The three were so engrossed in conversation that they failed to observe a middle-aged man who had walked up to their table. “Good day,” he said in accented English. “I believe you are waiting for me?”
The Arkana team looked up in surprise. Griffin rose and extended his hand. “I do beg your pardon. You must be Ortzi.”
“Yes, I am.” The man took a few paces forward and shook hands. “My name is Ortzi Exteberri.” His manner was quiet and unassuming. He gave an overall impression of roundness. There were no sharp angles either to his features or his shape. He might have been in his fifties since the hair curling beneath his black beret had gone grey.
Griffin completed the introductions. Ortzi solemnly shook hands with both Cassie and Erik. Each time he coupled the handshake with the word kaixo.
Cassie resisted the urge to utter gesundheit. She assumed the word kaixo meant hello.
Griffin offered the newcomer a seat.
“I see you have tried some of our local specialty—pinxtos.” Ortzi pointed to the empty plates. “Did you like them?”
“They were really good.” Even Erik readily agreed.
“Are you the Basque trove keeper?” Cassie asked.
“Yes.” Ortzi nodded. “For many years now.”
“I really hope you can help us,” the pythia said.
“It is not I who can help you,” the trove keeper demurred. “After the scrivener told me what you are looking for, I think it is my Aunt Ochanda who will know. I have come to take you to her. She does not like the city.”
“I take it she lives somewhere out in the country,” Griffin inferred.
“Not very far. A little way past Durango. About thirty kilometers from here.”
“What’s that in miles?” Cassie whispered under her breath to Erik.
“Twenty or so,” he answered.
“My car is parked at the end of the square. If you are ready, we can go now.”
“We have so many questions,” Griffin said worriedly. “You see we’ve already travelled very far to very little purpose.”
Ortzi Exteberri gave the Arkana team a cryptic smile. “Izeba Ochanda is our etxekoandre. She knows many things—things that have been forgotten by everybody else. Come, she is waiting to meet you.”
Wordlessly, they rose and followed him.
Chapter 27 – Boozin’ Buddies
Chopper Bowdeen sat alone in a Rush Street bar nursing a light beer. He wanted his head clear for what was coming. His last conversation with the diviner had set him on his ear. It was one thing to teach a handful of kids to aim a gun. It was another thing entirely to order them to train those guns on their own families. All his plans to stay the course had flown out the window. He needed more intel before he could decide what to do and there was only one person who was likely to give it to him.
He checked his watch. Leroy was late. He should have been here half an hour ago. Chopper felt a sinking sensation. What if he didn’t show at all? Bowdeen had to make some quick decisions, but he couldn’t do that without knowing the whole story.
“Hey, brother, how you doin’?”
Chopper jumped when he felt a friendly paw slap him on the shoulder. He hated how twitchy his nerves had become lately. He glanced over at the man who had just joined him. Hunt was still sporting his Hollywood cowboy look—Stetson hat, string tie, snakeskin boots and a silver belt buckle big enough to knock somebody’s teeth out. Hunt removed his hat and laid it on the bar. He ran a comb through the pompadour wave in his hair.
Bowdeen put on his game face and smiled. The scar across his lip must have made it appear more of a snarl, but Hunt didn’t seem to notice. He was busy telling the bartender to bring him a shot of tequila.
Leroy straddled the bar stool next to Bowdeen’s. “Life been treatin’ you good, Chopper?” When the name escaped his lips, it sounded like “Choppuh.”
“Can’t complain,” Chopper said noncommittally. “That old preacher is keepin’ me hoppin’.”
“That so?” Hunt sounded genuinely surprised. “Last I heard he wanted you to train some greenhorns on the business end of a gun. That shoulda been a slam dunk even with those retards.”
“He’s got me workin’ on something else now. Security for the compound.”
Leroy raised a skeptical eyebrow. “That place is already shut up so tight that a flea ain’t gonna jump inside without settin’ off bells and whistles someplace. What’s he want more security for?”
Chopper shrugged. “You tell me. I think it’s because one of his wives disappeared.”
Leroy chuckled silently.
“You know something about it?”
Hunt downed his shot in a single gulp and signaled for another. “Fact is, I’m on her trail right now. Guess she didn’t cotton to marryin’ an old coot like Abe. Gal’s barely out of diapers herself and about to be saddled with a young ‘un of her own. Them Nephilim sure got some strange notions about women.”
“Findin’ a kid like that should be a piece of cake for an ole tracker like you. Remember when we used to go coon huntin’ back home? Everybody always said, ‘Don’t need no hound. Got Leroy.’”
Hunt guffawed and slapped his knee at the memory. “Yup, I surely do recall them times. Wasn’t a critter I couldn’t run down. Didn’t make no difference how small. I once tracked a squirrel on a bet. Course it wasn’t no ordinary squirrel. Lost half its tail in a fight or some such. Anyhow, I bagged it in a couple hours.”
“So how come you got a problem now?” Bowdeen asked in puzzlement.
The cowboy scowled before replying. “Turns out this little gal is a mite more clever than a stumpy squirrel. Managed to find her way to the big bad city all by herself. Of course, she mighta had some help from—” He cut himself short.
Chopper knew there was more to the story, but Leroy wasn’t about to tell him what it was.
Instead, Hunt changed the subject. “So, you called me to
