Occasionally, more bounty hunters would show up. They would mysteriously disappear and when I asked Father about them, he would just smile. My birth father, Aldo Dragos, never came for me. A fact I learned to live with. Eventually.
When the Tai-Kok attacked our world they soon discovered the Navajo Nation was a place to avoid. They couldn’t defeat the Skinwalkers, our version of a shapeshifter.
The Jones clan’s psychic abilities gave the rest of the world an early warning system, which allowed people time to get to the hastily constructed underground shelters before the Tai-Kok and their ally, the Rodan, could chow down.
I remember when Kaylee Jones had the bad idea to hook up with a Coletti warlord. Her stunt brought Earth to the attention of Zarek, the Coletti Overlord. Once he discovered the Jones family’s unique psychic powers, and their blood’s ability to heal cellular damage, he promptly seized control of Earth.
The fools at Central Command decided an alliance with the Coletti Empire was a Godsend. The Coletti warlords and their allies did do a terrific job of wiping the Tai-Kok from existence. But their protection came with a price. Zarek demanded we turn over all psychic women to him. Seems he needed us as breeding stock.
Big shocker, the Coletti warriors’ tendency to take things that didn’t belong to them started the Great Galactic War. Unfortunately for the females of the universe, chemicals used on the Coletti people in the war created a genetic anomaly, and only one female baby was born for every one thousand males. The Coletti women were going the way of the dodo bird and guess who got to pay the price for their men’s stupidity? Us psychic females.
Central Command suddenly began enacting new laws. Anyone with extrasensory abilities had to report to their local military base, fill out registration paperwork, and get chipped like an animal. You faced fines and jail time if you refused.
The Navajo Council Elders refused to comply with the new laws. We were a sovereign nation and Central Command had no jurisdiction over us. The first time the Coletti warriors showed up, I discovered my mental shields and turquoise shaman’s amulet prevented them sensing my psychic abilities. To them I was a normal human.
Almost all our psychics were shamans and male. The few psychic women we had were elderly. To say the Coletti were disappointed would be an understatement. Apart from a yearly visit, they left us alone. Hmmm. We were due for another visit any time now.
Chapter One
Most of the time I loved being a cop, but radar duty sucked. The majority of tribal lands are flat, sandy and dotted with an occasional sagebrush or stunted tree. I’d hide behind a scraggly cedar tree and wait for a speeder. Which could take hours. To pass the time I made up silly hip-hop chants. “I am more than I was. Raah, Raah. Vem Hum. One heart. One mind. Eu quero. No ritmo. My journey has just begun. Oi-oi-oi-oi.”
A canary yellow Mustang convertible whizzed by. My radar gun beeped. The guy was doing one hundred and twenty miles an hour! “Yippee-ki-yay! Prepare to be lassoed cowboy.” I hit the lights and sirens and chased after him.
Did the Jackass slow down? Nope. He sped up. He was about to learn you never messed with a cop who was also a shaman. I drew on my power and chanted, “Sepulcrum ibidem solus novum. Vem Hum. Domum rotundam!”
A small black cloud formed over the convertible.
“Miraculin. Vivtorie construxit!”
A downpour of rain hit the Mustang. The Jackass increased his speed.
I grinned as the cloud followed the Mustang like a faithful dog. It would only take a minute or two before the interior of car became a lake. Hey, breaking the law had consequences.
The Jackass slowed and pulled over.
I parked behind him. “Oi-oi-oi-oi solus novum!” The cloud vanished.
Putting on my official brown cowboy hat, I grabbed my ticket book and walked up to the Mustang. Crap. He was a Coletti warrior. Why hadn’t I sensed him early? Did I make nice or cite him? “License and registration.”
Water dripping down his face, the Jackass scowled at me. “Do you know who I am?”
“No. I need your license and registration, sir,” I said in my best stern cop’s voice.
“I’m a Coletti warlord. I don’t need a license or registration.” He opened the driver’s door, allowing the water to spill out on my boots.
Resisting the urge to smack him with my ticket book, I said politely, “That’s going to create a bit of a problem, sir.”
The soggy Jackass got out of the car and bared his fangs at me. “Local police departments have no jurisdiction over warlords.”
I had to admit the arrogant Jackass was one fine specimen of manhood and quite handsome. The Jackass’s hair was black with auburn highlights. I didn’t think Coletti warriors used hairdressers, but I could be wrong. His black tee-shirt clung to his muscular chest nicely and his jeans fit him like a glove. The prick was drool worthy, but the law was the law. “You’re on Navajo Nation’s lands, sir, and you need a driver’s license and registration to operate a vehicle.”
“And if I don’t have them?” He loomed over me.
“Then I’ll have to impound your car and place you under
