“Walking into the sun” was one of the most common ways vampires had of committing suicide. Not much else killed them, except a stake through the heart and prolonged exposure to fire. But the easiest way was to walk into direct sunlight. Within less than two minutes, intense contact with sunlight would crisp them to ashes.
I stopped laughing. “I didn’t realize he was so unhappy. He seemed awfully eager to maintain contact, though.”
Viktor nodded. “Yeah. That’s because the dude is pretty much alone in the world. As uncommunicative as Nigel was, I think he was one of the only lifelines Charlie had to the outside world. The only thing he has to hold onto is that job he has coming up with the credit union. He’s got so many hopes riding on it that I’m worried it won’t work out.” It was obvious that Charlie had tugged on Viktor’s heartstrings enough to engage the half-ogre.
Herne glanced in the rearview mirror. “First Angel drags in the savines, and now you’re bringing home a pet vampire. Honestly, are we running an adoption agency for strays?” But he laughed, a good-natured smile on his face.
“Hey, I’m entitled to my share of the feels, you know?” Viktor shrugged. “I just think that when we can offer a lifeline to somebody who’s basically a good-hearted person, maybe we shouldn’t be so quick to turn away.”
Something had set off his empathy meter, that was for certain. But even though I wasn’t all that sympathetic, I understood the impulse. When you were considered a stray or a misfit yourself, it was hard to turn away from others who were in the same boat.
“Tell you what,” I said. “When we’re done with this case, you and I can take him out bowling, or something he might enjoy. I’m pretty good at pool.”
Yutani brightened up. “Pool? You play pool? I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah, I learned when I was in college. Angel and I used to hustle some of the jocks. She’d bring them in, I’d play the ditz, and we’d end up with extra spending money.” I laughed. “I remember this one guy. He was six-five, basketball player, a real smooth-talker, if you know what I mean. Love ‘em and leave ‘em, and macho as hell. He couldn’t believe that a woman would ever beat him. He wasn’t happy when he realized that I was a pool shark and that Angel had reeled him in. But he paid up and we were two hundred dollars richer by the time I finished three games.”
“That sounds like you, but Angel was in on it?” Yutani sounded skeptical.
“Oh, don’t let her mild demeanor fool you. That woman is a chameleon when need be. Though she’d never take advantage of someone who couldn’t afford it or didn’t deserve it.”
We were over the I-90 bridge and onto the eastbound freeway. Luckily, we were going against traffic now, and zipping along at a decent clip. We were almost through Issaquah, and heading southeast. Down here, the shifters really had taken over. Tiger Mountain State Forest was a prime destination for shifters of all sorts to run freely in their animal forms, and hunting was strictly forbidden inside of the park and around the outskirts.
I fell silent again, watching out the window as the miles sped by. Before long, we were passing through Preston—a town just big enough to have a name, a school, and a cemetery. The rain had started to come down and was drenching the asphalt. The clouds were hanging low and dark, and the foothills around us, misty. Maybe it was better for hiking. Too much climbing under the sun could be awfully uncomfortable, and it was easier to put on layers than to take them off after a certain point.
The road bent further east, jogging north just a bit, and we passed Snoqualmie Parkway. We wouldn’t be able to see the Falls today, I thought sadly. I had always loved coming over to the towering waterfalls that roared into the river below. The road made another bend to the southeast, and we were through Snoqualmie and nearing North Bend, another stop in which to buy gas and grab a bite to eat.
By six-forty-five we had passed through Tanner, the next town, and were coming up on Twin Falls. The road continued, falling beneath the wheels of Herne’s SUV, and we lapsed into a comfortable silence as the rain continued to splatter down around us. The road was beginning to ascend at a gradual pace, and Herne moved to the inner lane. The right-hand lane was for semis, the big rigs having to churn their way up the hills at a slower pace. To either side of the road, the forest was thickening, and the guardrails became more apparent. Overhead, the cloud cover darkened and a brief blast of hail slowed our speed to a crawl, but it didn’t last long.
Near the Granite Mountain Trailhead, the east- and westbound sections of I-90 diverged, the eastbound lane that we were in winding its way up toward the summit. At an elevation of just over three thousand feet, Snoqualmie Pass was open all year round, and was the primary connector from the east side of the state to the west. In winter, it often closed for avalanche control, but was usually passable with chains or snow tires. It was decidedly cooler up at the summit, but the mountain passes could get crazy warm during the peak months of July and August. I was grateful we were running a steady sixty degrees today.
As the foothills to either side steepened, the rock faces became more exposed, and the restraining walls became more necessary. Washington’s Cascade Range was an impressive array of towering peaks, born from the molten fire lurking below the surface. The volcanoes that watched over the land in brooding silence were sleeping for the most part, but they could awaken at any time. St. Helens had done so with a massive fury back in 1980, and the other volcanoes were just biding their time. During the birth of the Cascades, the fires from the earth had pushed the mountains up, the tectonic plates below fracturing and shifting and reforming again and again.
We were approaching the exit for the summit, and Herne eased over onto the off-ramp. Another few minutes and we parked in the lot near the Snoqualmie Pass Visitors’ Center.
“Make use of the restrooms if you need them,” Herne said. “This is a good place to get out and stretch. Afterward, we head out on NF 9041, then onto Erste Strasse Road, which will take us to Alpental.”
“What’s the NF stand for?” Yutani asked.
“National Forest, I think,” Herne said.
We scrambled out of the car. I winced as my back groaned a little. Sitting so long in a car—even a comfortable one—wasn’t conducive to good back care. But we’d be moving around soon enough.
We headed into the visitor center. I made use of the women’s room to freshen up, then stopped at the concession stand to pick up a rain poncho. I didn’t own one, but I had the feeling it might be a good investment, given it was pouring outside, and it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon. I also grabbed a couple extra chocolate bars. I knew that Yutani had brought food, but I wasn’t sure what he had decided on and it couldn’t hurt to take a little extra sugar along.
As we met back at the car, it struck me how clear the air felt. It was cool and damp, and we wouldn’t want to get soaked—that was a recipe for disaster—but the scent of wet firs and moss cushioned me, lulling me into a calm that soothed my frayed nerves from the day before.
We settled in again and headed into the last leg of the drive. Ten minutes later, we were pulling into the parking lot, off the Alpental Access Road. We parked near the trailhead.
Herne turned off the ignition. Yutani and Viktor began unloading the back of the SUV. I walked over to the massive sign that had maps on it. Made from debarked timber the sign was rustic, and yet would probably stand through a major quake. The tree trunks that the posts had been made from were a good sixteen inches in diameter.
Next to the Cavanaugh Peak Trail sign was a staircasing path, the sides of the steps formed from eight-inch timbers. The steps were filled in with gravel and dirt to offer hikers an easier climb up the beginning of the trail. They reminded me of an old children’s toy—Lincoln Logs—and I wondered how long it had taken to create the trail itself.
The forest closed in quickly on either side with tall firs that towered over the land, low-running vine maple and massive ferns that spread out wider than a car.
Red cedar and alder trees filled in the gaps, and salmonberry and huckleberry. I spotted several patches of stinging nettle, and quickly pulled out my gloves from my pack. I didn’t want any welts from the blistering plants. I had dressed in jeans, a long-sleeve V-neck sweater, and had brought a windbreaker, which I tied to my pack. I pulled on the rain poncho, and adjusted the hook.
The others were dividing up the extra weight, including the food and the tents. Viktor handed me a large empty pack.
“Here, for the bones. Knock wood we find them. And here’s an extra water bottle. We’ll need to stay hydrated, even though it’s raining.”
“Thanks. I think I’m set. Everybody else ready?” If I had forgotten anything, it was too late now, but I thought I had brought everything I might need.
“Ready to go. Let’s go find those bones.” And with that, Herne double-checked the SUV, making certain it was locked.
With one last look at the parking lot, we started up the trail.
Chapter 15
THE FIRST BIT of the hike was a good ascent. We started up the rock-and-dirt staircase, and I promptly stopped, looking for a walking stick.
“What are you looking for?” Herne asked as I poked around in the bushes.
“A staff. I have no problem with the climb, but it just makes things that much easier.”
Viktor joined me. “Here, let me help.” He pointed to a downed log. “Will that branch do?”
The nurse log was covered with moss, but there was one limb, about four feet long, that had been stripped of bark. It was fairly straight and thin enough so my hand would wrap around it, but looked sturdy enough to manage the trip. But it was still attached to the tree.
“That would be perfect.” I started over to it, but Viktor motioned me back. He leaned down, bracing one foot against the tree and the other on the ground. Then, with a mighty heave, he leveraged the branch till it bent upward, then splintered off the base of the tree. He handed it to me and I gratefully accepted. I would have had to either jump up and down on it, which would have been a feat in itself, or I would have had to borrow Yutani’s hatchet that he had strapped to his belt in order to manage it.
Yutani had been watching. “Here, let me see it,” he said, unstrapping the hand-ax. I handed him the stick and he laid it across a stump, then gave a good whack to the end, taking off most of the splinters so that it was fairly even on the bottom.
“Thanks so much,” I said, testing my weight against it. “This is perfect. It’s dried out, so it’s light enough, but it’s also sturdy.”
We headed off again, Herne in the lead with me behind him. Yutani and Viktor brought up the rear. We didn’t talk much, letting the hum of the insects and the chirping of the birds fill the silence. Instead, we focused on the ascent.
Unlike Snow Lake Trail, which was heavily used, Cavanaugh Peak Trail wasn’t nearly as trafficked and today there was a dearth of hikers, for which I was relieved. I didn’t feel like hunting around for the bones while others asked what we were doing.
We continued through the morning drizzle, and I quickly decided that sun would have been better than rain, even if we had chanced getting overly heated. The rain made the trail slippery, and going up a muddy slope wasn’t exactly a barrel of laughs. I was glad I wore hiking boots, and the walking stick helped, but it was still slick work.
We spent a good hour on the first mile, which after about three hundred yards of steps turned into a fairly steep trail. The forest closed in around us on our right as we ascended. To our left, the slope was growing steeper and rockier. I could see through the trees that a ravine led down into a deep gash, and I crowded toward the right, not wanted to trip and go tumbling down the hill. The trees would have stopped my fall, but there were a lot of rocks and fist-sized boulders littering the ground—perfect for bruising the body.
Ahead of me, Herne climbed like a mountain goat, sure-footed and without any discernible effort. He kept one hand to the right, holding on to the now-vertical slope, and used it to brace his climb.
We had been hiking for about twenty minutes when I suddenly got the feeling we were being followed. I mentioned it, in low tones, to Herne.
“We may well be. Do you have any clue of what it might be?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I just feel like we’re being watched.”
“There are so many sentinels in these woods that you’re probably right. The guardians who patrol these mountains are ancient, and they are found deep within stone and cave and rock and shadow.” Herne glanced over my head at Viktor. “Have you sensed anything?”
Viktor squinted, then shook his head. “No, but that means nothing. I’m used to the earth elementals in the mountains, so much so that if it were one of them, I probably wouldn’t even notice. They’re as much a part of my world as the water is for Ember.”
“Well, let’s get moving again, but everybody keep on your guard,” Herne said.
We set out again and about half an hour later, the rain began to slack off and breaks in the clouds let sunlight beam through. The temperature was starting to rise, and wherever the light hit, swirls of mist rose up from where the heat evaporated the rain.
We suddenly broke through the trees just as the sun burned off the clouds. The slope to our right towered straight up, the rock face covered with clefts and fractures. To our left, the trees gave way to a steep slope, covered with low-growing vegetation that stretched toward a curve leading to the right. The ferns and low-growing shrubs covered the sides of the ravine, and down below, a stream wound along the forest floor. The valley below swept out in a wide swath of foliage across the bottom, then up toward another peak covered with trees.
I stopped, shading my eyes as I looked across the valley toward the next hill. In some parts of the country, these would be considered towering mountains, but here, they were the children of the Cascades, the young blood.
“This is incredible.” I couldn’t look away. The valley was dotted with wildflowers—larkspur and lupine, foxglove and Indian paintbrush. The entire meadow was abuzz with fat, sassy bumblebees and honeybees, darting from blossom to blossom now that the sun had come out. The birds were starting to sing, and everywhere, the sun glinted off the raindrops, scattering hundreds of tiny prism rainbows through the steep lea.
“It is,” Yutani said from behind me. He, too, had stopped to stare down into the valley. “I’d love to go running through there in my coyote form.”
As he spoke, I spotted a movement in the meadow below. Then, the form of what looked like a large dog leaped up on a boulder, staring up at us. Beside me, Yutani froze, staring at the animal. I caught a sudden flare of energy between the two.
Herne edged back toward us, his gaze locked on the meadow below. “Is that…”
“Yeah,” Yutani said. “Coyote. I can sense him from here.”
“Shifter?”
“No. Messenger.” Yutani slowly slid his pack off his back. “He’s stalking me.”
I stepped away to give Yutani some room. He inched forward to the edge of the trail, where the slope immediately began to descend. Once there, he crouched, squatting on his toes, one hand bracing himself against the muddy pathway as he reached out with his other. His hair was caught back in a braid that fell to mid-back, and his skin gleamed with a golden tint in the flare of sun that was overtaking the clouds, sending them packing.
Viktor glanced at Herne, who gave him a shake of the head. I wasn’t sure what they were thinking, but the magic around us was heavy, and I could feel the conversation flowing between Yutani and the coyote, though I had no clue what the exchange was about.
A few minutes later, the coyote turned and bounded away, vanishing into the undergrowth. Yutani sighed, pushing himself to his feet again. He was still staring over the meadow, a wary look on his face.
“What did he say, or can you tell us?” Herne asked, his voice low.
“I don’t know. He was warning me, but I couldn’t get
a clear message.” Yutani opened his mouth, about to say more, but abruptly shook his head. “I can’t tell you what he said because I’m not sure what it was. I suggest we just keep going.”
“Do you think that you were sensing Coyote earlier, Ember?” Herne turned to me.
I thought for a moment, trying to piece together my feeling that something was following us with Coyote, but it was all a blur.
“I don’t know. Like Yutani, I’m not getting anything clearly. Let’s move on. I’d like to get there before too late.”
We started off again, and before long, we were nearing the bend that curved right around the mountain. As we swung around the towering cliff, a massive rock field spread out below to our left. A glacial deposit, countless boulders—some as big as a car—stretched down into the valley floor.
I glanced to the right. Upslope, the grade had mellowed some, but the same fan of rocks spread out above us, the bottom boulders held back by a restraining wall that had been built along the two-hundred-yard wide field of debris.
As we began to make our way across the boulder field, my nerves scrambled into high gear. All it would take was a small quake, or a loud noise, to send those rocks tumbling down the mountain at us, and no three-foot-tall restraining wall would hold them.
Herne was moving quickly, and I had the feeling he was feeling the same fear as me. He moved decisively and quietly, and I did my best to follow suit. It was eerie, staring up at the massive rock field, know that the boulders had been left behind when the ice retreated so many thousands of years ago. They were a silent testament to the march of time, and the power of earth’s forces.
Finally, we were past the field. It hadn’t taken long, really, but the awareness of just what could happen had made it seem like it was taking forever.
Beyond the field, we came to the turnoff leading to Cavanaugh Peak and Hidden Lake. The other direction would take us to the Snow Lake trail.