“Someone’s in trouble,” Gil muttered.
Then Sheriff Pena pointed to our car and barked some more. “Yikes,” I said.
Heath took all of the sheriff’s anger and venom with his hands stuffed into his pockets and a contrite look on his face. Pena then wheeled on Mrs. Lujan, but after only a few words she held her hand up in a stop motion and stepped forward to point angrily at him.
“Oh, God,” Gil said. “Please don’t get arrested, Mrs. Lujan!”
But something remarkable happened. Sheriff Pena backed down. As in, he literally took a step back from Heath’s mother, and although I could tell that he was still ticked off, his body language suggested he wasn’t about to do any more yelling.
Once Mrs. Lujan had had her say, she turned and stalked back to our car, her son in tow.
When they got into the car, Mrs. Lujan said, “Okay, Gilley, we can go.”
“His car’s still blocking the exit,” Gil said nervously.
“Just pull right up to his grille, honey,” she insisted. “He’ll move.”
Gil hesitated just a moment before he did as he was told and eased the Durango up to Sheriff Pena’s cruiser. I could see the deputy inside glaring at Gilley, but just like Mrs. Lujan had said, Sheriff Pena got into his cruiser and pulled it back and to the side so that we could pass.
Once we’d cleared the cruiser, I turned to Heath. “Why was he so mad?”
“He didn’t want anyone messing around with his crime scene.”
I scowled. “Then he should have put some tape and plywood up across Milton’s door. Any animal or hiker could go in there and take a look.”
Heath smiled. “He was just coming to do that,” he said.
“A whole week after Milton’s death?” That’d never fly in the city.
“We move a little slower in these parts,” Heath said.
“How’d you get the sheriff to back down?” Gilley asked Mrs. Lujan.
“I reminded him that I used to babysit for him and change his diapers. Milton was my family, and as the sister of the deceased, I deserved some respect and consideration.”
The car was quiet for a while as Gil worked to maneuver the car around the various potholes and rough terrain. When paved road was in sight again, Mrs. Lujan said, “Gilley, at the highway, turn left. I’ll guide you to a place where M. J. can tell us what happened back there.”
Gil drove while Mrs. Lujan navigated and we finally came to a place in the middle of nowhere. Or so I thought. A bright pink trailer with colorful daisy decals and a purple fence surrounding it emerged from the scrub like a mirage.
The land inside the fence was crisscrossed with laundry lines and hanging from them were herbs and dried flowers. Gil parked along the fence and I saw the sign over the doorway. “Tara’s Tea Emporium.”
“Cool!” said Gil.
I followed behind Heath and Mrs. Lujan when we made our way up the paved walkway to the door. I could smell the heavy overlay of burning incense and tea coming from inside. “Tara?” Mrs. Lujan called when she opened the door and stepped across the threshold.
“Serena?” came a reply from somewhere deeper inside the trailer. “Is that you?”
From the back bounded a woman who closely resembled Mrs. Lujan with long braided silver hair, a short round physique, and big apple cheeks pushed higher from her radiant smile. “You’ve come home!” she exclaimed.
Mrs. Lujan and Tara hugged each other, then stepped back. “You’ve been gone too long,” chided the proprietor.
“Blame my son,” Mrs. Lujan said with a wink and a nudge into Heath’s side. “He goes off to be a big Hollywood star and leaves me with no house to live in!”
Heath’s face flushed red. “Ma,” he said. “It was supposed to be done by now! Ray promised me he’d have it finished by the time you sold your trailer, and no one thought you’d to sell it so fast.”
“You expected your cousin to finish the job without you here to oversee it?” she retorted. “I told you not to hire him.”
Heath sighed. “You were here,” he reminded her. “And Ray usually listens to you.”
“Oh, now I’m supposed to handle your business?” she clucked, but I could tell she was really only teasing. I had a feeling she’d quite enjoyed her vacation away in Phoenix with her sister-in-law and didn’t mind a bit that Heath’s house wasn’t ready yet.
“Ah-ah!” said Tara. “No bickering in the emporium! Come, I will make you peaceful tea to soothe the mood.”
“That’s exactly the brew I was hoping you’d make,” Serena said, and she gave me a sly wink. I realized then that bickering with her son had been a ruse to get Tara to brew the tea she had in mind for me to soothe my nerves, but she knew that asking for it directly might result in an inquiry as to why, which could embarrass me in front of a stranger.
I felt renewed warmth for Heath’s mom.
“It’s a beautiful day, Tara,” Mrs. Lujan added. “Would you mind if we took our tea outside in the garden?”
Tara waved at us while she bustled behind her counter and began pulling out cups and pots and clear plastic bags filled with various teas. “No, of course not!” she said. “I’ll bring your tea to you and some goodies along with it in a bit.”
I followed behind Mrs. Lujan as she moved to the back of the mobile home and opened a sliding glass door. “This way,” she coaxed.
I stepped through to the backyard and nearly came up short. It was dazzling. All kinds of sculpture and artistic accents decorated the yard, including a large water fountain made from a truly spectacular glazed clay pot. Several round plastic tables were laid out for guests to sit and take in their tea. I felt the enchantment of the place sweep over me.
I paused in front of the water fountain and marveled at the beautiful design both carved into the pottery and painted on the sides. And then I noticed a small white feather at the very bottom and the name Serena Whitefeather signed with sweeping strokes.
“Do you like it?” I heard Heath’s mother ask. I turned to see her standing next to the table at the farthest corner, where we weren’t likely to be overheard.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, leaving the fountain to join the others.
“My mom made it,” Heath said proudly.
“I didn’t know you were an artist,” Gilley said.
Mrs. Lujan’s eyebrows rose. “No?” she asked.
Heath looked chagrined. “I only mentioned it to M. J.,” he admitted. “And I told her how you’d retired from it.”
For a second I thought I saw a glint of sadness in Mrs. Lujan’s eyes, but she quickly covered it with a smile. “Well, I haven’t made anything in a very long time,” she said.
“Maybe you should think about picking it up again. Maybe to make peace with the tribe you could throw a pot or two,” Heath muttered, and just like that, the air seemed to fill with tension.
Gil and I exchanged a look. Yep, he sensed it too.
Mrs. Lujan, however, ignored the comment and focused on me. “If you’re feeling up to it, M. J., can you tell us what happened to you at Milton’s cabin?”
Immediately my mind flashed back to those final moments when something otherworldly had come through Milton’s door. I shuddered. “I don’t even know where to begin,” I said softly.
“Start at the point where you fell into a trance,” Gil said helpfully.
I tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear and stared at the tabletop. I couldn’t look at all those inquiring eyes without wanting to squirm under the pressure of telling them every terrible detail. “I remember feeling light-headed and I had the strongest sensation of being almost lifted out of my body.”
“An OBE?” Gil asked, referencing the acronym for “out-of-body experience.” “You’ve been having those a lot lately, sugar.”
I’d had some experiences in recent months where I’d been asleep and really odd physical things had happened to me, but I hadn’t had a waking OBE like . . . ever. “Yeah, well, maybe it happened because of the violence that took place in that cabin,” I said. “The energy was pretty strong.”
“I think you walked into an imprint,” Heath said. When Heath’s mother looked at him quizzically, he explained. “An imprint is what happens when something with a lot of emotion happens in a space and that space absorbs it like ink to a sponge. When someone like me or M. J. walks into that space, it can replay itself like it’s happening right in front of our eyes.”
“So it’s true,” Mrs. Lujan said, her eyes focused on me. “You saw what happened in the cabin when Milton was killed?”
I nodded and looked back down at the table. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” I whispered.
“Pena thinks a mountain lion got him,” Heath said, taking my hand under the table.
I laughed mirthlessly. “What I saw was no mountain lion.” I then shut my eyes, trying to fight the image that kept coming to mind. Teeth, claws, and shimmering black, scaly skin. That’s what I remembered most. “We were right about it looking like a dragon,” I added with a shudder. “A demon dragon with black scales and fangs and claws so sharp they’d cut you in half.”
“Here we are!” said a cheerful voice, and I jumped, my eyes snapping open. Looking round the table, I hadn’t been the only one surprised by Tara’s appearance with her tray of goodies. She paused when she caught the expressions on our faces. “You all look like you’ve seen a ghost!”
“We were just talking about my poor brother, Tara,” said Mrs. Lujan.
Tara immediately turned contrite. “Oh, Serena, I’m so sorry! I’d nearly forgotten about that. And I hear that Bev’s gone now too?”
The moment Tara mentioned Beverly, my memory shot back to the tree her minivan had hit, and those talon marks on it and the side of her car. There was now not a doubt in my mind that the same deadly beast that had attacked Milton had also been responsible for Beverly’s car crash.
“. . . the ceremonies will be sometime this week,” Mrs. Lujan was saying, “at the Pueblo.”
Tara set down the cups and teapots and two plates of small round cake balls covered in buttercream icing. “Are they open to the other tribes?” she asked.
“No,” said Mrs. Lujan with a sigh. “It’s family only.”
Tara frowned. “You Whitefeathers,” she said with a
tsk
. “So exclusive.”
“Don’t blame me,” Heath’s mother insisted. “Vernon’s dictating this one, and you know Rex’s going to go along with whatever he decides.”
“And you don’t have a vote, Serena?” Tara pressed.
Mrs. Lujan folded her hands on the tabletop and looked down at them. “Not since I left,” she said. “I’m lucky to be allowed to attend the ceremonies at all.”
Tara gave her friend a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and left us to our tea and conversation.
Gilley, his usual diplomatic self, said, “Family feud, Mrs. Lujan?”
She nodded soberly. “I’ll tell you about it after we hear the rest of what M. J. has to say.” I opened my mouth to speak when she added, “But first, drink some tea. It’ll make you feel better.”
To my surprise, after a few sips I did feel better, and I was able to tell them everything that I’d seen in Milton’s cabin without shuddering. Much. Okay, less than I would have without the tea. The point is, when I got to the part where the creature burst through Milton’s door, I didn’t melt into a puddle of tears again and I was able to describe it in full detail.
Once I’d finished, I looked around the table. Gilley was stuffing himself with cake balls and staring at me with big round eyes. Heath looked sick to his stomach and his mother appeared even worse. “I believe I’ve heard of this thing,” she said to me, her voice hollow and frightened.
“The demon?” I asked.
She nodded, and rubbed her temples. “The way you were describing it made me recall the legend, but I think Tara would know it better. Would you mind, M. J., if I brought her over and told her about what you saw?”
“Please!” I said. We needed any piece of information we could get our hands on if we were going to figure out how to fight this thing.
Mrs. Lujan called her friend over, and after about fifteen minutes of explanation and a whole lot of expressed concern from Tara, she finally told us what she knew. “Serena’s right about the legend,” she said. “I heard it when I was little from my aunt.”
“Tara’s aunt was a Whitefeather,” Mrs. Lujan interrupted. “She was my father’s cousin, and she married into the Picuris Pueblo.”
“Which is how we all became related,” Tara explained. “Anyway, getting back to the legend . . . I think you Zantos have it recorded in your histories, Serena.”
Mrs. Lujan frowned. “Rex’s in charge of the library,” she said. “He’ll give me a hard time if I ask him if I can go digging around. You know he’ll want to know why.”
“I already tried talking to Uncle Rex about this thing,” Heath said. “He completely dismissed it.”
“So tell us what you know, Tara. Please?” Mrs. Lujan said.
Tara closed her eyes and shook her head, as if she could shake out the elusive memory. “It begins with the spirit of the great hawks. The great white hawk and the great black hawk, who both wanted to claim the sky for their own.
“Even though the sky was vast, neither hawk wanted to share it, and so the two winged spirits went to war. They fought day and night, never resting, each testing the endurance and strength of the other, until one day the black hawk spirit fell to the earth, exhausted and defeated. The white hawk spirit proclaimed its victory, singing its own praises across the sky and shaming the black hawk in front of all the other spirits.
“The black hawk was humiliated and tried to hide its shame by shedding its feathers, losing its beak, and growing scales, fangs, and talons instead. It also cursed the white hawk and vowed revenge, telling its rival that it would wait for the day when the white hawk would eventually land; then it would kill the white bird, shredding it to pieces with its talons and teeth. But the white hawk spirit just laughed and rode the air currents day after day, staying up so long that it eventually became part of the great sky spirit, mingling its white feathers with the blue to become the clouds. The black hawk spirit continued to prowl the earth, waiting for the day when the white hawk might take up its old form again and come down to the ground. While the black hawk spirit waited, it feasted on the flesh of the living, leaving behind its trademark three-talon mark so all would know its power.”