Shaman Rises. C.E. Murphy

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СКАЧАТЬ in well over a decade. It was, in my estimation, kind of a low blow.

      A breath rushed out of him loud enough to be heard over the phone, and I decided it wasn’t as low a blow as it would have been if I’d Daddy’d him in the asking. He said, “See you in Seattle, sweetheart,” and hung up.

      I folded the phone closed and handed it back to Morrison. “I got the Impala at the Atlanta airport. We can drop it off when we—crap. My credit card is maxed out.” I shot a guilty glance into the Impala, where lay a gleaming new ankle-length white leather coat. “I have no money for a last-minute plane ticket. Maybe I better drive after all.” I reached for Morrison’s phone to call my father back, but he put it in his pocket.

      “I got this one, Walker.”

      Part of me wanted to protest. The much smarter part smiled gratefully and whispered, “Thanks.”

      Morrison nodded while Aidan went to see what it was that had broken my credit card. He dragged the coat out and knocked my drum, which was under it, onto the floor of the car, which made him say a word I imagined his mother liked to pretend he didn’t know. After putting the drum back carefully, he held the coat up to me, then made me put it on over my protest of, “You’ve seen me in it already, Aidan....”

      I received a glare worthy of the fiercest fashionista, even if he was a few weeks shy of thirteen years old. Still glaring he studied me, twirled a finger to make me spin and finally gave me a peculiarly familiar smile when I faced him again. “That’s an awesome coat. You look like an action hero.”

      I struck the best heroic pose I could manage, chin up, arms akimbo, gaze bright on the horizon. Aidan laughed, but I’d bought the coat in part because it really did make me feel like a hero, like I was wearing a white hat that proclaimed me as one of the good guys. It was a nice feeling, and I wasn’t too concerned with the thought that it also made me a target. I’d done a fine job of becoming a target without the coat’s assistance, so I figured I might as well enjoy it if I could.

      When I shook off my silly pose, Ada and Morrison had moved away, leaving Aidan still grinning at me without noticing we’d been given some space. I flicked a fingertip at his white hair. “If this stays like that, you won’t need a white coat to look like a good guy.”

      He rolled his eyes scornfully. “You don’t watch enough movies. Anybody with totally white hair is always the bad guy.”

      “Oh. Jeez, you’re right. Okay, you’re just going to have to buck the trend. Look, Aidan, I’m sorry I’ve got to go. I really did want to hang around a few days.”

      His mouth twisted, disappointment not quite strong enough to make him defensive. We weren’t that close, which was okay, and besides, he got to the crux of the matter, focusing on what was important. “Is it a shaman thing? Is that why you’ve gotta go?”

      “Yeah. My best friend’s wife is sick, really sick, and...” I swallowed, because I didn’t at all want to pursue my thoughts to their logical end. “And I have to try to help.”

      “We can’t always.” The kid was solemn enough to be five times his actual age. “You know that, right? Not everything can be healed.”

      “But sometimes they can be fought,” I said quietly. “Sometimes putting up the fight is what matters. But I guess you know that. Especially after the last couple days.”

      Aidan shifted uncomfortably. “You did most of the fighting. I just...was awful.”

      “You were possessed, and you didn’t give in to it, Aidan. That’s what matters. You held out so I could fight for you.”

      “A lot of people still got hurt.”

      “Yeah, and I know it’s not going to be easy for you to accept that none of that was your fault. You and I were both targets, and the thing that came after us loves collateral damage.”

      “How’re we supposed to make that better?”

      I looked west, like I could see all the way to Seattle. “That’s what I’m going home to do, kiddo. I’m gonna make it better. I’m going to finish it.”

       Chapter Two

      Morrison spent most of the drive to Atlanta on his cell phone, dealing with airlines and last-minute ticket-changing fees. I listened with half an ear, but concentrated on driving. Food had restored me quite a bit, but I really didn’t have any business being behind a wheel. The only reason I was driving was I would’ve been worse at dealing with airline bureaucracy. It was bad enough listening to Morrison’s half of the conversation, full of, “Is that the best you can do?” and, “What about business class?” and, “I’ll talk with another airline,” which he did—several times—before he finally hung up the phone with a snap. “You’re not going to like this.”

      “Morrison, the list of things I don’t like right now starts in Seattle, goes to Ireland, stops by Cherokee County and then swings back to the Pacific Northwest, so you don’t really have to try to soften the blow, okay?”

      He chuckled, which was probably more than I deserved, given my tone, which I’d been trying to modulate toward rue instead of snarling and had only half succeeded. “All right. Everything direct to Seattle is booked up until the evening flights.”

      “What? Why?”

      “Kids going home from spring break.”

      I had a brief moment of loathing for spring break. “So we fly indirect.”

      “Which won’t get us there any faster, but will leave us exhausted. When was the last time you slept, Walker?”

      I had no idea. “I have no idea. Two days ago? Maybe three.”

      “You need rest.”

      “You can’t possibly be suggesting I take a nap while Gary’s wife is back from the dead and dying.”

      “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting. How much good are you going to be to Muldoon if you’re half-conscious and snarling?”

      That was as low a blow as Daddy-ing my father had been, but it was also very effective. I tightened my hands around the wheel, pressed my lips thin and, after a minute, nodded. “Fine. So, what, we crash out on the airport floor for a couple hours before catching a flight back home?”

      “You sound like a college student. No, Walker, we rent a hotel room for a few hours so you can get some actual rest.”

      “Morrison, I don’t know if I’ll even be able to sleep. There’s no point in sitting around a hotel room for hours—”

      “Joanne, she’s on life support and there are doctors taking care of her. You may have a great gift, but even it’s going to burn out if you don’t take care of yourself. We’ll still be there before midnight. It’ll be all right.”

      I slid a glance at him. He must really mean it, if he was using my first name. Truth was, Morrison looked tired, too. He hadn’t had much more sleep than I had. I bit my lower lip and looked back at the road, but nodded. “Okay. All right. Fine.” Right on cue my jaw opened in a yawn big enough to set my eyes watering.

      Morrison, СКАЧАТЬ