The Obsidian Mirror, page 13
“Nope,” she said, with a tone of finality.
“Well, then,” Clancy said, “How did you learn how to make jewelry? It’s not like you can pick it up on your own, is it?”
“No,” Sierra replied, happy to move into neutral territory again. “I thought about it for years. Then one day, I just decided to do it, so I signed up for a class.”
“So it was something that you liked right away?”
“Actually, no,” she admitted. “I wasn’t sure I was going to succeed at it. First of all, during the class I realized just how many tools and how much equipment I would need. I was going to have to spend a lot of money if I wanted to continue on my own. Secondly, it seemed like kind of a guy thing.”
“A guy thing? Making jewelry? Sounds like a girl thing to me.”
“No, really, it’s like blacksmithing, only in miniature. You heat the metal with a torch, hit it with hammers, bend it, twist it, and throw it in acid. There’s a very male kind of energy involved, at least that’s the way it felt to me. And there’s a certain amount of risk of getting cut or burned, of course.”
“So what made you decide to continue?”
Sierra grinned. “I started to get good at it.”
Clancy reached across the table and took both her hands in his. Reflexively, she began to pull back, then relaxed. He examined her hands. She knew he was seeing the rough skin, the short, unpolished nails and the healing cuts caused by her jewelry work. He pressed her fingers gently, then returned her hands to her. She placed them self-consciously under the table.
“They say you can tell a lot about a person from their hands,” remarked Clancy, smiling as he noticed her hands disappear.
“So what do they tell you, Sherlock?” responded Sierra, trying to keep things on the light side for a few minutes longer.
“I guess if I didn’t know about your…hobby doesn’t seem quite the right word. If I didn’t know about your jewelry making, I would have guessed you were a craftsperson of some sort. A lot of the women in the office have false nails. You don’t. Most of them have soft hands. You have calluses and cuts. Even a few old burns. So you obviously work with your hands, but I know for a fact you earn your living with a computer.”
“Earned. Past tense,” said Sierra, trying not to sound bitter. “I can’t wear acrylic nails or even polish because the metal work ruins them.”
“It’s OK with me,” said Clancy. “And you’ll find another job.” He leaned back, smiling gently at her.
“So what do you do when you’re not at work? Any hobbies?” she asked.
“I like photography. Mostly nature photography. I hike in the Open Spaces around here with my camera. I’ve got some great wildlife shots. And I pick locks.”
This was surprising. “You pick locks? Isn’t that kind of an odd hobby for a law-and-order guy?”
Clancy smiled. “You’d be surprised how many legitimate uses there are for lock-picking. And there are all sorts of locks. It’s always fun to get a new one and learn how to pick it. There’s even an organization that promotes it as a hobby.”
“You have got to be kidding,” Sierra said in disbelief.
“Nope. Honest.”
Another moment of silence followed. She paused to gather her courage and then plunged in. “Listen, Clancy. What did you want to see me about? Why are we meeting? I thought I was in trouble when I heard you had called.”
Clancy leaned back, considering her. Then he seemed to make a decision and leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. “I like you, Sierra. I wanted to get to know you better.” He kept his green gaze steady, looking into her eyes.
Chaco was right! was her first thought. And her second thought was, This is not a good time, not a good time at all. Sierra sat still, torn between her liking of the man and the mission she had been given. She could not see a reasonable way to combine them. She had no way to explain her current friends and activities to a potential boyfriend—at least, no way that wouldn’t send him screaming in the opposite direction. On the other hand, telling him the truth was probably the only way to go forward with a relationship. If this didn’t scare him off, nothing would.
Reading her hesitation as a lack of mutual interest, Clancy’s face took on a slightly self-mocking expression. “I suppose you have someone?”
“No,” she said hastily. “No, I don’t. It’s just that…” Words failed her.
“It’s just that there’s…what was his name? The guy who answered your phone. Chaco?”
“It isn’t what you think,” she said. “He’s just a friend of sorts.” This triggered a cocked and cynical eyebrow. “No, not that kind of friend. Just. A. Friend. And there are things you need to know about him and about me.” Again, she saw that world-weary look. “No! Not about Chaco and me. About Chaco. And then about me. Separately. Can you keep an open mind?”
Clancy sighed. “The last time a woman asked me to keep an open mind, she told me that she was into role-playing bunny rabbits during love-making.”
“Ack! No. It’s nothing of the sort,” Sierra protested, feeling the heat rise into her cheeks again. “Nothing at all to do with sex, I promise.”
“Then what?”
“Come to my house tonight, and I’ll let Chaco tell you all about it,” Sierra said, hoping she could persuade Chaco to cooperate.
Clancy looked at her carefully, considering. She saw the cop in him, analyzing, warning, telling him that something was amiss here. As though reading his mind, she saw the man struggling with the cop. One wanted to trust her; the other definitely did not. Finally, he said, “Sierra, I don’t know what’s going on here. Experience tells me that when I don’t know what’s going on, something is off. This just smells wrong. You seem like a nice lady, but something is just not right here.”
“You’re correct,” she said, unsmiling. “There is something terribly wrong. And I need your help. I would never do anything to harm you or get you into trouble. But I need help, and Chaco needs help. Please. Come to my house tonight. I’ll explain everything then.”
“Why not tell me now?”
“I can’t,” she said desperately. “You wouldn’t believe me. You need to speak to Chaco.” No one would ever believe what I have to say. You have to see Chaco the man transform into Chaco the coyote.
Clancy rose to his feet, looming above her. “Sierra, trust goes both ways. You don’t trust me enough to tell me what’s going on. I don’t trust you enough to come to your house and listen to Chaco. It’s too bad. I’m really sorry, but I don’t think this is going to go anywhere that I want to go.” He tossed some bills onto the table, turned, and walked away without a backward glance. Sierra put her face into her hands and fought back tears that were as much from frustration as disappointment.
After a few minutes, she sniffed, blew her nose into a rough and too-small paper napkin, and pulled herself together. She dug her cell phone out of her purse and called Kaylee.
“Kaylee Shore.” This was Kaylee’s professional, at-work voice.
“Hi, Kaylee. It’s me,” Sierra said in a small voice.
“Sierra? What’s the matter, sweetie?” Now it was Kaylee’s warm-and-comforting-friend voice.
“Oh, Kaylee, what isn’t the matter? I just got shut down by Mr. Forrester, is what’s the matter.” Sierra sniffed again.
“What? He wouldn’t go out with you?”
“Kaylee, for heaven’s sake! Yes, he seemed interested. But how could I even imagine having a relationship with someone who doesn’t know what’s going on, or what I’m trying to do? I actually thought for a second that he might be able to help me with this, this thing. But I can’t just come out and tell him. Think about it. He’s a skeptical, hard-headed cop-type guy, and the dingbat broad babbles on about men that change into animals—not that it doesn’t ever happen—and about feathered serpents and evil twins. He’d try to have me committed in a hot New York minute. And that would be the good part.” She paused to sniff again and wipe her nose with a crinkly paper napkin. “What a disaster. First he obviously thought that Chaco was my boyfriend…”
“You could do worse,” muttered Kaylee.
Ignoring this, Sierra plunged on. “Then he decided that the whole thing was fishy and backed off faster than a cat meeting a rattlesnake. Said it was a matter of trust being a two-way street or something. All because I wouldn’t explain the whole, damn, crazy, bizarre, unbelievable, delusional, idiotic mess right here at lunch.” The dam burst, and Sierra dissolved into sobs.
Kaylee tried a soothing approach. “Oh, honey, it’s OK. It will be all right. Really. Please don’t cry.”
Sierra cried.
Kaylee tried the tough approach. “Sierra. Snap out of it. This isn’t doing any good. We just have to think of another way.”
“Oh, yeah?” Sierra snapped. “Like what? What’s the next move, Kaylee?”
There was a moment of silence at the other end of the connection. “Listen, Sierra. I know you’re upset. But don’t take it out on me. I believed you—and Chaco. I’m on your side.”
Sierra, already feeling guilty, sighed, and wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry, Kaylee. I really, really am. I just don’t know where to go from here. I thought maybe Clancy could find a way to get access to Jenna, so that I could get Q’s feathers to her. Now I don’t know what to do. I just don’t know what to do.”
“Listen. I’ll meet you at your place after work. I’ll try to leave early, if I can.”
Sierra sniffed again. “Thanks, Kaylee. I don’t know what I’d do without you at this point.”
“No problem. See you later.” And the line went dead. Sierra, feeling emotionally washed out, sat for a few minutes. After a bit, the lunchtime mob began to clear out, leaving her to the peace of the little pond and its redwood grove. She wished she were in the mountains, hiking or camping, and thought about some of the places she had hiked in the area. That led to thoughts about her ruined camping gear. She decided to go window shopping at the CampOut Superstore. She could start making a list of replacement items, even if she couldn’t afford to buy them yet. Then, she decided, she’d go home and send out a few more resumes. There really was a normal life somewhere waiting for her, and sending out resumes seemed like a way to get back to it.
Three hours later, Sierra awoke from a dream of ultra-light, multi-fuel camp stoves in the middle of CampOut Superstore’s backpacking aisle. She glanced at her watch; it was four-thirty! If Kaylee had left work early, she might already be at Sierra’s house, fuming on the doorstep.
No, Sierra remembered, Chaco would let Kaylee in. She heaved a sigh of relief, and hustled out of the mammoth store. She had a long wish list of items she wanted, too. The technology was improving all the time, and she wasn’t entirely displeased that she would be forced to replace some very old pieces of equipment with new, lightweight, and better-performing gear.
As she pulled up outside her house, she saw with surprise that Kaylee was, indeed, on her doorstep. Kaylee stood up as Sierra got out of her car.
“There you are,” she remarked mildly. “I thought you were so upset you’d be in bed, wailing.”
“I’m sorry,” said Sierra. “I feel better now. I still don’t know what I’m going to do, but I’m not upset any more. Thanks for coming over. Didn’t Chaco answer the door?” Kaylee shook her head. “He must be out shopping or something. And Fred is under strict orders not to come to the door. He tends to disappear whenever someone rings the doorbell, anyway.” Sierra turned the key in the lock and opened the door. The two women stepped into the front hall. The house seemed deserted, and there was a nasty burning smell.
“Chaco?” called Sierra, walking into the kitchen. There was a small pot smoking on the stove, but no sign of Chaco or Fred. Sierra grabbed a potholder and thrust the pot into the sink, turning on the water. As steam hissed up from the sink, she turned off the burner.
“Sierra. Over here,” said Kaylee. Sierra turned. Kaylee was at the door that led into the garage from the kitchen. The door was open. Sierra hurried over and switched on the garage light.
The first thing she saw was a drawer lying on the floor. It was the drawer where she stored her design with Quetzalcoatl’s silvered feathers. It had been wrenched out of her workbench, and was lying on the floor. It was empty.
Then she saw the sprawled form of Chaco, in human form, lying motionless on the concrete floor.
“Sierra,” said Kaylee in a choked voice, “I don’t think he’s breathing!”
Chapter 14
Sierra rushed over to Chaco’s body, followed closely by Kaylee. “Oh no, no, no,” Sierra heard Kaylee say under her breath as they knelt next to him.
Chaco lay on the floor like an angrily discarded doll, legs and arms flung out at awkward angles. His eyes were closed, and his lashes cast shadows on his lean cheeks under the harsh florescent lights. He was lying on his stomach with his head turned, his left cheek resting on the cement. His long, black hair hung in his face. He was unresponsive and eerily still, but they could see no blood or any sign of a wound. Sierra bent down so that her cheek was next to his slightly open mouth.
“Can you tell if he’s…” started Kaylee, but Sierra hushed her. She waited, feeling grit scrape her cheek as her knees protested against the hard concrete. Finally, she felt a tiny stirring of air from his mouth against her face. His breath was sweet, like a puff of breeze across a meadow. She straightened up.
“He’s breathing, but barely,” she said. She gingerly felt his neck, which seemed normal. No sharp angles under the too-cool skin; everything appeared to be in the right place. “Help me to roll him over so we can check for wounds.”
Kaylee and Sierra, one on either side of the prone Chaco, rolled him gently to his back, carefully placing his right arm back down on the concrete and cushioning his head. He neither stirred nor made any noise during this operation. Once they had him on his back, they surveyed him carefully, running gentle fingers over his skin.
“I don’t see anything,” said Kaylee. “There’s not a scratch on him.” She smoothed his hair back from his face, then ran her fingers over his skull. “No bumps. No bruises. No soft spots. What’s the matter with him?”
Sierra lifted Chaco’s T-shirt. She put her ear to his chest where she hoped his heart would be. If Avatars even have hearts, she thought, but she was rewarded with a faint, rhythmic thumping.
“I can hear his heart beating,” she reported with relief. “It sounds kind of faint, though. And he feels cold, too cold.” She pulled down his shirt. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she told Kaylee. “I thought Avatars couldn’t be harmed. Chaco himself told me that they can’t be killed.” Power, she thought bitterly. I could use some sort of power right now. No flames of gold, green, red, purple, or blue. Only a growing feeling of dread and helplessness.
“Well, let’s get him off this cold floor,” Kaylee said. They checked his arms and legs to make sure there were no broken bones. Then Kaylee put her hands under his shoulders and Sierra lifted his knees. Chaco, a dead weight hanging between the two women, was no light burden, but they managed to maneuver him onto the couch in the living room. They collapsed, panting on the floor for a few minutes.
“Let’s get him warmed up. Do you have an electric blanket?” asked Kaylee. Sierra did, and went to get it as Kaylee pulled off his shoes. They spread the blanket over Chaco’s still form and switched it on. Then they turned and looked at each other.
“What on earth do we do now?” Kaylee said, speaking for both of them. They stared down at the unconscious Avatar. Something about him seemed diminished. Some force that had always been present, but invisible, was gone. His body was like an empty house, Sierra thought. It looked the same on the outside, but the life within had traveled elsewhere.
“Could Mama Labadie help him?” mused Sierra, aloud.
“I’m not sure. We don’t know what happened to him. Maybe Fred can tell us,” Kaylee said.
“We’d have to find Fred, first,” Sierra noted dryly. “Could you call your mambo, anyway? Maybe she can do something. She did a great job on me.”
Kaylee pulled her cell phone out of her purse and dialed a number. She waited for a bit, frowned, then dialed another number. Finally, she put the phone away. “No answer at work or at home. We’re going to have to find another healer, I guess. I don’t think we should wait—he looks too sick.”
They checked Chaco again. He lay as still as ever. They couldn’t see his chest move, and in alarm, Sierra held a pocket mirror over his mouth. To their relief, a faint mist appeared on the silvered surface.
“I’ve always read about people doing that,” commented Kaylee. She felt Chaco’s face, which seemed paler than before. His normally warm brown skin seemed to have acquired a gray tinge. “He’s so cold,” she said, frowning. “I’m not sure the electric blanket is doing any good.”
“You know, neither one of us has suggested calling 911,” Sierra said. “Do you think we ought to get him to the hospital?”
“How about a vet?” suggested Kaylee, who then burst into tears instead of laughter.
“No,” said a small voice from the door. They wheeled around, startled, and there was Fred. He was muddy, and his melon-shaped head hung dejectedly.
Sierra was the first to speak. “Where have you been, Fred?” she demanded. “What happened here? What’s wrong with Chaco? And where are Quetzalcoatl’s feathers?”
“I’m sorry,” said the mannegishi, and now tears began to fall from his huge orange eyes. “I ran away. I am a coward. Me—Shoemowetochawcawewahcatoe. High-Backed Wolf, my father called me. Oh, he should have called me Ogumwhowurst—Yellow Wolf.” Fred began to wail in earnest, slumping to the floor and rocking back and forth.
“Fred, never mind that. What happened to Chaco?” demanded Sierra. “What’s wrong with him?”
“When she came to the door, Chaco went to answer it. I don’t know why he didn’t recognize her for what she was. Oh, why did I run? Now he'll be destroyed.” Fred gasped this out and then began to wail again.
