Stormwalker: Nightwalker Part 24

Mick kissed my face, my throat, my belly. The towel remained draped on my body, but Mick was draped there too, like the best blanket, his mouth a place of heat.

I didn't protest when he lifted my hips enough for him to slide into me and start to love me with slow goodness. The towel, still between us, absorbed our sweat in the hot afternoon. His whispers drifted over me along with his magic, drawing off my residual power, healing my body.

Sometime later, after he'd brought me to beautiful, dark climax, I drifted into exhausted sleep.

The shrill peal of a cell phone woke me. I jumped, finding the warm weight of Mick stretched beside me like a protective wall.

He reached down off the bed, plucked his phone from his jeans, and answered it. The strident tones of my grandmother filled the silence.

"Where is Janet? I need to talk to her."

Mick handed the phone to me without a word, not bothering to pretend we weren't in bed together.

"Grandmother?"

"Granddaughter, you need to get home. Right now. You, by yourself. Understand? I don't want to see that Firewalker with you. You know I don't like him." I knew nothing of the sort. Grandmother had developed a fondness for Mick in spite of their rocky start.

"Right now. Do you hear me?" Grandmother's words grew distant from the phone. "Will you stop doing that?"

"Janet." Gabrielle's voice filled my ear. "Get here. It's important." She clicked off.

Mick took the cell back from me, his eyes changing from warm blue to black. He'd heard every word with his dragon hearing, not that my grandmother had bothered to keep her voice down.

"Someone's there with them," I said, and Mick gave me a nod.

"I got the not-so-subtle hint that I should come," he said. "How do you want to do this?" I experienced brief moment of grat.i.tude that Mick grasped essentials quickly without arguing. "I ride up alone." I traced his shoulder, where the line of dragon tattoo began. "You come covertly and back me up. And see if you can find Coyote. I still need to talk to him."

"You didn't tell me what for. What happened?"

I hesitated. No one, Coyote had said. Not even the man I loved best in the world?

Mick rolled up to sit on the edge of the bed, and reached for his clothes. I studied him as he dressed, his black hair that was wild and curly but not overlong, his square jaw, arms replete with muscle, very nice a.s.s. A fine specimen of a man.

Mick didn't radiate the tightness of a person convinced he needed to prove himself. He carried himself easily, quiet until he was ready to strike. Because he knew he was strong and could easily hurt others, he was careful and gentle until the situation forced him to be otherwise.

I'd once seen him turn all his strength on me, and it had terrified me. No, it had nearly killed me.

I still hadn't quite recovered from that ordeal. What happened hadn't been Mick's fault, but when you see your loving boyfriend turn into a monster, it's hard to forget and move on.

Because I lay there inert, Mick opened my dresser, plucked out clean panties and bra and dropped them on top of me. "I think we're supposed to hurry." I slid into the underwear. "Mick, I found the pot."

He stopped in the act of buckling his belt. His dark eyes widened, the black of the dragon still in them.

"Jamison had it." I filled him in on the events of the day, finis.h.i.+ng with me taking the pot away from Jamison and how I'd had to fight to stop myself using it.

Mick's quietness left him, and the cold focus of the dragon pinned me. "Where is it now?"

"Nash has it."

He watched me a moment longer, then gave me a conceding nod. "Smart. Any signal it might give off to those looking for it will be absorbed."

"That's what I thought."

"Hmm." Mick stood there pondering, and my heart thudded in slow, painful beats. Mick was one person Nash would have a hard time besting. Mick's dragon fire wouldn't hurt Nash, but dragons aren't slowed down too much by bullets, and no human jail cell can stand up to fifteen tons of dragon bursting through its walls.

"I need to talk to Coyote," I repeated.

Mick patted me on the b.u.t.tocks, gently pus.h.i.+ng me toward the edge of the bed. "I'll see if I can find him. We really need to get that mirror fixed."

A non sequitur, but I knew what he meant. Journeying northward separately while keeping track of who was doing what would be easier if we could communicate via the magic mirror.

Magic mirrors trumped cell phones every time. We each carried a piece of the thing anyway, in case it did wake up on its own. Sometimes that happened.

As we walked out of the private entrance of the hotel, heading for the shed that contained our motorcycles, Elena emerged from the kitchen door.

"Where are you going?" she asked me. "Don't lie."

"Many Farms," I said.

Elena's eyes narrowed, and she walked across the lot to us. "Trouble?" Mick shrugged. "Probably. We'll find out when we get there." Elena pulled off her chef's ap.r.o.n and dropped it to the ground. "I go with you."

"You can't," I said.

She put her hands on her hips. "Why not?"

"Grandmother told me to come alone, so I think I'd better appear to be alone."

"I'll ride with Mick then. That is your plan, isn't it? You go, and Mick sneaks in behind?"

"It's what Grandmother implied we should do."

"Then I go. With Mick."

Elena wore her stubborn look, the one that said she'd do whatever she d.a.m.n well pleased, and we'd have to live with it. Elena wasn't just a middle-aged, bad-tempered cook. She had powers I hadn't begun to understand.

"Get her a helmet, Mick. I'll meet you up there."

I rose on tiptoe, kissed Mick on the lips, mounted my Softail, and rode out.

I traveled east out of Holbrook on the 40 for about fifty miles, before turning north on the 191, a smooth road on rolling land, leading into the heart of the Navajo Nation.

I knew the rises and falls in this road by heart, the steep hills that dropped to tiny river valleys-the washes dry today-the T intersection in Ganado, which split into the road to Window Rock to the east and the highway on to Chinle to the left. I turned left, zipped around the new roundabout a few miles west, and headed more or less straight north.

As I crested the next big hill, a wide valley opened to my right, a vista of variegated hills rising to the mountain range behind it. Beautiful Valley, it was called on maps, and I'd always agreed. My heart lightened when I saw it, because I knew that in another thirty miles or so, I'd be home.

A storm hung out over the mountains east of Chinle and Canyon de Ch.e.l.ly, the sky black, a gray curtain of rain sweeping over the ridge toward the highway.

Today I was almost oblivious to the beauty that surrounded me as I hurried northward.

Almost. This land was in my bones. No matter what the crisis, I was part of this place, tasting it, living it, feeling it.

I slowed to drive through Chinle, with its inhabitants-human, equine, bovine-wandering the roads. A friend of Jamison's, filling up his truck at a gas station, recognized me and waved, and I waved back but kept on going. Rude of me not to stop and say h.e.l.lo, but my worry about Grandmother drove me on.

I rode into the small town of Many Farms at dusk, the storms now behind me. The dying sun lit the broken clouds fuchsia, golden, and brilliant orange, and illuminated the stark sandstone b.u.t.te north of town.

I made sure to raise my hand in greeting to those I pa.s.sed as I rode through, and to travel at a reasonable speed, so no one would guess I was hurrying home in a panic. I didn't want half the town following me to see what was wrong at Ruby Begay's place.

I wasn't worried as much for my Grandmother and Gabrielle, who were very good at taking care of themselves. But unless my father had gone to Farmington with Gina, he'd be there in the middle of whatever was wrong.

I prayed to every G.o.d in the universe that he'd gone to Farmington, but that hope died as soon as I turned onto the narrow track that led to the house and saw his pickup there.

I killed my engine, parked, and left my helmet on the back of the bike.

Our long, low-roofed house looked quiet-which was highly unusual. Usual was one or more of my nieces playing in the yard, whatever aunt had come to visit arguing with my grandmother in the kitchen. My dad would be out tinkering with his truck, and these days Gina would be either helping him or sitting on the porch putting together the jewelry she made and sold.

Today no doors or windows were open, and I spied no movement inside the house.

I walked up to the front door without being challenged. I'd have sensed dragon aura loud and clear, and I didn't, so I knew neither Drake nor Colby was the source of the problem.

I did sense Gabrielle's aura, the bright, sharp edges of it. Whoever had managed to enter the house would have had to get past her as well as my grandmother. That didn't bode well.

The mystery was solved when I opened the door and walked inside.

My father and Gina Tsotsie sat side by side on the living room sofa. My father looked angry and so did Gina. Gina was a large woman, built along Bear's lines, a little younger than my father. She shared his quietness, and they said nothing at all when I entered.

My grandmother, wearing her traditional skirts and blouse, stood in the opening between kitchen and living room, her cane planted in front of her. Gabrielle had turned one of the kitchen chairs backwards and sat straddling it. She was the only one who looked interested instead of angry, the only one who didn't project an aura of fear.

I'd met the man who stood in my living room once before. He was about the same height as my small-statured dad and had neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper hair. He wore a designer business suit with a silk tie, polished top-of-the-line shoes, and eyegla.s.ses with tiny diamonds on the temple pieces. Behind the gla.s.ses, his eyes held the coldness of a thousand winters.

Emmett Smith. Also known as the ununculous, the most powerful mage in the world, and the man Pericles McKinnon wanted to topple from his throne. In my house.

I directed my words at Gabrielle and my grandmother. "You let him in?"

"He walked in," Gabrielle said. "Watch this."

A ball of Beneath magic manifested inside her fist. Gabrielle never worried about tearing apart the fabric of the world if her Beneath magic rippled out of control-she just let fly.

She hurled the ball at Emmett. The magic hit a barrier around Emmett, which s.h.i.+mmered for a moment like a sci-fi special effect, then the Beneath magic whipped around him and hurtled back toward Gabrielle.

Gabrielle caught the radiant ball like an outfielder grabbing a pop fly. She clapped her hands around it, and the Beneath glow dispersed.

Her eyes shone, and she breathed a little faster. "Isn't that cool?" No, it was terrifying. Emmett Smith had figured out how to s.h.i.+eld against Beneath-G.o.ddess magic.

"I told you that when we met again, Stormwalker, it would be an interesting day," Emmett said. "My research turned up that you had a half-G.o.ddess sister and a grandmother who is master at Dine earth magic, so I've spent the time since our last meeting honing my defenses against such things."

I studied him, finger to my lips. "While you're stuck behind that barrier, can you do any magic of your own?"

"He can," Gabrielle said. Her voice went somber. "He did."

"Is anyone hurt?" I looked at my father in alarm, but he shook his head.

Gina answered me. "He beat Gabrielle's body against the floor. She tried to stop him coming inside, and he picked her up with some kind of spell and hurled her down.

Repeatedly." Her anger radiated into her aura, overwhelming her fear.

Gabrielle didn't look bruised or b.l.o.o.d.y, but her dark eyes held a bright gleam. Too bright.

"It was awesome," she said.

I swung to Emmett. "You touch my sister again, I won't care how many craters I make in the world when I kill you."

Gabrielle's smile widened. "Aw, Janet. That's sweet. Can I help?" Emmett adjusted his gla.s.ses. "This is touching, but what I came here to get is the pot. Bring it to me, and I'll think about letting your family live." I put myself between him and Gabrielle and folded my arms. "Leave my family alone, and I'll think about letting you live."

Emmett's smile widened, his eyes still as cold as all the ice floes in the Arctic. "Hmm, I knew this would be interesting. Where is the vessel?"

"I don't have it."

"But you know where it is. Call one of your minions and order him to bring it here."

"Minions." I looked at him, straight-faced. "Are you serious?"

"You're a powerful magical being. You might pretend you don't look down on those of lesser magnitude, but you do. You regard everyone below your power level as either useful or entertaining. Which one is the dragon?"

"Insulting me is not going to convince me turn the artifact over to you," I said.

Emmett's eyes widened. "You think I was trying to insult you? It's truth. It's how you think."

"No, it's how you think. You care only for power, not people."

"Not true actually, but I won't let you get around me by trying to figure out what broke my heart in the past. The one vulnerability of the dark mage. Is that right? What a cliche. I don't have any vulnerabilities."

I folded my arms. "So you call yourself a dark mage, do you?"

"I'm the ununculous," Emmett said patiently. "Neither dark nor light-I just am. Dark and light designations are for amateurs, for feel-good witches to write about in popular books about magic, which they spell with a K. Where is your dragon, by the way?"

"Not with me."

"I know that, but again, you know where he is. Don't play with words, Stormwalker.

You're not good at it."

"I thought you wanted me to come alone."

"Yes, but I heard your grandmother's not very well-veiled plea for you to bring him along. I imagine he's hovering out there somewhere, going over tactics for how to extract you with the minimum number of casualties. Micalerianic.u.m thinks like a general and always will. Doesn't matter how much you've softened him up by agreeing to marry him in the human way." He gestured to the silver and turquoise ring that clasped my finger.

I sent him a smile. "Are you trying to beat me down by stirring up my emotions about Mick? Talk about cliche."