HAWK MOON
By Rob MacGregor
Digital Edition published by Crossroad Press
Copyright 2012 / Rob MacGregor
Copy-edited by: Ann Bryant
Cover design by: David Dodd
Background cover image courtesy of:
http://wyldraven.deviantart.com/
LICENSE NOTES
This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to the vendor of your choice and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Meet the Author
Rob MacGregor is an Edgar-winning author, who has been on the New York Times bestseller list. He is the author of nineteen novels, thirteen non-fiction self-help books. He writes both adult and young adult mysteries, adventure, and science fiction/ fantasy. He’s best known for his seven Indiana Jones novels. He and his wife, Trish, also write the Sydney Omarr’s Astrological Guides and maintain a blog on synchronicity. In his spare time, Rob teaches yoga and meditation, and he’s an off-road mountain biker and windsurfer.
Book List
Young Adult Novels
DOUBLE HEART
HAWK MOON
PROPHECY ROCK
Adult Novels
JUST/IN TIME with Billy Dee Williams
PSI/NET with Billy Dee Williams
ROMANCING THE RAVEN
TIME CATCHER
www.robmacgregor.net
www.synchrosecrets.com/synchrosecrets
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To Trish
Prologue
The ghost town seemed to shimmer like a mirage in the moonlight. It spooked her. This place had always spooked her. Even at midday.
As they walked into the town, a dust devil swirled down the street. The wind moaned through the old buildings. Myra wondered what it would have been like to live here in the old days, maybe as the daughter of a prospector and his wife who'd crossed the Great Plains in a wagon train.
Ashcroft came into being in the summer of 1880, near the road leading over Taylor Pass. Within a year, about five hundred people lived in Ashcroft, about the same as Aspen at that time. Soon, a telegraph wire crossed the pass connecting the two towns, and the population swelled to two thousand. But the good times didn't last long. By the end of the century, a depressed mood swept through the mining communities as the value of silver fell, and Ashcroft was abandoned. Now, more than a hundred years later, what remained of the town was slowly collapsing.
Myra glanced at her companion, then quickened her pace through the chilly autumn night. She stopped in front of one of the buildings in the heart of Ashcroft and peered through the entry. The door had disappeared long ago; the interior was a dark hole. A whisper of wind seemed to beckon her. She felt her heart pounding.
"You wanna go inside?" Will asked.
She turned to Will Lansa, whose brown eyes stared intently at her. In the light of the full moon, his high cheekbones emphasized his Native American heritage. "I don't know. It gives me the creeps."
"It's just an old building, Myra." He stepped through the doorway, and she lost sight of him.
"Will?"
"Hey, come and take a look at this, will ya?"
"What is it?"
"Come here. Hurry."
She hesitated, then moved into the building. She smelled the odor of damp, rotting wood. But there was something more here, too. Something that made her feel tense and cold. The beams creaked and moaned. Even in here, the cool wind penetrated her bones.
"Will?"
"Over here."
She took two cautious steps in the direction of his voice, wishing she hadn't followed him. Then she saw him standing in front of a window bathed in faint moonlight.
"It's a red fox," he whispered.
She relaxed her shoulders, exhaling, then took another step. "A fox? What's it--"
Something tugged on her scarf. Tugged again. She shrieked, clawed the scarf off, and bolted for the door. She raced into the middle of the wide dirt road, and for a moment she thought she saw herself from high above as she spun in circles at the very center of the ghost town.
"Jeez, Myra. What happened?" Will asked as he loped out to her.
"Something grabbed me. It pulled my scarf."
"Myra, you probably hooked your scarf on a nail or something. I'll go get it."
She reached for his arm. "No. I want to get out of here right now."
"What about your scarf"
"I don't care. It's old."
They walked in silence past several dark buildings. When they were out of the town and on the path leading to the parking lot, Myra starting feeling more at ease. "I guess that was sort of silly of me to get afraid like that."
"I can see how it might happen."
"Do the Hopis believe in ghosts?" She knew that Will's knowledge of Hopi ways was limited, that until this past summer, when he'd visited his father, he'd known very little about his heritage.
"We believe in our ancestors, the power of the kachinas, and the reality of the spirit world. I don't know about ghosts."
It was the first time she'd heard him speak of himself as a Hopi. His experience with his father, who was Chief of Police on the Hopi reservation, had made a strong impact.
Even though they'd started seeing each other again this fall, Myra had noticed a difference in Will. He was quieter, more introspective. It was as if he were always mulling over things that had happened during the summer. From what he'd told her, there was plenty to think about.
But Will wasn't the only one who had undergone some trying times. She'd asked him to meet her here because she had something to tell him and she wanted to do it away from school and friends.
They reached the parking lot, and Will walked her to her mother's minivan. She turned to face him, and the brisk wind rippled through her hair. Events of the summer had left her confused and frightened. She'd remained silent about what she'd seen and found out, but the others involved were watching her too closely. She was certain something was going to happen, and before it did she wanted to tell Will about it.
Will didn't touch her, didn't try to kiss her. He just stared at her, his chiseled features not giving her any hint of what he was thinking.
Talking to him lately had been nearly impossible. He was busy with football practice every afternoon after school, and this week the coach had extended the practice time an hour in preparation for the final game of the season against Leadville for the conference title. Today, though, he'd agreed to meet her, and now she was going to tell him everything. She hoped he could help her decide what she should do.
Then they both spoke at the same time. "Will."
"Myra."
They laughed nervously.
"There's something I've got to tell you," he said. "Something important."
"Me too, but go ahead. You first."
"I don't feel right about seeing you anymore." He shrugged. "It's just not working out for me."
Myra was caught off guard. She knew their relationship had been strained lately, but she hadn't been expecting that. "Why not? Did I do something?"
"No, it's got nothing to do with you. I've got to be alone now. I need to figure some things out."
"Does that mean we can't talk to each other anymore?"
"I hope we can still be
friends, but . .
"Yeah, I know how it is." She turned her back on him and opened the minivan door. "I guess we won't be going to Paige's tomorrow night."
"Let's talk tomorrow at lunch," he said.
"Forget it!"
If he wanted to break up, that was it. She slammed the door. Will stared at her through the window, then walked off toward his Jeep. She heard the engine rev up as she reached into her jacket for her keys.
He hadn't even asked what she'd been planning to tell him. He was so caught up in his own world—his football and his musings about his Hopi self—he didn't even know there was something wrong in her life and it involved people he knew. Now Myra was at a loss as to who she should turn to, what she should say. But she just couldn't hold it back any longer. She hated to involve her mother, but ...
"Hi, Myra."
She jumped in her seat, spun around. "My God, you scared me. What are you doing in here? How did you get here?"
She saw a blur of movement and something heavy slammed against her head. She groaned at the terrible pain that exploded in her head. She reached for the door handle, struggling to escape, but then she was struck again. Her hand fell away and she sank into a vast sea far below the waves of pain.
Chapter One
As he went through the lunch line, almost everyone had an encouraging word for Will, and he couldn't help enjoying his fame. All week long, kids he didn't even know had greeted him in the hail and wished him luck in the big game.
Not only was the conference championship at stake but also Will needed to gain only sixty-two more yards and he would be in the school's record books. Since he'd been averaging over 150 yards a game, he was sure today would be his day.
He looked for Myra as he carried his tray into the lunchroom, expecting to see her at the table where she and her friends from the art crowd usually sat. He wondered if she would act as if he didn't exist or, worse, act as if he was just another student, as if nothing had ever happened between them. Whatever, he knew it was going to be awkward. But she wasn't at the table or anywhere else in the lunchroom.
"Lansa, get over here," a familiar voice called out. Claude Kirkpatrick, the star tackle, waved at him.
At six foot four and 225 pounds with curly red hair and freckles, Kirkpatrick was hard to miss. "We're planning our victory celebration."
"Don't you think it's a little early for that?" he said, sitting down between Kirkpatrick and Aaron Thomas, the quarterback.
"Coach would call it positive reinforcement," Thomas said, running his hand through his thick, blond hair, which was parted in the middle and cut short on the sides. He had steely, blue eyes, a square jaw and, by most accounts, was the most popular kid in school, especially with the girls.
"So when are you going to break the rushing record, the first quarter or are you going to make us wait until the second?" Kirkpatrick asked, slapping Will on the shoulder.
"Hey, I'll be happy just to make the record."
"Oh, listen to Mr. Modest," Paige Davis said as she stopped behind Will, resting a hand lightly on his back. She was tall and slender and had the looks and grace of a fashion model, the kind who appeared on the covers of magazines.
Paige and Aaron were both children of celebrities. Her mother was a movie star and her father a producer, while both of Aaron's parents were actors. Claude's father, Bower Kirkpatrick, was Pitkin County Sheriff, and his name and face seemed to be everywhere since he'd launched his campaign for a third term.
Will's father, Pete Lansa, also worked in law enforcement, but his territory—the Hopi reservation—was a world away from Aspen. He had promised to come here for the big game, and Will hoped he'd make it.
"Have you seen Myra?"
Paige shook her blond hair off her shoulder. "Not today. She probably skipped lunch to work on her sculpture. She's such an ar-teest, you know." Paige was joking, but Will thought he heard a hint of jealousy in her voice.
Myra was from a well-to-do family that had been involved in banking and politics for decades in Aspen. Like a lot of longtime residents, her parents had mixed feelings about the influence of Hollywood stars on Aspen. But Myra got along with everyone and was one of the best liked students in the school.
Paige bent over and whispered something in Claude's ear, then kissed him on the cheek and rubbed his curly hair. They'd been nearly inseparable since the first day of school this fall. Claude managed to see Paige almost every day after football practice, which meant that he wasn't doing much homework, if any.
Will thought about Myra again. Everything had just gotten too complicated, and he felt he'd been ignoring her. But now he wondered if he'd made a mistake last night. When Will and Claude were the only ones left at the table, he told Claude what had happened.
"I'm not surprised. Things really haven't been the same with you two since you came back. I bet that Hopi girl from the summer is still on your mind."
Will had told Claude about Ellie Polongahoya and the strange incident involving the Hopi prophecies, but he hadn't said anything about the pilgrimage he'd taken with his father or the visions he'd had of the powerful being known as Masau.
He shrugged. "It's not that. It just seems like Myra and I can't talk to each other anymore. I have a hard time telling her about the things on my mind, and, I guess the truth is, I haven't taken the time to listen to her."
"That happens, Will. But don't let it get to you, not today. Hey, look at the time. We better get down to the locker room." They were done with classes for the day, but they had a team meeting before they dressed for the game.
"You've got to stay focused. That's what's important," Claude said for the third time as they headed for the locker room. It was almost as if he were telling himself as well as Will. "You can make it all in the first quarter, but if you don't, don't worry about it. Keep your focus."
It wasn't like Claude to harp on a point, but Will figured that his breakup with Myra had gotten Claude thinking about his own future with Paige.
Just as they reached the stairway leading down to the locker room, Will caught sight of Myra's mother as she entered the administrative offices. Maybe Myra was sick and Mrs. Hodges was picking something up for her. He considered going over and saying something to her, but Claude called to him from the doorway of the locker room.
"Will, we're late." They crossed the empty locker room and opened the door to the adjoining classroom. The meeting was already under way, but Will's thoughts were elsewhere. Seeing Myra's mother had left him feeling unsettled.
He looked for an empty seat and saw one next to Aaron Thomas, who momentarily played an air guitar, then made a passing motion, moving his hand back and forth next to his ear. It was Aaron's signature, his way of saying "Let's play ball."
Coach Boorman shot a stern glance at Will as he slid into a chair. The coach was a former lineman at the University of Colorado who, at thirty-seven, still looked and acted fit to play. He was an authority figure that no one on the team dared to challenge. He called all the plays, on the field and off. You did what he said or you didn't play, no matter how big, how fast, or how capable you were.
His talk began with his usual salvos about team spirit, pride, and honor. But this time he also said that individual goals must not interfere with the team effort. He looked right at Will when he said it. Chairs scraped against the floor as players moved in their seats. A few coughs filled the uneasy silence. Sure, Will would give up the record for the team effort, but he didn't see how not making the yards he needed would help the team.
"That said, I want the entire offense to do everything necessary for Will to get the school rushing record as quickly as possible," Boorman said. A cheer went up, breaking the tension, and players pounded their hands against their desks. "Then all we have to worry about is winning the game and the conference title. I know we can do it."
Just then, the phone in the room rang and
Boorman answered it. He listened a few moments. Will was close enough to the front o
f the room to hear his reply. "Is it anything serious? . . . I see. I'll tell him."
He hung up. "Lansa, you're to report to the office immediately. Then get right back here when you're done with your business. You've got a game to play."
Chapter Two
Will pushed away from the desk, walked across the empty locker room, then took the stairs two at a time. He guessed it was his father calling from the reservation to say he wouldn't be able to make it to the game. Will knew that between his job and his ceremonial duties in the Bear Clan and Two Horned Society there was little time left over for travel.
But when he arrived at the office, there was no call awaiting him. The secretary at the front desk gave Will an appraising look, then pointed to the conference room. The only time students were taken to that room was when serious disciplinary actions were meted out, and usually the student's parents were on hand to witness the event. But Will hadn't done anything and the coach had told him to come right back, so it couldn't be anything like that.
He knocked on the door, and it was opened by Mrs. Tarpin, the principal. She was a stout woman with short, straight hair streaked with gray and round glasses with black frames. "Please, come in, Will."
Myra's mother and Taylor Wong, Myra's best friend, were seated on opposite sides of the table. Neither of them smiled as he entered the room. Sheriff Bower Kirkpatrick stood behind them, his arms crossed. His six-foot-three--inch frame seemed to fill the office, making it feel more crowded than it was.
"Hello, Will," Kirkpatrick said in a professional voice that was neither friendly nor accusatory. "Take a seat."
"Sure. What's going on?"
Will sat opposite Taylor, who looked as if she'd been crying. She had long ebony hair and expressive features with dark, almond eyes and full lips that made her look like she was always pouting. "Hi, Will," she muttered.
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