by Jen Doyle
Fixing his gaze on the man, Ian made no attempt at small talk. Made no attempt at talk whatsoever, in fact, as he slowly walked up to the tent. The look on Ian’s face seemed to adequately show his displeasure, however, because Dominic took a step backwards before defiantly saying, “I thought someone should be by her side.”
Ian resisted saying anything about Brooks and Brady being perfectly capable ‘someone’s; he also didn’t mention he wholeheartedly agreed he was the one who should have been there. A mindset, by the way, that did absolutely nothing to make him any happier. Instead, he kept his voice tightly controlled as he said, “Please move.” It was not a request.
After a moment’s hesitation, Dominic snorted and walked away.
Ian crouched down next to the opening where Lyndsey was lying on a mat. Her face and hair had been cleaned—it would have been the first thing Brooks did after taking care of the obvious injuries, partly to stem infection, partly to ensure he hadn’t missed anything. Brooks had also discarded the clothes she’d been wearing and dressed her in a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, most likely the ones that were always stowed in the medical packs just in case of this very situation.
That the clean clothes were meant for a man Ian’s size rather than a woman like Lyndsey was obvious—the material hung loosely, dwarfing her smaller frame and overemphasizing how fragile she seemed, how unlike the way Ian thought of her. The bandages covering her arms didn’t help, nor did the blanket pulled up to her chest, making her look like she’d been tucked in for a nap.
No, not for a nap; she was much too still for that. There was no question this was an unnatural rest.
On the other hand, her face had already begun to heal. The swelling he’d normally expect to see at this stage just wasn’t there. The bruises were, as were the scratches, but all of it looked like the fight she’d been in either wasn’t that bad or had happened at least a week before. And the tubes were gone. Good signs, all.
Brooks spoke from behind Ian. “Zachary thinks the sedatives may have accelerated the healing process.”
Brady chimed in with his best Scotty imitation, “Aye, Captain. All Sekhmet power has been diverted to the healing engines.”
Ignoring Brady, Brooks continued, “All her readings are practically back to normal. Zachary said it was quick, even for her.” He crouched down next to Ian. “We’ve stopped boosting the sedatives; stopped the Hespan an hour before that.”
Ian nodded. “What’s it like under the bandages?”
Rather than answer, Brooks moved forward and lifted Lyndsey’s right arm. He gently unraveled the gauzy material.
Unbelievable. Her arms had been scratched up pretty badly—mostly surface wounds, a few deep cuts. Now, though, some places were already completely healed and the deeper cuts, though traces of them still existed, were now merely jagged scratches. If this was what her arm looked like... “How’s her shoulder?”
Brooks shook his head in disbelief as he looked at Ian. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I mean, the skin, the muscle… It’s practically regenerating in front of my eyes. If someone told me this was possible, I don’t think I’d have believed them. I’m actually not sure I believe it now and I’ve been watching it happen all day.”
“Yeah.” Ian was 100% there. Hearing it from Matt was one thing; seeing it happen another entirely. He started to reach for her hand and then pulled back. He was caked in dirt and day-old blood; not exactly an ideal way to keep infection at bay.
“Go ahead,” Brooks said, realizing what Ian was thinking. “I don’t think I’ll even rewrap that arm, it’s in such good shape. Besides, she’s got a ton of antibiotics running through her.” He handed Ian a baby wipe, the washcloth of choice in the field, and a small bottle of hand sanitizer. “Just clean off your hands first.”
Ian took the wipe from Brooks—took a second and third, in fact—and thoroughly washed his hands, rubbed in the sanitizer. In a few minutes he’d go for a swim and get rid of all this grime. Right now, though, he needed to touch her.
God, he just needed to touch her.
He sat down and reached for her, lacing his fingers through hers. “How long will you keep her out?”
He tried to keep the emotion out of his voice. Unsuccessfully, he realized, as his voice cracked.
Brooks nodded at the man standing next to him. “Brady brought enough supplies to get us through the next couple of days if necessary, and Langdon allowed us a chopper in tomorrow so we can restock. Originally, I was worried we didn’t have enough. Now, though…” Brooks shrugged. “Zachary says she’s got what she needs; I think I agree. She’ll probably wake up in an hour or two.”
Still holding Lyndsey’s hand, Ian said gruffly, “Give me a minute?”
He switched the comm off and put it aside, waiting for Brooks and Brady to walk away. “Lyndsey…” was about all he could get out before choking up, the image of Abby’s broken body flashing through his mind again.
No. This wasn’t eight years ago. It was totally different. Lyndsey was totally different.
Squeezing her hand, he said, “Don’t do that to me again, okay? I’m not sure I’d survive it a second time around.”
Well, that was a little too close to the truth for comfort, wasn’t it?
He took in a deep breath. “I’ve got to go get cleaned up. Destroy these clothes. Then you’re stuck with me for the rest of the night.” He kissed her hand gently before laying it down on the blanket again and standing up.
At some point during the day someone had moved his pack next to the tent. He grabbed some clean clothes as Brooks appeared again. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes, thirty tops.” After walking a few steps, he turned back to Brooks. It wasn’t humanly possible to adequately convey how grateful he was. He’d have to settle for, “Thank you.” Damn if that catch wasn’t in his throat again.
The catch appeared to be contagious. “Anytime,” Brooks said, looking down. It took him a few moments before he could meet Ian’s eye. Then he looked away. “I felt like Abby was here today, talking me through.”
Ian fought to keep his composure. “Yeah,” he finally said. “She was here. All day.”
He turned on his heel and walked down to the water, dropping the clean clothes onto the beach. Pausing long enough to shed his boots and socks, he headed into the water without bothering to take anything else off. May as well clean everything; that way there wouldn’t be any toxic fumes when he burned it all.
As he swam away from the shore, he let the emotion of the day pour out of him, his strong strokes accomplishing what the hours of digging for some reason couldn’t—beating back the grief, the frustration, the anger; letting his body absorb what his mind couldn’t handle. He forced his mind to shut down and concentrated on the feel of the water. Every minute brought a bit more relief and by the time he turned back, he felt like he finally had his focus back. Like his world was righting itself again. Refreshed as he emerged from the water, he changed and, with a quick wave to the men sitting around the campfire—a group that, he was happy to note, now included Dominic—headed back up to the tent. Brooks and Brady had taken up their places again, sitting on the ground next to Lyndsey, playing cards. They looked up as Ian neared.
“You want in?” Brady nodded toward the deck.
Ian sat down alongside Lyndsey. This time he reached for her hand without hesitation. “Not tonight.” It was time to get back to work. He picked the comm up off the ground where he’d left it earlier. Put it back in place and turned it on.
“You really back this time?” Matt asked. “Did you wash your troubles away?”
Ignoring Matt’s comment, Ian said, “What’ve you got?”
“That’s it?” Matt wasn’t going to give in that easily. “I don’t even get to ride your ass a little? You’re completely over the guilt thing?”
Ian leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. No guilt. Sure. “Are you?” Because he was pretty sure Matt felt it on every damn op, too.
&n
bsp; Matt sighed. “Nah.” He paused for a moment and then said, “All right. I’ve got TomCat and Zachary on the line with me. What do you want to hear about first?”
A strand of hair had fallen across Lyndsey’s eyes. Ian reached to brush it out of the way. “Let’s start with the warrior princess thing.”
Matt turned it over to Catalano, who said, “I’m probably not the only one who thinks this sounds familiar. Let me just quote a few lines: ‘A girl from ancient times who showed great valor and courage despite her few years. … Ultimately sacrificed her life to protect those she served.’” He paused. “Should I go on?”
Well that was interesting. “She was Sekhmet?”
Zachary answered, “Unclear. Tessa has been doing some research on that. She thinks possibly, but there’s no definite connection. Especially since it’s impossible to know which legend predates the other.”
“Zachary.” There was a voice Ian hadn’t missed today.
“Ian,” Zachary replied. Ian could practically hear him smile. “Don’t beat yourself up about the guilt thing. There really was nothing you could do.”
Thanks, Zachary, for that nice little emphasis on ‘nothing.’ No. Did not miss that voice at all. Two, however, could play at that game. “I guess it’s too bad you weren’t here this morning. No, wait—turns out there really wasn’t much for you to do, either.”
Matt stepped in before they went any further. “Should I tell the teacher there’s about to be a fight on the playground? Or maybe I could just get on with the working part of our day.”
“Fine,” both Ian and Zachary replied at the same time.
“So,” Catalano continued as though there hadn’t been any interruption, “if she wasn’t Sekhmet, she was apparently the next best thing. The legend has it her death earned her a seat at the Creator’s table where she stayed for a couple million years until the trader guy—Longère—came along.”
“What was so special about him?” Ian asked, still irritated. “Super powers? Satan’s son?”
“Nope,” Catalano answered innocently. “Just a normal guy she took a fancy to.”
“Really.” Ian couldn’t deny there was a tinge of smugness in his tone. Take that, Zachary. “Just a normal guy.”
“Yeah.” Zachary’s subtext was clear—I’ll see you, and raise you one. “Too bad he died. Nasty little case of smallpox. Did you really expect a happy ending?”
“Are you two kidding me?” Matt muttered before saying more loudly, “TomCat.”
With an audible chuckle, Catalano continued, “After he died, she went crazy, wreaked havoc and all that. The Creator had no choice but to punish her; sent her off into a—wait, let me get the actual phrase—‘a world of darkness and flame, a place she would pay for her sins.’”
Damn it. Ian really had kind of been hoping for a happy ending. “He sent her to Hell?”
“That’s all just a literary convention,” Zachary said. “Hell isn’t really that dark. It’s all fluorescent lighting; a lot of mirrors—which I hear don’t work too well together. I wouldn’t know.”
It absolutely killed Ian to keep from asking if the thing about fluorescent lighting was true—if Zachary had any actual clue of what he was talking about. Ian was not, however, going to give Zachary the satisfaction. “If not Hell, then where—an alternate dimension?”
“Just because it’s a legend,” Matt said, “doesn’t mean it’s true. Or accurate.”
Ian thought back to the look on the guide’s face—the stunned look Ian hadn’t been able to figure out—earlier that day after carrying Lyndsey out of the woods. “Were you able to see Joe’s expression this morning? As much as I hate to believe it, I think Frank was right. I think Joe really did believe Lyndsey was the princess. For a few minutes at least.”
“Okay,” Matt conceded. “So what if he did? Why would he care? Is it just because of the living legend thing, which, granted, would be kind of big. But is there more to it?”
Reflecting on the day he’d just spent with the man, Ian was pretty sure that, yes, there was more. What that was, however, was still unclear. “What about the whole butterfly thing? Has Tessa found out anything more on what the guides said? Can she find a connection with the warrior legend?”
“Yeah,” Catalano answered. “She has Sante doing a crash course in basic Ojibwe…”
Sante being Lyndsey and Tessa’s co-worker and, from what Ian could remember, Tessa’s boyfriend.
“He says he’ll get a better translation as soon as he can, but for now he wanted us to know that it’s a proper name: Butterfly Princess.”
Ian knew he wasn’t the only one who felt that resonate somewhere deep. After a few seconds, Matt said, “You’re shitting me.”
“Right?” Catalano answered. “And he had no clue about the butterfly connection when he figure that out. But that made Tessa go at it even harder and she said there’s a ton of stuff out there that she’s currently digging through. But one of the most promising things she found is something about a Butterfly Dance in Cherokee folklore, and, apparently, there’s something similar in Shoshone. She’s also found a text that talks about a Butterfly Maiden as a… Hold on, here’s a direct quote—'fertilizing force.’ Something about infusing the mind with all sorts of dreams. . .”
Sounded familiar. Sounded like what Ian had been doing all day.
“But, yeah…” Catalano sounded like he was still reading. “There’s a lot here from a whole lot of different cultures, but all of it pretty much points to: this is not a chick you want to mess with.”
“Like as in, warrior princess-you don’t want to mess with her?” Because Ian had definitely met his share of women who fit that category; he’d fallen in love with two of them.
“Like as in,” Catalano answered, “I’m sending Tessa’s notes out to all of you now. I’d say it’s worth taking a closer look.”
“Well, if that’s what we’re up against,” Matt said, “my money’s on Lyndsey. Ian, I don’t suppose you were able to get anything out of Joe today…”
“Not a damn thing.” Ian had a suspicion the images he’d been seeing all day were more vivid than usual thanks to Joe’s questions—questions that had started being about Lyndsey, but had somehow turned to Abby. Small talk, more than anything; the kind of questions you ask when you’re just trying to make conversation. The subject was too loaded, though, for it to be that simple. Not that Joe would have known that—or that he would have particularly cared.
“So what are you going to do about him?” Zachary’s voice showed his impatience, probably because he had expected Ian to be a little more aggressive in terms of finding out information.
Honestly? Ian had been surprised as well. It wasn’t like him to let something drop like that, especially not something that had the kind of consequences of what had happened today. Then again, those consequences were probably directly related to the lack of focus. It was all very Catch-22.
He hadn’t entirely let it go, however. In the recesses of his mind, he had wondered about where Joe fit into all of this. There was something about the man Ian couldn’t quite pin down. Whether it was a good something or a bad something had yet to be seen. “I wish I knew.”
The only intel they had was what Joe had told them. For all they knew, he could have been the one to incite the bear in the first place. Then again, they were talking about warrior princesses, ancient bloodlines, and millennia-old legends. Who was to say it wasn’t just the—what had Joe called him? The trickster who had just hit the payload in terms of stirring things up?
“Could it have been Nanabozho?” Ian asked. “Could he have set the bear on Lyndsey?” Hell, maybe he was the one responsible for the dead hikers in the first place.
“But why?” Matt asked. “What would he have against Lyndsey?”
“That’s not how it works,” Zachary said. “There’s no ulterior motive. Tricksters just make mischief.”
It irritated the hell out of Ian—the way Zachary seemed to be the
authority on anything mystical.
No, unfortunately: not just seemed to be, actually was.
Knowing Zachary had a monitor showing the image of Lyndsey all bandaged up and lying on the mat—the image captured by the camera snaking down Ian’s jaw—Ian posed the same question he’d posed to Joe earlier that day: “This is mischief? Seems more like attempted murder to me.” Or, actual murder, if there was a connection with the hikers.
Zachary countered, “Does a kid play with matches to burn a house down?”
“He didn’t mean for it to play out like this,” Ian stated flatly. “That’s the excuse you’re offering?”
“Not every species comes with the same moral core,” Catalano said.
Right. This conversation was taking place with a vampire and a demon; it wasn’t exactly black and white.
“Then again,” Catalano said, “I did see something about Nanabozho also being the inventor of hierogplyphs. And, well, maybe there was something to what Dominic was saying about the pictographs not being something to mess with.” Yeah. Not that Ian had any interest whatsoever in agreeing with anything Dominic said, but the theory was plausible. Before he could say anything to that effect, however, Catalano added, “Not that I think we need to pull back in any way, but it might not hurt to consider.”
“Agreed.” Considering how long the day had already gone on for, the last thing Ian wanted to do was raise another topic of conversation. He couldn’t help but ask, however, “And the Maymaygwayshi?”
“Right,” Catalano said. “So from what I can tell, they’re mostly benign. I mean, they may steal a thing or two if you piss them off, but it doesn’t seem like they’re a huge threat.”
“So why would Joe have mentioned them?”
“Well, there are stories of them leading lost children out of the woods or helping people who give them gifts. So maybe he meant they helped her with fending off the bear. But that’s really all I’m getti… Oh, hold on. Okay. Apparently the Ojibwe word for butterfly is memengwaa so maybe there’s some kind of relationship there. And Joe clearly does have that thing about the princess.”
