Darknight(94)

Connor’s phone buzzed. He must have set it to vibrate the night before. I glanced over at him, expecting to see him lean over to pick it up, but he ignored it, gaze still fixed on the sky outside.

After a few more buzzes, it went silent. A second or two ticked by, and then it began buzzing again.

“Goddammit,” he said, and finally retrieved it. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the display, then lifted it to his ear. “What?”

His brusque tone seemed to indicate it must be someone in the family. I certainly couldn’t imagine him talking that way to Joelle, or any of his civilian friends. I knotted my hands in my lap and waited, hoping it was merely Lucas calling to give another progress report.

But then Connor said, “We’ll be over in an hour. See you then.” He ended the call, and tossed the phone back on the coffee table.

I winced as it smacked against the glass surface, but luckily neither of them seemed about to shatter. After waiting a second or two and realizing he wasn’t about to volunteer any information, I asked, “Who was that?”

“Marie. She wants us to come over.”

Great. Although I knew it was necessary to meet with her, since she seemed to have a better grasp of the situation than anyone else, I wasn’t really looking forward to it. Something about her set my teeth on edge.

Worse, though, was the realization that Connor had just told her we’d be there in an hour, and we were both sitting on the couch in assorted pajama bottoms and T-shirts and sweatshirts. No way I’d have time to wash my hair.

I stood up. “Well, I’d better shower, then.”

Before yesterday, such a statement would have led to him offering to join me at least half the time. Now he gave the barest of nods and said, “Okay.”

Since I knew better than to push it, I only nodded as well and went upstairs.



* * *



Marie didn’t live all that far away; we ended up walking, since her house was located on the northeast side of the downtown section. The homes here were mostly older, maybe not quite as old as the buildings in Jerome, but still probably constructed in the early years of the last century. I imagined it must be beautiful in the summer or in the fall as the leaves on all the tall old trees turned, but now they were still bare and forlorn. Spring came late to Flagstaff.

I’d somehow managed to keep myself from indulging in idle chitchat to fill up the terrible silence between us. With Connor so on edge, I didn’t want to do or say anything to set him off. As we walked, I couldn’t help brooding over what Marie wanted to say to us. Give us tips on how to kill a skin-walker?

Her house was a pretty two-story Craftsman painted a warm barn red. Funny, but somehow I hadn’t imagined her living in a place like this. Stark adobe seemed more her style.

We paused on the front porch, and she opened the door almost as soon as Connor rang the bell. Had she been staring out the window, waiting for us?

As always, she looked serene enough, but I saw the slightest narrowing of her eyes as she greeted her cousin and invited us in. The furnishings were simple — a brown couch and matching chair, although both had colorful pillows with southwestern patterns to liven them up a bit. Navajo weavings hung on the walls, although the floors were bare wood.

“Sit down,” she said, pointing to the sofa.

It seemed more a command than a request. But I didn’t protest, just took a seat on the couch. After a brief hesitation, Connor did the same.

Usually this was around the time when someone would offer coffee or tea, or at least water, but Marie didn’t seem too inclined to play hostess. Instead, she crossed her arms and stared down at us. “This will not get better,” she said. “This is not something we can ignore. The yee naaldlooshii will continue to kill until it is stopped.”

“His name is Damon.” Connor’s voice was quiet, but I could hear the edge to his tone.

“Once, perhaps.” Marie looked from him to me, where her gaze rested. “To become the yee naaldlooshii is to lose one’s humanity. And Damon is in an even worse case than those who have taken this darkest road before him, because he did not approach it with the proper respect. In arrogance, he reached out for a power he did not understand, one he underestimated, thinking it lesser than the magic that has lived in this family’s blood for uncounted generations. There is no going back from such a thing.”

“There must be,” Connor protested. “I refuse to believe that there is no way to bring him back to himself.”

For the first time her expression softened, and I realized she did care for Connor a good deal, even if hers was not the type of personality to reveal such a thing willingly. “For your sake, I wish it were possible. But it isn’t. The only release for Damon is in death. Perhaps then his soul can finally find some peace.”