Shadow Visions: Shadow Warriors, Book 2 (8 page)

“Are you sure we will find him here?” Manuel could see nothing outside his windshield but dried-up bushes and a few cactuses spread out here and there in the vast desert landscape.

“Yes. Abuelo has a small cabin on the edge of the Anza-Borrego Desert where he goes to meditate.”

He wanted to ask how she was so certain that he would be here, except his main concern was Ixa herself. As long as she was safe by his side, he would follow her lead…for now. He had come so close to losing her earlier. He had cursed his eagle spirit for abandoning her. Once he had dropped the carcass in the netherworld and devoured enough to heal his wounds, he had shot back immediately to be with her. The eagle inside him squawked, still upset that it had not had a chance to eat its fill. He knew it was a dangerous gamble. The longer he went without feeding his spirit, the weaker he became. The eagle spirit peeked out and eyed the woman next to him. It shook its head in disgust and wondered about the taste of her flesh. Manuel shoved the beast back down. He clutched the steering wheel and kept his eyes on the barren road ahead. Hopefully, her abuelo would be there and then he could find someplace private where he could lay down with Ixa and satisfy another hunger.

On the horizon, a shape took form.

Ixa straightened in her seat. “There’s the cabin.”

The tires skidded on the dirt as he pulled up to the one-story clapboard cabin. He hadn’t come to a full stop before Ixa was out and running. He stepped out of the vehicle and surveyed the land. There was nothing but desert as far as the eye could see. It was a perfect place to meditate…or kill. His eagle became alert.

“Ixa!”

He strode into the small house. All seemed at peace. From his standpoint, he could take in the entire cabin—an open room with a single twin bed, a small kitchenette and two chairs nestled by a potbelly stove. Ixa stood rigidly upon an ornate Mexican throw rug that covered the middle of the floor, holding a paper in her hand. By her feet lay a long wooden walking stick.

“He writes that he must take care of something, that he’ll only be gone a day or so.”

She slowly bent and picked up the stick. Her fingers squeezed the shaft.

“I’ve never known him to go far without this,” she said, her voice barely audible. She clung to the paper, her gaze filled with hope and uncertainty.

“For now, let us believe he is safe.” He moved up behind her and put his arms around her, wanting to give her his strength and reassurance. Her body was warm and soft, but he could feel a cold air shift around her, sending a chill up his spine. Her arm vibrated with power. The walking stick captured his attention. Long and smooth, the wooden top had been rubbed to a polish by use. Manuel slid his hand over Ixa’s. Together they held the stick.

Power blew over and around them, encircling them. Air gathered and condensed, the pressure building until they were in the eye of a storm.

“What’s happening?” Ixa cried out.

Manuel tightened his hold on her, afraid she would be sucked into the funnel. He widened his stance and planted his feet, drawing her closer to his body. He felt every soft curve and the smell of her femininity rose up into his nostrils. Clean and crisp, she reminded him of the breeze that blew through his village in the Yucatan. Memories of faces and places he had not seen in so long swirled around him in the tornado. His heart filled with hope and joy. He clung tighter to Ixa. She grounded him, made him feel, made him want—still, everything was just beyond his reach and flowed through his fingers like the air that roared around them. He wanted to reach out and grab back the past but he knew he could not. Ixa was his second chance. He would not fail her. She was his spirit mate and he would protect her, even from herself.

“You have to control the wind!”

“I can’t.”

He sensed her trepidation. He grabbed the stick and willed the wind to calm. His hand burned red hot and a strong force blew him back.

Ixa dropped the stick. It hit the floor with a thud. The tornado dissipated as fast as it had come. She stepped back from the offending object.

“What the hell did you do?” she asked him, her eyes wide with wariness.

“Not me.” Manuel truly looked at the stick. He let his eagle spirit glide up. The animal peeked out and assessed the ordinary object…although it was anything but ordinary. Pictograms and whorls of wind shimmered around the stick. His eagle bowed its head and let out a screech. Manuel pushed the bird back down. “It is a wind stick, heavily guarded by magic. The pictograms and glyphs carved in the wood proclaim the wind god, Ehecatl.”

“Who?” She sat down on the rug next to the walking stick, though he noticed she kept a slight distance from it and eyed it warily as if it would come to life.

“He was a powerful Aztec god that left the pantheon to marry a human woman.” Manuel sat down cross-legged in front of Ixa. He looked into her soft, brown eyes. He wanted to erase the worry and doubt that had seeped into them. But a few of his own fears were simmering just below the surface. Manuel understood the importance of the stick, but did Ixa? He had to find out what she knew. It was his turn to interrogate.

“The wind god promised Huitzilopochtli that he would return. No one has heard from or seen him since. It makes me wonder how your abuelo came into the possession of such an important scepter.”

Ixa brought her knees up and hugged them to her chest as if that would contain the power that threatened to erupt. Her gaze never strayed from her abuelo’s walking stick, though she kept her focus on Manuel’s voice. His baritone wrapped around her, providing the comfort she needed but could not ask for.

“I don’t know. For as long as I can remember, Abuelo has always walked with a stick.” The image of her abuelo’s smiling face floated through her mind. Her visions threatened to steal it away. She shook her head, afraid of what else the vision might bring. She needed to focus on something else. “Tell me about Ehecatl.”

“It is an old story. Surely, your abuelo taught you our ways.”

Ixa stiffened. “He tried to.”

Manuel reached forward and took her hands between his. His rough hands slid back and forth over hers, warming her insides and making the tattoo on her arm pulse.

“Ehecatl in Nahuatl language means wind. He was the great Aztec god of the wind, and he sat in the pantheon among other great gods like Quetzalcoatl and Huitzilopochtli. His breath moved the sun and pushed away rain. Every day, he would look down onto the Earth and watch the people, blowing in and out of their lives. He adored humans and gave them fresh air to breathe. About nearly a century ago, he spied a beautiful maiden gathering corn. Her name was Mayahuel. He fell in love. He descended to Earth never to return to the pantheon again.”

“Mayahuel.” Ixa smiled. “That was my great-grandmother’s name.”

Manuel looked at her quizzically. “Not a very common name.”

Ixa gently pulled her hands back and stood. She crossed the room to an old wood dresser. “My great-grandmother originally settled in this cabin. My abuelo likes to come here. He says it brings him peace.” She pulled open the drawer and took out a leather-bound photo album. She hugged the book to her breast. “In here is my family.” She quickly went back to the rug and sat down beside Manuel, her thigh lightly touching his.

Lovingly, she opened the album and turned the page. Inside lay an old sepia-colored photo of a woman dressed in Native American garb. Long black braids woven with cornhusks and ribbons framed her round face. “Abuelo says I look very much like her.”

Manuel reached over and tugged her braid. “Definitely beautiful.”

Self-consciously, Ixa swept her braid back over her shoulder. She knew her looks were ordinary, her face too round and her eyes too brown.

Still, the way he looked at her made her feel beautiful.

Manuel took the album from her and quickly thumbed through the pictures. “Do you have a picture of your great-grandfather?”

“No. Abuelo was an illegitimate child, but Mayahuel raised him with love.”

“Not that I would expect to recognize him,” Manuel mused. “He had no known permanent physical form. Among the Aztecs he was called Our Father, the mover of matter in the universe. In Nahuatl we say
Yohualli Ehecatl.
”

“Did you say Yohualli?” She shook her head in disbelief. “That is my abuelo’s last name.”

Manuel looked her up and down, eyeing her suspiciously. “How old is your abuelo?”

“Eighty-seven. Why?”

Manuel scrubbed his hands over his face. “It makes sense. Your tattoo. Your powers.” He smiled wickedly, his eyes glowing. “You are the ancestor of the wind god.”

“No. Sorry, but I’m not.” She paused. “Abuelo would have told me.” Or had he tried and she simply hadn’t listened?

Her eyes came to rest on a picture of herself. She stood, beaming with pride next to the captain, holding an award for protecting the streets of San Diego. In the background her abuelo remained off to the side.

She wanted to cry. Never before had she felt so ashamed. All her life she had shunned who she was, angry at the gods for letting her family die. She’d been so determined to grow up and finish what her father had started. Putting Galante in jail had given her purpose. Her abuelo had tried to remind her that she was more and should embrace her heritage. Instead, she had pushed aside the past and continuously chased the future—one that she now realized would leave her without her abuelo or a place to belong.

She felt Manuel’s hand on her shoulder. “It is imperative we find your abuelo.”

Chapter Six

Ixa stood, forcing Manuel’s hand off her shoulder and back onto his lap. She moved a few feet away, her body rigid and her hands fisted at her sides, as if she were trying to hold herself together. His heart gave a curious wrench at the sight. She appeared forlorn and fragile. Words Manuel would never associate with the woman who had blown into his existence only that morning.

His eagle cried out, wanting the freedom of the open skies. Manuel pushed his animal spirit down. For so long, he had flown over humans in pursuit of the next demon, uncaring of their emotions. Ixa had changed all that. In a short span of time, she had become his everything, the primary reason to push on and believe that he could regain his humanity. Seeing her this way brought up every protective feeling he ever had.

He rose to his feet and approached her carefully. A light wind flowed around the room, causing the curtains to sway slightly. So much power in that small body, and she was afraid of it. He could help her learn to control it if she would let him.

“Ixa, if I am correct and you and your abuelo are direct descendants of Ehecatl, then there is much more at stake than any of us conceived.”

She turned toward him. Her lower lip trembled. “I don’t know where my abuelo is or how he is doing. What if Galante finds him before I do? He’s all I have. I don’t want to lose him.” Tears spilled from her eyes like raindrops.

He reached out and gathered her to him, relishing the way her body molded perfectly to his. Her silky hair brushed his chin. He wanted badly to unbraid that luxurious mane and bury his fingers in it, but he contented himself with keeping his hands clasped behind her back and simply holding her.

“Your abuelo left you a message so that you would not worry. Everything will be all right.”

“How do you know that? My father said the same thing the night he died. But it wasn’t all right. My father was a strong man, a cop who wanted to make the world better, but thugs like Galante don’t care. They hurt people just because they can. He broke into my house when I was a child. I watched him shoot my father and burn my mother and sister. I can still hear their screams.” Ixa took in a ragged breath and pressed her cheek against his chest.

“We will find your abuelo. Galante is not going to win this time. But I need you to listen to me. You will not be the only one to suffer if we don’t stop Galante.” When he was certain he had her attention, he explained. “Every shadow warrior is born with an animal spirit. Mine is the eagle you have seen. With each demon kill, pieces of our humanity slip away. Eventually, our humanity is all gone and we are forever condemned to remain in our animal form. Our only hope is to find our spirit mate, someone marked by the gods with the huitzil, a hummingbird. It is a sign that she is a guardian destined to fight on the side of good, on the side of my lord sun god, Huitzilopochtli.”

He looked directly into her beautiful brown eyes. “You are my spirit mate.”

She shook her head. “You don’t know what you are asking. I’m not good enough. I can’t save your soul. I can’t save anyone.”

“Yes, you can. You will need to embrace your heritage and your power.”

He heard her breath hitch in her throat. She pushed out of his arms. She rubbed her hands lightly over both arms. “Oh no. You don’t know what you are asking me to do.” Once more a breeze flowed through the room.

“Yes, I do.” He held out his hand to her. “You have to trust me.”

She backed away from him. “I trust you. It’s me I don’t trust.” The wind picked up and whipped her braid over her shoulder. “Manuel, because of me, my family is dead. I wanted to save them from the fire and blow out the flames, but I couldn’t control my power. All I did was make everything worse. I made the fire grow bigger. I fanned the flames that consumed my mother and sister.”