But were there ever any stories with-oh-modern 'weapons'? Like blowing up bulldozers? First time I've ever heard of them planting dynamite on something. . . .
Well, what if they were active around the site, but not responsible directly for the explosion? Or what if they were working through someone, using a person or persons who already had a grudge against Calligan? Pushing that person over the edge enough to make him commit murder?
It could happen. . . .
The one thing she had on her side was that it was very difficult for them to work in the daytime, and the time they worked best was during the full moon. That would give her some margin of safety to go check the site out a little more closely.
She pulled up at a traffic light, and began tapping her fingers on the steering wheel in a drum pattern. The Little People would be handicapped if they were operating against someone who not only was not Osage, but wasn't even a Native American. Still, if this particular lot was very old, and very powerful, they might be able to work right through that nonbeliever resistance. And every time they succeeded in pulling something off, it would make the next strike easier.
And potentially a lot more deadly.
If this line of reasoning was true, well-it meant that the explosion was not the end, but was only the beginning. There would be more incidents, unless she could pacify them. More things for which mortal humans might be blamed.
Now she was very glad she'd smudged Larry Bushyhead down. If the mi-ah-luschka were on the trail of his boss, they might be inclined to take out Believer targets first. If they had picked up the magical'scent' of Calligan when the first dozer unearthed the relics, they would not let go of the trail. His workers, his wife, his family, they would all be fair game. They would have his scent as well, and as arbitrary as they were sometimes, the Little People might just start sniping at random.
Honking behind her jarred her out of her reverie; the light had changed, and she was still sitting there like a dope. Flushing furiously, she tapped the accelerator and moved into the intersection.
Shoot, the Little People could be causing all kinds of 'accidents' that I don't even know about! Things like- making a driver see a green light when it's actually red. Or, Wah-K'on-Tah give me patience, sending David here to get those poor guys into more trouble by thinking he's getting them out of it!
That would be like the mi-ah-luschka too, she thought sourly. Get everyone entangled in a big mess. What would be worse; going to jail for something you didn't do-or getting flattened at an intersection? And which would those construction workers pick?
Me, I'd prefer to get flattened. The idea of a prison cell gives me the creeps.
She turned down her own street, several blocks earlier than she usually did. The stop signs were all facing her direction along here, and if she was going to go all fog-brained, better to go along here than on the busier street.
Small brick-and-frame houses lined both sides of the street, set back under trees that dated back to the thirties. The street looked very safe and suburban without the sterility of the modern subdivisions. Little porch lights gleamed warmly down on curved sidewalks and small porches with a chair or porch swing waiting. No kids out tonight; just as well, given her inattentiveness right now.
If I want to see if there's Little People out there on that site-damn it all, I'm going to have to go out there at night. I don't want to see, but I have to find out. I might as well go tonight or tomorrow, before the full moon. If they catch me while they are not at full power, I can probably convince them I'm on their side.
But she had no intentions of prowling around a place where the Little People had any chance of appearing without some special preparations. Momma didn't raise any stupid children, oh no. Besides, what was the use of being the student of a Medicine Man if you couldn't ask his advice?
The driveway loomed up much faster than she had expected it to, and she overshot. She backed up slowly, making certain there weren't any kids playing in the street before doing so, and pulled the truck in as neatly as she could.
The unmistakable scent of pizza greeted her nose as soon as she opened the door.
'Don't try to hide it; I already smelled it!' she shouted, closing the door behind her and walking into the living room. As she had expected, Grandfather sat in front of the television watching CNN, a Domino's box in front of him, and a half-eaten slice of pepperoni still in his hand. He looked up at her with his beady black eyes, and grinned without a trace of guilt.
'You know very well that my cholesterol count was fine, the last time we had it checked,' he said. 'And besides, I was hungry, and you weren't here to fix me anything.'
'As if you aren't a better cook than I am,' she retorted, then threw up her hands in defeat. 'All right. I give up. I just hope you saved me some of that.'
He smiled again, affectionately. 'I knew you'd be hungry too; the past two days you haven't had a single proper meal. You work too much and eat too little.' He picked up the first box to reveal a second, and opened it up, tilting it to show her another intact pizza. 'Mushrooms and black olives, your favorite. All for you. And I made apple cobbler, for later. You're never going to find a husband if you look like a stick.'
She helped herself to napkins and a fat slice; he was right, she was starving, and right now she would have eaten the cardboard if there'd been cheese on it. 'What are you, Jewish now?' she jibed, and mimicked a thick New York accent. 'Eat, eat, eat, you're too thin, how you gonna get a husband, you so thin-'
'So? Maybe they've got the right idea about some things.' He chuckled, and put another couple of slices on a paper plate for her. 'There's French Vanilla ice cream to go with that cobbler.'
Jennifer suppressed a groan; she was never going to be able to resist that combination. She had been even hungrier than she had thought; she inhaled the first slice and looked longingly at the rest before licking her fingers clean and opening the mail.
It was a Good Mail Day; two checks. One from a divorce case, and one from a client whose steakhouse was. being pilfered. That would take care of a couple of bills, while she worked this thing. . . .
This thing.
She picked up her second piece of pizza and cleared her throat, and Grandfather looked up quickly.
'The insurance case,' she began.
'You smudged someone,' he replied, before she could find the right words. 'I smelled it on your clothes when you came in. So it isn't just.an insurance thing anymore, right? Now it's a Medicine Thing, too.'
She sighed with relief. He had gone completely serious on her, every inch the shaman. 'Right. Exactly. Let me give it to you as I got it, so you can see the path I was following-'
He kept quiet as she related the entire story from the beginning, only pursing his lips from time to time without interrupting her.
'So.' He sat quietly, thinking for a moment. 'I have to admit that I have never heard of that particular place being a burial site before. Of course, I don't know everything, and there have been plenty of things lost to us besides the locations of burial grounds. Still. I think you're right; I think that this business with the relics is very bad, and I would not be in the least surprised to find that the mi-ah-luschka have been aroused.'
'Oh, hell. I was afraid you'd say that.' She finished her meal and wiped her fingers clean, before settling back in the chair. 'I wish I knew what else to make of this. Half the facts I have make Calligan look like a bad guy, and the other half make him look like some bozo who was just doing something stupid and incredibly selfish. Stupidity on one person's part shouldn't be punished by blowing up other people; selfishness is generally its own punishment, sooner or later. On the whole, if Calligan did plow up a burial ground and order the relics destroyed, I think a hefty fine from some kind of government agency and a bad mark on his record would do everyone a lot more good than setting the Little People on him. And where the devil did that bomb come from? The Little People never went around planting bombs before that I ever heard of!'
Grandfather shook his head. 'I don't know what to make of that, either. If you are thinking that you need to get deeply involved in this because of the blood spilled, though-well, you are right. It is your duty, and not only to your own people. Murder must be balanced.' He tilted his head to one side, and continued, very gently this time, 'I am afraid that you made some very serious mistakes in the way you handled young David, though, little bird. You may have made an enemy out of him; you certainly shamed him before the other young men. He was never very good at dealing with blows to his pride before, and I doubt that he has improved with the passage of time. The young men he has taken as his mentors have the towering pride of most young hotheads, and it bruises
