Vicki Pettersson - The Touch of Twilight

Ignoring that I was driving down I-15 at ninety miles an hour, I squared in my seat on Chandra. “That mortal is my life. He’s everything to me. He’s all I want, all I care about, all I need. And if any of you ask me to give him up, you can shove the third sign of the Zodiac up your collective asses.”

“If Warren wants you to give him up, he won’t ask.”

I knew that. Warren would kill the President himself if he thought it best for the troop.

“Turn off on Blue Diamond,” she said, a few minutes later. “We have to scout a location for Kimber’s metamorphosis tomorrow.”

I did so silently, whipping onto a road so straight and long and narrow it eventually disappeared into the desert. We’d already scouted at least a half-dozen locations, but the senior troop members weren’t going to settle for a spot that might be compromised. Riddick and Jewell were older than the quarter-century mark when they’d taken up their star signs, so not counting my flawed transition into the troop, it’d been almost two years since an initiate had metamorphosed, and nobody had forgotten the carnage that’d ensued when the Shadows had learned of that location. Tekla’s heir, caught in the paralyzing moments of receiving his powers, had lost his life. I didn’t think that night would ever stop fucking with her.

“We can’t leave the city limits,” I reminded Chandra as I watched the buildings fall behind us, the streets dropping away until there was only the one.

“We can’t enter another city,” she corrected, which was what I meant, “and we’ll be turning off well before we reach Pahrump…not that it counts as a city.”

She wasn’t simply being rude…this time. There had to be a large enough population to warrant a proper troop, and Pahrump wasn’t there yet. Soon, though. People had been pouring into Vegas for almost two decades now, annually making it the fastest growing city in the nation, and Pahrump was getting a lot of the spillover.

We drove forty miles into what looked like nowhere, flat expanses of desert flanking both sides of the two-lane road with stubbled brush and crippled cacti jutting from the earth like a marine’s botched crew cut. I was surprised when Chandra had me slow for no apparent reason, and totally astonished to find a badly paved road veering ninety degrees south, even farther out into a very literal no-man’s-land. However, I wasn’t surprised to hear the telltale bluster of Soulfly’s “Corrosion Creeps” emanating from my phone, though I only gave it a cursory glance before setting it aside, smiling.

“Aren’t you going to get that?”

“Not yet.”

We drove for another five miles, the paved road giving way to gravel before a giant pole appeared out of nowhere, stretching into the desert sky like it was flagging us down. It was only as we got closer that I realized it wasn’t just a pole; it had an unshielded light affixed to its apex. A beacon, then.

I pulled into a lot cleared of all natural brush and stone, still so taken by the sight of the pole, I would’ve plummeted over the cliff in front of us if Chandra hadn’t jerked sharply on the steering wheel, causing us to swerve.

“Watch it, will you?” She closed her eyes, hands fisted on her lap as I pulled the car to a halt. “Just because I can survive a thirty-foot fall doesn’t mean I want to.”

“Well, shit,” I said, climbing from the car so I could peer over the cliff. “I didn’t know it was here.”

“Not many people do,” she replied, coming around to stand next to me. “Which makes it perfect for our purposes.”

It was a small arroyo, proof water had once run through this area; probably around the same time greenery had flourished and giant creatures had yet to become extinct. “What is it?”

“Cathedral Canyon,” Chandra answered, heading back toward the light pole, and motioning for me to follow. “Nature made it, and man improved it…or one man did, anyway.”

She went on to point out a sign welcoming visitors to the tiny canyon, a wooden box next to it soliciting donations, and a rickety staircase leading into the crevasse, with a platform situated at the halfway point, directly in front of a giant sculpture of Jesus. We continued all the way to the bottom under his watchful eye, and that’s when I saw the pottery and statues situated in surprising little clearings, and the drawings and quotes encased in Plexiglas stands, many dedicated to a deceased relative or someone who contributed heavily to the canyon’s creation.

I glanced up to spy a rickety footbridge linking the two sides of the narrow grotto, and below it, where we were, a well-marked pathway curled along the canyon’s base. A waterfall, currently off, was tucked at one end, and a bathroom was hidden in a natural alcove at the midway point. Most important, however, were the dozens of tiny stained glass windows fitted into the natural outcroppings, glinting impressively even in the full day’s light. Chandra explained at night the colorful windows exploded with light, thus giving the cherished little canyon its name. Classical music would pump from hidden speakers, and water would again fall where it once had. Somebody loved this little place dearly.

“It’s open air,” I said, pointing out the obvious. Metamorphosis from initiate into star sign always took place in a secured indoor environment; the more elements the troop could control during the process, the better. “Unless there’s an underground aspect to this canyon you’re not telling me about.”

“No, this is it.” She turned around herself, the choppy layers of her hair striping her face in the slight breeze. She shook them away. “And the closed environment didn’t serve us very well before. Warren thought we’d try something new. Something the Shadows would never suspect.”

And a place of worship and respect and peace dropped into a crevasse in the middle of the Mojave would pretty much do it.

Soulfly’s groove metal sprung from my pocket again, Chandra looked at me, and this time I answered it.

“Give it back.”

I smiled again as I tucked my cell phone between shoulder and ear, not even pretending not to know what Regan was talking about.

“No. It’s mine, I bought it, actually signed the papers and closed on it last night, sight unseen. God, you’ve gotta love the way money talks in this town.” I heaved a happy sigh. “Hey, I have an idea. Next time you don a new identity, you should make her rich instead of cute.”

Wow. Grinding teeth sounded a lot like sawing logs over the telephone line.

In a reasonable tone, I explained I wasn’t going to actually live in her mother’s old house. That wasn’t the point. It just felt good for a change to possess something I knew Regan cared about. I didn’t need to say she wouldn’t have kept or maintained the property if she didn’t care about it, or that that’s what had exposed the weakness to me. She knew that, so I merely added, “The perks to my Olivia identity are starting to grow on me. I’m becoming quite the materialist. I’ve decided to start a small, but elite collection. I’m going to call it ‘All the things Regan loves most.’”

Her breath hitched on the other end of the line but it didn’t stop her ragged threat. “And do you think it’ll ever rival mine? I call it ‘All the ways I could maim Ben Traina.’”

It was the expected rejoinder, but I saved my own comeback for later. By now Chandra had realized who I was talking to, and was glaring openly at me. I batted my lashes but, like Regan, she had never fallen for that. “I understand from the changelings that you’ve seen something in the manuals exciting enough to have you running from the shop like your life depended on it.”

This time there was no hesitation. “And I understand from my changeling that you had a run-in with the doppelgänger. Of course, being a loyal underling, I had to tell the Tulpa. He’s pissed you didn’t kill her when you had the chance.”