The last words swam on the paper, blurred by the tears that filled Lucy’s eyes. For years—ever since the morning eight years earlier when she had awakened to find her father dead and her mother being loaded into a police car, Lucy Ridder had been afraid this would happen. She had prayed that somehow her mother would never return, that she would die in prison, but clearly those prayers had not been answered. Or, if God had answered them, his reply was no. Her mother was coming home, and that would ruin everything. The kids at school had almost forgotten who she was or why Lucy had come to live there all those years earlier. Once her mother showed up, though, once people caught sight of Sandra Ridder in the post office or the grocery store, everyone would remember, and the ugly torment and teasing would begin anew.
Unconsciously, Lucy reached up and touched the solitary charm she wore on a fine silver chain around her thin neck. It was a tiny silver-and-turquoise replica of the two-pronged gourd called devil’s claw. Her great-grandmother, Christina Bagwell, had had it made for Lucy by a friend, a silversmith who lived in Gallup, New Mexico. Even though Christina had been dead for nearly five years now, just touching the charm which had been her great-grandmother’s last gift to Lucinda still comforted her, putting her in touch with her great-grandmother’s spirit as well as her wisdom.
Lucy had received her mother’s disturbing note three days earlier, and she hadn’t mentioned a word about it to her grandmother—not so much because Sandra Ridder had wanted her daughter to keep her impending arrival secret, but because Lucy herself had not yet decided what to do. Now, on the day of her mother’s scheduled release, Lucy made up her mind.
Sighing, she refolded the single piece of paper several times—first in half and then into quarters. Finally, when she had folded it as small as she could, she tore it up. Once the letter had been shredded into a fistful of tiny, confetti-sized pieces, Lucy tossed them up into the air and watched as the wind blew them away, scattering them far and wide. When the last traces of the letter had disappeared into the newly plowed field across Middlemarch Road, Lucy did the same thing to the envelope itself. Then she rummaged in her pack once more and retrieved a worn square of deer hide, which she placed over one narrow shoulder.
Rising to her feet, Lucy hiked the backpack onto her other arm. With her feet spread wide, she threw back her head and let out a wild, piercing scream. The high-pitched screech was loud enough to travel great distances over the seemingly empty and parched terrain at the foot of the Dragoon Mountains. Moments later, the eerie sound was greeted by an answering, keening cry.
Far away, across a tangle of blackened, winter-dead mesquite, a big bird took wing. Majestically, the red-tailed hawk rose high into the air and then circled lazily overhead, his wings spread wide and dark beneath an azure sky. For the better part of a minute he stayed there, floating gracefully on the updrafts, before putting himself into a steep dive. He plummeted straight toward the girl who stood, head unbent, waiting. Mere feet away, the falling bird banked sharply. Striking his great wings, he settled softly onto her shoulder with a gentle flap and clamped his golden talons harmlessly on the scrap of protective leather that covered Lucy’s long-sleeved shirt.
“How’s it going, Big Red?” Lucy whispered. Turning her head, she nuzzled the bare skin of her cheek against the down-soft feathers of his breast. “Hope you’ve had a better day than I did,” she added.
With that, she turned and started up the desolate dirt track that led home. As Lucy walked, the bird was forced to sway from side to side with each stride in order to maintain his perch. Anyone watching the two of them from a distance might have thought this apparition to be a monster of some kind—a poor deformed creature cursed to live its life with the burden of two heads.
As far as some of Lucy Ridder’s nastier classmates at Elfrida High School were concerned, that unkind assessment wouldn’t have been far from wrong.
CHAPTER 1
Lucy waited until she knew her grandmother was asleep before she left the house and quietly wheeled her bike out of the shed. The afternoon’s bitter quarrel had continued to torment her the whole time she had sorted through the few possessions she would need to take with her—a bedroll, a few clothes, a heavy, sheepskin-lined jacket, a canteen of water, some food pilfered from the kitchen, her grandmother’s .22 pistol, and, of course, the diskette. Her mother’s precious diskette. The diskette that had meant more to Sandra Ridder than anything else. That diskette, Lucy Ridder knew, was the whole reason her father had died.