost hear Kenntnis’s deep basso voice and the laughter at the edge of the words. He opened the door to her room and moved quietly to the side of the pretty canopied bed. The candlelight glittered in Mosi’s wide-open eyes.

  He had to say something. Various responses occurred and were rejected. Are you all right? Of course she wasn’t all right. Her family had been butchered and she’d been through a terrifying firefight. Can’t sleep? Duh, obviously.

  “I wanted to be sure you were safe.”

  “No place is safe. They came into our hogan.”

  “They can’t come in here,” Richard said.

  The arching brows drew sharply together. “Then why are you checking on me?”

  “Fair point. I know they aren’t here, but I worry they might be.”

  “That’s how I felt about Auntie’s computer,” Mosi said. She stared up at him with the neutral expression that looked so alien on a child’s face. The silence stretched between them, then she said, “Why did you want me?”

  “I want to keep you safe.”

  “But you’ll want me to do stuff. What do you want me to do?”

  “Study.” Richard smiled at the sudden frown on the childish face. “Grow up.”

  “When do I get to fight?”

  Richard sat down on the edge of the bed. “When you grow up.”

  “Why is that always what adults say?” The frown became even fiercer. “And I fought today!”

  “You did indeed. And very well too.”

  “Will I get a sword?”

  “Maybe you’ll get the one I use,” Richard said.

  “But that would mean you were dead. You don’t get to die.”

  “I’ll try not to. And we are trying to make more swords. Maybe even make it so it’s not a sword.”

  “That would be good. Swords are kind of stupid when there are guns,” Mosi said authoritatively.

  Richard chuckled. “Yes, you’re quite right, but this was made a long time ago when people only had swords.” He stood up. “Now go to sleep.”

  He started to leave, but Mosi asked, “Where will I go to school?”

  “We haven’t decided about tha
t yet. Maybe you’ll study here with tutors. We’ve got some time to decide. Now go to sleep.”

  “You go to sleep too,” she ordered.

  Richard left, shaking his head over this precocious, interesting little person who had entered his life.

  * * *

  The three of them ate breakfast in the dining nook in the aggressively modern kitchen. Franz had sent up a bewildering array of chafing dishes that rested on the island buffet like silver treasure chests. They were filled with eggs, ham, sausage, and bacon, and blueberry pancakes. Sunlight through the bay windows glanced off the flecks of opalescent blue that veined the stone. Mosi was fascinated with the big stainless steel toaster, and she browned nearly half a loaf of bread before Richard called a halt to it. Richard ate a slice of bacon, but then contented himself with a cup of yogurt and berries. Weber dug in cheerfully, heaping his plate with several poached eggs, every variety of meat, and stack of pancakes. Mosi also had a good appetite and did justice to the feast Franz had prepared.

  Weber chatted with the little girl and even drew out a few cautious smiles. Richard kept quiet and watched. He felt awkward and uncertain about how to interact with the child. He hadn’t had a lot of experience with kids, particularly one from a very different culture. Fortunately, Mosi took the conversational lead.

  “What are we going to do today?” she asked in a tone that made it far more of a demand than a query.

  “I’m going to show you around Lumina.”

  She gave a one-shoulder shrug. “What’s to see? It’s an office building. And why do you live in an office building? That’s weird.”

  Richard chuckled. “Well, I guess that’s true, but there’s something in the basement I think you’ll like.”

  Mosi jumped up. “I’m done now. Can we go see?”

  “May we go see.”

  “That’s what I said.”

  Richard shook his head. “Not exactly. The word ‘can’ indicates ability. I know you can walk. ‘May’ indicates permission. You’re asking me if it’s okay to go downstairs.”