by Jenna Kernan
His humor was one of the things Maggie so admired. She called him a truly joyful man. Michaela’s throat tightened as she thought of that. He wasn’t joyful now that she had gone.
Gone…
How long had she been gone? She remembered his note asking her to call him and guilt flared inside her.
He must be worried sick.
She could just make him out as he crushed out the glowing orange tip of his cigarette and glanced anxiously at the house.
Then he hurried toward the house, triggering the security light, which popped on, illuminating him in the drive. He wore his habitual attire of worn cowboy boots and loose jeans held low on his narrow hips by a belt with a brass buckle shaped like a moose. His T-shirts all looked the same, with a pocket over his left breast to hold his cigarettes.
Today his shirt was forest-green, stretching over his potbelly and covered by a quilted flannel shirt. Her gaze flicked back to the new pair of dungarees. She frowned. Only one reason for him to buy new jeans when the old ones were still fit to wear.
Her gaze turned critical. He was thinner and his worn, tanned face seemed to droop. He walked as if his bones ached. He wore his grief like a new coat that did not suit him. Her aunt’s death had hit him hard, too, taking his engaging smile along with it. She wondered if he would ever feel the same again.
Michaela tugged at the kitchen door, surprised to find it locked. She flipped back the dead bolt and stepped out on the porch.
“Ron! I’m okay. Sorry if I worried you.”
She took a step out onto the wet lawn to meet him.
Ron trudged forward, huffing as he did now from the slightest exertion.
A wisp of white mist swept down from above like a squall of blowing snow, gathering into the familiar features of her aunt Maggie. She waved her hands, as if trying to stop a bus. What was she doing?
“No,” she cried. “It’s not him.”
“What?” asked Michaela, who, distracted by her aunt’s frantic gesticulations, missed Ron’s advance.
Her confused expression froze on her face as he hauled back and slapped her with all his might. She staggered and fell. The skin at her knees tore at the impact with the ground. Her cheek burned and her ear made a whistling sound, like air escaping from a pinprick in a balloon. She lifted her hand in dumb amazement, touching the side of her head, coming away with sticky, warm blood dribbling between her fingers. The side of her face throbbed in agony at the blow.
Maggie swept forward to protect her, passing right through Ron.
Michaela couldn’t have been more shocked at the attack. Was he so furious with her that he would strike her?
Her mouth gaped as she stared up at him.
“Ron?”
Evil yellow eyes stared down in malevolent triumph.
Nagi.
Chapter 26
L ock the doors and windows, Bess had said. But Michaela had let him in. No, worse—she had come out to meet him, as trusting as a lamb at Easter.
Now she stared up at Ron with different eyes, assessing his strengths and searching for weaknesses. He had heart disease and weak lungs from the smoking. He was shorter than she was, but strong from working on cars in his shop. She should run.
Michaela swung her leg around and tripped him. He fell back to the lawn as she scrambled to her feet, trying to reach the house, but he grabbed her by the hair and yanked.
Ron’s voice, but not Ron’s voice, spoke to her. “I have you now.”
She lost her footing as he dragged her down the steps. She kicked uselessly, pounding her fists against his fingers knotted in her hair. Maggie screamed and swooped away, flying toward the woods.
Ron threw her down the stairs and lifted a leg to stomp on her face, but she rolled away and his boot heel gouged deep into the soft earth.
The sky was lighter now, with pink bands of light streaking across the heavens.
Dawn.
She turned her head toward the tree line and saw him. Sebastian, in his bear form, charged toward them with Maggie.
Ron saw him, too, and had time only to scream before Sebastian threw him down, pinning him between strong front legs. Ron struck the ground hard and his eyes rolled back in his head as he lost consciousness.
Nagi left Ron’s body, billowing before them.
Sebastian lifted a mighty front paw to strike Ron, but Michaela screamed at him.
“Stop! Nagi has left him.”
The bear moved off the motionless man as Maggie swept forward to hover beside Ron.
Sebastian ran to Michaela. She did not cower as he lifted onto his hind legs and grabbed her in his huge arms, pulling her away from Ron’s fallen body.
“Did you kill him?” she asked, staring at her friend.
Sebastian released her, studying her carefully. His eyes narrowed as he saw the blood on her face, and he growled menacingly and stepped between her and Ron.
She turned to find Nagi but was unable to locate him.
Ron had dragged himself to his feet and stood at the window of his pickup, his eyes fluttering and still rolled so she could see only the whites of his eyes.
“Ron,” she called, but he did not heed. He reached behind his seat and grabbed the rifle he used to hunt moose. Then he whirled and fired.
“No!” screamed Michaela as two rounds hit Sebastian.
He reeled but did not fall, staggering backward as Michaela ran toward Ron.
“No! Stop. You’ll kill him.”
Nothing mattered in this world but saving Sebastian.
She reached Ron, wrapping her fingers around the barrel of the rifle. But Ron jerked it free and lifted the stock to his shoulder, taking careful aim at Sebastian, and fired.
She swung both hands together at Ron’s round belly.
The impact caused him to fold and she wrenched the gun from his hands.
She stood motionless for one instant, still gripping the barrel, as the swooping sensation caused her to sway. Without ever experiencing this before, she knew intuitively what was happening. She closed her eyes as her body quivered from the vibration of her soul locking back into place.
The disjointed sensation she had carried since her coma was gone. She inhaled sharply at the rightness of this feeling. She felt aware, powerful and whole.
She had done it—her mind, body and soul all moving as one to save her love.
Ron reached for the gun, eyes gleaming yellow and fluttering madly. “You haven’t escaped me!”
Sebastian, bleeding from two bullet wounds in his chest, dropped to all fours and charged. Ron lifted a hand to his chest and dropped to his knees before Sebastian reached him.
“No,” he howled as his heart stopped its rhythmic beat and Nagi slipped away again. Maggie appeared at Ron’s side, trying to embrace him, but her arms slid through his body.
Nagi leaped away once more, howling like a soul in torment.
Sebastian transformed, lifting his arms to the heavens. Above him the wind began to blow as dark, menacing clouds swept in from the west.
“I’ll find another body,” howled Nagi.
Sebastian clutched Michaela in his arms as he braced for the whirlwind.
“No! If you take her, she will disappear. Stop! I’ll give you anything.”
Sebastian stared at Michaela. “You did it?”
She nodded. “I’m whole.”
Nagi swirled and frothed. “Don’t!”
“Stay there and the Thunderbirds will blow you to the four winds.”
They came, charging forth on dark swirling clouds, lifting them as Nagi frothed in fury.
Michaela laughed at the cold wind that bore them up into the heavens, carrying them safely away. They landed beside a dry riverbed.
She glanced at the unfamiliar surroundings. They had escaped.
Her elation vanished as Sebastian’s legs gave way.
She clutched at him, staring at the holes in his white T-shirt and the dark blood oozing from the openings.
“We ne
ed help. Take us to a hospital.”
Sebastian pointed to her ear. “You’re bleeding.”
Michaela glanced helplessly around the dry, rocky ground. There was nothing and no one here. Wilted cottonwood and rock seemed the only available resources.
“What is this place?”
“It was a river when I was a boy. It is near humans, in case…” His voice trailed off.
“Oh, no, you don’t. You’re not dying on me.”
He gave her a weak smile. “All right, rabbit. Make me a circle of stones, a medicine wheel.”
She scrambled to re-create the circle he had made for her healing, heaving stones to form a rough ring large enough to accommodate him. When she had finished, he crawled inside.
Please let him live. Two bullets, it was a wonder he hadn’t bled to death.
“Fetch my feather.”
“Your feather?”
He nodded. “Any feather.”
“Can you heal your own wounds?”
“With a feather,” he rasped. “Helps me focus.”
Michaela scrambled toward the cottonwoods on a scavenger hunt to save Sebastian’s life.
She searched in the brush and along the ground but could find no feathers. The seconds ticked to minutes as she continued her frantic search.
Feather, feather, any kind of feather.
Sweat beaded on her forehead as she felt her chance to save Sebastian slipping away. She choked back sobs, refusing to yield to the agony of her failure. Tears dropped to the dry ground as she ran this way and that.
She was in such a state of panic, she nearly did not see him, sitting alone on the large rock beneath the gnarled cottonwood.
But there sat a ghost, still as mist on the water. He watched her with interest as she charged up to him.
“Can you help me? I need a feather.”
The ghost startled and then looked behind him, as if certain she spoke to someone else.
“Me?” he asked.
“Yes, you. I need one now, or my friend will die.”
“You can see me?”
“Please, not now. Can you help me?”
Still gaping, he rose to his feet. “I saw a magpie’s nest back that way. Might be a feather in there.”
Michaela ran in the direction he pointed. He beat her there, his vaporous arm extended through the branches and disappeared into the bush.
Michaela pushed back the foliage and found the tightly woven nest lined with downy feathers.
Would such a small feather work? She took the entire empty nest and was just about to go when she saw it, on the ground—a long perfect gray feather from the wing of a magpie. She hoisted it and ran back the way she came.
Sebastian lay motionless in the circle, blood running from his wounds onto the thirsty ground.
She fell to her knees beside him, holding out the nest in one hand and the feather in the other. He opened one eye and looked at her offering. A smile formed.
“You found one.”
“Will it work?”
“Yes, rabbit.” He gripped the clear, pointed quill of the feather and passed it over his wound.
Sebastian chanted as he worked his healing magic, using the small feather to direct his healing powers. His thick hide and bulk of muscle had taken most of the impact. One bullet had passed through his shoulder, lodging against the blade, narrowly missing his neck. The other was more troublesome, having pierced between two ribs, nicking his left lung and collapsing it. He tasted his blood with each breath and feared if he coughed the frothy pink blood he would frighten Michaela, so he allowed it to collect in his rib cage, flowing into the cavity left by his shrunken lung and frothing from the hole in his torso like soap bubbles.
His breath whistled unnaturally through the ragged hole. If he were an ordinary bear, it would have been a kill shot. But not an immediate kill. He still would have had time to finish the one who had shot him before dying.
But this man was already dead. Nagi had used Ron’s body, even after Sebastian had rendered it unconscious.
He closed his eyes and chanted, feeling the bullets draw out of the tunnels of gore they had created. Behind them, the tissue mended, scarred first, then healed.
He tried a breath. The whistle had ceased. He filled his lungs with air and, finding they both worked, he sighed. Good. On the second breath, the bullets emerged, dropping to the ground.
Michaela picked up both flattened pieces of lead, her mouth opened in an astonished little O.
“Now you,” he said, motioning to the circle.
“You are okay?”
“Perfectly.” He lifted the bloody shirt to show his unblemished skin, still smeared with his blood.
She grimaced at the sight but lay in the circle with her head pointing north.
Sebastian raised his hands to judge her injuries. The scrapes on her knees were minor, but her eardrum was ruptured by the blow. He fanned the soft gray feather over her wounds as he chanted, asking the help of the Spirit of his father as he worked to mend the damage.
As he labored, he stared at her serene face, at the trust and the peace.
Michaela had done it. She was whole once more. Nagi could no longer track her like a wolf after a wounded caribou. But she could see him and all his ghosts. She was a true Niyanoka. In time she would be the threat Nagi feared.
She was no longer his. Once he finished healing these small injuries, she would have no further need of a mangy Inanoka, trailing after her like a lovesick bull elk. The time had come to give her up.
The ceremony complete, he tucked the feather behind her ear. She retrieved it, stowing it carefully inside the back pocket of her slacks.
“You never know,” she said.
“I used to tie one in my hair.”
“Smart move.” She sat up and he helped her to her feet. With the contact came the flow of love and respect she held for him. He broke the contact as soon as he was able.
She stood before him, waiting.
Michaela heard a familiar voice coming from behind her.
“Miss, can you help me? I’ve lost my horse.”
She turned to see the ghost who had located the feather. He looked at them sheepishly from the far side of the medicine wheel.
“What is it?” asked Sebastian, reminding her that he could not see this soul.
“A ghost. He wants me to help him find his horse. He got me the feather.”
Sebastian glanced off in slightly the wrong direction. “Then you should help him.”
“Find his horse?”
“He’s confused. He doesn’t know he’s dead. You must help him cross onto the Spirit Road.”
She faced the ghost. “How am I supposed to do that?”
“Who’s dead?” asked the ghost.
Michaela looked at the stooped old specter.
“Sir, we were speaking of you. You’re, well, you’ve passed on. I mean, you haven’t passed on, but you aren’t alive.”
He grew slightly more transparent. “That why nobody will talk to me?”
“That’s why. How did you get here?”
“My horse threw me, and when I came to, the boy was gone.”
“I think perhaps you were gone—died, that is.”
He threw his hat to the ground, then rested his hands on his hips and stared down at it. “Explains a lot.” He glanced at Michaela. “Balderdash never threw me before.”
“I’m sure he never intended to. You need to look for the Spirit Road and follow it.”
“I see it every night. It touches the earth on the northern horizon. But I’ve been looking for my horse, you see.”
“If your horse is alive, you can’t help it, and if it’s dead, it already went that way.”
He smiled, showing an empty hole where his teeth should have been, and then retrieved his hat.
“Tonight, follow the road. Will you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He tipped his cowboy hat and wandered up the bank toward the north. “Maybe I’ll find B
alderdash that way.”
Michaela turned to Sebastian, who stood rubbing his neck as he watched her.
“What?”
“Strange to hear only one side of a conversation. Makes you sound like a Heyoka.” He pointed toward his temple.
“I guess I am one.”
“What do they look like, the ghosts?”
“Sort of like people made of mist or water. It depends. The bad ones are gray or black, the color of smoke from burning rubber. The murdered one I saw had a red sheen.” She gasped, recalling something. “Ron! We can’t leave him lying out in the road.”
“Nagi might be waiting there for us. He can’t track you, but…”
“I know. My father said once I was healed, Nagi could only find me if I crossed his path.” She thought a moment. “Can we land nearby and sneak in?”
Sebastian thought for a moment and then nodded his consent. In a few minutes, they were riding on the wings of the Thunderbirds once more. This time, Michaela enjoyed the ride, catching sight of the talons of the bird at one point.
They landed on the southern side of the house, near the road. Sebastian went first, scouting for danger, and she trailed behind, watchful for all he could not see.
“Do you sense him?” he whispered.
“No.”
The cabin came in sight. She saw Ron’s body, sprawled out on the grass before his truck.
Michaela caught movement from her periphery and tensed. Sebastian stepped before her, his muscles taut and braced to defend. Michaela turned toward the porch and saw the couple descend.
“It’s safe,” said Maggie. “He’s gone. We were waiting. I knew you’d come back.”
Michaela laid a hand on Sebastian’s arm. “It’s all right.”
His shoulder relaxed. “What is it?”
“My aunt.”
Both ghosts smiled peacefully at her.
“Maggie and Ron. They say it’s safe.”
Sebastian glanced around, his eyes shifting to glimpse what he could not see.
Ron seemed taller as a ghost. He stood straight and proud, clasping his love’s hand.
Michaela felt responsible for his death. “I’m so sorry that he used you that way.”
