Authors: Sherrilyn Kenyon
Stop!
She had to get to work so that …
Her thoughts scattered as her gaze went to her dresser. There on top, next to the small picture of her and her cousin Sunshine sitting on her grandmother’s lap, were the corn dolls she’d been dreaming about. Dolls she hadn’t seen in years. Not since the summer when she’d turned sixteen and her grandmother had led her through the ritual to symbolize her walk from childhood into that of an adult.
Those dolls had been burned to ashes on that day and then their remains scattered in the garden to feed the new crop of corn—the symbol of life and the cycle of birth, renewal, death, and rebirth.…
But their presence on her dresser wasn’t what truly scared her.
While she’d slept, someone had come into her room and written on her mirror with a bar of soap—something else her grandmother had done whenever Kateri had stayed with her. Little notes such as “I love you,” “Good luck with your test,” “Have a good day at school,” “Don’t forget your sweater,” or some such trifling.
But this note wasn’t sweet.
Take my nayu into the Valley of Fire, where the pure earth must tame the crow. Listen to the buffalo and protect the butterfly. Together, you are stronger than any foe. And remember, Waleli, when the coyote comes and the snake attacks, either you eat the bear or the bear eats you.
In the middle of the day, that would be irritating to read. This early in the morning, it was downright cruel.
I’m in no mood for this crap.
“Who’s here?” she shouted.
Only the sound of her own heartbeat answered her. She’d call the police, but to what purpose?
Hey, officer, I woke up and found this really cryptic message on my mirror, written by someone who was high or drunk or … No, officer, I’m not on anything. And no, they’re not here now and I have no idea why they’d do something like this, but could you find out who they are and ask them not to leave me notes anymore? Who do I suspect? No idea. Only my late grandmother left me notes like this.
Yeah, that wouldn’t go over well, and with her luck, they’d haul her in for filing a false report.
Or worse, call a psych unit on her.
But what really disturbed her about the note was that it called her
Waleli
… Hummingbird. It was her real first name that her grandmother had given to her on her birth. One that hadn’t been entered on the paperwork her mother had filed for her birth certificate. No one alive knew of it.
No one.
So either her grandmother had visited her or …
You don’t believe in ghosts
.
True, but what other explanation could there possibly be? Why would a complete stranger break into her house, steal nothing, do her no harm, and write that? The reasoning defied logic.
How would they know about her grandmother’s nayu that had shown up in mail addressed to her the day after her grandmother had died, or the name her grandmother only used when they were alone?
Kateri shook her head.
Maybe that was what the raven mocker had been doing.
Yeah, okay, the idea of a raven mocker writing in soap on her mirror sounded even more ludicrous and far-fetched than the ghost theory, but what was left?
Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth
. She rolled her eyes as her mind reminded her of the Sir Arthur Conan Doyle quote.
“I don’t believe in this crap, Grammy!” she shouted up at the ceiling. She never had. Paranormal, raven mockers, tsinooks, spirits, and such … hokey poppycock.
She was a scientist. She only believed in what she could see, taste, touch, smell, and hear.
Quantify.
The rest was fodder for novelists and Hollywood. It just didn’t exist outside of dreams.
It didn’t.
All of a sudden, something squeaked. Kateri snapped her head toward the sound that had come from her dresser.
There on her mirror, more words appeared as she watched them.
But I believe in
you
, Waleli. Do not fail me.
Above all, do not fail yourself.
3
Noon
Jotting down the time and date for her notes on the soil sample she was testing, Kateri felt as if she was moving forward while stuck in reverse. Her limbs heavy, every movement was lethargic and difficult. Like the entire world was out of synch and she was caught between two competing forces. And no matter how hard she tried to focus on her work, she couldn’t stop her mind from replaying her crazy dreams.
What did I eat last night?
Banana ice cream.
That’s it. From now on, it’s off the menu.
After hours of internal argument that left her doubting her very sanity and condemning her own flagrant stupidity for even thinking otherwise, she’d finally managed to convince herself that everything she’d imagined until she’d gone into the bathroom to brush her teeth had been a dream brought on by too much stress, ice cream, and …
Something in retrograde. She’d have to check with her cousin later. Sunny always kept up with that weirdness. If anyone could tell her what planet or astrological sign was playing havoc with her life, Sunny was she.
Still, Kateri couldn’t get the image of that dark-haired warrior out of her mind. Of course, it would help if the man would keep a shirt on whenever he came into her unconscious mind. What kind of person didn’t have enough decency to keep himself clothed while barging into her dreams?
A little modesty went a long way.
Yeah, but clothes on a body so fine was its own form of obscenity.
Shh, mind, have some decency yourself.
But it was hard when all she saw was the pain in his dark eyes as he held her in arms that were warm and welcoming. As his breath tickled her skin. Even now, she could feel his heart pounding against her shoulder and feel the slight trembling in his arms. Almost every time she dreamed of him, he’d press his cheek to hers while he seemed to savor being near her. In those moments, she was always so serene. So happy.
Until he killed her.
It’s just a stupid dream
.
She really did believe that now. When she’d gone back into her bedroom to dress, the mirror had been free of writing and there had been no sign of the dolls, the raven mocker, or anything else out of the ordinary.
Thus proving her imagination was as active as ever.
And friends wonder why I never experimented with drugs
. With her family history, she didn’t dare. She had enough insanity without them. Last thing she needed was more.
Ever since her grandmother’s death, she’d seen “visions” she couldn’t explain. Caverns in the desert and ancient hieroglyphics that were painted on stone walls. Animals that would charge her. But the one thing that had always been constant in all of them was the dark-haired man who either fought by her side or who …
Stabbed her dead
.
Suddenly, her lab door opened to show her grad assistant, Enrique Martinez, coming in with a giant package in his hands. At twenty-three, he was gorgeous and well aware of the fact. Something he took full advantage of with female coeds whenever they needed “tutoring.” His list of ever-revolving girlfriends was so long that Kateri had quit trying to keep up with it weeks ago.
“
Hola,
Dr. Avani.” He set the huge box down on the table next to her.
Sitting back on her stool, she smiled at him. She’d told him repeatedly to call her Teri or Kateri. But for some reason, he could never bring himself to be so formal. “Hi, hon. How did your date go last night?”
He made an unhappy sound with his tongue. “Not as well as I’d hoped. She threw me back into the river. Oh well. I’m not too trashed over it. She wasn’t exactly what I was looking for either.”
“How so?”
He flashed a dimpled smile. “She complained about her food so much to the waiter that I was afraid to eat mine. You never know when an irate cook is going to spice your meat with something
extra
special. Last thing I need for a woman is a harpie, know what I mean?”
Laughing, she reached for her package to open it. Dang, it was heavy. Had someone mailed her a stack of bricks? She now had a new appreciation for Enrique’s strength.
“You laugh at misery, Doc, but Montezuma’s Revenge is nothing to play around with.”
She gave him a peeved glare. “You’re never going to let me live down Gus Guatemala’s, are you?”
“You’re not the one who lived in the bathroom for three days, Doc. Thanks for
that
birthday present, by the way.”
She snorted. “Yeah, well, at least you’ll always remember it. Never let it be said that I don’t know how to make a lasting impression.”
This time he joined her laughter as he pulled a butterfly knife out of his back pocket, twirled it open, then sliced through the tape on her box.
Arching a brow, she was rather impressed with his knife skills, and didn’t want to contemplate why he, a geology grad student, had them. “Aren’t those illegal?”
His expression would make an angel weep at his innocence. “Are they?”
She loved how he always answered questions he didn’t like with another question. Deflection had its place in the world and he was a master manipulator. Shaking her head, she opened the box to expose a ton of Styrofoam peanuts and something wrapped and taped as if on a dare.
Great. Just what she wanted. A broken nail and tape burns.
Enrique slid his knife into his pocket before he lifted up her notebook from the desk. “Nice drawing, Doc. Is this your boyfriend or something?” There was a strange glint in his eyes. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear it was a light of recognition.
Heat radiated from her cheeks as she realized what Enrique had in his hand.
Why didn’t I close it
?
’Cause she’d been a little preoccupied with convincing herself the subject of her drawing was a delusion brought on by one rom-com too many.
“No. I sketch sometimes to clear my head.” It’d been her attempt to drive the mysterious warrior out of her thoughts so that she could focus on her research and tests.
Hadn’t worked. But it’d been a valiant effort on her part that had blown up in her face. Instead of clearing her thoughts, every line of his chiseled face and rock-hard body was now permanently branded into her mind.
For some reason, she’d drawn him from the side profile, looking to the left with the light falling across his face and highlighting his features and bare torso in a pose so sexy, she was sure it was outlawed in most states. She’d left his long hair down and his throat was bare of the silver, bone, and turquoise necklace he wore in her dreams. In his hands, he held a massive war club. It reminded her of a canoe paddle, except the paddle’s edge was spiked with thin jagged pieces of glass. A forgotten weapon modern man only knew about from prehistoric glyphs, the club had a flat side that allowed Mayans to knock their victims unconscious while the obsidian glass could cut through flesh and bone faster than a scalpel or bone saw. She didn’t know why she saw him with a Mayan weapon, but it was one he’d used several times in her dreams.
Even without it, though, he looked lethal and powerful. Mesmerizing, and absolutely lickable.
Things she didn’t want Enrique to know she thought about. Ever. She slid the pad out of his hand and closed the cover.
With a devilish grin that said he knew more than he should, Enrique took it in stride. “By the way, did you hear about Dr. Drake?”
“Which Dr. Drake?” There were four of them on campus, and two of them in the geology department where she and Enrique lived most of the time.
“The one you went on your dig with last summer down in Mexico. It’s in your e-mail. I forwarded you the notice earlier. He dropped dead on a plane a few days ago.”
She gasped in shock at his lack of tact.
Dang, boy, didn’t your mother teach better? You don’t just firebomb someone with tragic news.…
A little warning would have been nice.
The Drake he referred to was Fernando Drake from the sociology and anthropology department at Millsaps College in Mississippi. She’d been friends with him since they’d met in Reed Hall as sophomores at the University of Georgia—Fernando had been kind enough to kill the bug in her dorm room that had been terrorizing her for days.
Something he’d done with flair as he heard her screaming for a shoe to kill the beast. Flame-red Doc Martens boot in hand, he’d rushed through her open door, and killed it on the floor by her roommate’s bed. Even more heroic, he’d taken its remains and given it a burial at sea in the boys’ bathroom.
No one could ever accuse Fernando of being anything less than the best of gentlemen.
And since they were barely thirty, Fernando was way too young to just fall over from anything. She’d never even known him to have a cold or a headache. “What?”
“Yeah. Freaky thing, too. They said there wasn’t a mark on his body anywhere, but that when they did the autopsy, his heart was missing. How weird is that, huh? It’s like something out of
Fringe,
you know?”
The room spun as old tales whispered through her head. She literally felt as if she were free-falling. Reaching out, she touched the table to center herself before she fell off her stool. “You’re joking.”
“Why would I joke about something so grisly? I’m not that big a jerk.” He frowned. “You okay, Doc? You look a little sick.”
She was a lot sick as her mind went to a place she definitely didn’t want it to go. Raven mockers were said to eat the heart out of their victims and to leave no external trace whatsoever. The only way to see their work was to open the victim’s chest and find the heart gone.
Unable to breathe through her constricted throat, she opened her e-mail so that she could read the article about Fernando’s death herself. But it did nothing to calm her. If anything, it made it all the worse.
Enrique was right. Fernando had been flying home when the flight attendant had tried to wake him so that he could put his seat upright for landing. She’d discovered him dead and had assumed it a heart attack. Yet during that flight someone, or something, had removed his heart with surgical precision while not leaving a single mark on the body anywhere.