were kidnapped by their father, and they thought he’d done the murder too. He’s a bad sort, lives up in Utah. But once they tracked him down and interrogated him, it was obvious he had nothing to do with it. Ironclad alibi and everything. So the murder’s been unsolved all this time, and we still don’t know what happened to the boys.”
“So you think…?” I said.
“Anybody can start followin’ the Witchery Way whenever they want. But there’s only one way to become one of those things we’ve been dealin’ with,” Frank rasped. “Only one way to make your soul so black you attract a spirit from First World and gain powers nobody oughtta have.”
Sophie circled the two boys’ names and then drew an arrow to their mother’s name. “You have to kill a family member,” she said. “You become pure evil.”
Chapter 26
“Hold on a second,” I said. “If they’re so evil, how come they haven’t been going around killing people?”
“ ’Cause they haven’t had to go around anywhere to do that,” Frank explained. “Plenty of people climb Tyende Mesa for the hell of it. You know how those climbers are. They see a rock that looks cool, an’ their life won’t be complete until they manage to stand on top of it. They bring their pitons an’ rope an’ shit an’ walk around town smiling at everybody ’cause there’s a decent chance they’ll fall down an’ go splat. Well, for the last ten years, some o’ them people never came back. They don’t go splat, they simply disappear, gear and all.”
“The skinwalkers are burying them?”
“The bones, maybe. After all the meat’s off ’em.”
“They’re cannibals?” Granuaile said.
“Aw, I don’t know for sure,” Frank said. “But cannibalism is part of the Witchery Way that they follow. Besides that, I don’t know what else they’d be eatin’. Ain’t like the shepherds ’round here been missin’ sheep. Nobody’s missin’ their veggies or their breakfast cereals. So what are they eatin’ up there? It ain’t delivery pizza.”
“People have been vanishing on the mesa and nobody notices?”
“O’ course somebody notices. Funny thing is, that only attracts more of ’em, because they think the rock’s a challenge. And then o’ course you get their relatives comin’ out to search for ’em, and they disappear too.”
“Why doesn’t the tribe close off the mesa?” Granuaile asked. “They wouldn’t have to give any specific reason. Just say it’s too dangerous.”
Frank shrugged. “Guess they like the revenue that climbers bring in. Hotel taxes, dining, souvenirs, all that. They go up there at their own risk. And most o’ the council don’t believe in skinwalkers anyway. After last night I think they’ll start believin’ though.”
Sophie chuckled. “I swear we have leaders like everyone else: Some of them are genuinely bright, but some of them aren’t exactly the sharpest tools in the shed.”
“The sharpest tools… oh!” I said. “That’s it, that will work! Frank, I know how to slow them down.”
“What? How?”
“Caltrops. They won’t be expecting them after having clear ground for days now. They’ll run right into them, and they’re barefoot. We’ve already seen that they’re suckers for booby traps.”
“Psssh. They ain’t runnin’ at us anymore. Their tactics have changed.”
“They will if we lay out some bait.”
“Like what? Prime rib?”
“Like me. I’ll surround myself with caltrops and ring the dinner bell, and they’ll come running.”
“That ain’t gonna stop ’em. They’ll fight through the pain to get to you and then deal with the injuries after you’re all tore up. The First World spirit will guarantee that.”
“They won’t be able to fight through it if the caltrops are poisoned.”
Three jaws dropped and three pairs of eyes stared at me, and the waitress appeared with our food. No one said anything until she’d brought back some syrup for Granuaile and refilled our coffee.
“Poisoned?” Frank said. “You gonna dip ’em in bleach or something?”
“Or something, if you get me to a drugstore. I can whip up something pretty good.”
“A geologist who can mix poisons?” Sophie said.
“He’s a Renaissance man,” Granuaile explained as she poured syrup on her pancakes, and I shot her an amused glance. Yes, I was a Renaissance man. And a man of the Enlightenment, a Victorian man, a Postmodern man…
Frank squinted at me doubtfully and wagged his head back and forth slowly. “I don’t think that’s gonna work,” he said.
“Why not?”
He sighed and took a stab at his omelet. “I don’t care what kind o’ poison you got, they ain’t gonna step on one and keel over dead. They’re gonna keep going based on momentum if nothing else. And skinwalkers have a hell of a lot o’ momentum. They’re gonna get a shot at you, and one shot’s probably all they’re gonna need. Poison might get to them eventually, but not before they get to you.”
“Maybe. I’m betting that anything traveling that fast is going to fall down and go boom as soon as it runs into an obstacle. They’ll not only get one in their feet, you see, they’ll fall down and get punctured multiple times. Once they’re down with that much poison in them, they won’t be getting up. But even if they don’t fall down, Frank, they’re going to be stepping mighty ginger right away; they’ll slow down to manageable speeds, enough for us to get a shot at them.”
Frank wasn’t convinced. “I don’t know. I can still see ’em dodging around ’em or something like that. What about trying a net?”
“They’ll see it coming and dodge. Or they’ll tear through it. Come on, they were chucking trucks around last night. Caltrops are easy to make and tough to avoid. We could finish this up tonight.”
Sophie was chewing on a piece of toast and nearly choked. Frank pounded her on the back to help her out. She took a drink to clear her throat and then she said to me, “You just got done reminding us that they were throwing trucks around, and now you think you can finish them tonight with caltrops?”
“The poisoned caltrops only slow them down so we can pop ’em with a gun. Or my sword.”
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” she said, “so thanks for bringing it up. Why do you have a sword?”
“In case of the zombie apocalypse. You never run out of ammo with a sword.”
Granuaile snorted in amusement, and Sophie flicked her eyes at her in annoyance before returning to me. “Look, I don’t know what you are, but you’re more than a geologist, if you are one at all. I’ve met lots of geologists on different projects like this, and they’re all tiny sunburned men with fetishes for geodes. They wear floppy hats and carry baggies for soil samples around with them. You don’t look or behave like a geologist, and Frank doesn’t treat you as one. Neither does Mr. Benally. And geologists don’t make rocks disappear like you did the other night. They keep them and build little shrines to them. So stop patronizing me and tell me what you really are.”
Since she was already in a state of disbelief, it was difficult to think of something she would accept. She wouldn’t buy the truth, and I didn’t want to give it to her anyway. I wanted to say, “I’m the Doctor and this is my companion,” but I doubted Sophie was a fan of the long-running BBC series. Forget the TARDIS and the sonic screwdriver, the Doctor’s best gadget was the psychic paper. I can’t tell you how many times I wished I had some. In absence of that, one of my favorite strategies to deflect attention from the fact that I’m a lying bastard is to accuse someone else of being a bigger one.
“Sophie, you may have noticed by now that Mr. Benally is full of shit,” I said.
In a voice as dry as the mesa, she said, “Yeah, I noticed that.” Frank’s shoulders jiggled up and down as he laughed silently.
“Well, he never should have introduced me as a geologist. I’m more of a project troubleshooter.”
“No kidding?” That earned me a wry twist to her mouth. “I’d say the project is in some pretty deep trouble at this point.”
“Hence the reason Mr. Benally has left everything up to me. Since your part of the project cannot continue until we get the area stabilized, I suggest you enjoy a day or two off. That is, if you can help me get this
