Blood and Fire (12 page)

“Here’s why I’m telling you all this. Barron’s producers said he was in Riverdale looking for an Indian artifact. I don’t know what or where, except I think he was in the caverns. Any of this sound familiar to you? Or bring anything to mind?”

Hawkson tapped his right index finger against his coffee mug. “I get the feeling you’ve taken up the hunt for this artifact. Why?”

“It could lead me to Barron’s killer. When he or she shows up to claim the treasure, I want to be there waiting.”

He seemed to think that over, his expression never changing. “If you find it, what will you do with it?”

“Honestly, I hadn’t thought that far ahead. My main concern is solving a murder.”

“Any artifact from our ancestors belongs to the tribe.” Hawkson’s jaw tightened. “I will not help you steal from my people. Enough has already been taken from us.”

“Then you know what it is,” she said, leaning forward. “If it belongs to your tribe, that’s fine with me. I assume you can prove your claim. In the meantime, I’d like to catch a killer. So help me out here. You can start by telling me what it is everyone’s looking for.”

“How do I know I can trust you to keep your word?”

Ari sighed. “I guess you don’t. What do you want me to do? Cross my heart and hope to die?”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “Are you familiar with the Sac and Fox tribes and a chieftain named Blackhawk?”

“Show me a river rat who hasn’t heard of Blackhawk. Anyone who grew up along the upper Mississippi has heard of Blackhawk’s War. It’s a regional legend, but I don’t remember all the details. Is the legend tied to the artifact?”

He nodded once. “Many facts have been clouded by time, but I’ll tell you the story as I know it. Chief Blackhawk fought against the white man’s expansion for years. He even helped the British in the War of 1812 in return for promises to spare his territory. When the war ended, he was forced to retreat into Iowa. In 1932 Blackhawk returned to his lands in Illinois to grow crops and establish homes, but the Illinois militia drove his band away. Men, women, and children fled up the Mississippi.” Hawkson’s hand glided forward to convey the flight up the river basin. “Everything I have said so far is in your history books. What’s not in there is Blackhawk’s visit to the Riverdale caverns. Knowing the soldiers were close and that he might be captured at any moment, he entered the caves and hid his stone of power inside.” Hawkson stopped, then added an apparent afterthought, “Blackhawk was my ancestor.”

She’d already figured that one. “What is this stone of power? What’s it look like?”

Hawkson dropped his gaze to his hands.

She leaned forward again. “If I find it, you’ll be given a chance to argue your claim.”

“I must have the stone. The future of my family depends on it.” He looked past her as if seeing a world far away. “You must hear the rest of the story. Blackhawk was captured, and his followers and their families were killed or scattered. Unable to return to Riverdale, he failed to recover his power stone, dying without power or respect five years later.” He paused, a sadness washing over his features. “My family still carries the curse of the stone’s loss. We have a rare form of genetic leukemia. My people won’t be whole again until I hold the stone in these hands.” He held them up for emphasis. Brown, callused, solidly strong.

“I’m sorry for your tribe. Do all of you have the blood cancer?”

He dropped his hands. “No. I was spared, but my sister and my mother were not. We never know who will be chosen. The stone has strong healing properties, and I believe its return will stop this.”

Ari searched his face. It was a touching story, maybe even true, but she couldn’t promise him the stone. Already she could imagine the vampires and the Magic Council staking their own claims. Maybe others, for all she knew.

“I can’t guarantee anything, except that your story will be heard.” She looked him in the eye. “Your claim would be stronger if you help me find it. What’s it look like?” she asked for the second time.

“It’s a bloodstone. No bigger than a hawk’s egg. Dark green with colored flecks. Some collectors would call it heliotrope, the stone of the sun. It was also Blackhawk’s birthstone.”

Double sacred to Blackhawk then. Rather large for an amulet, about the size of a lemon, but inside the voluminous caves it would be like looking for a whisper of wind. She studied her coffee cup. Was Hawkson aware of Spirit Cave? Had he been one of the intruders? Someone had shot an arrow, a traditional Indian weapon, to keep others away. If Hawkson’s family believed the stone could heal them, it would be priceless to them, worthy of any effort necessary to recover it. Until she knew if that included murder, she needed to tread carefully.

“Do you know its exact location? There are miles of underground caverns.”

He nodded slowly. “Very recently I learned of its hiding place, but I have not been able to recover it.”

Ari straightened, trying not to appear too eager. “Where is it? Have you seen it?’

“I only have directions to its location, but they are from the words of Blackhawk himself. An old man of our tribe in Oklahoma recently went to meet his ancestors. When preparing his belongings for the journey, the family found a letter written by the old man’s grandfather, a shaman of our tribe, a hundred years ago. A copy was sent to me. In the letter the shaman had set down the words that had been passed to him—Blackhawk’s dying words to his son. I cannot prove yet the accuracy of the contents, but I believe the letter itself is genuine.”

“So what did he say?”

“Blackhawk told his son to seek the stone at a spot within the caves ‘where worlds meet and time stands still.’ That he should go there and look for a sign.”

The vortex. It fit the description. Hawkson’s confident face told her he also understood. But how had he found the ley lines? Had he used graphs and maps to plot the possible placement and intersection? Or could he see what should only be visible to an Otherworlder?

She took another furtive glance at his face. Perhaps Native Americans were more spiritual than other humans. She’d known humans with minor psych abilities, usually latent, even unknown to the bearer. Those people were typically in counseling professions, but none of them would be psychic enough to view ley lines. If Hawkson could see them or feel them, he was in a new category.

Hawkson crossed his arms. “If you’re wondering if I have an inner eye, I do. I am a shaman among my people.” He narrowed his eyes. “You’ve found the lines of life.” It wasn’t a question.

“You shot an arrow at the vampires,” she countered.

His bushy brows climbed, then he laughed. “No one was hurt. I’m an excellent shot, and I wasn’t aiming to hit anyone. But it has kept their young ones away.” He frowned but dropped his arms in a less defensive posture. “I’m not worried about the vampires, but something else has been in the caves. Hunting. I can feel it. Demonic beings or skinwalkers. They left an evil spirit, a chindi, behind.”

“The ghost, you mean. I saw it.” Interesting he hadn’t known it was magic and not a true spirit of the dead. Since he’d mentioned skinwalkers, the Indian term for evil witches, why hadn’t he considered the possibility of a magical spell? Perhaps he was more affected by the ancient beliefs than she’d thought. “When did this chindi appear?”

“A week ago. I have not been back since then.” Hawkson sighed and answered her unspoken thoughts. “I may live in the twenty-first century, but the old beliefs are in my DNA. I won’t go back until I can do a cleansing ceremony. But the evil ones must not be allowed to take the stone of power.”

“I’m with you there.” Since she didn’t want his interference inside the caves, she didn’t mention she’d cleared the passage of the ghostly spell. He’d probably find out for himself soon enough. She had no illusion that Hawkson would stay away permanently. “I presume you’ve searched Spirit Cave without finding the stone. Do you still believe it’s there? And what about this sign he spoke of?”

“The stone is there. I felt its presence. The sign is on the floor, a foot-length south of the lines of life. I scattered dirt and debris to cover it.” He drew a figure on his napkin of zigzag lines that looked like a Z with a tail on the bottom and another mark going up from the top. “It looks like this.”

“What does it mean?”

Hawkson shrugged. “I wish I knew.”

Chapter Eight

Once her meeting with Hawkson was concluded—with a mutual agreement to keep one another informed—Ari hurried to the caves. She intended to check out what Hawkson had told her and was too eager to wait for Andreas. She called his cell and left a message about where she was headed and briefly detailed her meeting with Hawkson. Andreas would receive it as soon as he awoke within the next hour.

The same dwarf greeted her at the entrance. Today he wore bib overalls and smoked a pipe. Same axe and club. He made no comment about her being there without a vampire escort, and she hurried on. Quickly reaching the Chamber of Ages, Ari found two of Andreas’s weretigers sitting near the tunnel to Spirit Cave. They rose to meet her as she entered the chamber.

“I want to look around inside Spirit Cave. Can one of you come with me and hold the flashlight?”

After a brief argument between the tigers over who stayed and who went, Ari and the female tiger entered the cave and knelt on the floor. They brushed the dust and dirt away, its accumulation obviously unnatural now that she knew what to look for. The tigress held the flashlight in one hand and helped with the other, while Ari explained she was looking for carvings in the rock floor or anything else that didn’t belong.

Ari found the first indentations, and they quickly uncovered the rest. The symbol was etched deep into the rock but was filled with sand and silt. She used her fingernails to dig out the fragments.

“Looks like a pointy three.” The tigress turned her head to view it from various angles. “From the sides, it looks like a slanted M or W. Except they all have this extra straight line.”

“Or a Z with two extra lines,” Ari mused, remembering her first impression at the diner.

“What’s it supposed to be?”

“A sign left by Chief Blackhawk to lead to something he’d hidden. Maybe the M or W stand for a native word. But Z? Or if it’s a three, three what? Could it be distance? As in steps, feet, or inches?”

“I doubt if an Indian back in the 1800s would be carrying a tape measure, so I’d guess steps.” The tigress looked around. “Which direction?”

“Maybe that’s what the extra line is for. It’s at ten o’clock on the M.” Ari stood and walked around the symbol. “About one o’clock, if the figure is a three. Four o’clock on the W. The Z seems to have arms at both one and seven o’clock. To be safe, let’s search three steps out in every direction.”

They ended up checking the entire cave floor. Ari tried to keep their efforts away from the ley lines, but in truth the minor interruptions wouldn’t be noticed. All ley lines simply re-drew themselves through inanimate objects and around living beings.

After an hour of examining and patting, attempting to pry up pieces of rock and cleaning more surface to looking for additional etchings, they were no closer to a solution than when they arrived. Finally, ignoring the symbol, they conducted another search of the entire room, checking every niche in the walls that was large enough to hide something the size of a hawk’s egg.

The male weretiger stuck his head into the cave entrance, asking questions and offering his own suggestions. When Andreas suddenly appeared behind him several minutes later, the tiger’s face reflected immediate guilt.

“Fine job of guarding the Chamber,” Andreas said dryly.

“Sorry, Andreas. I was just—”

“Yes, I can see what you were doing. No harm done, but I suggest you return to your post.”

“I don’t think you need me either.” The tigress brushed past Andreas, ducking her head to hide a knowing smile.

“Thanks for helping.” Ari rolled her eyes at the tigress’s actions. Why did everyone assume she and Andreas always wanted to be alone?

“Any luck?” He focused his attention on Ari.

“We found the symbol, but it’s done us no good. Is this anything you’ve seen before?”

The vampire took his time, circling the crude etching twice. He finally crouched and ran his long fingers over the carving. “I have seen this before in other cave drawings. I think this part is a lightning or energy symbol.” He traced the marks. “No doubt referring to the ley lines. This extra line is puzzling.”

“Lightning.” Ari blew out a puff of exasperation. “It’s so obvious, when somebody points it out.” She ruffled his hair with one hand. “Think you’re smart, don’t you?”

“No, but I am glad you think so.” He reached over to wipe a smudge from her forehead. “Are you about through playing in the dirt?”

“For today, I guess. I don’t know where else to look. We’ve searched everywhere. If the stone is in here, it’s well hidden.” She squatted and began to cover the carving.

“Why are you hiding it? We have the guards outside.”

Finished, she stood, scuffled the area with the toe of her shoe, and dusted off her hands. “Being careful. When black magic is involved, anything is possible, and I don’t intend to make it easy for anyone else. He or she got in once before without being noticed.”

* * *

Two hours later, Ari had put the puzzle of the cave aside in favor of a more personal issue. She watched Gabriel and Claris fuss over Sneaky, the kitten that was so adept at laying traps for his unsuspecting siblings. The lively white male with the black nose and black tips on his ears was undoubtedly striking, and his loud purr signaled his contentment to be Gabriel’s selection. Ari was glad to see they’d made a strong connection.

“Claris told me you were worried about his care when I’m not home,” Gabriel said, glancing at Ari. “So we agreed he’d come to visit here at the shop at least twice a week. Claris would be around, and he’d also have cat time with Hernando.” He sent her an impish look. “Sound good?”

Ari hid her dismay behind a feeble smile. Actually, it sounded awful. That meant Gabriel would be here twice a week, amusing Claris with his flirtatious manners. What mere mortal could resist that?