The Kalikoia legends and myths had been digitally archived. Going through the files would give Muriel the sense of helping Gracie, as well as keeping her busy while she sat beside her twin’s bed.
Muriel turned at the sound of footsteps, but waited until Gracie entered the kitchen before rising to her feet. She took the bandages and antibiotic ointment from her daughter’s hands, set them on the table, and gestured for her to sit.
Gracie had exchanged her sweater for a tube top which left her shoulder bare, but the bandaging remained in place. Muriel carefully peeled the gauze and tape away exposing two deep puncture wounds, with shallower, chisel type teeth marks between. The raw redness of inflammation surrounded the wounds.
“I don’t see any signs of infection.” Muriel leaned down for a closer look. She held her palm to Gracie’s forehead. “No temperature, either.” She glanced over her shoulder at O’Neill. “Do antibiotics even work on spirit animal wounds.”
O’Neill watched Gracie jerk her head way from Muriel’s touch. “They won’t hurt.”
“I guess.” With a sidelong glance at the youngling, she ran a gentle hand down Gracie’s braid. O’Neill frowned as their daughter knocked her mother’s hand away and then shot a guilty look across the table as though hoping he hadn’t noticed.
There was obviously conflict between the pair. Why? What had happened between them? Shared grief often pulled people apart. Was that behind this tension?
What a complete clusterfuck. He’d arrived on her doorway, determined to find out if he had a son…a dead son. Only to find he had a daughter—a living one. One chosen by a warrior’s spirit. One estranged from her mother and grieving for her brother.
How strange. He’d arrived on Muriel’s doorstep as a single unit. No family. No friends. No connections.
But he’d be leaving as part of a we. A unit. One of three.
Chapter fifteen
Day 28
In theTabenetha
Aiden had experienced countless whack-a-doodle dreams over the past couple of weeks, so many they were driving him batty. But this one…fuck…this one took the cake.
For one thing, he knew he was dreaming. In previous dreams, he hadn’t realized he was dreaming until he woke up. But he knew this was a dream, even as he was dreaming it. He knew the elderly Native American, with the hawkish nose, square chin, and waist-length silver braid was dead. Fuck…he remembered finding the dude’s body. His dead body. Shadow Mountain had given the old guy a hell of a ceremonial sendoff too, everyone alllined up in their Sunday best—military style—before carting him off for a private warrior ceremony.
People had grieved. Hell, they were still grieving.
Oh yeah, he knew Benioko was dead. Sure, he’d dreamed of other dead people before—his father, the team brothers he’d lost, the occasional civilian caught in the crossfire. But he hadn’t known they were dead in the dream. And none of them, not one, had scolded him.
So yep, completely whack-a-doodle, this dream.
And like most dreams, this one made absolutely no sense.
He glanced around the lush meadow with its purple and pink wildflowers and the ring of giant trees surrounding it. They looked like pine and spruce, with the occasional aspens thrown in. Normal trees. Nothing twisted or gnarled or shrouded in mist. Thank Christ. Just everyday trees surrounding an everyday meadow, absolutely nothing weird about any of them.
Until the dead guy standing in the middle of the meadow opened his mouth and started talking nonsense.
“So let me get this straight,” Aiden drawled. “Your Shadow Warrior killed you so you could live in my dreams and translate his instructions to me?”
Aiden tried to keep the disbelief from his voice. He really did. But fucking hell, he was talking to a dead man. In a dream. And he knew it was a dream. And the shit coming out of their mouths was fucking insane.
“He did not kill me,” Benioko corrected with irritating patience. “He recalled my earthly husk so I could exist in theTabenethaand facilitate your interaction with the elder gods.”
TheTabenetha?What the fuck was that? What was the crazy dude even talking about? This whole freak show was Wolf’s fault. A consequence of his brother’s insistence that Aiden face his nightmares. Well, he was facing them, and things had turned upside down and inside out.
This was no help at all.
“I am held here because of you,” Benioko continued, reproach creeping across his face and darkening his eyes. “Because you refused to open your mind to your spiritual calling.”
Aiden stiffened. No fucking way. The dude was not pinning his death on his ass. Not even in this freaky dream.
“Hell no. You can’t blame me for your death.” Aiden snapped. “You could have remained the living mouthpiece and passed your god’s instructions on in the real world, as you’ve done for decades. If your claim is true, then your precious Shadow Warrior killed you for no reason.”
Wouldn’t a sleep therapist have a field day with this doozy of a dream? He was arguing with a dead man about who was responsible for his death.
