Down Dog Diary

by Sherry Roberts

  “The Tree of Life is a myth,” I said.

  Sebastian’s expression was patient. “Many cultures have legends of a sacred tree. Europe, the Balkans, the Near East, India, Africa. Creation myths—all with trees of life.”

  I knew many of these myths, including the Norse concept of a world tree called Yggdrasil, a great ash that nourishes gods, humans, and animals. It connects all phases of existence and all living things.

  “The book of Genesis,” Sebastian continued, “two sacred trees—the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. God ordered Adam and Eve not to eat the fruit of either tree. But they had no restraint. They wanted more; we all do. They ate fruit from the Tree of Knowledge and discovered guilt, shame, and sin. God cast them out of the garden before they could eat the fruit of the Tree of Life. It would have made them . . . immortal.”

  Sebastian wanted to be a god. I should have known. Only the penthouse suite for Sebastian Winter. Tum had died for this?

  “You are pathetic,” I said.

  Sebastian straightened, his chin lifting. “The tree is real, and the diary is the key. I will find it.”

  “Because you want to live forever.”

  “Don’t we all?” I shook my head in disgust. Sebastian’s voice changed. “But it isn’t just for me, Maya.”

  I considered Sebastian. He had lied to me again and again. “What are you saying?”

  “It’s my mother. Some days she doesn’t know me, her own son. Some days when I ask her how she is feeling, she answers, ‘Ballet dogs eat nails.’”

  The truth, at last. “Alzheimer’s?” I asked.

  He nodded, his hair swinging against his cheek. “Mother adores fashion, and now she puts her sweaters on backwards. She doesn’t comb her own hair for days. But, the cat, she grooms religiously. She has not done a puzzle for three years. Watching her like this is killing me, Maya.”

  “And you believe the Tree of Life could help her.”

  “Perhaps it can restore her memory, bring her back to me.” Sebastian watched me, and I had the feeling that he was calculating inside his head. How much would it take to gain my sympathies?

  “Alzheimer’s is not reversible, Sebastian.”

  Something shifted in the man beside me; his energy changed. “Maya, Alzheimer’s can be passed on.”

  So that was it. Sebastian feared that he had inherited the gene for Alzheimer’s, that someday he would no longer be himself. He would lose not only his memory, but all he held dear: his empire, his power, his freedom. To a guy like Sebastian, who trusted no one and whom no one could trust, the prospect of putting himself into the hands of others, of relying on the kindness of strangers and paid lackeys, must be horrifying.

  “I’m sorry about your mother, Sebastian. But there are some powers we are not meant to have.”

  “I don’t believe that.” From the woods, we could hear the chatter of the Halvorsens returning. “We are given artifacts like the diary to change the world.”

  “Why do you need me? You have the diary.”

  “You can get what I need faster. You do want me to stop hurting people, don’t you, Maya?”

  In that moment, I saw something in Sebastian’s dark brown eyes that made my skin crawl. Even though he sat in lotus, his body quiet, the fingers of one hand moved, tapping, tapping. He was assessing me. I felt cornered. I wanted to launch myself at him.

  Then the wind combed my hair with gentle fingers, coaxing me back from the dark place in which I had fallen. Little by little, I heard the birds again and the stream and the clacking leaves of the aspens. I still ached to bend Sebastian’s bones into pretzels, but I could wait.

  On the way back, Cato sensed something was wrong and went out of his way to raise my mood. He snuffled my cheek, rubbed against my shoulder, and pulled me into more pine baths. And two hours later, as we entered the yard of the Pink Panther B&B, I felt as if my feet were barely touching the ground. Thanks to Cato, I was wrapped in a cloak of well-being. It would be my armor as I waited for Jorn to return. I dropped my head against Cato’s furry neck and whispered my thanks.

  That evening, before dinner, as I worked the cat puzzle, an arm reached over my shoulder and fitted a piece. It was Sebastian. The bird-watching Halvorsens had checked out, and Sebastian had moved in.

  Betty entered the room, all smiles, and carrying in her large hands a delicate tray with a china teapot and two dainty cups. “There’s nothing like a cup of tea after a long day raising one’s vibrations, eh?” she smiled, pouring the tea then hurrying back toward the kitchen when she heard her husband’s call.

  I waited until Betty was out of hearing. “Don’t even think about sitting down. Take your tea someplace else.”

  “And I had thought we had become friends,” Sebastian said, sweeping up another puzzle piece, enclosing it in his fist, and holding both fists out to me with a challenge in his eye.

  I gave him a bored look, pretended to tap the right hand, then bypassed it and reached into the breast pocket of his tweed jacket. There was the puzzle piece. I smiled at him and fitted it into the perfect slot: the tip of the tiger’s tail. With an indecipherable smile, he took his cup of tea across the room to a comfy lounge chair.

  I glanced out the window at the empty road. Where was Jorn? He’d left a message on my phone that he was on his way back, but that had been hours ago.

  I worked the puzzle, my ears tuned to the road. As I finished my tea, I looked over at Sebastian. There was an expectant expression on his face. I blinked. His grin was growing indistinct; his face was softening, blurring.

  That was the last thing I remember.

  Chapter 25

  In Nowhere

  I WOKE TO A BLACK bird tapping at the window. It sounded like an extremely large bird, each click a Tibetan gong in my brain. When I pried my eyes open, I saw the bird was normal size, just determined and frantic. It watched me, head cocked, and tapped. Again and again.

  I was in a log cabin in a single bed. It all looked cozy—and wrong. I sat up just as Sebastian Winter thrust open the door and strode into the room. The bird flew off. Sebastian stopped and smiled.

  “Ah, you’re awake. Excellent,” he said. “By the way, Betty and Paul hope you feel better soon.”

  I felt rotten: thirsty, weak, head throbbing, tongue thick. Rubbing my temples, I whispered, “What did you do to me?”

  “Just a bit of sleight of hand while you were puzzling.”

  “You poisoned my tea.”

  “Poisoned is rather melodramatic.”

  “What did you tell Betty and Paul?”

  “I told them you were struck down suddenly.” He put on a fake look of concern. “Seizure. Apparently, you’re prone to them. Who knew?”

  “Who, indeed? I suppose you volunteered to rush me to the hospital.”

  “I’m that kind of guy. I was only too glad to pack your things.” He motioned to my duffel and satchel in the corner of the room. “Jorn apparently took everything with him. Not a trusting sort, is he? Betty thinks I’m an angel, by the way, and Paul calls me a ‘good bloke’.”

  “Making friends wherever you go.”

  He came closer and held out his hands, both fisted, palms down. I winced. I was in no mood for more trickery. “Pick one,” he said. “Please.”

  After a pause, I tapped the right fist. He swept it open. It was empty. Sebastian tut-tutted. “You are off your game.” He then opened the left hand to reveal two white pills. “For your headache.” When I gave him a wary look, he said, “It’s just acetaminophen.” On the nightstand were three bottles of water. He snatched up one, cracked it open, and handed it to me. I took the pills.

  “Where are we?” I polished off the bottled water. Now that I had tasted it, I couldn’t get enough of it.

  Sebastian passed me the second bottle from the nightstand. “In the middle of no
where,” he said, sitting down on the bed beside me. I wanted to move away but didn’t.

  With each swallow, I felt myself growing stronger. “What story will Betty and Paul tell Jorn when he gets back?”

  “That I whisked you away in a medical emergency.” Sebastian was enjoying himself. “Peter will go nuts. First, because you’re ill, and, second, because you’re with me. He’ll call the local hospital, but they won’t have heard of you. You were never there. Poor Peter, first he loses Gasquet and now you.”

  The second bottle of water was finished.

  “More?” Sebastian asked with a concerned voice.

  I nodded.

  As he turned to reach for the last bottle of water, I shoved him back on the bed, using the momentum to launch me across the room. I flew through the open bedroom door, the living room, and kitchen; flung open the front door; and slammed into a wall of Evil Twin. I immediately brought my foot down on his instep, my knee up to his crotch, and, when he was bent over, clocked him with my right elbow. I turned to step around him and met another wall of Evil Twin. Before I could react, this wall lifted his hand and pressed an object against my chest. Pain screeched through me, and I screamed. My muscles locked, and I would have flopped to the floor but rough hands grabbed me, lifted me.

  I was thrown into a chair before the cabin’s stone hearth. I had never felt such pain; it left me weak and scared. I opened my eyes and concentrated on breathing.

  Sitting across from me was Sasha, bundled in a pale pink cashmere cardigan, her black leather-clad legs tucked under her. Her head was tilted, propped in one hand, and she was smiling. It was never good when Sasha smiled.

  “You and my sister are such idiots,” she said. “I can’t believe you fell for that map.”

  Sebastian entered the room, walked over to the fireplace, and leaned against the mantel. A moose head hung above the fireplace. Maybe it would fall on him. “She’s right, you know, I was a little disappointed that all we had to do to get you here was draw you a map.”

  Thinking of the circles on the map, I said, “You could have been a little more precise.”

  “I like games,” Sebastian said. He also liked to test his opponents, to learn how they would react, to guess their next move. He had been studying me all this time. He knew I would be coming after the diary. He saw me stalking Snowboard Boy, even intercepted me once. He knew I would find out about the Evil Twins, had probably even instructed Sasha to put on that little scene by Mary Tyler Moore. Sasha had been the bait, again and again, and from the smirk on her face, she had enjoyed reeling me in.

  I glanced at the black wrought-iron fireplace tools near Sebastian’s hip. Maybe I could jump up, grab the poker, and run it through his heart. When my muscles weren’t mush. “You didn’t have to hurt Ray Grayfeather,” I whispered weakly.

  “I knew Jorn would hurry to his side. Jorn is such a do-gooder,” Sebastian said. “And we needed to lay a juicy trail—first with Sasha and then Gunther and Eric.”

  “Who cares about that old Indian?” Sasha frowned. “All he wanted to talk about was rocks. Sacred.” She snorted. “I didn’t see anything special about that place.”

  “You wouldn’t,” I muttered. My chest ached, and my muscles twitched.

  Sebastian, watching me, said, “Hurts, doesn’t it? You’ll have to excuse Gunther. He loves his Taser.”

  That’s how they disabled Tum. Having felt the pain spark through my body, the loss of the control of my limbs, I felt a new grief that Tum had suffered that, probably over and over. My insides flared with fresh anger. “You bastard. You killed James Tumblethorne.”

  “He was an obstacle, and I remove obstacles. Something you should remember, Maya.”

  Sasha flung her sleek, wavy hair back over her shoulder. “The old hippie should have taken the money. I offered. I tried to play nice. He was as dumb as you are. This all could have been a lot less complicated.”

  “But, Sasha dear, complicated is fun sometimes,” Sebastian said, throwing a grin my way.

  “It’s time consuming,” Sasha pouted.

  The smile drifted off Sebastian’s face. “That’s true.”

  My strength was coming back and, with it, some of my backbone. So, I was outnumbered and they had stun guns and who knew what other kinds of guns. I was not powerless. Tum had taught me that. I was never powerless.

  I glanced around the cabin at the unfortunate dead beasts mounted on the log walls, the rugs covering the worn wood floor, the sturdy cabin furniture. The kitchen area looked newly remodeled; I didn’t see a block of knives on the counter. Darn. The dining table had benches instead of chairs. Slamming a bench over Gunther’s head wasn’t likely. Stairs led to a loft area that probably contained more bedrooms. This was an old-style Minnesota family cabin. That meant it was built to last. I would not be hacking my way out of this place.

  Were we near a lake? I heard a loon call. Glancing toward the window, I estimated it was late afternoon. What day was it? Tuesday? My last memories were of Monday evening in the salon at the Pink Panther b&b.

  At the moment, my only defense was attitude. I turned to Sebastian. “I’m hungry. Does she cook?”

  Sasha slammed her booted feet to the ground and started toward me. “I’m not your maid.” Sebastian grabbed her arm and pulled her away. She twisted out of his hold. “Just give her to Gunther, Sebastian, and get the information we need. So we can get out of this godforsaken place.”

  “You have no finesse, Sasha,” I said.

  “I’ll show you finesse!”

  Sebastian assessed me for a few seconds then smiled. Without even looking at her, he said, “Sasha, make us some omelets. Surely, you can’t screw those up.”

  “What?” Sasha couldn’t believe her ears. “Eric does the cooking.”

  Sebastian turned his head and said patiently, “Eric is on guard duty.”

  “She can make her own damn omelets,” Sasha said, folding her arms over her well-endowed chest.

  “I told you.” Tension flashed briefly between the couple. Then Sebastian reached out and gently tucked a lock of Sasha’s hair in place. She softened, just a little, then spun away in a sweep of pink and flounced toward the kitchen. She was muttering something in Russian. There followed a banging of cabinets and pans. Plates smacked the counter. Silverware hit with a clatter.

  “Lovers’ quarrel?” I asked, mockingly.

  Sebastian turned toward me, leaned down, and braced his hands on the arms of my chair, imprisoning me. He whispered in my ear, “I know what you’re doing.”

  I didn’t flinch. “You’re the one who kidnapped me before I got dinner.”

  Chapter 26

  On the Crazy Train

  AS MEALS WENT, IT left a lot to be desired: no light but fascinating conversation, no edible food. The smell of burnt eggs permeated the cabin, and no one, not even tough Gunther with the skull tattoo, was brave enough to sample the omelets. I was tucked between a sulking Sasha and a silent Sebastian on the bench near the wall. The Twins sat across the table, nearest to the only door, not saying a word, just shoveling in the bacon strips, fruit salad, and coffee. They avoided Sasha’s fuming stare. I spotted a yellow egg stain on her cashmere sweater and hid a smile.

  After dinner, Eric took one look at a silently pouting Sasha and automatically started on the dishes. Gunther headed back outside with his trusty Taser, I assumed to play watchdog again. Sasha marched up to her room and slammed the door. Sebastian pulled me from the bench and, with a firm hold of my upper arm, hauled me into the living room and shoved me into one of the leather chairs in front of the fireplace.

  He plopped down in the chair opposite me, stared at me intently, and then began tapping the fingers of his right hand on the chair. “Maya, I grow weary,” he said. “The time for games is over. You’re fun to play with, but now we will get down to business.”

  “
What business is that, Sebastian?”

  “The diary.”

  I shook my head. “You’ll just have to figure it out yourself, Sebastian.”

  Sebastian raked his hands through his hair. “I have tried to read the diary, Maya. I’ve had the best translators in the world translate the languages I did not know. Yet, nothing makes sense. Boring to-do lists. Mind-numbing whining. New Age tripe.”

  I stayed silent.

  “There has to be a map or a description in there. The tree. It’s in there. I know it.” He leaned forward, gripping my knee painfully. “Tell me. What does it mean? How does it work?”

  It was fascinating—and satisfying—to watch the great and powerful Sebastian Winter trying to keep his cool. I said, “This must be killing you—to have the shaman’s diary and still not have what you want.” That was me—poking the rattlesnake in the middle of the trail with a short stick. And the rattlesnake wasted no time in lashing out. Suddenly, Sebastian was up and in my face.

  “Do not think I won’t kill you, Maya. Slowly. Painfully.”

  I shoved him away. “When it comes down to it, Sebastian, you’re nothing but a bully, and bullies are cowards. Afraid of the monsters under your bed, Sebastian? Don’t worry. Soon you’ll forget all about them.” It was a low blow, one I was more than capable of using, Spirit forgive me.

  At the reference to Alzheimer’s, Sebastian’s hands flashed out and manacled mine. “Eric!” he called. The Evil Twin moved quickly for a man of his size; before I knew it, Eric had snapped a plastic restraint on my wrists. Sebastian instructed Eric to relieve Gunther. “Tell him to bring his Taser.”

  My heart skipped a beat. Memories of that pain shook me to my core. Shock must have shown in my eyes because Sebastian said, “You’re not going to like this, Maya.”

  “Then don’t do it,” I whispered.

  Gunther joined us and got out his Taser. Both men loomed over me.

  Preparing myself for the shock of Gunther’s Taser, I dared Sebastian. “At least have the guts to do it yourself. That way, when next we meet, I’ll have no qualms about beating you to a bloody pulp.”