Crossroads

FREY PULLS A SMALL SWISS ARMY KNIFE FROM THE pocket of his jeans. He reaches for my arm.

I jerk it out of reach. "What do you think you're doing?"

Frey isn't deterred. He snatches my arm in a strong, solid grip. "I'll explain after I get the charm out of you. Believe me, Anna, you don't want that thing inside you very long."

I start to object, but he's already pierced my skin with the very sharp point of a very small knife.

I yelp. Vampires are indestructible, but we feel pain just like any mortal. I could free myself, but there's something in Frey's expression that stops me. Anxiety. Worry. He's afraid for me.

He digs around under the skin for what seems a long time. I bite my lower lip to keep from squirming. "Damn, Frey. That hurts."

No answer. No apology. Finally, he switches the knife blade for tweezers-gotta love those army knives-digs around some more and pulls something small and bloody out of my arm.

He holds it up. "Got it."

The wound on my arm is already closing. "What is it?" I ask, wiping residual blood on my jeans. "And why did you have to remove it? You know there are very few things that can kill me."

Frey mimics my action, wiping blood from the object until it's clean. Then he holds something small and round and white out to me.

He lays it on the palm of my hand. "It wouldn't kill you, not right away. That's a human bone bead dipped in bone dust. Causes heart failure in humans. Paralysis in supernaturals." He lets a beat go by. "In the case of a vampire, permanent paralysis. It would take you a long time to die."

The bead is tiny, white, seems harmless enough, though from what Frey just said, obviously isn't. "How did it get in me? I didn't hear a shot."

"It didn't come from a regular gun. It came from a blowgun. Favorite weapon of the skinwalkers."

And now for the next question burning my brain. "What the hell is a skinwalker?"

Frey resumes his seat on the floor of the hogan, motions at me to join him. When we're both seated, he begins.

"The Navajo call them yee naaldooshii. It's a Navajo witch who practices curse magic. They can travel in animal form. Wolf, coyote, owl . . ."

"How about crow?"

He nods. "You saw a crow?"

"In the distance."

"Probably our culprit."

"Why would it attack me?"

"Don't know. I only know three people who know you're here-Sarah, Mary and John-John."

"And now, George."

Frey shakes his head. "George wouldn't say anything. He's been a friend for a long time."

"But you haven't brought a vampire to his home before. He may feel like Sarah."

Another adamant shake of the head. "George would never practice curse magic, let alone become a skinwalker. To do that, you have to desecrate the corpse of a loved one. I already told you how the Navajo fear the dead. I can't see him being a party to such a powerful taboo."

"But maybe his fear of me is even greater. Maybe this is his way of letting me know I'm not welcome on the reservation."

"It's not George." Frey's jaw is set, his mind made up.

I rub my hand over my arm. There's nothing left to show of the wound. "Then who?"

"Maybe we can get some answers from Sarah," Frey says. "We'll drive over first thing in the morning.dx

"Why not drive over right now? Wait for her to get back from the council."

Frey looks around, uneasy. "Best not to travel at night out here. Not with skinwalkers around."

I give him a do-you-hear-yourself look, complete with raised eyebrows and clucking tongue. "You are a shape-shifter. I'm a vampire. What's going to attack us?"

"Didn't you hear what I've been saying? Skinwalkers aren't afraid of us. One already hit you with a bone charm. It's just good luck that I recognized what it was and got it out of you in time."

"But now we're on to them. Nothing will get close enough to try again. We'll be in a vehicle with windows up and doors locked. Don't see how anything can possibly happen."

Frey presses the palms of his hands together. "No. Even if I was stupid enough to risk it, I won't risk drawing them to Sarah's. I won't put my son and his mother and aunt in danger."

He picks up the half-eaten sandwich and snaps off a bite, as if punctuating the end of the conversation. His concern is real. I capitulate to it with a sigh and look around the hogan. "What are we going to do all night? Don't even have a book to read."

"How about sleep?" Frey replies. "Haven't done much of that in the last few days."

"Will we be safe? What if they come back?"

"I don't think they will. They have no way of knowing I removed the charm. The logical thing would be for us to take off. To go for help. If we stay out of sight they should leave us alone."

I suppose Frey's thinking makes sense and he is right about one thing-we haven't gotten much sleep in the last twenty-four hours. I push the sleeping bags and mats out to the middle of the floor, work around Frey eating his picnic lunch and set things up. The sleeping bags appear to be new, at least, and of good quality. I stretch out, a test run.

"Not bad. Now if we could just cover that hole in the ceiling."

Frey looks up. "Why would you want to do that? You can see the stars."

Along with bats or flying insects or anything else that might wander in. But I know if I say that to Frey, I'll get another lecture about nature and being bigger and stronger than anything that could fit through that hole.

I roll over onto my side. Maybe if I don't look, I won't see. It's worth a try.

"Good night, Frey."

"Danootch'iil, Anna."

THE SOUND OF THE WIND AWAKENS ME.

It's pitch-black in the hogan. If there's a moon out, it's doing nothing to penetrate the dark. Once my eyes have adjusted, I look at my watch.

Midnight.

I sit up to find Frey awake, too, staring hard at the door. The rawhide flap covering it moves to the wind gusts, billowing out and in as if blown by bellows fanning a fire.

I listen. The soft pad of bare feet approaching. I jump to my feet. Frey, startled, does, too.

"You heard it?" he whispers. "I thought it was my imagination."

Not imagination. Someone is walking around outsde . . . someone or something.

The vampire erupts, bursting the fragile shell of humanity instinctively at the threat. I touch Frey's chest, growl, "Stay here."

Then I'm sliding out of the door, sticking close to the walls of the hogan, a shadow among shadows, a beast among beasts.

I see him, working his way around the hogan, slowly, carefully. Not barefoot. Moccasins on his feet. His smell is familiar. I draw the vampire back enough to appear human before I confront him. His back is to me.

"George?"

His shoulders twitch involuntarily and he whirls around. He releases a sharp breath. "Shit, Anna, you scared me."

"What are you doing here?"

Frey steps out. "What's wrong?"

I see now what prompts Frey's question. George's face is ashen in the dark, a pale specter, drawn and anxious. He's dressed in buckskin pants and tan vest. He shifts uneasily under Frey's intense stare.

Frey grabs his shoulders. "What's happened?"

George closes his eyes, inhales slowly. "It's Sarah."

"Sarah?"

George puts his hands on Frey's shoulders now, pulls him close. "Sik is, there's been an accident."