by Jaime Rush
She was distracted by the feel of his hands on her waist. “What about an ankle holster? I’ve seen those in the movies.”
“Imagine that you need to get your knife quick. You have to reach down, lift your pant leg, and then extract the knife. Takes too long. But I could have the sheath made into something you could wear around your neck. Either way, babe, you gotta wear something looser. Keep the knife in the sheath and go through the motions of pulling it from either location. See which feels best.”
Baggy shirts and sweaters. Was there no justice in the world? On the upside, that meant she’d have to do some shopping. She watched him demonstrate pulling the knife from his belt and then beneath his shirt and copied the motions. “I think I like it around my neck.”
“That’s what we’ll do, then.”
“Thank you. For the knife.”
“It’s a gift I wish I didn’t need to give you.”
She nodded toward a display hanging on the wall. “Why are those knives displayed separately and on blue velvet?”
“Those are from my father’s collection.” He reached up and unhooked one with a wavy blade. “This was my first knife. He gave it to me when I was seven.”
She shook her head. “Seven.” The thing was a foot long.
“Right before he died. It was a big deal, that he trusted me with it. During the full moon he always took his knives outside to sanctify them. He dedicated them to the blood of the innocent. He would cut his hand to put his own blood on the blade and ask the gods to help him. That last time I saw him, we were living in DC but we came out West so my mother could visit her people. He and I stayed here for the weekend. That’s when he showed me the Blade Room and gave me my first knife. He told me it would be mine someday.
“We walked outside to a fire pit, and we went through the ceremony, sanctifying the knife he’d given me with my blood.” He was staring at his reflection in the blade, maybe standing with his father again. At seven.
She held the knife out on the palm of her hand. “I want to sanctify this knife.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Do you even believe in that kind of thing?”
“I don’t know what I believe anymore. I just know I want to sanctify this knife.”
He met her gaze, and she saw something close to admiration in his eyes. “We’ll do it tonight, before we leave.”
She felt a strange trill go through her. At the prospect of being with Cheveyo in the moonlight, cutting her hand, or because of that admiration, she didn’t know.
A short while later they reached Flag, parking in the historical area. It resembled an Old West type of town, with lots of shops and restaurants. Since it was a college town, she saw a lot of young people, and people her own age who enviably had nothing more to worry about than exams and studying.
Cheveyo parked along the curb in front of a bookstore. The streets were dusty and sprinkled with leaves that had fallen from the trees planted along the sidewalk.
She followed him into the leather shop next door. Cheveyo obviously knew the Native American man behind the counter well, as they exchanged warm greetings and a handshake. Maybe he was from his mother’s tribe. Or, thinking of the many sheaths Cheveyo had, he was probably just a good customer.
“Petra, this is Vince Blackhawk, one of the best leathersmiths in the world. This is an associate of mine, Petra Aruda.”
She nodded, and he gave her a slight bow. As Cheveyo described what he needed done, she looked around at the variety of leather items, from art to belts to boots. Associate, huh?
She breathed in the smell of leather. “Is it wrong to love the scent of dead cow?”
In a soft, reverent voice, Vince said, “Each cow that is used for my leather is honored in death and thanked for its contribution to my welfare, and to the enjoyment of those who buy my wares.”
“Uh . . . that’s great. Really.”
Vince crooked a finger as tanned as his leather, beckoning her closer. When she hesitated, he said, “I need to measure you for length of cord.”
“Oh.” She released a breath and walked over.
After measuring the cord, Vince told them it would be ready in a short while.
They walked passed art galleries and shops that boasted turquoise, pottery, and silver jewelry. Lots of gorgeous Native American artwork. She kept pausing, taking in all the pretties. Gifts? Would Eric or Lucas like a silver pendant? Funny, she didn’t feel that driving need to buy things for everyone. She looked at Cheveyo, who was watching her with amusement.
“Does your mom have a shop like this?” she asked.
“No, she works from a studio I had built for her at her home on the rez. Her work is in many of these shops, though.”
“That must make you proud.” She could tell that it did. She paused outside a clothing boutique. “Can I pop into this shop for a few minutes? I need to get some baggy shirts.” It wasn’t baggy shirts that had snagged her attention, but the cutest leatheresque fringe vest with turquoise beading in the window. She desperately needed to buy something fun.
Pope pointed to a shop three spaces down. “I am going into the pastry store. Perhaps it is a similar draw as yours I experience when I see éclairs in the window.”
Cheveyo rolled his eyes. “Make it quick,” he said, though she knew he didn’t want either of them to wander off.
“I know, ten minutes,” she said with a smile, breaking down the last remnant of his resistance, at least by the way his own mouth curved. “You can come in with me.”
He leaned against a heavy wooden beam. “I’ll wait here, thank you.”
She walked in, dazzled by the upscale boutique and all of the pretty outfits. She sought out the rack with the vests and snagged one in her size. She wasn’t as thin as the mannequin in the window, but she bet she’d rock the vest anyway. Turning to another rack, she picked out a couple of tops that fit the baggy bill. When she turned to ask the clerk where to try them on, she stopped, mouth half open. The woman behind the counter had the same expression, only hers was tinged with shame.
Suza the seductress cleaning lady’s dark eyebrows furrowed. “Oh, shoot, you’re not hunting me down, are you? I’m telling you, I never laid a finger on that man.”
Petra stifled a smile. “I believe you.”
Suza studied her. “Yeah, you’re cool.” She splayed her hand on her chest. “Whew. I know women can get crazy jealous, especially about a man as good-looking as that one. I should have known better. Not only is he hotter than the Sonoran Desert in July, I had a feeling his heart was elsewhere.”
“We’re not . . . you know, involved. I’ve only met him twice before now.” She wasn’t giving permission for the woman to continue to try to seduce him, was she? Hopefully not.
Suza was frowning in puzzlement. “That can’t be true, not with what I picked up. You’re very special to him.”
Petra blinked at that. “How do you know that?”
She fiddled with her long black braid. “I felt it when he looked at you, right after I . . . well, you know. He was checking your reaction. And I just now realized the pictures in the china cabinet drawer, they’re of you. He’s known you for a long time, ’cause some of them are when you were younger.”
“He has pictures . . . of me?”
“A bunch. Found them when I was polishing the silverware. I did wonder if you were his girl, but then, there were no signs of a woman living in that beautiful house, so I thought maybe you’d died or something. That would explain his sadness. Whether you’re involved or not, that man adores you.” Her gaze dropped to the hangers she was holding. “You want to try those on?”
“Oh. Yes.”
The vest didn’t seem all that exciting compared to what Suza had just told her. “You work here, too?”
“I own this place, opened it a couple of months ago. It took every penny I had, so I do cleaning on the side for extra cash.”
Petra looked around the store, now seeing it as a woman’s dream. “I like it. I hope
you succeed beyond your wildest dreams.”
“Thanks, sweetie. See, I don’t do everything on impulse, though that part of me does get me into trouble sometimes. I need to tamp it down, for sure.” Suza led her toward dressing rooms with wooden doors painted in southwestern colors in abstract designs.
Petra paused before going in the room. “You feel people’s feelings?”
Suza was unlocking one of the rooms. “As does my mother and grandmother. A gift and a curse,” she added with a wry smile.
“Don’t I know it.” At Suza’s surprised expression, Petra said, “I mean, I’ve heard that psychic abilities can be a double-edged sword.”
“Yes, but it’s clued me in on three cheating bastards and one lying girlfriend.” She opened the door for her and gave her a wry smile. “Once I got past being the Queen of Denial.”
“I can see how that would come in handy.” She liked Suza. Liked her even better because she hadn’t slept with Cheveyo. She was a striking woman, with stormy-sky eyes, creamy skin, and hair that reminded her of Cheveyo’s pitch-black jag fur.
Petra focused on trying on the clothing, the vest first. It showed off her cleavage and still maintained modesty, and the fringe danced with her movements. She was so buying it. She tried on the other shirts, shrugged, and put them in the keeper pile, too. No fun buying clothing she wasn’t in love with.
A couple minutes later she took the clothing to the counter. Earrings that matched the turquoise beads caught her eye, and she held them up and surveyed her reflection in the oval mirror.
“All set?” Suza asked.
Petra nodded, and when given the total, handed her cash. “I don’t think it’s weird that you pick up people’s feelings. You’re an empathic.”
“Yeah, that’s what they say. Well, thanks for that. I’m not ashamed of it, but some people . . .” She waved a hand that sported two silver and turquoise rings. Her gaze went beyond Petra. Outside, Pope had joined Cheveyo, offering him something in the white bag as he ate an éclair. “What’s his story?”
“Pope?” At Suza’s nod, Petra had to stifle a laugh at the thought of trying to explain his story.
Suza’s smile lit her face, her gaze still on him as she wrapped up her purchases like a gift. “He’s got wild eyes. Is he involved with someone?”
“Ah, no. Hasn’t ever been, actually. His job keeps him pretty busy.”
“I was serious about feeling a good heart in him. Don’t feel that very often, let me tell you. There’s something about him. He’s different.”
“Pope is . . . is . . .”
The bells on the door jangled, saving her from trying to come up with something, and both men stepped inside.
Pope licked his fingers as his gaze went right to Suza. “Uh-oh. This is—what is it called? Dejazoo?”
Cheveyo was obviously surprised to see Suza there, but he gave her a warm smile.
Suza spread her arms to encompass the store. “Welcome to my boutique, gentlemen. This is why I work so hard.” She walked around the counter and closer to the two men, stopping in front of Pope. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
He gave her a smile that Petra had never seen. A flirtatious smile. “You figured me out. I’m from a little town near Croatia.” Probably his line to explain why he wasn’t up on all nuances of American life and conversation.
Suza didn’t look gooey and dewy; her eyes sparkled with interest. “I’d love to get you out of those clothes.” His eyes widened, and she added, “And into something like this shirt that would bring out the gorgeous color of your eyes.” Without taking her gaze from him, she snatched a shirt from a rack of men’s clothes and held it up to him. She looked as guileless as could be, as though she hadn’t tossed out that provocative line. “Not that you need to. They pop all on their own, but this would really maximize them.”
Pope’s expression was a mixture of wonder and pleasure. “Thank you.” Without even looking at the shirt, he said, “I’ll take it.”
Suza looked at the tag and then at his upper body. “You’ll need an extra large to fit those shoulders.” She riffled through the hangers and produced a larger size. “You want to try it on?”
“No, I trust your judgment.”
She held it against his chest, running her hands over the fabric to flatten it against him. “Yes, that should fit you just fine.” She paused a moment, her hand still on his shoulder. Petra felt that pregnant pause between them, that beautiful moment when two people realize there’s something going on between them, even deeper than surface flirting, that takes your breath away.
Suza blinked and dropped her hand. “I’ll . . . I’ll go ring you up.”
Okay, now she looked gooey and dewy. It looked good on her, softening her eyes, curving her mouth into a misty smile.
Pope remained there for a second before snapping out of it. He stepped to the counter and pulled out his wallet. After he’d paid, Suza put all of her attention on wrapping the shirt in teal tissue paper and inserting it into an opaque plastic bag. She met his gaze as she handed it to him. “Come back and see me. I mean, come back and shop again. It was a business doing pleasure with you.”
Pope’s mouth twitched, and Petra saw the moment poor Suza realized she’d switched the words. Petra stepped up to the counter. “It was a pleasure doing business with you, too.” She held out her hand. “Don’t tamp down that impulsive side. It suits you. And thanks for . . . you know.”
The moment they walked out of the store, Cheveyo asked, “Do I want to know why you’re thanking her?”
She gave him a mysterious smile. “Probably not.”
Chapter 10
Cheveyo spent a half hour stocking the Tank and readying it for the next trip. More than anything he did not want to share this small space with Petra again. But he couldn’t think of one other place where she would be safer without bringing in the Offspring. Dangerous for them, and still maybe not enough to protect her. Hell, he wasn’t sure he would even be able to keep her safe.
Back in the house, he caught her looking at something in the drawer of his china hutch. She held up a stack of pictures, a puzzled look on her face.
He walked up to her, gently took them from her hand and closed them back in the drawer.
“Why?” she asked, glancing toward the drawer. “Why do you have these pictures of me?”
“Because I’m a crazed stalker.” He widened his eyes to make the point. Luckily, she hadn’t gone deeper into the pile. He didn’t want to explain anything else she might find in there. “Do you still want to do the ceremony? We have to leave soon.”
“Yes, I do, but—”
“When I checked on you, I sometimes took a picture. No big deal.”
She flicked a glance to the drawer. “No big deal. Right.”
Pope was sitting on the couch, three different maps spread out on the coffee table that showed the surrounding area. Cheveyo caught his attention. “You want to come?”
Pope took them in, standing only a few inches apart, probably picking up the tension. “I’d better not. That Hotter’n a Bitch sauce you warned me about . . .” He pressed a fist against his stomach. “I should have believed you.”
Was he really talking about the sauce?
Petra picked up the knife she’d set on the table and followed him out the kitchen door to the backyard. The night was alive with sound, crickets and a breeze whispering through the pines. Soon the crickets and katydids would go silent for the winter. The first snowfall could come in a couple more weeks. Cheveyo paused, sensing the surroundings. No sign of an unwanted presence.
A rustle of some animal startled by their exit from the house made Petra’s body tighten. “What was that?” she asked from very close behind him, her fingers curling around his arm.
“Could be a raccoon or coyote. It’s not a beast dog.”
“That is only somewhat comforting.”
“We don’t have to do this.” He turned, and she was walking so close she ran righ
t into him. He automatically put out his hands to steady her, resting them on her shoulders.
“I want to. Let’s just do it quickly.”
He heard the apprehension in her voice, and yet she was determined to go through with it. He liked it better when she was the wigged out scaredy-cat than the determined woman with a knife gripped in her hand. The blade caught the moonlight, sending a flash across the ground with her movements. The moon wasn’t full but bright enough to see by.
Her voice was soft in the darkness. “Did your father bring you out here in the middle of the night?”
“Yeah, but the moon was full.” He stopped at the stone fire pit midway between the house and the forest but didn’t sit on the circular bench.
She faced him, the light washing over her blond hair like silver, sharpening the planes of her face. “Were you afraid?”
“I was more afraid of screwing up the ceremony or doing something that would make him see I wasn’t worthy.”
She nodded. “Do you feel any anger toward your father?”
“Why would I?”
“Mm, let’s see. He stole away your childhood, turned you into a warrior at seven, and has directed your life since then.”
“He gave me a direction. When I saw other kids playing, sometimes I wished I could be like them, yeah. But I also felt special because I had a mission, a secret purpose.”
“Do you still feel special?”
“That was a kid’s ego. I can’t let my ego play into what I do. I don’t feel special. I just am.”
She moved closer. “A warrior.”
“And an exorcist, and shapeshifter.”
She had been about to touch his face, but the reminder of his cat stilled her hand. “The archetypes. Is that from the Hopis?”
“I’ve studied many different religions and spiritual teachings. The question is there evil on earth and why, drove me down many paths.”
“And what did you find out?”
