C.E. Murphy - Mountain Echoes

“Y’welcome.” He slid a glance between me and Morrison. “You guys gonna hang around a while?”

“I dunno. Maybe a few days?” I looked at Morrison, who tipped his head sideways in a noncommittal maybe-trending-toward-yes manner.

“That’d be cool.” Aidan hunched his shoulders. “Maybe you can tell me what happened to Lucas.”

I sighed and cast Ada an apologetic look, not knowing how to tell Aidan anything except the truth. “Dad would be able to tell you better. Lucas got caught in the Nothing, Aidan, and thrown into a battlefield. Dad went after him, but it was too late. He’d already been killed. Did you know him very well?” <

Aidan shook his head, eyes fixed on the table. “I met him when he and Sara would come back, but it wasn’t like he was my mom or dad. I didn’t want him to get killed, though.”

“Neither did I.”

“D’you think the ghost shaman was right? If you’d tried to rescue him do you think he woulda come back a sorcerer?”

“I don’t know, kiddo. I do know changing things, messing with the timeline, makes it possible for really bad things to get a foot in the door and kick it open.”

“But you woulda tried anyway, if Sara hadn’t said you shouldn’t.”

“Yeah.”

“Because that’s what good guys do.”

I smiled. “Yeah. Because that’s what good guys do. The right thing, even if it’s the dumb thing.”

Morrison snorted, reminding me he and Ada were there. “It’d be all right, Walker, if you did a little less dumb.”

“I’m working on it, Boss.”

He gave me a look and I smiled as sweetly as I could. Aidan wrinkled his nose and nudged his mother. “They’re bein’ gross, Mom.”

“Yes, they are.” Ada smiled at us, then nudged Aidan in return. “We should go finish breakfast, sweetheart.”

“Okay. Can I order one of everything like Joanne did?” They got up and Aidan ran back to their table. Ada touched my shoulder as she passed me, and my heart lightened a little more, like I’d received a benediction. I exhaled noisily and rubbed my hands over my face, then peeked through my fingers at Morrison.

“Good to be home?” he asked quietly.

I wobbled a shoulder up and down. “Good to get some things hammered out, anyway. Good to... It’ll be good to be leaving, and not running away. There’s still a lot of clean-up to do here, and a lot of people are going to hate me.”

“You saved them.”

“Maybe. Maybe I just brought trouble down on their heads. So many people are dead.”

“A lot of them were tourists.” Morrison’s lip curled. “You know what I mean.”

“You mean the locals won’t hold those deaths against me. I’ll hold them against myself, though, and it doesn’t negate the fact that at least thirty residents did die. It might be better if I never came back.”

“Aidan and your father wouldn’t like that.”

“Aidan and my father could visit us in Seattle, if they wanted to.” But he was right, so I nodded. “It’s not something to worry about right now. I’d like to hang out a few days, if you can take the time off work. Drive back across the country leisurely.”

“Do you even know how to drive leisurely?”

I grinned. “You know what I mean.”

“You mean drive like a bat out of hell when you’re actually on the road, but pull over to see the sights and spend relaxed evenings in decent hotels on the way?”

“Yeah. Something like that.” My phone buzzed in my pocket, startling me, and I tugged it out, asking, “Did you call to ask where I was, yesterday?”

“No. Why?”

“Voice mail. I forgot to check it, but I thought it was probably you.” I answer.” I aed with a cheerful “Hello?”

“Joanie?”

I straightened up, shock spilling down my spine. “Gary? Are you okay?” My septuagenarian best friend never called me Joanie unless something was wrong. Usually something with me, but he couldn’t possibly know what had gone on the past few days. He was in Ireland, for heaven’s sake.

“I called yesterday. You didn’t call back. I’m in Seattle.”

His voice was older and shakier than I’d ever heard it. I got up, hands cold and stomach in knots. “I only saw the message a little while ago and hadn’t had a chance—Gary, what’s wrong? What’s going on? Why are you in Seattle?”

“It’s Annie, Jo. It’s my wife. She’s alive.”

* * * * *

to be concluded in

SHAMAN RISES

the final book of the Walker Papers

Mountain Echoes was written in a blitz, and I am particularly grateful to Kate Laity, who provided me with a spare bedroom and no distractions for a four-day writing retreat during which I wrote a full third of the novel.

I’m also especially grateful to Mikaela Lind, who is the Word Warrior most likely to show up and make me write in the mornings. I’m not sure I would’ve gotten it done in time without her regular appearances.

I’m quite certain I wouldn’t have gotten it done in time if my mom, Rosie Murphy, hadn’t babysat quite a lot, and equally certain that my husband Ted’s taking time off work and sending me on the writing retreat was invaluable. So thank you all most particularly. I couldn’t have done it without you.

(I swear, at some point I’m going to stop running so close to the line, but I don’t know when...)

I’d like to add shout-outs to Paul-Gabriel Wiener for giving me one word where five would do to describe a vehicular analogy, and to Zelerie Rogers for her help with local geography. A general apology is probably also due to Zel for the liberties I’ve taken with Cherokee Town and the Qualla. All changes and inconsistencies are born of my mind, and should not be laid at her feet!

Props are also, always, due to my editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey (who has gone above and beyond the call of duty for the Walker Papers this past year—check out the Gary-focused short story collection No Dominion to see what help she’s been!), to Harlequin’s art department for another stunning cover, and to my agent, Jennifer Jackson. Thank you all for being awesome.