by Carol Roi
"He'll be back soon." Her voice is low and musical, and I wonder if she's speaking quietly because she heard my partner do it or if that is her natural voice. Either way, it's nice. I close my eyes against the light and feel her lay a cool, damp cloth across them.
"Blair just went to bring his truck closer to the cabin. He said he has dry clothes for you and more medicine." I can hear the curiosity in her tone, but I don't have the strength to respond to her unasked questions.
The door opens and closes as Blair enters amid a blast of frigid air and a swirl of snow. Esme rises from the edge of the cot, and I hear her tell Blair I am awake.
Another fit of coughing grips me. When it finally ends, Blair is next to me, poking and prodding, making me stick out my tongue as he peers at my throat, pressing his ear to my chest and telling me to breathe deeply. He doesn't need sentinel hearing to notice the wheezing rattle in my lungs. I pull the cloth away from my eyes and stare at him.
He is chewing on his thumb, his expression pensive. Absently he feels my forehead again. "Fever hasn't gone down," he says more to himself than me.
"What's the diagnosis, doc?" I croak, giving him a smile to let him know I trust whatever decision he is about to make.
He flashes me a quick grin. "Let's hope whatever's going on in your lungs is a reaction to the pond water you breathed in and not the onset of pneumonia. The dirty water combined with your cold is most likely turning into a nasty case of bronchitis. How does your head feel?"
"Like it's about to explode and shoot my eyeballs across the room."
"Whoa, that's a bit over dramatic, but it sounds like sinus congestion to me. And lucky for you, I packed for every contingency. But first, let's get you into some warm clothes." Unzipping the carryall at his feet Blair pulls out sweats, thick socks, and bless his little Boy Scout heart, thermal underwear.
Esme busies herself on the other side of the room as Blair helps me dress. I'm disgusted to find I'm weak as a newborn foal, my arms and legs going every direction but the one I want them to. The effort exhausts me, and sweat is pouring down my face as I finally sink back onto the bed.
Blair tucks me in, then heads for the table and the first aid kit/herbal remedy case he made out of a large tackle box. I watch through drooping eyelids as he begins to combine ingredients, realizing I'm in for a long night of tea drinking. With a yawn I manage to keep from becoming a cough, I slip into a feverish sleep.
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I'm back in the jungle. The heat surprises me, though I don't know why that should be. I've been here many times before and it's always the same. A low growl from my spirit guide greets me, and I follow as he leaps from the low hanging branch where he was reclining and pads off through the foliage. I smile to myself, remembering a time when I would have resisted his call, wanting to know the wheres and whys and how comes before I ventured forth. Now I simply wind my way after him
The jaguar leads me to a secluded glade, a place where a small waterfall cascades into an inviting pool. The cat crouches at the edge to drink, and I drop to my knees beside him and do the same. The taste is crisp and cool, and I suspect fed by an underground spring. Giving into temptation, I strip off my fatigues and dive into the water, swimming in lazy circles, finally just floating, watching the wildlife that abounds here.
My spirit guide has spurned the water in favor of a branch in the shade. The flapping of strong wings catches my attention and I see a glossy black raven come to perch on a tree limb. It caws raucously then begins preening. A few moments later, a wolf slinks out of the bushes, not the great silver beast I've come to recognize as Sandburg, but a black wolf with a thick ruff and soulful dark eyes. He laps at the water, his eyes on me. Big as he is, he's still growing; he has the big feet and gangly limbs of an adolescent. Having drunk his fill, the wolf plops himself underneath the tree where the raven is sitting, his pink tongue lolling.
I wonder about these new creatures, trying to figure out their meaning. Before I've gotten very far, the underbrush rustles, and the black mare appears. She pauses at the edge of the clearing, one hoof raised, ears swiveling, nostrils flaring. Evidently our motley group passes her inspection, as she comes to the pool's edge to drink, lowering her great head slowly, her blue eyes on me.
The scream of an osprey diverts my attention for a moment, and I watch the black-and-white hunter dive toward me, pulling out of her stoop just in time to avoid hitting me. I can feel the draft from her powerful wings as she lifts skyward, circling the glade once to land next to the raven. I feel like Alice--curiouser and curiouser.
Something enters the water behind me with a faint splash. I turn, but the pool is perfectly calm and silent for several long seconds. Then a familiar head breaks the surface, long dark hair slicked back by the water, blue eyes sparkling, a welcoming smile on her face. "Hello, Jim."
For a moment I'm speechless, then I manage to stutter, "You're dead."
Tossing her head back, she laughs, the same throaty chuckle Blair had once confided to me he found incredibly sexy. "Am I?" she finally answers me. "You're here. Are you dead?" She swims a circle around me, and I feel like I'm being sized up, being judged worthy.
"If you're not dead, then... " I don't know how to finish my sentence.
"You know I can't tell you." She laughs again. "That's not the nature of this place. There are no cut and dried answers here, Jim. You should know that by now. It's all a matter of interpretation. Though I can give you a hint as to the answers you seek. Would you like a clue?"
I feel frustration building inside me. Now I remember why I found her so infuriating. I growl her name. "Diandra... "
"We nest with the raven and run with the wolf." Her expression is perfectly somber for a moment, then she snickers. "They want you to be so damn formal here, don't you think?"
"That's it? That's my clue?"
"Yep." She backstrokes away from me.
"Can I buy a vowel?" I ask for Sandburg's sake.
"Sorry, but no. One riddle is all you get. Oh, but as with all animals, we are creatures of habit. Nice seeing you again, Sentinel." She slides beneath the surface of the water, then explodes upwards, showering me with spray, shifting form in mid-air so that it is the mare who lands on the shore. She trots into the jungle without a backward glance, the wolf at her heels, the raven and the osprey both taking flight.
As quickly as they had come, they are gone, and I am alone once again with the jaguar.
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Time is now divided into two distinct parts, the time I'm lost in fever-induced dreams, and the time I'm vaguely aware of the real world. Those memories are of drinking nasty liquids, and alternately shivering and sweating. I can't remember the last time I have been so sick.
The dreams are unpleasant too, mostly of the jungle, of fire, and of danger realized too late. Unfortunately, I can't blame those on my illness. They are the standard fare of my nightmares.
Through it all, I can sense Blair close to me. Some whispered words, the touch of a hand, the cool comfort of a wet cloth on my skin all speak to me of his presence. His name is the first word on my tongue when I am finally lucid and able to keep my eyes open for more than a few seconds.
"Blair's asleep," Esme answers me.
Turning my head to the side, I spy a curly-haired lump cocooned in a sleeping bag in front of the fire. Using my hearing I reassure myself that he is okay, then I focus my attention on our hostess. Esmeralda Cooper is a small woman in her mid-twenties, with short, dark hair and vibrant eyes she hides behind heavy glasses. According to the information we received from the bailbondsman, she was up on embezzlement charges, accused of having stolen twenty million from her employer. It occurs to me that if I had that much money, I would not be holed up in a relative's ratty cabin in Canada. I smile to myself. Over the years, I find I have begun to think like Sandburg, who I know, without ha
ving to ask him, believes she is innocent.
"Jim, you okay? You looked like you were a million miles away." Her hand is cool against my cheek. "Your fever's gone down." She holds a mug out to me, steadying it as I take a drink. For once it's water. "Blair said I should make sure you drink plenty of fluids if you woke up." She sets the cup down and faces me again. "Wish I had a friend like him. He was up for almost 24 hours straight taking care of you."
Twenty-four hours? "What day is it?"
She looks at a watch on her wrist. "It's January second, and 4 AM, in case you're wondering. He wanted to get you to a hospital as soon as you warmed up, but it started snowing really heavily and he didn't want to risk getting stuck with you in such bad shape." Her next question comes from left field. "Is Blair part Native American?"
"Uh, no, I don't think so," I stammer. "Why do you ask?"
"Oh, I woke up one time when you were really out of it. Blair was kneeling beside the bed, his hands out over you like this," she demonstrates by holding her hands palm down about two inches from my chest, "and chanting. In the light from the fire it was kind of spooky, that's all, and reminded me of those documentary things on medicine men."
My brow furrows and I chew my lip. What have you been up to, Chief? I know you've been researching the Shaman thing, but healing magic? I can see a long talk in our future. I change the subject, not wanting to get into that deep a discussion with her. "Did Blair tell you why we were here?"
Giving a little sigh, she nods. "He told me you were sent to bring me back to Cascade. I planned to come back for the trial, honest, it's just that I'm afraid."
"Afraid of what?"
"I didn't steal that money."
I sigh. I knew this was coming. "Ms. Cooper... "
"I know, I know, Blair told me your only responsibility is to bring me back and turn me over to the court. But he also told me you were private investigators, that you help people in trouble."
I don't know why I bother to protest, but I make a token effort. "Yes, we do, but usually not embezzlers."
She sits up straighter in the chair, making an indignant noise. "I haven't been convicted; I'm an alleged embezzler. And Blair already promised." Her violet eyes fill up with tears. "He said you would help me."
Chief, you are so dead. I glare at his back, but I knew I was licked the moment we got the call about the case. There is something about females in trouble and Sandburg. They can spot him a mile away. Maybe it's some kind of pheromone--eau de gullible. I would love to research this further with Esme, but a yawn overtakes me. I drift off to sleep, murmuring something along the lines of "Whatever... "
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The next time I awaken, I feel much better. Until I start coughing and can't stop. In the short recess between my last cough and my next one, a cup is pressed to my lips, and I can taste honey, lemon, and something else with a nasty edge to it going down. Whatever it is, it works. The tickle in my throat fades, and I breathe deeply, croaking out a "Thanks," as I meet my guide's eyes.
Once again, I get a hand on the forehead. Not that there's anything wrong with Sandburg's hand, but I enjoyed it more when it was Esme's. I glance around the room to find her now curled up where Blair had been before as he says something about my fever going down. "Hmm, yeah," I answer him. "I feel better."
He grins at me. "Good, because I'm hoping we can get out of here today. Not that this place doesn't have its charm, but it's not safe."
I frown. I'm missing something here. "Fill me in, Chief."
He lowers his voice a little. "We aren't the only people looking for Esme. She didn't steal that money, you know." Sighing, I nod, and he continues. "Her boyfriend, Frank, who was a partner in the business she worked for, stole it and set her up to take the blame. George, that's the other partner, thinks she was in on it, and threatened her if she didn't tell him where Frank went with the money. Of course she doesn't know, and George knows some not so nice people, so she ran. Only problem is, it didn't take much for us to find her, and I'm guessing George is smart enough to check with her relatives too, which will lead him straight to here."
There's a hole in this explanation somewhere. "Maybe this is all a setup. Maybe Frank left Esme behind to take the heat off of him, and she'll join him later."
Blair gives me his "Jim, you are incredibly dense" look. "Jim, man, if Esme was your girlfriend, would you have left her in Cascade to take the heat, when she could be lying next to you on a beach somewhere in nothing but a bikini?"
"Chief, I'm not the person to ask about that. I can't even remember the last time I had a date." As soon as the words are out of my mouth, though, I do remember. It was a double date, Blair and Dee and myself and Megan. It ended up that way quite a few Friday nights, not because Connor and I had any interest in each other, but because Blair and Dee felt sorry we were sitting at home alone while they went out and had fun. It was a guilt date. We had gone dancing, because that was what Blair and Dee had planned, and even though I would never admit it to Sandburg, I'd had a good time. The memory of Connor laughing in my arms is suddenly so sharp and intense that I can smell her scent--perfume, sweat, and the stuff she uses to clean her gun. I feel like I've just ripped a Band-Aid off a wound, taking the scab with it, watching in fascination as it begins to bleed.
"Jim, Jim, you okay?"
I look up at him, blinking away anything he might interpret as tears, and nod. "Yeah, I'm fine, just... remembering." I see the light go on in Blair's eyes, and a look of incredible sadness passes over his face. I'm trying to find something comforting to say to him, when a noise in the distance catches my ear. "Blair, does this George guy know how to use a snowmobile?"
Esme sits up abruptly in the sleeping bag. "Oh, my god, yes! He's nuts about the things, has two or three of them. Why, what are you thinking?"
I meet Blair's steady gaze. "I'm thinking we need to get out of here. Can we get the truck out?"
My partner nods. "Yes, but that won't do us much good. They have to be using the road to approach the cabin; the trees are too thick here for them to get off the track. If we try to drive out, we'll run right into them, and there's no way we can out run them."
Esme has caught the gist of our conversation, and is getting her boots on. "There's a ranger's station just over the ridge. If we can get there... "
I follow her line of thinking. "Then we'll be safe. Sandburg, you take Ms. Cooper and head for the station. I'll hold them off here."
Blair pauses in what he's doing, one boot on, the other held in his hand. "Man, you must still be delirious. Jim, we're in Canada. IE, your gun is safely locked up at home in Cascade. What are you going to use to hold them off with? We have no firearms, unless there's one here?" He directs his question to Esme.
She shakes her head. "No, but I do have a radio."
He points a finger at her. "Get on the horn to the rangers, let them know what's going on, tell them we're heading their way." He finishes getting dressed, while Esme works the radio.
To my dismay, Sandburg has to help me get dressed. Just sitting up makes me so dizzy I nearly pass out. "Just leave me here," I tell him.
"Nope, no can do." He finishes lacing my boots and helps me into his heavy coat, since mine is still at the bottom of the pond. I start to protest, but he will have none of it, and I realize he is probably wearing five layers of clothing already.
Throwing my arm over his shoulder, Blair heaves me off the bed, and we weave toward the door. Esme's already there, shrugging into what I recognize as Blair's backpack. He hands me off to her for a moment as he slips a strap over his head, then reaches back over his shoulder to adjust the leather scabbard that holds the two halves of his staff. He's dragged that damn thing around with him everywhere and never used it. I don't see what use it's going to be now, but I wisely keep my comments to myself, wishing fervently for a gun.
Blair takes over my support from Esme, and we head out of the cabin. Th
e weather's actually fairly nice. Cold, but the sun is shining brightly, the glare on the snow blinding. Blair reminds me to turn it down, and I do as he says. We make slow progress toward the ridge. The snow is deep and I can barely keep myself upright, let alone walk in the stuff, even with both their help. The sound of the snowmobiles keeps getting closer, until it's loud enough for Blair and Esme to hear. The silence when the motors are cut off is startling.
"They're at the cabin," I tell them.
Blair chews his lip, his eyes searching the tree line for something. "Then it won't be long before they're on our trail." He looks me in the face. "How many are there?"
Closing my eyes, I concentrate with an effort. Damn illness is making it hard to stay focused. "Three, I think," I finally answer. I grab hold of his shoulders. "Blair, take Esme and go on ahead. I'm only going to slow you down."
Much to my surprise, Sandburg gives me a very cheeky grin. "I don't think we need to make you into a martyr just yet." Getting a firm grip on me, he heads into the trees. After about five minutes, we come to a small stand of evergreens. This is apparently what he was looking for as he leads us into the clearing. Leaning me against a tree trunk, Blair and Esme criss-cross the area, leaving multiple trails going into and out of the thicket.
