'Who they always blame. For possession.'
Right, Cree thought.
The author had pointed out a constant in the European history of possession: The possessed was believed to be the victim of a human persecutor-an enemy, usually a witch, who 'called' or 'cast' the demon into the victim. Often the supposed perpetrator was someone already unpopular in the community, or old, or living alone. The accused was invariably tortured and killed by religious authorities or by lynch mobs of fearful citizenry.
'I was going to say, it's the same in the Navajo tradition. They often think of illness or spirit possession as being inflicted on the victim by a Skinwalker. Like a curse. And then this part'-Lynn reached across Cree to put a forefinger to the right paragraph-'here. Where he talks about how they knew who the witch was? I was thinking of… well, of Tommy's reaction to Julieta.'
Cree resisted the urge to sidle away from the silver head leaning so close to her cheek. She read the paragraph again. The basic technique was the supernatural equivalent of the modern police lineup: parade a bunch of likely suspects past the victim. The possessed person would invariably be seized anew, attacking or cowering, when in the proximity of the 'real' witch.
If it were true that Tommy's symptoms intensified when Julieta was around him, Cree thought, it affirmed her sense that the problem was related to the connection between them-the instinctive sense of recognition between mother and child. But what did it reveal about the entity? The best she could do was that maybe Julieta was correct, that the entity was Garrett's revenant, driven by a dying urge centered on his ex-wife.
If Lynn was correct, this could be important. Watching Julieta and Tommy together might help her figure out what was going on. In Cree's view, accusations of witchcraft and demon casting were nothing but superstitious scapegoating or deliberate malice that victimized yet another innocent party. But Tommy's possession did fit the classic on-and-off pattern of 'fits' and remission; if his crises resulted from any external catalyst, Cree could learn a great deal about the entity from what- or who-awakened or energized it.
On the other hand, Lynn's observation could be just another example of the inexplicable ill will she seemed to harbor against Julieta.
'It's a good point. Thanks for bringing it to my attention.' Cree turned to her and locked eyes. 'So what's your interpretation? Think Julieta's a witch?'
'Well, we're not exactly the most compatible personalities, but I wouldn't go quite that far.'
'I'm serious, Lynn. You've got something against her. I'd like to know what it is.'
Lynn appraised her sourly. 'You know, you can be kind of confrontational sometimes.'
Cree didn't break eye contact. 'I think you keep information to yourself because you like feeling you've got an edge on other people. Because you habitually feel at a disadvantage and think you need something to even things up. But right now there's a boy who desperately needs our help. He doesn't need people playing games, Lynn!'
'How lovely to be so thoroughly understood,' Lynn said drily.
'What else? What else about Julieta?'
Lynn's face took on its prim, clever look. 'There you go again, tempting me into indiscretions!' Then her facade faltered and revealed the anger just behind: 'Let's just say I think her obsession with Tommy might be more complicated and less healthy than people like you want to admit. I thought you'd be grateful I'd pointed out his reaction. I thought I was being helpful.'
Cree almost stamped her foot in frustration. There seemed no way to break through the nurse's defenses. Part of the problem was that this transaction was just what Lynn wanted, an intense exchange serving as a bitter surrogate for intimacy. She started to plead with her but then heard noises from the front hall: Ed had arrived.
'I'll watch them carefully from here on in. Okay? But if there's something else you think I should know, for God's sake tell me. And in the meantime, I still want you to respect my space, my stuff! How would you like it if I went into your room and rummaged around?'
'Well. I'd probably be a little upset. But I might be kind of flattered, too.'
' Lynn-it was intended as a rhetorical question.'
The nurse's mouth made a surprised O, then smiled. 'Yes. Of course it was.'
Cree turned half away to stack the papers again and go on packing for the night's work. She hoped Lynn would get the message, but still she hovered there with her purse-lipped smile. And then Ed was bumping through the doorway with a pair of equipment cases, apologizing for being late, and Cree turned to him with relief.
32
Edgar stood at the crumbling edge of the cliff, looking west, enjoying himself immensely and ignoring the rocks his feet sent tumbling into the ravine. His face was vivid from the climb and the crisp air. From here at the top of the mesa, they could see all the way to the higher land of the Defiance Plateau, a glowing pink-purple band along the horizon. The early-morning sun was at their backs, throwing their shadows off the cliff and spreading the mesa's shadow like a dusky lavender cape on the ground below.
'You know what it looks like to me?' Edgar asked.
'What?' Cree followed his gaze.
He gestured at the boulders, the slabs, the endless expanse of bare soil. 'It's like… after God created the rest of the world, He had a bunch of raw materials left over. And He just sort of dumped them out here. Piles of stuff, just lying there for a few hundred million years, waiting for the next big project.'
He was in a good mood. Last night, he had assented readily when she suggested they change plans and nap before visiting the ravine. Cree's confrontation with Lynn Pierce had drained her, and bringing up witches and demons had obliterated the fleeting sense of relief she'd felt after talking to Paul. Ed was tired, too. They had agreed to sleep for a few hours, go out in the early hours of the morning, and end the vigil with this morning trip to the top of the mesa. It was a good way to get a better sense of the lay of the land.
So for a while they'd lounged in the ward room, talking. Just being around Ed had calmed Cree. After a while she had caught some of his mood of curiosity and excitement, the thrill of the investigation. He loved the landscape here; like Cree, he felt exhilarated by it, wanting to embrace it, get out in it, immerse himself in it. Telling her about it, he'd paced around, gesturing expansively, unselfconscious and looking sexy in T-shirt and boxer shorts.
When at last they'd put out the light, the snores from the other bed told Cree that Edgar had fallen asleep immediately. Lying awake, she found herself soothed by the gentle rhythm of his breathing and the sight of his slumbering profile in the faint light.
The alarm clock had awakened them at two a.m. They'd dressed wearily and gone off into the desert night. At the ravine, Ed had taken up his post on the desert floor as Cree moved up the cleft, found what felt like an appropriate spot, wrapped herself with blankets, and waited.
Waited for nothing, as it turned out. For whatever reason, she couldn't get past the ordinary world and her ordinary, if frightened, thoughts. It never failed to astonish her, the way a haunted place could be so dense at one time, so empty at another. Was it the cycle of manifestation-there when it was there, not when it was not? Or was it just cycles of Cree Black's sensitivity? She'd probably never know. But it was an experience familiar to every serious ghost hunter: the long pointless wait, the empty hours. The only startling moment had been awakening from her drowse to see a blanket-wrapped figure standing before her in the predawn light. For a jolting instant she'd thought it was some Navajo or Anasazi from centuries past. Then she recognized it as Edgar, a blanket draped over his shoulders, grinning. Light was creeping into the sky. She'd left her little nest and they'd set stiffly off up the ravine just as streaks of cloud at the zenith burst into peach-pink flame against the depthless baby blue sky.
The rock dam where she'd sat the first night turned out to be a jumble of fallen boulders and slabs four or five feet high and about twenty feet across, tricky footing. Ed had brought a compact trifield meter and a Geiger counter, and as they picked their way he paused to take readings; though there was some rise in EMF activity, it was well within the normal variations he'd expect.
Beyond, the gully tapered as it rose, then split into shallower runs that meandered toward the mesa top. They walked quickly in the cold shadows, trying to work off the chill of sitting so long in the open.
It was wonderful to come to the top. Suddenly the sandstone walls angled away and then they were beneath the clear sky again, with the half risen sun blasting at them brassy as a trumpet and a coquettish breeze flirting
