Trail of Lightning

Chapter 29

Despite the promised VIP status of our tickets, we are stuck in a haphazard line of waiting spectators, just like everyone else. It’s slow-moving, mostly because of the two Bear clan muscle doing a weapons check at the door.

“I’m not giving up my weapons,” I complain to Clive as we near the checkpoint.

“Looks like you’re going to have to,” he says.

Clive’s right. I watch a man a few people in front of me pull a nine-inch blade from his boot and drop it in the proffered metal lockbox. One of the Bear clan guys secures the box with a small key, pushes the box onto a shelf crowded with a dozen similar boxes, and then hands him what appears to be the only copy of the key, dangling from a length of rope. The man slips it over his head, obviously familiar with the process, and keeps moving.

“It seems pretty secure,” Kai says. It does seem like I will be the only one with key access to my stuff, assuming no one steals the boxes. I have to believe that at least in the fighting area, stealing is frowned upon. And severely punished. Keep the customers happy, keep the money flowing. That seems to be the motto of the Shalimar.

When we get up to the table, one of the big bouncers takes one look at me and his lips curve down in disapproval. He grunts and reaches down under the table to pull out an oversize metal box. Gestures for me to get to work. First off is the bandolier, then the shoulder holster and the shotgun. I strip the Glock, just to be sure, and then put it in the box. Then my knives, all three. I close the box and accept the key, and then Clive and I are moving through the line, Kai trailing a few steps behind. We pass the metal detectors and move closer to the gathered crowd and the main event.

“You’ve been to one of these before, Clive?” I ask as we filter into the arena. “How does it work?”

The arena’s not huge, but it’s not small, either. And it wasn’t down a rabbit hole or through a wardrobe, but it was through a door that otherwise blended into a detailed painting of the OK Corral. There’s probably room for two hundred people or more, which, considering we are still underground, is impressive. Not for the first time, I wonder who or what built this place. The actual fighting floor is a clean-swept area of dirt that’s been dropped down into the ground about a dozen feet. Risers that look like they’re salvaged from a high school gym cluster around the edge, affording the spectators an unobstructed view of the action happening in the center of the ring.

And there’s already been some action. We missed an early opening bout, and splotches of blood, still fresh enough to be wet, paint the dirt floor. Violence thrums through the air, speeding up my heartbeat, lighting up my nerves with anticipation. I have to admit I’m excited. The risers are filling up with what looks like it’s going to be a capacity crowd, and the atmosphere around the pit is electric.

“The first half of the night is tournament fighting. That’s what just ended,” Clive explains as we make our way through the crowd. We both glance at the bloodstained ring. “Each round the winner moves on, loser is out. Second half of the night is scheduled bouts. Sometimes tournament winners can qualify to get on the card. That’s where the big money is.”

I nod, understanding. “So if someone can survive the tournament, they can win their way into the card bouts. But the rub is they have no idea who they’re going to fight. And by the time they get there, they’ve been knocked around by a handful of amateurs and are probably not feeling so hot. Definite advantage to whoever’s already on the card.”

“It sounds stacked when you put it that way.”

“Maybe. But if you can generate some buzz with your tourney wins and then get on the card, I bet you can drive the bets up. Then you win your bout and you can take home some serious trade.”

“If you live long enough to count your winnings.”

“You fight to tap out in the open tourney, right? And then what? Edged weapons in the card bouts?”

He arches an eyebrow at me. “Have you done this before?”

“Never for a crowd,” I say. “But I used to enjoy this kind of thing with my old teacher. Not the betting, just the fighting. I know how it works.”

“You’re right. It’s tap out in the open tourney to qualify for the bouts, and bouts are edged weapons to first blood.”

“They let them do that?”

“There’s a lot of money in this room. Law enforcement kind of looks the other way.”

“Really?”

“Didn’t you see those guys checking weapons at the door? Law Dogs are the security.”

I lean in to ask another question, when I feel a hand on my shoulder. It’s Kai. He whispers in my ear. “Look over there, to your right, past the two big guys in the black security T-shirts.”

I look, eyes straining. There, inside what looks like a glass cage of some kind, rising up a good ten feet off the highest-level bleacher and affording the occupant a spectacular 360-degree view of the crowded pit, is what can only be Mósí.

I hadn’t been sure what we were looking for, since Ma’ii had been his usual enigmatic self and failed to give us any kind of description beyond a name and a gender. I knew Mósí was the Navajo word for “cat,” so I assumed she must resemble a feline in some way. But a feline the way Ma’ii was a canine, or simply someone who’d taken on the name “cat” as an affectation, I wasn’t sure. But now I am.

She is small, no more than four and a half feet tall. With all the wild clan manifestations in this place, she could be another strange display of Diné blood, but I know she is more. That sense I have that tells me when there are monsters around singles her out as something inhuman. Immortal. Something Other.

Her eyes are huge, oversize in a small heart-shaped face with a delicate pointed chin. Triangular cat ears protrude past her blunt bangs and bob haircut, and vibrissae flicker white and gray between her flat nose and small downturned mouth. She wears a bright green party dress, or at least a dress that might have been popular at parties in a 1950s TV show, with a wide circle skirt and puffy sleeves. A clear visor is perched on her head and she has a pencil tucked behind her feline ear. It’s obviously for show because her small clawlike hands whip across the keyboard in front of her, too fast to follow. Four women stand around her, just outside the glass, dressed just as demurely as their boss in matching dresses of complementary shades, shouting and taking bets like old-time stockbrokers. They, at least, look human, except for their bright red cheeks that mark their clan.

“Mósí,” I say. “Now how the hell are we going to get to her?”

“Looks like we won’t have to.”

Coming toward us are two big Bear clan security guards. Huge, heavy-shouldered, and shaggy-haired, like their clan namesakes. One I recognize as the guy who took my weapons. I shift into high alert. Clive said they were off-duty Law Dogs. Chances are they won’t recognize us, but there’s always that possibility.

“No,” Kai says, anticipating my worry. “Look.”

He points back to Mósí in her glass box, and this time she’s staring right at us, her eyes cutting through the surrounding chaos to settle heavily on me.

“Boss wants to meet you,” comes the rumbling voice of one of the guards. He lays a heavy hand on my shoulder.

“We’re happy for the invitation,” Kai says agreeably.

The guard laughs. “Not you. We were told to bring Neizghání’s pup. That’s it.”

“Neizghání’s pup?” I don’t know if that’s an insult or a compliment.

“She’s not going without us,” Kai protests.

“Orders were for her,” the guard complains.

“I know they were, but let’s be reasonable. We aren’t letting her go off alone with you, so you should let us come,” Kai says. He stares at the guard, eyes a bright silver through the medicine still on my eyes.

The guard grunts and exchanges a look with his partner. The partner shrugs and the other Bear clan guy’s eyes flicker up to the space over my shoulder. I turn to see Mósí give a slight nod in our direction. “Fine. Bring your little menagerie. It won’t help you in the ring.” With that, he turns and heads back in the direction he came from, leaving us to follow.

I look over at Clive, broad and muscled but somehow innocent-looking with that curly hair and freckles. And Kai, studying me like I’m the most important thing in the world.

“I think you’re both nuts,” I admit, “and you’re probably going to get yourselves killed if you keep this shit up. But I appreciate the gesture.”

“It’s not a gesture, Maggie,” Kai says. “We’ve got your back.”

“Clive?” I ask.

The redhead’s face is solemn. “You saved my life, and my sister’s. You don’t even have to ask.”

It’s as good as it’s going to get, and they are capable of making their own decisions. If they want to follow me into the darkness, who am I to stop them?

“Okay,” I say. My hands move to check my weapons before I remember I’m unarmed. “Let’s go meet Mósí.”

Mósí’s lair, and it really could only be called a lair, is carved out of the earth, deep down in the cavernous depths of the Shalimar. The guards lead us down a twisting staircase well below the main club, and walk us through a passageway that looks like it was dug right out of the red dirt of Dinétah. The rounded tunnel is rough rock and packed soil on all sides, above and below. We move through the darkness like moles. My night vision is great, but even I have to rely on our Bear clan guides holding gas lanterns to lead the way. Above us, I can hear the stomping and cheering of the crowd. We are directly below the fighting pit, and dust and loose debris trickle from the ceiling with each grunting thud above our heads as the fights rage on.

We finally reach an opening where the tunnel expands out to an underground cave wide enough to fit us all standing side by side and leave room for a dozen more. The cave is round, with a raised platform dominating the far end and a hallway curving around a corner to our left. The floors are covered with furs, and above the platform, small rodents hang by their tails from the ceiling like decorative pendant lights. I spot brown desert mice and the larger rats common in Tse Bonito. Even a few gray squirrels. They all stare out into the room with little black dead eyes. I shiver involuntarily. Weird has crossed over into macabre.

Kai is close enough for our shoulders to brush as he whispers in my ear. “What is this place?”

“Mósí is a cat,” I say.

His eyes wander over the ceiling. “That explains the dead animals, at least.”

I try to think of everything I know about cats, which isn’t much. I’ve never owned a cat, and the wild ones in the mountains, the bobcats and mountains lions, keep themselves hidden when I’m around. Grace’s cat seemed to like me okay, but really, who can tell for sure? And I’m not sure even a careful knowledge of cats would help me understand Mósí, although a basic understanding of coyote behavior has helped me keep up with Ma’ii more than once.

From above the platform across the room, our hostess descends a spiral staircase, green party dress swirling. My guess is at the top of that staircase is a glass-encased box above a fighting pit. Not an ideal exit because I’m not sure how to break that glass, but it looks to be the only other way in and out of the cavern besides the way we came. If it comes to it, I’ll find a way to break the glass.

Mósí pauses briefly on the bottom stair to take us in. She’s older than I expected. She seemed young from a distance, but now I can see gray streaks in her black hair, and the suggestion of fine lines around her eyes and mouth. Of course, what does age mean to an immortal creature? The real question is why Mósí has chosen this particular mask. What purpose does it serve, and what does she hope to accomplish by appearing like a matron instead of anything else? If it’s supposed to reassure me that she’s got my best interests at heart, it’s not working.

Her eyes pass over us before touching briefly on Kai. She gives him a smile, like she recognizes him. Weird, but I’ve noticed Kai elicits weird responses from people, particularly the Bik’e’áyée’ii. This is just another one.

Finally, she settles on me. Motions me forward to meet her at the edge of the dais. There’s a pile of rabbit hides heaped there. My moccasins sink soundlessly into the thick mass of fur as I join her.

“Welcome, child,” she says, her voice an inquisitive purr. “Let me see you.”

I stand still in the twilight of her cavern and let her look. “I thought cats could see in the dark,” I challenge her.

“We can, child. And we can hear your heart beating too. And smell your arousal, among other things.” She sniffs, her nose twitching.

That’s not creepy. I wait as she stalks a circle around me, close enough that I can feel her whiskers brush my bare arms.

“So you are Neizghání’s weapon. His battle child.”

Neizghání again. Maybe it’s not just my reputation. Maybe Ma’ii told Mósí about my former teacher. “What did the Coyote tell you?”

“Oh, it wasn’t Ma’ii who told me about you. It was the mother.”

“Neizghání’s mother? Changing Woman?” It never occurred to me that Neizghání’s mother would know about me, much less talk about me.

“Hmm . . . just so. She is kind to us. The Cat, the Buffalo, the Deer. Even the Coyote. It is we who keep her company in her House in the West, not you five-fingered, with your problems and riot.”

I think I’m supposed to feel slighted, but the thought of spending time with Changing Woman shakes me to the core. Not because she is a Holy Person, powerful beyond anything I know, but because Neizghání is her son.

Mósí sees me pale, and smiles. “Oh, do not fret. We spoke of nothing that is not already known.”

“What does that mean?”

“Just so.” She touches a finger to her nose and points at my heart, then my groin. “Just so.”

Creepy to the core. I can feel my limited patience already beginning to wear thin. I’m not in the mood for guessing games with a cat. We came for a reason, and it’s not to dissect my relationship with Neizghání with yet another curious and gossiping Bik’e’áyée’ii. I have no idea why they all seem so interested, but now isn’t the time.

“Did Ma’ii tell you why we wanted to talk to you?”

She inclines her head, still pacing her circle. I have the urge to grab her and hold her still. My hand twitches with the need.

“He said you had something,” I say. “Something that can make monsters.”

“You were among my patrons earlier? Did you enjoy our little fights?”

I blink at her rapid change of subject. “We came late, so we didn’t see the fights,” I admit. “But about that object. Ma’ii called it a fire drill—”

“Cats are hunters, of course. Not true fighters. Oh, we’ll fight when cornered, but we prefer to stalk our prey. It’s the chase that we love.”

My eyes flicker to Kai. He’s the one who has a way with words, and Mósí was interested in him in a way she didn’t seem to be with the rest of us. Maybe he can get the Cat on track.

Kai catches my look. He clears his throat and takes a step forward.

“Is this your prey?” he asks, gesturing to the various rodents hanging from the ceiling. Mósí stops stock-still and looks at Kai. For a moment I think she’ll pounce on him, but instead she bursts out laughing. It’s a high abrasive giggle that goes on long enough for Kai to look over at me, a puzzled expression on his fine features. Damned if I know why the Cat’s got the hysterical giggles, so I just shrug.

“No, silly child,” Mósí says, once her laughter dies off and she’s caught her breath. “These are the gifts from my darlings.” She motions toward the numerous domestic cats that wander freely around her den. “I hang them to show proper respect.”

“Sort of like a creepy mother hanging up her kid’s paintings on the refrigerator door?” I ask.

She smiles, an unpleasant look that exposes her elongated front teeth.

“My apologies, Mósí,” Kai says, not missing a beat. “I should have known a great huntress like you would have much more valuable prey.”

“Mmmmm,” Mósí agrees. Her eyes flash to me, then back to Kai, listening.

“We’ve come because Coyote told us you had something that may help us find out who is making the monsters that are terrorizing Dinétah.”

Kai joins us on the rabbit furs. He reaches out, taking her hand and gently pulling her down to sit among the soft mass of dead rodent skins. He gestures at me to sit too, and I begrudgingly join them, sinking down to rest on my heels. Kai makes a motion with his free hand and Clive sits down too.

“Hmmmm . . . you are a fine young man,” Mósí murmurs, eyes still on Kai. She rubs a hand up and down his arm across the soft velvet of his shirt before weaving his fingers in hers again. “Yes, a fine young man. Strong medicine you will give to the People. Yes, you will. If you survive.” She looks at me and giggles, like Kai’s survival is a joke.

Kai blanches, but maintains his smile. He squeezes the crazy Cat’s hand like this is a normal conversation. “Have you heard of these monsters?” he asks.

“I have heard.”

“They are evil, mindless. They have killed children. Mothers and fathers. Brothers and sisters.”

“And you wish to kill the one who has made them?”

“Yes,” I say.

Mósí’s eyes turn to me. “Just so, battle child. You are a hunter, like me. You crave to taste the blood of your enemies, to hear their necks snapped between your jaws.”

Kai coughs at her vivid description and I have to admit that it’s not how I would have put it, but it’s close enough. “Will you help us?”

She purses her lips, the picture of consternation. “It is not so easy. You see, another has laid claim to this thing you desire.”

“Who?” Kai asks.

“This one came to Mósí, first with threats. But I said no, it is mine by rights, brought to me as a gift. To take a gift from one that it was freely given to? The Mother would not allow it. So this one promises to pay great sums of riches for it, but what are riches to a cat?”

I bite my lip, holding back the obvious. This particular cat is a bookie.

“I told him the same thing I would tell you,” she says.

“Which is?” I ask.

“You must fight for it. In my pit.”

“That’s it?” I ask. Nothing more than I’d planned to do anyway before Kai showed up with tickets.

“Maggie, wait,” Kai says. “We don’t know—”

“I’ll do it.”

Kai stands, pulls me up and away from the Cat. She gives me a predator’s smile.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Kai says in a whisper, his voice uneasy. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Ma’ii said this was the answer to finding the witch.”

“And you trust him?”

“No, but isn’t that why we’re here?”

“I just think it’s a bad idea for you to go into that arena.”

“I can handle myself in a fight, Kai. Of all the things to worry about, that’s the one that least worries me.”

“This will be the final bout of the night,” Mósí says.

It doesn’t really matter which fight it is. And there’s a little part of me that’s been craving the arena since I first saw it. The violence is familiar, simple. Something I understand. I step away from Kai, back to Mósí.

“I’ll do it.”

“Yes,” Mósí purrs, her eyes glittering. She raises her voice as she calls to her guards, “It is witnessed. Neizghání’s battle child has promised herself to the pit. This is a promise that she cannot break, lest she risk the displeasure of the Diyin Dine’é.”

“It is witnessed,” intone the guards formally in one voice. Mósí’s smile is so self-satisfied that I expect to see feathers drifting from her mouth. Something’s up.

“What am I missing?” I ask Kai.

He shakes his head, as baffled as I am.

“Maggie,” Clive’s voice comes from behind us. I look back over my shoulder to where he’s still sitting by the doorway. He’s ashen under his freckles, lips white. “I didn’t say it before, but the final bout isn’t to first blood. It’s to the death.”