Part 11 (2/2)
”You need to lie down?”
She shook her head at Jack's question. ”G.o.d, no.” Her sea legs were great when she was up and walking around or when the boat was moving, but she didn't do so well with sitting-never mind lying-down for long with the boat stationary and rolling beneath her in long, undulating waves. The sway was already getting to her: A low churn of nausea checked in to join the fatigue and deck spins. She needed to get up, breathe the salt spray, feel the wind in her face, and remember that she had come a long way from who she used to be.
Summoning a bright smile for the crowd that was still gathered around her, she said, ”Thanks for your concern, everyone, but I'm good. I'm great. Let's get this show back on the road.”
”Take it easy for a few minutes,” Jack said. ”I'll need to hunt up a new whale.”
A glance over the railing showed that the gently swelling waves were cetacean-free. ”Shoot. That was a good sighting.” She sighed. ”Sorry.”
”No biggie. Won't be hard to come up with another.” Meaning that there were plenty of big contacts on the fish finder or some chatter on the informal network of whale-watching boats and local fis.h.i.+ng vessels that traded info in an effort to keep the cash flowing as the winter season got under way.
”Thanks.” Taking Jack's hand, Cara boosted herself up and made it to the rail, where she breathed deeply, lungs aching when she tried to inhale all the way.
She let Crazy Hat press a lukewarm bottle of water on her and fuss about dehydration and sunstroke, even though it was only in the high fifties and she'd eaten and drunk the same thing she did every day. The clucking reminded Cara of better days, back before her mom died.
”Cluck, cluck, cluck . . . dehydrated. Unless, of course, you're pregnant.”
Those last two words brought Cara's head whipping around so fast that a few white strands from her skunk stripe escaped from her ponytail and draped in her face. ”No.” When the older woman recoiled, Cara exhaled. ”Sorry. But no. No chance of that.”
She might believe in magic, but she didn't believe in immaculate conception.
As Crazy Hat fussed, winding down, she chugged the rest of the water, which felt lumpy, like it was catching on something lodged in her throat. Beneath her, the Disco's engines thrummed as they got back under way.
The others had dispersed, Bored Husband no doubt to the snack bar, most of the others to the railing, where they elbowed each other and scanned the horizon, competing to be the first to ”thar she blows” it. Usually, Cara found the thrill of the hunt infectious; it was another of the reasons she had taken the job. That, and the surprising discovery that she, a born-and-raised Midwesterner, freaking loved being out at sea. Now, though, she couldn't summon any enthusiasm. What was more, she suddenly felt out of place, like she didn't belong there. Or, rather, like she needed to be somewhere else, right now.
Images flashed through her. Urges. She saw herself boarding a plane. Renting a car. Moving fast and traveling light, heading southwest, to where ancient pueblos overlooked wide-open canyons and the sea was a distant memory.
”Did you hurt your wrist, dearie?”
”No, I . . .” Cara trailed off as she glanced down and realized that she'd been rubbing her inner right forearm. Oh, s.h.i.+t. She should've caught on quicker, would have if she didn't feel so c.r.a.ppy. But although this wasn't the first time she had felt something echo through the severed blood-bond, it was by far the worst. Bad enough, even, to bring a stab of concern for a brother who wasn't hers by blood. ”Excuse me. I need to make a call.” She lurched away from Crazy Hat and headed for the stairs leading up to the wheelhouse, feeling like she was thirty fathoms down and walking against a stiff undertow, with everything happening in slow motion.
Jack met her at the door. ”You're lying down. Now.”
”I need to make a private call.”
”Cara. Honey.” He looked at her closely, and she could practically see him adding twenty-something single female plus fainting plus nausea and coming to the same conclusion Crazy Hat had reached.
She didn't correct him, because it wasn't like she could tell him the truth. She just said, ”Please, Jack. It's important.”
He checked his course, made a couple of adjustments, and then got on the radio to connect to a landline. When it was ready to go, he waved her to his high swivel chair and motioned that he would leave her alone. ”I'll need to get back in here in ten minutes or so. Charter says there's a couple of big males spyhopping up by them.”
”This won't take long.”
When he was gone, she took a deep breath. Or tried to, anyway. There wasn't room enough in her lungs for the oxygen she needed, strengthening the drum of fear until it overcame the dread. Almost.
”Number, please?” That was the operator, probably tired of listening to heavy breathing.
She gave it automatically, then listened to the call ringing on the other end. She tried not to picture the phone sitting on the marble-topped counter in the big open kitchen, tried not to guess who was on comm duty, who would be walking to the phone, picking it up, and- ”h.e.l.lo?” a man's voice said.
She couldn't place it. Not her father, certainly. Had she been away so long that she had forgotten the others?
”This is Cara,” she said. ”I need to talk to my father.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, ”And who would that be?”
She wouldn't have thought she could feel any s.h.i.+t-tier and still be upright. Wrong. Breathing shallowly through a stab of pain, she said, ”I'm Carlos's daughter.” She should've stopped there, but couldn't help saying, ”Out of sight, out of mind, huh?”
”Not really. I'm the new guy. Which is why I'm on comm and gate duty.” He paused. ”Well, that and because the others still aren't sure what to do with me.” Before she could process that, he continued: ”Carlos is out getting supplies. You want his cell number? Oh, duh. You probably have it.”
No, she didn't. And she couldn't handle this, any of it. But it was clear that the winikin, at least the ones back at Skywatch, didn't know there was something very wrong. ”You call him, please. Tell him he needs to find Sven, fast. There's something . . .” She trailed off, choked up. Whispered, ”Just tell him for me, okay?”
She cut the call before he could say anything, ask anything, knowing that her father would do what needed to be done. Then she bolted for the head. And was miserably sick.
CHAPTER ELEVEN.
December 14
Bandera Crater and Ice Cave
New Mexico
The sign at the end of the access road identified the privately owned attraction as the LAND OF FIRE AND ICE. Which didn't half suck, Reese had decided.
The site offered two short hikes: one to ogle the blown-out cone of the Bandera volcano, the other to climb down inside a kiva-shaped cave where a combination of water seepage and convection airflow created a crazy microenvironment that never got above freezing. The underground pool at the bottom of the cave was perpetually frozen and glowed green in the sun, tinted by a strain of algae that was otherwise found only in the Arctic. Most of the long-ago tribes in the region-and those who traveled to it from afar-had called it Winter Lake and mined it for ice. But Lucius had turned up a reference in a British explorer's journal that described seeing thirteen warrior-priests wearing serpent-headed masks and making blood sacrifices to call the rain G.o.d.
Ancient sacred site, check. Pro-snake ritual, check. And it was located right at the southern point of the compa.s.s cross that could be drawn from the places where the other artifacts had been found. Granted, the pattern a.s.sumed that ten years earlier, when Keban had told Dez that the star demon was coming to him courtesy of Montezuma, he wasn't using an alternate spelling of the G.o.d-king Moctezuma's name, but rather talking about the Palace of Montezuma, which was a Pueblo ruin located just over the Arizona border. Given that the compa.s.s lines connecting north to south and east to west then crossed directly over Chaco Canyon, Reese was just fine with the a.s.sumption. More, one of the local black-market guys she had tracked down was holding an endangered rattlesnake for pickup by a guy with a scarred face, who had put in the order a week ago and paid cash.
This was the place. It had to be. And tonight was the night; the Gemenid meteor shower would be starting soon.
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