Trickster's Girl (The Raven Duet) Page 6

  Craters of the Moon National Monument was just over the state border, but it would be a full day's ride and a full day back. And she'd need to find an excuse to get away from her mother, and...

  "One nexus," said Kelsa, making up her mind as she spoke. "After that, you'll have to find someone else."

  CHAPTER 4

  SHE WASN'T GOING ALL THE way to Alaska. Kelsa made that clear to Raven again when they parted that night—after she had found a narrow bathroom window that wasn't linked to the alarm system and bruised every inch of her body squirming through it.

  "Remember, I'm only going to do that first nexus." She'd pulled over at a corner near her house to drop him off. Where was he staying? A hotel? A nest in a tree?

  "Why say that so firmly?" Raven swung off the bike and removed his helmet. The half-flattened, half-spiked hair would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. "You don't even know where the second nexus is. Once you've done the first, you might want—"

  "I don't make many promises," Kelsa told him. "Because if I promise, if I start something, I'll finish it. So I'm careful about commitments."

  He raised his brows at the grim certainty in her voice. "It's your decision. I can't make you do anything. If nothing else, it would be against the rules."

  "What are these rules of yours, anyway?" Kelsa asked. "You said they were magical? Like laws of magic?"

  "No, I didn't," Raven said. "I said they were 'or something.'"

  "So what are they?"

  "I'd like to tell you, but it's against—"

  "The rules," Kelsa interposed dryly. "Why am I not surprised."

  She was beginning to suspect he was making up those rules as he went along, and his smug smile was really starting to get on her nerves. But she wouldn't be dealing with him for much longer, so it hardly mattered. Because Kelsa finally knew what she wanted to do next.

  ***

  She set the alarm to wake her half an hour early, and in the morning she went down to talk with her mother while she fixed breakfast. They both agreed that it would be good for Kelsa to go away for a while.

  "Start your vacation with a vacation!" The forced perkiness in her mother's voice put Kelsa's teeth on edge.

  A board call to Aunt Sarabeth's apartment caught her aunt dressed in a sleek suit on her way to work. She looked a bit startled, but hesitated only a second before saying that of course she'd be delighted to have Kelsa stay with her for several weeks. For the whole summer if she wanted to.

  Kelsa gave her full points—the dismay hardly showed at all.

  They settled on Kelsa's departure date, June fourth, just four days from now. She still had two days of school spirit activities to get through, but that proved less boring than she'd expected because she could slip away from the basketball game, or the vid club's presentation of "2093–94 in West Springville High," and find a vacant deskcomp to do some research.

  There were plenty of myths about Raven, stretching from Northern California through most of Canada and into Alaska. Had this ley he was so concerned about been his? Or in his territory?

  But the Native American myths were clearly myths, not history. Kelsa might have been forced to wrap her mind around shapeshifting—although if matter couldn't be created or destroyed, then how did something the size of a teenage boy shrink into something the size of a very large bird? And how did it become not denser, but light enough to fly?

  But even if Kelsa accepted some form of magic, there was no way Raven could have found the sun—which had been hidden by gods, giants, or evil chiefs—and swallowed it to return it to the sky.

  That part was clearly myth. But some of the rest ... If the stories were even half true, then Raven lied a lot. But so did the rest of the spirits. What was it he'd said about Crow Mother?

  She hasn't yet made up her mind...

  Kelsa shivered. At least Raven had helped the humans he encountered, most of the time. And that couldn't be said of some of the other spirits.

  In truth, the Native American spirits reminded Kelsa of the ancient Greek gods—quarrelsome, selfish, greedy, and jealous. Way too "human" for comfort, if you were forced to admit they might not only exist but really have some kind of supernatural power.

  She also tried to research leys and promptly found herself deep in the nut-net. If Raven wanted her to sacrifice a rabbit and examine its entrails, he was going to get a very rude refusal.

  But she did find some sort of reference to magical currents flowing through the world in almost every human culture. So maybe those leys of his really did exist.

  Her foray into the nut-net destroyed any impulse she might have had to talk about this to Carmina or Andi or any of her old friends. If she started sounding like the people whose sites she'd seen ... well, she wouldn't have any sane friends, that was certain.

  Wasn't isolating their victims from others one of the techniques abusers used to control them?

  She wasn't a victim, Kelsa told herself firmly. She was going to run up to Idaho, do what Raven wanted with the first nexus, then take two weeks to camp in the wilderness her father had loved.

  She hadn't realized how exhausted, how drained she'd become until the possibility of two weeks' camping on her own had occurred to her. Now that it had, she craved the healing peace of the open places like a drought-stricken plain craved water. Peace to mend her tattered heart. Peace to say goodbye.

  After she got home, Kelsa waited till her mother had gone to bed, then she went on the airline's site and canceled her ticket. Transferring the money into her own debit account took a bit of work, but her account was a subset of the family's master account. She had all her mother's account numbers and knew the answers to all her security questions, even the name of her first pet.

  Her father's com pod was still in the box of his possessions the hospice had packed for them. Neither Kelsa or her mother had wanted to deal with it, but she needed a pod—and explaining how hers had ended up at the bottom of the river was way too complicated.

  Her father's pod was a bit big, and the matte black finish too masculine. It took only a few moments' work on the house com board to make sure all calls sent to her pod would now come to this one, though changing her father's ID to her own made her heart ache. After a moment's hesitation, Kelsa clipped her father's pod onto the cord that held the medicine pouch, which Raven had insisted she wear. Two talismans, one of which she might even be able to keep.

  Next morning she made a board call to Aunt Sarabeth's office from school. Kelsa managed to catch her aunt between meetings on the second try, but Sarabeth was clearly in work mode and a bit distracted—just as Kelsa had hoped.

  She managed to sound genuinely disappointed when Kelsa said she'd changed her mind, that it was too soon for her to leave her mother and Joby now.

  The genuine sympathy in her face when Kelsa said that her mother wasn't up to dealing with her late husband's family right now made Kelsa feel guilty—but not guilty enough for her not to cancel the trip to visit her aunt.

  She had two days to pretend to pack everything she'd need for a trip to Chicago, while really packing for solo camping in the wilderness.

  If her mother hadn't been avoiding her it would have been a lot harder, so Kelsa did nothing to ease the stiff formality between them.

  She still couldn't talk her mother out of driving her to the airport.

  "I can get on a plane by myself." She got out of the levcar and dragged her bag off the back seat.

  "All right." Her mother got out and came around to the curb.

  She looked like she wanted to hug her daughter, but didn't quite know how.

  Kelsa's throat tightened. "I'll be fine."

  She picked up her bag, holding it between them, and her mother's arms fell back to her sides. "All right. Take care. And say hi to Sarabeth for me."

  Her mother and her father's sister had never been close.

  "I'll be fine." Kelsa turned to go.

  "Kel ... All you can do is the best you can do. You can't do
more. No one can."

  Was that an offer of forgiveness? Or a plea for it? Either way, Kelsa couldn't deal with it now. "I'll call you when I get in."

  She went into the terminal, and her mother got into the car and drove away.

  She ate lunch in the airport and spent an hour trying to read some of the zine flimsies scattered around the waiting area. Then she put her bag into a locker, paid for a month, and boarded a shuttle bus headed home.

  Her timing was perfect. As the bus pulled up to her stop she saw her mother in her car, taking Joby to his play date with the son of one of her closest friends. Her mother didn't even glance at the bus as she drove by.

  Kelsa entered the house and went up to her room to fetch her pack. The empty silence was soothing, and she'd be home again in a few weeks.

  She went into the garage and pulled her bike out from under the storage shelves where she'd parked it. Then she maneuvered her father's bike, which had been parked behind hers, forward so her bike's absence wouldn't be obvious unless someone looked closely.

  Her mother paid no attention to the bikes, anyway. It was her father who'd taken Kelsa up the wilderness trails to camp as soon as she was old enough. Her father who'd taught her to drive his bike before it was strictly legal, helped her get her probationary permit, helped her buy her own bike—used, but still serviceable—the day she turned fifteen.

  "I'll take Joby," she promised him aloud. "As soon as he's old enough to enjoy it. We won't forget. Either of—"

  "Who are you talking to?" Raven's voice made her jump.

  "How did you get in?"

  "The door was open." He looked around the garage curiously.

  "No, it wasn't."

  "It wasn't locked. Are you ready to leave?"

  "Yes." Kelsa unplugged the charge cord, and it coiled back into its socket. "Are you riding with me? I thought you'd ... I don't know. Fly?"

  "Flying for a long distance at the speed your bike travels would be very tiring. And if I travel with you, there's less chance we'll be separated."

  And less chance she'd change her mind?

  "I don't mind your coming along," she said. "But my tent's not big enough for two."

  It had been big enough, barely, for her and her father. It wasn't big enough for her and a strange boy. A too-good-looking boy, who according to the old myths had no scruples about seducing human women.

  "That won't be a problem." Raven's face was grave, but a cocky smirk lurked in his eyes.

  Kelsa handed him his helmet. "Then let's ride."

  ***

  Just passing through the greater Salt Lake metro area, which extended from south of Springville to Ogden, took the rest of the afternoon.

  It was dinnertime, and the bike's charge was running low, when she pulled into a flash charge center.

  "This will take about twenty minutes," she told Raven, running her account card over the scanner, then pulling out the retractable plug. "We'll have plenty of time to go to the bathroom and see what kind of flash food they've got for dinner."

  She nodded toward the service center—she could see signs for only McPlanet and Go-food. Her favorite flash food was Green Machine, but she didn't spot their swirling logo on the building's ad run.

  "It doesn't seem to take other vehicles that long." Raven gestured to a levcar that was now pulling out.

  "They have a different kind of battery," Kelsa told him. "It's faster, but if they run out of juice they can't fill it with a solar charger, like I can."

  The ability to take a solar charge was optional in off-road vehicles, especially the older ones, and her father had insisted on it.

  "A solar charge," said Raven slowly. "If you can run it on sunlight, why pay here?"

  Kelsa, who'd been about to explain what a solar charge was, took a second to change gears. He might be ignorant about some aspects of modern technology, like silent alarms, but he wasn't stupid.

  "It takes about eight hours, on a very sunny day, to get a quarter charge," she told him. "If it's cloudy, forget it. A solar charger is for emergencies, if you get stranded. Or you can use it to keep your charge topped up if you're spending the day in camp. But when you're traveling long distances it's not practical."

  The big trucks' stabilizing jets buffeted them as they went into the service center. Raven, Kelsa was interested to note, headed straight for the bathroom. So he did have some human weaknesses.

  She needed to go too, but she could wait for a few more minutes. She didn't want him interrupting this.

  She chose her backdrop carefully. A rack of zine flimsies and small bags of candy and nuts. Enough like an airport that no one would be suspicious.

  She'd hoped her mother wouldn't be home, that she could leave a message, but her mother's face appeared in the pod's small screen seconds after the first chime.

  "Kelsa! Are you in Chicago?"

  "Landed safe and sound," Kelsa confirmed. "Aunt Sarabeth wanted to hit the bathroom before we leave for her place, but she said to say hi, and I thought I might as well check in now."

  "That's great. Are you—" The oven buzzed, and her mother's head turned toward it.

  "I'll let you go," Kelsa said swiftly. "I'll see you in a couple of weeks, anyway. Bye!"

  She cut the connection and headed for the ladies' room. In a few hours she'd have to change her com pod's ID to match her aunt's, and text her mom a message that Kelsa had arrived and that Sarabeth had lots of plans to keep her busy. Her aunt often communicated by text, so it wouldn't arouse suspicion.

  Then, after she'd taken care of Raven's first nexus, whatever that entailed, Kelsa would have the better part of two weeks all to herself. The ache in her soul eased a bit at the thought.

  ***

  The sun was setting as they approached Honeyville, and Kelsa stopped at a commercial campground. She winced at the fee—fifty dollars for one night.

  Between her own meager balance and the refunded round-trip ticket, she had more than six hundred dollars in her account, but after the charge, dinner, and tonight's camping, she'd spent over eighty dollars in her first day on the road. Of course, camping in the national monument would be cheaper, and this campground included a slow charge port as part of the site services, so she'd save a bit there.

  She resolved to ask Raven if he had any money, but by the time she got out of the office he had vanished.

  Kelsa snorted. He wouldn't get out of it that easily.

  ***

  "Do you have any money?" Kelsa demanded when he sauntered up to her camp next morning. Her tent had just deflated, and she smoothed the rest of the air out of its ribs as she folded it into a compact bundle to stow on the bike.

  "I can get some if you need it," he said. "But it won't last long. Why?"

  Get some? It wouldn't last long? And how had he been getting food and clothing without it?

  "Not yet." Kelsa would be rid of him in a few more days. She didn't need to know. Especially if knowing made her an accessory after the fact. "We'll reach the Idaho border before lunchtime. Earlier if we don't waste any more time getting on the road. You've got your PID card ready to show at the border, right?"

  The curious expression that was becoming all too familiar swept over his face. "Pee-idy card?"

  "Personal identification card," Kelsa told him grimly. She should have known. "They'll check it at the border and at any hotel we stay at. If the police stop us—and they'd better not!—they'll also check our DNA against the card strip and our record to be certain the cards are really ours."

  Raven's mystified expression deepened. "What does all of that mean?"

  "It means you're flying across the border," Kelsa told him. "I'll stop and let you off several miles before we get there."

  ***

  She had to pull off on a back road that led into the low hills to find privacy for him to change without being seen—by her, as well as the traffic.

  He made his way into the low scrubby pines till he couldn't be seen.

  "Where can
we meet?" Kelsa asked.

  "I'll find you." His helmet came flying over the brush. "I've got a clear enough feel for Atahalne's magic by now. I could probably sense it anywhere within fifty miles. More if I concentrate." The bushes rustled and his jeans and shirt followed the helmet.

  "Is that how you found the pouch in the museum?" Kelsa asked. "By sensing its magic?"

  "Sort of." Shoes, with socks and briefs rolled neatly inside, sailed out of the bushes. "Before I knew what I was looking for it was a lot harder."

  Then he stopped talking.

  As Kelsa packed his clothes hastily in the bike's saddlebags, she heard the rush of flapping wings and looked up in time to see him flapping off to the north. This was too weird!

  She was glad to be alone on the bike as she got back onto the highway and weaved through the low hills that took her up to the border station. There was too much wind to talk while the bike was moving, so he hadn't bothered her much, but it wasn't the same as being alone.

  On the other hand, it would have been nice to have a chance to ask some questions.

  She'd been through this station once or twice, and through the stations between Utah and Colorado and between Utah and Arizona or Nevada more times than she could count.

  She waited patiently in the vehicle line while the levcars ahead of her paid the crossing tax and drove slowly through the scanners. The only thing she carried that was at all suspicious was a single set of boy's clothes, which weren't all that different from hers and wouldn't show up on a scanner anyway.

  The line for trucks, which were not only scanned but visually inspected, was a lot longer. The shortest line was for walkovers—people who crossed without a vehicle to avoid the tax.

  When her turn finally came, Kelsa handed the guard her PID and waited while he scanned it, making a record of the fact that Kelsa Phillips crossed into Idaho at that date and time—i f anyone cared. At least the charge for taking a bike across was minimal. He also checked her probationary license to be certain she was old enough to drive legally. Soon after that she was on her way through the green agricultural valley between two mountain ridges, which ultimately emptied into the drier upland plains of southern Idaho.