Windigo Thrall Read online

  Becca had her hand pressed to her waist, and she reached over to lay trembling fingers on Grady’s arm. “I might throw up on you, Grady. Sorry in advance if I do. Jesus, Pat, no wonder you were shaken.”

  Grady swallowed visibly. “I’ve never heard anything like that.”

  “I have, earlier today.”

  Pat hadn’t seen Elena return to the room. She regarded them quietly, sliding her cell into her pocket.

  “That’s the voice of the demon who travels on the winds of this mountain,” Elena said. “I heard it on the drive here. It hasn’t arrived yet, but it’s coming.”

  Chapter Three

  Grady loved field work and truly enjoyed the winds of the desert plains and the whistle of the breeze through high pine. This wind, tonight, she wasn’t so nuts about. Frowning, she let the fabric of the heavy drape slip between her fingers across the dark window and turned to survey the expansive room.

  The bedroom on the upper level of Joanne Call’s cabin was larger than Grady’s entire house in Mesilla. Through necessity, Elena still lived with her mother above her shop, but she spent as much time as possible at Grady’s house. Her small, cramped house.

  A gust battered the window behind Grady, and she flinched. The memory of the ghostly gale on that recording still had her spooked, and this late night wind echoed it too well.

  Her highly sensitive wife, however, seemed unaffected by the sound. Elena’s full figure was spread-eagled in the middle of the huge bed, the thick sea-green comforter extending a good two feet on all sides of her languid limbs. Grady didn’t know how many thousand-thread counts those pricey sheets and pillowcases contained, but for Elena’s sake she appreciated Jo sparing no expense in outfitting this place.

  “We are buying a plane ticket for this fabuloso bed. It is coming home with us.” Elena’s chin was lifted, her eyes closed, her voice a dreamy purr. “Are you going to lurk over there by the window all night, like your Scottish banshee?”

  Grady took three strides and hopped nimbly on top of the high bed. Elena giggled as she stepped around her and wrestled the comforter back. They both scrambled beneath the fleece sheets and assumed their natural spoon, Grady cuddling Elena’s curves warmly from behind. She would have preferred to be spooning a naked wife, but the winter chill of the night outside justified Elena’s worn cotton nightgown.

  Grady buried her nose in Elena’s curls and breathed in the safety of home. The cavernous room was dark, save for the subtle red glow of a nightlight low on the wall in one corner. The stately cabin was settling into a nest of snow and sleep around them, and Grady heard nothing from the lower level; Jo and Becca must have turned in too. And Pat, the ranger—had Becca said she lived on the property? Grady hoped the presence of law enforcement might keep her from throttling Jo Call before the end of the weekend.

  “You know, I didn’t pick up on them being a couple until we were halfway to Rainier.” Grady lipped a tendril of Elena’s dark hair out of her mouth. “I never would have figured Joanne Call capable of a relationship. And with someone like Becca Healy? Becca seems so normal.”

  Grady wasn’t usually inclined to gossip, or to unkind character assessments, but Elena wouldn’t judge her and she was still too cranked from that damn recording to sleep.

  “Yes, Becca is very nice. And educated. You can tell she’s had a lot of college.”

  Grady wondered a little at the wistfulness in Elena’s tone.

  “It must have been a surprise to you, to see your old teacher again. Was Jo a terrible teacher when you knew her years ago?” Elena asked. “Is that why you dislike her?”

  “Not terrible.” Grady sighed. “Just pretty obnoxious. Condescending and clumsy socially. Some of the jerkier guys in the class made fun of her, to her face. She doesn’t even remember me. But it’s good she’s with Becca. I remember thinking she had to be a lonely woman.”

  “We can be happy they found each other.” Elena turned in her arms and rested her head on Grady’s shoulder, which had been designed precisely for this purpose. “Pat Daka is a lonely person, but the love between Becca and Jo feels strong to me, Grady. And look at the life they have ahead, protected by so much money.”

  Yes, definitely a wistfulness in Elena, but no trace of resentment. Elena and her maddening mother struggled constantly to pay bills, but she seemed to consider this their lot in life. She accepted Grady’s frequent offers of help only rarely. One of the strengths of their young marriage was refusing to let money be an issue. This palace of a cabin had to be a dazzling new world to Elena.

  “Well, you deserve a taste of how the two percent lives.” Grady rested her lips on Elena’s brow. “Even in a shared cabin. More power to the wealthy Dr. Call. The girl needs some perks in her favor.”

  Like all of Jo’s students, Grady had known she was very wealthy. She didn’t know the origin of her fortunes; she doubted afterlife communication provided that lucrative a living. But perhaps it brought more than a professor in a small college in southern New Mexico made. Grady would never be able to buy them a bed like this.

  “Money will not protect our new friends, any of us, from this Windigo, Grady.” Elena seemed stronger in her arms, still loving and tender, but she was holding a curandera now. “This family faces a terrible enemy, and I don’t know how we can help them.”

  “Help them?” Grady stroked her hair. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to help them, babe. We’re here to listen to their story, document it for a journal.”

  “Well. My Goddess will direct us as She will.”

  Elena lay still for a while, and Grady could feel her gazing into the dark.

  “You heard a voice in the wind today,” Grady said finally. “And your goddess spoke to you about it?”

  “I tried to explain downstairs,” Elena said. “I didn’t do a very good job of it. But yes, my Mother told me this is the Spirit of the Lonely Places. And tonight, in the wind howling out of those speakers, She whispered to me that its heart is encased in ice.”

  “Its heart is encased in ice?” Grady actually hadn’t heard that whisper, and she was rather sorry Elena had remembered to bring it up now. An ugly image, this ravening monster pumping frost through its veins. “Did She happen to mention if this Lonely Places spirit is going to try to eat us?”

  Elena laughed softly and snuggled back into her. “Mi Diosa doesn’t warn me away from disasters, heathen esposa of mine. Otherwise She would have stopped me from buying my used Toyota.”

  “Elena. I’m still getting used to the notion that your Diosa talks to you, period.” Grady lifted her head, but it was too dark to see her face. “The creator of all things, the omniscient and all-powerful, and She speaks to you, personally.”

  Elena murmured something light and teasing, letting Grady dwell on this. She rarely felt the need to explain her faith, and she was indulgent toward Grady’s doubts. Grady wasn’t even sure she could describe herself as a heathen anymore, since knowing Elena. Her curendera’s world was too filled with spirits, some of whom Grady had seen at work in her own life, to comfortably accommodate her lifelong agnosticism now.

  She grumbled into Elena’s hair, not wanting to ponder the divine, or ice-hearted demons, or insufferable rich women. These were really nice sheets.

  “We traveled a long way today,” Elena purred into her throat. “How sleepy are you, cara mia?”

  “You know cara mia is Italian, right?” Grady yawned. “In Spanish, I think you just called me ‘my face.’”

  “Hey, I am multilingual now, in the language of hot monkey sex.” Elena snickered warmly against her skin, and Grady felt a thrill of a different warmth course pleasantly through a lower region of her anatomy. “And all of you is mine, Grady.”

  Really nice sheets, and they put them to good use.

  *

  Grady trotted down the stairs before dawn, leaving Elena in a blissful and softly snoring sprawl across the bed. She was gratified to note the door to the master bedroom was still firmly closed. Afte
r Jo’s crack yesterday about hoping Grady was accustomed to rising early, it was nice to have beaten their host out of the sack. A heavenly aroma of bacon was wafting from the kitchen, and she trailed it like a bloodhound.

  “Morning, Grady.” Immaculate in her freshly pressed uniform, Pat stood at the hooded range of the oven, nursing a large skillet of fragrantly crackling bacon. Pat reminded Grady of some of her students, the serious ones; she carried a sense of calm purpose, turning the bacon with a sure hand, but she offered a brief smile of greeting that softened her.

  “You’re my new best friend.” Grady eyed the pan of scrambled eggs bubbling on another burner greedily. “Can I help?”

  “Sure. Want to make us some OJ?” Pat nodded toward a paneled cupboard. “Jo keeps a juicer in there.”

  “Eh, let’s go old school.” Grady preferred the small hand press she spotted on a recessed shelf. She selected a knife from a drawer and halved a few oranges, then twisted them in the press. Another sublime fragrance reached her as Pat poured steaming coffee into a large mug and set it before her.

  “It is the way of my people,” Pat said quietly. “To sing the song of the sacred coffee bean in thanks to the rising sun.”

  Grady squinted at her, and a grin flickered around Pat’s lips. They chuckled together, a companionable sound in the large kitchen. Perhaps Grady had passed some test last night in Pat’s guarded eyes. Pat had seemed professional and distant when they first met, but an evening of sharing hideous ghost-winds must have bonded them.

  Grady leaned against the hexagonal marble island that dominated the kitchen and sipped an excellent brew, pondering the meager light seeping through the high windows. “Ah, you Pacific Northwest types have New Mexico beat as far as coffee goes, but you still don’t know how to do dawn worth a damn out here.”

  “The sun rises prettier over New Mexico?”

  “It does over our piece of it.” With a sentimental pang that surprised her, Grady pictured the stunning sunrise of the Mesilla Valley. Here, soggy cloud cover over the mountain didn’t allow much vibrancy in the transition from darkness to light, more just a general lessening of gloom. Probably a fitting gothic backdrop to the day’s mission.

  “You sound homesick.” Pat lay out strips of crisp bacon on a waiting plate.

  “I am, a little. I guess New Mexico is home now. And you’ve always lived up here?”

  Pat flicked her a glance. “I’ve always lived in the camper in the back of the lot. No one lives in this cabin except Jo, for a few weeks every summer.”

  Grady knew to abide the warning in that shuttered look. “You take great care of the place. It’s beautiful here.”

  “Thank you.” Pat’s shy smile was back. “It is beautiful.”

  By the time they emerged from the kitchen carrying loaded trays, it had gotten light enough for the immense paneled windows in the living room to showcase the snow-spangled trees outside. Grady whistled admiration of their glistening beauty, then saw Becca shuffling into the room in an oversized sweatshirt and sweatpants, grinning at them.

  “I know, women are driven mad with lust when I dress like this.” Becca yawned and blew her tousled hair out of her eyes, scratching her belly in mock seduction.

  Grady laughed. “I wasn’t whistling at you, but those slippers alone rate a warm round of applause.”

  “Aren’t these da bomb?” Becca’s face lit up and she extended one for Grady’s inspection, a comically shaggy bear paw complete with black plastic claws. “I’d wear them to formal dinners if I could. They’re so me, somehow.”

  “They are,” Pat agreed.

  Grady thought so too. The warmth and playfulness of the bear claws suited Becca, and Grady liked her for eschewing the fancier, more stylish slippers she surely could have afforded. She tweaked one of the plastic claws gravely in two fingers. “Wear them for our interview today. If the Windigo attacks, Pat and I can throw you at it feet first.”

  Becca laughed, sharing her bravado about a legend that was actually starting to creep them out more than a little, and it was in this odd pose, Grady tweaking Becca’s slippered toe, that Jo walked in on them.

  Dressed in tailored but practical wear designed for cold weather, Jo looked more crisply fresh than Grady would be able to manage without more coffee. She arched one eyebrow at them and stepped briskly to the table, then stopped short when she saw the plates of steaming eggs and bacon on it.

  “But I was planning to make breakfast for us, Pat.” Jo frowned. “I was going to make eggs Benedict.”

  “Breakfast?” Becca came to the table, clasping her hands reverently. “This looks wonderful, Pat.” She smiled quizzically at Jo. “Honey, you never make breakfast. I didn’t think you knew how.”

  “Poaching an egg isn’t that difficult, Rebecca.” Jo folded the cuffs of her thick sweater. “I Googled it.”

  The poor sap, Grady thought, doesn’t even know when she delivers a laugh line.

  Pat shrugged, apparently indifferent to Jo’s lack of enthusiasm. “There are plenty of eggs for tomorrow, Jo. You had me buy lots of provisions.”

  “And our thanks to the fixers of this feast.” Becca looked pointedly at Jo, then settled at the table as Elena’s voice drifted down the stairs.

  “You have one pistol and a shotgun, Mamá. I’m not going to tell Cesar to go buy you a crossbow. Now have a good day. Te amo.” Elena looked startled to see all of them watching her, and she folded her cell with a bright smile. “Just the usual daily conversation every daughter has with her mother. Good morning, everybody.”

  “Hey, you.” Becca lifted the pot of coffee invitingly. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Oh, like a big mossy rock I slept.” Elena ran her hands through her tumbling hair, wet from the shower, her breasts lifting with the motion, and Grady smiled dreamily. “You guys made such a comfortable home for us. I want to go to bed now, all over again.”

  Grady did too, given Elena’s cleavage, but they had to prepare for the day. “Try some of this coffee first. Jo’s cupboard had a mean French roast.”

  “Okay, just six cups, to be a polite guest.” Elena held out her mug. “Pat, stop hovering like a dragonfly and sit down.” Pat obliged, pinching her khaki slacks at the knees as she lowered herself gracefully into a chair.

  Grady poured, waiting for Jo to alight. She was aware that she was probably sucking up to her ex-prof, but she felt a little sorry for her. For a moment, before Jo looked annoyed when she saw their breakfast, she had seemed honestly crestfallen. She had wanted to do something nice for them, and Grady regretted stealing her thunder.

  “I’ll have time to calibrate my recorder later.” Jo seemed to consider this carefully before joining them to eat, but at last she deigned to do so. “I’ve checked the satellite radio, and there wasn’t much snow in the foothills. The worst of it is headed our way tonight. But we’ll still need time to get to the Abequas’. I’ll want to be on the road in an hour.”

  Yas’m. Grady saluted mentally. We’ll trundle along with you, if that’s all right. She passed Elena a platter of bacon. “How’s Inez this morning?”

  “As always. As mi madre ages, she grows more and more herself.” Elena spoke a world of wisdom with her usual offhand sweetness.

  “I rarely talk to my parents,” Jo said. “Grady, you’ve read the latest literature on culture-specific syndromes, correct?”

  “Sure.” Grady didn’t get why any anthropologist working in a multicultural setting wouldn’t have. “I understand more than one model might apply here.”

  Jo nodded. She raised her glass of juice and examined it, then replaced it on the table as if finding it lacking. “I’d appreciate it if you would step back for the interview itself and let me take the lead. I’m hoping to recapture the wind sounds we heard last night on a far superior device, and I have specific questions for the Abequas. Take copious notes on what the grandmother actually says.”

  Grady blinked, and she saw Pat’s eyebrows shoot into her hairline. Even on mor
e coffee, she would be unable to conceive of a less promising plan. “Jo, we might want to rethink that. We’re dealing with a Chippewa family under a lot of stress. There are certain cultural influences you might not be aware—”

  “I’ll trust you or Pat to give me a high sign, if I misstep on the whole cultural thing. Becca, I’ll want you to focus on assessing Selly Abequa’s mental status, particularly signs of dementia.”

  “Pull up,” Grady said politely. She laid her napkin aside. “Jo, it’s not a good idea for you to conduct this interview. Trust me on this. Let me take the lead in speaking to this family, or let Pat do it. You and Elena can ask any follow-up—”

  “Elena will not be asking questions, period. There’s no need for her to come with us.”

  “I’m sorry?” Grady and Elena exchanged puzzled looks. “Elena has background in interpreting folklore. I told Jack Chambliss that I’d like her take on this study, and he had no objection.”

  “We don’t even know that they’ll provide an interview room large enough for four of us.” Jo sighed and consulted the watch on her wrist. “I want Becca along because of her training in mental disorders. Elena’s presence isn’t necessary. She wouldn’t bring anything of use to the table.”

  Grady glanced at Becca, but there was no help there; she was watching Jo with troubled eyes.

  “Look.” Grady was pleased at her even tone. “Jack Chambliss hired me for this study, Joanne, just as he did you. He didn’t make any mention of you leading this team, so I assume no leader was assigned. We need to agree on this before we set foot out the door. Elena is going with us, and you’re not steering this interview. We’re not subjecting a First Nations family in crisis to insensitive questioning by a scientist.”

  Now Jo blinked. She probably wasn’t accustomed to pushback, in any form. Grady felt Elena’s foot touch hers beneath the table, but she ignored it. Pat was watching them all in bemused silence, sipping her juice.