Jeanne Stein - Crossroads

Frey and I have hardly exchanged two words since we left Mission Beach. The rush of the wind coupled with road noise in the open Jeep makes simple conversation difficult. It’s hardly an uncomfortable silence. After the last couple of days, it’s a relief not to be peppered with questions. For Frey, I imagine thoughts of seeing his son are foremost in his mind.

But now, sitting at a Formica table with a watered-down Coke, being forced to watch Frey devour his burgers and chicken sandwiches, I have to do something to resist the urge to reach across and help myself to a handful of fries. I know the consequences of that. The memory of retching into the kitchen sink the first time I unwittingly ate real food after becoming vampire is vivid.

I take another sip of my Coke and break the silence. “Did you let your son know you were coming?”

Frey looks up, a tiny smear of catsup at the corner of his mouth. I want to lean over and lick it off — instead I use my napkin.

He grins and finishes the job, mopping his mouth with his own napkin. “No. Communication is iffy on the reservation.”

“Wil they be surprised?”

“Oh yeah. They’l be surprised.”

His tone suggests not pleasantly.

It startles me into asking, “Is there a problem?”

He shakes his head, waiting until he’s swal owed the last mouthful of sandwich to answer. “Not for me. My son’s mother may not so be thril ed to see me.”

There’s definitely a story there. “Want to tel me why?”

“No.”

“Did you and she have a bad breakup?”

“You sound like a reporter. Are you channeling your new boyfriend now?”

“Wait. How do you know—?”

“That you have a new boyfriend? Wel, whse would you have disappeared from the radar for the last eight weeks?”

Whoa. There’s a bitter ring to that last question. Softly, I say, “I didn’t know about you and Layla breaking up.”

“Maybe because you didn’t cal or drop by to see how I was doing. Not until you needed something.”

He’s right, of course. “I’m sorry.”

A scowl darkens his face. He chomps into another sandwich, chews, swal ows. Looks over at me again. “Let’s talk about what you’re going to do when you find this shaman.”

A little of the edge has left his voice. I take that as a good sign and ask, “Do you think he exists?”

“I know he exists.”

“You’ve heard of him?”

“Not before yesterday. But I did some research last night.”

Excitement bubbles up. “What did you learn?”

He holds up a hand. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It wasn’t much. Just that he is rumored to have the ability to bring the dead back to life. For obvious reasons, his existence is protected by the Navajo. It wil be up to the tribal council to determine if you wil be al owed to meet with him. This may be tricky, Anna. You may not get permission. And if you do, he may not be wil ing to speak with a vampire. I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

I twirl the straw in my Coke. I wish I’d known this before we started out. I’m sure Chael knew. But he wouldn’t send me out here unless he thought there was a chance. Or is this another trick?

On the other hand, what’s the worst that can happen? I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be.

Frey’s sarcastic laugh pul s me back. “You should see your face. The expression tel s me your thoughts are spinning like the hard drive on a computer. Sorting information. Weighing consequences. Wondering how far you’d have to go if you’re turned down.”

I squint up at him. “You think I’d resort to violence?”

“Did I say violence? I know how you operate. If you want something, you get it. What I don’t know is what you want.

You haven’t talked about it.”

I slurp up the rest of my Coke, stal ing.

“You haven’t made a decision yet, have you?” He pauses a heartbeat, frowning. “Whatever you decide, remember.

Using magic exacts a price. And a thing like this takes magic — powerful magic. The bigger the magic, the bigger the price.”

He says it as though I’m not aware that there’s danger in chal enging the natural way. I know it only too wel. I stil carry the mental image of Frey broken and near death, fighting to save Culebra from a witch’s spel.

And yet, how natural was it that I became a vampire? How natural that I had to send my family off to protect them? That I have to distance myself from my friends?

No, the only natural thing is that I’d want to erase the last year of my life. I owe it to myself to find out if such a thing is possible.

WE’RE BACK ON THE ROAD, BOTH OF US, I THINK, happy not to talk. I don’t know what Frey is thinking, but the things he said at the restaurant linger in my mind. He’s right.

Since the ceremony acknowledging my position as the Chosen, I haven’t talked to him except to let him know that I survived.

Why was that? Certainly not because I was ungrateful for his help. I remember how close we came to making love that weekend. I exercised restraint because of Layla. Because I didn’t want him regretting the time he spent with me or becoming resentful if it interfered with their relationship.

That’s rich. They broke up anyway.

Something I’d have known if I’d bothered to cal him.

Lifting a hand, I shield my eyes against the glare of the midday sun, enjoying the warmth that penetrates my skin, remembering the warmth that mortals feel from the inside out.

If I find a way to make things right for Frey, I wil.

But first. Frey was right about something else, too. I don’t know what I want from this shaman. If he’s powerful enough to solve the riddle of life and death, maybe he can solve my riddle, too. How I was chosen and why. What it would mean if I relinquished the title.

How I can get Chael out of the picture.

Because before I could make any decision, I’d have to know the mortal world would be safe. No matter how much I want to become human again, I wouldn’t put my desire ahead of the wel — being of bil ions.

Another hour of desert boredom and we cross the Arizona border at Yuma. Right outside Casa Grande we leave Highway 8 and pick up I-17. Then it’s on to and past Phoenix and final y, the monotonous scenery becomes interesting again. We’re headed north, approaching the Verde Val ey area, and for the first time, we’re seeing more than brown dirt and scrub. Red rocks light a fiery landscape punctuated with the green of real trees. Alder, ash, cypress and a half dozen others I don’t recognize. Bushes in hues that range from the lightest feathery green to bril iant emerald to cloud gray.

Ocotil o and yucca raise thorny fingers to the sky. I’m mesmerized by the wonder of it al, my absorption broken only when a movement catches the corner of my eye.

Frey looks at his watch. “We’re not going to make it before dark. Do you want to stop for the night in Flagstaff?”

I hadn’t noticed how much time had passed. The sun is low on the horizon. The dark doesn’t bother me so I volunteer to take over behind the wheel.

Frey looks at me as if I’d just suggested he become a vegetarian. “Do you know how to drive a stick?”

“How hard can it be? I’ve been watching you.”

I can see by his horrified expression he’s imagining scenarios where I strip his new baby’s gears.

“I’m kidding. Of course I can drive a stick.”

He isn’t convinced so I add, “Look. I drive a ninety-thousand-dol ar car. What’d you pay for this?”

Stil no relaxing of the worry lines around his mouth. “How long until we reach the reservation?”

“Four hours.”

“So let me take over for a while. You take a nap.”