The Gathering

EIGHTEEN

I’M PERFECTLY CAPABLE OF cooking lunch. Well, making sandwiches or popping something in the microwave. Daniel could do the whole operating a stove and mixing ingredients routine. Mom insisted on making lunch, though. Dad insisted on supervising, asking me to set the table, pour drinks, et cetera.

Normally, not their style, but they were worried about me and knew I didn’t react well to hearing “I’m worried.” They were using meal prep as an excuse to make me hang out in the kitchen with them.

The conclusion, I believe, was that I might have been upset by something to do with Rafe or the party, but I was fine now. Well, maybe not completely fine, but enough for them to back off, which they did, letting us take our lunch outside.

“I found this shoved under our front door this morning,” Daniel said after we settled on the porch.

It was Mina Lee’s business card. My pulse sped up. I forced myself to sound casual as I asked, “You think we should meet? Figure out what she wants?” I paused, as if considering it. “That’s not a bad idea.”

“Turn it over.”

I did. On the back, she’d written the name of a library in Nanaimo, a Dewey decimal reference code, and a page number.

“Huh?” I said.

“Exactly. I called her. No answer. Called again on the way here and her phone’s either turned off or she’s out of range.”

“Which isn’t that strange out here. We should call Corey. See where she’s staying.”

“He already told me. She’s at the Braun place.”

I stood. “Well, then, let’s go talk to her.”

Daniel cast a pointed look at my grilled flatbread. Then he glanced up, squinting as if he were avoiding the sun, but I knew he wasn’t. He was studying me, just like my parents had done.

I pretended to stretch, then sat back down. “After we finish eating, I mean.”

He wasn’t fooled, but he let it slide. Another bite of his sandwich, then he nodded. “I think we should talk to her. First, though, I want to check out that book.”

“Drive all the way into Nanaimo to find a book, when she’s staying ten minutes away?”

He shrugged. “I’m curious. Got a couple of things to pick up in the city, too. We can go out for dinner, make a day of it.”

“Dinner?”

“Sure.” He peered at me again. “No rush, right? She’s not going anywhere. And it’s not like we have anything important to ask her.”

“No. Course not. I just … I’m not really in a city mood today. After last night, I kind of wanted to hang out in the park, recharge my batteries. You know me.”

He nodded. “Sure. You do that. I’ll go to Nanaimo, then talk to Ms. Lee after, and fill you in on everything tomorrow.”

I hesitated. I could do an end run around him and hike to the Braun place while he was in Nanaimo. Maybe it was a conversation better conducted when he wasn’t around anyway. He’d find out, though, when he went to see her. Then I’d have to explain why I’d gone to see her, plus admit I’d done it behind his back.

“Actually, can I change my mind?” I said. “A trip to the city might be the best thing for me.” A thought struck. “I’d like to go back to that tattoo studio, too, see if I can talk to the old woman. I should just forget it, but it’s going to keep bothering me until I find out what she was talking about.”

“All right. Eat and we’ll go.”

In British Columbia teens can get their learner’s permit at sixteen. With that they can drive—as long as they have an L magnet on the vehicle and a licensed driver in the passenger seat. At seventeen, they can move up to their novice license, which needs an N magnet but no other driver.

Daniel was still sixteen, which meant he shouldn’t be driving without an adult. He did, obviously. It’s not like Chief Carling was going to pull him over. That’s the way it worked in Salmon Creek—prove you’re responsible and no one cares if you’re driving early or having a beer in the backyard.

When we went into the city, though, Daniel borrowed Brendan’s N magnet for his truck. Totally illegal. That didn’t bother Daniel, which might seem weird, considering he’s normally the one making sure the rest of us stay in line. But his rules weren’t always the same as the ones the authorities laid out. Which is probably why he’d make a better lawyer than a cop.

When it came to driving, he just took extra care. He figured that made him a lot safer than the twenty-year-olds whipping past in their jacked-up trucks; and since my parents were fine with him taking me to Nanaimo, they obviously agreed.

When we got to the tattoo studio, it was closed. I should have figured that, being a Sunday and off prime tourist season. I peered through the window at the dark interior.

“You really wanted to talk to her, didn’t you?” Daniel said.

“I know it sounds crazy. It’s just—”

“You want answers. Let’s get them.”

He waved for me to follow. There was a diner beside the tattoo studio and a café beside that. Lots of restaurants here, over half of them specializing in caffeine. It’s the West Coast—we love our coffee shops.

He surveyed the two, then waved me to the café. He held the door for me and an elderly couple who were leaving, then followed me.

Inside, he scanned the customers and staff as if looking for someone he knew. Sizing them up. It was a knack he had, like picking out people who might be a threat. After a few seconds, he prodded me to an older woman behind the counter.

As soon as she saw him, she smiled, eyes crinkling, like he reminded her of her grandson or a cute boy she’d gone out with in school.

Daniel ordered a couple of muffins, then said, “We were just over at the tattoo place. We saw it was closed today.”

She frowned. “You kids aren’t thinking of getting one, are you? I know they’re popular, but it’s not something you should be doing at your age.”

“No, nothing like that,” Daniel said. “We were actually looking for the artist’s aunt.”

“They both live over the shop. Just go around back, look for the delivery sign, and head up the stairs. The apartment door is at the top.”

Two minutes after Daniel knocked, Deena’s aunt peeked out the window, saw me, and let the curtain fall. Daniel kept knocking, getting louder, until finally the woman yanked open the inside door, her hand darting out to lock the screen.

“What?” she said.

I’d rehearsed what I was going to say. Polite, respectful, deferential. When she locked that screen, though, the speech flew out of my head and I said, “What did you mean, calling me a witch?”

“Exactly what I said. Now go away.” She started to close the door.

With one wrench on the screen door handle, Daniel snapped the lock. He yanked the door open and caught the inside door before the old woman could close it.

“We’re not coming in,” he said. “I just want you to answer my friend’s question. You insulted her, and you owe her an explanation. She says you called her something else.”

“Yee naaldlooshii.” The old woman’s lip curled as she said it.

“What does it mean?” I asked.

The old woman snorted. “Why do you care? Obviously it won’t mean anything to you. You don’t know your language. You don’t know your heritage. The Diné shunned you. Sent you away to be raised by strangers.”

“She asked what the word means,” Daniel said.

“And I said—”

“She asked what the word means.”

Daniel’s voice took on a rumbling tone he used when someone wouldn’t listen to him. The old woman’s gaze rose to his as if drawn there against her will.

They looked at each other for at least five seconds. Then she made a strange noise, deep in her throat, and when she spoke, she spit out the word, like she couldn’t help herself.

“Skin-walker,” she said. And slammed the door.