“Yes,” I said. “But seeing as you don’t have the goods, I see no reason to give you seven thousand dollars.”
Rory reddened. “Don’t even think about reneging on me.”
“The Sheriff’s department might give you a reward for bringing in a fugitive. If you ask nicely.”
Rory glared at me. “You cheating bitch.”
“While we’re talking, I’m calling off the bounty on Ansel. Paige hired you because she thought Ansel had murdered her sister, and now it turns out her sister is fine and safe. So the hunt is over. Please spread the word around the slayer community that Ansel is not to be touched.”
Rory listened first in surprise, then disgust. He shook his head. “It doesn’t work that way, honey.”
“No?”
“No. I don’t just hunt for bounty. Nightwalkers shouldn’t be allowed to live. When I find one, I kill him, bounty or no bounty.”
“Change your policy,” I said.
“Fuck you.”
I leaned over the table to Rory, losing my smile and fixing him with my grandmother’s best stare. “Listen very carefully. I want you to leave Hopi County today. Now, in fact. Don’t come back here hunting Nightwalkers or anything else—ever.”
“No, you listen to me,” Rory said in the same tone. “I found that Nightwalker, I stashed him for you instead of killing him, and now you owe me seven grand. You give it to me, or you’re the next body in the box.”
Barry appeared at table, setting a cold bottle of beer in front of me and leaving his big hand on it. “Trouble, Janet?”
I gave him a sweet smile. “Nothing I can’t handle. You have a fire extinguisher handy?”
Barry lost his answering smile. “Aw, shit,” he said, and moved quickly back behind the bar.
“Fire extinguisher?” Rory asked.
“Yes. In case something goes wrong when I do this.”
I was off my seat and had Rory’s crossbow in my hand before he realized I’d moved. It was a nicely made weapon, engineered to fire with strength, but light, with a good grip and a smooth draw.
Rory grabbed for the crossbow, but I tossed it upward and blasted it with a tiny burst of Beneath magic.
The crossbow, though made primarily of metal, exploded into flames. The weapon burned merrily in midair for about five seconds, then the fire vanished and the remains of the crossbow dropped to the floor as a pile of ash.
Rory leapt from his chair. “Damn you, bitch. That cost a me fortune.” He yelled it, and then he went very quiet.
The explosion had jolted the attention of the bikers. Every one of them drew, and every one of them cocked.
I turned to the room and held up my hands. “Easy, guys. It’s just me.”
Though I was only the small Navajo woman who ran the hotel across the parking lot, the bikers had come to treat me with wariness, if not complete respect. Dangerous things happened around me, and I knew dangerous people, like Mick. They muttered, eased back on triggers, and sat back down.
“But you can do me a favor,” I said to them. “This man here is bothering me. I’d love it if some of you could escort him out. And tell him never to come back. And if he does come back, he’s all yours.”
There was murmuring, and laughter. Rory went pale.
I sat back down and sipped the beer Barry had brought me. “I’d get out of here while I still could.”
Rory gave me a final dirty look, but he knew when his odds were bad. He walked out through the bar like he didn’t give a damn about the bikers, but I noticed that he walked fast.
Ten of the guys followed him. I set my beer aside, thanked Barry, who was heading to the table with a broom to sweep up the ashes, and departed.
When I emerged to the parking lot, I had the joy of watching Rory the slayer speed off on his motorcycle toward Winslow and the setting sun like all the hounds of hell were after him.
*** *** ***
Mick and I accompanied Elena and Ansel to Whiteriver after Ansel awoke from his day sleep. Elena borrowed Cassandra’s car for herself and Ansel—and Laura, if she decided to return with them—while Mick and I rode double on Mick’s Harley.
I loved this, snuggling into Mick’s warm body as we raced down the open road under the stars toward the summits that made up Rim Country. The air turned cooler as we reached the higher elevations, then we made the turn at Showlow to take us south to the Apache reservation and Whiteriver.
Naomi had called me this afternoon while I filled in Cassandra on what had happened with the pot and tried to return to a little hotel business. Julie’s hearing was still intact, Naomi said, sounding both hopeful and fearful of that hope. I couldn’t tell her whether Julie’s cure would be permanent. The talisman had vanished only last night, and perhaps its influence simply hadn’t faded yet.
But the magic had originally come from Bear, and surely Bear wouldn’t hurt Julie like that.
Then again, what had I truly known of the goddess? She’d been kind in her quiet way, but the power that had come from her last night had frightened me almost as much as any that emanated from my mother. Terrifying in a different way, but just as deadly. We would just have to watch Julie and see.
Elena’s friend lived in a long and low trailer house set back among trees on the other side of Whiteriver. The yard in front of it was dark, but lights glowed from the small windows, and we heard a television playing.
Ansel was out of the truck before Elena even stopped it, his Nightwalker speed taking him to the little porch and up into the trailer. I heard a cry and the sound of something falling.
I hopped off Mick’s big bike, dragged off my helmet, and dashed inside in time to see Ansel lifting a woman off her feet in a hard embrace. Laura looked much like her photo, with her athletic body, brown-blond hair, and pretty face, but now her smile beamed a joy that made her beautiful.
A small, plump Apache woman watched expressionlessly from the kitchen as Laura hugged Ansel and kissed his thin face. The woman didn’t acknowledge me, but gave Elena a nod and cast a brow-lifting glance at Mick as we crowded into the trailer.
“You’re all right,” Ansel said in his gentle, English voice, tears wetting his face. The tears were pink, mixed with blood—Nightwalker tears. “Love, you’re all right.”
Elena pushed past me, heading for her friend in the kitchen, but Mick wrapped an arm around me and tugged me back outside with him.
The night was quiet, crickets singing under the trees, cicadas calling, tree frogs chirping. In the distance, a coyote yowled then trailed off into a series of yips.
Mick walked me back to the bike, our footsteps muffled by fallen leaves. The weather was cool here, the breeze like a feather touch.
Mick leaned back on his bike seat and pulled me close, opening his legs around mine. Through the window, I could see Laura and Ansel still embracing, Ansel kissing her lips.
“Mmm,” Mick said, his arms warm around me. “A Nightwalker and a human woman. That’s going to be a challenge for them.”
“Like a Stormwalker and a dragon?”
Mick turned me to him, hands on the small of my back. I touched his cheek, my turquoise and silver ring sliding against his unshaven whiskers.
“Something like that,” he said.
We watched the two through the window, man and woman smiling into each other’s faces, a moment of happiness.
“He must really love her,” I said. “Ansel became the Nightwalker when he was with her, and instead of feasting on her blood, he fought off a dragon for her. Even the Nightwalker part of him cares for her.”
Mick’s eyes burned deepest blue. “The two-natured can love twice as deeply.”
“So can the crazy woman with two magics tangling inside her. I won’t even ask you what you were doing going off alone so often before all this started, or what you and my grandmother have been talking about in secret.”
Mick didn’t even look ashamed. “I thought you’d forgotten about that.”
“I don’t forget a
bout anything when it comes to you.”
“Mmm.” Mick stared off into the distance, where trees sighed under the starlight. “I’ll tell you when it’s time. Let’s just say I’m looking to our future.”
I had no idea what he meant. That is, I had some ideas, but I didn’t want to voice them, not now. For now, we had the night, and the cool mountain air, and the joy of Ansel’s happy reunion.
Mick kissed me, his most effective way of silencing me. I let him, floating on the kiss to find and savor the peace of the moment.
Beyond the house, movement flickered in the trees. I thought I saw a large bear running after a giant-sized coyote, but I couldn’t be sure.
End
See how Janet's
adventures began
in
Stormwalker
Book One
Available from Berkley Publishing
In ebooks and in print
Stormwalker
Stormwalker series
Book One
by Allyson James
Chapter One
It was already dark by the time I zoomed out of the mountains, heading east toward the deserts and the town of Magellan. The elevation dropped, the cool green of pine country fell behind, and the heat returned. Lightning forked far to the south, the approaching storm tingling through my body like a lover’s touch.
By the time I reached Winslow and glided through its traffic lights, clouds had blotted out the stars, but still there was no rain. I took the road under the railroad bridge at the same time a freight train rumbled over it, then I headed south to open desert, my Harley throbbing in the quiet.
Fingers of lightning lit the clouds with intense white, and I lapped up the residue like a greedy cat. I’m a Stormwalker, which is my father’s people’s way of saying I can harness the power of storms for my own use. On a calm day, I can’t work much more than simple spells, but put a storm near me, and I can make the wind, lightning, and rain dance to my bidding. I’m good at it. Deadly.
Storm magic drove me crazy and left me hung over, but too long between storms had the same result. I hadn’t tasted a storm in the two weeks since I’d moved to Magellan to investigate the disappearance of Amy McGuire, the police chief’s daughter. I needed a fix.
I took the turnoff that led to Magellan. The smudge of the small town’s lights beckoned to me from twenty miles away. The larger glitter of Flat Mesa, the county seat, lay a little north. The red taillights of a pickup bobbed ahead of me as it dipped and rose through the washes. Half of the left light was broken, giving the truck an uneven look. No one else was on the road with us.
A sudden gust of wind threatened to knock me off my bike, and a voice floated on it across the dark desert.
Janet.
I skidded to a halt, heart hammering, and dragged off my helmet. Wind buffeted me, clouds flowing toward me thick and fast.
Daughter. The whisper was feminine, soft, almost loving.
Oh, holy crap.
The other reason I’d come to Magellan was to face my mother and stop her, like I should have stopped her years ago. But I’d been too young then, too scared. The invitation to investigate Amy’s disappearance gave me the opportunity to return, and this time, I would fight her. As soon as I figured out how to.
Six years had passed since I’d met my mother, in, of all places, a diner in Holbrook, where she’d scared the shit out of me. It was easy to convince myself that I was ready to confront her while safe behind the heavily warded walls of my new hotel, not so easy out here in open desert with the vortexes beckoning to me. Here in the darkness, alone under this vast sky, I had to admit that she still scared the shit out of me.
Come to me.
“Like hell.” When I’d met my mother, she’d done her best to make me her willing slave, but I had this problem with free will. I liked it.
Janet.
“Not this time!” I shouted.
The whisper died on the wind as lightning flared. The electricity of it sparkled through my fingers and pinged across my helmet.
The storm magic was earth magic, which I’d inherited from my grandmother, a small Navajo woman who was stronger than she looked. My mother came from Beneath, the same realm that created the skinwalkers, and I’d inherited magic from her too. My mother didn’t much like earth magic, because although earth magic had enabled me to be born at all, it also made me strong enough to withstand her.
I put on my helmet, my fingers shaking, and glided onward. A curtain of rain washed over me, its sudden chill welcome. I caught up to the pickup, whoever it was traveling slowly, and I realized that the encounter had taken only a few short moments.
I pulled into the oncoming lane of the two-lane road to pass the truck. Another sheet of lightning ran through the sky, reaching from the mesas to the south and spreading in all directions. It lit the clouds in cold, white radiance, and in that light I saw a giant figure burst from the side of the road, heading directly for me.
I hit my brakes, cranking my bike sideways, trying desperately to avoid the impact. A horrible stench filled the air as the figure missed my front wheel and struck the pickup with a resounding boom.
My back tire skidded out from under me on the rain-soaked pavement. At the same time, the pickup rose into the air, almost in slow motion. It rotated once, twice, before it crashed to the pavement, landing on its cab. The pickup screeched forward upside down a few yards, sparks flying into the night, before it lay still like a dead thing.
My bike kept skidding. I missed the truck by inches, was thrown free of the Harley, and landed facedown in a rapidly filling ditch.
I lay unmoving in the wet dirt, the face shield of my helmet cracked. My bike sprawled on its side next to me, front wheel bent, my legs just as bent under me.
No one moved inside the pickup. It was black dark out here; I couldn’t even discern the color of the truck. I could still smell the skinwalker, though, lurking in the darkness beyond us. My mother could control the things, who thrived on the energy of the vortexes, and she’d sent this one to discipline me. Not kill me—I knew she didn’t want me dead, just obedient. I wouldn’t be useful to her if I were dead.
I struggled out of my helmet. My gloves had ripped, and blood slicked my grip. I unfolded myself painfully and climbed to my feet, dragging in aching breaths.
I heard the skinwalker coming back. The legends of my people said that skinwalkers were human sorcerers who dabbled in dark magic, wrapping themselves in skins of dead animals to take on that animal’s characteristics. True about the dead animals part, usually after they’d tortured them, but skinwalkers weren’t human. They were throwbacks to the previous shell world, the one Beneath, where my mother was a goddess. Skinwalkers were evils, like demons, that should never have made it through to this world with the rest of humanity. But they had, clawing their way out and breeding down the generations.
It charged me. The thing was huge, about eight feet tall, wrapped, as far as I could tell, in the skin of a dead bear. Faster than fast, stinking like the worst charnel house, it picked me up and slammed me down on the road again. I hit and kicked, making no more of a dent than if I’d hit a wall. It put its filthy face close to mine, lips pulling back from yellow teeth.
I screamed. Not that it would help. No one lived out here, and whoever had been in the pickup wasn’t getting out.
The storm answered me. Thunder cracked in the distance, and I reached desperately for the lightning. I couldn’t create storms or move them; I could only use what nature decided to give me, but if the storm was close enough . . .
Lightning flowed from the black cloud and into my outstretched hands. I exhaled in relief. It wasn’t very strong, the storm still too far away, but it would help. I gathered what lightning I could and threw it at the skinwalker. The skinwalker grunted with the impact and danced back a yard or so, but that was about all I could manage. I scrambled to my feet.
Skinwalkers are damn hard to kill. This one was shambling toward me agai
n. I reached for the wind and raised my hands to direct it at the disgusting thing. The skinwalker stumbled. I hit it again and again with wind power, throwing sparks of lightning into the mix.
The skinwalker ran at me again, bent on destruction. I didn’t think my mother wanted it to kill me, but did it know that?
The creature made it back to the road. Instead of pummeling me, it turned and kicked my bike.
“No!” I shouted. That bike was my baby. This old girl and me had racked up a lot of miles. She symbolized my freedom, my independence, me. I grabbed a handful of lightning and blasted the skinwalker. Electricity arced around him, but he still didn’t die.
At times like these, I regretted riding away from Mick, my man of wild fire magic. I’d seen Mick burn up a skinwalker without breaking a sweat. Mick had made me crazy with his mixture of bad-boy charm, protectiveness, and elusiveness, but my time with him had also been the best of my life.
Before we’d parted ways, Mick had given me six light spells locked into little silver balls. I had one in my pocket now, the last of the remaining two. The balls, when activated, radiated a white light that drove away every shadow—temporarily. They had no heat, only light, but they were useful in emergencies, against skinwalkers or demons or Nightwalkers, creatures that shunned the light.
The electricity ebbed, the storm diminishing. The skinwalker came at me, a murderous look in its red eyes.
The situation definitely qualified as an emergency. I dug into my pocket, digging out the spell that was about the size of a ball bearing. It didn’t take much magic to activate them, which meant I could use them whether I had a handy storm or not.
The skinwalker loomed over me, huge fists ready to crush me. I lifted the spell ball, but before I could call it to life, the skinwalker gave a sudden cry of anguish. A blue nimbus sprang up to surround it, one not created by me. The skinwalker fought it, trying to beat its way out, while I stood with my palm outstretched, watching in astonishment.
Nightwalker Page 28
