Doomsday Can Wait (12 page)

I rubbed my palm over my face, brushing away all the raindrops.

We reached the car and I opened the driver's door as quietly as possible. Sawyer hopped in. I put it in neutral and pushed the vehicle through a slight track in the trees until we emerged in another subdivision, just as I'd expected. Superior strength was so damn useful.

Only when we were far enough away that no one would hear the rumbling of the engine, did I turn the key and leave Lake Vista behind.

Sawyer sat in the passenger seat and hung his head out the window like a dog, mouth open, tongue lolling. If no one saw his long, spindly legs and huge paws, or peered too deeply into his too intelligent yet just short of feral eyes, he could pass for a dog.

We both needed a shower in the worst way. If anyone got a look at my gory wet clothes and my blood-covered ... I glanced at Sawyer—I'd been about to say
pet.

"Companion," I murmured, and he huffed. Sometimes I could swear he read my mind. At least he could understand me even if he couldn't talk.

"We'll stop at a hotel, get cleaned up." And while there, I could shape-shift and find out what in hell had happened in Lake Vista. Then, depending on the tale, we'd either chase luceres or continue on to Detroit.

I drove southeast for an hour. I needed to put enough distance between us and the massacre so that we wouldn't attract immediate suspicion.

On Interstate 94, I found a nondescript motel used by truckers. A place where I could check in—after I'd covered the bloody hacked and slashed tank top with a jacket despite the heat—then drive around the back to my room, park directly in front, slip the wolf in through the door.

Once inside, Sawyer headed for the bed.

"Shower first," I ordered. "We don't need bloodstains on the sheets. I had to give them my license plate number."

Sawyer bared his teeth, but he went into the bathroom, then sat on the tile and stared at the bathtub until I turned on the water.

The blood had dried on his snout and paws. The hot water loosened it somewhat, but soap would work faster. I sighed and went to my knees. I was going to have to bathe him like a dog, then, I was going to have to dry him like one, too. From the expression in his eyes, Sawyer thought this was hilarious.

"Don't get used to it," I muttered as I tore the paper wrapping off the tiny bar of soap.

He might not get used to it, but he certainly enjoyed it, moaning a little as I worked the soap through his dark, coarse fur. He ducked his head beneath the stream, then shook droplets all over me.

"Hey!" I protested, but the tickle of the water made me smile until I realized what I was doing and stopped. Smiling after so many had died was a lightness I couldn't afford.

I shut off the water, grabbed several towels, and backed up so Sawyer could leap out of the tub. Then I rubbed him down as quickly and efficiently as I could.

As I scrubbed the brilliant white cloth over his ebony fur, he hung his big head over my shoulder, and his face brushed mine. He smelled like wolf and man—like a desert breeze across the mountains, like the smoke of a fire in the night.

I pulled away. No matter what he'd done to help the federation, the fact remained that he was the son of the
Naye'i,
the woman he'd conjured from smoke, and we needed to have a chat.

"Go." I pointed to the bedroom.

He lifted his upper lip, but he went. I guess I couldn't blame him for being annoyed when I talked to him like a dog, but honestly, when the paws fit, what did he expect?

I shut the door, then locked it, though I have no idea why. Sawyer couldn't open it as a wolf, and he was stuck in that form as long as he was away from Navajo land.

However, I'd seen Sawyer do unexplainable things. Who knew, maybe he could walk through walls. I didn't want to find out while I was naked and vulnerable.

I dropped my clothes. The wound on my chest wasn't gaping, but it wasn't gone, either. An ugly red slash remained that still hurt if I moved too fast or too far. Since I'd never been killed before, I wasn't sure how long it would last or how well it would heal. As long as I was alive, I guess I didn't care.

Before I got into the shower, I removed my gun from my duffel and set it on the toilet tank. Most things that might come through that door wouldn't be bothered by a gun, but better safe than sorry.

A half hour later, I dried off, then, after wrapping myself in a towel, picked up the gun, the duffel, and went into the room.

Sawyer lay on the bed watching TV, the remote next to his paw. On the screen, a hunting show played; his gray eyes followed a huge deer as it gamboled back and forth across an autumn field. When a shot rang out, he started forward, ruff rising, a growl rumbling from his throat, eyes fixed avidly on the buck as it leaped, ran a few yards, then slowly crumpled to the ground.

I guess a wolf was a wolf, even when it wasn't.

I stepped in front of the television. Sawyer leaned to the side, trying to see around me. I dropped the towel. He slowly leaned back, his interest in the deer lost.

I guess a man was a man, even when it wasn't.

Quickly I laid the gun on the nightstand, removed the wolf robe from the duffel, swirled it around my shoulders and shifted.

It was always the same. That burst of light, the chill followed by the scalding heat. The fall from a great height as my bones crackled and changed, as I became something else.

My attention was immediately drawn to the flickering television screen. Another deer pranced across, and I found myself fascinated. When the shot rang out, my heart jolted; adrenaline flared. When it jumped, I wanted to chase it. I knew it would go down; it was vulnerable; it was mine.

The screen went black with a muted thunk.

Phoenix.

I swung toward the bed, where Sawyer stood with his paw on the control. I shook my head to clear it of the bestial hunger, that burning need to kill—it always freaked me out.

Your wound will fade more quickly in this form.

I lifted my neck, stretching the skin of my chest. He was right. Already, it didn't ache or pull quite as much.

What happened?
I asked.

Isaw you fall, then she disappeared.

And then?

I kept fighting.

I should be glad that he'd stayed on task. There'd been nothing Sawyer could do to help me anyway.

Except I wasn't glad. I was just a tad pissed.

With me lying dead on the ground, you just kept fighting?

I knew you weren't dead.

Would have been nice if I'd known it,
I muttered.

You need to wear the turquoise. Always.

He wouldn't get any argument from me.

Speaking of that, you never explained why the sight of it made her go poof.

The stone marks you as mine.

A low growl rumbled from my throat. I wasn't anyone's, especially Sawyer's.

His nostrils flared, no doubt from the scent of fiery fury that must be rolling off me like a flame.
Relax, Phoenix, it was the only way to keep you alive.

Let me get this straight
—
if I wear the turquoise, she can't kill me?

Exactly.

So I'm invincible.

He tossed his head disdainfully.
Just because she can't kill you doesn't mean the rest of them can't.

Damn. Invincible had sounded so good right now.

I returned to my original question.
What happened in Lake Vista?

Sawyer lay down, rested his nose on his paws and sighed.
What you might expect.

What good is knowing they're coming if we can't stop them?

We would have stopped them if not for her.

I stilled.
She planned it?

Either she followed the luceres or she sent them.

Sent them?

Controlling Nephilim was a power of the leader of the darkness, and the woman of smoke couldn't be that unless she killed me. Which she hadn't done until
after
the luceres arrived. Even so—

The hair on the back of my neck lifted.
She killed me. Does that make her the new leader of the darkness?

She didn't really kill you.

Then how could she control the luceres?

She couldn't. Not in the true sense of control. But she's persuasive. Especially when what she's suggesting is what you want to do anyway.

His tone and choice of pronoun made me glance up sharply. Was he remembering his father—the medicine man who'd embraced his bear spirit, who'd lived as an animal all of the time and come to crave human flesh because of her?

Or was he speaking about himself? Sawyer had told me once that she could make anyone do anything that she wished.

Despite my fur, I shivered. What had she made him do? What might she still?

If the
Naye'i
is that powerful, she doesn't need to kill me. She can rule all the forces of darkness just by wanting to.

It doesn't work that way.

Seems like the way things were supposed to work aren't the way they're actually working.

Certain things will happen. The leader of the darkness will kill the leader of the light, resulting in Doomsday. Doomsday will lead to Armageddon.

Some people say Apocalypse, some Armageddon. Is that like potato, po-ta-toe?

What does a potato have to do with anything?

I wanted to rub my forehead, but I had no hands. He was so damn literal all the time.

What is the difference between Apocalypse and Armageddon?

The final battle between God and Satan is called Armageddon. Apocalypse is a general term for the end of the world.

I guess that made as much sense as anything else.

We need to go after the luceres.

I killed most of them.

Sawyer wasn't a seer or a DK, he was something else, something I'd never been quite sure of. I wondered if Ruthie was. She trusted him. I didn't. He was a killer. But then weren't we all?

We should round up the few you missed.

No point. They'll return to their hidden lives until they're called again. Luceres spread out, blend in. They could be anywhere.

I growled and scraped my claws across the carpet, reveling in the ripping and tearing shriek, wishing it were a lucere beneath my paws, or the woman of smoke.

How do we kill her?

If I could, I'd have done it already. We'll just have to keep searching, keep trying.

A little random, wouldn't you say?

What isn't?

I lifted my head, sniffed the air, caught again the distant drift of flames and ashes.
Why do you smell of smoke?

I've told you before; she's part of me.

The Navajo are matriarchal. They believe the mother's side is strongest. No matter what I said, Sawyer wouldn't stop believing it, too. Sometimes I worried that she would bring him to the dark side. The thought scared me almost as much as Sawyer did. If he ever joined the Nephilim, we were finished.

The power that poured off him—morning, noon, and even in the dead of night—reminded me of the tornado Ruthie had spoken of. Inside Sawyer lay a storm of destruction just waiting to get out.

Is that why you conjured her all those years ago? Because she's part of you? Because, like all neglected children, you long for her approval?

His eyes flared. I'd never asked him about that night; I hadn't wanted him to know I'd been spying. But he must have known; otherwise why had he given me the magic turquoise that would keep her from killing me?

You think I'm secretly working for my mother?

Had I? Not really. But I couldn't be sure. Not with him.

I'd touched Sawyer, in the most intimate way a woman could touch a man, and I'd seen a lot, but I hadn't seen everything. Sawyer was capable of blocking me in a way that no one else could. I knew he was hiding something, but I didn't think he was hiding that.

Why did you call her that night?
I pressed.

He rose to his feet, shaking his fur as if he'd just climbed out of a mountain lake. I half expected cool water to sprinkle over me like rain.

We had things to discuss.

Call her now,
I ordered,
I'd like to discuss a few things.

You've always had more guts than sense,
he muttered.
Did you learn nothing from getting your ass kicked the last time? You aren't ready to meet her again.

Make me ready.

His amusement fled, and he glanced away.
I can't.

Who can?