Doomsday Can Wait (23 page)

"Wait—" He put his hand up, palm facing the windshield, as if he could make the road in front of us disappear.

I cast an uneasy glance at the pavement, but it was still there.

"Ruthie said I should talk to Carla again. Ask her how to kill your— Woman of smoke."

"She isn't mine," he muttered as I pulled up to the curb.

I had a strange thought. What if Sawyer had been wigged last night by whatever Carla had done instead of by his mother's attempted seduction? Anything that could overshadow that was something I didn't want to hear about but probably should.

"Sawyer," I began, but he got out of the car and strode up the walk.

I hurried after. He didn't knock, just tried the door and, when it wouldn't open, put his palm up again like before and—

Bam!

Open it went, flying back so hard it smacked against the wall with a crunch. He hadn't punched it; I don't think he'd even touched it.

"Hey!" I called, but he disappeared inside.

Sawyer was quick, but I was quicker, thanks to Jimmy. I arrived right on his heels, surprised when a dark-haired young woman appeared in the hall.

I glanced at Sawyer's face. Funny. He wasn't surprised.

The girl was tiny and slim, with olive skin and long black hair. She wasn't pretty; her nose was unfortunate, her eyes too small and too light against the sallow skin of her face, but she gave off a lively energy that reminded me of someone I couldn't quite place.

"Back so soon?" she asked.

I knew that voice.

CHAPTER 22

I spun toward Sawyer, who met my gaze with his usual infuriating calm.

"What did you do?" I demanded.

The benandanti—turned young overnight, or perhaps turned young last night—laughed her joyous laugh. "Payment must be made, Elisabetta, or the spell would not work."

"You—you said you could practice glamour but you chose to. Beauty is fleeting."

"You call this beauty?" she asked. "I call it youth. Two very different things. Youth is worth having. Aches and pains, my memory was fading, my magic would go next, along with several other very important talents. I couldn't have that."

"So you—" I paused. I had no idea what she might have done. But I had a pretty good idea what Sawyer had.

Whenever things changed—people became more magical, more powerful, more anything—and Sawyer was around, sex was involved.

Carla had said,
Payment must be made.
And since Sawyer had left home a little short on pockets and long on paws, he'd depended on me for cash.

But he hadn't used cash this time. I doubted he used cash very much at all.

I turned away. Last night had obviously been one more in a long line of meaningless nights to him. I shouldn't be surprised, couldn't afford to be angry or hurt. For Sawyer, sex was business. I doubted he was capable of understanding it as anything else.

I returned my attention to Carla. "You bypassed the curse and in turn he made you young?"

"I bypassed the curse," she agreed. "He paid me as I asked; the result was that my dream came true."

She was talking gibberish. But magic so often was. I let it go. I really didn't want a play-by-play.

"How do you kill a
Naye'i?"
I demanded.

"I don't know."

My heart took a slow, painful tumble toward my squeaky Mexican sandals. "But—"

"There is someone who might."

My heart now leaped toward my throat. I was getting nauseous.

She smiled beatific-ally. Were her teeth whiter? "His name is Xander Whitelaw."

"Xander? As in Alexander?"

Carta's forehead wrinkled. "I never considered that, but you are probably right. You kids are so clever with your nicknames these days."

Obviously Carla hadn't been watching
Buffy
reruns, unlike me. I doubted I'd be watching them again if I ever got near a television for more than a minute. They just wouldn't be fun anymore.

Since Carla now appeared about ten years younger than me, the term
you kids
nearly made me laugh. Would have if I didn't want to put my fist through her brand-new face.

"He is a professor at Brownport Bible College," she  said. "In southern Indiana. He teaches a course on prophesy."

"Ours or theirs?" I muttered.

"Oh, ours, I'd say. The layman knows nothing about the Book of Samyaza."

"What do you know about it?" I asked.

"No more than you, I'm sure. I've never seen it or known anyone who did."

"No rumors of a location? No tingles about its truth or falsehood?"

"I'm sure it's true."

I shouldn't have bothered to ask. Carla was the one who'd told me about the whole balance-in-the-universe theory in the first place. Of course she'd believe in the validity of the Satanic verses.

"I've never heard a whisper about where the thing might be hidden," she continued.

She could be lying, but why? I put aside the issue of the Book of Samyaza for the moment. "Getting back to Xander Whitelaw," I said.

"He's written several books on Revelatory proph-ecy."

"Good for him. I know the prophecies." Kind of. "What I need is to discover how to kill an unkillable evil spirit."

"Xander did not begin as a prophecy professor. That came after his original interest in obscure supernatural legends gave rise to some interesting questions." \

My ears perked up. "He's one of us?"

Carla shook her head, and her long, gleaming, pure black hair swung. "He has no special powers—not a breed, not psychic, just curious."

"I'd think he would be helpful to have on board if he's been researching obscure supernatural legends."

"That is up to you," she said. "Ruthie had me keeping an eye on him, monitoring his research, his papers and his lectures."

"In case something interesting turned up."

Carla smiled. "If you think, after meeting him, that he should be told of the federation, asked to join us in our work, it is your choice. You are the boss now."

I didn't feel like the boss, probably because no one ever listened to my orders. Sure, Summer had gone after Jimmy. Then she'd nabbed him and disappeared,
against
my express orders. I should probably do something about that once I caught up to her, but how did one punish a fairy?

I glanced at Sawyer, who leaned against the wall near the front door, staring outside as if waiting for an attack. I doubted he'd ever taken orders from anyone, or ever would, especially not from me.

And since every other member of my elite team was hiding, missing, or dead, and I couldn't give them orders even if I had orders to give, my position as "the boss" wasn't as impressive as it should be.

I returned my attention to the benandanti. "You've been watching Professor Whitelaw," I began, then paused. "Exactly how have you been watching him when you were too decrepit to leave your house?"

Her eyes widened like bluebonnets beneath the sun. "Why would I need to leave the house to watch him?"

"Minions?" I asked.

"Magic."

Duh.

"He has information on the woman of smoke?"

"Not her in particular but the
Naye'i
in general. His doctoral thesis was on Navajo witchcraft."

Sawyer's head jerked up. I glanced that way, one hand on the hilt of my knife, the other reaching for the gun at the small of my back. Despite their uselessness with most things I'd met, I still liked having them nearby whenever possible.

However, Sawyer wasn't looking out the door; he was looking at Carla.

"No one talks about witchcraft," he murmured. "No one."

"How'd you manage that?" I asked.

His lips tightened and he didn't answer. "

The Navajo believe that anyone who discusses witchcraft knows too much and might therefore be a witch," Carla explained. "They also believe that if a person discusses it, the witch might come after them."

"Would you?" I asked Sawyer.

He stared at me stoically. We both knew that he would.

Which probably accounted for the many attempts his people had made on his life. They wanted to get him before he got them. Always a good plan when dealing with supernatural creatures.

"Dr. Whitelaw recently began to write an article on the
Naye'i"
Carla continued. "Because it's taboo for the Navajo to speak of such things, legends are rarely shared. However, Dr. Whitelaw managed to piece together a good bit of information from several different sources. If there's a way to kill a
Naye'i,
Whitelaw knows it."

"Then why don't you?" I asked. "

He's just begun to piece together his research."

"I'm going to have to go to him," I said. "Pick his brain."

"Yes."

"Fine." I strode past Sawyer and out of the house, shutting the door behind me. I was halfway down the steps when it banged open. I kept walking.

At the car I turned. "You don't have to come with me. You can stay here."

Confusion washed over Sawyer's face. "Why would I stay here?"

"I don't know. Why?" I glanced at Carla's place, figuring she'd be standing in the doorway watching us. But the door was closed, not a curtain moved at the windows.

"Sometimes, Phoenix, you make no sense at all," Sawyer said.

"That makes two of us."

He reached for the door, and I put a hand on his arm. For an instant the desert wind stirred the sand beneath all eight of my black legs, and the sun beat hot upon my back as I scurried along searching for prey.

I snatched my palm away from the inked image of the tarantula. In theory, I needed to open myself to the change. In fact, sometimes when I wasn't thinking hard enough about
not
shifting, the shifting sneaked up on me.

Sawyer turned his head, his gray eyes startling in his bronze face. He searched my gaze as if trying to see into my brain. I stared back, wishing I could see into his, but he'd always been able to block me.

"What's wrong with you?" he asked.

He was behaving as if he hadn't slept with Carla, then come immediately to me and done the same thing. To him, the two incidents were probably no more momentous than having first juice then coffee with his breakfast this morning. Both pleasant, but hardly necessary, or meaningful, or even memorable.

Sawyer wasn't like regular people. Perhaps that was because he wasn't people. He was other. No one seemed to know what that meant. But I was starting to.

He'd never be quite right; he'd never be quite human. And most of all, he could never, ever be trusted.

"Nothing's wrong," I lied. "I just want you to know that you don't have to come with me."

"You think I'd leave you alone for her to kill?"

"I have this." I lifted the turquoise.

"As long as you don't take it off, leave it somewhere, and then forget to put it back on."

Yeah, that had been dumb, but—

"I learned my lesson."

He straightened, letting his hand fall away from the car. "Obviously you've learned nothing if you think I'm going to let you go anywhere without me."

"Why do you care?" I asked. "You have no allegiance. You only train DKs and seers for the money."

"If it was only about the money, don't you think that the Nephilim would have me on their side by now? They've had eons to pad their bank accounts."

True. "Then why
are
you helping us?"

"You think I want her in charge? I've turned her down a thousand times. She didn't take it well. If she rules the world—"

"You'll die."

"I'll definitely want to long before she lets me."

I shivered despite the heat of the summer sun.

"Fine," I said. "Get in."

His lips curved. That was what he'd planned all along; I'd never had a prayer of stopping him.

I got behind the wheel. "Do you know how to drive?" The road to southern Indiana was a long one. I figured it would take us eight hours not including stops.

Sawyer shook his head. "Never learned. Didn't need to."

Since he could get anywhere in the blink of an eye as one of his beasts, and he couldn't leave the Dinetah as a man until he'd banged a benandanti, I could understand his lack of the skill. But it certainly would have come in handy right now.

"Carla said this professor interviewed the Navajo and discovered legends about the
Naye'i."

"I was there," he said dryly. "I heard."

"How is it that a stranger has more information than you do?"

"My people don't talk to me."

They were scared shitless of him.

Smart people.

"You're telling me that in all the time you've been on earth you've never once heard a whisper of how to kill the woman of smoke."

"I heard things; I tried them. They didn't work." He stared out the windshield, his face a chilly mask. "Nothing does."

"So you think talking to Xander Whitelaw is a wild-goose chase?"

"No. I definitely think I need to discuss a few things with the professor."

"Oh, no, you don't," I said. "You are not going to kill Xander Whitelaw."

"Who said anything about kill?"

He didn't need to say it. His eyes screamed it. But then they usually did.

"You will not touch him," I said, then remembered Sawyer's hand going up and Carta's door slamming open. He didn't need to touch anyone. "You will not harm him in any way."

He didn't answer.

"I mean it, Sawyer. We need to hear what this guy has to say."

"And we will."

"And then we'll leave. With him in exactly the same number of pieces as he was when we got there. He could be useful in the future. Who knows what he knows."

“Who knows," he agreed.

"You won't hurt him?" I pressed.

"No."

I was surprised he'd agreed, until I remembered that Sawyer lied. A lot.

I considered dumping him out of the car, but he'd only shape-shift and lope alongside me the rest of the way. Better to have him with me so I could keep an eye on him.

He lit a cigarette before we'd gone a mile. I was tempted to tell him that Summer wouldn't like the smell of smoke in her car, but if Summer could magic away memories, she could do the same with the scent of smoke. Besides, Summer was as scared of Sawyer as anyone else with a brain in their head.