“Forgive me,” Feather said to Garrie. “This is my niece, Caryn. Caryn, these are our guests in cottages five and six, along with Mr. Rossiter.”
The bluff made a faint grinding noise, rock against rock. Dust trickled down.
Garrie sent a stern puff of breeze up the bluff. The sooner they got out of here, the better. “Quinn’s here already!” she said brightly. “Let’s go catch up with him.”
But Caryn did a double-take along the path as she reached them. “Oh, is that someone’s Abyssinian?”
Because of course Sklayne hadn’t stayed in the car as he’d been told. He wandered along the path with tail high, end flipping idly, as insouciant as a cat could be. “Oh, poor thing!” Caryn crouched, emitting a little mrrp of a cat-catching noise. “Maybe it’ll come to me—”
::Yess! Playtime! Better than squirrels!::
Garrie made a choking noise. Her grasp on the breezes slipped; they curled around to flick past Caryn and right through Trevarr — the discomfort of it showing in the cant of his shoulders, the stillness of his posture as he tried to absorb energy not entirely compatible with his own.
Garrie winced in apology. And winced again as dark, clotty manifested blood welled up among the rocks, rising over tokens and offerings, for Garrie’s eyes only.
“Garrie,” Lucia murmured — not seeing it, but feeling it.
But Caryn had turned to Trevarr, her face awash with a sympathy — and unexpected understanding. Garrie hardly had time to realize that while Caryn hadn’t perceived the ghost, she’d most certainly felt Trevarr’s reaction to the wayward snap of energies. “Oh, here,” Caryn said. “I can help with that—”
And then she evidently did more than simply perceive.
Trevarr’s jaw hardened. His hand flashed out, snagging her wrist — as fast as Garrie had ever seen him, and a damned sight faster than Caryn had ever expected. He held her a mere instant, and then released her just as quickly, stepping back. “Do not.”
Garrie flushed with protective heat, turning on the woman in wordless accusation.
“Caryn, dear,” Feather said, a remonstration that ended there.
“I—” Caryn flushed. She looked down at her wrist, as if she couldn’t yet believe how quickly she’d been caught and then released again. “I was only helping.”
Feather cast firm disapproval at her niece. “Hands off, my dear.”
“But I barely...” She rubbed her arm, but Garrie knew she wasn’t hurt. “He couldn’t have felt that. I only—”
And damned if she didn’t do it again.
“Hands off,” Garrie snapped, and for that moment she forgot about the angry ghost. This woman had trespassed. Sklayne spat agreement from his safe distance, growing claws it was best no one else noticed.
Quinn saved the day, as he so often did, sauntering around the side of the building to join them — tall, blond, and utterly comprised of handsomeness.
“Quinn!” Lucia cried, and ran through the group to throw her arms around him, not coincidentally nudging Caryn farther back from Trevarr.
“Lu,” Quinn said, catching her up for a good hard hug — but over her shoulder, his gaze settled on Trevarr, and it wasn’t nearly as welcoming. “Note my surprise to find you in the middle of a socially uncomfortable moment.”
Garrie was too far away to kick his shin, so she held out her arms and said, “My hugs, too?”
“Yeah, babe,” Quinn told her, and came to her, bringing Lucia along for a hugfest.
Fine dust rose from subtle vibrations of the hillside behind them. “Toooold you. Myyy plaaaace!”
Oh, crap. Garrie whirled from the hugfest around to glare up the hill. Not only hadn’t they left the circle, but Caryn had introduced newly intrusive energies into the territorial Bobbie’s space.
::Sptt! Running!:: Sklayne flashed between them and away.
The grinding grew louder behind him, evolving into a rumble, and the ghost’s voice rose with melodramatic reverberation. “I told you!”
Oh, crap. She was bringing the mountain down.
Garrie grabbed Lucia and Quinn. “Get away from the circle! Get back!”
And because Quinn knew her, and Lucia knew her, and Trevarr in some ways knew her best of all, they ran, sweeping Feather and Caryn along. So when the massive red rock boulder came crashing down onto the cleansing circle, it didn’t quite crush anyone.
Not. Quite.
They ran hunched, bombarded by pebbles and dust, arms futilely protecting their heads. When Feather stumbled, Trevarr caught her by the arm and carried her along until they stuttered to a stop at a safe distance, coughing and blinking. Small rocks pinged down around them, bouncing audibly off the circle’s giant new centerpiece.
::Sptt!:: Sklayne’s disdain drifted through the settling dust, along with a delicate feline sneeze. ::Spptt!! Should have run faster!::
~~~~~
Feather escorted them quickly to their cabins, too dazed to do much more than reassure them that such a rock fall had never happened before and she would take immediate safety measures.
That, Garrie knew, didn’t mean what Feather thought it did.
They ended up in two adjoining half-cabins with mini-kitchens, split into boy-girl rooms built around charm and just a shade of cutesy — Southwestern patterns mixed with chakra colors and crystals and a cluster of witch balls in each corner. For a team of sensitives, it was crushing overload. Lucia went immediately to the little kitchen, opening cupboards and poking into drawers.
In truth, Garrie would have been surprised to find herself anything but this restless after a solid day of travel and confinement. Even at the best of times, the breezes got to her; the energies stirred her up within. If she wasn’t pounding it out on pavement or a treadmill or a workout bag, it built and swirled and ate at her. By the time she sat on the bed on the girls’ side, she was already itching to get up and out again.
Trevarr lingered by the open door between the rooms, very much on watch. His sunglasses hung from the second toggle hold of his duster; his startling silvered gaze seemed cool and distant.
Garrie wasn’t fooled. Not cool; not distant. Simmering.
Sklayne, barely cat around the edges, had already gone under the bed to battle dust bunnies in a noisy whap and tumble. When he stuck his head out to check the room, those rich green eyes were more perceptive than any cat’s.
Especially when he quite deliberately caught her gaze and primly informed her, ::Not dust bunnies.::
Eavesdropping on her thoughts. Awesome.
A week earlier, who had even imagined an off-world creature who could be anything and everything and who habitually chose to be cat?
“Stay out,” she told him, adding a smack of a mental scowl.
“Mow!” He startled, canting his ears back as he narrowed his eyes in a stubborn expression. ::Still not dust bunnies.::
She gave him a look. Just eat it. Whatever it is. You’re going to do it anyway.
He disappeared under the bed with a disturbing rush of cool ethereal breeze.
Quinn shifted his hip off the dresser and crossed his arms, and then spoke as if they’d been in discussion all along. “What the hell was that? Do you really think we’ll get to the bottom of things if everyone resents us before we even start?”
The hurt of those words surprised Garrie. “Wow, harsh.” She tried to sound casual, brushing at the red rock grit on her skin and in her hair. “Quinn, that ghost has been haunting this place for decades, and she seriously hates that circle—”
Trevarr interrupted, his voice carrying a granite quality and no apology. “He speaks of me.”
Lucia’s eyes widened slightly. Unlike Quinn, she’d been in San Jose. She’d absorbed a solid respect for Trevarr; she knew what Garrie had been through with him and for him. “Quinnie, maybe not now—”
“No, he’s right.” Quinn’s gaze bore into Trevarr, blue clashing with darkening pewter. “That stunt with the niece? Grabbing her? What were you thinking?”
“I thought,” Trevarr said, far too blandly, “that it would stop her.”
“Quinnie,” Lucia repeated. Garrie knew the look; Lucia was blocking. Since San Jose, her lifelong exquisite sensitivity to lingering ethereal emotions and wisps of spiritual wants had expanded to include those around her. And this overload of a room wasn’t helping.
“Was she hurting you?” Quinn demanded of Trevarr. “Was making your little point worth the trouble it’s going to cause us?”
Yes, it had hurt him. On a deep, intensely personal level. But Garrie knew he wouldn’t say as much.
He didn’t. “Trespassing is not done.”
“Neither is grabbing!” Quinn snapped, taking a step forward and oh, really pushing his luck. “If we’re going to help my friend, people have to talk to us. Do you know how small this town is? Do you know how many locals already know that woman doesn’t feel safe around you?”
“Quinn,” Garrie said, her voice low, “as long as she’s interfering with people, no one else is safe around her. It’s about time she was stopped—”
“At Robin’s expense?”
“Quinn!” More exasperated now. “Trevarr won’t be the one asking the questions in this town!”
“Hola,” Lucia said sharply, and the sarcastic whip behind her voice cut through the nonsense. “We are friends, yes? Reuniting? Here to help Quinn?” She sent a desperate glance at Garrie, easy enough to read. Are we going to fall apart right here, right now?
Not if Garrie had anything to say about it. Just because suddenly nothing was the same —
What would Quinn think if he knew about that startling moment at the rest stop? That strong, dark instant of temptation?
Or how close she’d come to giving into it.
Trevarr stepped into the man cave side of the cabins. The bed there was covered with Quinn’s overnighter, a heavy crate of books, a laptop case, a tangle of battery chargers and AC adapters — and, teetering precariously at the side, Trevarr’s satchel. He glanced at the bed, a meaningful look that no doubt held silent words for Sklayne.
The tip of Sklayne’s tail briefly appeared, quivering in predatorial zeal. ::Busy!::
Trevarr didn’t reply; he merely left, the door quietly snicking closed behind him.
“What —?” Lucia said, following his progress with concern.
“Just giving us some space,” Garrie said, more brusquely than she meant to. “Quinn, here’s your chance.”
For an instant, he looked baffled — still standing his ground, not quite realizing that there wasn’t anyone left to stand it against, and some inexplicable expression surfacing briefly before he squashed it. Garrie rolled her eyes. “You know? As in, hey, Garrie! Lucia! I’ve missed you!”
Understanding crossed across Lucia’s face — a look that meant she’d discerned something that Garrie hadn’t. “Just because you were at home during San Jose, Quinn — it doesn’t change anything.”
Vulnerability, that’s what that look had been. Just a flash of it, and unfamiliar at that. Easy-going Quinn, never worrying about his place in the world. Had the job he wanted, had the moonlight reckoning gig on which he thrived. Had his health, his looks, his smarts, his personal sense of invincibility. Nothing had ever threatened that.
Until now.
But he nonetheless took his cue. “Garrie!” he said, with Oscar-worthy enthusiasm. “Lucia! I’ve missed you guys!”
“Right answer,” Garrie muttered, and discovered she’d been tugging on her hair again. Or had she never stopped? “Because I was just about to get out a ruler and start measuring your—”
Quinn arched a look her way. “Can’t you just go by experience?”
The words slapped at her. Garrie rued the fact that ethereal breezes had no effect whatsoever on living humans and she rued it hard, reeling in a flash of temper so twisty, so sudden, she hardly recognized herself in it.
The bed rustled beneath. Sklayne’s silent words poked at her. ::Bad for you, the Garrie.::
Quinn had the grace to look abashed at her reaction. “Sorry,” he muttered, and gave his sneakers some attention. “Seriously. I don’t know what got into me.”
“How about,” Garrie said, her words tight in spite of effort, “we just say that you’re worried for your friend?”
“I’m worried for you!” Quinn blurted.
Oh.
So then she hugged him, and Lucia hugged him, and he ruffled her hair up. His fingers lingered over her head where the hair had gone streaky blue silver; he didn’t quite ask. As they broke apart, he said, “I haven’t been able to find Robin. She was supposed to call me hours ago, and she’s not answering her phone or her email.”
“I’ll do a sweep as soon as we settle in,” she promised. “But don’t you have any idea why she called for help?”
He threw his hands in the air, a subdued gesture. “Someone in the area getting out of hand. Don’t think I haven’t been looking for info — but mostly I’ve been driving. Puts a damper on the keyboarding and the reading.”
“But she convinced you to get us all here,” Lucia noted.
“It wasn’t what she said.” He hesitated, giving that some thought. “It was how she said it.” He sat against the dresser. “I know I’m asking a lot. Especially after... what you’ve been through.”
Garrie rolled her eyes. Just a little. “Quinn,” she said, “this is what we do. We’re damned sure going to do it for a friend.”
Lucia flounced onto the bed, then, toeing her sandals off and shoving Quinn’s things aside without remorse. “Fine, then we’re good. So, you met her when? What’s she like? Will we like her? Were you lovers?”
Quinn made a strangled noise.
Lucia stretched and wiggled her toes, dangling her feet over the side of the bed. “Oh, Quinnie, you set yourself up for that one when you went after Garrie. So, spill.”
Quinn sent a desperate look at Garrie, who merely crossed her arms over her chest and smiled.
Quinn jammed his hands in his back pockets, retreating to charmingly modest. “The year before I met Garrie. She’s good people, she just... couldn’t quite bring herself to believe what she really knows. She left Albuquerque instead. Bought into half of the Crystal Winds here in Sedona. It would have been hard for her to call me.”
“You did like her,” Lucia said.
Quinn scowled. “You didn’t used to peek.”
She gave him a sunny smile. “No, I didn’t.” Her foot twitched where it still dangled. “Hey! Leave my feet alone!”
::Hunting:: Something like a growl curled through Garrie’s mind. ::Don’t move.::
She coughed. “Pull your feet up, Lucia. He’s got something under there and he’s using your feet to bait it.”
“Dios, my every nightmare.” Lucia instantly curled her legs up on the bed. “There is a monster under the bed.”
Quinn had on his what the fu —? face, but he shook his head, an unconscious gesture. Later, he’d ask. For now... he reached out again to Garrie’s hair, barely touching it, and ran his fingers lightly over her arm — a freedom that spoke of what they’d once had, however brief. “Your skin...” he said. “Your hair.” He flipped the light switch in the waning evening, and there was no hiding any of it. “So that’s what Drew was talking about.”
And those aren’t even the things I’m worried about.
“Things have changed, Quinn,” she said, touching an arm that had once been remarkable only for its wiry nature and scattering of freckles, and now shimmered in the light. She looked up, saw the dawning realization of it in his eyes. “Things have changed.”
“Mow! Spptt!” Sklayne interrupted without remorse, generating a startling bass rumble. A brief shudder of reality rippling through the room as he pounced and batted and conquered. ::Got it got it gotit pouncing I am!::
Right. Really, really changed.
Chapter 4
The Fallen Rock
“Respect the lingering spirit.”
— Rho
nda Rose
“Well, THAT reeks.”
— Lisa McGarrity
“Proper accessorizing is everything.”
— Lucia Reyes
As the long, slow desert twilight faded into deep black, Garrie slipped away to sit on the newly deposited cleansing circle boulder. It reeked of tumultuous spiritual influence, sending jitters up her spine just when she needed them least.
Quinn was off along 89A somewhere, gathering up take-out — something for everyone and twice as much for Trevarr, because it had been hours since they’d eaten and even that hadn’t been enough. The food wasn’t enough, whatever he ate of it.
There hadn’t been any word from Robin. If Garrie couldn’t garner any clues from the town-wide aerial sweep she’d come here to do, they’d all wait for daylight and go looking.
It wasn’t, after all, a very big town. Tons of main street crammed into one short stretch, a few shopping strips along 89A and some south of the infamous Y intersection down 179 to Tlaquepaque. Lots of vistas, lots of red rocks, lots of tourist action, Pink Jeep guides everywhere.
Robin had to be there somewhere in all of that. They’d find her.
The area’s breezes brushed against Garrie with disturbed and sorrowing undercurrents, telling her as much about the Bobbie Ghost as the spirit’s earlier anger — making it hard to extend herself for an aerial sweep of the town.
She sat, a small person on a large, lumpy rock, legs crossed and absurdly comforted by the presence of Trevarr’s knife beside her. Faint solar LED lights dotted the edges of the garden walk as it merged with the path around the inn; the crushed circle tokens beneath the boulder gave off their own persistent energies.
Garrie wouldn’t have called the effect a cleansing one, but she wasn’t sure either Feather or Caryn could discern the difference.
No doubt the ghost could. For Feather’s visitors had found their peace by leaving their ephemeral detritus behind. Tangled knots of anger, thickly bubbling resentments... deep, sucking sorrows. A dark spectrum of color and pattern and movement, clinging to this spot.
Just groovy.
Storm of Reckoning Page 4
