River Marked Part 13

He smiled at me.

"Some people like fis.h.i.+ng," said Adam dryly. "Necessary or not."

Gordon laughed. He had a good laugh. "I do. That I do. Still, sometimes in the struggle much is gained that would not be otherwise." Then the amus.e.m.e.nt faded out of his face. "Sometimes the fish gets hurt. I will tell you a story while you get ready to feed the people who are coming. There will be just three more in addition to those of us who are here." He smiled at my frown. "I am an old man. And old men get to act mysterious. I talked to Jim about ten minutes ago. He and the Owens brothers are coming. Calvin has been set to watch at the hospital, where Benny is showing signs of not being as well as they previously thought. He keeps trying to get out of bed, and they have had to restrain him."

I thought of the way Janice Morrison, whom I would never meet, had walked willingly into the river with her struggling children.

"What do you know of how those who are like you came to be, Mercy?" Gordon asked.

"I don't, much."

Adam encompa.s.sed us both with a single sharp look, then went to the campsite grill and stuffed newspaper and charcoal into the charcoal chimney. He granted us the illusion of privacy because Gordon obviously wanted to talk to me-but he would listen.

It made me itch, that protective streak of his. But one of the things the past few months had taught me was that it ran both ways. Anyone who tried to hurt my wolf had me to deal with. I might be a thirty-five-pound coyote, but I played dirty.

Gordon grunted in approval. "One time before this, Coyote came upon a village where the chief had a beautiful daughter. Coyote disguised himself as a handsome young hunter. He killed a deer, slung it over his shoulders, and took it to the chief as a gift. 'Chief,' he said, 'let me court your daughter for my wife.' "

"Is this the polite version?" I asked dryly.

Gordon displayed his missing front tooth but didn't slow down his retelling. "The chief didn't know it was Coyote who looked at his daughter. 'Hunter,' said the chief, 'you can court her, but my daughter chooses her own husband.'

"So Coyote began to court the chief's daughter. He brought her fresh meat, tanned hides, and beautiful flowers. She thanked him for each of his gifts. Finally, Coyote went to her father, and said, 'What gift can I bring her that would impress her enough to take me as her husband?'

"'Ask my daughter,' said the chief.

"So Coyote the Hunter went to the daughter and asked her what gift she wanted most of all.

"'I would most like a pool of quiet water where I could bathe in private,' she told him.

"So Coyote, he went out to a quiet place in the woods, and he built her a pool at the base of a waterfall. He diverted a stream so that it flowed down the fall and into the pool. When the chief's daughter saw the pool, she agreed to marry Coyote-still in his guise as a hunter. She welcomed him to her pool, and they laughed and played in it until the woods rang with their happiness." The old man paused. "I think that is enough of the story. It ends tragically, as it usually does when two such different people love each other." There was a sharpness to his tone as he said the last sentence that made it obvious he wasn't just talking about Coyote and the chief's daughter.

I frowned at him. "Lots of people who have more influence over both of us than you do have made that observation. We didn't listen to them, either."

"Is it the werewolf or the Anglo that bothers you?" asked Adam, bringing a bag of premade hamburger patties out of the trailer. Other than his question, he didn't pay any attention to us as he pa.s.sed by on the way to the grill.

"Wolves eat coyotes," Gordon said, but from his body language, I could tell that our marriage really didn't bother him one way or the other; he just enjoyed stirring the pot.

If he weren't an old man, I had some rude things I could have said to that.

"Yes," observed Adam blandly. "I do."

Yep. That was the one that came to mind. And he didn't even blush when he said it. Maybe Gordon would miss the double entendre. But he grinned cheerfully at Adam.

"Do you know," I said casually, "that the Blackfeet tell Old Man stories and not Coyote stories? The Lakota's trickster is Iktomi-the spider-though he tends to land more on the side of evil than simple chaos."

The old man smiled slyly. "That's because Coyote goes in many guises. And"-he shook a hand at me-"chaos is never simple unless you are Coyote."

"So what did the story have to do with me?" I asked, not really expecting an answer.

"The chief's daughter, who was, for a while, Coyote's wife, had a daughter-and she could walk as coyote or human, as could her sons."

"So I am descended from Coyote-and that red-tailed hawk we saw at Horsethief Lake"-I somehow didn't doubt that Gordon knew about it-"is descended from Hawk."

"Ayah," he said. "A walker walker"-he gave a studied emphasis on the only term I knew for what I was; "avatar" sounded like something that should be running around an Internet multiplayer game or covered with blue paint and CGI'd into a movie-"is descended from one of these matings of mortal to immortal. But it has been a long time since they walked so freely among us, and for many years now the only way one is born is for both parents to be descended from such a coupling."

"Which is why Calvin was so certain I couldn't be a walker," I said. "My mother, as far as I know, is Western European-mostly German and Irish in descent."

"Ayah," agreed Gordon. "I do not doubt it. Which is why I ask you, do you know who your father was?"

I heard what he wanted me to. I didn't know why he'd decided to play games with me, but I was done. My father had nothing to do with whatever it was that had attacked poor Benny and his sister. Gordon Seeker, whatever he was, was nothing to me.

"He was a rodeo cowboy," I said. If I'd been in coyote form, I'd have had my ears pinned back. "He rode bulls and was moderately good at it. My mother was riding her friend's horse and trying to win enough money to survive. He gave her a place to stay for a while. He was killed in a car wreck before my mother even knew she was pregnant with me."

Adam watched from the grill. His eyes rested on the old man with cool yellow dispa.s.sion. I sucked in a breath and tried not to get mad-or let this stranger hurt me with a story older than I was. Emotions seemed to pa.s.s easier through the mating ties than words or thoughts. I was learning to control myself a little more now that Adam could feel them, too.

"Yes," said Gordon gently. "I am sure that you are right, of course. Joe Old Coyote died thirty-three years ago on a stretch of highway in eastern Montana." He looked up. "Ah, here they are."

I got the keycard out of the truck. "I'll let them in," I said, and escaped at a jog.

What the old man implied was wrong. If I was tempted for a moment to believe-to believe that my father might still be alive because Coyote died all the time only to be reborn the next morning-then I had only to remember that I had seen his ghost dance for me. My father was dead. I stretched out and turned my jog into a flat-out run, letting the speed clear my head.

I opened the gate for Jim, who did indeed have Fred and Hank Owens sitting next to him.

"Hop in the back," suggested Jim, once the truck was on the campground side of the gate. "I'll give you a ride on down."

I hadn't ridden in the back of a pickup since I was a kid, and it was still fun. I jumped out before he stopped, just to see if I still could. I landed on my feet but let the momentum roll me backward and carry me back onto my feet again. It was a matter of timing. My foster father had taught me how to do that after he caught me trying to imitate him.

"Teaching her how to do it right, so she doesn't break her fool neck," he'd growled, while my foster mother, Evelyn, fussed, "is likely to be less fatal than forbidding her to do it, because that doesn't work at all."

He had been awesome.

So what if an old Indian thought my father was Coyote? My father had really been Bryan, the man who'd raised me. He'd been there for me when I needed him, until Evelyn died and he hadn't been able to survive the loss. After that, I'd had Bran.

If Bran and Coyote battled it out, I'd put my money on Bran. The thought restored my usual cheery outlook.

I dusted off my backside, and Adam rolled his eyes at me, looking remarkably like his daughter when he did so. "I bet Bran yelled at you for doing stuff like that," he said, but he didn't sound too upset.

"I haven't done it in a long time," I admitted. "Does it still look cool?"

He laughed, ruffled my hair, and welcomed our guests.

We ate hamburgers, chips, and macaroni salad. We made small talk about the weather, the river, living in Was.h.i.+ngton, living in Montana, living in the military, and thereby gaining a little bit of a fix on the character of people who had been strangers a few hours ago. Eating has been a ritual between allies for nearly as long as there have been people, and all of us were well aware of the subtext.

Gordon Seeker, I noticed, didn't talk much. Just leaned back on a camp chair and watched with an avid gaze that reminded me a little of the river devil. He caught me looking and smiled like the Ches.h.i.+re cat.

"I think," said Jim finally as he dumped his empty paper plate in the garbage can, "we should introduce ourselves again. To know our allies is a good thing. I am Jim Alvin of the Yakama Nation. My mother was Wish-ram, my father Yakama, and I possess a little magic of the people." He took his seat on the picnic-table bench where he'd eaten and turned to the Owens brothers.

"Fred Owens," said Fred, though his brother was the one who sat next to Jim. "USMC retired." He glanced at Adam and smiled. "Red-tailed hawk when it suits me. Rancher."

"Hank Owens," his brother said. "USMC retired. Rancher. Welder. Red-tailed hawk when it suits him." He tilted his head at his brother. Evidently it was a family joke because his brother smiled a little. "It was Fred who couldn't let Calvin handle the job on his own."

"We left Calvin-" Jim began to explain, but Gordon interrupted him.

"-at the hospital. I told them."

There was a little strain between Jim and Gordon that reminded me of when there were two Alphas in the room. They might be allies, even friends, but they were waiting for the slightest sign of weakness or aggression.

"Adam Hauptman," said my husband, who was sitting in the second of our camp chairs. "Alpha of the Columbia Basin Pack. Army, honorably discharged 1973. Mate and husband of Mercedes Thompson Hauptman. In my spare time, I run a security firm."

Jim gave him a startled look. I was surprised myself. Werewolves might be out, but the public doesn't know everything. And one of the things that Bran was not telling the public about werewolves was that they were immortal.

"Long time ago," observed Fred.

"Vietnam," said Hank. "You were a ranger in Vietnam."

From my observation post on the ice chest, I watched Adam's face. He'd offered the chair-but I hate the camp chairs. Ten minutes, and my feet are falling asleep.

What was he up to? If Bran found out, he wouldn't be pleased. But Adam always had a reason for what he did. I usually figured it out about five years after the fact. He seemed to be watching Gordon. Maybe it was something as simple as acknowledging that we were all going to be sharing secrets before this was over.

"Nasty time," said Jim.

Adam tipped his water bottle toward Jim, then brought it up to tip his imaginary hat. He looked at me.

"Mercedes Thompson Hauptman," I said, obedient to the look that told me he wanted to move things along. "VW mechanic. Coyote walker mated to Adam Hauptman."

"Gordon Seeker," said Gordon. "But Indian names change from time to time. I have had others. I work a little healing, a little magic, a little of this and that. When I was young, I was a mighty hunter, but it has been a long time since I was young." He eyed Adam. "Maybe even longer ago than when this one was as young as he looks."

"All right," said Adam, when it became obvious that the old man had said all he intended to. "Jim and Calvin told us a few things this afternoon. Namely that we have a monster in the river that has killed at least one person-though the tally is unlikely to stop with Benny's sister. Let me tell you some things you don't know-some of which might not have anything to do with our current problem at all." He told them about the faes' redirection of our honeymoon, including Yo-yo Girl Edythe's prophecy and the otterkin who had been relocated to the Columbia.

Fred frowned and glanced at Jim. "I told you those otters we saw looked odd. Their heads are the wrong shape."

"I have seen them," said Gordon, his voice dismissing their importance. "Prophecy is a weak crutch to lean on."

"Have you met Edythe?" I asked in an interested voice. "Short. Usually looks about ten?"

Gordon raised his eyebrows, and I thought that the answer might have been yes.

I smiled cheerfully at him. "Fae are deceptive. The weaker and more harmless they appear, the more dangerous they are likely to be. Edythe is probably the scariest monster in a raft of scary monsters. I'm not inclined to discount anything she said. And I'm not sure relegating the otterkin to harmless-even though our contact with the fae seemed to be doing it-is very smart."

"They aren't eating people," observed Fred.

"That you know of," I said at the same time that Adam said, "Yet."

He smiled at me. "I'll admit that they don't appear to be part of this-but I don't like that they are here. They were watching Mercy when she pulled Benny out of the water."

"I have a few more things to add," I said. And just then the wind picked up a little, and Benny's sister, Faith, sat down beside me on the edge of the ice chest. I looked at the others-at Fred, Hank, and Gordon, who were supposed to be like me-expecting . . . I don't know. Some sort of recognition, I suppose. But no one jumped up and exclaimed the dead woman's name-or even seemed to see her. Not even Gordon Seeker.

"It wants him," she said. She wasn't looking at me; she was looking at Hank.

"Him who?" I asked.

"Benny." She sighed. "Stupid. I know better than to lean out over the water like that. But he was stupid, too. I can swim. He should have stayed in the boat. But now . . . it's like the crocodile in Peter Pan Peter Pan. It's had a bite of him and wants the whole meal."

"We'll keep him safe," I told her.

Everyone was watching us-or me at least. Adam had stood and was holding up his hand, keeping the others from interrupting. It might not be important-sometimes ghosts could be incredibly stubborn. But sometimes a loud noise or a sudden move, and they disappeared like rabbits.

"I don't know if you can keep him safe," she said sadly. "You know, in the story, all the first people the river monster ate came back to life after it was dead."

"I thought Coyote left it alive?"

She turned toward me, finally, and smiled. It didn't look like a smile that should be on the face of a dead woman. She had a good smile. "There are several versions of that story. When he was a little boy, Calvin always did like the ones in which everyone lived."

She stood up and wandered over to the grill, her fingers pa.s.sing through the grating, and pressed on the coals beyond.

"Be careful," she told me, her gaze on the coal. "When it marks someone, they belong to it." She looked at Hank again.

"It was always him for me, you know? Ever since high school. But he never had eyes for me." She turned to me in sudden alarm. "Don't tell him that. He doesn't deserve to feel guilty."

"I won't," I a.s.sured her.

"And don't believe Jim's mysterious-Indian schtick, either. He's got a Ph.D. in psychology and taught over at UW in Seattle until he retired last year."

She put her hands back on the grill, but this time she didn't go through the grating but kept them on top of the hot metal, tapping her fingers lightly on the grill as if it fascinated her that she could do that without burning herself. I wanted to go and pull them off, even though I knew it couldn't hurt her anymore.

She glanced at the Owens brothers. "And Fred trains cuttin' horses. He's starting to make a name for himself. Hank works with him on the business side, then does welding to help balance the books."

"Why are you telling me all this?" I asked.

"So I remember," she whispered. "Tell them not to call my name. I don't want to stay here like this. Tell Benny I'm okay. Tell him to pick a flower for me and put it on Mama's grave this year for me."

I had never dealt with a ghost quite this coherent before. Usually, they don't even notice me. The few that do don't really seem to be aware that they are dead.

"I'll tell them," I promised, helpless to do anything to make this easier on anyone.

She looked up and met my eyes-and in hers I could see a flicker of violent green, the color of the river devil's eyes. "See that you do."

And she was gone.

Adam, watching me, dropped his hand when I met his eyes.

"Thanks," I told him.

"What the h.e.l.l is that?" growled Hank. "Who were you talking to?"

"I thought that all walkers could see the dead," I said. "It's why the vampires don't like us."

"Vampires?" said Fred. "There are vampires?"