Crossroads

by Jeanne C. Stein

  I glance at the clock.

  Six a.m.

  Obviously, sleep isn’t in the cards for me.

  I roll out of bed.

  I’m strangely excited about this trip. Partly for the obvious reasons. Partly because I’m going to meet Frey’s son and the mother of his child. Partly because for the first time in a year I’ll actually have a say in what happens to me.

  Frey said he had to stop by school this morning and turn in his grades so we should be on the road by ten. All I have to do is throw some clothes in a duffle and I’m ready to go. Living mostly in jeans and T-shirts makes packing a snap. I haul the duffle downstairs and leave it by the front door. Time for coffee.

  Frey dropped a map by early last night. It’s spread out on the kitchen table and I study it while waiting for the coffee. I’ve never been to Monument Valley. Our proposed route is marked with yellow highlighter. We’ll start out on Highway 8—not the most scenic route, Frey explained, but the fastest. Counting gas and food stops, we should make it in fourteen or fifteen hours.

  Frey is excited about the trip, too. I’m not sure how long it’s been since he’s seen his kid. He won’t tell me, but I have a feeling it’s been quite a while. And though he’d never admit it, the timing is perfect. This is just the diversion he needs to take his mind off Layla. For a few days at least.

  The pesky sense that I’m to blame for Frey’s breakup with Layla rushes back. I’d probably feel worse if I thought she was right for him. It irks me that during that long weekend he and I spent together, the weekend most likely responsible for Layla’s leaving, Frey had been a faithful monogamous partner.

  She doesn’t deserve him.

  Probably something I should be careful about bringing up on our road trip.

  I refold the map, lay it on top of the duffle by the door and return to the kitchen to fill a mug. I tick things off a mental checklist—

  David knows I’ll be gone for a few days. He’s fine with it. He didn’t mention trying to contact Judith Williams or find the twins. Hopefully, he’s so relieved to have passed the first series of tests, and to be able to resume his sex life, he’s content to let it go for now. I was afraid to ask.

  I talked with Stephen. Let him know I was going out of town, too, for a couple of days. I tell him it’s work, since I don’t want to go into details. His voice is full of the excitement of preparing for his first big network shot. I’m smiling when I ring off.

  Tracey’s sister is doing much better. I caught snippets of the press conference on last night’s news. Tracey was terrific. What witnesses thought they saw was explained by adrenaline and hysteria. The bottom line—no charges. Case closed.

  There have been a couple of telephone calls left by reporters requesting interviews but as other more pressing stories arise, mine will be quickly forgotten.

  Harris hasn’t called back again, either.

  So far, so good.

  Coffee mug drained, coffeepot emptied, counter wiped. I’m ready to go. It’s fifteen minutes to ten. I’m fidgeting like a kid with a sugar rush. I want to get out of here before the next disaster strikes. Everything that’s happened in the last few days either started with a telephone call or an uninvited guest. Here. In my home. It’s a disturbing trend.

  Gathering my stuff, I lock up and head for the street. Better to meet Frey out on Mission.

  I realize standing on the curb that I have no idea what kind of vehicle Frey will be driving. I picture a sedan, white or maybe gray, four doors, medium size. Something sedate, befitting a schoolteacher in his forties who is just now taking to the streets on his own.

  When the bright red Jeep Wrangler slides up to me, my first impulse is to wave it on. Then I peer inside. Frey is looking back at me. He has sunglasses on his face and a Padres baseball cap on his head. He’s dressed in a pair of floral print board shorts and a navy blue tee with the Quiksilver Mountain and Wave logo on the front. He’s got leather huaraches on bare feet. He looks very much at home behind the wheel of the Wrangler, and it takes me a second to adjust to this new surfer-dude image.

  I toss my bag in the back beside his. “Wow.” I slip into the front seat. “When you go native, you don’t fool around.”

  He puts the Jeep in gear and pulls into traffic while I’m still adjusting the seat belt. When it clicks into place, I turn in the seat to look at him. “When did you get a Jeep?”

  He works the gears smoothly, maneuvering through busy midmorning traffic as we head for the freeway on-ramp. “A week or so ago.”

  The top of the Jeep is open; only roll bars separate Frey and me from a glorious summer sky. A breeze ruffles my hair and I push it out of my eyes, wishing I had a cap like Frey’s to tame it.

  As if privy to my thoughts, he reaches behind his seat and without taking his eyes off the road, pulls out a second Padres cap. “Need this?”

  I answer with a grin and coaxing breeze-blown strands behind my ears, I pull the cap down over my forehead.

  Then I relax back in the seat. I knew Frey could drive, I just didn’t know he could drive this well. He’s always had a driver. Or that he would enjoy driving so much. He steals a sideways glance at me every once in a while, I think just to see if I notice. I do. I settle in to let him have his fun.

  CHAPTER 14

  THE HALFWAY POINT ON OUR TRIP WILL BE PHOENIX. Anyone who has traveled this route will tell you, the drive from San Diego to Phoenix is duller than dull. Butt-numbing stretches with not a Mickey D’s in sight. Miles of nondescript desert. Habitual road construction projects that slow traffic to a crawl. Tempers and radiators overheat with enough regularity to keep state troopers and a dozen tow-truck companies in business.

  The halfway point on the halfway point is El Centro. There the reclaimed desert is dotted with farms and patches of green. From the road, it appears like an oasis in the distance. Since we know there won’t be much after El Centro, we pull off to get Frey some food.

  El Centro is one of California’s great mysteries. That is to say, the mystery is why anyone chooses to live here. The summer is unbearably hot, the winter can be frigid. Main Street stretches relentlessly east to west across town. There are two border crossings here. For the last ten years or so, El Centro has been poised to become Southern California’s most promising new commercial and industrial region.

  At least according to the El Centro Chamber of Commerce. It must be getting tired of holding the pose. It hasn’t happened yet. Picking lettuce and melons remains the mainstay of the economy.

  We pull into a Carl’s Jr. and Frey orders a huge quantity of food: three cheeseburgers, a couple of chicken sandwiches, a large fry, an apple turnover and, with a glance to me for confirmation, two Cokes. I listen in awe. Frey doesn’t have an ounce of fat on his body. I guess his feline alter ego contributes to his metabolism. I’ve never heard of a fat panther, either.

  I watch as he walks to the counter to pick up his order. He looks damn good in those shorts. Nice ass. Lean muscled thighs. He and I were lovers once. Long time ago. Wonder what will happen when he sees his ex? Now that he and Layla are broken up, maybe things will heat up again between him and the mother of his child.

  As soon as I catch myself having those thoughts, I give myself a mental slap alongside the head. Keep your mind on the purpose of this trip. We’re not here on a matchmaking expedition.

  Being happy in one’s love life tends to make a person wish the same for those around them.

  Or is it the guilt I feel because I may have been responsible for Frey’s breakup?

  Frey and I have hardly exchanged two words since we left Mission Beach. The rush of the wind coupled with road noise in the open Jeep makes simple conversation difficult. It’s hardly an uncomfortable silence. After the last couple of days, it’s a relief not to be peppered with questions. For Frey, I imagine thoughts of seeing his son are foremost in his mind.

  But now, sitting at a Formica table with a watered-down Coke, being forced to watch Frey devour his burgers a
nd chicken sandwiches, I have to do something to resist the urge to reach across and help myself to a handful of fries. I know the consequences of that. The memory of retching into the kitchen sink the first time I unwittingly ate real food after becoming vampire is vivid.

  I take another sip of my Coke and break the silence. “Did you let your son know you were coming?”

  Frey looks up, a tiny smear of catsup at the corner of his mouth. I want to lean over and lick it off—instead I use my napkin.

  He grins and finishes the job, mopping his mouth with his own napkin. “No. Communication is iffy on the reservation.”

  “Will they be surprised?”

  “Oh yeah. They’ll be surprised.”

  His tone suggests not pleasantly.

  It startles me into asking, “Is there a problem?”

  He shakes his head, waiting until he’s swallowed the last mouthful of sandwich to answer. “Not for me. My son’s mother may not so be thrilled to see me.”

  There’s definitely a story there. “Want to tell me why?”

  “No.”

  “Did you and she have a bad breakup?”

  “You sound like a reporter. Are you channeling your new boyfriend now?”

  “Wait. How do you know—?”

  “That you have a new boyfriend? Well, why else would you have disappeared from the radar for the last eight weeks?”

  Whoa. There’s a bitter ring to that last question. Softly, I say, “I didn’t know about you and Layla breaking up.”

  “Maybe because you didn’t call or drop by to see how I was doing. Not until you needed something.”

  He’s right, of course. “I’m sorry.”

  A scowl darkens his face. He chomps into another sandwich, chews, swallows. Looks over at me again. “Let’s talk about what you’re going to do when you find this shaman.”

  A little of the edge has left his voice. I take that as a good sign and ask, “Do you think he exists?”

  “I know he exists.”

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  “Not before yesterday. But I did some research last night.”

  Excitement bubbles up. “What did you learn?”

  He holds up a hand. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It wasn’t much. Just that he is rumored to have the ability to bring the dead back to life. For obvious reasons, his existence is protected by the Navajo. It will be up to the tribal council to determine if you will be allowed to meet with him. This may be tricky, Anna. You may not get permission. And if you do, he may not be willing to speak with a vampire. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  I twirl the straw in my Coke. I wish I’d known this before we started out. I’m sure Chael knew. But he wouldn’t send me out here unless he thought there was a chance. Or is this another trick?

  On the other hand, what’s the worst that can happen? I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be.

  Frey’s sarcastic laugh pulls me back. “You should see your face. The expression tells me your thoughts are spinning like the hard drive on a computer. Sorting information. Weighing consequences. Wondering how far you’d have to go if you’re turned down.”

  I squint up at him. “You think I’d resort to violence?”

  “Did I say violence? I know how you operate. If you want something, you get it. What I don’t know is what you want. You haven’t talked about it.”

  I slurp up the rest of my Coke, stalling.

  “You haven’t made a decision yet, have you?” He pauses a heartbeat, frowning. “Whatever you decide, remember. Using magic exacts a price. And a thing like this takes magic—powerful magic. The bigger the magic, the bigger the price.”

  He says it as though I’m not aware that there’s danger in challenging the natural way. I know it only too well. I still carry the mental image of Frey broken and near death, fighting to save Culebra from a witch’s spell.

  And yet, how natural was it that I became a vampire? How natural that I had to send my family off to protect them? That I have to distance myself from my friends?

  No, the only natural thing is that I’d want to erase the last year of my life. I owe it to myself to find out if such a thing is possible.

  CHAPTER 15

  WE’RE BACK ON THE ROAD, BOTH OF US, I THINK, happy not to talk. I don’t know what Frey is thinking, but the things he said at the restaurant linger in my mind. He’s right. Since the ceremony acknowledging my position as the Chosen, I haven’t talked to him except to let him know that I survived.

  Why was that? Certainly not because I was ungrateful for his help. I remember how close we came to making love that weekend. I exercised restraint because of Layla. Because I didn’t want him regretting the time he spent with me or becoming resentful if it interfered with their relationship.

  That’s rich. They broke up anyway.

  Something I’d have known if I’d bothered to call him.

  Lifting a hand, I shield my eyes against the glare of the midday sun, enjoying the warmth that penetrates my skin, remembering the warmth that mortals feel from the inside out.

  If I find a way to make things right for Frey, I will.

  But first. Frey was right about something else, too. I don’t know what I want from this shaman. If he’s powerful enough to solve the riddle of life and death, maybe he can solve my riddle, too. How I was chosen and why. What it would mean if I relinquished the title.

  How I can get Chael out of the picture.

  Because before I could make any decision, I’d have to know the mortal world would be safe. No matter how much I want to become human again, I wouldn’t put my desire ahead of the well-being of billions.

  Another hour of desert boredom and we cross the Arizona border at Yuma. Right outside Casa Grande we leave Highway 8 and pick up I-17. Then it’s on to and past Phoenix and finally, the monotonous scenery becomes interesting again. We’re headed north, approaching the Verde Valley area, and for the first time, we’re seeing more than brown dirt and scrub. Red rocks light a fiery landscape punctuated with the green of real trees. Alder, ash, cypress and a half dozen others I don’t recognize. Bushes in hues that range from the lightest feathery green to brilliant emerald to cloud gray. Ocotillo and yucca raise thorny fingers to the sky. I’m mesmerized by the wonder of it all, my absorption broken only when a movement catches the corner of my eye.

  Frey looks at his watch. “We’re not going to make it before dark. Do you want to stop for the night in Flagstaff ?”

  I hadn’t noticed how much time had passed. The sun is low on the horizon. The dark doesn’t bother me so I volunteer to take over behind the wheel.

  Frey looks at me as if I’d just suggested he become a vegetarian. “Do you know how to drive a stick?”

  “How hard can it be? I’ve been watching you.”

  I can see by his horrified expression he’s imagining scenarios where I strip his new baby’s gears.

  “I’m kidding. Of course I can drive a stick.”

  He isn’t convinced so I add, “Look. I drive a ninety-thousand-dollar car. What’d you pay for this?”

  Still no relaxing of the worry lines around his mouth. “How long until we reach the reservation?”

  “Four hours.”

  “So let me take over for a while. You take a nap.”

  Frey pulls off the road so I think I’ve convinced him. Instead, he adjusts his seat back and stretches his legs. “We should both take a nap,” he says. “Thirty minutes or so and we’ll hit the road again.”

  I give him the evil eye. Jesus. What a baby. I adjust my seat, too, and stare into a cloudless, cerulean sky. Then it hits me, “Frey, are you stalling?”

  His eyes are closed. He huffs out a breath. “That’s a ridiculous assumption.”

  “Is it? You sounded like your ex will not be happy to see you. Could it be that you’re a little skittish about seeing her, too?”

  I’m teasing, but there’s nothing amusing in the way he snaps back at me. “The roads we’re going to trave
l once we get to the valley are not well marked or lit. And there’s no moon tonight. It won’t be easy navigating in the dark.”

  “You’re joking, right? You have the vision of a cat. And I’m a vampire. My eyes are better than night-vision goggles.”

  He turns at that. “Jesus, Anna. Do you always have to argue? Thirty minutes. Is that too much to ask? Just close your eyes and shut up, will you?”

  Wow. He really doesn’t want me to drive his Jeep. “Okay, okay. It’s what you get for carb loading at that Carl’s Jr. but I’m not sleepy. I’ll just lay here and watch you sleep off that ten-thousand-calorie meal. It won’t bother you, will it, if I stare at you while you nap?”

  He doesn’t answer. He’s already asleep.

  I humph an irritated breath. Stare around. Close my eyes.

  Just for a minute.

  CHAPTER 16

  THE DREAMS COME IN DARK FLASHES. THE CHAOS of the last three days. Killing. The gunman in the store. The vampire in the desert. Always the blood is what stands out most vividly. Starkly, like a retouched photo where the background is shades of gray, but not the blood. It’s crimson, fragrant, sweet—sexual in its allure. My body responds to the images and the first stirrings of arousal send heat rushing to warm my skin. I lose myself in the sensation, let the excitement build, yearn for release.

  A hand on my shoulder. A voice.

  I’m pulled from exquisite pleasure. Pulled unwillingly back into reality at the moment before climax. I react with frustration and anger, batting the hand away. “What the—?”

  We’re on the road. Frey glances over. “Jesus, Anna. You’re moaning. Were you having a nightmare?”

  Shit. I scrub a hand over my face, partly to recover from the effects of the dream, partly to hide the embarrassment.

  I struggle upright in the seat. I’m still groggy and disoriented. “How long have I been out?”

  “Maybe three hours.” He shoots me a look. “You weren’t sleepy, huh?”

  Three hours. It couldn’t be.

  He’s still talking. “But you’ve been moaning and thrashing around on that seat for the last fifteen minutes. I was afraid you’d hang yourself in the seat belt. What were you dreaming about?”