Jeanne Stein - Crossroads

Favorite weapon of the skinwalkers.”

And now for the next question burning my brain. “What the hel is a skinwalker?”

Frey resumes his seat on the floor of the hogan, motions at me to join him. When we’re both seated, he begins.

“The Navajo cal them yee naaldooshii . It’s a Navajo witch who practices curse magic. They can travel in animal form.

Wolf, coyote, owl. .”

“How about crow?”

He nods. “You saw a crow?”

“In the distance.”

“Probably our culprit.”

“Why would it attack me?”

“Don’t know. I only know three people who know you’re here — Sarah, Mary and John-John.”

“And now, George.”

Frey shakes his head. “George wouldn’t say anything.

He’s been a friend for a long time.”

“But you haven’t brought a vampire to his home before. He may feel like Sarah.”

Another adamant shake of the head. “George would never practice curse magic, let alone become a skinwalker. To do that, you have to desecrate the corpse of a loved one. I already told you how the Navajo fear the dead. I can’t see him being a party to such a powerful taboo.”

“But maybe his fear of me is even greater. Maybe this is his way of letting me know I’m not welcome on the reservation.”

“It’s not George.” Frey’s jaw is set, his mind made up.

I rub my hand over my arm. There’s nothing left to show of the wound. “Then who?”

“Maybe we can get some answers from Sarah,” Frey says.

“We’l drive over first thing in the morning.dx

“Why not drive over right now? Wait for her to get back from the council.”

Frey looks around, uneasy. “Best not to travel at night out here. Not with skinwalkers around.”

I give him a do-you-hear-yourself look, complete with raised eyebrows and clucking tongue. “You are a shape-shifter. I’m a vampire. What’s going to attack us?”

“Didn’t you hear what I’ve been saying? Skinwalkers aren’t afraid of us. One already hit you with a bone charm. It’s just good luck that I recognized what it was and got it out of you in time.”

“But now we’re on to them. Nothing wil get close enough to try again. We’l be in a vehicle with windows up and doors locked. Don’t see how anything can possibly happen.”

Frey presses the palms of his hands together. “No. Even if I was stupid enough to risk it, I won’t risk drawing them to Sarah’s. I won’t put my son and his mother and aunt in danger.”

He picks up the half-eaten sandwich and snaps off a bite, as if punctuating the end of the conversation. His concern is real. I capitulate to it with a sigh and look around the hogan.

“What are we going to do al night? Don’t even have a book to read.”

“How about sleep?” Frey replies. “Haven’t done much of that in the last few days.”

“Wil we be safe? What if they come back?”

“I don’t think they wil. They have no way of knowing I removed the charm. The logical thing would be for us to take off. To go for help. If we stay out of sight they should leave us alone.”

I suppose Frey’s thinking makes sense and he is right about one thing — we haven’t gotten much sleep in the last twenty-four hours. I push the sleeping bags and mats out to the middle of the floor, work around Frey eating his picnic lunch and set things up. The sleeping bags appear to be new, at least, and of good quality. I stretch out, a test run.

“Not bad. Now if we could just cover that hole in the ceiling.”

Frey looks up. “Why would you want to do that? You can see the stars.”

Along with bats or flying insects or anything else that might wander in. But I know if I say that to Frey, I’l get another lecture about nature and being bigger and stronger than anything that could fit through that hole.

I rol over onto my side. Maybe if I don’t look, I won’t see.

It’s worth a try.

“Good night, Frey.”

“ Danootch’ííl , Anna.”

THE SOUND OF THE WIND AWAKENS ME.

It’s pitch-black in the hogan. If there’s a moon out, it’s doing nothing to penetrate the dark. Once my eyes have adjusted, I look at my watch.

Midnight.

I sit up to find Frey awake, too, staring hard at the door.

The rawhide flap covering it moves to the wind gusts, bil owing out and in as if blown by bel ows fanning a fire.

I listen. The soft pad of bare feet approaching. I jump to my feet. Frey, startled, does, too.

“You heard it?” he whispers. “I thought it was my imagination.”

Not imagination. Someone is walking around outsde. .

someone or something.

The vampire erupts, bursting the fragile shel of humanity instinctively at the threat. I touch Frey’s chest, growl, “Stay here.”

Then I’m sliding out of the door, sticking close to the wal s of the hogan, a shadow among shadows, a beast among beasts.

I see him, working his way around the hogan, slowly, careful y. Not barefoot. Moccasins on his feet. His smel is familiar. I draw the vampire back enough to appear human before I confront him. His back is to me.

“George?”

His shoulders twitch involuntarily and he whirls around. He releases a sharp breath. “Shit, Anna, you scared me.”

“What are you doing here?”

Frey steps out. “What’s wrong?”

I see now what prompts Frey’s question. George’s face is ashen in the dark, a pale specter, drawn and anxious. He’s dressed in buckskin pants and tan vest. He shifts uneasily under Frey’s intense stare.

Frey grabs his shoulders. “What’s happened?”

George closes his eyes, inhales slowly. “It’s Sarah.”

“Sarah?”

George puts his hands on Frey’s shoulders now, pul s him close. “ Sik is , there’s been an accident.”

FREY LETS HIS HANDS DROP TO HIS SIDES. “WHAT do you mean? What kind of accident?”

George tightens his grip on Frey’s shoulders. “Sarah. And Mary. Coming back from the tribal council. Their truck went off the road. Sarah must have been driving too fast. It flipped.

Neither was wearing a seat belt.”

I watch Frey try to process what George is tel ing him. His body is so stil, his face so expressionless, it scares me. I step closer, drop my voice to a hoarse whisper, asking the question I know Frey is afraid to ask. “What about John-John?”

Frey looks at me, drawing a shaky breath.

George never takes his eyes from Frey. “John-John wasn’t with them. He’s al right. Did you hear me? John-John is home with my wife.”

Frey’s stony expression final y breaks. I sense his pain.

His jaw quivers, his eyes widen, brows draw together with the effort to keep from howling. His body shudders, racked with emotions he has no words to express.

I know what he’s feeling. I’ve felt it myself.

I don’t know how to console him. I do the only thing I can think of. I step between Frey and George and wrap my own arms around my friend’s trembling body.

“What do we need to do?” I ask George, holding Frey tight, supporting him as he leans into me.

“The four who are to prepare the bodies are with them now. They are friends of Sarah’s and wil take care of the ritual bathing. Daniel wil have to choose what items are to be buried with them and how they are to be dressed. He wil also have to choose where they are to be buried.”

From his answers, it is obvious the Navajo have very specific burial customs. No outside police. No funeral homes or embalming. “How long do we have?”

5^Burial wil take place four days from now. Do you wish to return to Sarah’s? I wil bring John-John to his father when he awakens. Daniel should be the one who breaks the news.”