Dark Side of Morning (Wind Dancer Book 1)

by Tierney James

  “But the good news,” Cleo interjected, “is you have a way to inoculate against the disease.”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Excuse me?” came the quick response offered by most in the room.

  The colonel twisted his shoulders as if a kink manipulated his comfort level. “We have labs working 24/7 on the antivirus. The vaccine you gave your people today will protect them from any breakout occurring in Chicago.” He leveled a scowl at Cleo. “You’ll need a booster, Dr. Sommers. Although our records indicate you have been vaccinated, we aren’t sure it will be enough to protect you. Better safe than sorry.”

  “Maybe the time to think about this scenario should have come before sending your people into new lands, Colonel Jefferson,” Jacque mumbled as his phone vibrated. He glanced at the screen then stood and headed for the door. “Sorry. Need to take this.”

  “So the seven million doses in stock for emergencies are worthless?” Cleo continued.

  “Tests indicate they are only partially effective. The elderly and children are the most vulnerable. The older populations vaccinated in the fifties and sixties are no longer protected. But, having been vaccinated in the last few years, you already have some degree of immunity.”

  “The Osage may have exposed her when he broke in this morning.” Wind Dancer’s brow pinched tight over his nose as he laid a hand on her arm.

  “Most likely.” Colonel Jefferson raised his chin toward the FBI agents. “You are exposed as well by being in the same room. We’ve called the CDC to bring the vaccine here to immunize you who haven’t been already. A hazmat crew is cleaning the foyer and corridors even as we speak.” He stood and tugged at the front of his uniform. “We’ll keep you informed of any changes. The FBI needs to take this out of the hands of the Chicago PD, ASAP.”

  Cleo moved to cut the colonel off as he approached the door. “What happens if Neosho refuses to come out of the neighborhood where he was last spotted?”

  The colonel took a deep breath then held it longer than she thought possible before he exhaled slowly. He chose to speak to the FBI instead of her. “Extreme decontamination.”

  Chapter 14

  “I did not understand the words of the buffalo soldier, Cleopatra.” Wind Dancer had refused to let her return to the condo without him. Jacque waited downstairs to catch up with the detail posted at the front doors.

  They found her condo in disarray from the morning skirmish. The smell of some chemical cleaner remained in the air. She’d been informed a hazmat team had also taken bed sheets, towels, even the dirty dishes in the sink. Even the trash cans had disappeared. Her broken door to the balcony displayed a plywood covering. The front door now resembled a flimsy dressing room door which probably was supposed to create protection against curious neighbors; in spite of the fact everyone on her floor had been moved to a fancy hotel for a few days.

  Even her clothes had vanished. Not being a clothes hound like her friends Julie and Erica, the thought of having to replace them filled her with dread. The need to pick up a few things to spend the next couple of days at a hotel complicated her ability to think straight.

  “Okay. Guess I won’t need to pack anything. Nothing to take. Maybe Jacque can drop me at Macy’s for an hour or so to restock my wardrobe… Oh. Sorry. You were saying?” She regarded Wind Dancer, who followed her into the bedroom.

  “I don’t understand ‘extreme decontamination.’ Is this better medicine?”

  Cleo stared at the Pawnee standing in the last rays of light seeping through the window. He appeared both stoic and bewildered. His high cheekbones and oval eyes, which seemed almost out of place above such a narrow nose, reminded her of how his hard, angular face had always drawn her to him in the museum case. Not quite handsome, but oh so mesmerizing. She knew before speaking she would need to slow the rapid heartbeat and the rising flush of heat on her neck and face.

  He stood straight as a statue, calm as a cucumber, and more patient than she’d ever known a man to be. “Extreme decontamination means they would burn the neighborhood down, maybe bomb it.”

  “Wouldn’t it be hard to get everyone out?” He cocked his head suddenly.

  “They would not get them out, Joseph. They would all die.”

  “And they call us savages.” He shook his head and moved away. “This is my fault.”

  Cleo stepped toward him and laid a hand on his shoulder as he stared out the window toward another building. “You had no way of knowing those men had smallpox. If you had, you’d never have taken him to the Osage or brought sickness to his people.”

  “This holds no comfort for me, Cleopatra. Your father isolated me from the others when he heard about the Osage. It was two weeks before I showed symptoms, so my people remained safe. My sister and her boys waited for the Frenchman to return from the buffalo hunt. He took my place so we could eat.” His voice cracked. “Neosho took his revenge because of me. Left alive, I must suffer her death many times.” He pulled her around to face him and touched her strawberry-colored hair. “Now he wants to steal you from me. He will carry you across to his land.”

  “I’m more afraid of your friend who has become a skinwalker than Neosho.” Her arms circled his body. He lowered his mouth to hers as Jacque stomped into the condo making enough noise to give them warning, she guessed. She stepped away and hurried out into the main living area to meet him.

  “What a mess.” Jacque tried to act nonchalant until Wind Dancer joined them with a sour expression. The detective smirked. “Where’s your stuff, Cleo?”

  Cleo gave a matter-of-fact explanation and requested a stop at Macys. “I can do everything in less than an hour.”

  “And who says miracles don’t happen anymore?” He flashed a boyish grin. “Trust me, Joseph, when I say this will take a lot longer. Women.”

  “Women,” he repeated in a serious tone.

  “Then you can drop me off and call it a day…or not.” She’d left her purse behind and it was also gone. “I don’t even have a credit card.”

  “Not taking you to Macys. Still don’t know how contagious you guys might be or if at all.” Jacque retrieved an envelope from his pocket and handed it to her. “Your new card came in the mail today. You see? Another miracle.”

  “You went through my mail?” She found it difficult to sound enraged when he chuckled. “You’re lucky I’m homeless tonight or I’d be up in your face.”

  “Maybe we’ll put you up with the CDC at the Sheraton on Water Street. Like?”

  She let out a whistle. “Not too shabby. And what about Joseph?”

  The Pawnee stepped closer. “I stay with Cleopatra, to protect.”

  The detective glanced at Cleo and shrugged. “Yeah. That ain’t gonna happen, buddy.”

  “Buddy?”

  “Friend.”

  Wind Dancer slapped the detective on the arm causing him to stagger a few steps aside. “Friend.” Outstretched arms pulled them both into his embrace. “I protect both of you.”

  Jacque shoved off Wind Dancer’s arm. “I booked an adjoining room for us, Joseph. The doc has been through a lot today. We’re going to let her rest. Okay?”

  Even though Cleo caught the drift of what rest meant, dropping her eyes couldn’t keep a rush of heat from creeping up her neck and face. Wind Dancer laid a hand on her cheek before pointing to her face.

  “She is very warm, Jacque. She has the smallpox.”

  Jacque arched an eyebrow at the doctor as she tried to clear her throat and remove his hand from her face. “I think maybe she’s got something else, Joseph. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

  They moved toward the door as Wind Dancer began his own line of questioning. “What else could she have, Jacque? Can we catch this?”

  “I think you already caught it, Joseph.”

  “Enough, Detective,” Cleo snapped as she punched the elevator button. “It’s complicated.”

  Wind Dancer nodded as if he knew what they were talking about before repeating, “Yeah,
Jacque, it’s complicated.”

  ~~~~

  Morning light slipped into the hotel room as Cleo fell into a deep sleep. She’d rolled and tossed all night with dreams of her father running from Neosho and skinwalkers. Then there remained the matter of Wind Dancer. What of him?

  She didn’t want to have feelings for him. But she did.

  She didn’t want another failed relationship. But she wanted to try.

  She didn’t want to do a lot of unhealthy things with him, but the possibilities kept consuming her common sense as he strode about like some romantic hero from the past. If he rode in on a wild black stallion, the story would be complete. Opening her eyes, she remembered him riding the policeman’s horse their first night together. His ebony hair whipping against her face, and his muscular torso flexing beneath her fingertips kept her imagination swirling into a vortex of insane longing.

  It would never work. Wind Dancer knew very little of this world and the danger lurking around every corner. Disease. Crime. Environmental hazards. Geopolitical conflict. He reminded her of an innocent child set loose in a room where someone dropped hundreds of knives and then told to go play.

  “He wouldn’t last two weeks here,” she mumbled, hands over her eyes.

  “Who?” came the voice of Wind Dancer from near the desk.

  Cleo gasped and sat up, letting the sheet fall down around her waist. When he eyed her like she might be on the breakfast menu, she snatched up the comforter to cover her thin nightgown. The hotel boasted a nice boutique, although she’d spent more than she usually did in six months on the few items she’d purchased. The nightgown had been an impulse buy, or maybe a what-if buy.

  “What are you doing in here, and how long have you been watching me?” She tried to sound outraged, but his bewildered expression nearly made her laugh.

  “Jacque snores very loud. I came in before the sky turned pink. You snore, too.”

  “I don’t snore.” This did make her angry. “I never snore.”

  “You do now.” He imitated how her short bursts of blowing through her lips then a little nasal breathing. “Like that.” He stood and approached the bed as if he tracked prey. “I wanted to comfort you when you cried out, but Jacque says I should not touch you because I could give you sickness of some kind.”

  “Good ole Jacque,” she moaned with a little relief mixed with regret.

  “Good ole Jacque.” His face held such warmth she almost threw off the covers and invited him in. “You are beautiful, Cleopatra.” He sat down on the end of the bed and touched her leg on top of the covers.

  “What? Ah, my hair is a mess and…” She fumbled with unruly strands around her face then moved the pretend cobwebs from her tired eyes when he reached out and took her hand.

  “Beautiful.” His smile widened. “The morning agrees with you.” He stood and pointed to the sky. “Even the Morning Star shines less next to you.”

  If she’d been standing, her knees would have felt like Jell-O. Thankfully, Jacque came to the doorway. “Oh, for crying out loud, Joseph. You’ve got to stop saying things like that. It makes the rest of us look bad.”

  Cleo waved them both away. “I’m pretty sure you manage that on your own, Jacque. You’re single, right?”

  “Nobody likes a know-it-all, Cleo,” he said, lifting his chin toward their room. “Get dressed. We’ve got someplace to be.”

  ~~~~

  The Frenchman strolled along the riverfront below the Sheraton Hotel, enjoying the first signs of morning light. The scent of the detective had led him here. This alone would not have been enough if not for Cleopatra and Wind Dancer. Their heartbeats pounded a path for him. The Pawnee would be able to trace his movements as long as the woman didn’t distract him, which she seemed to be doing at a steady pace. He didn’t understand how she blocked his ability to follow him. Could one woman divert such a focused warrior? Then he remembered his wife and how he’d done many crazy things to make her happy. He missed her.

  The detective had killed him and Wind Dancer gave him another chance; a chance to destroy the man who took the only reason he lived and breathed. He’d tracked the Osage to the cliffs, a year earlier, along the Platte where he’d hidden outside a cave. He’d never trusted the warrior, even before he’d killed his family. Seeing Cleo’s father and his friend emerge from the opening, he’d alerted them, thus giving Neosho an opportunity to escape before he could confront him. They had tangled several times and suspected the Osage of plotting against his friends.

  His two friends seemed more concerned about their discovery than the fact Neosho may try to kill them. The conversation came in bursts of nonsense, but he remained quiet with an occasional glance over his shoulder to search for Neosho who’d disappeared as quickly as he’d appeared on the cliff edge.

  Words he didn’t understand kept spilling into the conversation, words like parallel universe, time jump, hypothetical, and coexist.

  “What does this mean, Dr. Sommers?” the Frenchman remembered asking.

  Wind Dancer answered instead of the doctor. “It means the land from which he came can be reached through this hole.” Wind Dancer acted so proud of himself. “It means I can find Cleopatra and bring her here.”

  The Frenchman remembered thinking they both may have gotten into the special brew they used for a captive about to be sacrificed to the Morning Star. Even though he thought the practice a kind of barbaric nonsense serving no purpose whatsoever, the practice continued to bring harmony among the Pawnee. He wondered how long before the government of Thomas Jefferson or whoever was in charge in the east would impose their view of a higher power. From his talks with Dr. Sommers, it wouldn’t be long. He knew the history of this land and often told stories from the future. His warnings both entertained and frightened him.

  “So what is the problem? Go get her.” The Frenchman pivoted to leave so he could search for the Osage and finish what he’d set out to do. “This is not helping us.” He frowned at the doctor. “Your stories are no longer amusing.”

  The elder Dr. Sommers grabbed the Frenchman and pulled him around before forcing him into the cave. That’s when he discovered the truth.

  Now here he wandered in another time, dead and alive. He moved among the living in a final attempt to kill the Osage who murdered his family. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. Cross over. Find Cleopatra. He would convince her to return with him.

  Only it had worked out differently than planned. After the sickness and the murder of his family, he wanted to relieve his pain and hoped retrieving the good doctor’s daughter would give him something worthwhile to ponder. Then he could devote his time to hunting down the animal who butchered his family.

  With the education given to him and Wind Dancer, they planned to come across together. They had no way of knowing the lightning storm might close the opening so rapidly. The Frenchman had jumped through first, but Wind Dancer didn’t make it. From what the doctor surmised, the hole would open again. He’d waited in the dark until he feared the opening into the museum might close entirely. Then all would be lost. Once he’d stumbled into the earth lodge in the Field Museum, a whole new world opened up to him. He became drunk with the possibilities in this world.

  Months of exploration and wonder educated him more than the few lessons from the good doctor. Although he tried to find Cleopatra, the amazing distractions clotted his focus so the objective died. Then he saw her a few days ago on the water taxi. Her father carried a picture of her and, in the end, gave it to him. Wind Dancer watched her for years through the museum cases and spoke of her as if they’d shared personal moments for decades.

  Discovering her scent, his enhanced senses and old-fashioned tracking abilities found her easy enough. Then the news broke of the museum theft. Somehow, he knew Wind Dancer and Neosho had crossed over.

  The old rage surfaced like a tsunami, reminding him he could be robbed of his chance at revenge.

  Why would Neosho come here? Then he understood, after seein
g Cleopatra. The Osage wanted his own revenge against Wind Dancer. The Frenchman refused to allow this to happen.

  He stared up at the windows, searching for a sign of his friend. He could hear many heartbeats but searched for the beat to a different drum. Wind Dancer was so focused on the Morning Star, he failed to sense his presence. Being so near to water helped hide his smell of death.

  “Soon, my friend, we will meet once more. I won’t take the soul of your woman, but I cannot promise the same for the man who killed me.”

  A wave of hatred washed over him, knowing the detective ended his life too soon to finish the job set before him.

  Chapter 15

  “Why are we at the museum, Jacque?” A gusty breeze whipped Cleo’s hair into her face. Tourists grumbled to the officers at the foot of the steps who prohibited them entering the museum. They suggested trying the Shedd Aquarium a few feet from the Field Museum.

  “I want Wind Dancer to meet some people.” Jacque moved toward the front doors then stopped, as he watched Wind Dancer staring out at Lake Michigan. His body stood rigid and made the detective think he waited for something to appear. A chill creeped up his back as he observed the Pawnee shift his sight to survey the entire area. Did he sense the skinwalker nearby? He dropped his hand nonchalantly to his weapon and took a long, slow visual scan to survey the area. When he let his gaze land on Cleo, he realized she had already moved up the steps. A whistle to Wind Dancer got him to follow.

  “Everything okay, Joseph?” he asked as he joined Cleo who chatted with one of the local officers. She even laughed softly as if she wasn’t burdened with the possibility of danger.

  Wind Dancer tensed and straightened for a mere second, but Jacque caught the movement and flipped off the strap securing his weapon. He continued to face the lake as he walked up the remaining stairs. Jacque wondered in that moment if the Pawnee might be afraid to look away from the lake and Shedd Aquarium.