Unnatural Mayhem, page 15
“Not cool!” I leaped to my feet, my fingers desperately searching my six-pack abs for blood in the dark. “Do you enjoy inflicting pain on me? Is that it?” I flashed a flat hand. “Don’t answer that. Probably better if I don’t know.” A blank expression stared back at me. “What the hell happened?”
“The North camera flickered.”
“So, your solution was to drag me outta there rather than—oh, I dunno—tell me to stop?”
“And risk a barrage of questions in return?” His lips smoothed to a straight line. “Yes, Cautious Cat. I had to make a split second decision to prevent you from triggering the North camera, and I would do it again. Honestly, I don’t understand the drama. You are cognizant of the stakes, are you not?”
An image of Spirit Crow flitted through my mind. She forfeited her life for mine. Maybe he had a point.
To examine my skin, I raised the hem of my shirt, inflamed tracks swelling from friction, but I couldn’t tell much more than that. “Am I bleeding? It burns like a bitch.”
“Colorful word choices notwithstanding, Jacy Lee whipped up several medicinal salves and teas before we left. They’re in my suitcase. Shall we head back to Thorn Hill? There isn’t much more we can do here tonight.”
Rather than give me a friggin’ second to gain my bearings, he headed for the street. And I followed, trampling over fallen limbs and branches, the entire front of me soaked from moist gravel. Damn sprinklers turned the dirt into mud. Talk about drawing attention to ourselves. How could I stroll through the lobby like this? I probably looked like I just got sideswiped by a Mac truck.
Moonlight cascaded down the front of my clothes at the Caddy.
“Oh, my.” After a quick scan of both ends of the road, he shed his leather blazer, creased the jacket down the middle, and laid it over the armrest like a cherished treasure. “When we arrive at the inn, you may cover up with my jacket, but please refrain from soiling the liner. I just had it dry cleaned.”
“Maybe you shoulda thought of that before dragging me by the ankles,” I mumbled as I slid into the passenger seat.
Smirking, Mr. Mayhem tugged the driver’s door closed.
On the drive back to Thorn Hill, his phone rang, and he glimpsed the caller ID. “It’s unlike your grandfather to call this late.” On the steering wheel, he hit the hands-free button. “What a delightful surprise, Ja—”
“Cheveyo, where are you?”
In the background, Maggie wailed, sheer terror lacing her cries.
“We’re in the Caddy. Is that Little Rain?”
I blurted out, “Shicheii, what happened? Is she hurt?”
“She’s frightened, honey, for good reason. Poe and Spirit Crow are with her, but the others are still out there. Cheveyo, how soon can you get back here?”
“We’re on our way.”
“I need to save the others. Hurry.”
A dial tone flatlined.
Every nerve ending in my body sizzled like severed electrical wires after a storm. “What’s happening? Why does he sound so scared?”
Mr. Mayhem sped through the back roads, veering out to the main drag within two minutes, three max.
“Why does Shicheii sound so scared?” I repeated. “I’ve never heard him like that.”
Silent and stoic, he focused on the road.
I kicked the dash. “Why aren’t you answering me?”
“You best rein in that petulant behavior, young lady.”
“Then tell me what’s goin’ on.”
“How would you propose I do that when I am seated here with you?”
“Well, you know more than I do.”
“Perhaps.” The tail end fishtailed when he banged a sharp right, racing through the dark streets.
Eighteen different scenarios fled through my mind, not one of them positive. “Should I worry?”
“Yes.” When he turned into the driveway, the Caddy slowed. “Keep an eye out.”
I flung up my hands. “For what?”
“Anomalies.” His gaze bounced from window to window. “Anything that does not belong.”
Straight ahead, crisscrossed firewood stood chest-high. Shicheii was in the yard, setting the massive bonfire ablaze. He backed away from the flames, knelt on one knee, and built another fire.
The mere sight of my grandfather in a panic popped a tendon in my neck, my blood pressure rising, heating me from the inside out. What the hell is happening?
Parked in front of the cabin, Mr. Mayhem leaped of out the Caddy, leveling an arm at me as he jogged toward Shicheii. “Get inside—now.”
He looked panicked, too.
None of the crows on the porch railing reacted when I slammed the passenger door, jumped all three stairs, and careened into the cabin. In the fetal position on the living room floor, Maggie’s petite frame shook—hysterical and crying—with Spirit Crow and Poe perched on her side, preening her hair with their bills.
In case she was in physical pain from an injury, I curled my body around hers. “Mags, I’m here.”
She flipped to face me, Poe and Spirit Crow leaping into the air, fluttering down to the floor as she curled into my chest.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Wen-wen-wen…” Words jumbled through her tears. And then, her whole body stiffened, and she latched on to me. “They’re not safe out there.”
“What? Who’s not safe, Shicheii and Dedenaan? Or the crows?”
Head rocking, she cried harder, her tiny frame shuddering in my arms, and I didn’t know why or how to help her. Whatever she witnessed frightened her to the core.
I peeled her off me. “I need to see if they need my help.”
“No—don’t go!”
“Mags, it’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”
“You’ll die!” She wailed. “Shicheii and Dedenaan aren’t safe out there.”
Might be an overreaction from a nine-year-old, might be something more serious, but there’s only one way to find out. I paused a beat, staring at Spirit Crow, and she dipped her bill, confirming she’d take care of Maggie while I checked things out.
When I darted out to the porch, more crows joined the others on the railing, roofline, table, and the chairs. Black wings surrounded me with a blanket of feathers, but all focused on Shicheii and Mr. Mayhem in the yard, lighting a third bonfire—a semicircle of flames dancing under the stars.
What were they doing? More importantly, why?
Chapter Nineteen
“If you listen close at night, you will hear the creatures of the dark,
all of them sacred—the owls, the crickets, the frogs, the night birds—
and you will hear beautiful songs, songs you have never heard before.
Listen with your heart. Never stop listening.”
—Henry Quick Bear, Lakota
Midnight
Mayhem set more firewood ablaze, then stood back with Jacy Lee as roaring flames encircled the yard. He hadn’t pressed his old friend about why he felt the need to create a barrier, but he knew him well enough to guess. Medicine Men always had a reason for their actions. If Mayhem’s correct, this fiasco might be his fault. Earlier today, he made a rash error in judgment, the result of which could be the cause of Jacy Lee’s malaise.
Perhaps his lifelong friend misinterpreted the signs, resulting in sheer panic and undue stress. It’s not often Mayhem made decisions in haste, but the crow hunt rattled him. In hindsight, he should’ve handled the situation differently. Alas, the damage was already done.
Charging straight at him and Jacy Lee, Shawnee called out, “Whaddaya need me to do?”
Oh, my. Jacy Lee would not be pleased that she left the safety of the cabin. Perhaps he should intervene. “Cat, I asked you to stay with Little Rain. Did I not?”
“Yeah, but—” Her head bobbed around his shoulder. “Shicheii, are you alright?”
“I’m fine, child.” After a quick embrace, he released her. “Now, Cheveyo asked you a question. It’s impolite to ignore him.”
“Sorry, but I just wanted to check on you first. You scared me on the phone.”
“Understandable.” He stroked his granddaughter’s head. “But I am not the one who deserves the apology.”
Finally, she whirled toward Mayhem, her fair complexion aglow with firelight. “Sorry for ignoring you, Mister M. Why are we out here? Why all the fires? I don’t get it. What happened? Maggie’s a wreck.”
“We are fully aware of that, thank you. Hence why I asked you to stay with her. Yet here you stand. Tell me—” With a hard stare, he invaded her personal space. “Why is it you feel so free to disobey me?” To avoid a tongue-lashing from Jacy Lee, he lowered his voice. “Have you forgotten who I am?”
“Um, no.” Visibly, she gulped, but she did not back away. Impressive for such a feisty feline. “Have you?”
He startled. “I beg your pardon.”
“What’s your real last name?”
When her gaze locked with his, he smirked. “I believe we’ve already established how curiosity killed the cat. Have we not?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Now, please stay with Little Rain. Keep her safe. Your grandfather and I will be in shortly.”
“Fine!” She backed away, turned on her heels, and stomped toward the cabin, tossing remarks over her shoulder. None relevant.
He sidled up next to Jacy Lee. “She has a point, dear friend. We cannot adequately assist unless you share what preceded”—he swept a hand at the fires—“all of this. Are you hoping to secure the property or buy time?”
“Both.”
Not the response he was hoping for. “I see.”
“We need to get Little Rain out of here for her own protection,” he said in a barely audible voice. “If it discovers that we have a small child in the house—”
“Why are you so certain it’s here?”
“Walk with me.” Jacy Lee led him toward the cabin, blessing their path with corn pollen and prayer. On the porch, he stopped to face him. “Little Rain and I were gathering herbs and mushrooms from the southeastern corner of the property when we first smelled it.”
Arching an eyebrow, he urged him to continue.
“Decay,” he clarified. “Rotting flesh.”
Just as he feared. “And you’re certain you didn’t stumble across an animal carcass? We are in bear country.”
“After all these years, Cheveyo, I’m surprised you would question my sensory perception.”
“I don’t, old friend. I would never doubt any of your abilities.” Hands clasped in front of his waist, he hesitated. “Would you mind if I played devil’s advocate for a moment?”
“Not at all.”
“Thank you. The beast you speak of has been dormant for decades, has it not?”
“Mother Earth has fallen out of balance, Cheveyo.” Jacy Lee swept an arm around the property. “Look at the nonsensical weather patterns… flooding, drought, tornados, wildfires. Are we not both aware of what can happen without balance and harmony?”
Valid point. “Indeed, we are.”
“Without balance and harmony, is it not unusual for a supernatural beast to reawaken?”
“It is,” he admitted, though not ready to make that leap yet.
“Throw in the fact that we are in the Great North Woods—part of its original hunting grounds—and it becomes a recipe for disaster. Do we need to bring in the Algonquin to revisit their stories of how many tribe members lost their lives to its wrath and power?”
“We do not. However, wouldn’t it be prudent to search for a less nefarious reason for the odor?” O Great Spirit, please don’t let my actions reanimate an ancient beast. “Neither of you spotted the creature, correct?”
“Cheveyo”—Jacy Lee stared deep into Mayhem’s eyes, clawing through his subconscious—“is there something you’re not telling me?”
Shawnee batted open the screen door, startling Mayhem, but Jacy Lee never wavered—his complete focus on his mannerisms, searching for untruths.
When he did not respond, Jacy Lee listed his head to one side. “Should I ask my granddaughter?”
“Ask me what?”
Heat tunneled up his chest. “Taxidermized crows lined his office walls and desk. He was a monster with a total lack of regard for the beautiful lives he and his brethren destroyed. Not to mention his utter ignorance of the Natural World, and he expected me—our People!—to recognize the very laws that allowed him to engage, even celebrate, in this atrocity. White man laws, not ours.” He thrust out his arms. “What would you have me do?”
“What you do on your own time is your business, Cheveyo, but you involved my granddaughter.”
Shawnee stepped out on the porch, and Poe flew out the door to Dad’s shoulder. “I love you,
Shicheii. I really do, but you’re wrong this time.” She jutted a thumb over her shoulder. “He saved my life. Worthington had a gun.”
Wow. She covered for his impulsive act. Cautious Cat never failed to surprise.
Jacy Lee ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. “Mister Worthington threatened you, child?”
“He did, yeah. That monster woulda killed me if Mister M. didn’t step in when he did.”
“Then the odor—?”
“Would be Mister Worthington,” he confessed, and Poe nuzzled his feathery head in the crook of his neck. “I apologize for any undue distress my actions may have caused. Please forgive me.”
“I need time.” Jacy Lee strode into the cabin, returning moments later with Little Rain cradled in his arms and the tribal blanket slung over one shoulder. “Clean up your mess, Cheveyo.” He continued into the yard, into the center ring surrounded by fire, shook out the blanket, and gently lowered Little Rain to the ground. Hovering over her, he prayed to the Holy Ones.
Beside him, Shawnee nudged his elbow. “What’s he doing?”
“Healing her.” A quick kiss for Poe. “We better go. Time is of the essence, I’m afraid.”
“Go where?” As he quick-stepped to the Caddy, she jogged alongside him. “Why are we leaving?”
“You heard your grandfather. We need to clean up our mess.”
Chapter Twenty
Saturday, 1:03 a.m.
While cruising in the Caddy, Poe stood on the middle console, glaring at me. Friggin’ psycho. What’d I do now? With only the headlights to guide us, it appeared Mr. Mayhem took the same route as before, but I couldn’t be sure. In the dark, all the streets looked the same. Either we’re heading to the backside of his property or some other out-of-the-way place.
“Err…” How could I put this? “At the cabin when you said mess…”
“I meant we need to move Mister Worthington.”
“What?” I jolted back, and Poe shot me a what’s-wrong-with-her look. “You can’t be serious. He’s inside a friggin’ tree for chrissakes.”
“I am aware of that, thank you. And watch your language.” He shot me a glower. “I assure you, Cat, I derive no pleasure from this excursion.”
Banging a fist against my thigh, my voice boomed. “Then leave him where he is. What’s done is done.”
“No can do, I’m afraid.”
“Why the hell not?”
Poe’s gaze ping-ponged between us, changing expressions from love to hate, love to hate, love to hate. Guess which look he tossed my way.
“Let me explain something to you, Cat.” His hands wrung the steering wheel. “Our actions earlier may’ve opened a doorway into the supernatural, and through said passageway, an ancient beast may’ve emerged. A creature that neither you nor I are prepared to battle.”
Trying to wrap my mind around this news, I rubbed the outer edge of my eyebrow. “Whaddaya mean, like, a Yenaldlooshi?”
“I’m afraid it’s worse than that. Much worse.”
I blinked. Blinked again and again. “How can anything be worse than a skinwalker?”
“Oh, Cautious Cat, I’d hoped you would have learned by now that there are things in this world that defy logic, defy reason, defy comprehension, but that does not make them any less real. Or deadly.” After pulling down the same dirt trail through the woods, he parked under the same pine tree as before. “It’s unsafe to utter the name of the beast aloud.” Killing the engine, he swiveled to face me, and Poe climbed up to his shoulder perch. “Stare into my eyes, and you will find the answers you seek.”
And so, I let go, falling deeper and deeper into his pupils, until the name of the beast manifested in my mind—Wendigo—and with it, a few unspoken truths. Truths like, the Wendigo looked gaunt to the point of emaciation, its desiccated skin pulled taut over its bones, pushing against its skin, its complexion the ash gray of death, its eyes sunken deep into its sockets. What lips it once had now tattered and bloody. Its body unclean, suffering from suppurations of the flesh, emitting a strange and eerie odor of decay and decomposition, of death and corruption.
First encountered by the Algonquin and Cree tribes, the word “Wendigo” literally meant “evil that devours.” Hundreds of years old, each beast was once a man, sometimes Native American or a frontiersman, miner, or hunter—somebody who resorted to cannibalism during a harsh winter or while cut off from supplies and/or help. Cultures worldwide believed consuming human flesh gave the cannibal speed, strength, and even immortality, much like a skinwalker.
“This beast is even deadlier,” Mr. Mayhem said aloud. “It’s a compulsive man-eater, always hungry, always on the hunt for food, and with breath that reeks of burnt flesh. And by ‘food’ I mean—”
“Yeah.” My stomach flipped inside out. “Got that part, thanks.”
“Unlike the white man’s ridiculous portrayal, this beast is not horned, nor antlered. It stands about twelve feet tall, with long, bony limbs—the beast’s sheer size is so massive the human mind cannot fully comprehend it. Extremely thin because of malnourishment, it’s emaciated with pale green skin and visible bones—a symbol of its unquenchable hunger. Its maw filled with crooked, yellowed, fanglike teeth, its hands and feet end in razor-like talons.”
Poe lifted one leg, opening and closing his talons to demonstrate. Or to remind me of his ability to claw my eyes out while I slept. Friggin’ psycho.
“The North camera flickered.”
“So, your solution was to drag me outta there rather than—oh, I dunno—tell me to stop?”
“And risk a barrage of questions in return?” His lips smoothed to a straight line. “Yes, Cautious Cat. I had to make a split second decision to prevent you from triggering the North camera, and I would do it again. Honestly, I don’t understand the drama. You are cognizant of the stakes, are you not?”
An image of Spirit Crow flitted through my mind. She forfeited her life for mine. Maybe he had a point.
To examine my skin, I raised the hem of my shirt, inflamed tracks swelling from friction, but I couldn’t tell much more than that. “Am I bleeding? It burns like a bitch.”
“Colorful word choices notwithstanding, Jacy Lee whipped up several medicinal salves and teas before we left. They’re in my suitcase. Shall we head back to Thorn Hill? There isn’t much more we can do here tonight.”
Rather than give me a friggin’ second to gain my bearings, he headed for the street. And I followed, trampling over fallen limbs and branches, the entire front of me soaked from moist gravel. Damn sprinklers turned the dirt into mud. Talk about drawing attention to ourselves. How could I stroll through the lobby like this? I probably looked like I just got sideswiped by a Mac truck.
Moonlight cascaded down the front of my clothes at the Caddy.
“Oh, my.” After a quick scan of both ends of the road, he shed his leather blazer, creased the jacket down the middle, and laid it over the armrest like a cherished treasure. “When we arrive at the inn, you may cover up with my jacket, but please refrain from soiling the liner. I just had it dry cleaned.”
“Maybe you shoulda thought of that before dragging me by the ankles,” I mumbled as I slid into the passenger seat.
Smirking, Mr. Mayhem tugged the driver’s door closed.
On the drive back to Thorn Hill, his phone rang, and he glimpsed the caller ID. “It’s unlike your grandfather to call this late.” On the steering wheel, he hit the hands-free button. “What a delightful surprise, Ja—”
“Cheveyo, where are you?”
In the background, Maggie wailed, sheer terror lacing her cries.
“We’re in the Caddy. Is that Little Rain?”
I blurted out, “Shicheii, what happened? Is she hurt?”
“She’s frightened, honey, for good reason. Poe and Spirit Crow are with her, but the others are still out there. Cheveyo, how soon can you get back here?”
“We’re on our way.”
“I need to save the others. Hurry.”
A dial tone flatlined.
Every nerve ending in my body sizzled like severed electrical wires after a storm. “What’s happening? Why does he sound so scared?”
Mr. Mayhem sped through the back roads, veering out to the main drag within two minutes, three max.
“Why does Shicheii sound so scared?” I repeated. “I’ve never heard him like that.”
Silent and stoic, he focused on the road.
I kicked the dash. “Why aren’t you answering me?”
“You best rein in that petulant behavior, young lady.”
“Then tell me what’s goin’ on.”
“How would you propose I do that when I am seated here with you?”
“Well, you know more than I do.”
“Perhaps.” The tail end fishtailed when he banged a sharp right, racing through the dark streets.
Eighteen different scenarios fled through my mind, not one of them positive. “Should I worry?”
“Yes.” When he turned into the driveway, the Caddy slowed. “Keep an eye out.”
I flung up my hands. “For what?”
“Anomalies.” His gaze bounced from window to window. “Anything that does not belong.”
Straight ahead, crisscrossed firewood stood chest-high. Shicheii was in the yard, setting the massive bonfire ablaze. He backed away from the flames, knelt on one knee, and built another fire.
The mere sight of my grandfather in a panic popped a tendon in my neck, my blood pressure rising, heating me from the inside out. What the hell is happening?
Parked in front of the cabin, Mr. Mayhem leaped of out the Caddy, leveling an arm at me as he jogged toward Shicheii. “Get inside—now.”
He looked panicked, too.
None of the crows on the porch railing reacted when I slammed the passenger door, jumped all three stairs, and careened into the cabin. In the fetal position on the living room floor, Maggie’s petite frame shook—hysterical and crying—with Spirit Crow and Poe perched on her side, preening her hair with their bills.
In case she was in physical pain from an injury, I curled my body around hers. “Mags, I’m here.”
She flipped to face me, Poe and Spirit Crow leaping into the air, fluttering down to the floor as she curled into my chest.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“Wen-wen-wen…” Words jumbled through her tears. And then, her whole body stiffened, and she latched on to me. “They’re not safe out there.”
“What? Who’s not safe, Shicheii and Dedenaan? Or the crows?”
Head rocking, she cried harder, her tiny frame shuddering in my arms, and I didn’t know why or how to help her. Whatever she witnessed frightened her to the core.
I peeled her off me. “I need to see if they need my help.”
“No—don’t go!”
“Mags, it’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”
“You’ll die!” She wailed. “Shicheii and Dedenaan aren’t safe out there.”
Might be an overreaction from a nine-year-old, might be something more serious, but there’s only one way to find out. I paused a beat, staring at Spirit Crow, and she dipped her bill, confirming she’d take care of Maggie while I checked things out.
When I darted out to the porch, more crows joined the others on the railing, roofline, table, and the chairs. Black wings surrounded me with a blanket of feathers, but all focused on Shicheii and Mr. Mayhem in the yard, lighting a third bonfire—a semicircle of flames dancing under the stars.
What were they doing? More importantly, why?
Chapter Nineteen
“If you listen close at night, you will hear the creatures of the dark,
all of them sacred—the owls, the crickets, the frogs, the night birds—
and you will hear beautiful songs, songs you have never heard before.
Listen with your heart. Never stop listening.”
—Henry Quick Bear, Lakota
Midnight
Mayhem set more firewood ablaze, then stood back with Jacy Lee as roaring flames encircled the yard. He hadn’t pressed his old friend about why he felt the need to create a barrier, but he knew him well enough to guess. Medicine Men always had a reason for their actions. If Mayhem’s correct, this fiasco might be his fault. Earlier today, he made a rash error in judgment, the result of which could be the cause of Jacy Lee’s malaise.
Perhaps his lifelong friend misinterpreted the signs, resulting in sheer panic and undue stress. It’s not often Mayhem made decisions in haste, but the crow hunt rattled him. In hindsight, he should’ve handled the situation differently. Alas, the damage was already done.
Charging straight at him and Jacy Lee, Shawnee called out, “Whaddaya need me to do?”
Oh, my. Jacy Lee would not be pleased that she left the safety of the cabin. Perhaps he should intervene. “Cat, I asked you to stay with Little Rain. Did I not?”
“Yeah, but—” Her head bobbed around his shoulder. “Shicheii, are you alright?”
“I’m fine, child.” After a quick embrace, he released her. “Now, Cheveyo asked you a question. It’s impolite to ignore him.”
“Sorry, but I just wanted to check on you first. You scared me on the phone.”
“Understandable.” He stroked his granddaughter’s head. “But I am not the one who deserves the apology.”
Finally, she whirled toward Mayhem, her fair complexion aglow with firelight. “Sorry for ignoring you, Mister M. Why are we out here? Why all the fires? I don’t get it. What happened? Maggie’s a wreck.”
“We are fully aware of that, thank you. Hence why I asked you to stay with her. Yet here you stand. Tell me—” With a hard stare, he invaded her personal space. “Why is it you feel so free to disobey me?” To avoid a tongue-lashing from Jacy Lee, he lowered his voice. “Have you forgotten who I am?”
“Um, no.” Visibly, she gulped, but she did not back away. Impressive for such a feisty feline. “Have you?”
He startled. “I beg your pardon.”
“What’s your real last name?”
When her gaze locked with his, he smirked. “I believe we’ve already established how curiosity killed the cat. Have we not?” He didn’t wait for a response. “Now, please stay with Little Rain. Keep her safe. Your grandfather and I will be in shortly.”
“Fine!” She backed away, turned on her heels, and stomped toward the cabin, tossing remarks over her shoulder. None relevant.
He sidled up next to Jacy Lee. “She has a point, dear friend. We cannot adequately assist unless you share what preceded”—he swept a hand at the fires—“all of this. Are you hoping to secure the property or buy time?”
“Both.”
Not the response he was hoping for. “I see.”
“We need to get Little Rain out of here for her own protection,” he said in a barely audible voice. “If it discovers that we have a small child in the house—”
“Why are you so certain it’s here?”
“Walk with me.” Jacy Lee led him toward the cabin, blessing their path with corn pollen and prayer. On the porch, he stopped to face him. “Little Rain and I were gathering herbs and mushrooms from the southeastern corner of the property when we first smelled it.”
Arching an eyebrow, he urged him to continue.
“Decay,” he clarified. “Rotting flesh.”
Just as he feared. “And you’re certain you didn’t stumble across an animal carcass? We are in bear country.”
“After all these years, Cheveyo, I’m surprised you would question my sensory perception.”
“I don’t, old friend. I would never doubt any of your abilities.” Hands clasped in front of his waist, he hesitated. “Would you mind if I played devil’s advocate for a moment?”
“Not at all.”
“Thank you. The beast you speak of has been dormant for decades, has it not?”
“Mother Earth has fallen out of balance, Cheveyo.” Jacy Lee swept an arm around the property. “Look at the nonsensical weather patterns… flooding, drought, tornados, wildfires. Are we not both aware of what can happen without balance and harmony?”
Valid point. “Indeed, we are.”
“Without balance and harmony, is it not unusual for a supernatural beast to reawaken?”
“It is,” he admitted, though not ready to make that leap yet.
“Throw in the fact that we are in the Great North Woods—part of its original hunting grounds—and it becomes a recipe for disaster. Do we need to bring in the Algonquin to revisit their stories of how many tribe members lost their lives to its wrath and power?”
“We do not. However, wouldn’t it be prudent to search for a less nefarious reason for the odor?” O Great Spirit, please don’t let my actions reanimate an ancient beast. “Neither of you spotted the creature, correct?”
“Cheveyo”—Jacy Lee stared deep into Mayhem’s eyes, clawing through his subconscious—“is there something you’re not telling me?”
Shawnee batted open the screen door, startling Mayhem, but Jacy Lee never wavered—his complete focus on his mannerisms, searching for untruths.
When he did not respond, Jacy Lee listed his head to one side. “Should I ask my granddaughter?”
“Ask me what?”
Heat tunneled up his chest. “Taxidermized crows lined his office walls and desk. He was a monster with a total lack of regard for the beautiful lives he and his brethren destroyed. Not to mention his utter ignorance of the Natural World, and he expected me—our People!—to recognize the very laws that allowed him to engage, even celebrate, in this atrocity. White man laws, not ours.” He thrust out his arms. “What would you have me do?”
“What you do on your own time is your business, Cheveyo, but you involved my granddaughter.”
Shawnee stepped out on the porch, and Poe flew out the door to Dad’s shoulder. “I love you,
Shicheii. I really do, but you’re wrong this time.” She jutted a thumb over her shoulder. “He saved my life. Worthington had a gun.”
Wow. She covered for his impulsive act. Cautious Cat never failed to surprise.
Jacy Lee ran the back of his fingers down her cheek. “Mister Worthington threatened you, child?”
“He did, yeah. That monster woulda killed me if Mister M. didn’t step in when he did.”
“Then the odor—?”
“Would be Mister Worthington,” he confessed, and Poe nuzzled his feathery head in the crook of his neck. “I apologize for any undue distress my actions may have caused. Please forgive me.”
“I need time.” Jacy Lee strode into the cabin, returning moments later with Little Rain cradled in his arms and the tribal blanket slung over one shoulder. “Clean up your mess, Cheveyo.” He continued into the yard, into the center ring surrounded by fire, shook out the blanket, and gently lowered Little Rain to the ground. Hovering over her, he prayed to the Holy Ones.
Beside him, Shawnee nudged his elbow. “What’s he doing?”
“Healing her.” A quick kiss for Poe. “We better go. Time is of the essence, I’m afraid.”
“Go where?” As he quick-stepped to the Caddy, she jogged alongside him. “Why are we leaving?”
“You heard your grandfather. We need to clean up our mess.”
Chapter Twenty
Saturday, 1:03 a.m.
While cruising in the Caddy, Poe stood on the middle console, glaring at me. Friggin’ psycho. What’d I do now? With only the headlights to guide us, it appeared Mr. Mayhem took the same route as before, but I couldn’t be sure. In the dark, all the streets looked the same. Either we’re heading to the backside of his property or some other out-of-the-way place.
“Err…” How could I put this? “At the cabin when you said mess…”
“I meant we need to move Mister Worthington.”
“What?” I jolted back, and Poe shot me a what’s-wrong-with-her look. “You can’t be serious. He’s inside a friggin’ tree for chrissakes.”
“I am aware of that, thank you. And watch your language.” He shot me a glower. “I assure you, Cat, I derive no pleasure from this excursion.”
Banging a fist against my thigh, my voice boomed. “Then leave him where he is. What’s done is done.”
“No can do, I’m afraid.”
“Why the hell not?”
Poe’s gaze ping-ponged between us, changing expressions from love to hate, love to hate, love to hate. Guess which look he tossed my way.
“Let me explain something to you, Cat.” His hands wrung the steering wheel. “Our actions earlier may’ve opened a doorway into the supernatural, and through said passageway, an ancient beast may’ve emerged. A creature that neither you nor I are prepared to battle.”
Trying to wrap my mind around this news, I rubbed the outer edge of my eyebrow. “Whaddaya mean, like, a Yenaldlooshi?”
“I’m afraid it’s worse than that. Much worse.”
I blinked. Blinked again and again. “How can anything be worse than a skinwalker?”
“Oh, Cautious Cat, I’d hoped you would have learned by now that there are things in this world that defy logic, defy reason, defy comprehension, but that does not make them any less real. Or deadly.” After pulling down the same dirt trail through the woods, he parked under the same pine tree as before. “It’s unsafe to utter the name of the beast aloud.” Killing the engine, he swiveled to face me, and Poe climbed up to his shoulder perch. “Stare into my eyes, and you will find the answers you seek.”
And so, I let go, falling deeper and deeper into his pupils, until the name of the beast manifested in my mind—Wendigo—and with it, a few unspoken truths. Truths like, the Wendigo looked gaunt to the point of emaciation, its desiccated skin pulled taut over its bones, pushing against its skin, its complexion the ash gray of death, its eyes sunken deep into its sockets. What lips it once had now tattered and bloody. Its body unclean, suffering from suppurations of the flesh, emitting a strange and eerie odor of decay and decomposition, of death and corruption.
First encountered by the Algonquin and Cree tribes, the word “Wendigo” literally meant “evil that devours.” Hundreds of years old, each beast was once a man, sometimes Native American or a frontiersman, miner, or hunter—somebody who resorted to cannibalism during a harsh winter or while cut off from supplies and/or help. Cultures worldwide believed consuming human flesh gave the cannibal speed, strength, and even immortality, much like a skinwalker.
“This beast is even deadlier,” Mr. Mayhem said aloud. “It’s a compulsive man-eater, always hungry, always on the hunt for food, and with breath that reeks of burnt flesh. And by ‘food’ I mean—”
“Yeah.” My stomach flipped inside out. “Got that part, thanks.”
“Unlike the white man’s ridiculous portrayal, this beast is not horned, nor antlered. It stands about twelve feet tall, with long, bony limbs—the beast’s sheer size is so massive the human mind cannot fully comprehend it. Extremely thin because of malnourishment, it’s emaciated with pale green skin and visible bones—a symbol of its unquenchable hunger. Its maw filled with crooked, yellowed, fanglike teeth, its hands and feet end in razor-like talons.”
Poe lifted one leg, opening and closing his talons to demonstrate. Or to remind me of his ability to claw my eyes out while I slept. Friggin’ psycho.
