After a long moment, Elena’s shoulders lifted with her breath. “I do agree, mi amiga,” she murmured. “Thank you.”
Pat smiled at her and released her hand.
Maggie started as Jo elbowed her way through the kitchen door. She was carrying a large bowl overflowing with corn chips and picked her way carefully around the furniture.
“Jesus, it’s dark in here,” Jo grumbled. “Do none of these flashlights work?” She paused next to Becca and took a small plastic container from atop the bowl of chips. “French onion dip.” She handed it to Becca. “I believe you’re very fond of French onion dip. Correct?”
Maggie registered this gesture even through her anxiety. Seattle lesbians had weird courting rituals; that’s what this was. Or maybe an apology. Maggie didn’t know Jo well enough to be sure. The worst storm in two centuries, and she’d been scavenging through a dark kitchen trying to find a treat to make her girlfriend smile. Maggie’s heart warmed to Jo a little.
“I do love me my French onion dip.” The sweetness of Becca’s expression told Maggie she was right. She accepted the container and rose to her toes to kiss Jo’s cheek. “And my sweet dip of a scientist.”
“Good,” Jo said softly. She straightened and then gasped.
“What?” Becca asked quickly. She turned and followed Jo’s gaze to the fireplace, and then dropped the container to the floor, white dip spattering over her feet.
“What is it?” Maggie couldn’t see anything alarming in the crackling flames.
“Pat?” Jo barked, and Maggie realized she and Becca weren’t staring at the hearth, but at the large oil painting mounted above it.
Grady had lit the tall candles that stood in ornate holders on either end of the mantel. Whickering gold light flooded across the painting, which was damned ugly in Maggie’s opinion, but she couldn’t see why—
Pat inhaled sharply and crossed the room to the fireplace in three long strides.
“What’s happened to it?” Grady blinked up at the canvass. “That’s not the same painting that was here yesterday, is it?”
“It’s the same.” A muscle in Pat’s jaw stood out. “My grandmother painted this. She gave it to Jo on her eighteenth birthday.”
“The mountain is smaller.” Elena’s words was hushed. “And, Grady, look at the sky.”
It was an odd landscape. Maggie could see that. She hadn’t even noticed this painting the night before, what with being tackled by a butch moose and all. It disquieted her now. A distant but recognizable outline of Mt. Rainier beneath muddy, churning clouds, forbidding and cold.
“My grandmother’s signature is still right there.” Pat’s hand hovered over the bottom left corner of the frame.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
There was a sudden, intense wariness in Jo’s voice. She took a few steps away from all of them, even Becca, and stared at them as if they were strangers.
“What do all of you think you’re doing?”
*
One long hour later, Grady adjusted the trio of tapered candles on top of the dresser in their bedroom upstairs, convinced she was going to burn the mansion down around their ears. How else could this bizarre weekend end but in disaster? Grady hoped with unabashed selfishness that she wouldn’t be the one to bring any fresh calamity on their heads. It was bad enough not knowing how to keep Elena safe.
The ceiling of the room they shared was so high, the candles did little to illuminate the echoing space. Elena sat quietly on the wide bed as Grady did what she could to beat back this strange night. A light scent of piñon drifted on the air from the powdered incense Elena had burning on a side table, and Grady found it soothing.
“I’m not hearing anything from downstairs.” Grady meant the large bedroom off the main floor. “Maybe Becca talked Jo into resting for a while. The valerian you gave her must have kicked in. That was really strange down there, Elena.”
Elena shrugged, which made her look like Maggie, young and faux indifferent.
That frightened glittering in Jo’s eyes. Spittle had actually flown from her lips as she hissed at them, accused them. Becca had been struck silent, everyone else immobilized by Jo’s sudden venom, her bared teeth.
“Hey, Jo, I think you should calm down.” Pat spoke to her with the professional calm of a ranger confronting a belligerent drunk. “No one here is trying to pull anything over on you. We’re all as confused about this as—”
“Shut your mouth, Patricia.” Jo’s voice was ice-cold. “Your grandmother loved me. She loved me.” Her arm flashed toward the macabre painting over the hearth. “She would never have given me that.”
“She seemed to come around after a few minutes.” Grady wanted to reassure herself as much as Elena. “That weird paranoia hit Jo very suddenly, but it didn’t last long. She responded to reason, eventually. Becca was able to calm her down.”
“You mean we were able to convince Jo that we didn’t mess with her painting, that we’re not trying to drive her crazy? And so she is fine again, now.” Elena spoke with a weary cynicism that was utterly unlike her, at least when they were alone together.
“Hey.” Grady felt a pang of misgiving, an uneasy flutter beneath her breastbone. She sat beside Elena on the bed, careful not to jar her, close enough that their shoulders touched. “Tell me what’s going on with you.”
“I don’t know, Grady.” Elena rubbed her forehead with the heels of her hands. “I still don’t know how to help these people.”
“Okay.” Grady rested her elbows on her knees and studied her in the faint light from the candles. “I’ve seen you tackle frustration before. Times when you’ve been worried, when you haven’t known how to help. It’s never made you like this.”
“Like what?” Elena snapped.
“Snappish.” Grady waited, and finally Elena cracked a smile, a rueful acknowledgement that made her Elena again.
“I’m sorry, querida. I’m just scared.” Elena laid her head on Grady’s shoulder, on the tender spot reserved for no one else. “I’ve never felt so much at sea, so lost. And my Goddess has fallen silent, Grady, about this Windigo. That frightens me more than anything.”
There was desolation in her voice as well as fear, and Grady rested her lips in Elena’s hair. Grady still might not believe fully in any deity, but Elena had been strongly connected to hers from the day she was born. She must feel terribly alone. “How can I help you, babe?”
Elena was silent, fumbling with something she held in her lap, and then she relaxed against her side. “Like this, sí? Help me just like this. Hold me for the rest of this strange, dark day, and then hold me through the long night to come.”
“I’ll hold you through all our days, all our nights.”
Elena lifted her head and their lips met, and a longing for home keened through Grady like a lost wind, the aroma of green chiles roasting, the royal sweep of the Rio Grande. She had to get Elena out of this suddenly alien place, get her home to their valley.
Elena looked better; her eyes were warm and clear again. Something nearly slid off Elena’s lap and she grasped it, then held it up for Grady to see.
“Well, hey there, Inez.” Grady lifted the little feathered Makah mask toward the candlelight. The small flames gleamed through the slitted eyeholes. “You haven’t called for seven minutes. We’ve missed you terribly.”
Elena chuckled, a welcome note of normality, of the home they had in each other whether they were surrounded by mountain pine or desert sage.
“Ay, I should call Mamá. She’ll be worried.” Elena opened her cell and flicked a finger at the dark screen. “Still no reception, and no wonder.”
The storm howled around the cabin, the eerie, midday midnight still cloaked the mountain.
“Querida, I’m going to try to pray. You should go downstairs and show this mask to Pat. Ask her about this Makah legend. We might want to know more about how the children of her tribe defeated this Cannibal Woman.”
“Not a bad id
ea.” Grady tapped the mask against her fingers. “If you’re sure you’ll be okay for a while, I’ll go talk to Pat. I’ll check in on Jo and Becca too.”
She planted another kiss on the top of Elena’s head, then made her way through the shadowy room to the door. She almost had it closed behind her when she heard Elena’s soft voice.
“Sí, by all means, Grady. Go check in on Becca.”
*
Becca thought she was navigating the dark stairs quite well, like a chubby panther running on steroids and jangled nerves. She could hear Pat and Maggie below, talking in the inky gloom of the living room. Pat would listen for any stirring in the far bedroom, any sign that Jo was awake.
She hadn’t thought she’d need a candle for this brief trip, but she’d forgotten how immense Jo’s frigging fortress was. She clenched the railing with one hand and groped the dark air with the other. Here was the hallway, so if she could remember if the door to the upstairs loft was the second on her right or the third—
Her cold fingers touched a cold face, and Becca gasped raggedly and shrank back against the wall. “Who?”
“B-Becca?” Grady sounded just as rattled.
“Jesus carpenter Christ on a crutch, Grady.” Becca tried to keep her voice down, her hand pressed to her waist, and then she started giggling. It wasn’t that funny. It was sheer nerves, but she couldn’t help it.
Grady waited her out gallantly, chuckling a few times to keep her company. “I’m sorry, Becca. Didn’t mean to scare you. Is everything quiet down there?”
“It’s quiet as a tomb down there.” Becca could make out the high planes of Grady’s features now, by the dull white glow of the snow filtering through an upper window. “Actually, before you almost ended my young life by scaring the crap out of me, I was on my way to thank Elena for that tea. It put Jo out like a light, and I think rest is what she needs.”
Grady murmured something noncommittal, and Becca would have preferred rousing agreement. “Elena’s needing some private time right now, but I’ll pass on your thanks.”
“Good. Okay.” There didn’t seem to be anything more to say, in the dimness of this hushed hallway. Becca should head down the stairs and return to Jo.
“I was serious about that slumber party.” Becca turned back to Grady. “We’ll let Jo take a good long nap, but then I want us to pile sleeping bags in front of the fire. Everybody should be together the rest of the day.”
“Day.” The outline of Grady’s handsome head lifted as she looked up at the window. “Only a real stretch of the imagination can call this daylight. And it’s getting pretty cold in here, have you noticed?”
Grady’s gaze was actually on her nipples. Becca could feel her hunger crawling greedily over her breasts, and her face flushed with heat. She stepped closer to her without thinking, then tried to summon rational thought. “Well, I’m not sure exactly what powers this house. Could be our heating is out, along with our lights.”
“Pat will know. We might have to bundle up in—”
Becca surged against her, and Grady stumbled back and caught her. Becca clawed for the back of her neck and pulled her head down hard, and their mouths met with a clashing of teeth and lips. A cruel and delicious pleasure churned through Becca, and after a stunned moment, she heard Grady growl welcome into her open mouth.
They clutched each other feverishly, their hands roaming as the kiss grew almost savage, and then Grady pushed her back—a hard, abrupt shove. Becca staggered, then steadied herself. She heard Grady’s harsh panting and tears sprang to her eyes, confusion and horror seeping into her every cell, where only blinding lust ruled a heartbeat ago.
“Oh n-no,” Becca stammered. “Grady—forgive me. Please, I don’t know what…”
“Becca.” Grady’s voice was hollow with shock. Becca tried to draw an even breath. “Listen to me. I’m going to go back to Elena now. And you’re going to walk downstairs, and go back to Jo.”
Becca closed her eyes and the brimming tears coursed down her cheeks. “Grady,” she whispered, “that is exactly what we’re going to do.”
She wanted to apologize again, to explain, but she didn’t know how the hell to explain why she had just betrayed a woman she cherished with her whole heart. Becca stumbled toward the staircase and focused on getting back to Jo without breaking her neck.
Chapter Nine
Pat lifted a candle and made her way to a side table in one corner of the dark living room. She picked up the small frame, scowling. She had never liked Jo’s banishing this photo to an afterthought of a distant table. Becca had placed the framed pictures of people she loved on the mantel over the fireplace, where family portraits belonged, and that’s where this one was going.
She returned to the hearth and put the little frame next to one of a smiling couple, perhaps Becca’s parents. They were not Jo’s parents, which was a good thing; Pat’s grandmother wouldn’t tolerate sitting close to Jo’s parents. None of the Daka clan could abide any of the Call family. Jo was the only Call her grandmother would speak to, the only one she liked.
“No.” Pat studied the three faces in the old photo by the lights of the side candles. “Jo was right. My grandmother loved her very much.”
“Why?”
Pat remembered she wasn’t alone in the echoing room. Maggie stood next to her, looking at the snapshot on the mantel.
“I mean, didn’t you tell me Jo is your boss? Why would your grandmother love a white girl who grew up to be your…I’m not trying to be disrespectful.” And she wasn’t, for once; there was only friendly curiosity in Maggie’s tone.
Pat shrugged. “I don’t know. Jo came up here with her parents a lot when she was growing up. My grandmother was a kind person. Maybe she didn’t like how mean the rest of my family was about Jo, behind her back, because she was different.”
“You mean obnoxious?” Maggie’s teasing was still gentle, and Pat smiled reluctantly.
“Yeah, my grandmother said Jo was always obnoxious, from the time she was my age here.” Pat touched her own small face in the photo, taken by a cheap early-nineties camera. On the same day, the same camera had taken the picture that was framed in Pat’s trailer, the one of Jo holding her on the inner tube.
Jo held four-year-old Pat protectively in her arms in this shot too, almost proudly, both of them bundled in windbreakers. Her grandmother stood beside them, wrapped in a thick shawl, her arm slung around Jo’s shoulders, grinning broadly and toothlessly at the camera.
“Jo looks so young here. Almost gawky, kind of sweet.” Maggie jutted her chin toward the room where Jo slept. “Hard to imagine her as anything but a rich scientist who snaps people’s heads off. I like the way she can be with Becca, though.”
“Me too.” Pat touched her grandmother’s image with one finger.
“You loved your grandmother a lot, didn’t you?”
“Yeah. I loved her like crazy.” There was such fun in the old woman’s lined features, that gummy smile, such simple happiness in the day. “She was the one who brought me up, really. She was nicer to me than anyone in my family.”
“Maybe she didn’t like how mean the rest of your family was about you, behind your back, because you were different. Maybe they were even mean about you to your face.”
Pat was startled by the longing in Maggie as she looked at her grandmother, the wistfulness in her tone. And she was dead right about the way Pat’s family treated her when she was a teenager, the way they treated her to this day.
“That must be why you and Jo get along pretty well, right? You’ve both always known what it’s like to be outcast.”
“What are you talking about?” Pat knew damn well she hadn’t told Maggie anything about her adolescence, never mind being “outcast.”
“Oh, please.” Maggie smiled at her dryly. “I’m not interested in jumping your bones, Smokey Bear, not today. Sorry, tonight. This might be the longest night of our lives, and I only want us to still be alive when the sun comes up. But it’s n
ot rocket science, guessing why your family is mean to you. Same reason mine is mean to me.”
Maggie raked her fingers through her tumbling hair, her breasts lifting with the motion, and Pat averted her eyes. This kid was practically jailbait. And disclaimer aside, Maggie was flirting now. Sensuality oozed off her in palpable waves; she could turn it on and off like a light switch. Pat wasn’t a stranger to rash sex, but she wasn’t going to bed a vulnerable girl who seemed to know no other way to connect with the world. She slammed an inner door firmly shut on her own arousal.
“All I know is Jo looked out for me.” Pat stepped away from Maggie, toward the recessed door that led to the bedroom where Jo slept. “She got me away from the others for a few hours, took me sledding, showed me how to leave corn in the trough for deer. Jo spent time with me.”
“And she never tried to seduce you?” Maggie’s air of disdain was back, as easily switched on as her eroticism. “Jo’s what, twenty years older than you? She never took you out behind this mansion and put the moves on when you were a baby dyke? Is that what you mean by ‘she looked out for me,’ Pat?”
And Pat knew, because she understood every nuance of Maggie’s body language, that she was stung by Pat’s rejection, and that’s where this fresh scorn was coming from. She didn’t care, and it took effort to keep her tone even.
“Jo looked out for me by putting me through college after my grandmother died, Maggie. And a week after my Park Service jeep slid off an icy back road last winter, I came home to find that Outback parked by my trailer. Jo had it delivered, the keys and the title left in it, because she wants me to be safe. That’s what I mean by looking out for me.”
Pat stalked away from the hearth as Becca came down the stairs and into the living room. She gave them a brief smile, but went directly to the bedroom and let herself in quietly.
“Maggie, what’s the matter with you?” Pat wanted an answer, because she knew Maggie wasn’t just superficial or cruel. Why she knew all this, the subtleties of this near-stranger’s expressions, the very nature of her character, mystified Pat, but for now, she’d settle for hearing Maggie’s truth. “What happened to you to make you like this? Does everyone have to want something from you? Can’t people just be loving, Maggie?”
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