Destined to Fall (An Angel Falls Book 5) Page 8

  She shrugs and takes another drink from the soda can. “Your burn salve is magical, Jules. You’re an angel in disguise, aren’t you?”

  My eyebrows rise at her choice of words and I don’t answer. She sort of shrugs half-heartedly and slinks out of the room as quietly as she’d come.

  Rounding into Nathaniel’s arms, I press my cheek to his chest. “Does she know about you?”

  “It wouldn’t surprise me if she does. Her aunt is my unofficial employer, and Vivi knows everything.”

  “Hmmm. I’m not sure how I feel about that,” I say.

  “Me, either. But I trust Vivi. She’s given me a real job. I’m even in her will to be a caretaker on the ranch if or when she dies.”

  “Nathaniel, it’s all too weird.”

  “It isn’t. I have to have a plan for after I get my life back. That means security. A job, income, a place to live. I’ll take care of you.”

  “You know I don’t want to be taken care of,” I say, unable to restrain my feminist views.

  “You know what I mean. We will take care of each other. Does that sound better?”

  “It does. Do you think Star is up to something?” I ask, feeling a little shaken by her appearance.

  Star’s Aunt Vivi is a powerful witch. I don’t know her, but I would never second guess Nathaniel’s opinion of her. Vivi is also elderly and sick. I know Star has some supernatural skills. She helped me expel nasty spirits who were residing in my bedroom closet. Other than that, I don’t know if Star wields other kinds of magic.

  “I don’t think so, Juliana. Her apology appeared sincere.”

  “It’s hard to trust my intuition after she tried to kill me. It may have been an accident, but it still happened. I want to believe she’s being genuine, but I also know I trust people too easily.”

  “Let it go for now and we’ll stay away from her on the tour. Sound good?”

  “That’s a solid plan,” I say.

  “I’ll ask Vivi about her niece next time I’m at the ranch.”

  “It may be way too hard, Nathaniel.”

  “What is?” he asks, concern etched in his silken voice.

  His fingers stop trickling down my back as he waits for my answer.

  “Living with the most thoughtful and amazing boyfriend.”

  He hugs me closer and shakes his head, dismissing my assessment of his character.

  “As long as I can live, then I guess you can keep your delusions about me.”

  “I’m not delusional. You’re going to be impossible in every perfect way.”

  “And while you’re thinking about impossible men, did you get a hold of Chris about your next lesson?”

  “No. I tried to reach him by phone all day. I’m starting to think he isn’t back from the search for his father.”

  Nathaniel nudges me backward enough to see my face. “You’re really concerned, aren’t you?”

  “He’s made such a big deal about training me in the ways of the spirit world that I started taking it seriously. Now, he’s missing and I have a bad feeling.”

  “You don’t know he’s missing,” Nathaniel says, his eyes holding steady on mine. “Did you have another one of your visions?”

  “No,” I say with a shudder. The visions aren’t a fun time. “I thought about trying Chris’s suggestion of purposely meditating on someone or something specific, but I can’t deal with the whole disconnect from my consciousness. Besides the visions are like dreams. I don’t always interpret the images correctly.”

  “Then don’t. I can find Chris for you if you want to make sure he’s all right.”

  I pull back from his searching gaze and stare at my shoes.

  Through the speakers, I hear Caleb call it quits. They’re thrilled to be finished. It’s a relief to everyone to have the last song recorded. Before finalizing the album, there will be cutting and sound editing, but Mostly Mayhem’s part of the process is pretty much over.

  “I can’t ask you to do that. Chris isn’t your biggest fan.”

  “He won’t have time to pull out the sage and say a prayer before I’ll be out of there and back to let you know.”

  “Thank you,” I say, and turn on the couch to place my lips against his. “It will be a ginormous relief knowing he isn’t lost in the desert with his father. I’m worried about the horses, too.”

  Apprehension mixes with concern and seems to harden the sudden steel in Nathaniel’s gray eyes.

  “Is something happening with your client?” I ask, thinking the distance I see lurking in Nathaniel’s gaze is one I’ve seen before.

  “Possibly.”

  “Then you should go back to work. If you want to check on Chris when you have a spare minute, I appreciate it, but not when Steven needs you,” I say.

  I won’t be the needy female. Letting Nathaniel use his angelic powers to do me a favor and check on my shaman friend is a huge request for me. I like being independent, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t get over myself. Being in a relationship means letting someone share responsibilities and accepting their kindness. So, I’m going to take Nathaniel up on his offer.

  “Okay, boss,” he says, and brushes a kiss over my lips. “See you soon.”

  Nathaniel slips out of my arms and out of the room, vanishing like an illusion or a trick of the eyes.

  “Soon,” I whisper, wondering if he can catch the trail of hope I send after him.

  Chapter Seven: Moral Compass

  Nathaniel

  Steven parks his car in the midnight shadows beneath the trees lining the street. He pulls the hood of his sweatshirt up and shoves his hands in the front pocket as he walks toward his parents’ house. He uses his key to enter through the front door. The house is quiet. A faint glow from the power buttons on the television and other electronics lights one corner of the room. If anyone’s home, they’re most likely asleep at the late hour. Steven tiptoes up the stairs and along the hallway to his bedroom. He’s careful to close the door before turning on the light.

  We’re greeted by a jumble of cardboard boxes and an overflowing laundry basket sitting in the middle of the floor. Steven’s bow rests on top of the heap. He sets his jaw and I wonder if he’ll crack his teeth beneath the pressure. We simultaneously stare at the open closet where everything that was inside is now stuffed into the boxes. He pulls open the top drawer of the dresser. It’s empty. The bed is made and covered with a white bedspread and pillow shams sporting very large and very feminine pink blossoms.

  Steven flips open the nearest box and starts rifling through the contents.

  “If you want to sleep here tonight, you will hand over your car keys and house keys right this instant,” a pissed off voice says behind us.

  Steven doesn’t look at his stepmother. His breaths come short and fast, but he otherwise shows no emotion.

  “Is my dad here?” he asks.

  “No. And that doesn’t matter. He’s the one who told me to pack your belongings. We want you to start talking to the pastor at church, Steven. Pastor Charles agrees with me and your father that you need an intervention.”

  “You need to walk out of my room, Missy.”

  “I am your mother, and you will address me that way.”

  “You are not my mother,” Steven says.

  “I’m the only mother you have ever had,” she screeches.

  “You’re a manipulative judgmental bigot. Where are my arrows?”

  “Tone it down right now before you wake up your sister and brother.”

  “You’re the one yelling, Missy,” Steven points out.

  “I am not yelling,” she screeches again.

  I cringe for Steven. The woman’s voice is enough to drive anyone bat shit mental. She has a way of hitting just the right note to irritate every nerve ending. Steven moves to another box.

  “The keys, young man.” She holds out her hand. The sleeve of her fuzzy bathrobe covers half of her palm. “I’ve already made an appointment for you at our church. It’s on Mon
day. You’re grounded until then.”

  “Screw you and your church.”

  “What did you say?”

  “You heard me because I couldn’t be any clearer,” Steven says, finally starting to show his anger.

  “God will forgive you if you try harder, you little asshole.”

  The words seemed to slip out of her mouth. As soon as she says it, she drops her hand and steps back. The shock on her face is comical. Somehow, I don’t think she’s remorseful for calling her stepson an a-hole. She’s more embarrassed at exposing her true feelings.

  “The self-righteous hath fallen. Don’t forget to get down on your knees and beg for forgiveness. While you’re down there, ask God why he made you into such a bitch.”

  “I will not listen to this in my own home. I have tried and tried to help you find the Lord, but now I can see how pointless my efforts have been. Take your junk out of my house and go straight to hell with all the other sinners.”

  “Thought I was only an asshole, now I’m a sinner, too. Thanks for straightening that out for me,” he says.

  Her eyes narrow and her mouth pinches shut as if she is straining to keep quiet. She holds back any last damning sentiment and leaves. Steven fills a cardboard box with mostly clothes. He throws in a few miscellaneous items and places his bow and the pack of arrows he found in the heap on top. He carries everything downstairs and out the front door.

  After loading up the car, he turns back to the house. Light on his feet and barely making a sound, Steven moves with stealth as he heads straight to the barn on the east side of the property. Steven finds the barn door locked. He says a poignant word under his breath before walking around to the individual stalls on the backside of the barn. He scales the fence, passes a sleeping horse, and lets himself inside the barn through the stall.

  It’s apparent he knows what he’s after and makes a quick trip out of helping himself to a western style saddle and a pad. He throws a bridle with reins over the pile and exits the barn the same way he had come. It’s no little feat with the load he’s hauling.

  So… my client is a thief. I guess I could give him the benefit of the doubt and assume the saddle is his, but my instincts are screaming that this kid would lie, cheat, and steal if it pleased him to do so.

  “How’s it going?” I ask while leaning against his car.

  He stops skulking toward the vehicle. A silent and weighted pause rests between us before he asks, “What are you doing out here?”

  “Observing the universe.”

  “I don’t have time to stargaze or whatever the hell you’re doing. Excuse me.” He walks to the trunk holding the bulky cargo.

  “Is that your saddle?” I ask trying to sound conversational.

  “Yeah,” he says from behind the trunk lid.

  “You sure?”

  “What’s it to you?” He closes the trunk with a small and carefully quiet click before walking around the car and opening the driver’s side door.

  “Kind of odd to be taking a horseback ride at this time of night.” I let him hear my suspicions.

  “It’s not any of your business, but my friends and I like to get an early start when we go hunting. On horseback.”

  He adds the last part as if I couldn’t figure out his meaning on my own. Steven closes the door and drives off without another word. If only he knew that I am going to be haunting him every step of the way.

  Steven checks his phone as we head out of town and toward the reservation land. I read his text messages.

  Bull’s Horn. Witching hour.

  It’s obviously only for him to know, but I can guess it’s a location and the witching hour is probably midnight, seeing that he’s driving twice as fast as he should be over the rattling washboard covered back roads.

  The last stretch of deserted trail he turns onto is a dry gulch. He manages the car well, avoiding hazardous boulders and the largest of the scrubby bushes. The sides of the arroyo begin to rise around the car until we’re surrounded by vertical walls of the crumbling soil. He drives around a wide curve and we see two trucks in the headlight beams. Steven parks alongside Dominic’s pickup truck and flips off the lights.

  “Look who came out to play,” someone says as Steven steps out of the car.

  “Mommy dearest let you have a play date?” another guy taunts.

  “Shut your corn hole, Trent.” Steven walks over to Dominic and they grip hands in some sort of dap greeting.

  “I was about to give up on you,” Dominic says.

  “Had to stop by the house first.”

  “She still harping on you?”

  “Worse than ever,” Steven says.

  “Tonight should pick you up then. It’s going to be sweet victory. Come over here and let me do your paint.”

  Dominic struts over to the truck, opens the door, and the interior light comes on. On the seat are a couple of tins of paint. Dominic makes a quick job of it as he dips in two fingers into the black pigment and swipes them across Steven’s cheeks and forehead. He draws a wide black smile around his mouth then uses a clean finger to smear white paint on Steven’s lips, creating a ghoulish grin.

  “There. Now you are with us.” He holds his fist to Steven’s chest.

  Steven lights a cigarette and asks, “Who is that with Trent?”

  “Arrio. He’s my cousin’s friend from Wyoming. He has connections up north.”

  “You trust him?”

  “He wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

  Steven gives a curt nod of acceptance.

  Dominic slaps the top of Steven’s shoulder. “You ready?”

  “Let’s do it,” Steven says with his usual lack of emotional engagement.

  Dominic calls to the guys lurking behind the other pickup truck. “Load out. We’re climbing over the Bull’s Horn to our stash. Then we’ll ride to Cottonwood Ranch where we’ll take as many as we can grab.”

  Steven jogs over to his car and quickly rearranges the contents of his backpack. He grabs a canteen, spare shirt, his can of lighter fluid, some rags, two different pocketknives, and various candy and granola bars. He straps his bow and arrows to the pack and slips his gear over his back. After locking his car, he crushes his cigarette under his shoe and jogs to catch up with the others. They choose a path heading east out of the ravine and begin a trek up the side of a shrub covered mountain.

  “Who scouted this place?” Steven asks.

  One of the three guys in front of Steven says, “The barn is forty yards from the main house. There are two motion sensor lights, so we’ll take care of those first. The place borders BLM land on the east and south. Forest to the west. As long as we head in any of those directions, we’ll be in the clear.”

  “Anything we should be keeping our eyes peeled for? Dogs or bastards with shotguns?”

  “Shotguns, for sure,” one of the others say.

  They keep their voices low, even though I know there isn’t another human within miles.

  “The old man has help during the day, but his guys leave before dinner. All the lights are out by ten every night. We’ll be back at camp in two hours flat.”

  “Shut your mouth, Trent, unless you’re willing to make a wager on what happens out there tonight,” Dominic says.

  “I’m more than willing to place a bet on tonight’s raid. My share for yours if we’re not back to the new camp in ninety minutes or less,” Trent says.

  “I bet it’ll take two and a half hours,” Arrio says.

  “I’m in,” Steven says. “Trent appreciates living below poverty level so damn much he’ll keep runnin’ his mouth all night long. I say we’re back at base in two hours and ten minutes.”

  “Easy for you to give up your portion. Not all of us have a rich white stepmother paying our meal ticket,” Trent says.

  “She doesn’t give me shit and you know it.”

  Dominic interrupts then, “If any of you are in this for easy money, turn the fuck around and take your greedy asses home.”
>
  “Settle down. We’re all here for the same reasons,” Trent says.

  “Doesn’t sound like it,” Dominic says. “Steven, tell us why we’re here.”

  I watch my client’s face as we hike over the rough ground. He’s mostly hidden under the face paint and cover of the night, but I notice his eyes harden.

  “We are warriors,” he says with a militant attitude I’ve never heard before. “We’re remembering what it takes to be badass. We raid our enemies and steal their power. Horses are a symbol of influence and freedom. We will have it for us. For our Nation.”

  “We’re not even from the same tribes,” Trent mutters.

  “You leave now,” Dominic orders.

  “I’m kidding, man. You know I’m committed to our band of brothers. I live for this raiding business,” Trent retracts.

  The fourth guy adds, “Yo, Dominic, you need the money as much as any of us. And money is power.”

  “Arrio, you just want to win the bet with Trent,” Steven says.

  “Hell yes, I do. And unless Kitchi Manitou sets fire to our horses’ tails, there ain’t no way we’ll be back to base in less than ninety minutes.”

  “Money is a form of power,” Dominic says. “But it is not the reason we do this. We raid those who are weak and undeserving. Every horse we take increases our strength and proves we are worthy to defeat others. Now, shut up, all of you.”

  The young men fall into line and set a steady pace up and over the rocky, brush covered mountain. They carry no flashlights and make their way by a thin sliver of moonlight. The descent down the western slope is not as steep and they arrive at their first destination near the base of the hillside.

  Six horses shuffle about inside a makeshift corral behind the remnants of an old log building. The location of the dilapidated and unrecognizable structure backs up to a narrow low-walled box canyon. Strings of barbed wire stretch from the old building to the canyon walls on the right and left, creating a horse enclosure with natural walls of crumbling earth and stone on the sides and the rear.

  I observe the guys unearth saddles and horse tack from beneath camouflage tarps covered with brush and tumbleweeds. Flashlights are brought out only long enough to saddle up, check the cinch straps, and inspect their gear.