Black Moon Sing (The Turquoise Path Book 1) (7 page)

Sylvia’s cheeks darkened again; she blinked tears away from her big blue eyes. “I’m really worried about Vivi. If some creep is out there targeting traders, she may be in danger.”

“And you may be in danger, too, Ellery,” River added soberly. He wrapped an arm around Sylvia’s shoulders, trying to comfort her.

“Don’t worry about me,” Ellery said. It was a knee-jerk response, as automatic as could be. But a cold knot of fear was twisting in her stomach, and she had no idea what she ought to do about it.

River squinted at Ellery in an appraising way. “What?” he demanded.

My friends are far too observant for my own good
. “Nothing,” Ellery said, folding her arms defensively.

“You’ve got some serious anxiety right now,” River said. “More than we’re feeling.”

Who says fae don’t have strong magic?
she thought sourly. River’s ability to pick up on other people’s most deeply hidden emotions had always struck Ellery as thoroughly Paranormal. Creepy, even.

She sighed and gave in to River’s expectant stare. “Ever since last night, I’ve been feeling this…
call
. Like something’s telling me to come toward it. Like something’s
forcing
me to come toward it. It’s very hard to resist.”

“What is it?” Sylvia asked.

Ellery snorted. “Hell if I know. I’m not going to go toward it, though; I can tell you that much. And last night, I tried to shift but couldn’t. It was like there was some kind of barrier between me and my animals—some kind of interference with my magic. I couldn’t get to Ghost Owl or Dusty, no matter how hard I tried. I don’t know if that’s related to the
call
or not, but it was scary. Real scary.”

“Do you think whatever’s calling you is doing the same to Vivi?” Sylvia said. “She’s a trader, too, after all.”

“Obviously I can’t say for sure. But with two traders in the area murdered and one missing, I think we’d be crazy not to assume there’s some kind of link here. And I spoke to somebody last night at the Blue Room—a vampire.”

River grimaced.

“He told me that other people have reported that their trader friends missing,” Ellery said. “Something’s not right in Flagstaff… at least, something’s not right for traders.”

She reached into the pocket of her jeans and found the turquoise bead, small and hard between her fingers. She pulled it out, held it up where her friends could see it clearly.

“This is the only clue I have—if you can even call it a clue. Along with his shifting tokens, William Roanhorse’s ceremonial turquoise was taken from his home. I found this dropped in the killer’s tracks. I don’t know if it’s of any use to us, or what the theft of turquoise might mean, but—”

Sylvia leaned forward eagerly. As an elemental earth witch, she had a strong affinity for all kinds of rocks, minerals, and metals. Her eyes blazed with interest, as bright and shining as the turquoise itself.

“Can I touch it, please?”

“Sure.” Ellery dropped the bead into Sylvia’s palm.

The moment it touched her skin, Sylvia gasped. She closed her fist around the bead, and then closed her eyes, concentrating. Ellery felt the faintest throbbing in the air, a shift in the local energy so slight she almost wasn’t aware of it at all. She knew Sylvia was working her Caster’s magic, but she had no clue what the witch might be doing.

Finally, after a long silence, Sylvia opened her eyes. “This bead was once a part of a much larger rock,” she said. “I can still feel that old memory inside it. The rock was cut into many smaller pieces, and then turned into beads just like this one.”

“That makes sense,” Ellery said.

“Turquoise is a very special kind of mineral. It’s porous, you know: it can absorb all kinds of elements and substances, and many of those substances can retain and conduct energy. Oils, dust—even, I sometimes think, feeling and sound and thought.”

River’s smooth brow furrowed. “How is it possible for a rock to absorb feelings?”

“I don’t know,” Sylvia said. “I don’t know precisely how it works; I only know that it does work. I’ve never
felt
as strongly as I do when I touch turquoise. It’s one of the most magical of all stones. I don’t fully understand how it does what it does. But I can tell you with absolute confidence that it has real power.”

The earth witch turned her sober gaze to Ellery. “Your friend who was killed—he was an old trader, right? He’d been doing it for many years?”

“That’s right,” Ellery said. “He had to have been near eighty, and shifting almost his whole life.”

“Do you know how much turquoise he had?”

Ellery shrugged helplessly. “A lot. Any Diné traditionalist would have plenty of turquoise, in just about any form—beads, carvings, even just the stones themselves. And Roanhorse was as traditional as they come. But I didn’t find any turquoise at all in his home—not a speck of it. Whoever killed him took it all.”

Sylvia’s white face blanched even paler. “I think it’s entirely possible that the killer was after the turquoise, not your friend’s tokens. Maybe the tokens were stolen as an afterthought; I don’t know. But turquoise this well-used, from a trader as old and experienced as Roanhorse, would hold powerful memories inside the stone. And if anyone knew how to read those memories—how to access the magic the turquoise had absorbed—”

“Are you saying,” Ellery interrupted, “that a wise old trader’s turquoise might retain a… a kind of
map
of his magic?”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Sylvia said. “There’s a path inside this bead—a path inside every bead cut from the original stone, and most likely a similar path in every bit of turquoise Roanhorse owned and used. He unwittingly made a road map of his magic, and wrote it in the heart of his turquoise.”

“But still,” River said, “who would kill him in order to get his beads? What use would a path to a trader’s magic be? We use only the magic we’re born with; we can’t just learn someone else’s abilities from scratch.”

Ellery suppressed a shiver. “That’s right. Paras are born, not made. Nobody can learn magic that isn’t inside them already. Magic is a gift we’re given. We can’t just pick it up, like buying a Slurpee at the corner store.”

Or
, she thought wryly,
depending on how your culture views magic, it’s a curse, not a gift
.

“Why can’t we learn other people’s magic?” Bran’s languid, almost mopy voice caught Ellery off guard. She turned quickly in her seat to see Sylvia’s boyfriend leaning casually against the kitchen’s door frame. His arms were folded over his chest in an attitude of unconcern, but his green eyes sparked with an intensity Ellery neither understood nor liked.

“Everyone just thinks we can’t learn other kinds of magic,” Bran said. “But how often has anybody actually tried it?”

“Lots of people have tried,” River said. His tone was carefully neutral, but Ellery didn’t need to share his fae powers to feel the irritation and mistrust pouring off of him. She couldn’t blame him; she had never liked Bran much, either, though she had tried, for Sylvia’s sake.

“
Shyeah
,” Bran laughed. “People have fucked around with a few sad little spells in their backyards. But who has tried to
really master
another form of magic? No one, that’s who. Everybody’s too chicken-shit to even attempt it.”

“That’s because most people don’t enjoy wasting their time,” Ellery said.

Bran rolled his eyes. “Go ahead and live a confined life forever, if you want to. See if I care.”

“Okay, King Shit.” Ellery pulled the leather string that held Dusty’s tooth over her head. She thrust the token toward Bran. “If you’re some kind of incredible, multi-purpose wizard, shift into my coyote.”

The warlock made no move to take the necklace from her hand.

“Go on,” Ellery needled. “Show us how badass you are. We’re dying to behold your versatility.”

“I didn’t say
I’d
studied other kinds of magic,” Bran muttered.

“How convenient.”

Ellery returned the coyote token to her neck, clenching her fists to suppress a visible shudder of relief. Dusty had been her longest and most loyal animal spirit; she hated to remove the coyote-tooth token, even for a moment. But occasionally, she just couldn’t resist poking at Bran. It was too easy and satisfying to put him in his place.

Sylvia gave a long-suffering sigh, then said, “I don’t know whether Bran is right or not, but I don’t see any reason why he has to be wrong, either. It has always been common knowledge that Paras can’t learn foreign magic. But maybe no one was ever going about it in the right way. And if anything might provide a clear path to shifting—a way for a non-trader to learn a trader’s magic—it’s turquoise. Especially very old turquoise that has witnessed countless shifts.”

“See?” Bran drew himself up, coming out of his habitual slouch.

This time Ellery saw no point in hiding her contempt for Bran’s perpetually shitty attitude. “
Ugh
,” she said.

Bran shot back, “Whatever.”

With that brilliant retort, he stalked out of the kitchen. A moment later the front door opened and shut.

River offered a tiny smile. “The little black storm cloud has blown away.”

“Not a moment too soon,” Ellery said. “Sylvia, why are you still with that jerk? You could do so much better.”

“I can handle his moodiness,” Sylvia replied with a shrug. “Besides, you know the Para dating pool isn’t exactly overflowing with bachelors. And there’s no way I’d try my luck with a Typ. It would never work out.”

I’d rather be single for a thousand years than put up with Bran
, Ellery thought. But she kept it to herself. They were all tense today, on edge with worry over Vivi’s disappearance. The last thing they needed was to bicker among themselves.

“So,” Ellery said, “we might be dealing with somebody who has figured out how to tap into traders’ magic. Somebody who now has animal tokens for shifting and a turquoise road map that shows them exactly how to do it.”

“If they’re smart enough to read the map,” Sylvia added.

Ellery stared at each of her friends in turn. After a long silence, she said, “Well… shit.”

“I know,” River said. “I know.”

He looked just as pale as Sylvia, and Ellery wasn’t feeling too sunny at that moment, either. The very idea of meddling with somebody else’s magic made her sick, as if the world was spinning around her and wracking her with vertigo.

“I still don’t know how anybody might hope to read a map to shifting,” Ellery said. “But it’s clear that this person is willing to kill to get what he wants.”

Sylvia nodded briskly. “Until we figure out who’s behind these murders, I think it’s safe to assume that Vivi and every other trader in the area is in serious danger.”

Ellery sighed. “I think you’re right.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

E
llery parted ways with her friends outside Sylvia’s house. The afternoon was growing old; soon evening would arrive. But the most intense heat of the day still beat back at them, rebounding from the sidewalk, the street, even from the surfaces of cars parked along the road.

“We’ll meet back here in one hour,” Sylvia reminded them. “If you find Vivi before that time, or any hint about where she might be, send a text.”

“Got it,” River said.

Ellery walked south along Izabel Street, headed for the tiny, one-bedroom cottage Vivi rented. As she followed the route, her eyes scanned the sidewalk and the pink-brown rock gardens of every house she passed, searching for the smallest clue to her friend’s whereabouts. But the whole time, that eerie summoning sensation grew stronger and more insistent until Ellery felt sick and sweat beaded her brow.

Whatever is trying to get my attention, it doesn’t like me heading away from it
. That realization only inspired Ellery to walk all the faster, even though her stomach churned and her heart felt fluttery and weak.

After several blocks, she arrived at Vivi’s cottage and made a careful search of the exterior. The small white house was absolutely still. No signs of distress marked the yard—no gouge-marks in the rock garden that would indicate anyone being dragged away, nothing broken or out of place.

All the blinds on the windows were open. Ellery made her way around the cottage, peering into every room, but Vivi was clearly not there. Nor did the inside of her home reveal any signs of a struggle.

Ellery breathed deeply at the doorstep. Even with her stronger-than-average senses, she couldn’t find any trace of Vivi’s scent—no recent evidence of her presence. In her coyote form, she would be able to sort through the smells more deftly. Dusty’s nose was even better than her own.

She slipped to the back of the cottage again, away from the street where end-of-day traffic was rolling steadily past. Several neighbors’ yards shared a fence line with Vivi’s home, and anyone might be looking out those windows at that moment. Ellery tried to avoid shifting in front of Typs whenever she could; Hosteen was a recent exception, and she had only shifted in front of him thanks to the urgency of their situation. She crouched down between Vivi’s garbage and recycling bins, reached through the coyote-tooth amulet, and found Red Dust on Paws, good old Dusty, waiting eagerly to make the trade.

The blue light flashed and the rushing sensation cascaded over her body, but Ellery felt her human body and her coyote gasp in surprise as the shift occurred. The usual flow of energy was much stronger than usual. In fact, she was tempted to call it forceful—even violent. But in the next moment she felt pavement beneath four paws, and her senses raised in a sudden crescendo like the volume cranked up on a music player. Despite the strangeness of the magical atmosphere, the shift had been successful.

Even in the midst of her turmoil and fear, Ellery reveled in the feel of her coyote form. There was something special about Dusty. The coyote had lived in this mortal world many generations ago, and had consistently chosen Diné traders to work with ever since her death. The tooth pendant was the last known remaining scrap of Dusty’s original body, the final link through which a trader could connect with the wise old spirit.

Roanhorse had given the tooth to Ellery when she was very young, when her paranormal abilities had first become evident—and Dusty had been her constant companion, her most patient and gentle teacher, ever since. The coyote was more than a trade animal to her; she was the last connection Ellery still had to her home. On a day fraught with danger and fear, spending some time in her coyote form felt like a warm, encouraging hug to Ellery.

She trotted out from between the trash cans, muzzle held low, sniffing the ground to find the freshest trace of Vivi’s scent. Circling the house twice left Ellery no wiser. She could certainly smell Vivi more clearly with her coyote’s nose, but the freshest track was at least twenty-four hours old: a direct line leading from Vivi’s front door toward the street, with no whiff of sweat or fear, no bitter note of anger.

Ellery followed the scent down the short driveway and up the sidewalk, but it was soon lost among the variety of smells that overlay it, lacing the world like an intricate web.

Maybe I’ll pick it up again if I keep moving…

She pressed on, searching the ground with her nose. But the scents remained a jumble, and her thoughts began to wander. She ignored the dogs who barked insults at her as she passed their yards, and ignored, too, the stares of people in the passing cars—a coyote in broad daylight was unusual enough to attract mild interest. In her animal form, the imperative to move northeast—back toward the Navajo Nation, toward whatever called to her—was even stronger, more difficult to resist. She shook her head and the ruff of gray-brown fur around her neck, and kept on moving.

What is Hosteen doing now?
she wondered.
Is he any closer to solving the murder and finding justice for Roanhorse?

And what on Earth did he think of Ellery for flying off the way she had?

Undoubtedly he thought it was unforgivably rude, but Ellery didn’t care.
Served him right for trying to spring another cop on me
.

Still, maybe she ought to go back and make amends… apologize to him. After all, he was working on behalf of Roanhorse, and Ellery cared about her friend….

Yes, maybe I should go back. Back that direction. Back toward—

The blaring of a car’s horn and the screech of tires on pavement jarred Ellery back to her senses. She leaped and twisted in the air, narrowly avoiding the car that had been speeding toward her. The heat of the road’s paving seared up through her paws as she touched down again; Ellery spun, disoriented, and saw nothing but lanes of traffic all around her, speeding cars, staring human faces, and smelled the stench of exhaust and oil.

She was in the middle of the street.

How the hell did I get here?

Snuffling with rising fear, staring helplessly around as cars zinged past, she spotted the edge of the sidewalk across a lane of traffic. She crouched, trembling, and a car slowed as it approached. Ellery seized the moment and bolted in front of it, running as fast as she could toward the sidewalk. The driver honked at her, but Ellery was fast enough to avoid its bumper.

She kept running past the sidewalk and darted into a prickly hedge at the edge of somebody’s yard. There she curled up in the cool shade, huddling tight around her own coyote form until her breathing grew steady again, and her heart slowed to a less frantic pace.

I almost got hit. I almost got hit! How could I have been so careless?

It was that damn calling—the force pulling her back toward the Rez. It had completely overwhelmed her senses, had shut out all conscious thought. Like a fool, she had let her guard down and had surrendered to its power.

That can’t happen again
. Another brush with traffic could kill her, and then she’d find herself in the other world with her dead spirit-animals.

A chill struck her then, so sharp and deep it cut off her breath for a heartbeat or two.

Is this what happened to Vivi? Did she shift into her cat form and give in to that force? Was she lured out into the street, and… and…

No!

Ellery wouldn’t allow herself to believe it. The smells of hot pavement, noxious fumes, and thick rubber were still thick in her muzzle, and the terrible vibration of cars at close range still rattled through her bones and ruffled her fur. He couldn’t imagine Vivi’s cat, so much smaller than Dusty, dragged helplessly into traffic by a force she could neither understand nor resist.

And it’s clear that I can barely resist this force anymore, either. I need help if I’m going to be of any use to Vivi
.

When her paws felt steady enough to continue, Ellery crawled out from beneath the hedge and set off along the sidewalk again, headed for Sylvia’s pink adobe duplex. Her hour of searching wasn’t up yet, but Ellery would be worse than useless if she got herself hit by a car. She had to have some defense against that strange, summoning force, or she’d be roadkill before the next sunrise.

She only hoped Sylvia could provide a solution to her problem.