What good is power if I can’t use it on others?
I let the metal ring drop and look around for a broom.
There’s a closet beside the back door and in it, I find what I need. I sweep up the debris and deposit it into a trash can under the sink. I do it without thinking. I dont want to think. I want to turn the clock back and start over from Tuesday morning. I want to walk in on Chael and snap his neck before he has a chance to say a word. I am the Chosen One and I let myself be drawn in with his tale like a stupid child.
Why is this happening?
I close the closet door and sink into a kitchen chair. I’m not prone to tears. Even as a child, crying seemed a sign of weakness. My brother never cried. I’d be damned if I would.
But becoming vampire while making me stronger in so many ways pushes some emotions closer to the surface. There’s a little boy in the next room who has no mother.
Because of me.
I feel the sting of tears. Swal ow hard to fight them back, press fingertips against my eyes until the pain drives away the bitter urge to break down. It’s a sign of weakness I don’t deserve to indulge. I need to figure how to make things right.
Restless, I push myself from the table, cross to the sink, let my gaze fix on the view from the back window. Rain is fal ing in soft sheets, turning the landscape into an impressionistic blur of red and brown. The sound as it hits the tile roof beats a counterpoint to my efforts to sort through tangled emotions.
None of this makes sense. How could Sarah have had an accident traveling a road she traveled every day for years?
What could possibly have happened at the council to throw her into such a tizzy she lost control of an old truck she must have driven for years? I know my own car so wel, I can’t imagine such a thing. Especial y on familiar terrain. Was she distracted by something?
Jesus.
Frey didn’t want to travel at night because of the skinwalkers.
But they have it in for me. Not for Sarah.
Right?
I must be crazy. No one would want Sarah dead just because she made a request of the council. What sense would that make? Once Sarah came back and told me the request was turned down, it would be logical to assume I’d soon be gone. And probably Frey, too.
No one had anything to gain by kil ing Sarah and her sister.
Did they?
I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of it before this minute.
There is someone who would not want me to leave quite so soon. Someone who is capable of kil ing to ensure I’d stick around and pursue the shaman on my own. Someone who doesn’t want me to give up the idea of becoming mortal again.
Chael.
CHAPTER 26
AS SOON AS THE PIECES FALL INTO PLACE, I BANG my hand against the counter hard enough to make the set of canisters dance.
Chael is here. I’d be wil ing to bet on it. And I’d also be wil ing to bet he has forged some kind of al iance with the skinwalkers. He might already have known I wouldn’t be granted an audience with the shaman. Getting rid of me with the bone charm would have served his purpose just as wel.
When that didn’t work, he had to fal back on the original plan. Keep me around and hope I’d try to make contact on my own.
He’d know I wouldn’t leave a grieving Frey.
Did he arranhe accident? Or did he cause it? It would be easy for him to appear in the path of a speeding car. To startle Sarah into swerving off the road. Without seat belts, the two would have been helpless in the rol ing truck.
Did he watch it happen?
Rage rises like bile, harsh and sour in my throat.
Something else for Chael to answer for the next time we meet.
But how do I find him? I have no al ies here except Frey.
George made his feelings about me clear.
Unless Kayani would be wil ing to help.
I remember the dark intensity of his gaze. I have the feeling he would want to avenge Sarah’s death almost as much as I do. But how do I get in touch with him?
And do I tel Frey what I suspect?
I close my eyes and draw in a deep breath. Tel ing Frey confirms that the blame for Sarah’s death rests squarely with me. Do I have the courage to do that? I tried in a very lame way when we were at the corral, but I admit I was relieved when he changed the subject and instead suggested we go inside. Now that I suspect Chael is behind the accident, there’s no dancing around the truth.
There’s a murmur of soft voices from the living room fol owed by Frey’s appearance at the kitchen. John-John is in his arms, his head resting on Frey’s shoulder.
“I think John-John should have something to eat. Wil you check the refrigerator?”
I do, afraid to open my mouth for fear of breaking down.
There is such a look of sadness on that little boy’s face, I can hardly bear it. Wordlessly, I extract the container of pudding I recognized from yesterday and spoon a portion into a bowl I find in a cupboard over the stove. I take it to the table and Frey seats himself, stil holding John-John, and tries to coax the boy into taking a few bites.
John-John buries his head in Frey’s shoulder, pushing the spoon away. He mumbles something in Navajo and Frey lowers the spoon, his arms tightening around his son.
I’ve poured a smal glass of milk and hold it out to Frey. At least John-John accepts a few sips of milk before once more turning his face away.
Maybe if I left them alone?
I touch Frey’s arm and motion toward the other room. He nods and I take my leave.
I start pacing. I wish now I’d taken a card from Kayani or asked how to contact him. If Chael is staying in the area, especial y if he’s staying on the reservation, there are not too many places that offer lodging. Chael with his dark Middle Eastern look would not have to worry about keeping a low profile. He’d blend in with the hundreds of tourists who flock to Monument Val ey every summer. Perfect camouflage for a vampire intent on keeping an eye on me.
I wander from one end of the living room to another, absently taking in the pictures on the book case, the bits of rocks and feathers scattered here and there on end tables, John-John’s toy horses and cars clustered under the coffee table. Touches that make a house a home.
Touches that made this house Sarah’s home.
I return to the bookcase. Now I recognize some of the faces in the photos. Kayani with John-John on horseback. An older couple in ful Native American garb. Sarah’s parents?
George with Sarah and Mary standing in front of a Jeep with the name of a tour company on the side.
Maamothat’s where I should start.
I look around for an address book or a computer. There is neither in the living room. Should I ask Frey if it would be al right to look in Sarah’s bedroom?
It’s so quiet in the kitchen, I don’t want to interrupt whatever is going on between father and son. I’l take my chances and if Frey gets angry with me for snooping, I’l take my lumps.
