by C. E. Murphy
“Find out where the hell you’d gone, and why.” Les glared at Morrison again. “She’s going to love the answer.”
“There are two bodies over there,” Morrison said in his mildest ever voice. Then I did feel guilty, because I’d totally forgotten the magnificent arrival had meant Morrison had needed to shoot some people. On the other hand, they hadn’t been very people-like anymore, and I was reasonably certain that if he’d been all torn up about it, we’d have ended up discussing the case and what exactly he’d just had to do, rather than falling into my car like a couple of hormone-addled teenagers. Guilt went away again. I was beginning to like this new, stable, grown-up me.
Les said, “There are?” through his teeth, and whatever mild-manneredness or calm Morrison and I had been sharing evaporated. We exchanged glances, then peered over Petite, beyond Les, to where Carrie Little Turtle and the other wight had fallen.
There were no bodies. There were empty clothes and white dust smears on the red earth, but there were no bodies. After a brief, loud silence, Morrison said to me, “The zombies didn’t do that.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “No. No, they didn’t. Les, they were...the...they...” Even talking to a believer didn’t mean it was easy to say, “Apparently they disintegrated after Morrison shot them,” though after another try or two I got that out.
Les’s voice dropped an octave. “He shot them?”
“Les, they were undead. Wights. Revenants. Something, I don’t know. I’m calling them wights. Their hair was white and their eyes were red and they sucked the life out of the people keeping vigil and they were trying to do it to me. I tried fighting them with magic and it was like fighting fire with gasoline. They slurped it right up. So although I’m very, very sorry I’ll have to tell Danny there is no body for him to bury, I am frankly very glad Morrison showed up and shot a couple of them. So you go tell Sara it’s all gone horribly wrong, and I’ll go into the mountains and stop these things.”
“Not without me, you won’t. You said yourself you’d get lost.”
I had. And I’d also said I’d let Aidan be my guide, which seemed like an even worse idea now than it had at the time. “Sara needs to know—”
“You have her phone number.”
That, while true, was a detail that had slipped my mind. I stared thoughtfully at the Impala. “Ever read a mystery novel set in the ’80s and thought, ‘Man, if they’d had cell phones this book would only be twenty pages long?’ No? It’s just me? Okay then.” The point I was really trying to make was it had also probably been easier to send people on important but time-consuming errands when the whole world hadn’t been carrying space-age communicators in their pockets. I got the phone and called Sara, who told us all in no uncertain terms to get our asses back down to town. “You,” I said to Les when I’d reported this, “may be obliged to take that as a direct order. Me, I’m not even law enforcement anymore—”
“Thank God,” murmured Morrison, which made me grin even as I kept talking.
“—and Morrison is, um. On vacation?”
“Emergency family leave,” he said, and my heart flip-flopped.
“And if you go up in the mountains by yourselves we’re going to have four people missing instead of just two.”
That kept being a valid argument. I took a breath, but Morrison said, “I know you can’t track with the magic, Walker, but I’ve Seen what you See. Can’t you just use the Sight to get yourself pointed back at civilization? Towns look different than wilderness, don’t they?”
I shut my mouth. Les shut his. After a minute I said, “So we’ll go wight-hunting now, then, okay?”
“Aidan will never forgive you.”
“That,” I said firmly, “is a risk I’m willing to take. He’s twelve. He really doesn’t need to be putting himself in the line of fire. So if you’ll go report in to Sara, Morrison and I will go hunt these bastards down the old-fashioned way.” With shotguns and salt, but Les didn’t need to know that.
He scowled, but he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I was certain Sara wouldn’t inform her superiors that the local LEOs were being uncooperative, because she wouldn’t want any more publicity than necessary, either. On the other hand, the local populace was likely to be uncooperative, and Les’s presence would smooth things over. He couldn’t really stay, even if it was his personal preference. He finally jabbed a finger at me. “You keep me informed.”
“I will.” I meant it, though he didn’t look like he believed me. After another minute of glaring, he got in his car and went away, leaving me and Morrison to exhale loudly. I said, “This is a mess,” as I put my phone in my pocket and collected the shotgun from where I’d tossed it.
Morrison didn’t say anything, and after a few seconds the not saying anything got very noticeable. I stopped digging supplies out of Petite’s trunk and looked at him curiously.
He had the cautious expression of a man who wanted badly to speak and was certain it would explode on him. I put the gun and the ammo back in Petite’s trunk and closed it, both to assure him I was listening and that I wouldn’t shoot him. “What?”
“Was that, ah. Was that...?”
Really, I shouldn’t have had the foggiest idea what he was asking. Five words, two of them repeated and one a filler rather than a real word, did not an actual question make. But I understood perfectly, and a soft breath rushed out of me in something like a laugh. “No. No, that’s Les. I guess he had kind of a crush on me in high school. I had no idea until yesterday afternoon. No, it’s... That’s Lucas. Lucas Isaac.”
I folded my arms over my chest and looked down, lower lip caught in my teeth. Then I sidled around Petite’s big back end so I was closer to Morrison, because I knew the body language I was using was all “go away, I don’t wanna talk about it,” which wasn’t exactly true and wasn’t the impression I wanted him to get. I just wasn’t good at talking about it, having kept the secret bottled up for well over a decade.
Morrison was the first one outside of the Qualla who’d sussed it out, anyway. I’d told him my real name, the full Irish-Cherokee hybrid tongue tangling disaster of it, last summer. He’d gone and looked up one Siobhán Grainne MacNamarra Walkingstick, aka Joanne Walker, and had discovered I’d had children while still in high school. After asking very carefully if I’d been raped—there were no police reports indicating I had been, but God alone knew what a fifteen-year-old might choose to report—and hearing the answer was no, he had let the whole thing go with a great deal more grace than I would have shown.
But that was then, and everything was different now. I was different, we were different, and our whole potential future was different. Maybe that was so huge it should all be put off for later consideration, but I was still of the mind that with my life, there was no telling whether there would be a later to consider. So I cleared my throat and tried to answer all the questions he’d been too gentle to ask over the past year. “We hadn’t really been in the Qualla all that long. A year, I guess. And I had a chip on my shoulder like you wouldn’t believe.”
Morrison tried to hide a snort of laughter and completely failed. I laughed, too, and looked up, my cheeks hot. “Yeah, okay, you’d probably believe it.” I looked down again, because I still didn’t like telling this story, even if I’d come increasingly to terms with having to. “Anyway, Lucas came in that fall from Vancouver, and he was really cute. Really cute. And I had a terrible crush on him, and Sara was my best friend and she said she didn’t like him, which wasn’t true but I didn’t get it. Anyway, I was desperate to make him like me so I did the obvious. The really, really dumb obvious. It didn’t work, of course, and to make it worse I got pregnant. And being fifteen...I don’t know. Maybe I thought being pregnant would suddenly make him like me and it’d all be fairy-tale princesses from there on out, but what happened was he hightailed it back to Vancouver at Christma
s break, and I had twins about a month early. The little girl died.”
I rolled my jaw, stopping Morrison from saying anything. It had been thirteen years ago and I’d never meant to keep the babies anyway, but it still made a sick sad place inside me to think or say those words. “Aidan was adopted by a local woman. It was an open adoption, of course, I knew she would be taking him, she knew I was having him, none of it was secret, It was all just what we both wanted. I don’t know if he’s ever even met Lucas. I haven’t seen him—Lucas—since he left. I met Aidan yesterday. Seems like a good kid. He knows who I am, which I didn’t know if he would, and Ada, his mom, she’s a little touchy about me being here even if everything was open and okay, but anyway, so Sara grew up and married Lucas after all, which I learned last December. And on Wednesday she called to tell me my father was missing but she somehow forgot to mention that Luke was, too. So she’s furious at having to call me and I think she’s equally terrified I won’t find him, and that I will and suddenly some long-buried passion will spark and we’ll, I don’t know, steal Aidan and run away together.”
“Should I be worried?”
That was so unexpected I lifted my gaze again. Morrison did not look like a worried man. The corner of his mouth was lifted, and his blue eyes were concerned, but not in a way that suggested he felt threatened. He was concerned about me, that was all, and when I inadvertently smiled at the question, his own smile broadened a bit. He came over, put his arm around my shoulders, and tugged me into an embrace. “Thanks for telling me. I knew some of it, but not the details.”
I put my forehead against his shoulder. “I knew you did. You’re a gentleman, by the way. For not pushing it last summer.”
“You said nobody’d hurt you. I had to trust you on that. I figured you knew where I was if you wanted to talk.”
“Is there a universe in which you thought I might actually come talk to you?”
“You just did.”
“Yeah, but you couldn’t have seen that coming a year ago. Could you?” I leaned back, trying to gauge his expression.
“A year ago you were my employee, Walker. Anything you wanted to say to me then would have been in a different confidence than what you tell me now, even if it’s the same information.” He brushed my chin with his thumb and smiled.
“Did you know I love you?” The question popped out, followed by a blush so hard it made my eyes water. I’d said it on the phone, but that wasn’t the same as saying it right to his face, and besides, it seemed awkward on the tail of the conversation we were having.
His grin only got wider, though. “Then or now? Now, yes, I’ve been starting to suspect. Then? Then it didn’t matter, because I was your boss.” He hesitated. “And you took the promotion, so I wasn’t sure.”
The Promotion. Morrison had made that job offer very carefully, after we’d shared a kiss that hadn’t exactly happened in the real world. I’d had the impression then that he was testing the waters, seeing which I wanted more: him, or to become a police detective. “I wasn’t ready. I was still way too much of a mess, and...and besides, you’d kind of thrown down a gauntlet. You said, I don’t know if you remember, but the day I came back from Ireland you said you thought I could be a good cop. Of course, that was right after you said you’d always liked me, so I probably should’ve taken it with a grain of salt, but—”
“I did like you. I can tell the difference between a Corvette and a Mustang, Walker. It was the woman sitting on the hood that got me flustered. Then you realized I was your new boss, and it seemed like we were better off off to a bad start than making up.” Morrison’s eyebrows darted up and he amended that, turning into something of a confession: “It seemed like I was better off if we stayed on bad terms.”
A smile tugged the corner of my mouth in turn. I leaned against Petite, sliding my feet wide so Morrison could lean against me. “You have no idea how glad I am to hear you can tell Corvettes from Mustangs. Any doubts I might have had are now put to rest.”
“Were you having doubts?”
“No.” I sighed and put my forehead against his shoulder again, easier now that I was scooted a bit lower than he. “Pretty much not since I threw that temper tantrum in the restaurant over Barbara Bragg.” I’d come a breath from going all Fatal Attraction on Morrison’s paramour, and then read Morrison the riot act for putting himself in danger while I was trying to save him. It had not been my proudest moment. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s all right. Though that was some of why I wasn’t sure about what you felt. It seemed fairly clear there in the parking lot, but you took the promotion after that. And you did turn out to be a good cop, Walker. You proved that to me.”
“I guess I had to. Maybe not just to you, but to myself, too. But the whole shamanism thing, it’s pulling me another direction.”
Morrison’s voice dropped. “Is it what’s pulling us back into Petite’s front seat?”
He was right. We were in serious danger of scootching our way right back in there. I groaned and shook my head. “No. It’s pulling us, or at least me, up into the mountains, and if you want to know the truth, Boss—”
“Not ‘Boss.’”
I smiled briefly. “Morrison. Whatever I call you, the truth is I don’t know how to find what’s up there, much less how to handle it.”
“I’m sure it’ll find us, Walker. The rest we can figure out.”
There was nothing better than having a handsome man completely confident in your abilities, except maybe having one who also intended to go into battle with you. I kissed him, then squeezed away before we did fall into Petite’s front seat and went searching for the shotgun I had carelessly tossed away. I was surprised Les hadn’t read me the riot act on that, too, when I found it half-under the Impala. I bent to scoop it up and my phone rang, making me clap my hip as I stood. Morrison straightened, his gaze watchful as I answered with a “Yeah?”
“You answered too fast to be driving back down here, and I don’t want to know why you’re not,” Sara said. “But belay those orders anyway, because Ada Monroe just came to the school. She says Aidan has gone missing.”
Chapter Twelve
I didn’t know what my expression was, but Morrison came closer and put his hand at the small of my back. My heart’s tempo had picked up to an improbable degree, drowning out Sara’s voice. My face felt flushed and my fingers were freezing, but then those reversed while my stomach churned. Sara, distantly, was saying, “She says his bed hasn’t been slept in and the back door was open. Their property backs up onto the mountains, Joanne.”
“He’s twelve,” I protested faintly. “How far could he have gotten in eight hours?” It was a stupid question. Even assuming he’d gone into the mountains at the very slow pace of a mile an hour, that made for a lot of square mileage to cover. Realistically he would know at least a few miles of the land well enough to move much, much faster than that, even at night. I stopped being able to extrapolate how much distance he could have covered. It was busywork anyway, my brain trying desperately to distract itself with numbers while adrenaline pumped through, urging me to move.
“The town is putting a search party together already, and he’s been reported missing in the NCIC and CUE, but—”
“But I’m already up here. CUE?” I knew the National Crime Information Center, but CUE was new to me and would give Sara something to talk about while I folded my hand around the phone and triggered the Sight. Petite herself flared reassuring, solid green, and Morrison had faint red tinges of concern dancing through his purple and blue aura. The mountains were brilliant with color, new leaves on trees burning electric blue, the sap running strong and bright. Bugs and larger animals made different-colored shadows against the blue pulsing life in the trees, but I was looking beyond that. Way beyond.
The Sight wasn’t exactly X-ray vision, but for my purposes it was cl
ose enough. I couldn’t track magic, but I could See it, and Aidan’s aura was brilliant and distinctive. Phone still folded in my hand, I turned my attention up into the hills, searching for the blaze of near-white blend that was Aidan Monroe’s presence.
Nothing. I gritted, “We’ll find him,” over Sara’s explanation about the Community United Effort, and hung up. “Horrible energy-sucking monsters have been moved into second place on the priority list. Aidan’s missing.”
“Your son.”
“Yeah. Ada’s son,” I said after a moment, because it was bizarre hearing someone else say those words aloud. I thought of Aidan as my son in the privacy of my head, but to the world outside my head, he was Ada’s. “Not that I’m trying to write him off. It’s just that she’s put all the time and effort in. All I did was give birth. A long time ago.” I wet my lips, then swallowed. I meant it, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t worried. Terrified, even. “I don’t want anything to happen to him, Morrison. He’s just a kid, and my screwed-up life is coming in to haunt him.”
“Your life...” Morrison paused long enough to make me give a hard little laugh.
“Isn’t screwed up, is that what you were going to say? Thanks, but it is. More than most.”
“Differently from most.” He thought about that, then exhaled and admitted, “More than most. Speaking of which, Walker, it’s a bad time, but how are you doing with the Patricia Raleigh incident?”
“Did she die?”
“No.”
“Then I’m fine.” I wasn’t certain it was true. Two weeks ago I’d shot a woman to keep her from killing my detective partner. I hadn’t shot to kill, and she’d survived, but shooting someone was a big deal all by itself. For me, though, it had also been the spark setting off two weeks of explosive, nonstop action. That kind of thing looked cool in movies, but was exhausting when it really happened. I was going to have a hell of a lot to work through when things slowed down.
