He rose, took a bundle of herbs from a basket in the corner, and tossed it into his wood-burning stove.
A sweet but acrid smell permeated the room.
“I think that’s a controlled substance,” Naomi hissed. Jamison gave her the barest nod.
The old man sat in front of them again. He took Jamison’s hand in his then Naomi’s. He closed his eyes and began chanting in a low drone as the room filled with heady smoke.
Alex put their hands together and started piling the stones on top of them. The turquoise and onyx felt warm, the white stones strangely cool. Naomi’s eyelids drooped from the smoke, and Jamison wished the man would open a window or something.
Alex suddenly opened his eyes. They were wide and black, full of more intelligence than his rambling muttering had led Jamison to believe. He put his hand on their joined hands and squeezed. Naomi winced, and Jamison felt the pain of stones pressing into his skin.
Just as suddenly the old man let go and raked the stones back to the blanket.
“One hundred dollars,” he said clearly. “Cash.”
Naomi raised her brows. Jamison bit the inside of his mouth, pulled out his wallet, and counted five twenties into the man’s outstretched hand.
Jamison helped Naomi to her feet while Alex recounted the money and stuffed it inside the pouch with the stones.
As they made to leave, Jamison turned back.
“I don’t mean to question you,” he said. “But you are a Changer, aren’t you?” The old man chuckled. He didn’t move, but suddenly his body shrank and his clothes collapsed inward.
Naomi gasped.
An elderly hawk emerged from the clothes, shaking its feathers. It glared at them with yellow eyes, put one wing over its head, and went to sleep.
So that’s it?” Naomi asked as she started the truck. “Now “we’re bonded?”
“No.” Jamison sighed, frustration and disappointment warring within him. “I think that was the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever gone through. He’s not a real shaman.”
“But you gave him a hundred dollars.”
“He needs food and fuel for the winter. I bet he shafts a lot of people, and they go along with it because they feel sorry for him.”
“He really is a Changer, though. He didn’t fake that.”
Jamison shook his head, glum. “But there was no bonding. You’re still vulnerable.”
“Then so are you.”
Jamison tried to contain the anger boiling through him. “Let’s get back to Magellan. The weather’s changing.”
Naomi peered at the sky, which had moved from blue to gray while they’d been inside, clouds lowering. Storms could gather fast in the mountains. Jamison remembered a summer day he’d been hiking on Humphreys Peak, one of the sacred mountains of the Navajo near Flagstaff. One small cloud had been hovering over the summit when he started, but within an hour, he was dodging lightning strikes and a deluge of hail.
Naomi said nothing as she inched the truck back toward the main road. As they snaked northward through the reservation, flakes of snow began to dust the windshield.
“What do we do now?” Naomi asked. “Who else can perform the bonding thing?” Naomi faced the road like she faced everything, chin up, with bring-it-on sass. A defeat was only a minor setback to her.
“I don’t know anyone else,” Jamison said. “Except the Alpha who held me captive, and I don’t plan to ask him.”
“What about this Coyote? He knew where the Changers were in Mexico, maybe he knows where some others are around here.”
“He’s not exactly trustworthy.”
“He’s nice to Julie. And it’s worth a shot.”
She had a point. “I’ll try to track him down,” Jamison conceded. “I’ll check out the Crossroads Bar and see if anyone knows where he’s staying. If he shows up at the Ghost Train tonight, I’ll try to corner him there.”