Never Look Back. Sheri WhiteFeather

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      “That’s understandable.” And admirable, she thought.

      “Have you read Poe’s poem?” he asked.

      She nodded. “‘The Raven’ was required in school.” But now she wondered if she should search for it online. She barely remembered it.

      “Have you read the Teen Titans comics? Or seen the animated show?” Daniel asked.

      They’d gone from Edgar Allen Poe to comic books and cartoons? Trust Daniel. He probably had friends who dressed up at Star Trek conventions. “Is there a reason I should?”

      “Raven is a superhero from Teen Titans.”

      “Really?” She stopped to ponder that scenario. “What are his powers?”

      “Her powers. She’s female. Raven is the daughter of a woman who was impregnated by Satan.”

      “So she’s part human, part devil?” The way her raven was part human, part angel?

      “Yes, but she was taught to control her demon heritage. She learned to heal by absorbing other people’s pain, and she learned to project her soul out of her body for short periods of time. But she has to fight to keep her darkness under control.”

      Suddenly they both fell silent. Allie’s ancestry had been steeped in evil. All of the women on her mother’s side were black magic witches, everyone except her and Olivia. Controlling the darkness in their blood, the Apache ènti, was something they understood all too well.

      She looked at Daniel and her heart sank. “You know, don’t you?”

      He shifted his feet, and his spotless tennis shoes picked up a smidgen of dirt. “Know what?”

      “About my mother.”

      She didn’t break eye contact, but he did, squinting into the waning sun. Dusk was only minutes away.

      “I’ve been trying to act normal around you,” he said.

      Normal? She had no idea what that meant anymore. She longed for the days when she was young and naive, when she’d assumed that her family was like everyone else’s. But at twenty-nine, with her childhood behind her, she knew better. “People always treat me differently when they discover I’m related to Yvonne Whirlwind.”

      “I didn’t.”

      Didn’t he? She wasn’t so sure. She’d just met him. She couldn’t gauge how he would have behaved otherwise. “Do you know about my dad, too?”

      Daniel nodded. “He was a Lakota actor who committed suicide.” He stalled for a second. “My father is Lakota, too. But he’s not an actor and he’s still alive.”

      “That’s not much of a parallel, is it?”

      “No, it isn’t. I’m sorry about your father.”

      “He put a .44 Magnum in his mouth and pulled the trigger.” A gun she’d reluctantly learned to shoot. “I was fresh out of high school when he did it.”

      “I’ve seen some of his movies.”

      “Really? He only got bit parts. He wasn’t famous.”

      “He is now.”

      A lump formed in her throat. Even though her father had died over a decade ago, long before her mother had gone on a murderous rampage, her notoriety had triggered his. During Yvonne’s trial, the media had drudged up Joseph Whirlwind’s name, along with every old photo and film clip they could find. She suspected that was how Daniel had heard about him. “Dad is a wanagi now.”

      He didn’t say anything. He just looked at her.

      “It means ghost in Lakota,” she told him.

      “I know what it means. But you’re speaking metaphorically, right?”

      “No. I’m talking about an earth-bound spirit. He was there when my sister needed him. And someday he’ll be there for me, too.”

      “Your life is confusing.” He shook his head. “A wanagi, a raven and a mother on a death row.”

      Allie wasn’t about to argue. She glanced up at the sky, where daylight had disappeared, where clouds had begun to gather.

      As though something dangerous was on its way.

      Danger came in the form of a violent rain. To the Chiricahua Apache, sudden storms were regarded with fear.

      When Allie got home, she entered the loft with water dampening her clothes and matting her hair. She looked around for Samantha and saw that her pet was crouched in a corner. The cat didn’t trust the weather, either.

      “It’s okay, Sam,” she said, even though things didn’t feel all right. Last year, when Allie’s great-grandmother had cast her dark magic, the earth had been flooded with rain.

      She lit a candle and took a deep breath, filling her nostrils with the cookielike scent of vanilla. The flame made a curvaceous sweep, swaying softly, reminding her of a lone dancer, a lost lover.

      Allie sighed. If only she wasn’t such a dreamer. As a child, she’d thrived on Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy. And now she wanted to drift in the arms of an angel, to let him keep her safe.

      She walked down the hall and into her studio, hoping to find him there. But all she encountered was a puddle of water on the floor.

      Weary, she closed the window, grabbed a towel and sopped up the water. Afterward, she walked over to the painting she’d created, gazing at the angel, looking for answers in his eyes.

      If she tried to cast a spell, if she used his feather in an incantation, would it draw him near? Or would she be tempting fate? Allie didn’t know what to call herself. She wasn’t a witch. Native witches used their power to perpetuate sickness and death, to do harm unto others. But by the same token, she wasn’t a shaman. Shamans used their power to conduct ceremonies and cure illnesses.

      So what am I? she wondered. A grown woman who believed in fairy tales? Who thought Prince Charming wore tattered clothes and big, dark wings?

      Unable to stop herself, she reopened the window. A little water damage was better than the raven barreling into the glass.

      Finally, she went into the kitchen to feed Samantha and fix a snack. She opened a can of cat food and scooped it into a bowl, but Sam didn’t come running. The animal approached her meal warily, still smarting over the weather. Water pounded on the roof like a thousand angry fists.

      Dark and heavy. It was a male rain, Allie thought. Or so she’d been taught. And since that knowledge had come from her mother, she battled a quick chill, rubbing her arm and disturbing her bandage.

      Trying to focus on food, she diced an apple and cut bite-size chunks of cheddar cheese. A glass of wine came next. She needed something to pacify her nerves.

      Then she got the urge to call Daniel, to ask him what ravens ate. It might help to leave some food СКАЧАТЬ