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I force my attention to Steve’s angry scowl, the mask of misery that has covered him since his parents died. “Steve, your parents were good people. Don’t tarnish their memory by trying to place blame where blame is not due. Their death was a tragic accident.”

  “No,” he says through gritted teeth, shoving me backward. The thrust of his growing anger stirs my panic again. “You killed them. And that wasn’t enough. You tried to hurt my brother.”

  “You’ve been listening to wild talk, Steve.” I bring the bundle down from my shoulder and cradle it in my arms.

  “Yes,” he hisses. “The tales are wild. But true. True tales about an evil witch who commits murder and abuses little kids at a Christian school, where everybody is so trusting, it’s impossible to believe what kind of creepy monster lives here.”

  Racing Deer is running…

  I swat at the air to stop the voice, and Steve tenses, obviously ready to do battle with me.

  “I’m not going to let you hurt my family again,” he warns me. “You and your nasty witching sand that my sister took the blame for.”

  “Your sister is obviously confused. I don’t know why she pulled those pranks, but I knew nothing about them.”

  “You’re going to leave us all alone. Until Canaan returns, I’m staying here to see that you do.”

  I take another step backward, this time intentionally. I will see how strong this young buck really is.

  Only the whispers come again. I have to talk to drown out the sound. I’m surprised Steve doesn’t hear them. “You were a good athlete when you were in school, Steve. I don’t understand why you didn’t go on to college. Your brother and sister would have been well cared for here. You didn’t have to stay and work. If you were to talk to Canaan about these crazy theories of yours, you might be disappointed to find that he is more likely to believe me than you.”

  “Not if I tell him everything. Not if Jamey tells him what you did to him.”

  “Why would he believe you? All you do is lurk in the kitchen, glaring at everyone who comes into the cafeteria. You’re obviously half-crazed with grief, and the burden of caring for your family has sent you over the edge. Not a good environment for Jamey or April, I wouldn’t imagine. It might even be possible for you to lose your family.”

  I back farther from sight of the open door.

  Steve follows me, his gaze locked with mine, his chin inches from mine. “It doesn’t matter what happens to me after this. All I have to do is raise an alarm.”

  I wish I could close the door, but Steve is alert to my thoughts, my every move. I feel as if he can read my mind.

  I slip my hand beneath the flap of my jacket bundle and feel the cold, hard handle of the knife. The whispers grow and echo in my head: Racing Deer is running…racing…

  The knife warms immediately to my touch as I slip it from its sheath. I can feel the power surge into me from the knife; I can even control the whispers. It makes the spirit angry, I can tell, because it tries to take form, undulating in an aura around Steve.

  As my focus narrows, my eyes narrow, and Steve’s eyes mirror sudden confusion.

  I know just where to thrust the blade, and my mouth waters with anticipation as I think about the power this will give me. I need this power.

  Perhaps the spirit has even sent Steve here for me.

  I grasp the turquoise handle tightly in my right hand, my gaze darting toward the spirit as it floats around Steve.

  In one fluid movement, I bring the knife out of its hiding place, thrusting the blade into Steve’s chest.

  With a low, guttural cry, he bends forward. His eyes glaze with pain. I tighten my hand to remove the knife.

  But a white-hot stab of fire streaks through me. The undulating aura around Steve disappears, and my vision clears. I hold tightly to my knife as Steve stumbles back against the wall. As I step away from the boy, the pain in my gut shoots the length of my body.

  I drop the turquoise handle and clutch at my abdomen, doubling over. My fingers skim the wooden handle of a kitchen knife. I look at Steve, and see a gleam of triumph mingle with the pain in his expression. He has come prepared.

  His face presses into the wall, and a groan escapes him as he falls to the carpeted floor.

  I’m still the stronger one, after all. Only half the kitchen knife blade penetrates my abdomen, and though sticky blood covers my hands, I can’t be sure how much is mine and how much is Steve’s.

  Gritting my teeth against the pain, I wrap both hands around the wooden handle and jerk the knife free. A scream of pain spurts from my throat, quickly bitten back. For a moment, I think I will join Steve in his death throes on the floor, but the wall steadies me. I take deep breaths. It will be okay. I just have to stop the bleeding and get to the hogan.

  I hold the knife up and examine it, shiny with blood, coated with the energy of my own life force. The hogan. I must get to the hogan.

  Preston stepped from the cool interior of the laboratory into the bright, hot Phoenix sunshine, only to be accosted by a masked man. Not only was he masked, he was gloved and in goggles.

  “Sir? Didn’t you just drive here from the school at Twin Mesas?” the mask asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “Would you please come with me?”

  “Why? What’s wrong?”

  “Dr. Sheridan needs to speak with you before you drive back.”

  “Okay, but if he needs information, I’m not the man for him. I was sent on this mission specifically because I don’t have medical knowledge.”

  “Why is that?”

  Was it Preston’s imagination, or was this man beginning to sound more like a police officer than a member of the scientific research staff? “They’ve got their hands full at the clinic doing year-end physicals. The person he needs to talk with is Dr. Canaan York.”

  The man nodded, though Preston could not, of course, see any expression on his face.

  “Would you please just step this way for a moment?”

  Preston relented and followed the man around the corner of the building and into a side door. He hoped this would not take long; he wanted to get back to the school. In spite of the mysteries that seemed to have been solved, he felt uneasy about this whole situation.

  The man in protective gear led Preston to a large office lined with vials, books, a microscope of impressive proportions, all in organized chaos. Behind a sizable desk sat a blond-haired man with a ponytail, an earring and linebacker shoulders.

  He stood and shook Preston’s hand, introducing himself as Dr. Tim Sheridan. “Canaan told me he was sending a courier today, but he tells me you’ve been at the school this week?”

  Preston took the chair Dr. Sheridan indicated. “Yes, but as I told your masked friend, I’m nonmedical.”

  Dr. Sheridan waved a hand at the masked man dismissively. “Don’t mind him. He always dresses like that. He sees a virus behind every test tube. He was doing some lab work when he found out you were here. He knew I wanted to talk to you, so he ran out without removing the gear. I think he secretly likes to freak people out.”

  “He should be pleased, then,” Preston said. “It worked.”

  “I spoke with Canaan for a few minutes this morning, but I didn’t have much time. Was anyone sick when you left the school earlier today?”

  “Uh, sick? No.”

  “The clinic didn’t see anyone with a bad headache, high fever, severe body aches?”

  “The clinic staff was giving regular physicals. I was in the cafeteria for breakfast, and all I heard was everyone speculating about who had played the latest hoax on the school nurse.”

  “I understand the principal of the school died recently of an unexplained illness,” Dr. Sheridan said. “Unfortunately, there was no autopsy done on the body. And yet we’re getting all these vials of blood to test on other people.”

  “I think Canaan’s worried about a rash of recent deaths there,” Preston said. “Two were accidents, not an illness. In fact, the whole studen
t body seems pretty healthy to me. A young man who is helping out in the clinic told me four students reported sick around the same time as the principal, but they’re fine now. I watch the track team running in the desert every day. They all look healthy.”

  “I believe the blood we’ve just been testing is from members of your track team. In light of your news, I’ve decided it isn’t necessary to quarantine you.” The doctor grinned at Preston.

  Preston frowned at the doctor. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “We found something on our electron microscope just a few minutes ago,” Dr. Sheridan said. “A filament-shaped virus that is on the watch list for bioterrorism. That particular shape could belong to Ebola or Marburg.”

  Preston felt his heart begin a dance in his rib cage. “I’ve heard of Ebola, but not Marburg.”

  “Neither is endemic to this country, which is one reason I’m questioning you. If those children had either virus, they wouldn’t be running out in the desert with their track team, they’d be dead.”

  “Do you think there’s been some kind of mistake? Who would strike an underpopulated region of the country? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Canaan told me this morning that no one at the school has traveled out of the country in quite some time,” Dr. Sheridan said. “No one from another country has visited the school.”

  “Where, specifically, would the visitor have come from for this infection to have been carried?” Preston asked.

  “Africa. Canaan also vouched for you this morning, which means I can trust you not to share this information with anyone except medical personnel at the school, until it’s definitive.”

  “That’s correct.”

  Dr. Sheridan nodded. “Good.”

  “How dangerous are these viruses?”

  “In my opinion, they are the most deadly diseases on the planet. Latest studies show a mortality rate of ninety-two percent for Marburg virus. With every outbreak, that rate increases.”

  “There’s no cure?”

  “How’d you guess? However, with advance warning and proper, aggressive medical support, I believe those numbers can be much better.”

  “I’ll be sure to raise the alarm if I so much as hear someone sneeze at the school.”

  “There is one other possibility I will need to check out before I call Canaan,” Dr. Sheridan said. “The members of the Filoviridae family, Ebola and Marburg, closely resemble viruses of the family Rhabdoviridae, which I am hoping is the case with this. I’ll have to run the PCR test to be absolutely certain it isn’t Ebola or Marburg.”

  “So if it’s the other virus you mentioned, the rab—”

  “The rhabdoviridae,” the doctor supplied.

  “Okay, if it’s this virus, it’s no big deal?”

  “It’s a big deal, all right, but much more believable. It’s rabies.”

  Preston closed his eyes. So it possibly wasn’t bioterrorism, it was possibly rabies. How could it get much worse?

  “I’ll be sure to let Canaan know as soon as I get the final results,” Dr. Sheridan said.

  “Would you mind calling me, as well?”

  “I will, but remember, we cannot afford a panic on our hands. No one must be told about this until we know for sure. Then, depending on the results, I could be calling in the CDC in quick order.”

  “My friends traveled from Missouri to Twin Mesas to help with the shortage of medical staff. They can be trusted to keep their heads.”

  “Okay, but no one else. I’ll have to contact the CDC and send samples to them for further testing. Until we know something for sure, you need to lie low. However, I can call in the Rapid Response Deployment Team from the CDC if my findings are confirmed for Ebola or Marburg.”

  “Meanwhile,” Preston said, “I’ll get back to the school so I can pack my bags, grab my friends and get out of the state.”

  Dr. Sheridan smiled as he came out from behind his desk and slapped Preston on the shoulder. “As you said, no one at the school is sick right now. We can hope for the best. Have a safe trip back.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  P reston had never much cared for cell phones. Back home, it seemed that when he needed to use his, he was either out of range or out of juice. Today he’d at least thought to bring his phone, but in an effort to beat the mad Friday-afternoon rush out of the city, he’d delayed trying to call Canaan. Now that he’d finally escaped the traffic, he found that Canaan was either out of range or had his phone turned off.

  So he called Sheila. It was so good to hear her voice.

  “Are you on your way back?” she asked.

  “That’s right. I’m riding the wave of speeders right now. They do like to test their engines out here in the wide-open spaces, don’t they?”

  “I wouldn’t know. According to you, I drive like a granny.”

  “And I appreciate that in a woman. Have you had any sick patients since I left there today?”

  “Not a one, although we’ve had a lot of healthy patients, and one who needed a shot.”

  “A shot?”

  “Standing orders from Canaan for shots once a month.”

  “Good. Sheila, you need to be careful. You and Blaze have to take precautions if anyone comes in sick.”

  “I’m pretty sure we’ll be okay. Why the sudden concern?”

  “When I was at the lab, a Dr. Sheridan questioned me about the vials of blood he’s been testing.” Preston told her about the Ebola/Marburg/rabies concern.

  “Well, rabies would make sense,” she said. “I’m sure that’s what he’s seeing. You need to get the infected child started on the rabies shots as soon as possible.”

  “Okay, but just to put my mind at ease, you’re sure you never touched a dog on the road the other day, or an animal of any kind, or—”

  “That’s right, so relax,” she said.

  “Just take precautions, okay? I’ll keep riding the wave of traffic. If it keeps going as it is—”

  “You know, I wouldn’t mind if you drove a little more like a granny and got here alive.”

  He told her again to be careful and disconnected. Whatever squiggles Dr. Sheridan thought he saw in his high-powered microscope, Preston wanted to have faith that he would find no problem next time he looked.

  Canaan had never been a speeder, but this afternoon he’d driven from Flagstaff to the vicinity of Black Mountain in record time. Cell reception had been undependable, and now he would be out of range, but he needed a little more information to go on. If he remembered correctly, at least four staff members came from the Black Mountain area. Kai Begay, Betsy Two Horses, Doc Cottonwood and Jane Witherbe had common backgrounds, though they were different ages. All had been with the school at least since before Evelyn Metcalf’s death.

  Dr. Whitter had given Canaan good directions to the tiny settlement, and a man on horseback pointed him to the house where Kai Begay’s younger sister, Sara Pringle, now lived.

  When Canaan reached the dwelling, he decided hut described her home more aptly. Covered in tar paper, it crouched behind several scrawny piñons. Two gray-snouted stock dogs erupted from those trees, barking at the sight of Canaan’s sedan. An old, wrinkled woman sat on a wooden chair that barely fit onto the rickety planks of the front porch. She yelled at the dogs, then nodded at Canaan as he approached.

  He returned her nod and introduced himself. “I came to talk to Sara Pringle. Do I have the right place?”

  Before the woman could answer the front door opened, emitting the aroma of mutton and frying onions. A plump, middle-aged woman leaned out, her black gaze settling on him in a familiar intent stare. She looked to be at least twenty years younger than Kai.

  “Are you Sara Pringle?” he asked.

  She looked him over for a moment, then nodded.

  “I’m Canaan York, principal at Twin Mesas School.”

  She frowned. “Why are you so far from your school?”

  “Your brother is a teacher there,” he explained. “I
had hoped to ask you a little about him.”

  Her eyes clouded with confusion. She stepped out onto the porch, her heavy footfalls making the wooden slats creak and groan. “My brothers are both guides at Canyon De Chelly.”

  Canaan nodded. He knew Kai had younger twin brothers. “I mean your older brother, Kai,” Canaan said.

  “I have only two brothers,” she said. “You must have the wrong Sara Pringle.” She turned and stepped back in the door.

  The sound of many small animal footsteps filled the silence, accompanied by the bleats of sheep and goats.

  Canaan tugged at the bill of his cap and sighed in frustration. He turned from the door to stare at the ghostly white shadows spilling around the side of the house in the murky darkness. The two stock dogs bounded from the porch in silence to herd the flock of sheep to the back.

  “Don’t blame Sara,” the old woman said from her perch behind Canaan.

  He turned to regard her. What did she know about Kai?

  The woman pulled a brightly woven green-and-yellow blanket more snugly around her stooped shoulders. “She was a young child when Kai left. She doesn’t remember him and his name was never mentioned after he was forced away like an unwanted dog.”

  Canaan studied her. “Are you related to Kai?”

  “I was his mother’s sister. She died last year. He doesn’t even know.”

  “I am sorry. I didn’t come here to cause your family trouble, but to help my students. What happened to Kai? What did he do?”

  The woman bowed her head, as if ashamed. “It was not all his fault. We think the wolf got to him early, right after the twins were born. My sister had too much to do, with Sara and the twins so little. I had my own children to watch. We didn’t know…”

  “Didn’t know what?”

  A slight breeze stirred the woman’s gray hair, and she pulled her blanket closer. “You say you know Kai?”

  “Yes, he’s a teacher who works with many of the children every day.” Canaan squatted before her. “It’s important that I know what happened to him, what he did.”

  “He always wanted to be a doctor, you know. He was always exploring science, interested in things he couldn’t learn around here. There was an evil chanter who used to live in a cove near the foot of the mountain.” She gestured in the direction of the ridge Canaan had seen on the way here. “After the twins were born, Kai spent less time at home, and I think he sought the chanter, to learn more of his ways. This chanter sought the children, and we had to be careful, and keep our kids away.”