Trail of Lightning (The Sixth World #1)(44)

Daughter.

That word means something in Navajo. It means family but also responsibility. It was my responsibility to keep Tah safe, and I’ve failed spectacularly at the thing that mattered most.

“Somebody needs to die, Kai, and I need to be the one to kill them.” I look at him when I say this, hope he understands that I’m pleading now. His eyes are a little wide and his face is solemn. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, but it doesn’t seem good.

“Give me fifteen minutes,” he says. He reaches out to me, but he stops short, like a dog that’s been beaten. He lets his hand fall back by his side. “That’s all I ask. Let me see what I can find out, and if it looks like . . . if it looks bad, then we’ll figure out what to do next. Fifteen minutes,” he repeats.

I look at his hand, the one that almost touched me. And the strangest thought occurs to me: Coyote was right about Kai having nice hands.

“You’ve got ten.”



We leave the truck there. I scan for traffic before hustling across the road toward the shelter of the low-slung buildings that line the fairground side of the highway. Kai hurries to stay by my side.

“What’s the plan?” I ask over my shoulder.

“Can you stay out of sight? If Longarm sees you, it’s all going to go to hell.”

I remember the look on the Dog’s face yesterday, the sure knowledge that he would kill me if he thought he could get away with it. Staying out of sight sounds fine to me.

“I’m going to try the Juan Cruz angle again, just try and get information.”

“You think that’s smart?”

“He won’t try anything. Too many people watching. Remember how he was with you yesterday? He’s afraid of a crowd.”

I raise my eyebrows, stare at him for a moment as he keeps pace with me. He grins. “Hey, I’m not just a pretty face.”

I ignore that. “Ten minutes,” I remind him. “I’ll stay at the edge of the crowd. I can’t have eyes on you the whole time, so as soon as you know something, meet me back here.” I look around. Spot an abandoned stew stand on my right, a dozen feet off the road. I point to the structure. “If you’re not back in ten, I’m coming to get you. Don’t take any chances. They will hurt you, Kai. Trust me on this.”

He gives me his high-wattage smile like it’s no big deal. All I can do is hope he knows what the hell he’s doing.

We’re approaching the bulk of the bystanders. Men and women, most of them in bathrobes or pajamas, hair askew or in long sleeping braids, all looking like they dressed in a hurry in the dark. They’re crowded together, probably three dozen deep, quietly talking to their neighbors or just watching the fire. None of them even look back at us. I wave Kai away and slow down. Move myself into the crowd, blending in without a problem.

Kai slows to a fast walk and keeps going forward, his stride resolute as he heads straight for the wall of blue-and-khaki uniforms. I can see him muttering to himself, gesturing in low circles, rehearsing his lines.

Tse Bonito’s getting hot again, the sun unmerciful and the fire magnifying the already miserable heat. I still have my wool cap on, but now I’m starting to sweat. I keep it on anyway. It’s as good a disguise as I’m going to manage right now. I pull it down tight and keep my head low, let myself flow into the crowd. I’m itching for my shotgun, but the Glock sits unobtrusively tucked in my pocket, reassuringly close at hand, and that will have to do. It’s only moments before I’m sucked into the mass of murmuring onlookers, just another girl come to stare at the fire.

“They said it was an explosion,” says a woman to my right. She’s wearing an old red bathrobe that’s gone pink and threadbare, belted tight around her waist. Her heels hang off the back of a pair of plastic yellow flip-flops. She bobs her head left and right as she simultaneously tries to get a better look at what’s going on and gossip with her closest neighbor.

“I heard it was a lightning strike,” says another woman, looking back over her shoulder to join the conversation.

I jerk my head up. Lightning strike. Neizghání.

“Right here in the middle of town!” she continues. “Did you hear it? The thunder?”

“Probably vandals,” the man with her suggests, his tone dismissive. “There’s gangs around here, enit?”

“I never saw any gangs before,” his companion counters.

“I don’t know. That’s just what they’re saying.”

I swallow past the sour taste in my throat. Nothing any of them are saying makes any sense.

Another voice farther down, so low I almost miss it. “I heard them saying there was an old man living in there.”

A few heads turn. “The medicine man?” the robed woman asks.

The woman pulls back, alarmed. “He was just at my shop the other day.”

“Have you seen him?” I blurt before I can think better of it. “Do you know if he made it out? Before the fire got bad.”

The woman who asked about hearing thunder stares. Her eyes take me in, missing nothing. The look she gives me rips something open inside my chest.

“Nobody’s seen him,” she says softly.

I step back away from her. Another step. And another. Until I stumble into someone behind me. I turn and mutter an apology. Head down, I work my way back through the crowd the way I came. There’s more people now. Too many. The crowd’s almost doubled, all standing and gawking. I have to push my way through, knocking into a shoulder, dodging someone’s elbow. And I’m sweating more, a little of the panic from this morning trying to make itself known. I force it back, force myself to breathe and move. Keep moving, keep moving, until I’m almost running. And finally the crowd breaks.