Far different from yesterday, Ellie thought ruefully. Finally she stepped into the kitchen.
“Have you traded in your job as an eagle to become a beaver?”
Mac turned at Ellie’s husky voice. He smiled a little and put the rest of the fried bacon into the basket.
“I don’t know about a beaver—I feel more like a bull in a china shop.”
She smiled softly and moved toward Mac. He set the skillet aside and turned to meet her. She wasn’t disappointed as his hands settled on her shoulders and he drew her against him. Automatically, her arms went around his waist. How wonderful it was to be able to rest her cheek against his chest and hear the slow, unfettered pounding of his heart beneath his shirt. She sighed as Mac moved one hand up and down her spine, stroking her. Ellie knew that he loved her. It was in his eyes, in his touch, and in the way his voice had changed to that intimate, caring tone after she had been injured by the entity’s attack.
The words I love you almost slipped from her lips as she nestled her cheek against his chest and surrendered to his care. It was too soon. Ellie’s mind once again got in the way, warning her that if she tried to love Mac in return, that someday, somehow, he would turn against her—just as Brian had. It would only be a matter of time….
“You look like you’ll live,” Mac observed, pressing a small, chaste kiss against her temple, the silky strands of her hair beneath his lips.
“I will,” Ellie murmured. She eased out of his arms enough to lift her head and drown in his green-and-gold eyes. There was such love in them that it nearly brought tears to her own. Swallowing the sudden lump in her throat, Ellie added, “I’m fine now. Really.”
“I see life in your eyes.” The gold, dancing sunlight was there once more, and he breathed in deeply, grateful that Ellie was truly all right.
“Last night,” he whispered, “I dreamed I was holding you.”
“We must have sharing the same dream.”
Mac stopped himself from saying too much too soon. It was a lot for her to accept this much intimacy from him. With a slight smile, he said, “I got up a couple of times last night and checked on you. Before the dream of holding you, I kept waking up with nightmares of you dying.”
Touched, Ellie caressed Mac’s cheek. “I’m sorry I had to put you through this.”
“I’m not complaining, sweetheart.” Mac captured a long, ebony strand of her hair. “It’s a part of your life.”
Ellie searched his hooded gaze for some telltale sign that he wasn’t being completely honest with himself, but she found nothing to indicate that. “Things like this are rare. They hardly ever happen, Mac.”
“That’s the good news,” he said wryly as he released her. “Are you hungry?”
“Starving.”
“Is that normal after a psychic attack?”
“Yes.” She took the chair he pulled out for her. As she sat down, she noticed Mac had cut some of her roses and made a pretty arrangement in a vase. Again, she was struck by his sensitivity, his knowing instinctively what made her happy. Her ex-husband had never once put flowers in a vase—either on the table or anywhere else. Flowers weren’t in his vocabulary. But then, Ellie reminded herself, her ex-husband wasn’t a man of the earth. Neither was Mac, but at least he understood her needs, her own love of the earth.
Mac moved to the oven and opened it. “I took the liberty of making my favorite breakfast—scrambled eggs mixed with cream cheese and bacon bits.” Proudly, he placed two plates on the table and brought over the basket of fried bacon. Then he brought over cups of hot coffee and sat down opposite Ellie, who was smiling.
“I didn’t realize you had this hausfrau streak in you.” She added three strips of bacon to the egg concoction on her plate.
“Necessity is the mother of invention. When I got divorced, it was either cook or starve to death. I don’t like junk food and got tired of eating plastic breakfast at fast-food chains.” Mac dug hungrily into his own food.
“This is good.” She grinned a little. “You have hidden talents, Major. I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be. I’ve got about ten recipes and then things go to hell in a hand basket.”
“At least you can boil water.”
Chuckling, Mac nodded. After a few moments, he got serious. “Yesterday morning I called my master sergeant and told him to take my squadron crews to Hangar 12. I’ve shut down 13, Ellie, until I know what to do with it. I also called the colonel and told him I wouldn’t be coming in today, either.” He shrugged. “After what happened I’m not about to let any of my people walk unsuspecting into that hangar.”
“You did the right thing, Mac.”
He shook his head. “I just wouldn’t have believed it, Ellie, if I hadn’t experienced the whole thing.” He frowned. “I’m sorry I doubted you.”
“Don’t be hard on yourself, Mac. Most people would react the same way.”
“You’re very generous with your understanding of the rest of us.”
Ellie took a sip of coffee. How very right it seemed for Mac to be here, in her kitchen. She’d never had a man make her breakfast before, and it was a pleasurable treat, completely unexpected. “Over the years I learned to be patient with other people’s attitudes. I don’t blame people for disbelieving in metaphysics. How can you prove the unseen? There’s no machine that measures the other dimensions.”
“I didn’t need a machine to prove it to me the other night,” he growled.
“Now you’re a true believer,” Ellie said with a smile. “It always happens that way. When a person has some psychic experience, he finally opens up and believes in the unseen. That’s the way it will be until we get those sensitive machines to prove it to the rest of the world.”
With a shake of his head, Mac finished his eggs. “I was thinking this morning that if I hadn’t met you, hadn’t been brought up to speed on what was happening in Hangar 13, I wouldn’t have known what else to do, to try.”
“I know.” Ellie put her plate aside, half empty. “I did manage to talk to the spirit, Mac. He gave me the name of his killer.”
“Oh?” Mac picked up his coffee.
Ellie related what had happened. When she finished, she said, “At least you’ve got the name of the man who accidentally killed him.”
Mac nodded. “It’s a good lead. I’ll call the provost marshal’s office and get them to run the information, to verify that Treadwell exists.”
“Good.” Ellie sat back. “That still doesn’t solve the problem, though.”
“What do you mean?”
She stood up and leaned against the kitchen counter. “The entity called his killing a murder. But it sounded like an accident to me. The man pushed him and he slipped and hit his head.”
“Okay…”
She opened her hands. “I’m afraid the entity won’t leave even if we do catch the culprit responsible for his death.”
Mac rubbed his jaw. “Why not?”
“He’s been drawing on any unsuspecting human being who has crossed his path for many years, ever since his death. He’s accumulated a great deal of energy—more than enough to live on. His firepower, if you will, is massive. We both got a taste of that the other night.”
Mac nodded. “So where does that leave us? He nearly killed you. Dr. Johnson was alarmed at how low your blood pressure fell. You could have gone into cardiac arrest.”
“I don’t have enough power to wrestle successfully with this entity, Mac.”
“I figured that. So how can we get it out of the hangar? How can I protect my crews?”
She liked Mac’s ability to say “we,” as if it wasn’t solely her problem. But it was. “I’m convinced the entity can’t be talked out of leaving. When I asked him if I could help him get back the missing pieces of his soul, which would automatically release him and make him go into the light, he refused. All he wants is vengeance, Mac.”
“I’m not going to let you go back in there, Ellie,” he said in a low voice. “It al
most killed you.” He came over to the counter where she stood and put his hands on her shoulders. “This is our problem, and I’m not asking you to personally put yourself in the line of fire again.”
“Line of fire is a good analogy,” Ellie admitted quietly. In the back of her mind, she wondered why Johanna hadn’t been able to appreciate Mac’s natural warmth and sensitivity. Placing her hands on his waist, she looked up at his dark, worried face. “One thing I learned a long time ago, Mac, was to respect my abilities—and their limitations. A shaman can be overwhelmed and possibly killed if he isn’t smart enough to know when he’s lacking and back off.”
“Good,” he said, relief in his voice. “I was afraid you’d march right back in there and take on the entity by yourself again.” His hands tightened briefly on Ellie’s shoulders. She was so strong, yet so soft.
“I’m not stupid, Mac. Being a shamaness always keeps you humble, believe me. I’m constantly shown where my weaknesses are, and where I need to work in order to turn them into strengths.”
“How can you deal with this entity, then?”
“What do you know about Native American pipes?”
He shrugged. “Peace pipes?”
“Yes, sort of….”
Mac released her and took her hand. “Come on, let’s go sit out in your flower garden and talk.”
Ellie nodded and fell into step with him. How had he known she wanted to go outside? She chalked it up to the natural mental telepathy that existed between people who were close—a mother with her child, a lover with his woman.
The sun was rising in the east as Ellie and Mac sat down on the redwood bench. Ellie looked lovingly at the profusion of rosebushes now blooming with fragrant flowers. The honeysuckle that climbed the walls had broken out in small white-and-yellow flowers that scented the small compound. The temperature was in the low seventies, and perfect.
Ellie gathered her thoughts for a moment. “My mother is a ceremonial and personal pipe carrier for our Cherokee nation, Mac. Pipes have been with us for over a hundred thousand years—that’s the story that’s been passed down to us, at least, through many of the clans. Pipes are a sacred way to conduct and pray to the Great Spirit, or God. There’s more to them than just smoking them.”
She rested her elbows on her thighs, her gaze fixed on the roses against the opposite wall. “Normally, we never speak about the pipes because they are so sacred.” She glanced at Mac’s serious features.
“I see. So they’re used for only special occasions?”
“That’s right. You know, ceremony is very powerful in and of itself—even without a pipe. I’ve been taught ceremonies by my mother that are thousands of years old.” She straightened and picked up a small stick. Bending over, she drew a circle in the sand. “Let’s say this circle symbolizes a particular ceremony. What you need to grasp is that every time that ceremony is performed from the heart, with good, pure intent and prayer, it becomes a key that unlocks an invisible door in the other dimensions.
“When a person performs this ceremony, making all the right gestures, singing the correct songs in correct order, or moving physically in a certain direction, all this intent and physical movement is translated into a key. That key then opens the door to a huge, archetypal energy. When that happens, the energy flows through the dimension, flows into the ceremony…. It’s like unleashing a huge flood.
“When a pipe is used, it intensifies the process a hundredfold. I was taught that the pipe is sacred, and that if you approach it in the correct manner, it, too, becomes a key. Only this key is a direct line to the Great Spirit. The pipe acts as a person knocking on the Great Spirit’s door, so to speak, and asking for help. If the pipe carrier is of good heart, has pure, positive intent and love, the Great Spirit always responds. The energy is then released and flows through the pipe and the pipe carrier to embellish the ceremony.”
Mac nodded. “So the pipe,” he said, struggling with the concept, “is a second key that opens up a second dam of energy?”
“Exactly!” Ellie smiled, pleased. “The ceremony itself opens up an energy waterfall. But the pipe, if used in conjunction with it, gives us a second, more powerful surge of energy from a completely new source. The Great Spirit is pure love, Mac. It is light. That is why a pipe carrier is so carefully chosen in the first place. In the wrong hands, that same energy can be used for selfish purposes. There are even pipes that are so powerful and old that their energy can kill if they fall into the wrong hands. That’s why our people are careful about who they choose to carry a pipe.”
“It’s like carrying a loaded weapon,” Mac observed. “It sounds as though the pipe is a neutral being and that the energy it releases either becomes good or bad, depending upon the carrier’s intent.”
“You’ve got it,” Ellie said, congratulating him. “Nowadays, pipes are given to anyone who wants them, but most people don’t know what to do with them, or they know only part of the ceremony to ‘open up’ a pipe and use it properly. That’s why Native Americans are so upset with whites who want to become ‘pseudo-Indian.’ To understand ceremony takes years of preparation, years of instruction, and performing a ceremony without proper knowledge can be terribly dangerous and destructive.”
He held her gaze. “You’re a pipe carrier? Is that what you’re telling me?”
“Yes, I am. But I’m only a personal pipe carrier, not a ceremonial one. In order to carry a ceremonial pipe, as my mother does, you have to be from a certain clan lineage. You also have to be a medicine person who is highly regarded and trusted. Ceremonial pipe carriers live on the reservation and are charged with maintaining the sacred energy of the Cherokee people. They must be of pure heart and moral in all ways. That’s not to say they’re perfect, but they’re always striving to evolve spiritually to a higher plane of goodness, of love.”
Impressed, Mac asked, “And how do you become a personal pipe carrier?”
“There is a group within the clans who look for good candidates.” Ellie touched her robe above her heart. “They look for a person who is morally upstanding, who has care and concern for others rather than himself and who will be a good role model for the children. In the old days, pipe carriers were the most respected of all, Mac. They were usually elders in the tribe before they were given the honor of carrying a personal pipe. And they had earned them. They always helped others and clearly understood the relationship between self, family and clans—that without that generosity of spirit and self, the entire fabric would be destroyed.” She smiled a little. “That was then. Nowadays, there are a number of Cherokee men and women all over the world who are personal pipe carriers.”
“But you practice what you preach, no matter where you are.”
“Yes. Part of being a pipe carrier is possessing humility. You would never hear me mention that I was a pipe carrier if this problem with the entity hadn’t come up. To tell others you carry a pipe is bragging. It isn’t proper for a pipe carrier to have such a negative trait.”
“I see.” He slowly rubbed his hands together between his opened thighs. “So what you’re leading up to is that with a certain ceremony and the pipe you carry, you can get rid of that entity?”
With a sigh, Ellie nodded. “Maybe.”
“What do you mean?”
“The pipe I carry is a young one. We have pipes among the people that are hundreds of years old, Mac. The older a pipe is, the more powerful it becomes. My pipe is only ten years old.”
“Are pipes passed on from one generation to another? It sounds like it.”
“Yes, they are. And as they are used and passed on, they become older and more powerful. That’s why—” Ellie glanced up at him “—the Cherokee people hide their old pipes. There are white people, even Indians, who want to steal them—we call them power stalkers. We have renegades among our own kind who would do anything, even kill, to get hold of these older pipes. My mother has a special hiding place for the Wolf Clan ceremonial pipe and she’s never revealed it to a
nyone, for fear that one of us might slip someday and let it be known to the wrong party.”
“Interesting,” Mac observed. “So this pipe of yours—do you feel it can help us?”
She nodded. “I hope so. I’m going to have to go back to that hangar tonight. I’ll perform the spirit-releasing ceremony and smoke the pipe on behalf of the entity. If it goes well, the entity will be forced to leave. He’ll have to move out of the hangar, and will become suspended in another dimension until he’s ready to receive his pieces back as well as give back the pieces he’s taken from others.
“I have to be in a very special place within my heart and soul to do this ceremony. One slip, any loss of concentration and focus, and I’m opening myself up again to his attack.” She didn’t add, and this time, he could kill me. Mac didn’t need to know that. She didn’t want to worry him any more than necessary.
Mac looked at her, his eyes grim, his expression apprehensive. “I want to be there with you.”
“No.” She shook her head and rose to her feet. “There’s no sense in putting two of us in jeopardy, Mac.”
“But don’t you need the drum beaten?”
“Not for this. I’m not going into an altered state this time. I’ll be fully in my body, fully here in the third dimension when I perform the ceremony. That is part of my protection—being in my body.”
Concerned, Mac reached out, his hand resting on her shoulder. “I’m not letting you go in there alone, Ellie. You mean too much to me—” He bit back the rest of what he was going to say. She looked so serene when he felt so agitated and worried.
“I know, Mac, and I feel the same way,” she whispered. “But I have to go alone. That’s part of the pipe carrier’s mission in life, you see. We are learning to walk alone, in the grace and love of the Great Spirit’s protection, guidance and care. If you are there, my focus may be altered. I can’t risk it. I can’t risk that the entity might attack you first.”
Mac shook his head. “No way, Ellie. I’m not letting you handle this thing alone. I grant that I’m not a pipe carrier and I don’t know anything about ceremony, but I’m not leaving you alone to that thing in there.”
Hangar 13 Page 15
