Demon Hunts wp-5

by C. E. Murphy

  It looked, swear to God, like a magic trick. Like the audience should be peering around in search of the mirrors before applauding wildly. I was gone for a long time, long enough that Jeff panned around to the others. Coyote and Gary were all but leaning forward, both of them obviously-to me-offering strength and support and concern. Sara and Corvallis both looked grimly gobsmacked, and Laurie kept touching her breast where I’d very nearly impaled her. A clock came on in the screen’s lower right-hand corner, then jumped ahead by half an hour, footage cut out before I finally returned.

  The me on the recording looked so very sad. So tired, and so glad to hand the spear to someone else. I reached out to turn it off, and Coyote stopped me. I said, “C’mon,” quietly. I’d already watched more than I wanted to, and all I could think was how utterly insane it was going to look on the evening news. Morrison would kill me.

  The screen faded to black, then came up again in a news studio. Corvallis held a DVD between two fingers, turning it so it caught the light. “There are two copies. The one you’ve got, and this one.”

  She broke hers into pieces, and the screen went dark.

  After what seemed like a long time, I cleared my throat and turned the computer off. “Guess we scored one for the home team there.”

  “So how come you don’t sound thrilled?”

  I shook my head. “Because I don’t like making believers out of people. It’s too big a thing to ask.”

  Coyote chuckled against my shoulder. “You went and grew up, Jo. While I wasn’t looking. I didn’t expect that.”

  “Oh, believe me, neither did I. I tried hard not to.” I twisted, trying to see him, and he got to his feet, then pulled me to mine and herded me back toward the bedroom. I went, grateful he didn’t have an overwhelming urge to be up at five in the morning either, even if it was Christmas. We tucked up together, me tracing idle patterns on his chest before I mashed my nose against his pectoral and mumbled, “I can’t do things your way. You know that, right, Yote? I don’t know if I’d have been able to even if I’d stuck with studying with you all those years ago, or if the past six months had gone differently. But I don’t think so. You…you’re a healer. I’m something else.”

  “Warrior’s path.” He put his mouth against my hair. “I don’t envy that. But you’ve still got a lot you can learn. A lot I could teach you,” he amended hesitantly. “If you want.”

  I pushed up on my elbow, feeling all serious suddenly. “I can’t think of a better teacher.”

  The man had a smile like no other. I thought it had just been how happy I was to see him at first, but I’d had a few days to get used to it now, and it was definitely a grade-A smile. Bright and fleeting and all the more delicious for its quickness. He caught my hand and kissed the palm, then folded our fingers together on his chest. “Okay. I’ll stop trying to remake you in my image, and you can…”

  “Stop getting my ass kicked,” I finished firmly. “I want the shamanic handbook, Yote. I want it all.”

  He laughed. “Oh how the mighty have fallen. It’d be easier if…” A crease appeared between his eyebrows and he sat up, exhaling a sharp breath that ended ruefully. “Okay, this is going to be harder than I thought.”

  Nerves seized my heart and I sat up, too, clutching my pillow. I didn’t want him to say anything else, because I was pretty certain of what he’d say. We had, in fact, spent most of the past couple days not-quite-actively avoiding serious talk, which was made easier by me having to work. That made the hours we had together a little more precious, and neither of us had wanted to gum them up with anything other than living in the moment. It took everything I had to whisper, “What’s going to be hard?”

  “My grandfather bought me a plane ticket home last night, so I could be there for Christmas evening. It leaves SeaTac at ten-thirty.” Coyote shot me an apologetic look and I shook it off even as a pang cut through me.

  “You’ve been unconscious for months. I don’t blame him for wanting you home for Christmas.” I wanted him here for Christmas, but I wasn’t quite selfish enough to say so aloud. Or maybe I wasn’t quite brave enough. “That’s not the hard part, is it.”

  “You’re not supposed to know me that well. No, the hard part…it’d be easier to teach you if we were together. In the same place, I mean,” he said hastily, and then, less certainly, “And maybe together, too. I know you can’t today, but…but you could come with me, Jo.”

  I bent my head over the pillow, eyes closed. That was exactly what I’d thought he was going to say, and it made a hard little helpless place inside me. It took a long time to speak, and even then my voice was small and tight. “You’re the shape of my dreams, Coyote. You came to me in my sleep when I was a girl and taught me magic, and now you’re here and alive and beautiful and I-” I stumbled over the words so hard I almost swallowed my tongue, but I met his eyes so he could see me saying them: “I love you. You’re my dreams come true. And this was going to happen,” I said even more quietly, and mostly to myself. “Right from the moment you came back, this was going to happen. And it isn’t fair, because it would break my heart to go and it’ll break my heart to stay.”

  “But you’re going to stay,” Coyote said very softly. He glanced down as I slumped over my pillow. “I knew you would. I still had to ask.” He touched my chin, making me raise my eyes, and offered a shaky smile. “Hey, I’ll be back up here, you know. I’ve got to come back up when the weather clears so I can drive the Chief home. Maybe you won’t be able to say no a second time.”

  “Maybe I won’t.” That idea hurt as much as the other. I snuffled and Coyote’s gaze softened. He pulled me against his chest, and we stayed there, silent, until the alarm went off and it was time for me to go to work.

  When I got out of the shower there was a flat rectangular black velvet box on my pillow. Not a ring box, but it didn’t have to be: even as it was, it made my stomach lurch so hard I actually got dizzy. I hung on to the bathroom door frame for a couple seconds, just staring at the box before the penny dropped and I snatched it up to run into the living room shouting, “Coyote? Cyrano? Cyrano!”

  He was gone. He was gone, and I’d known it on some level from the instant I saw the box. I knelt on the living room floor, wearing a towel and nothing else, working up the nerve to open the damned box. I was already late for work by the time I made myself do it.

  Four earrings lay inside it. Two were gold wraps. One was a bird, so stylized you had to know me to know it was a raven. The other was more obviously a snake, with a rattle and all.

  The other two were a wire pair, meant for pierced ears, which I’d never had. I got to my feet and went into the bathroom, stopping for a needle on my way.

  Popping the needle through my lobes didn’t hurt at all, nor did threading the earrings through the raw holes. It only took a whisper of healing power to seal the damage over, and then I stood looking at myself in the mirror like I was a stranger. Looking at the earrings, made of bone so smooth it seemed shaped, rather than carved.

  Coyotes, crying for the moon.

  Saturday, December 31, 11:48 P.M.

  I had yet to get used to the earrings, which brushed my jaw and made me endlessly aware of their presence. Made me more aware of everything that had to do with my ears, for that matter, and that included the radio shouting in them. Its blaring countdown was the only human contact I’d had for hours. There were better places to be-Billy and Melinda’s, for example; a New Year’s party was in full swing, and Billy had called twice to see where I was. I’d promised to be there by midnight, but at this late juncture, not even Petite would get me there in time.

  I had paperwork spread all over my desk, Google results and newspaper clippings and police files from all over the country. Missing persons reports were shuffled together like puzzle pieces, scraps of data highlighted or circled with red and yellow pens. I needed a drink of water. My eyes were dry from scowling at so much paperwork.

  The office door opened, sending me half out
of my skin with fright. I clutched my chest, and Morrison, in the doorway, did a lousy job of covering a laugh. “What’re you doing here, Walker?”

  “Besides getting the life scared out of me?” I settled back down in my chair, gulping a couple deep breaths to calm my heart. “Just, ah. Just finishing up some paperwork. Sir.”

  “It’s New Year’s Eve. You’re off duty. You’re supposed to be at the Hollidays’.” He let the door drift shut behind him as he wove his way through desks to reach mine. “What’s so important?”

  “It’s just…” I gestured at my papers. “I was just trying to figure out who she was.” “Just” implied I hadn’t spent most of my off-hours since Coyote left at this very same task, although half the department had commented that I was showing a lot of dedication given that it was the holidays.

  Morrison sat on the edge of my desk, arms folded across his chest. “Any luck?”

  “I don’t know. We’re never going to know for certain.” I straightened up and pulled a handful of papers to the fore. “But this woman, Liz Gregory…she was Tlingit, from up in the Alaskan Panhandle near Juneau. She went missing last winter, during that cold snap in March. They never found her body, and…” I uncovered a newspaper photograph and handed it to Morrison. I’d long since memorized its image, a roundish, happy-faced woman sitting in front of a Native Alaskan-style block-print of a bear. She wore long black hair in a thick braid, and had a simple thong necklace with a claw pendant lying outside her T-shirt.

  “Bear totem,” he said after a moment. “Is that what I’m looking at?”

  I nodded. “I think so. The newspaper stories about her…” I sighed. “She worked outdoors a lot, did a lot of living culture work within her community. There was no mention of her being a shaman or a mystic of any sort, but I’m not sure that would’ve been reported on even if it were true. And maybe it doesn’t matter. Maybe she was just someone who had a big spirit and belonged outdoors, and when she got lost, the cold took her.”

  “The cold?”

  I closed my eyes. “The place where her spirit was caught, Morrison…it was so cold. Cold enough to hurt. Cold enough that you’d do…anything. Anything at all, to get warm again. I didn’t spend very long there, but you’d go mad, boss. Anybody would. I don’t think very many people get out of there, once they’re lost, and I’m not surprised you’d become something terrible in the trying.” I shivered, trying to throw the memories off. “Anyway, the bear totem. I haven’t contacted her family to ask about it yet, but…”

  Morrison helped me change the subject, for which I was grateful. “What does this mean in practical terms, Walker? Are you going to try to pin the last two months of killings on a woman who disappeared nine months ago?”

  “I wouldn’t be able to. There’s no evidence. I just wanted to know for myself. To see if I could find out who she was. Maybe at least tell her family she’s at peace.”

  “Is she?”

  “I have no idea.” I pinched the bridge of my nose. “If it was her, she’s more at peace than she was as a wendigo. That’s all I know. It’s something. Not a lot, maybe, but something.”

  Morrison nodded, not exactly satisfied, but accepting. That was just about how I felt, too. He handed the picture back. “If this woman’s from Juneau, what was she doing down here? That’s a long way to travel.”

  That was a question I’d been trying hard not to let myself think about. I had, of course, been thinking about it almost constantly as a result, and all the answers Morrison needed showed up on my face. “Because of you?”

  “Right after Halloween, Morrison. The cannibal murders started right after Halloween. Right after I blew up the cauldron, after using all that power. I mean, I could be wrong, but I see it one of two ways. Either she thought I might be able to help her move on or she thought I might be a hefty enough snack to push her back into the world. She was getting closer to me, before we found her. Charlie Groleski? He used the same mechanic I do, Chelsea’s Garage. And Karin Newcomb lived in my building. They’re the only two connections I can find, and I know they’re tenuous, but I can’t help being afraid all those people are dead because of me.”

  “No.” Morrison put his hand on my shoulder, making me look at him. “Don’t do that to yourself, Walker. This thing would’ve hunted somewhere, and people would’ve died. That’s outside your control. What matters is it’s over. You stopped it. It’s all any of us can do. We don’t have the insight to stop killers before they strike, and maybe it wouldn’t be a good thing if we did. This one’s a victory. Take it.”

  I thinned my lips, then nodded. He was probably right. There was no cause without effect, but taking on the burden of being the cause and mitigating the effects would drive me crazy, especially since I couldn’t know whether I’d drawn the wendigo to Seattle or not. On the other hand, having finally taken up the mantle of responsibility, I didn’t want to find myself shirking it, either. There had to be a balance somewhere in there, but I was still a long way from finding it. “I’ll try.”

  “Some days that’s all I can ask for.” Morrison gave me a brief, almost sympathetic smile.

  I wrinkled my eyebrows at him. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

  “Holliday sent me to get you.”

  “Really? You? Why?” I had a pretty good idea of why, but I was curious as to what he’d say.

  “It was a toss-up between me and Muldoon, but he’s three sheets to the wind and flirting with an FBI agent a quarter his age.”

  I did a brief calculation. “She can’t possibly be. Even if you say he’s seventy-four, which he won’t be for-” I turned my wrist up to look at my watch “-for another three minutes, she wouldn’t be old enough to be out of training camp. I mean, police academy takes months, wouldn’t FBI training take at least twice as l…” Morrison was failing to fight off a grin. “Oh. You’re teasing me.”

  “Yes.” He stopped trying to beat the grin down, and tipped his head at the door. “I’m here because you should be at the party, and Holliday thought you might actually listen if I came to get you. Get your coat.”

  I got my coat, turned off my computer screen, and tugged Homicide’s door closed behind me before chasing Morrison down the steps to the precinct’s lobby.

  Fireworks erupted in the sky as we pushed the doors open. Myriad colors bloomed against high clouds, reflecting the sparking streams of light as they popped and roared and whistled across the city. Distant music rang down the street, the strains of “Auld Lang Syne” played on radios and taken up by tuneless, exuberant voices. Morrison and I both stopped, taken aback by the sudden light and song show, then looked at one another.

  There was really only one thing to do at midnight on New Year’s Eve, and we both knew it. We stood there gazing at each other, eye to eye, neither with the height advantage. Neither breathing, as far as I could tell. Time hadn’t stopped; I could feel my heart beating a little too hard as a blush started to climb my cheeks. But it felt like we were in a bubble, just me and Morrison, waiting to see what happened next.

  The funny thing was that I thought if we’d been at Billy’s party, I might’ve kissed him. A brief peck on the way to kissing someone else. It would’ve been impolite not to, in those circumstances, but standing there in the precinct building doors, fireworks raining colored light on us, a kiss was more than just a kiss.

  I glanced up just to find somewhere else to look, and discovered some enterprising soul had hung mistletoe over the door. I breathed laughter, making Morrison look up, too.

  Complicated amusement danced over his face, making his blue eyes bright. He said, “Ah,” and took one judicious step out from under the door. “Happy New Year, Walker.”

  My heart filled up and turned my smile sad and stupid all at once. “Happy New Year, Captain.”

  “Come on.” Morrison offered a hand. “We’ve got a party to go to.”

  There were probably a million reasons I shouldn’t accept that gesture. A million reasons he shouldn’t
have offered it, for that matter. Right then, I didn’t care. Still smiling, I put my hand in his and squeezed. “Yes, sir.”

  He squeezed back, released my fingers, and we went out into the new year together.

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