Skin Walk (A Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Book 2)

by Melissa Bowersock

Lacey scrambled out of the truck quickly, having no desire to be any further away from Sam than absolutely necessary. As he walked up to the door of the house and pushed through, she was right on his heels.

  Inside was warm and brightly lit and full of talk and mouth-watering smells. Just the grounding she needed. She set her little pot down and slipped out of her jacket as Sam and his cousin greeted each other.

  “There’s the man!” an unfamiliar voice called out.

  “Hey, Modesto. How you doing, man?”

  “Great. How are you?” The two men hugged and pounded on each others’ backs, Sam’s reply lost in the manly welcome. When they pulled apart, Modesto immediately eyed Lacey. “Who’s your friend?”

  Sam introduced Lacey. Holding out her hand, she was startled when Modesto insisted on pulling her into a hug as well. “Any friend of Sam’s is a friend of mine,” he said. He was a big man, taller than Sam and with a powerful grip. Lacey could feel her breath squeezed out of her by the enthusiastic embrace, and she had to wait until he released her before she could drag in more air.

  “Lou call you?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah. Said you snuck into town. You were going to stop by, right?” Modesto asked with an accusing stare.

  “Of course,” Sam said. “But with a family as large as ours, it takes time to see everyone.”

  “Exactly what I told him,” Roxanne said from the kitchen. “Which is why we’re having a barbecue here on Saturday.”

  Lacey forced her brain into gear. What day was it? Thursday. So much had happened, it felt like a week since they’d left L.A. She mentally shook herself and looked around. Act normal.

  She skirted the men and went into the kitchen. “What can I do?” she asked Roxanne. The activity would keep her grounded.

  Roxanne was pulling baked potatoes out of the oven. “Grab that bowl there and load it up with these. I’ll get the roast. You can get whatever you and Sam want to drink.”

  Lacey busied herself with the homey tasks, glad to have such mundane actions to occupy her mind. It helped to put the events of earlier back where they belonged, in a locked cage in her mind labeled too bizarre to believe.

  Sitting at the table with the gregarious family, there was no way she could drift out. Modesto squeezed in beside her and the men kept a running conversation peppered with veiled insults and good-natured kidding. Between that and passing bowls of food back and forth, Lacey had to keep her wits about her.

  “So what’s a good-looking woman like you doing with my ugly cousin?” Modesto asked.

  Before Lacey could even think of an answer, Roxanne jumped in. “Hey. Don’t you talk about my husband like that.” There were loud guffaws around the table.

  Still trying to formulate an answer, Lacey was just as glad when Sam spoke up.

  “We work together in L.A.,” he said. “When I decided to come out and see Grampa, I invited her along.”

  “Jeez,” Modesto said to Lacey, “I’d think you’d have better things to do than hang out with a bunch of lazy blanket-asses.”

  “Ahem.” Roxanne arched an eyebrow at Modesto, then tilted her head at the boys.

  “I mean, uh, noble Native Americans,” he amended.

  “Well, you’d be wrong, then,” Lacey said, finally finding her voice. “I’m learning a lot. It’s quite an experience.” In more ways than one, she added silently. “I even learned what a fire cloud was today.”

  Several pairs of eyes blinked at her.

  “On pottery? Like Ben was firing?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Gabe laughed. “Yeah, I forgot about that.”

  “So I take it neither you nor Sam inherited Ben’s talent?” Lacey asked. By now she felt comfortable enough with her hosts to put a little snark out to them.

  “Not me,” Gabe confirmed. “And certainly not him.” He pointed at Sam with his fork. “Remember those first few things you made? They looked like piles of dogsh—”

  Roxanne dropped her fork on her plate, effectively cutting off her husband. She glared at him. Carson and Griff tittered.

  “So I wasn’t the best at making coil pots,” Sam conceded with a shrug.

  “Not the best is right,” Modesto chimed in. “And yet he was still always Grampa’s favorite. I call bullsh—, uh, bullpucky on that.”

  By now it was clear that Roxanne was fighting a losing battle trying to keep the conversation G-rated. She just rolled her eyes.

  “Will Ben come to the barbecue?” Lacey asked.

  “We’ll make sure he does,” Sam said. “What time are we doing this?”

  “I told everybody four P.M.,” Roxanne said. “We’re making it a pot luck.”

  “You’ll have to tell me how I can contribute,” Lacey said.

  Roxanne nodded. “I’ll leave you a shopping list tomorrow. How’s that?”

  “That’s perfect.” In more ways than one, she thought.

  She was content enough to let herself be surrounded by the genial conversation as she sated herself, only feeling the jangling of nerves when she happened to catch Sam’s eyes. He was watching her, making sure she was okay, and his concern reminded her of what they’d seen. She didn’t want to think about that now, though, and instead looked around the table at Roxanne, at Modesto, at Carson and Griff. A normal family doing normal things. She liked that better.

  After dinner, she helped Roxanne in the kitchen as the men finished catching up in the living room and the boys played video games.

  “How are you doing?” Roxanne asked her in a quiet voice that didn’t carry past the rattle of dishes being loaded in the dishwasher.

  “Okay,” she said, just as quietly.

  Roxanne hiked an eyebrow at her. “You looked a little wild-eyed when you came in.”

  Lacey kept her head down, sorting silverware into the baskets of the dishwasher. “Yeah,” she said. “We’ll tell you later.”

  That was all Roxanne needed. Once they’d put all the leftovers away and cleaned the counters, she was after the boys.

  “Okay, bath time,” she called. The boys groaned loudly but she would not be put off. “It’s not the weekend yet,” she reminded them pointedly. “Come on. Bath and bed. Six o’clock comes early.”

  While she and the boys disappeared down the hall, Lacey fixed herself a cup of tea and was glad Modesto had taken the hint and was getting ready to leave. All three men stood near the door as she brought her cup into the living room.

  “So I’ll see you on Saturday,” Modesto said.

  “Yes, absolutely,” she said. She set her tea down, anticipating another ferocious hug. She wasn’t disappointed. He folded her into his arms and gave her an extra squeeze for good measure.

  “Keep that guy in line,” he said, motioning to Sam as he released her.

  “I’ll do my best,” she said with a smile. Just leave, she thought. Now that the evening was winding down, she was anxious to drop her “normal” façade and talk about more important things. She was too tired to pretend well.

  Gabe walked Modesto out, and Sam came and sat beside her on the couch. She met his stare over her mug of tea and noticed dark smudges under his eyes; he was tired as well. She thought he might say something, but he seemed content to wait until Gabe and Roxanne joined them.

  “That guy,” Gabe said, flopping into his chair. “Always the joker.”

  Roxanne came and took her chair near the couch and immediately leaned forward toward Lacey. “Okay, what happened?”

  “What happened when?” Gabe asked.

  Roxanne rolled her eyes. “Mr. Clueless,” she noted. “Come on. Tell us.”

  Lacey demurred to Sam. She actually wanted to hear his impression.

  “We were coming back from Grampa’s,” he said. “Just as we came up on the top of the ridge above the wash, we had some, uh, company. Running alongside the truck.”

  Both Gabe and Roxanne looked from Sam to Lacey. “You saw it?” she asked.

  Lacey nodded. “It was horrible. It was all mangy-looking and skin
ny. Sick-looking.”

  “Painted white,” Sam said.

  “But its eyes,” Lacey said, shivering. “Orange and glowing. It snarled at me.”

  Gabe sat back in his chair with a heavy exhale. Roxanne took Lacey’s hand in hers.

  “Are you sure you want to go on with this?” she asked them both earnestly.

  Lacey glanced at Sam, then back to Roxanne. “We can’t just let it go. Ignore it. That’s letting someone get away with murder.”

  Roxanne patted Lacey’s hand, then sat back so she could face all of them. “I heard something today at work,” she said. “Something that scared the hell out of me.” She looked at Gabe. “You remember Cindy? She’s the one who lives in Kayenta?”

  Gabe nodded.

  “She told me today about a friend of hers, had a baby a week or so ago, but it died. They were having a funeral for it, had the little coffin there. All of a sudden, out of nowhere, this dust devil roars up, comes barreling through, throwing dust and dirt everywhere. They all turned away, of course, trying to keep the dirt out of their faces. After the thing went through and moved off, they turned around again. The coffin was gone.”

  The house was silent except for the quiet hum of the dishwasher. Lacey’s brain seized, locked up like a frozen engine.

  “What?” she managed to choke out. “What are you saying? That the dust devil—?”

  Sam let out an exasperated sigh. Lacey glanced over, saw the quick warning look he leveled at Roxanne. “What?” Lacey asked again. “You’re saying it’s true? That actually happened?”

  Roxanne crossed her arms and stared at Sam. “She needs to know what you’re up against,” she said.

  Sam sighed again. He angled his body toward Lacey.

  “Witches often use dust, smoke, air. They make poisons out of powders and blow them in people’s faces with pipes made of bone. They can command the wind.”

  “So you’re saying it’s true,” she said in amazement. “But why would they steal a body? A baby?”

  Sam cleared his throat. “I said they use bones to deliver their poisons. A long bone with a hole through the middle. And the bones of children are the most powerful.”

  Lacey had to sit with that for a moment. She shook her head slowly. This was absurd. Scary stories told over flashlights at slumber parties by teenagers. Not by mature adults in well-lit living rooms. Stealing dead babies? Using their bones as blow pipes?

  “Like that bone we found today?” she asked finally.

  Both Gabe and Roxanne sat up. “What bone?” he asked.

  Sam took the bone from his pocket and handed it to Gabe. He examined it closely, then passed it to Roxanne.

  Sam recounted their visit with Lou, the casual mention of Harlan’s forgetfulness and innocent-sounding confusion. His own suspicion of a curse, and the damning evidence he’d found.

  “Without telling Grampa what Lou had said, I showed him that.” He nodded toward the bone in Roxanne’s hand. “He told me it was a curse to cloud the mind. To disable the critical thinking, to make him gullible to the witch. Obviously it worked.”

  Roxanne handed the small bone back to Sam, and he returned it to his shirt pocket. Lacey watched Gabe and Roxanne, the way their eyes darted to each other, then away. They were scared, she could tell.

  “Have you two ever been affected by witchcraft like this before?” she asked. “I mean had it happen close like this? In the family?”

  They both shook their heads. “No,” Gabe said. “We’ve all heard of things, like the funeral in Kayenta, but we’ve never seen it firsthand.”

  Lacey sat back. Suddenly this thing had become about more than just catching a killer. She licked her lips and glanced around at each of her friends.

  “I’m the outsider here,” she began slowly, “but it’s becoming clear to me that we have to think about how all this could affect your family. You two”—and she nodded to Gabe and Roxanne—“since you’re helping Sam and me, if not in the actual investigation then at least by supporting us, hosting us. This… person has already warned Sam and me. If they turn vindictive, widen their scope, they could threaten you.” She hesitated, swallowing hard. “Or the boys.”

  Lacey saw Roxanne’s face blanch, the color leeching out as her words struck home. She felt terrible even about voicing the possibility, but felt it absolutely necessary that they consider all scenarios. Whatever they were going to do, however they were going to proceed, they had to be prepared for any repercussions.

  For a moment the room was filled with a palpable silence. Lacey could almost feel it pressing against her ear drums. But it wasn’t her place to end it.

  Gabe fidgeted in his chair. He looked over at Roxanne. “So we’ve got choices,” he said quietly. “We can go on as we have been, helping with this,” and he gestured to Sam and Lacey, “or we can back away. Protect ourselves and our sons.”

  Roxanne sat very still. Her eyes met Gabe’s but they were unfocused, as if her thoughts were miles away. Her nostrils flared slightly, and when a small sound issued from the back bedroom, she angled her head that way, listening, thoughtful.

  Lacey wanted to look over at Sam but held herself still. She could only wonder what he was thinking, if he were imagining it was his children they were discussing, imagining Daniel and Kenzie being threatened by the supernatural killer. If that were the case, what would he do?

  Roxanne lifted her head, her eyes sad but clear. She reached over and took Gabe’s hand.

  “If anything were to happen to our boys,” she said softly, “I think it would kill me. But I am not going to live the rest of my life cowering in fear. We have to stop this. We have to find out who it is and stop them. I don’t see any other way.”

  Gabe stared into his wife’s eyes, mindlessly rubbing her hand with his thumb. Lacey could see that he was giving deep consideration to all angles of their dilemma, weighing all the options carefully. In his place, she would have done the same.

  Gabe sighed. He turned his hand underneath Roxanne’s, threaded his fingers between hers, and squeezed tightly. “I agree,” he said. “We have to stop this. Or it will never end.”

  Roxanne’s lips parted slightly and she let out the breath she’d been holding. Lacey saw a fleeting flash of fear ghost across her eyes, but then Roxanne sat up straighter and nodded. She turned to Sam.

  “What’s next?” she asked.

  Sam regarded both his brother and sister-in-law with quiet pride.

  “Tomorrow,” he said, “I’m going back to the ridge above the wash. I’m going to see what tracks I can find. We’ll go from there.”

  ~~~

  SEVEN

  The next morning, Lacey awoke to quiet sounds from the front rooms of the house and roused herself. No sleeping late today, she thought. They had work to do.

  By the time she’d dressed and come down the hall, Gabe was heading out the door and Roxanne was rounding up the boys for school. Sam was sitting up on the couch, trying to stifle a yawn as the boys crowded around him.

  “Boys, come on, let’s go,” Roxanne said. She nodded to Lacey and tilted her head toward the kitchen counter. “I left you a note,” she said.

  “Great, thanks,” Lacey said.

  “There’s still some coffee,” Roxanne said. She regarded both Sam and Lacey as she herded the boys toward the door. “Be careful. Say goodbye, boys.”

  “Bye, Uncle Sam!”

  “Bye, Lacey!”

  “Bye, boys,” Lacey said. “Have a good day.”

  The closing of the front door marked a sharp contrast between the noisy chaos before and the silence after. It was as if the house itself breathed a sigh of relief after the whirlwind had roared through.

  Lacey went to the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee. “You ready for a cup?” she asked Sam.

  “Not yet,” he said. “Let me hop in the shower first.”

  While he did that, Lacey looked over Roxanne’s list. You don’t have to get it all, she’d written. Paper plates, napkins,
plasticware, sodas. Lacey knew she could take care of all of it. It was the least she could do, since she and Sam weren’t contributing food.

  She took her cup of coffee to the dining room table and sat, staring out the window at the brightening day. Just a normal start to a normal day. She snorted. Normal would never seem quite the same to her again.

  When Sam came back down the hall, he was dressed and his wet hair was sleeked back in its usual ponytail. He poured himself a cup of coffee and joined Lacey at the table.

  She thought he might say something, but he seemed content to sip the hot brew and enjoy the silence. She watched him, and when he realized she was staring at him, he frowned.

  “What?”

  She held her cup up in front of her with both hands and gazed at him over the rim. “You were awfully quiet last night,” she said.

  His eyes flickered. “What’s to say?”

  She took a sip and then set her cup down. “How do you feel about their decision? It’s your family, too.”

  He toyed with his cup, pushing the handle one way, then the other. “Roxanne said it all. We can’t spend our lives living in fear.”

  “True,” she agreed, “although it’s not quite so cut and dried when you’ve got little kids in the equation.”

  He didn’t look at her, but she felt sure he was thinking of his own kids. “Yeah,” he said quietly.

  He took another sip of coffee and lounged back in his chair. He met Lacey’s eyes directly. “Remember before when we talked about why we do this? About helping spirits move on, about serving justice, about restoring balance?”

  Lacey nodded slowly. Yes, they’d discussed all those things, from both his side—the spiritual side—and from hers—the earthly side. Their perspectives may have been different and their methods certainly were, but they both wanted the same thing.

  “There’s no balance in hiding in fear,” he said in a hushed tone.

  She let his words echo away in the silent house, then nodded again. “You’re right,” she said. “None at all.”

  “So,” he said, pushing away his coffee cup, “we keep going. And we find who’s doing this.”

  She studied his face. The strength of determination in his hard, glittering eyes. The unwavering resolve in the tight set of his jaw. The brow creased with worry.