Charles de Lint - Forests of the Heart

“You see?” he said. “Your father’s blood runs true.”

Bettina turned slowly around, drinking in the sounds and smells and sights. Not until this very moment did she realize just how much she had missed it. Truly, the desert was in her blood and she would not be whole living any where else.

That thought made her look at her wolf and recall what he’d said earlier, how perhaps it had been to heal herself that she’d sensed this mysterious call drawing her to Kellygnow. Sometimes one needed distance to appreciate what one had, lying close at hand. So perhaps it was true. Because she had long forgotten how it was to be so grounded as she felt at this moment. This is how it had been for her before everything had changed. Before la Muerte had sent the clown dog for Abuela. Before Papa had forgotten his human form. Before she had turned her back on the promise she had made to los cadejos.

Those old sadnesses rose up to nibble at her joy. She could do nothing for Abuela and if her father slept in a hawk’s thoughts, it would do no harm for him to sleep so a little longer. But the broken promise…

“To call los cadejos to me,” she asked her wolf. “Is it the same as how I brought us here? I must hold the thought of them in my heart and mind and will them to return?”

He nodded. “All but the willing part. It might be better if you simply asked.”

“Porsupuesto, ” she said. Of course.

And if they would not come?

She shook her head and told herself not to think like that. She looked down at the rosary she still held and put it back in the pocket of her vest, unsure of how los cadejos would react to it. Besides, she didn’t need it to help her focus. The memory of their happy voices and rainbow colors was too immediate for her to need any sort of talisman.

She closed her eyes and let the memories rise up.

“Perdona,” she whispered. “Forgive me. It was unfair of me to turn away from you as I did.”

She listened for the sound of their voices, the high-pitched merry yelps.

“Come back. For favor. Tell me how I may make amends.”

She could feel her wolf’s sudden tension at her side and knew what troubled him. One did not lightly put oneself in debt to old spirits such as these. But she didn’t care. The broken promise was an enormous weight that she hadn’t recognized she was carrying until el lobo had spoken of it earlier. She was at fault, so it was up to her to atone.

“I will do whatever you ask,” she said, “so long as it harms no other living thing.”

She reached out into the desert and deep into her heart, searching for the rainbow dogs, but could find no trace of them.

“Perdona,” she said again. “Por favor, mis amigos los espiritus. Do not abandon me as I abandoned you.”

She feared her wolf was wrong. That not even calling to them in this place would be enough.

Their aid in tracking down the Glasduine no longer mattered to her. At this moment it was of far greater importance that she make her peace with them, that she be forgiven her broken promise and given another chance to do right by them.

But if they didn’t come.

If they refused to hear her apology—

“Bettina,” her wolf said softly.

She opened her eyes to look at him and he nodded higher up the hill where a cluster of prickly pear were gathered like a skirt around the base of a towering, many-armed saguaro. The Baboquivari Mountains rose up behind the giant cactus, the rainbow lights that were the mystery of I’itoi Ki spiraling up from the cave hidden in their heart. Then she saw that an echo of the spiral’s rainbow colors was reflected on the ground at the base of the saguaro.

No, she realized. It wasn’t an echo of that light.

There were goat-footed, barrel-chested dogs standing there among the prickly pear, the bright shock of their pelts even more vibrant than the spiral rising in the sky behind them.

Los cadejos had answered her call.

Her heart filled with a sudden happiness that just as quickly drained away. For there was no welcome for her in their small dark eyes. There was no emotion to be read at all.

“There is more… luck gathered here,” he said, “than I have ever seen in one place before.”

Luck, Bettina thought. Sí. Or perhaps it was something darker.

The dogs moved towards them, fanning out in a half-circle, their cloven hooves clicking on the stones underfoot. Their happy voices were silent. The laughter she remembered in their eyes had turned to thoughtful consideration. Their gazes judged.

Bettina shivered. Perhaps what was gathered here was power.

Miki didn’t think she’d ever been more miserable than when she was slogging through this wretched weather. By the time she reached Battersfield Road her wet clothes made her feel as though she’d doubled her weight and her boots squished unpleasantly with every step she took. Her nose was running and she could already feel the telltale tickle at the back of her throat of a cold coming on. With her luck, she’d end up with pneumonia.

Bloody Donal.

What were the chances she’d even be able to get anything through that thick skull of his? Her new vow to watch her temper notwithstanding, if he was standing in front of her right now, she’d be hard-pressed not to pull the baseball bat out of the back of her belt and give him a good whack with it.

She had the streets to herself except for the maintenance crews desperately trying to restore power to the city’s core and the occasional army vehicle. The city and hydro workers were too busy to pay any attention to her, but the soldiers kept trying to be helpful. The third time one of the eight-wheeled Bisons stopped near her, the sergeant insisted that she accompany them to a shelter.

“Is the city under martial law?” she asked.

“It’s officially been declared a disaster zone.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

The sergeant sighed. “No. But be reasonable, miss. At least let us give you a lift to your mother’s house.”

The bit with her mother’s house was starting to wear thin, Miki realized. Next time one of the Bisons stopped for her, she’d have to think up something better. But it was too late to change her story in this instance.

“Right,” she said. “And as soon as you’ve got me on board, you’ll head off to one of these shelters.”

The sergeant shook his head. “I promise you we won’t. First we’ll pick up your mother.”

Oh, great. The mother who didn’t exist. She couldn’t have them drive her anywhere—certainly not to Kellygnow. Donal would go mad to see her pull up in the company of this lot. And since she had no mother waiting for her, there was nowhere else she could have them take her. With the way her luck was running, once they found out she was lying to them, they’d probably arrest her as a potential looter.

“I don’t know how to put this politely,” she said finally as the sergeant waited patiently for her response, “so why don’t you just sod off and make yourself useful with someone who wants your help. Would that be too much to ask?”

With that she marched off as resolutely as she could, feet squishing in her boots as she slid her way along the ice. The fine hairs at the nape of her neck prickled with uneasy tension. She expected them to come after her at any moment, and then what would she do? Defend herself with her trusty baseball bat? Oh, that would be so effective.

But no one followed and a few moments later she heard the vehicle move off.

Amazing. Her good luck was holding. If you could call slopping through this mess good luck.

She continued along Battersfield Road, inching her way along the side of the street where the footing was marginally less treacherous than the glare ice of the sidewalk. Five minutes later she heard another vehicle coming up behind her. Bloody hell. She didn’t know if she had the strength for yet another confrontation. She was so damned wet and cold and tired that the soldiers could just pick her up by the scruff of her neck like some bedraggled kitten and there wouldn’t be a thing she could do about it. But when she turned, it was to see a battered old pickup truck approaching her at a crawl. The driver was dark-haired with a thick moustache, Spanish, or maybe Lebanese. It was hard to tell at this distance. He gave a little honk of his horn, then the truck started to slew into the curb as he braked.