Jeanne Stein - Crossroads

“What people like George and his wife do, skinwalkers and witches who work black magic against innocents, they are a curse.”

“And stil, you don’t want Daniel to go with you?”

“If it was a matter of stopping them from attacking John-John, I would send Frey by himself. He deserves revenge.

But if George is also behind the counterfeiters, I am in a better position to extract information in a more—” I hesitate, choosing the word. “ Restrained manner.”

A smile touches the corners of his mouth. “You must be careful. Of both George and his wife. We can’t be sure who is the most powerful.” He dips a hand into his pocket. “Do you want to take my car? A police vehicle may catch them off guard.”

“No. I can cover ground faster on my own.” I head for the window, slide it open. “Stay in here as long as you can. Frey wil think we are stil talking. Once he knows the truth, it wil be hard to convince him not to fol ow.”

I climb out, stretch, cal vampire. Kayani is saying something, but we’re already off, racing the wind, racing toward evil. His words fade like shadows before the approaching sunrise. Freedom, excitement and anticipation send the flush of bloodlust to warm cold limbs.

Vampire looks forward to this meeting. Vampire wil show what it is to be feared.

THEY ARE TALKING QUIETLY INSIDE, GEORGE AND his wife. I hear the words, but it is in a language unfamiliar to me.

I wish they were vampire or shape-shifter so I could understand.

I crouch beneath a window, straighten to look up. They are in the kitchen and they have a wreath of something on the table that they are taking apart and reforming into smal er bundles.

My gut twists. Garlic. They are making talismans of it. They are expecting me.

I back away, watch, sniff. The odor comes only from here.

They have not yet pol uted the rest of the house with the one substance my system cannot abide.

I need to get them to come outside.

I find a rock. Hurl it through the front window. Then another.

I slide under the porch and wait for the front door to open.

George’s feet clump above my head. His angry words frighten a flock of birds into screeching flight. He yel s in English and Navajo, not sure if the rocks were thrown by tourists who have wandered far from the public lands, or neighborhood boys looking to make trouble. Before the echo of his words bounce off the mesa, I’ve punched through the wooden decking and grabbed his ankle. One good pul, and he is tumbling down the steps, a startled cry punctuating his fal.

His wife comes to the door to see what has happened.

What she sees is vampire, holding her husband by the neck, teeth bared and yel ow eyes flashing.

She runs back inside, comes out with one of those foul wreaths clutched to her chest. “Let him go, devil.” She shakes the garlic at me. “You cannot hurt us.”

My answer is to nuzzle George’s neck, my teeth gently biting. The sound of his blood rushing with fear under that thin, fragile layer of skin makes my own heart pound with excitement.

George smel s of panic. He feels my teeth at his neck, he is afraid to pul away. He says something in Navajo to his wife.

She takes a step closer. “No. She cannot hurt us. We are more powerful.”

She needs to be convinced that vampire is serious. I worry at his neck, not deep enough to reach the source, just deep enough to cause blood to leak from a smal wound. And to cause pain. While he squirms and squeals, I lick at his blood with glee, savoring the texture, the unfamiliar taste of his blood. It is delicious. I taste earth and sun and history stretching back through time.

I want more.

George’s screams interrupt my pleasure.

His wife looks at me with more respect now. “What do you want from us?”

It is difficult to pul vampire back, to let the human Anna come forth to ask the questions that must be asked. I relinquish my awareness reluctantly but not my hold on George.

“Why John-John?” I ask in a guttural voice.

George and his woman exchange looks. I take another nip, lap another trickle of blood before it stains his shirt. He cries out. “Tel her.”

The woman breathes out the words. “We had nothing against the child. We meant only to frighten him. Get his father to take him away. We were afraid Mary might have told him our secret.”

“ Our secret? You two and Mary?”

She nods.

“What secret?”

“The artifacts.” The words at first come hesitantly, then more quickly as the woman spins her tale. “It was Mary’s idea. Make them. Sel them on the black market. She had connections in the city.”

Even hearing it, vampire has trouble grasping that Mary would conceive of such an idea. “Why would she do it?”

The woman looks surprised I’d ask such a question. “For the money. Mary wanted money to get off the reservation.

She had no intention of coming back after col ege the way her sister had.”

“Then why kil her?”

George finds his voice. “We didn’t plan to kil her. She found out what was to be discussed at the council meeting.

She was afraid we would betray her , so she decided to betray us first. She had a meeting with the two men who were helping us. She didn’t know I was joining them. When I appeared, she acted like everything was fine. But I could tel.

She was hiding something.”

George’s wife tosses the wreath of garlic behind her. A show of good faith, I suppose. Vampire is stil leery. “When we found out that an investigation was about to be launched, we went to speak again to the men working with us. They told us they already knew. That Mary said we should stop until things quieted down. But we could tel they were holding back.”

She pauses, her expresion tel s me she’s gauging what she should say next. “We persuaded them to tel us the rest.

Mary planned to turn George and I in as the smugglers. If we didn’t agree to take the blame, she’d reveal that we were skinwalkers. She had proof for both, the rock from the cave and some of our charms. After a time, she could start the operation up again, sel only overseas. Safer that way.”

“And where are the men who told you this?”

Another pause. “Gone.”

I’l bet. Dead, more likely.

“How did you cause the accident?”

“I appeared as bear,” George says. “I could see that Sarah and Mary were arguing. Sarah tried to stop in time, but she was going too fast. When the car rol ed, they both were thrown into the road.” A sharp intake of breath. “You have to believe me. I didn’t mean to kil Mary. Only scare her into keeping quiet.”

I think of Mary. Col ege student. Her whole life ahead of her. “Did Sarah know what Mary was doing?”

George shakes his head, careful y, aware that my teeth are stil within tearing range. “No. Maybe. It could be what they were arguing about in the truck. Mary may have said something to make Sarah suspicious. Or Sarah might have found the cash Mary kept hidden in her room and made the connection on her own after she heard what the elders were to discuss. Sarah had respect for our ways.”

“Who shot me with the bone charm?” I ask the question, part of me dreading the answer.

“Mary.” George is quick to distance himself from the act.

“She didn’t want a stranger hanging around. She knew you were vampire, knew it would make you so sick, Frey was likely to take you away.”

“So Mary was a skinwalker, too?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I saw no one near when I was shot. She couldn’t have gotten away so quickly on foot or by car.”

“She would use the cave,” George said. “She knew them wel.”