Natural Evil (5 page)

Claudia felt restless and her mind kept churning over recent events. To give her hands something to do, she fetched the Tarot deck in the wooden box, along with the paperback she had bought that explained the Elder Races Tarot. She flipped through the paperback desultorily, but she had already read about the Major and Minor Arcana, and at the moment she wasn’t really interested in reading the rest.

Instead, she opened the antique, painted box and pulled out the hand painted deck. As she did so, she thought back to the strange way she had acquired it.

A couple months ago in January, while she was wintering in New York, a slender woman had stopped her in the street. The city was still recovering from a major blizzard in late December. The streets were heaped with great mounds of dirty snow, and leftover Christmas and Masque decorations dotted shop windows.

She and the woman had been walking past each other, just two bundled-up pedestrians among hundreds of thousands in the frigid, snowbound city, when the woman turned suddenly and took hold of Claudia’s arm.

She didn’t think the other woman realized how dangerous that was. Claudia spun but managed to check her instinct for violence. She got an impression of dark, gold-tipped corkscrew curls, a warm, brown complexion in a thin, intelligent face, and hazel eyes behind wire-rim glasses that widened at her fast reaction.

“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “You’re probably going to think I’m crazy, but…” Claudia tensed as the woman reached in her dark leather purse, but all she pulled out was the Tarot box. She thrust it into Claudia’s hands. “These want to come to you. I don’t understand why. I’ve had them for years.”

“What are you talking about?” Claudia asked. She turned the box over in her hands, opened it up and saw the deck inside.

“The cards,” the woman said. She gave Claudia a smile that seemed embarrassed. “They’re opinionated.”

“Are you telling me these are magic?” Claudia asked. If they were, she couldn’t sense it. Torn between fascination and caution, she nearly shoved the deck back into the strange woman’s hands and walked away.

“Not really,” said the woman. “They have a spark of Power but they’re not spelled, and they’re not harmful.”

Claudia raised her eyebrows. “How did you know they wanted to come to me?”

“They pulled toward you. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

“And just what exactly do you think I’m supposed to do about it?”

“I don’t know. Whatever you would normally choose to do.” The woman started walking backwards, talking as she went. “I’m sorry to shove them at you and run, but I’m late to meet my fiancé. I guess if you need money, they should be worth a fair amount if you take them to the Magic District. I paid several thousand dollars for that deck over ten years ago… Oh, I really have to go—good luck to you.”

Disturbed and intrigued, Claudia had gone to the Magic District to get the box and its contents appraised. Two different magic users confirmed what the woman had said, that while the antique deck had a spark of Power, it wasn’t dangerous. It was also quite valuable and would be worth between eight and ten thousand dollars at auction. The third person told her the deck was dangerous and offered to take it off her hands for fifty bucks. Yeah right.

She decided to keep the deck. Despite its value, its previous owner had been willing to give it to a total stranger in order to honor the Power that was soaked into the cards. She supposed she could hang on to it for a while to see what happened. She could always sell it later.

Since then she had fallen into the habit of playing with the deck whenever she was idle. Shuffling and reshuffling the cards gave her hands something to do while she thought. Once or twice she had tried setting out one of the card spreads from the paperback, but she didn’t have the learning or aptitude for reading a card spread.

She knew some general things from what the book described. The cards on the left were positive, and the cards on the right were negative. Some cards indicated the future, and some indicated the present or past. But the significance of the specific cards and their relationship to each other was beyond her, and she frankly had no interest in trying to learn more.

But then she discovered a curious thing. The seven Major Arcana, which depicted the seven Elder gods, turned up every time she laid the cards out in a basic spread: Taliesin, the god of the Dance; Azrael, the god of Death; Inanna, the goddess of Love; Nadir, the goddess of the depths or the Oracle; Will, the god of the Gift; Camael, the goddess of the Hearth; and Hyperion, the god of Law. The seven Primal Powers, the Elder Races considered them the linchpins in the universe.

They also showed up when she shuffled the deck and turned the first seven cards over. So she shuffled them again. And then again. And they still showed up.

Not once, or even most of the time.

Every. Fricking. Time.

The book didn’t have a section on this occurrence. She searched online, and eventually found one posting in an obscure forum. Someone had claimed to have turned up all seven of the Major Arcana in a spread and had asked for advice. The discussion had been long, excited and involved, and filled with speculation, but in essence there was only one consensus: the spread indicated an upcoming period of time that would be filled with life-altering significance.

Like that was helpful.

Over the last couple of months, Claudia had developed an obsessive habit of shuffling and flipping over the first seven cards. The only thing that changed was the order in which the seven gods appeared.

Shuffle, flip.

She could probably develop a grift around it, make some money off some poor slob in a bar somewhere. Maybe she should consult with an experienced Tarot reader. For fifty bucks, they would probably tell her that turning up the seven Major Arcana had “life-altering significance”.

Shuffle, flip.

Life altering, like maybe saving a Wyr’s life. One who had been tortured and left for dead. What had been done to him really had been dumb and mean.

Shuffle, flip.

And it wasn’t just one dumb, mean bastard who had done it. Claudia might not have talked much while Jackson had ministered to Luis, but she had clocked the two different-caliber bullets the vet had cut out of him, and both were from rifles. She palmed them and afterward, when she and Jackson had been washing up, she had rinsed the bullets off and slipped them into her pocket.

So there were at least two bastards involved. And like she said earlier, Luis was a big son of a bitch. One big Wyr would be more than a match for Bradshaw Junior and his dumb, mean friends, unless they shot him first.

Shuffle, flip.

So that’s what they did. They shot him first and brought him down. Then they could have tapped him in the back of the head with another well-placed shot, but they hadn’t.

The rest of what they did to him had been for fun.

And Rodriguez knew he was here.

She kept circling back to Rodriguez. Brutal as it sounded, the simple truth was that he would have no need to clean up a mess if it had just been a dog that had been tortured, because a mundane dog couldn’t talk.

No, Rodriguez had to have gotten involved because they knew Luis was Wyr. If Luis survived, he could talk.

And for some reason, it mattered to them that he didn’t.

Chapter Four

The Dance

Even as that last thought went through her mind, she was on her feet and moving out of the trailer, tucking the Glock at the small of her back. She covered her mouth and nose against the blast of sand outside as she strode across the small backyard.

Darkness had fallen and Jackson had turned on the outside lights. The illumination looked murky in the swirling sandstorm. It also looked like he had every light in his house turned on. She banged on his back door and he opened it almost immediately.

He still hadn’t removed his cowboy hat. He gestured for her to step inside and shut the door as soon as she crossed the threshold. “What’s up?”

She turned to face him and said, without preamble, “You need to go visit your daughter in Fresno.”

“Do I?” His faded, intelligent gaze met hers. “I was getting ready to have a poker game. Got six people coming over. They’ll start showing up any minute now. I expect we’re gonna pull an all-nighter if you find you need anything.”

She glanced around the kitchen and expelled a breath. He had brewed a fresh pot of coffee, set out snacks and cards, and pulled the chairs back around the table. Apparently Jackson had been doing more thinking as well. “Wish you’d go to Fresno instead.”

“Like I said earlier, it won’t be good highway driving tonight. Maybe I can leave for Fresno tomorrow, when things are looking a little clearer,” said Jackson. “And when we know that dog is out of the woods.”

“Maybe.”

“We’ll keep the noise down, but all the lights on,” Jackson said. He went to the counter, scooped up her license, registration and ticket, and handed it to her. She folded it up, stuffed it in her back pocket, and stood with her hands on her hips, looking out the back window at the trailer.

Seven people. Seven witnesses, with cars lined up in the street out front and all the lights blazing in the house. Would that be enough to stave off anyone who might come by looking to silence Luis for good?

She kept coming back to Rodriguez, goddammit. If dumb and mean had realized how badly they had fucked up, they wouldn’t have called Rodriguez to clean up their mess. They would have just circled back around themselves to find Luis and finish what they’d started. They must have either thought they’d already killed him or the desert would finish him off soon enough. They’d been careless.

No, Rodriguez got involved because he had a dialogue with someone else. Someone sent him out to get proof of death. And the next beast up that food chain was Bradshaw Senior.

Which meant this involved an issue that was larger than a simple hate crime or personal matter.

Was it a large enough issue that it might endanger a well-meaning veterinarian and six other innocent people? It could be. It very well could be.

Thumbs hooked in her pockets, she drummed her fingers against her hip bones. She said, “Why don’t you play your poker game in the trailer? Either that, or we can move the dog into the house.”

Surprise flickered over Jackson’s battered features. He moved to stand behind her shoulder and looked out at the trailer too. “Why would we want to do either of those things?”

She told him, “Because I’m going out.”

He frowned. “Going where?”

“Didn’t you say people hang out in the bars during these storms?”

“Yeah, but maybe it’s not such a good idea for you to join them tonight.” He sounded troubled.

“Don’t see why not.” She gave him a bland smile. “I’m just going out for a beer.”

The sandstorm had started to die down when she left. She took the Glock, but when she pulled into the parking lot of the first bar, after a few minutes’ thought, she left the gun in her glove compartment.

Inside, she had a nonalcoholic beer, chatted with locals and learned some things.

The population number listed on Nirvana’s welcome sign was misleading, since it included everyone in Nirvana County. The town itself had around five hundred residents, all of whom either worked directly for the mining company or their local businesses were indirectly dependent on it somehow.

Built on an underground spring and located near the mine, Nirvana was one of the many small towns that had been a stopping point along the Transcontinental Railroad. Now it was a stopping point for Greyhound Lines. The town boasted its own Safeway supermarket, and its two bars were located at either end of Main Street. There were also two motels, three gas stations, and a family-style diner/casino off the interstate exit.

One of the gas stations was a combination truck stop/fast-food joint/casino, open 24/7. If Claudia weren’t in such a grim mood, she might have smiled. You could eat, gas up, and gamble, all at the same time. Just in case you felt you needed to do all those things in a hurry.

Another gas station sold liquor and carried a selection of movie rentals. The third hadn’t yet discovered a successful enough niche to diversify from its competitors. She remembered seeing that gas station earlier. It had looked shabby and neglected.

The most important thing she learned was what Bradshaw Junior and his boys looked like. Soon as she got those descriptions, she paid for her drink and drove down Main Street to the other side of town.

It was in the second bar that she hit the jackpot.

She knew who they were as soon as she pushed through the door. Four strapping guys, each around thirty years old, stood together by the pool table. They fit perfectly the descriptions she’d been given. A couple of them held pool sticks but they weren’t playing. They were drinking and talking in low voices, their expressions tense and edgy.

Shucks, looked like they weren’t having a good day.

Also looked like they might be working themselves up to do something about that.

Junior was dark-haired and handsome. According to the locals, he was the spitting image of Bradshaw Senior. He stood around six-two, and he had the muscled body of a college football player, with years of self-indulgence starting to thicken him around the middle.