We shook hands and left.
Westbound, I said once, “My brain’s dragging in the dirt behind me. I
wonder if we shouldn’t’ve accepted that offer of protection. The kids–”
Ginny bit her lip. “No. The danger’s not likely any worse than before,
and probably less, since the enemy showed his hand.”
“And had to fold it. Yeah. But there’ll be a new deal soon.”
“Scarcely the same. We, the Fibbies, the Zunis, we’ve been fully
alerted. And he’s left a trail for our sleuth hounds to follow.” Her
laugh rattled. “Oh, my, I’m worn out myself, scrambling metaphors like
this. But all in all, I wouldn’t expect fresh violence, at least in the
near future. As for goetic attempts, our house is well warded. Let’s not
have any more government agents around than we can avoid.”
“Always a good idea in principle. In this case, you also think they’d
cramp our style?”
“They could.” I hadn’t the energy to ask further.
Somehow we made it home. I called in sick at the lab, not that that made
any real difference. Meanwhile Ginny gave Valeria furlough if she’d take
Chryssa over to a neighbor who had a contemporary little girl. Val had
already seen Ben off, lunch packed, to play softball with some other
boys. Edgar lumbered to his perch and slept. Svartalf lay cat-flat in
the sunlight. Ginny and I fumbled our way to bed.
I’ve gathered that most people who’ve been through mortal danger are apt
to have nightmares afterward. I don’t claim to be any tougher. In the
lycanthrope strain it may be nature’s way of healing the trauma; or
maybe I’m just lucky. My dreams go erotic.
However, it was hunger that roused us about four hours later. We still
had the house to ourselves. Having showered and changed clothes, we went
into the kitchen. “The nap helped,” I mumbled, “but I sure hope to turn
in early tonight,” and yawned.
“Fenris would be proud of that gape,” Ginny said. “Yes, me too.” She had
her own way of taking off the psychological effects of stress. It
involved mentally reciting a mantra while visualizing a fractal mandala.
Beyond my abilities.
Fenris couldn’t have tackled my roast beef sandwich, piled high with
horseradish, onion, and tomato, more gluttonously. Coffee worked its
fragrant miracle. I gave her a suggestive leer across the table. The
smile I got back, through a mouthful of her tuna salad, was responsive
but wry.
“The younger generation will start returning any minute,” she reminded
me when she’d swallowed.
The phone called. “And that stinkful nuisance always does,” I growled.
Yet we’d told the sprite to repel subscription pitchmen, self-styled
worthy causes, and other such infestations. They usually pick dinnertime
anyway. “Come on in,” Ginny cried. I gollopped my food, an electric
chill forcing itself into my skin past every skepticism, while the
instrument floated to us and settled down.
Shining Knife’s image looked out of it. “How’re you doing?” he asked.
“Fairly well,” Ginny replied. “What are you up to?”
“I thought you’d like to hear. I reached the office shortly after you’d
left and helped organize an immediate set of searches.”
“Set,” I thought. He takes–they take–this matter tombstone-seriously.
I doubt he’ll describe what every one of those parties is in search of.
“I’m all ears,” Ginny said. I guess she calculated the cliche would
lighten the atmosphere a trifle, because she had features more
prominent.
Indeed, his expression became a tad less official. He stayed with his
account, though, like a hunter on a spoor. “We found the carpet in the
general area you told about. We don’t know whether the flyer brought it
down on its last gasp or abandoned it for the broomstick Steve saw.
Either way, he and the stick are gone, no footprints or other traces in
the vicinity. No sign of that rifle, either. But where you were we
collected plenty of spent rounds and may be able to trace them.”
I’d come entirely wakeful. “If I were the gunman,” I suggested, “I’d’ve
taken that weapon someplace else in the desert and buried it.”
“Yeah, we’ve got hoardfinders going back and forth within a large
perimeter,” Shining Knife answered. “Meanwhile, the registry on the