Whitelaw’s gaze fell to his feet. He kicked a bit of dirt at the circle, and when it fell back on his shoe as if it had hit an invisible wall, he lifted his gaze to mine. “I’m dead.”
Then poof—he disappeared.
“Hey!” I ran to the circle, but the only thing there now was the hat. “Bring him back!”
“Can’t.” Sawyer leaned over and scooped the hat off the ground, then handed it to me.
“Bullshit,” I muttered. “You can do anything.”
“No,” he said softly. “I can’t.”
“Where did he go?”
Sawyer twirled his hand toward the sky, then let it fall and pointed to the ground as he shrugged.
“I wasn’t finished asking him questions.”
“Once ghosts realize they’re dead, or once they’ve completed their unfinished business, they’re no longer ghosts.”
From nowhere, Sawyer produced a cigarette; he snapped his fingers and produced a match the same way. After lighting the end, drawing smoke deeply into his lungs, then letting it trickle out through his nose, he contemplated the fire.
“Have you ever encountered an actual phoenix?” I asked.
“I’ve seen so many things.” Sawyer took another drag, then blew the smoke upward in a steady, gray stream.
It didn’t pay to point out that smoking was unhealthy. Breathing had become unhealthy for members of the federation, and since killing Sawyer was damn near impossible, I didn’t think mouth, throat or lung cancer was much of an issue.
If I were the Pollyanna type—and I wasn’t—I’d think that facing constant death and eternal destruction did have an upside. We could practice every vice we’d once given up without a care. Smoking, drinking, drugs, STDs—go nuts—they were no longer going to kill us any time soon.
Of course other cares had taken their place. We might not have to worry about cancer or AIDS, but there were always demons, fiery hell pits and the end of the world.
Sawyer tossed his cigarette onto the fire, then stared into the distance with a thoughtful expression. I moved closer, figuring he was going to impart all the wisdom he’d compiled on the Phoenix. Or at least tell me where I could go to get it.
Instead, he slapped his palm to his biceps. The resulting flash of light made me shield my eyes, and when I opened them again, he was gone.
“What about me!” I shouted to the night.
I waited until dawn streaked the sky before I headed down the mountain. When I’d come up the hill, I’d done so as a wolf—better eyes, better nose, better traction. Since I’d left my robe behind and Sawyer was gone, I’d be returning as a human. Yes, I was nimble and quick; I was strong. But the mountain was stronger. If I left in the dark, I might end up sliding into a culvert and breaking my neck.
Not that I couldn’t heal a broken neck, but I really didn’t want to. Just because my body could mend when broken didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell when the break occurred.
What was the rush anyway? Sure, Sawyer had been in a helluva hurry, but I had no idea why. If he’d needed me along, he wouldn’t have left me behind.
By the time I reached the foot of the mountain, I was hot, tired and thirsty. If Sawyer were lounging around drinking lemonade, I just might try to kill him again.
But he wasn’t. No one was. Which made me nervous. Where was the kid?
I checked the house, the hogan, the sweat lodge and the ramada. Not a sign of him. Maybe Sawyer had come back here; then they’d left together.
I began to touch things—Luther’s huge Nikes, Sawyer’s pillow—maybe I’d get a hint of where they’d gone. But Sawyer had always been good at blocking me, and it appeared that ability extended to his inanimate belongings as well, since I saw nothing. As for Luther, he’d worn those shoes to town, where he’d bought . . . comic books. Which wasn’t really very helpful at all.
My car sat in the yard. I retrieved my duffel and my cell phone, although getting a signal in the shadow of the mountain was iffy at best.
I’d get cleaned up, changed, eat a bit and then head to the nearest burg where I could boot up my laptop and research the Phoenix. Sometimes I missed Ruthie’s whisper more than I missed . . .
I tried to think of something I missed more than that and couldn’t.
“Okay,” I muttered. “I miss Ruthie’s whisper more than I miss anything.” But missing the voice wasn’t going to bring that voice back. I wasn’t sure what would.
I fingered the dog collar still latched around my neck. Perhaps if I got rid of this demon, but I didn’t know if that was possible.
I turned on the water and, as I waited for it to warm, lost Sawyer’s tattered, sweat-encrusted clothing. Exhaustion weighed on me. Fighting evil wasn’t easy. Fighting the evil inside of you . . . Well, that was downright excruciating sometimes.