Never Look Back. Sheri WhiteFeather

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      She said goodbye and disconnected the line, preparing to call Daniel Deer Runner.

      For now, he was just what Allie needed.

      The following day at five-thirty, Allie arrived at Daniel’s house. He lived in an average district of North Hollywood, where nondescript homes blended into each other. But not Daniel’s. His in-need-of-repair structure sat on a bed of dying grass and flourishing weeds, with a weathered tire hanging from a solitary tree.

      She exited her economy car and noticed that he drove what she called a terrorist van. The white, nearly windowless vehicle was parked in an oil-stained driveway.

      His house was even worse than Kyle’s, and that wasn’t an easy feat. Kyle was a junk dealer.

      She trudged up the walkway, dodging loose stones and chipped cement. She rang the bell, but nothing happened. Figures. It was broken.

      As she knocked on the door, she noticed a brittle green hose rolled up in the dismal flower bed. An ugly brown spider had built its home in the center of the hole. She made a disturbed expression. She hated bugs.

      “You must be Allie,” a deep voice said.

      She jerked to attention, unaware that the door had swung open. “And you must be Daniel.” He looked like a Native American nerd, with a solid, six-foot-plus frame and horn-rimmed glasses. His medium-length kettle-black hair was combed straight back, revealing a square jaw, a flat-bridged nose and killer cheekbones.

      Did he think the glasses made a pseudo/L.A./artsy statement?

      Behind the dorky specs, he checked her out. His gaze swept the long, lithe length of her, taking in her Southwestern flair—the loose cotton fabrics and silver-and-turquoise jewelry she’d bought at a pawnshop.

      She assessed his style and noticed that his white, button-down shirt and shrink-to-fit Levi’s were clean and pressed. She thought it was weird when people ironed their jeans, but at least he hadn’t put a crease in them. On his feet, he wore a pair of high-top, black-and-white tennis shoes.

      “So what do you think of my house?” he asked.

      Allie didn’t know what to say. She glanced at the garden hose. Its occupant had disappeared.

      “That bad, huh?” He gave her a goofy grin. “And here I thought this place was a chick magnet.”

      She couldn’t help but smile. “Not quite.”

      “Was it the spider that ruined it for you? He and I are buds.” He turned to look at the web and noticed that it was vacant. “Traitor.” He grinned at Allie again. “I should have known better than to trust an arachnid.”

      She almost laughed. Maybe the arachnid didn’t want to turn into an arachnerd by living so close to him. “You’ll have to be more careful next time. Choose your friends a little more wisely.”

      “No kidding. Do you want to come in?”

      “Okay.” Strange as he was, he was starting to grow on her. He smelled like Brylcreem, a men’s hair product that had been around since the ’50s. Her dad had used the goop, too.

      “I just moved here,” Daniel said as she crossed the threshold. “The landlord offered me a deal on the rent if I fixed it up. I already started on the inside.”

      Allie looked around. The chestnut-colored carpet and beige drapes were old, but she could tell that the walls held a fresh coat of paint. He’d decorated with light-toned woods, a tan couch and a leather recliner. A few leopard-print pillows were tossed in for good measure.

      It needed a bit more color, maybe a splash of red, but overall it wasn’t bad.

      “Do you want a soda?” he asked.

      “Sure.” She followed him into the kitchen, where ancient white appliances, a chipped sink and a vinyl floor with an avocado-green pattern from the ’70s had been scrubbed clean.

      He opened the fridge and handed her a generic cola. “I bought those peel-and-stick squares for the floor. But I haven’t had time to rip up this stuff yet.”

      She fought the urge to move closer to him, but she knew it wouldn’t ease her soul. The smell of his hair was making her homesick for her childhood, for the innocence that had been long since shattered.

      As silence engulfed them, he watched her flip the tab on her soda and take a drink. Allie wasn’t the self-conscious type, but his scrutiny was a bit too intense.

      “Why do you want to know about ravens?” he asked.

      “Because one flew in my window yesterday.”

      “No shit?”

      She nodded, repeating what she’d told Kyle, revealing only a portion of what had actually happened.

      He stuck his hands in his pockets. “Raven keeps the world from being boring.”

      “Did he create it?” she asked, inquiring about Haida beliefs.

      “In a sense.” Daniel shifted his weight. “But Raven is more of a transformer, a trickster, than a creator.”

      Her heart struck her chest. Last year, during all of the witch madness, she’d had dealings with Coyote, another Native American trickster. And those experiences weren’t the least bit pretty. But this was different, wasn’t it? Raven was her angel.

      “Did it bite you?” Daniel asked suddenly. “Is that what the bandage on your arm is from? Let me take a look at it.” He reached for her wrist.

      “It’s fine.” She pulled away from him, and when she did, she caught a dark shadow outside his kitchen window.

      In the shape of a big, black bird.

      Chapter 2

      Daniel moved in front of the window, trying to get her attention. Damn him. She pushed him out of the way, but it was too late.

      The shadow was gone.

      Daniel darted in front of the window again. “What’s wrong with you?”

      “Nothing.” Allie could only assume that the raven was watching her. That he’d followed her here. As for Daniel, he was too absorbed in her bite. She should have worn long sleeves.

      He adjusted his glasses where they’d slipped down his nose. A strand of his Brylcreemed hair had fallen onto his forehead, too. “Let me see your wound.”

      “What for?”

      “I just want to see it.”

      Getting bitten by a bird was nothing compared to what she’d been through. She’d battled bewitched bats and mutantlike giants. But worse yet was her mother. Allie’s mom was a convicted serial killer. It was something she and her sister would never live down.

      “Don’t be stubborn,” he pressed.

      “Fine.” СКАЧАТЬ