Thunder Moon

by Lori Handeland

  Ian stared at me with his all-topaz eyes.

  “Can you put those back the way you found them?” I waved vaguely at his head.

  He murmured an indecipherable Cherokee word, gave one slow blink, and voilà, his eyes were light brown again, surrounded by normal, human white.

  He flicked a finger at the papers all over the floor. “I need to translate those and hope I find something that will help us.”

  “For instance?”

  “How we identify a Raven Mocker, how we kill one once we do.”

  “And why would you think my great-grandmother knew this?”

  “I saw her before I came here. She showed me her papers, told me where I could find them.”

  “You know she’s been dead for seven years?”

  “So?”

  “Was she a wolf when you saw her?”

  His brows lifted. “Should she have been?”

  “Hell if I know.”

  “The wolf you saw at the pond... You think that was your great-grandmother?”

  “She’s not a real wolf. Thing ran right through me.” I shuddered at the memory of the sensation. “Ran through a couple of trees, too. They didn’t even slow her down.”

  “Messenger wolf.”

  “That was my vote.”

  “What did she want to tell you?”

  “She wasn’t inclined to chat.” If it had even been my great-grandmother. Who knew? “I thought she wanted me to keep an eye on Quatie, which I have been. But then she kept appearing and running north.”

  “Sadness and trouble.”

  “She showed up quite a few times either before or after you did.”

  “Me? What’d I do?”

  “Seduced me? Stole my papers?” I scowled. “Seduced me to steal my papers?”

  He didn’t deny it.

  “If I hadn’t stolen them, they’d be incinerated.”

  “That doesn’t excuse it.”

  “No?”

  “No!”

  “I’ve learned in my business that the end justifies the means.”

  “You should be working for the Jäger-Suchers.” They were mavens of the “end justifies the means” philosophy. “And while I’m on the subject, why aren’t you working for them? They’ve got government funding up the wazoo. You’re both looking for supernatural entities; why split your force? Isn’t that how Custer got his ass kicked?”

  “So I hear,” Ian drawled. “We don’t join forces for several reasons. First of all, the Nighthawks began hunting in the eighteenth century. The Jäger-Suchers are a little kill-them-come-lately. They can join us if they like, but why should we join them? Second, pardon us if we don’t trust the government. They don’t have the best record when it comes to Indian affairs.”

  “Don’t you think it’s time we got over that?”

  “No,” he said. “Third, we specialize in Cherokee spirits, though we have branched out into the spirits of other tribes, and we aren’t averse to putting any old evil entity to rest if we happen to run across it. You can ask Dr. Hanover, but I don’t think they have the best luck with Native American spirits.”

  “She said something about witchie wolves. Ojibwe. Considering how she likes to howl at the full moon, I was surprised at how little she cared for them.”

  “Just because they’re wolves doesn’t make them pals. Same goes for the Nighthawks and the Jäger-Suchers. We might both be monster hunters, but that doesn’t mean we’d work together very well. I’ve talked with Edward. He was perfectly agreeable to our continuing in our way and the Jäger-Suchers in theirs. Many of the Cherokee spirits require someone with knowledge of the language to understand what they are and how to get rid of them.”

  “Hence your assignment to my fair town.”

  He dipped his chin.

  “Does the Raven Mocker have to possess a Cherokee?”

  “Not necessarily. Anyone in possession of the spell can call the Raven Mocker, and since it’s an ancient legend, there are no doubt a lot of old ones who know it. Although the Raven Mocker is a Cherokee spirit and therefore the incantation must be spoken in Cherokee, if someone read the words—”

  “My great-grandmother always said a spell would only work if the caster spoke the Cherokee with true understanding.”

  “Understanding would only require a translation, which is easy enough to get if you really want to. Even if the Raven Mocker does need to be of Cherokee descent, around here that could be anyone.”

  There were very few full-blood Cherokee left, but just about everyone could claim at least one ancestor who had a drop or two of Aniyvwiya blood. Basically, we were screwed. However, I didn’t plan to just lie down and let everyone in town get their hearts ripped out by an invisible raven witch.

  Try saying that five times fast.

  “I guess you’d better get cracking on that translation,” I said. “I’m going to find a hotel.”

  Ian had already knelt and started gathering the tumbled sheets, but at my words he glanced up. “You don’t have to.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He stood, hands full of paper. “I’m going to work all night. You can sleep in my bed.”

  My lips tightened, but he didn’t notice. He’d already turned away and begun shuffling the mess into some semblance of order.

  “As soon as I find something, I’ll come and get you. It’d be easier if you were already here.”

  Since he had a point and I was tired, I gave in. He’d slept with me to get Grandmother’s papers. Now that he had them, I doubted he’d be crawling between the sheets with me any time soon.

  I don’t know why that bothered me. I should be glad I wouldn’t have to keep fending him off. I should be happy it had ended before someone—me—got really hurt. I should remember that he had a wife. Somewhere. But all I wanted was to take him by the hand and lead him to his own bed.

  And because I wanted that, I turned and left.

  * * *

  “Grace!” Someone shook me.

  I’d fallen asleep easily, deeply, the scent of Ian’s sheets, of him, more soothing than it should have been.

  My eyes snapped open. Papers rustled; a switch clicked. As shards of light pierced my brain, I moaned, then flipped the covers over my head.

  Ian tugged them right back down. “I found something.”

  That woke me quicker than a cold shower and a hot cup of coffee. “What?”

  He scooted next to me on the bed as he laid the papers on my lap and pointed. In the jumble of words I recognized one.

  “ ‘Kalanu Ahyeli’-ski,’ “ I said. “Raven Mocker.”

  “Yes. The word actually means ‘killer witch.’ “ He shrugged, and his shoulder rubbed against mine. “Same difference.”

  I’d removed my uniform and stolen a T-shirt from his drawer to sleep in. Beneath the sheet my bare legs tingled with goose bumps. I gritted my teeth and willed them to go away.

  “My great-grandmother’s papers did contain the legend.”

  “Better than that,” he said. “She included a way to banish it.”

  The goose bumps, which had been fading, came back. “How?”

  He leaned closer, and his feather brushed my cheek. Was he trying to drive me crazy?

  “Here.” His long finger tapped the papers that lay at the juncture of my thighs. The vibration started goose bumps somewhere else. “If a sorcerer of great power sees the Raven Mocker in its raven form, the witch will die.”

  I shifted on the bed. My hip bumped his. We both froze. I picked up the papers and handed them back without meeting his eyes. “How are you going to accomplish that when the thing’s invisible?”

  “Your great-grandmother included a revealing spell.”

  “Nice of her.”

  “I thought so.” He stood, and I was able to breathe again. “Get dressed.”

  Was he kicking me out?

  “I know you’re tired, but I’d like you to go with me. I’ll put together what I need for this spell, and then we’ll des
troy a Raven Mocker.”

  “How will we find it?”

  “The witch feeds on the lives of the dying, and I’ve got a patient who’s doing just that. If we sit with him we should be able to end this. If not tonight, then tomorrow night, or the night after.”

  “Why would it choose your patient over anyone else?”

  “In a town of this size, there aren’t a lot of people who fit the profile, especially when the Raven Mocker’s already sucked the life out of so many.”

  “Eventually it’ll run out of the ill and the elderly.”

  “Then it’ll move on.”

  I imagined a trail of towns with dozens of fresh graves. And what happened when the Raven Mocker reached a town like Atlanta? The carnage would be mind-boggling.

  “We need to kill it before that happens.” I threw the covers off, forgetting I wore only a T-shirt that ended at mid-thigh and a pair of white nylon panties.

  When Ian didn’t answer, I glanced over my shoulder and found his gaze on my legs. The goose bumps sprang up again, making me shiver. I shoved my feet into my uniform trousers and covered myself, turning so that I couldn’t see the heat in his eyes that called to the chill in my soul.

  When I faced him again, he was gone. My phone beeped with a message, so I checked it while Ian rustled around first in his office upstairs and then in the clinic downstairs.

  “You have one new voice message.”

  “I locked up the house,” Cal said. “The fire investigator should be there at eight a.m. Sam will get you a report as soon as he has one. Don’t bother to come in tomorrow if you aren’t up to it. I can take care of things. Oh, and we found the man who hit you.”

  The accident now seemed so long ago, I’d nearly forgotten all about it.

  “Guy in Bradleyville. Was probably drunk and that’s why he ran, but we’ll never prove it now. Sheriff over there said the guy’s always been a model citizen, so he gave him a ticket and a stern talking-to. You can call him if you want.”

  I turned off my phone and tucked it into my pocket. I had bigger problems than some guy from Bradleyville.

  “Ready?”

  I jumped as Ian spoke from the hall. I hadn’t even heard him come back upstairs.

  “Are you sure it’s okay if I come along? I can’t see how a dying man would want an audience.”

  “Better an audience than the Raven Mocker.”

  Though I still felt uncomfortable, I followed him through the clinic and out the front door.

  “Who’s your patient?”

  “Jack Malone. You know him?”

  “Of course.” I’d arrested Jack a dozen times since I’d become sheriff. He had a little drinking problem.

  “Advanced cirrhosis.”

  I wasn’t surprised. “How did you get his case so quickly?”

  His gaze slid to mine, then away.

  “No one else wanted him,” I said. Jack was a mean drunk. I wasn’t surprised. “He doesn’t really like me.”

  “I don’t think he likes anyone, but that won’t matter. He’s close to the end. I doubt he’ll even know we’re there.”

  Jack’s sister—the only one who could stand him, and I’d never figured out why unless he’d been a much better boy than he was a man; it wouldn’t have been hard—let us in, nodded when Ian asked if we could sit with him, and disappeared.

  I followed Ian into the room, and he sprinkled whatever he’d brought along in a brown paper sack in a circle around the bed as he chanted in Cherokee; then he placed a buzzard feather on Jack’s pillow and we sat in two folding chairs near the door.

  “If the Raven Mocker goes near the bed, the spell should make it visible, and then—” He spread his hands.

  We both stared at Jack. He appeared more peaceful now than I’d ever seen him before.

  “Don’t the buzzard feathers have to be at the entrance of a home to work?”

  “Just being near one should do it.”

  I glanced at my watch. Four a.m. We didn’t have long until dawn. I had my doubts the Raven Mocker would show up here tonight, but one could always hope.

  Since we couldn’t really talk or risk waking Jack—that was something neither one of us wanted—time passed slowly. The room was warm. I was tired. My head would dip toward my chest; then I’d jerk awake and stare bleary-eyed at Malone, who hadn’t moved but still breathed.

  Ian took my hand. “You can sleep.”

  I shook my head. I didn’t want to be awakened by that unearthly shrieking. I’d have a heart attack myself.

  Ian’s fingers clenched on mine so tightly my bones crunched. He stared upward as if he’d heard something; then his gaze lowered. He jibber-jabbered words in Cherokee I didn’t understand.

  “Repeat that,” he ordered.

  I did, mangling it so badly he said it again, his voice, his face, urgent. This time I got it right.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “A charm of protection. Something’s coming.”

  The air felt close, as if a storm approached. In the distance, I could have sworn I heard the call of a great black bird. Jack slept on undisturbed and I was glad. As much as I disliked him, I didn’t want him to die afraid.

  Thunder rumbled from a clear sky. Both Ian and I came to our feet. He whispered in Cherokee, blinked once, and his eyes went eagle. His gaze swept the room.

  “Nothing,” he muttered, and the shrieking began.

  I slapped my hands over my ears. Ian flinched, the movement alien and birdlike. Through a slice in the curtain, lightning flashed. He crossed the room and threw back the drapes. Sparks flickered.

  Slowly I lowered my hands and watched the sparks fall.

  Chapter 28

  The shrieking stopped; the sparks faded away, but we could see the house over which they’d tumbled. The roof still glittered as if the sky had rained diamonds, but not a flicker of flame rose toward the star-studded sky.

  “Fitzhughs,” I said. “Ben and Nora. Young couple in their twenties. No children. Run the ice-cream shop on Center.” As far as I knew, neither one of them was sick, let alone dying.

  Ian dropped my hand and ran. I was right behind him.

  Two blocks down and on the other side of the street, Ian went to the front door and turned the knob.

  “Hey!” I put my hand on his shoulder. “You can’t—”

  He shook me off and went in anyway. Years of training and a cop for a dad made me hesitate. But when I heard the crying and the shouting, I followed. With those kinds of noises, I could easily claim probable cause.

  I found Ian tossing his herbs around the room again. Nora was crying and pointing at both him and what appeared to be her dead husband. I already knew, even before I saw his fear-frozen face, what had happened.

  “What-what-what’s wrong with his eyes?” she sobbed.

  I looked at Ben, whose eyes were a little bugged out. But Nora shouted, “Him!” and jabbed a shaking finger at Ian.

  He still had eagle eyes. How was I going to explain that?

  I put myself between them. “Ian. Your eyes.”

  “I don’t see anything,” he said. “I think it’s gone.”

  “Put them back before she strokes out.”

  “Huh?” He glanced at me, and I gave an exaggerated blink. “Oh.” He did as I asked.

  Nora sat on the bed. “Ben?” She patted his face, his hand, his chest. “It’s okay. Wake up.”

  I doubted she’d remember any of this in a few hours. I knew shock when I saw it. I yanked a handmade afghan off the recliner in the corner and draped it around her shoulders. “Nora?”

  “Shhh,” Ian murmured.

  The tiny shushing sound fell into a silence broken only by Nora’s pleading and pats. Ian stared upward, tense, alert.

  Slowly I stood, feeling it, too, something hovering above us, peering back and forth, picking, choosing, who would die and who would not.

  “Repeat the charm, Grace.”

  Ian didn’t even glance my way, but his vo
ice was so sharp and intense, I began to recite the words as if my great-grandmother herself had ordered me.

  Whatever was here with us drew a breath. Shock? Fear? I paused, listening, and something bitch-slapped me across the room.

  I flew off my feet; my shoulders hit the wall. My head snapped back. I heard the sick crack, a thud as I fell, then nothing.

  * * *

  “Grace?”

  I couldn’t remember where I was. From the pain in my head, I was half-afraid I’d landed in the hospital, but then my senses came back one by one.

  The soft sound of Nora weeping.

  The hardwood floor beneath me.

  The scent of Ian, the heat and strength of his hand in mine. His expression so worried, I got worried, too.

  “Am I bleeding?”

  “No. Though not for lack of trying. What happened?”

  “Your charm sucked!”

  “Did you say it right?”

  “Exactly the way you did.”

  “It’s always worked for me.”

  “Saying the words without understanding them is worthless.” I put my hand to the back of my head, wincing at the bump. “I guess Grandmother was right again.”

  If we’d had more time, I might have remembered that.

  Suddenly Ian leaned over and kissed me. I was so startled, I let him.

  “This was my fault,” he said.

  “You didn’t throw me across the room.”

  “I brought you into this situation; you weren’t prepared. You could have died. Or worse.”

  “Worse?”

  He looked away, his face haunted. There was more to this, which I’d get to the bottom of later.

  I sat up, gritting my teeth against the pain. I had things to do and no time for a headache. Ian reached for me, hands gentle, and I shoved them away. “I’m fine.”

  I was able to get to my feet under my own power. Nora still sat on the bed with Ben, whispering to him as if he’d wake up sooner or later.

  “I should probably call Doc.”

  “I’m a doctor.”

  “He’s the medical examiner. He can deal with Ben; you can deal with Nora. She’s going to need sedation, but not before I talk to her.”

  “You might not get anything useful.”

  Maybe not, but I had to try. I put my hand on her shoulder. “Nora?”