“Good morning,” Lacey said. She got a mumbled reply from Gabe, a baleful eye from Sam. She moved around Roxanne and got a cup of coffee for herself.
“Come on, boys,” Roxanne said. “Finish up and brush your teeth. We gotta go.”
Lacey skirted the chaos and took her coffee to the living room. She settled in a chair and smiled at the four-part dance. The boys raced to see who could finish his cereal first, then thundered down the hall.
“I beat!” Carson called.
“Did not!” Griff wailed.
“Boys!” Roxanne’s voice followed them down the hall.
“I’m outa here,” Gabe said. He gave her a quick kiss and headed for the front door. With his hand on the knob, he looked back at Sam and Lacey. “Good luck today.” Sam nodded silently and Gabe disappeared out the door. Cold air swept into the house behind him.
Roxanne pulled on her own coat and dug her keys out of her purse. “Do me a favor,” she said, her eyes taking in both Sam and Lacey. “Call me… after. I just want to know you’re okay.”
“Sure,” Sam said. “Lacey’ll remind me if I forget.”
Lacey managed a cynical smile. “Yes, I will.” To Roxanne, “Don’t worry. We’ll be fine.”
Roxanne nodded. “Boys! Let’s go! The train’s pulling out of the station.”
The boys thundered back down the hall, jackets and backpacks in hand. They swarmed the door.
“Bye, Uncle Sam! Bye, Lacey!”
“Bye, boys,” Lacey said. “Have fun at school.”
Roxanne herded them out the door and the house reverberated into silence. Outside, her truck roared to life, then tires crunched down the driveway and away.
Lacey let out a soft sigh. Sam chuckled. “That’s one way to jump start a morning,” he said.
Lacey smiled. “Are your mornings like that with Daniel and Kenzie?”
“No. Kenzie wakes up singing and dancing, but Daniel sleeps like a rock. She’ll go in every few minutes to wake him up—again—and he just grumbles at her and hides under the covers. Once I get myself put together, I have to go in and give the final ultimatum.” He stood and stretched. “And speaking of that...” He headed down the hall to the bathroom.
Lacey sipped the last of her coffee in the quiet house. When she heard the shower running in the bathroom, she went to the kitchen to figure out breakfast.
She let out with a cynical snort. How did one prepare to confront a witch? Scrambled eggs? Waffles? She chose eggs. She had no idea what they were going to do or how long it would take. Better to have protein in their stomachs.
By the time Sam returned, she had eggs and toast ready. She poured two more cups of coffee and brought them to the table. Sam followed.
Lacey hoped he would tell her the plan for the day, but he was in no hurry to get to that. He ate with single-minded purpose, head down, chewing slowly. She tried to match his pace, but it was killing her.
Finally he looked up to reach for his coffee cup and noticed her expectant stare.
“Sorry,” he said, although he didn’t sound it. He sipped the coffee and returned her stare over the rim of his cup.
“What we’ll do,” he said, setting the cup down, “is go over and call her out.”
Lacey relaxed slightly. That sounded like a decent first step. “Then what?”
“That’s it,” he said. He picked up his toast and bit off a corner.
Her jaw dropped. “That’s it? What do you mean? What good will that do? What about the police? What if I record her, get her admission on tape? If you can get her to confess, we can—”
“No need,” he said. His voice was casual, but Lacey could see the set of his jaw.
She blew out a breath. “I don’t understand.” Don’t clam up on me now, she thought. Explain this to me.
“I verified it with Grampa last night, just to make sure I had it right. All I have to do is call her out, tell her that I know she’s a witch. Then…”
Lacey waited. For a moment.
“Then?”
“Then, she’ll die.”
She set her fork down carefully. “Die?”
He nodded, his eyes as black as obsidian.
“But, but…”
His mouth twisted into a humorless smile. “Doesn’t quite have the same satisfaction as slapping on the cuffs and hauling her down to the station, does it?” he asked.
She opened her mouth, worked her jaw, but no words came out. She didn’t even know how to address this. Finally she shook her head in an attempt to clear it.
“It’s not that,” she said. “Although that does sound…” She groped for words. “Inadequate. Like it’s not enough. But it also sounds like too much. I mean, if that’s true, that’s being judge, jury and executioner all at once. You’ll actually be… killing her.”
Sam met her eyes and nodded gravely. “That’s right.”
“But… Are you okay with that?”
He shrugged. “It has to be done. Remember what I said last night? She’s a danger to all of us. She’s killed one person, at least one that we know of. She’ll kill again. It’s just a matter of time.” He paused. “Live by the sword and you die by the sword.”
Lacey was still reeling. This went against everything she’d ever been taught, everything she’d worked at her entire life. It wasn’t her place to judge, nor to execute justice. Her job was to discover the truth and deliver the guilty party to the proper authorities. She and Sam were vehicles only, exposing the truth, shining a light into the dark corners where fugitives hid. They were not… vigilantes, taking the law into their own hands.
“You don’t have to go with me if you don’t want to,” he said abruptly.
She dragged her brain from the tangent it had hared off on. “Not go? What do you mean, I don’t have to go? Of course I do. We’re in this together.”
He shook his head. “Not if you don’t feel right about it,” he said. “I told you I’d resolve this the Navajo way. If it’s not your way, that’s fine. It doesn’t have to be. But I will resolve it.”
She hadn’t seen that stony look in months, not since the first few times they’d met. He was once again that wooden-faced Indian, that tight-lipped stoic stranger that unsettled her so.
The reappearance of that stranger squeezed her heart. Was it down to this? If she refused to accompany him, were they done? She could imagine that stone face beside her all the way back to L.A., a casual but cool goodbye and then… nothing. Never hearing from him again. Never seeing him again.
With a desperation made up of sadness and anger, she thrust all that aside. She would not be cowed into doing anything she didn’t feel right about. She surged abruptly to her feet.
“I… I have to go outside,” she said. “I need to think. I—” Shaking her head, she pushed away from the table and practically ran outside.
Think, she told herself as she strode past the fire pit. Put the emotions aside and think. Reason, goddamn it.
The issue was absolutely not about doing or not doing what Sam wanted. It was not her knuckling under to his wishes, his traditions. The issue was larger than that and required her complete honesty and integrity. Could she take part in this bizarre primitive ritual? Could she do this thing with him and feel at peace with her part in it?
She walked out into the dusty desert where the packed earth turned to undisturbed sand and rocks. Where skeletal bushes thrust their spindly limbs up out of the dry ground. Where witches loped on four feet and magic rode the wind.
Her options were go or not go. If she didn’t go, Sam would still do the deed. If this were all true, Sylvia would die. Not by due process, not by a jury of her peers—by magic. She qualified that. Sam was, in fact, a peer. But only one. Not a full jury.
If things happened the way Lacey thought they should, the so-called civilized way, Sylvia would be found guilty and sentenced to life in prison—or death. The outcome could easily be the same. But it wouldn’t feel so onerous.
Lacey pondered th
at. Was that why a jury was comprised of so many people? So no one person bore the burden of condemning the criminal to death? She realized it was somewhat like a firing squad: five or ten shooters, but only one had the live round. None of them ever knew if they fired the fatal shot or not. That way, none of them had to live with knowing they killed someone. It was easy to shrug it off—easier, at least—to imagine it was one of the others who did the actual killing.
Lacey found a rock the size of a footstool and sat down. She stared at the stony ground and tried to pull her scattered thoughts together. Thinking about all this, she realized how brave Sam was being. He was not hiding behind a group; he was not sharing the responsibility with others. He was taking it on fully—himself. The only one who might stand by his side… was Lacey.
She swallowed down a lump in her throat and stared off at the clear blue sky. Suddenly all thought of her training was gone. All thought of her pleasing or not pleasing Sam was gone. None of that had any bearing.
You live by the sword, you die by the sword.
Sam would wield that sword. And Lacey would stand beside him.
She lurched to her feet and hurried back to the house. Slipping in through the back door, she found Sam in the living room, his roughout jacket tossed on the back of a chair, his soft moccasins laced up to his knees. He glanced over his shoulder at her, his eyes inscrutable.
“I’m in,” she said. “Let me get my jacket.” She hurried down the hall to her room. Before grabbing her jacket, though, she pulled on her shoulder harness and settled her gun beneath her arm. Magic or not, she felt better with lead on her side. She slipped on her jacket over it and zipped it up as she retraced her steps up the hall.
Sam was standing by the door, jacket in hand. He effectively barred the way.
“Lacey, are you sure?” he asked. “You don’t have to—”
“I know I don’t. But I am. And I am sure.” She stopped in front of him and stared up into his eyes. “I’m with you,” she said softly. “Every step of the way.”
For a moment the only sound was the ticking of a clock. Lacey gazed at him, her green eyes wide, willing, ready. He searched her face, the direct stare, the set jaw, the jutting chin.
“All right.” He nodded and pulled open the door. “Let’s go.”
Outside, she tossed him the car keys. They piled into Blanche and Sam fired her up. But instead of heading back toward the highway and town, he turned onto another dirt road that led to the scattered houses down the way.
Lacey examined every house as they neared it. Ordinary all-American houses with doors, windows and front porches. White with contrasting trim. No signs blinking with neon lights saying, “A witch lives here.”
They passed a few, each with plenty of open space around it. Some with hogans set back behind them. Dogs running, playing. A few chickens.
When they’d gone a mile or more, Lacey felt the car slow slightly. She noted the house ahead. Tan siding with dark green trim. A car parked beside it. All the windows had lacy curtains pulled back gracefully.
She glanced back over her shoulder. From here, she could still see Gabe’s house. It would be easy to keep tabs on the vehicles, see who was home and who was gone.
She turned frontward again.
Sam pulled the car up the gravel drive and parked. He shut off the key and looked over at Lacey.
“You ready?”
She swallowed. “Yes,” she said, more forcefully than she felt.
He climbed out of the car and she followed. While he walked to the front door, she unzipped her jacket part way, just so she could get to her gun easily if need be.
Sam knocked on the door. He looked back and motioned for Lacey to stop a few feet behind him.
She held her breath.
After a moment, the door opened. Sylvia stood back in the shadows and peered at them. Lacey recognized the hair pulled back severely into a French twist.
“What do you two want?” she asked gruffly.
“Need to talk to you,” Sam said. He didn’t move toward the open door, nor did Sylvia make any motion of invitation.
“About what?” she asked.
Sam waited. Lacey stood stock still, barely breathing. She felt as if she were watching a very crucial chess match. Two minds imagining all the moves, the gains, the pitfalls.
Finally Sylvia moved. She stepped out onto the porch and crossed her arms over her chest. She wore only a bright blue t-shirt and black slacks. Lacey could see the cold morning air raising goosebumps on her bare arms.
Her left arm sported a large bandage just below the bicep.
It’s her, Lacey thought.
“Sylvia Firecloud Begay,” Sam said in a low voice, “we know you. We know who you are. We know what you are. We—”
“You know nothing!” she spat. “What, you, the big-city Indian, think you know everything? You think you can come back here and stick your nose in where it doesn’t belong? You know nothing. You and your lily-white girlfriend can just get the hell off my property. Go back to L.A. and stay out of things that don’t concern you.”
“Sylvia Firecloud Begay,” Sam began again. “I know who you are—”
“Get out!” she screamed.
“—I know what you are. You killed our cousin. You are a witch. I know you are a witch.”
Lacey watched as the color drained from Sylvia’s face. For a moment, her body sagged, but then almost immediately it puffed up again, Sylvia’s chin high, her mouth a thin, tight line.
“Get out,” she growled. “Get off my property. Now.”
“Or what?” Sam taunted. “I know what you are. You’re dead. Witchcraft gave you power and now it will give you death. That’s the way it works. Or did you think you could beat it?”
Sylvia’s eyes narrowed into catlike slits. For a second, Lacey thought they glowed orange, but then Sylvia was turning back toward the house, pushing inside, slamming the door. The entire house shook with the reverberations.
“Come on,” Sam said. He turned and began to shepherd Lacey toward the car.
They were still feet away from it when another door slammed; not the front door, but somewhere in the back. Lacey glanced over her shoulder and was horrified to see a streak of gray and blue barreling around the corner of the house.
“Sam! Watch out!”
Her warning was unnecessary. He was already turning, facing the threat full on. He planted his feet and raised his head defiantly.
“Sylvia Firecloud Begay!” he called. “Witch! I know who you are!”
The rabid coyote ran at them, but haphazardly. It stumbled, reeled sideways, and redoubled its efforts. Lacey couldn’t tell if it were the human clothing that was fouling its movements or if there was something else going on. Its eyes glowed orange, and low growls issued from its throat. Its lips pulled back from yellow teeth and the long fangs flashed in the sunlight.
Lacey pulled her weapon and took aim.
“Lacey, no,” Sam said. “Wait.”
Wait? While this thing charged them? While a witch bore down on them?
“Wait,” Sam said again.
She forced herself to relax her grip. The coyote still ran at them, but unsteadily. It drifted to one side, as if the two legs on the left side were weaker than those on the right. It snarled and growled, saliva dripping from its mouth. Lacey watched it stagger, gather itself to charge forward again, only to stumble the other way. She could see the bright slick of blood on the front left leg.
She renewed her aim, sighting at the chest directly below the head.
“Wait,” Sam said again.
The thing stumbled to the left again, only this time the front leg collapsed and it whimpered with pain. It had difficulty righting itself. The eyes glowed a deeper orange, blood orange. The tongue lolled sideways. It was only with great effort that the thing managed to push itself forward again, half running, half limping, growling, whining, snarling.
It was close now, too close. Lacey followed its movement car
efully, sighting directly at the heart. She rested her finger on the trigger. Her training kicked in and she went cold. She closed one eye and held her breath.
The thing launched. It catapulted through the air, teeth snapping, eyes flashing. Directly at Sam.
He jumped sideways. Lacey fired her gun. His arm crashed into her shoulder, sending her sprawling. Her gun flew out of her hands, sliding underneath the car. She scrambled for it on her hands and knees.
By the time she got it and pulled herself into a sitting position, gun raised, it was over. Sam stood with his back to her, but she could see his shoulders rise and fall with deep breaths. He stood loosely, his arms hanging at his sides.
The thing lay on the ground before him. On its side, chest heaving. The tongue fell out of the mouth onto the sand. The eyes darted about, the whites showing. It labored to breathe. It tried to rise, feet scrabbling on the dusty ground, but it could not push itself up. The wild eyes focused on Sam and Lacey, and it snarled feebly. It dragged in a deep breath, whimpered faintly, and as the breath left it, the body flattened and was still.
Lacey sat where she’d fallen and lowered her gun, although she didn’t move her finger from the trigger. The thing looked dead, but she wasn’t ready to trust that. Not yet.
There—it moved. But not in a way she expected. Suddenly the fur on the head and legs began to thin and disappear. The long snout shrank and shortened. The body stretched, elongating on the ground, filling out the human clothes more fully. The fur melted away, leaving light, copper-colored skin. The gray fur on the top of the head grew into glossy black hair, loose and dusted with sand.
Sylvia Firecloud Begay lay dead on the ground.
~~~
SIXTEEN
Sam took the two steps that brought him to the body and crouched down on his haunches. He put his fingertips to the side of the throat. Lacey saw no movement. No pulse. Nothing.
She climbed to her feet, only now realizing her right shoulder and hip were sore. She holstered her gun and went to stand beside Sam just as he pushed to his feet. Together they stared down at Sylvia.
Skin Walk (A Lacey Fitzpatrick and Sam Firecloud Mystery Book 2) Page 16
