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Chapter11
Still holding my hand, David turned it over. “So what’s with the mark?”
I shook my head and blinked. “You really don’t waste any time.”
“From what you said, time isn’t on our side.”
Our side?Myside. There was noouranymore. Not after Collin. David might be helping me, but I was still on my own when it came to fighting the gods and spirits. I walked across the room, running my hand through my hair. “I’m the one setting the rules for now, and I need a crash course on the Algonquian gods and spirits.”
He didn’t look too happy, but he didn’t argue either. “All of them?”
“As many as you know about.”
“I haven’t had dinner yet. Are you hungry?”
Again, with the lightning-fast change in topic. “Uh…” I’d worked through dinner, and the thought of food made my stomach growl. I looked around at the mess I’d made. I could stay here and keep looking for notes that might not even exist, or I could eat with a man who had answers. The decision was obvious. “I’d make something, but Myra only seems to be stocked with breakfast food and snacks. I help her out, but I don’t actually live here. How about we walk a couple of blocks down to Poor Richard’s Pub and get takeout? Then we can go back to my apartment. I’d rather talk about this in private, anyway.”
“What about the mess here?”
I considered leaving it and closing the door, but Myra would ask all kinds of questions I didn’t want to answer. “It’ll just take a couple of minutes for me to clean up. Do you need to go upstairs to get anything?”
“No, I’ll help you and we can get going.”
David reshelved the books while I hung the pictures on the wall.
“Do you need to leave a message for anyone?” I asked, heading for the door.
“No one will be interested in seeing my face until tomorrow morning. What about you? Is Myra expecting you to stay?”
“No, I’ll just send her a text.”
We walked out into the sultry July evening and started the short walk downtown.
“What made you want to study Native American history?” I asked.
“You mean because I’m British?” he asked. “I was born in England, but my mother is American. We used to come visit every few years. We stayed with some relatives in the southern part of North Carolina one summer after I graduated primary school. My uncle took me to a museum about the Cherokee because I had a strong interest in Native Americans, and I was equally enthralled and horrified. I spent the rest of my summer learning everything I could about them.” He glanced in my direction. “It’s a combination of my love for history and my taste for good mysteries. You can’t find much more of a mystery than the disappearance of the early tribes. It’s a challenge trying to piece things together.”
That explained his interest in helping me. Good to know.
“What about you?” he asked. “Why areyouinterested in the Algonquian gods and spirits?”
“Honestly?”
“That’s our agreement.”
“Three weeks ago, I didn’t give a rat’s ass about them. On the other hand, my father did, and my lack of interest was a great disappointment to him.” I snuck a glance at David. “And that’s all I’ll say about that for now.”
“Fair enough. I can wait.”
Was I really going to tell him everything? Why did part of me crave the opportunity? Maybe because I was terrified to do this alone, and he was the one person other than Collin who might actually be able to help me.
He cleared his throat. “At the risk of you changing your mind, I think it’s only fair that I tell you that my real focus has been on the Cherokee. I may be known as an expert on the Croatan, but considering the lack of available information, that’s not saying much.”
“But now you’ve seen Manteo’s hut, and you have firsthand knowledge.”
“I hardly know what’s inside it. I only saw it briefly yesterday and today. They’re concentrating on the outside and I’m just a guest.”
“How soon until you’ll see more?”
