by Ally Shields
She pulled her hand out of the empty hole and stood. “You’re very serious about this, aren’t you?”
“The hostage part? No. Requiring your secrecy? Positively. I do not understand the problem. You have kept Otherworld secrets before.”
“Not like this. Not from the Magic Council. At least let me tell the president. He could advise us. I get it that it would be offensive to have others invade your caverns.”
“It would also violate the county treaty that gives use exclusive use and ownership,” he reminded her.
Ari looked at his firm jaw. He wasn’t going to give in, but she couldn’t afford to let it drop. While she understood his concerns, some things were more important than ownership. Something as dangerous as a vortex, especially one of this magnitude, was that important.
“I think we could keep the intrusions to a minimum, but you obviously don’t agree.” She took a deep breath. “So here’s the deal. I’ll keep your secret for the next few days, just until we can think through all the issues, on two conditions.”
He straightened from the wall. “Name them.”
“Guards twenty-four hours a day on the caves. If the vortex becomes endangered in any way, or we discover someone is attempting to use it, we go to the council president together. We tell him everything.”
Andreas gave a slow nod. “I will agree to your terms. But there is one more fact you should know. ” An edge of wry humor crept into his voice. “In the interests of full disclosure… Ten days ago, an arrow was shot at two nestling vampires exploring in this area. No one was harmed, but we failed to locate the intruder. In light of your Indian artifact story, it may be significant.”
Ari relaxed a little now that they were working on a compromise. “It’s certainly bizarre. Indians don’t carry bows and arrows in the twenty-first century. This happened near the ley tunnel?”
“Close enough. In the Chamber of Ages. Many of our new vampires spend time down here during their first year. It removes them from temptation until they have their cravings under control.”
Really. She stored that piece of information for the future, but kept her focus on the arrow incident. She cocked her head to look up at him. “You think this was a warning to keep everyone away from Spirit Cave?”
He nodded. “It worked. Vampires are as superstitious as anyone else. Word spread quickly that the ancient Indian spirits had been angered. Our young people have avoided this section since then.”
“Indian spirits, treasure hunters, and a ghost. Your caverns are bursting with activity.”
“Which I intend to stop.” He narrowed his eyes. “No more unauthorized intrusions. I intend to hold you to your promise of secrecy.”
“You have it, for now.” She grinned and stepped toward him, eager to end their disagreement. “Would you like to shake hands on it?”
He clasped her hand and pulled her toward him, his mouth catching hers in a rough kiss. She molded her body to his, and he softened the embrace. “On the night we met, I suggested the proper way to seal an agreement was with a kiss, but you refused. I think my mistake was in the asking.”
Chapter Seven
“How big a dog is big?” Ari maintained an outward calm. She and Claris were in her friend’s kitchen interviewing the latest applicant for one of the kittens. “Has it ever been around cats?” When the answers were “Doberman” and “Never met a cat,” Ari looked at Claris, and they suggested the woman think about getting a second dog instead.
“Is that the last?” Ari slumped back in her chair. Until Claris called at seven thirty this morning, Ari had forgotten it was Sunday and that she’d agreed to participate in meeting would-be adoptive owners. Since Claris only opened her plant shop from two to four o’clock on Sunday, she had arranged morning interviews at the shop—in her kitchen, really—for the most promising candidates. Ari secretively thought Claris had gone a little overboard with these in-depth interrogations, but she was anxious to see each kitten had the right home. So, she’d boxed up the felines and knocked on Claris’s door by eight thirty. That was three hours and five interviews ago.
“All done, except for Kyra. And then there’s Gabriel, who won’t be over until evening. I don’t think we need to put either of them through the same scrutiny.”
Ari looked at her in mild surprise. “Kyra, I understand, but don’t you have questions about Sneaky living alone with a vampire?”
“You shouldn’t call him Sneaky. He’s too sweet.” Claris frowned through the windows into the greenhouse, where the kittens were playing among her plants. “What’s wrong with Gabriel? He seems to like cats.”
“He’s moved out of Andreas’s house and into his own apartment. Who would care for the kitten during the day? What about evenings and nights when Gabriel’s gone on court business? Wouldn’t Sneaky be lonely?”
Claris’s faced scrunched. “I hadn’t thought of that angle. I guess we’d better ask. If you’re not here tonight, I’ll make sure Gabriel has plans for the kitten’s care whenever he’s away.” She looked at the clock on the stove. “Kyra should be here soon. I said we’d be done by noon. What did you think of our other candidates?”
Ari frowned and shook her head.
“That’s what I thought too. Maybe the sign wasn’t such a good idea. Our best choices seem to be people we already know, but I can’t think of anyone for Re and Dona.”
When the shop bell tinkled, Claris jumped up and head into the front room. Ari looked after her thoughtfully. Claris had changed the subject pretty quickly when it came to Gabriel. Perhaps Ari would make a special effort to be here when Gabriel came. She wasn’t sure she liked the way he looked at Claris. In fact, why had they arranged for him to pick up the kitten from here? Why not Andreas’s house? An excuse to be together?
Setting her suspicions aside, she schooled her face to look casual when Claris returned with a four-foot-tall wood nymph woman. Ari’s face broke into a smile, and she and Kyra exchanged a quick hug.
“It’s good to see you,” Ari said.
“Likewise.” As Kyra sat down, she smoothed strands of her pale hair into the swirled beehive hairdo that was characteristic of her clan. “I’m so excited about this.” Her gold-flecked eyes danced. “Even granddad is excited. Aunt Yana was so fond of Hernando, and now we’ll have one of his children. It’s another connection.”
The mention of Yana’s name brought up bittersweet memories for Ari and Claris. Before Yana’s retirement and her subsequent murder by a pack of rogue werewolves, she’d been the Guardian assigned to Riverdale, and Ari had been one of her apprentices. Yana had recommended Ari for her current position. She’d also been a lifelong friend to both young women, and her death had been a hard blow.
“You can still have Hernando, if you want,” Claris offered. “You’re family.”
“Oh, no. You provided him a good home at a time we didn’t even consider it. We wouldn’t dream of taking him away.”
“I admit I’ve grown very attached.”
“Of course you have, but a kitten is perfect for me. I’ve thought of a name.” She looked at Ari. “Sorry, but Wily just didn’t seem feminine enough. I’ve decided to call her Chloe. Chlotilda was one of Yana’s spirit names.”
Ari gave her a thumbs up and swallowed the lump in her throat. Even a year and a half later, Yana’s death was too fresh. Maybe always would be.
“That’s a lovely gesture. I know Yana would be pleased.” Claris stood and walked into the greenhouse, snagging the gray kitten with the white markings. “I hope you’ll bring her back for visits.” She placed the inquisitive feline in Kyra’s arms.
The three women chatted while they watched the kitten’s reaction to her adoptive mom.
“What have you been doing since I last saw you?” Ari asked, while they waited for Chloe to make a final decision.
“I’m a part-time nanny now. It’s fun. I never realized how amusing children could be. Almost makes me think about having some of my own.” Since wood nymphs lived to one hundred f
ifty years and beyond, they often tried out several careers before choosing one. At fifty-something, Kyra’d had her share of temporary positions, including ten years as a potion mixer at the magic lab and another decade or two with sales in a magic shop. “On the other hand, I like going home to a peaceful house at night.” She grinned as the kitten settled in her arms. “Looks like I’ll have Chloe now. I can spoil her, and no diapers is a big plus.”
When Ari’s phone rang, she excused herself and stepped into the greenhouse. An unfamiliar, strong male voice said he was returning her call.
Hawkson got right to the point. “What’s your interest in a mythical artifact?”
“It’s a somewhat complicated story that I’d like to sit down and tell you. Could we meet somewhere?”
His hesitation was obvious. “Just who are you? Your message said you were a Guardian, but I’m not sure what that is.”
“I’m a cop for the Magic Council.”
“Otherworld.” He spoke without judgment in his voice. “All right, I’ll meet with you, Ms. Calin. Where?”
Surprised by his quick agreement, she considered her options. From the way the conversation had started, she’d thought he would turn her down. She suggested the Daily Diner, an unpretentious cafe serving a typical American menu. “We can grab coffee while we talk.”
It was neutral territory. Her office at the Cultural Center, where he’d be surrounded by Otherworlders, could be intimating to humans, and she often used the diner as an icebreaker. Since she needed Hawkson’s help, she wanted to keep him comfortable.
* * *
Ari arrived first and settled into a booth where she could watch the door. Hawkson arrived less than a minute later, his ruddy complexion, long black hair drawn back with a tie, and strong, chiseled features leaving no question about his identity. He wore a gray sweatshirt and faded jeans. Without cracking a smile, Hawkson slid into the opposite side of the booth; his deep-set brown eyes seemed to look inside her.
They ordered coffee, and while Ari explained how she got his phone number, she made a quick cop assessment, taking into consideration the clean aura of a man with little to hide. Following her instincts, she told him most of what she knew about the death of the treasure hunter, even hinting that magic might be involved. Hawkson accepted her story without a flicker of doubt.
“Here’s why I’m telling you all this. Barron’s producers said he was in Riverdale looking for an Indian artifact. I don’t know what or where, except I think he was in the caverns. Any of this sound familiar to you? Or bring anything to mind?”
Hawkson tapped his right index finger against his coffee mug. “I get the feeling you’ve taken up the hunt for this artifact. Why?”
“It could lead me to Barron’s killer. When he or she shows up to claim the treasure, I want to be there waiting.”
He seemed to think that over, his expression never changing. “If you find it, what will you do with it?”
“Honestly, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. My main concern is solving a murder.”
“Any artifact from our ancestors belongs to the tribe.” Hawkson’s jaw tightened. “I will not help you steal from my people. Enough has already been taken from us.”
“Then you know what it is,” she said, leaning forward. “If it belongs to your tribe, that’s fine with me. I assume you can prove your claim. In the meantime, I’d like to catch a killer. So help me out here. You can start by telling me what it is everyone’s looking for.”
“How do I know I can trust you to keep your word?”
Ari sighed. “I guess you don’t. What do you want me to do? Cross my heart and hope to die?”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Are you familiar with the Sac and Fox tribes and a chieftain named Blackhawk?”
“Show me a river rat who hasn’t heard of Blackhawk. Anyone who grew up along the upper Mississippi has heard of Blackhawk’s War. It’s a regional legend, but I don’t remember all the details. Is the legend tied to the artifact?”
He nodded once. “Many facts have been clouded by time, but I’ll tell you the story as I know it. Chief Blackhawk fought against the white man’s expansion for years. He even helped the British in the War of 1812 in return for promises to spare his territory. When the war ended, he was forced to retreat into Iowa. In 1932 Blackhawk returned to his lands in Illinois to grow crops and establish homes, but the Illinois militia drove his band away. Men, women, and children fled up the Mississippi.” Hawkson’s hand glided forward to convey the flight up the river basin. “Everything I have said so far is in your history books. What’s not in there is Blackhawk’s visit to the Riverdale caverns. Knowing the soldiers were close and that he might be captured at any moment, he entered the caves and hid his stone of power inside.” Hawkson stopped, then added an apparent afterthought, “Blackhawk was my ancestor.”
She’d already figured that one. “What is this stone of power? What’s it look like?”
Hawkson dropped his gaze to his hands.
She leaned forward again. “If I find it, you’ll be given a chance to argue your claim.”
“I must have the stone. The future of my family depends on it.” He looked past her as if seeing a world far away. “You must hear the rest of the story. Blackhawk was captured, and his followers and their families were killed or scattered. Unable to return to Riverdale, he failed to recover his power stone, dying without power or respect five years later.” He paused, a sadness washing over his features. “My family still carries the curse of the stone’s loss. We have a rare form of genetic leukemia. My people won’t be whole again until I hold the stone in these hands.” He held them up for emphasis. Brown, callused, solidly strong.
“I’m sorry for your tribe. Do all of you have the blood cancer?”
He dropped his hands. “No. I was spared, but my sister and my mother were not. We never know who will be chosen. The stone has strong healing properties, and I believe its return will stop this.”
Ari searched his face. It was a touching story, maybe even true, but she couldn’t promise him the stone. Already she could imagine the vampires and the Magic Council staking their own claims. Maybe others, for all she knew.
“I can’t guarantee anything, except that your story will be heard.” She looked him in the eye. “Your claim would be stronger if you help me find it. What’s it look like?” she asked for the second time.
“It’s a bloodstone. No bigger than a hawk’s egg. Dark green with colored flecks. Some collectors would call it heliotrope, the stone of the sun. It was also Blackhawk’s birthstone.”
Double sacred to Blackhawk then. Rather large for an amulet, about the size of a lemon, but inside the voluminous caves it would be like looking for a whisper of wind. She studied her coffee cup. Was Hawkson aware of Spirit Cave? Had he been one of the intruders? Someone had shot an arrow, a traditional Indian weapon, to keep others away. If Hawkson’s family believed the stone could heal them, it would be priceless to them, worthy of any effort necessary to recover it. Until she knew if that included murder, she needed to tread carefully.
“Do you know its exact location? There are miles of underground caverns.”
He nodded slowly. “Very recently I learned of its hiding place, but I have not been able to recover it.”
Ari straightened, trying not to appear too eager. “Where is it? Have you seen it?’
“I only have directions to its location, but they are from the words of Blackhawk himself. An old man of our tribe in Oklahoma recently went to meet his ancestors. When preparing his belongings for the journey, the family found a letter written by the old man’s grandfather, a shaman of our tribe, a hundred years ago. A copy was sent to me. In the letter the shaman had set down the words that had been passed to him—Blackhawk’s dying words to his son. I cannot prove yet the accuracy of the contents, but I believe the letter itself is genuine.”
“So what did he say?”
“Blackhawk told his son to seek the stone at a spot withi
n the caves ‘where worlds meet and time stands still.’ That he should go there and look for a sign.”
The vortex. It fit the description. Hawkson’s confident face told her he also understood. But how had he found the ley lines? Had he used graphs and maps to plot the possible placement and intersection? Or could he see what should only be visible to an Otherworlder?
She took another furtive glance at his face. Perhaps Native Americans were more spiritual than other humans. She’d known humans with minor psych abilities, usually latent, even unknown to the bearer. Those people were typically in counseling professions, but none of them would be psychic enough to view ley lines. If Hawkson could see them or feel them, he was in a new category.
Hawkson crossed his arms. “If you’re wondering if I have an inner eye, I do. I am a shaman among my people.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’ve found the lines of life.” It wasn’t a question.
“You shot an arrow at the vampires,” she countered.
His bushy brows climbed, then he laughed. “No one was hurt. I’m an excellent shot, and I wasn’t aiming to hit anyone. But it has kept their young ones away.” He frowned but dropped his arms in a less defensive posture. “I’m not worried about the vampires, but something else has been in the caves. Hunting. I can feel it. Demonic beings or skinwalkers. They left an evil spirit, a chindi, behind.”
“The ghost, you mean. I saw it.” Interesting he hadn’t known it was magic and not a true spirit of the dead. Since he’d mentioned skinwalkers, the Indian term for evil witches, why hadn’t he considered the possibility of a magical spell? Perhaps he was more affected by the ancient beliefs than she’d thought. “When did this chindi appear?”
“A week ago. I have not been back since then.” Hawkson sighed and answered her unspoken thoughts. “I may live in the twenty-first century, but the old beliefs are in my DNA. I won’t go back until I can do a cleansing ceremony. But the evil ones must not be allowed to take the stone of power.”
