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  “I’m going to end this,” I promised her.

  “See that you do.” She turned before I could say anything else and stormed back into Valentino’s room, pulling the curtain closed behind her.

  ~

  The PICU was on the same floor, but at the other end of the hospital. It was even more secure than the adult unit, meaning I had to show my ID in addition to my badge. Sal only got through because Nina had put him on a list of only three or four people who could have access and given Sal a passcode to relay to the nurses. Hunter had remained in the waiting area because they were strict here about the two-person limit. There was no real reason for him to accompany us, so we didn’t fight it. I’d only come because Sal convinced me Hunter would be fine on his own and that he’d appreciate having me along.

  I didn’t understand why until we reached Leo’s room. It was dark, a pale neon blue light on the far wall the only illumination. The walls were decorated in bright colors and cartoon characters from popular movies. A dry erase board near the door laid out who his nurses and doctors for the day were and a clipboard at the end of a plastic crib held his most recent vitals. Leo was doing well, but still under observation, which I was assured was standard procedure following CPR.

  Leo was asleep in the crib, his head turned sideways, allowing his dark, curly hair to stick up on one side. An IV line went out of one arm while an oxygen sensor had been wrapped around his big toe. He wore a white t-shirt that had been pulled up while he slept. Blue bandages that looked more like tape covered his ribs. There wasn’t much mending traditional medicine could do for broken ribs other than pain relief and monitoring, but maybe the blue strips helped with pressure or to restrict movement. The PICU nurse we’d spoken to outside his room said that Leo was sedated for now because he’d been too active and they worried he’d hurt himself further. They were monitoring him for the risk of secondary drowning—which was rare, but happened sometimes when a victim was pulled from the water, they told me—but no one seemed concerned that he was in any real danger.

  I hung by the door while Sal went up to the crib. Leo stirred a little when Sal touched the top of his head. The boy’s eyes fluttered open halfway. “Sleep, little one,” Sal whispered.

  Leo’s eyes closed.

  Sal moved his hands to Leo’s chest and placed his hands very gently over the blue tape. There were no bright lights when Sal used his magick, but the air did change. It felt calmer, quieter, lighter. He had healed some of my small injuries before, and it always seemed to feel gentle. It reminded me of a light breeze on a summer day.

  It was not gentle for him. Sweat appeared on his brow and he winced. That was the cost of the healing. Whatever pain or injury Leo had transferred to him to a lesser degree. He wouldn’t necessarily suddenly have a set of broken ribs, but he might feel as if he did. Sal took the pain and sickness from the suffering and bore it himself.

  I’d always wondered if that had something to do with Chanter’s cancer, since I knew he could do the same. Maybe, over time, it did more than just hurt a little. Or maybe it was because Chanter had smoked a pack of cigarettes a day since he was twelve.

  After a long moment, Sal pulled his hands away and let out a deep breath, lowering his head.

  “You okay?” I asked, stepping closer.

  “Yeah. Just...” His hand went to the leather bag that hung around his neck and closed on the strings. “Leo and Valentino are very connected. Some of Valentino’s pain filters through. I tried to shut it down, but I’m not sure I can. Parent-child bonds aren’t so easily closed, even temporarily.”

  I stepped up beside him and put a hand on his back. “I get that.”

  His eyes closed and he tilted his head to the side, a deep, thoughtful look playing over his sharp features. “I know the pain of losing a child.”

  He and his ex-wife had buried one infant and I knew there had been several miscarriages. That was partly what had broken up his marriage. Sal didn’t talk much about it, partly because it was such a great pain for him. All this business with Zara searching for the souls of her dead children, and reincarnation of the dead must have brought some of that back. He sympathized with her.

  “It’s a special kind of guilt to survive your child,” he continued. “You see things and you wonder, ‘would he have liked that? Would we have done this together?’”

  My throat felt tight. I leaned against him to be supportive, but mostly because I didn’t know what else to do but listen.

  “Imagine thousands of years of that and then, suddenly, coming back to the place you called home and seeing parts of your child all around. All I ever had was a shelf of unopened diapers. Just imagine the grief of it. It’s enough to drive anyone insane. The sorrow and pain she probably feels... must be agonizing.”

  I pressed my forehead against his arm. “I suppose I don’t blame her for the way she’s behaving then, but we still can’t let it go unchecked.”

  “I know. I just can’t help but think sending her back to darkness and death is the wrong thing to do.”

  I looked up at him and shrugged. “Well, what else can we do?”

  Sal shook his head. “If only there were a way to release her spirit, separate the woman from the Uktena. She was human once. That spirit is suffering because it was bonded to something that was never meant to be. If we could separate them, then she could be at peace.”

  “Why hasn’t Logan done that?” He was a powerful practitioner in his own right, a man who had embraced another powerful spirit, the spirit of the Thunderbird. He was also the one who had bonded his daughter with the Uktena to begin with, so why hadn’t he separated them and let his daughter go?

  Letting go.

  I pushed away from Sal. “That’s it! He hasn’t because he’s still grieving, too. While Zara was locked away, he still had his daughter. In a certain sense, she was still alive and he could still protect her. If he breaks apart the two spirits, he has to let her go.”

  “And no father ever wants to mourn the loss of a child,” Sal finished.

  I gripped his arm tight. “Sal, I have an idea on how to fix this for everyone.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  We met Shauna and Daphne outside the emergency room. Doc Ramis was there, and Shauna was loading Valentino into the back of her sky-blue Prius. Doc held an IV bag and kept shifting it one way or the other to keep the line in Valentino’s arm from pulling. Nina stood by, arms crossed and face tight. She glanced at us as we came out, and then turned to go back in, probably to sit with Leo.

  Ed was there, too. I hadn’t seen him in the room before, so I assume he must’ve been out grabbing the soda he held in one hand. The neon green liquid in the bottle contrasted sharply with the bright red t-shirt he wore. I smiled a little when I saw the text on the t-shirt read, “I saved Hyrule and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.”

  “Judah,” he said, jogging up to me, “tell me you guys are fixing all this.”

  “It’s being handled,” Sal said.

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Ed had a good heart, but he wasn’t a fighter. I didn’t want him pulled into what was going on, but if I just dismissed him, he’d probably feel bad. Like me, Ed needed something to do when there was trouble. It just wasn’t in him to sit on his hands.

  I nodded and pulled a small notebook from my purse along with a pen. I scribbled down a quick list and handed it to him.

  He gave me a funny look and wrinkled his nose. “What’s all this for?”

  “Tomorrow night. Call Father Reed, too. See if the church is free after six tomorrow night.”

  “Tomorrow?” Realization dawned in stages on Ed’s face. “Oh! Right. I can do that.” He stole a glance back at the car as Doc squeezed in the back with Valentino. “And you’ll let me know if there’s anything I can do for him, right?”

  “I promise.”

  Ed darted off for his moped, which was parked nearby. The old thing coughed to life and he sped off.

  “
We’ll meet you at Chanter’s,” Sal told Shauna as she paused by her car.

  She nodded and got in.

  “So how do we get in contact with Logan?” Hunter asked.

  Sal started for his truck. “I wouldn’t worry about it. I imagine he’ll find us.”

  ~

  Just as Sal predicted, Logan was at Chanter’s house when we arrived. He was throwing a little red ball for Bolt as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Logan threw it one more time after we pulled into the driveway, but held it after Bolt brought it back, much to the dog’s displeasure.

  “So, Hunter,” Logan said as the dog trotted beside him, “have you come to a decision yet?”

  Hunter gave a single, firm nod. “I’ll do it.”

  “Very good.” Logan lifted his head to address Sal. “Your friend, Valentino, has been taken into the lodge for healing. Chanter indicated that you should join him.”

  Sal knitted his brows together and gave me a long look.

  “She and her boy will be fine with me,” Logan promised. “No harm will come to them. I gave you my word, didn’t I? Both will be returned to you safely, wolf, along with the scale you’ll need to make the cure for Valentino.”

  I turned toward Sal and he mimicked my move. “It’ll be fine. Time is running out. You’re needed here where you can help.”

  It was a long moment before Sal reached out to take my hand. “Be safe, Judah, and remember what we talked about.”

  “I will.” I squeezed his hand before he pulled it away, leaving the keys to his truck behind.

  Logan tilted his head back and forth, mimicking a bird watching something with intense interest, only his gaze was focused on Sal as he walked away. “Interesting. What is it exactly that you two spoke of? Something the rest of us should be aware of?”

  “You know, Sal is a father, too.”

  Logan frowned. “I was informed that he had lost a child.”

  “It doesn’t mean he’s any less of a parent.” I put my hands on Hunter’s shoulders. “That love doesn’t die just because a child’s heart stops beating.”

  Something flashed in his eyes, but I couldn’t tell if it was rage or sorrow. Whatever it was, my words had struck a chord and I knew I’d been right earlier about why he hadn’t separated Zara’s spirit from Utena’s.

  Logan pushed past me. “We will have better luck going to the place we last saw her. However, I believe we can draw her anywhere. It may be wiser to use the part of the river north of Paint Rock, the section close to here. There will be no people there for her to harm.”

  “No people but us,” Hunter muttered.

  Logan heard him. I was sure by the way he turned his head, but the old Thunderbird chose not to respond. “I will fly over the road to guide you to the place. You can take your truck.”

  A bright light flashed in front of me. I put up a hand to shield my eyes and blinked away the sudden assault of green in my vision the flash left behind. When I could see again, all that was left of Logan on the ground was a large, black shadow. I looked to the sky and found him circling the immediate area. I couldn’t see his face, but I detected a sense of impatience in the way he moved through the sky.

  Hunter and I got back into the truck and Logan took off down the long driveway. I tried not to think about what we were about to do and how much of a risk it was. Zara had killed. She’d nearly killed again. Her moods were unpredictable and driven by thoughts and desires I couldn’t fully understand. Putting my son in front of her as bait, dressed up like one of her dead children might make her sympathetic. It might remind her of all she’d lost and invoke a motherly feeling. It might also make her angry and vengeful, especially if she saw through the ruse. My son had chosen to take that risk and I would support him. I only wished we’d had time to come up with a better plan.

  At the main road, Logan turned right and I followed as if we were headed back to Paint Rock. Just before the reservation walls, Logan made a sharp left where there was no road. I squinted for a better look and saw that there was an unpaved track that went down that way.

  He must’ve meant for me to take it, I thought, so I did. My car wouldn’t have been able to handle such a road, but Sal’s truck was in good shape and did well enough, even though we bounced everywhere.

  The road got rougher the further we went. I had to steer around naked bushes and small mounds. Soon, a narrow body of water sprang up on my right. The Concho River. By my guess, we were three, maybe four miles from the highway I’d left. I could hear traffic zooming by on the Ray Stoker Jr. Highway not too far away, but it must’ve been on the other side of the trees and somewhat distant. Maybe a half mile away. Less than twenty miles ahead was the marina. I knew because Hunter and I had gone to check it out not long ago. The marina was where the Concho River fed into the Colorado, but those mighty waters were far enough away that the little river we drove beside was barely more than a creek.

  Logan touched down in an open area where there was still a little grass. He didn’t change back into a man, but waited patiently for me to pull the truck away from the spot and behind some heavy bushes. After parking, I got out and arranged the branches of the bush as best I could to conceal the truck. It didn’t have to be perfect. It just had to be good enough.

  Once the truck was concealed, Hunter and I walked the short distance to where Logan waited. While we were busy, he’d changed back into a human and busied himself in gathering a handful of mud that he formed into a thick patty. Bolt sniffed around, wagging her tail and hopped off to chase a rabbit out of the brush.

  “Your role will not be to fight,” Logan said to Hunter as he stood from where he squatted near the water. He walked up to us, passing the mud patty between his hands. “Your role is to be still and calming. You must act as if you are her lost child. We will do the rest.”

  Logan broke off a small section of the mud and tucked it behind Hunter’s ear, smoothing it down and around his jawline. He spread another chunk over Hunter’s cheekbones and more still on his chin and around his eyes. As it dried, the mud crusted and crumbled, but when it fell away, it left subtle changes in the shape of Hunter’s face. It was as if he was crafting another human out of the clay-rich soil overtop of my son. This new child was thicker in the face, though he somehow managed to have sharp, angular features as well.

  When he’d finished sculpting a new face for Hunter, Logan lifted what was left of the mud above Hunter’s head and crumbled it between two fingers. It rained down as dry dust that the wind took up and scattered. Some of it struck me in the face and I had to turn away, coughing to clear my lungs. When I turned back, Hunter was gone. The boy standing in his place was younger, shorter, with sun-darkened skin. He wore loose fitting deerskin leggings and a necklace made of little white beads. The wavy, dark brown hair on his head had turned black and straight. The middle section of his hair had been teased upright while the rest flowed down in short, tightly wrapped braids on either side.

  I stepped forward to circle around him. Had I not known this was Hunter, I would have mistaken him for another child entirely.

  “Gawonii,” Logan said from behind me. “For now, that is your name. Remember it.”

  “What kind of magick is this?” I reached out to touch Hunter’s crafted face. It felt indistinguishable from real skin. “A glamor?”

  “No, not a glamor. Old magick. Magick that should not be here.” Logan’s face and voice were grave. “When Zara and I leave, we will take it with us and the world will be as it was.”

  “I don’t understand. What’s wrong with this magick?” Hunter looked down at himself, clearly as amazed as I was.

  “Nothing is wrong with it, child, but the time for it has passed. This is not our world anymore. The time for us to cede it to other generations was long ago. It isn’t a sad thing, though you’ll hear many mourn the loss of the old ways.” Logan gave a grim smile and gripped Hunter’s shoulder. “But they forget in the old days, there was much death and suffering. Before medicine
and technology, life was short and brutal. The loss of such magick is the price we pay so that others may live fuller, happier lives. The world is made of give and take. All must trade one treasure for the next eventually.”

  Logan withdrew his hand and cleared his throat. “Now, Judah Black, you and I will go into the bushes and wait for Zara to show herself while Gawonii plays his part.” He retreated.

  I stayed to give some final advice to Hunter, squatting down in front of him so that our heads were level. “If things get out of hand, I want you to turn and run as fast as you can back the way we came. Don’t feel obligated to take any more risks than you’re already taking, no matter what. Okay, kiddo?”

  Hunter threw his arms around me and squeezed. “Just make sure you come like you promised.”

  I hugged him back and kissed him on the side of the head. “I will always come when you call.”

  Logan had ducked behind a thick bush and called over Bolt who sat panting attentively, ears perked. When I went to join him, Logan pulled a knife from his belt and handed it to me. “Her hide is as tough as diamond, but that one scale will be her weakness. Slice it free, and I will do the rest.”

  I took the knife and slipped further behind the bushes, kneeling next to the dog. “Logan, there’s something we need to talk about.”

  “Shhh! She’ll hear us. Silence now. We will talk after.”

  I restrained myself from letting out a frustrated huff. Every time someone said that in the movies, they usually died before the two characters could have their talk. I hoped that didn’t mean something would happen to Logan, especially since the whole plan depended on him staying in flight.

  “Mother!” Hunter put his hands to his mouth and gave a loud shout in a voice that was not his. “Mother, I’m here! Mother!”

  It took everything I had not to run to him. There’s a primal instinct in mothers to come to a child’s aid, even if the child isn’t your own. If you don’t believe me, walk into a crowded park one afternoon and shout “mommy” and see how many heads turn. We’re hardwired to respond because in pre-modernity, it took a whole team of mothers to raise a single child. When the child calling is your own, even if he doesn’t look like yours, that urge to respond is even stronger. If Zara had any motherly instinct left in her, she would show.