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I got back a whole lot of ways to use them for decorating or arts and crafts. Did people have lives? Who spent their time thinking up this stuff? Psychotic Martha Stewart clones?
Native American legends, buzzard feathers, I pecked out next. That got me a hit right away.
The Cherokees believed that by placing a buzzard feather at the entrance of any dwelling, a witch would be unable to cross the threshold.
“Oookay.”
I’d overheard Ian say that no one had reacted to the feather, which led me to believe he was looking for a witch, and I wasn’t the only one he was looking at.
My heart pounded in my throat, not with fear so much as excitement. I’d been at a dead end. I’d had nowhere to turn for answers, and suddenly answers had fallen into my lap. I just didn’t know the question.
“Kalanu Ahyeli’-ski,” I repeated as I typed, then hit enter with a flourish.
Of all the Cherokee witches the most feared is the Kalanu Ahyeli’-ski or the Raven Mocker.
“That could explain the sudden increase in ravens. Maybe.”
The Raven Mocker robs the dying of life. Flying through the night with arms outstretched, trailing sparks, the witch announces its approach with a horrible shriek. The Raven Mocker eats the victim’s heart, stealing whatever days the person has left on the earth. Because the Raven Mocker is a witch, it is able to remove the hearts without leaving a scar.
That took care of our theory of alien invasion. I can’t say I was sorry to see it go.
Now I knew what we were dealing with, kind of. I had no idea what this thing looked like, how it worked, a way to kill it, but I had a pretty good idea who did.
* * *
Since the door was still partway open, I walked right into the clinic. Out of curiosity I glanced up. A buzzard feather had been tacked to the wall directly over the entrance at both the back door and the front. Obviously not taking any chances, Ian had placed one over each window as well.
I’d already broken in, so I took off my shoes, snuck up the stairs, and headed for the only room where a light remained burning. No one was there.
Desk, books, papers—his office, not his bedroom. He’d probably gone to bed and forgotten to shut off the light. Before I woke him up and questioned him mercilessly, I’d take a peek. I wasn’t worried any longer about a warrant. No court in the land was going to believe any of this anyway.
Medical texts. Medical journals. Tiny bottles of oil. Colored liquids. Bowls of herbs. A bag of what appeared to be grass. I opened it and took a whiff, determining it was the kind that cows ate, before setting it down.
I made my way to the desk where several loose sheets of paper lay on the blotter. The words were in Cherokee. I couldn’t read them, but there was something familiar about them.
I threw a quick glance over my shoulder; I’m not sure why. The place was as quiet now as it had been when I’d walked in.
Ian stood right behind me.
I let out a pathetic squeak and stepped back, stumbling over a stack of books next to the desk.
He reached out, quick as a snake, and snatched me by the forearms, hauling me against him. His eyes caught the golden glow of the lamp, flickering topaz, even as the pupils dilated so large they nearly obscured the lighter shade of his irises.
“What are you doing here?”
I opened my mouth to answer, or maybe to question, and he kissed me. That seemed to be his prelude to everything.
I tasted desperation on his tongue, lust, desire, need, on his lips. My body responded; I couldn’t make it stop. I felt all those things, too, even though my mind knew better. But right now my mind seemed to have gone on vacation. Something nagged at the corner, but I couldn’t quite grasp it with him kissing me like this. Then he was touching me, too, and I couldn’t do anything but touch him back.
My thighs hit the edge of the desk, and I sat abruptly. He stepped between my legs, nudging them farther apart. Looming over me, his shadow blotted out the light. His hair sifted over my face, creating a curtain between us and the world.
“Grace,” he whispered, as his lips trailed across my jaw, down my neck. My head fell back; to keep my balance I wrapped my legs around his, hooking my ankles.
His fingers popped the buttons on my uniform seconds ahead of his mouth. He traced his tongue across my collarbone, then dipped it into the valley between my breasts and up and over the swell. One tug and he bared me to the night air, then his mouth closed over a peak, and he suckled.
Somehow my shirt came off, my bra, too. I was naked from the waist up, clothed from the waist down, but wrapped around him, center to center; his erection rode me right where I needed it to. My gun belt thwapped against the desk in an enticing rhythm, which only added fuel to the arousal.
He reached behind me, and flung the papers and pencils and books off the desk in a single sweep of his arm. For an instant I was stunned and excited; then I saw again those papers, the writing, and I remembered where I’d seen it before.
