Dreamwalker (Stormwalker #5)(61)

“Yeah, he does.” I smiled weakly. “Better than I deserve.”

Dad gave me a wise look, obviously disagreeing. “You deserve all happiness, my daughter.”

My heart squeezed in a way that hurt. “Thanks for coming down. I know you hate hospitals even more than I do.” I paused. “I heard your flute. It was beautiful—it pulled me awake. Thank you.”

My father’s dark eyes softened but his cheeks burned a little red, my dad always embarrassed when someone praised his playing. “We’d not leave you alone,” he said. “Your grandmother led the way. You should have seen her running for the truck, shouting for us all to come, and to hurry. She loves you very much, Janet.”

When I’d been a child, I’d been convinced Grandmother had hated me. Now I knew her anger at me had been born of fear. She’d been terrified my mother would rise up in me and not only hurt my dad but take me—the real Janet—away from them. Grandmother’s harsh lessons had taught me to be strong, to fight even myself.

“I love her too.” My smile deepened. “I’d like to see her face when you tell her that.”

We shared an amused look, my dad and me. We knew exactly how Grandmother reacted when she feared being sentimental.

“Go home,” I said to him. “You should be concentrating on your wedding, not your messed-up daughter.”

By my dad’s expression he didn’t agree, but he nodded. “Your grandmother wants it to be a grand ceremony. All the old ways with everyone in the family attending.”

Everyone in the family meant a mob scene. I think my dad’s ancestors attempted to populate the entire planet with Begays. I needed a chart to keep my many cousins straight.

“She’s excited,” I told him. “You’re marrying a normal woman from a normal family.”

“Gina has shamanism in her family. And talent.” My dad sounded proud. Gina did make lovely jewelry, sometimes with turquoise and other semiprecious stones, sometimes with a simple mix of gold and silver.

“She’s wonderful,” I said. “I’m just as excited for you as Grandmother is.”

My dad gave me one of his rare smiles. “Gina reminds me of you.”

Without explaining what he meant, my father rose, touched my forehead with steady fingers, and left me.

***

I stayed in the hospital two more days. I finally persuaded my dad to go back to Many Farms, though my grandmother told me pointedly that she’d have him and Gina drop her off at my hotel. They left, and I felt better. I didn’t want them anywhere near a place where Emmett had a base.

With Mick’s healing magic and my returning strength, I recovered quickly, to the surprise of the doctors. When I felt well enough and the hospital discharged me, I asked Mick to book a hotel room in the heart of downtown.

From there, we went in search of Emmett Smith.





Chapter Twenty

From my hospital room, I’d been able to look down on a freeway through the city and the sea of humanity hemming us in. It made me crazy.

True, I could lift my gaze and focus on the low mountains that snaked through town, rising free of buildings like islands of calm. The city had agreed long ago to keep the inner mountains as a preserve, places of serenity for its inhabitants to enjoy.

Even so, the aura of so many living on top of each other made my skin itch. The only time I’d ever stayed in such a place was Flagstaff when I’d attended NAU. Then, at least, I was comforted by the San Francisco peaks raising their snowy heads above the town, and the fact that a fifteen-minute drive through traffic would take me to open country. Here, a person could drive for hours and still be surrounded by city. It made me claustrophobic.

Mick took it in stride as usual. He booked us into a swanky high-rise hotel only a block or two from Emmett’s building. The morning after my release from the hospital, we breakfasted in a busy restaurant that served tasty food, and walked from the shadows of its doorway into the sunshine.

It was a Tuesday. Anyone I’d met from Phoenix talked a lot about what they did on weekends—camping, boating on one of the many lakes, hiking, swimming, golfing, heading for the Grand Canyon or Mexico, or up to the White Mountains or Flag to ski. To hear them you’d think Phoenix was all about being outdoorsy and sporty. But that was on the weekend. During the week, downtown Phoenix was all about work.

I’d been to Manhattan, where I’d found something entertaining around every corner. In Phoenix, there’s another office around every corner. Restaurants, sure, but only to feed people in the offices. After five, many of the restaurants close, and most people go home to the suburbs, unless there was an event downtown, like a baseball or basketball game. I’d watched the mad crush on the freeway from my hospital room, everyone scrambling to get back to the far-flung reaches of the metropolis, leaving the center of town mostly deserted.