Trail of Lightning (The Sixth World #1)(89)

“You lost?” I ask him.

He chuckles low. Not like I’m funny. More like I’m irritating. “You know I’m not lost.”

“Then I’m not sure why you’re here. Thought we’d agreed this was going to be my day off. I promised Tah that I’d . . .” I frown, scanning my yard. “Where’re my dogs?”

Hastiin’s mouth cracks slightly in what passes as a grin and he jerks his chin toward one of his men farther back near the gate. Young guy in fatigues, a fresh-scrubbed face that I don’t recognize, hair tied back in a tsiiyéé?. He’s kneeling down, rubbing the belly of a very content mutt.

“Traitor,” I mutter, but my dog doesn’t hear. Or doesn’t care. All three of my mutts don’t seem to register Hastiin and his Thirsty Boys as a threat anymore. If we keep this business arrangement going, I’m going to have to work on that. I turn back to Hastiin. “So what’s this all about?”

He squints dark eyes. “Got a bounty come in. Something big and bad over near Lake Asááyi.”

Most of the lakes around here had dried up. Red Lake, Wheatfields. But Asááyi had stuck around, fed by an underground aquifer that even this record drought couldn’t kill. It seems doubtful that whoever or whatever Hastiin was hunting over by the lake couldn’t be done without me. Which means—

“If this is you trying to apologize again for not having my back at Black Mesa . . .”

“Shit.” He drawls that out, too. Spits to the side like it tastes bad in his mouth.

“I’ve already said you don’t owe me anything. You can stop offering me gigs to try and make it up to me.”

“That’s not it.”

“Then what?”

He shrugs, a spare lift of a knobby shoulder. “It’s worth big trade,” he offers. Unconvincingly.

“I don’t need the money.”

“Thought you might. What with Grandpa staying with you.”

“No, you didn’t.”

He scratches a knuckle across his scruff. Sounds somewhere between resigned and hopeful when he says, “Could be something big and bad. Maybe fun.”

“And your Thirsty Boys can’t handle it?”

“You’re the monsterslayer.” He gives me another squinty stare. “Me and the Boys are just a bunch of assholes with guns.”

He’s throwing my words back at me, but he says it with a small smile, and I know he doesn’t really mean it. And it occurs to me that maybe, just maybe, this is his idea of friendly. He’s inviting me because he does, in fact, want to pleasure of my company. Something inside me shifts. Unfamiliar, but not entirely unappealing.

“All right,” I say with an exaggerated sigh. No need to let him know I’m pleased at the gesture. “I’ll go. But at least tell me what the job is.”

“Tell you on the way. Clock’s ticking, and all.”

I look over my shoulder back into the house. “One problem. I promised Tah I’d take him up the mountain to cut some good logs. He wants to build a new hogan.”

Hastiin blinks a few times. “In Tse Bonito?”

“Here. On my land. He’s staying.”

He nods approvingly. “Tell you what,” he says. “You help me with this bounty today, me and the Boys’ll help Grandpa build his hogan tomorrow.”

It’s a good trade, and better than me hauling them down the mountain by myself. In fact, I’d call it a win, and it’s been a while since I had one of those.

“Let me get my shotgun.”



It doesn’t take me long to get ready. I’m already wearing what Hastiin calls my uniform, which is fairly rich considering he and his Thirsty Boys actually wear a freaking uniform. He tried to get me into a set of those blue fatigues when I first joined up with the Thirsty Boys right after Black Mesa, but I told him that it felt like I was playing soldier, and if there was one thing I’m not, it’s a soldier. I’m surprised I’ve made it this long working with the Boys, but I guess I didn’t feel much like being alone after everything that went down. I hate to admit it, and intend to deny it if he asks, but I like Hastiin. Well, maybe “like” is a bit strong. But I could get-to-like.

I do change my T-shirt. Same black, but it smells markedly better than the one I slept in. I tighten my moccasin wraps. Tuck my throwing knives into the edges just below the knee. One obsidian blade, one silver. Both made to kill creatures that might not be hurt by steel. My new B?ker knife is all steel and it goes in the sheath at my waist. It’s a recent replacement for the one I lost in the fighting arena at the Shalimar and the first thing I bought with the trade I earned hunting with the Thirsty Boys. I thumb the hilt of the big knife, memories of the Shalimar wanting to surface, but there’s nothing good there and I’ve spent enough time replaying that night in my head. What I need more than anything is a fresh start. I’m tired of carrying around old ghosts.

As if the threat of memories alone is enough to compel me, I find myself on my knees, reaching behind the narrow space between the head of my mattress and the wall. My hand hits cloth, and under it, I feel the pommel of a sword. I know the rest of the sword is four feet long, its blade forged from the raw lightning that the sun gifted to his son as a weapon. His son that was once my mentor, once the only man I ever thought I’d love. But I tricked that man, trapped him, and imprisoned him in the earth. I know I didn’t have a choice, that it was either him or me. And as much as I loved him, I loved myself just a little bit more.