Silent Prey Read online

  "Help me get her out of here, Pete," Channing ordered.

  Even with his assistance, it took a long five seconds before Hjak finally wrenched Annalise up and deposited her on a chair beside a small breakfast table.

  Channing bent back to her examination, suspecting Annalise was wrong, although she couldn't quite pinpoint what her misgivings were. Before she could touch him again, Yancy jerked, then convulsed in frenzied spasms. Foamy, blood-flecked froth bubbled out of his mouth, and for a moment, Channing could only protect Yancy from harm until the convulsion abated. Then she rose to grab a roll of paper towels on the counter to wipe the froth away before she again felt for a pulse in his neck. The man's heart was already weakening and there was no hospital in town.

  "Do you have any medical supplies in your car?" she asked Pete.

  Pete appeared not to hear her, his gaze vacant, arms lax at his sides. He murmured as though not aware he spoke, "What the hell is happening in my town?"

  "Pete!" she said insistently. "Medical supplies? In your patrol car?"

  "Huh? Yeah. I'll be right back."

  ~~~~

  Channing stood at the bedroom window the next morning, staring out at the blowing snow. Nothing she had done with the available medical provisions had revived Yancy Peterson. Finally, Pete had called Edward Silver to pronounce Yancy dead and have his body removed.

  For a while last night — after two of Annalise's friends had arrived and Channing finally went up to bed — she had truly thought she would be able to leave the town behind this morning. At two a.m., the snow had ceased and the wind died, almost as if in respect of the deceased owner of the B&B. Now that would be impossible, probably for at least another day. Roads would need to be plowed, sanded and perhaps salted before travel would be safe. She assumed Annalise would allow her to stay another night. Hoped so, anyway. A woman in the throes of planning a funeral wouldn't particularly care to be saddled with a guest.

  When she made her way downstairs, she didn't see Annalise, although the odor of coffee filled the kitchen. The smell was mixed with another one — cigarette smoke. Channing noticed Annalise by the back door, tipping cigarette ashes into an ashtray she held in one hand.

  "Good morning," Channing said, stifling the urge to wave away the fog of smoke. "How are you?"

  Eyes reddened from what Channing assumed was grief, not irritating smoke, Annalise grimaced rather than respond verbally and smashed out the cigarette. "Sorry about this. I normally go into the sun room, but I didn't expect you down so early." She set the ashtray down and walked over to the coffeepot. "Please. Have a seat and I'll get you some coffee. What would you like for breakfast?"

  Channing met Annalise at the coffeepot, gripped her hands and led her over to the table, where she gently pushed her into a chair. "You sit," she said. "I can get my own coffee. And I don't do breakfast this early." Channing retrieved two cups of coffee and set them both on the table, one in front of Annalise. She sat down across from the other woman and reached for the containers of artificial cream in a bowl of ice water already on the table.

  After Channing took a sip of her creamed coffee, she said, "It looks like it's going to be impossible for me to leave today. I hate to intrude, but —"

  Annalise interrupted, "Of course you can't leave in this weather. There's plenty of room here. I … oh, shit."

  Channing laid a hand on one of Annalise's in comfort, but the other woman jumped to her feet, grabbed her pack of cigarettes from her sweater pocket and headed for the back door.

  "Sorry," she said. "I'll be back in a minute."

  Channing picked up her coffee and followed Annalise. There was another enclosed porch across the back of the house, and a small heater worked against the chill, although it wasn't as warm as the kitchen. Annalise stood with her back to Channing, a lighter flaring in her hand.

  "Oh!" Annalise said on an exhale of smoke when she turned around. "I didn't realize you came with me."

  "I wanted to know if there was anything I could do," Channing replied. "I guess the friends who were with you last night made it home before the storm worsened again?"

  "Friends? Oh. Oh, yes. Rene and Sandy. They're neighbors. Pete called them to come over and stay with me for a while after…" She took a deep drag on her cigarette and blew out the smoke. "…they took Yancy away."

  To the funeral home, Channing assumed. Now there were two bodies waiting removal to Duluth for autopsies, since surely there would be an investigation ordered for Yancy's death. She still wasn't sure what had killed the poor man, but it definitely wasn't insulin shock or a heart attack.

  "I'm so sorry there wasn't anything I could do."

  "Please don't blame yourself," Annalise insisted in between puffs on her cigarette. "Yancy was a typical man, never paying attention to the doctor's advice. Men just don't believe in their own mortality."

  Channing murmured another inane, sympathetic comment. While she wasn't exactly allergic to cigarette smoke, as some people were, the smell was starting to nauseate her and her eyes burned. She turned to leave, saying before she shut the door, "Take as long as you wish in here. I usually have several cups of coffee in the morning."

  Back in the kitchen, she finished her coffee and poured another cup, which she carried out of the room. The house must have been solidly built, because Channing couldn't even hear the wind outside. The only sound was the tick-tock from a large grandfather clock in the entranceway. It seemed odd that the house wasn't filled with people who had braved the storm to support Annalise. In Texas, relatives descended immediately when someone died.

  Maybe she could find something to read. In the parlor, she studied the bookshelves. What an odd mixture of titles. As far as fiction went, there was everything from paperback romances to mysteries. But intermingled in no certain rhyme or reason order were histories of the area and weighty high-brow supposedly intellectual books. One section that appeared sorted contained both self-help tomes and cookbooks, which Channing would have thought belonged in the kitchen. She glimpsed a few books with torn and tattered spines on the bottom shelf and pulled one out to examine it.

  Something on the occult. Grant would have been interested, but she didn't bother to read the entire title. Instead, she shoved it back in place and grabbed one of the romances by an author she knew would provide her a few hours of escapism. After what had happened the previous day, that was just what she needed. She took time to light the gas logs before she curled up on the sofa.

  Chapter 6

  She raced through the blowing snow, savoring the feel of the cold and wind. Glorying in feeling … being once again. Enjoying the fact that traveling was so easy, so quick. Her feet flew over the snow, and merely thinking of a remembered place brought her to it. No need for heavy clothing to impede movement or slow her down. Even the tangled underbrush didn't present obstacles.

  She had no recall of how long the non-existence of her grave had lasted. Only slowly were the memories returning. Most of them, at first, were the painful ones. Children's beautiful, chubby faces losing their plumpness and fading into skeletal skulls with only a layer of skin stretched over them. Their cries fading near the end as their mother tried unsuccessfully to share her scant remaining body heat. Finally, the thankfulness that they suffered no longer and her longing to join them.

  Now that she lived again, she would visit. Even though she couldn't remember exactly where they were, she would find the tiny grave. Perhaps their odjitcags, their spirits, would call her to them. Help her locate the burial site.

  Things were so strange now. Deep in the woods, everything looked unchanged, except some of the places she remembered and visited had larger trees, especially along the bank of the lake and one of the streams leading to it. She raced to where the winter camp had been, finding it deserted. Had they moved the entire tribe?

  She paused on the edge of the woods. Ahead was a clearing. In this existence, all her senses were sharper, and her vision easily cut through the falling snow.


  Someone had cut down many forest trees and pieced them together to build a large cabin in the center of the cleared area. Smoke issued from a high pile of river stones. Around the large structure were smaller ones, and an odd … thing sat in front of one, an ugly black thing.

  A low growl from the other side of the cabin caught her attention. A dog. The tribe had dogs. Those they didn't eat pulled sleds in the winter when the men traveled their trap lines or once in a while hunted to supplement the dried food prepared to get them through bibon api. She sniffed, her sense of smell also keener. Wood smoke, of course, and the odor of many dogs.

  Then more than one dog growled. Almost at once, the mounds in the snow inside some sort of silver fence erupted and more than a dozen dogs sprang to their feet. Sharp, warning barks intermingled with the deep growls, and each and every muzzle pointed at the edge of the woods where she stood.

  A door opened and a man walked out. An overhang on the building protected him, and he walked upon a wooden floor beneath it. The man stayed there, staring at the dogs at first, then turning his head to look at the woods. Her first instinct was to step back, but she resisted. She wanted to see if she recognized this man. Perhaps he was one of those few people who spoke out against her punishment. Maybe he could help her.

  Though he had the features of a tribal member rather than the rare white man seen in their lives, he wore extremely unusual clothing — some sort of blue pants, a multi-colored shirt instead of one made from deerskin. His hair was streaked with gray, mostly at the temples, and he had cut it short. No braids, no band to hold the hair out of his eyes, the design on it a mark of his clan.

  She didn't know him, and she couldn't take the chance he was one of her enemies. She stepped back into the woods.

  So many changes. What was going on, over and above the fact life had returned to her body, which should not have been able to escape the many feet of dirt above her?

  Before she glided away, the breeze picked up and blew some new snow from a low-hanging branch. She froze as she sniffed the air. A new ability made itself known amidst her heightened senses.

  The odor on the wind disturbed her. Then some of the confusion abated, and she concentrated, feeling a faith in what her intuition perceived. It was almost as though she was aware of an emotion accompanying the odor of whoever this person was. Not the one who stood at the large cabin. Someone who had visited there, perhaps many times. The smell seemed associated with one certain person rather than all the callers who came to see this man.

  Flashes of her children's beautiful faces flew in and out of her mind, a sense of danger accompanying them. A different type of danger than they had faced when she lived

  No, she realized as her sharp eyes peered into the clearing again. She focused on a small cabin set off from the huge one and the other various outlying buildings. It looked ancient, perhaps even as old as the one she knew before.

  ~~~~

  Keoman picked up one of the rocks surrounding the fire pit and flung it with all his strength against the far wall. Since he'd built the sweat lodge tightly woven, the rock bounced off a birch sapling and thudded to the floor.

  "Fuck!" Keoman swore, then gripped his head as the pain sliced through it even worse. "Shit and goddamn hell," he muttered as he fought the agony.

  Giving up, he laid back on the bearskin on the dirt floor and closed his eyes. This episode of pain had come too soon on the heels of the other one. Although he was naked, the steam from the fire pit warmed the sweat lodge adequately enough to fight off the below-freezing cold outside. He could still hear the wind, though, the limbs creaking under its onslaught and the weight of snow on them. After a few moments, he stirred himself long enough to grab a handful of the herbs beside him and toss them onto the rocks, hoping their medicinal powers would alleviate the pain.

  Not that they ever had before. Nothing worked against this excruciating throb except a double dose of the prescription narcotics the doctor in Duluth had prescribed, and which Dr. Silver grudgingly refilled. At times he walked around like a zombie for hours under their influence. That could be dangerous for him, in more ways than one.

  The Duluth doctor even had the gall to insist he might want to take the pills all the time, to ward off the migraines … or whatever they were. Keoman had done some research himself, and these headaches didn't appear to have the standard migraine symptoms.

  Now he impatiently laid there and waited for the pain to run its course while the narcotics raced through his bloodstream. It normally lasted five to ten minutes — he'd timed it more than once. This time, however, it lingered past the ten minute increment, until Keoman realized how tense he was. Hell, no wonder it wouldn't stop. Slowly, he somehow managed to relax, starting with his breathing and following up with slackening his muscles from the toes upward. At last the pain eased, in time for him to hear the call from outside.

  "Who is it?" Keoman answered, thankful to feel the last of the torment recede.

  "Gagewin," the Grand Midé replied.

  What the heck was he doing out in this weather? But Keoman said, "Enter!"

  Gagewin shoved aside the deerskin covering the sweat lodge entrance and straightened up inside. He still wore his heavy clothing, and as he removed his jacket, he said, "Your clothes outside are all covered with snow."

  "I know where I left them," Keoman said. "Sit, if you want. What's going on?"

  Gagewin ignored the question as he continued to remove clothing until he was down to his briefs. Though still somewhat toned, a small potbelly protruded, and Gagewin pulled the elastic band up an inch or so, then sighed and shoved the briefs down his legs. Stepping out of them, he walked over and sat down across the fire pit from Keoman.

  "I wanted to talk to you alone," he said, "and when you weren't in the house, I assumed you were out here."

  "Given this weather, you didn't have to think too hard. How did you get here? Shapeshift?"

  Gagewin chuckled. "I wish. No, I drove. Slowly. It was important that we talk."

  "I have a phone," Keoman reminded him.

  "Which you usually forget in the truck and definitely wouldn't bring out here. Besides, it was better that we speak in person. And even better that I find you out here, with things already set up for a ceremony. If we need one."

  He knows I'm not in any shape to handle a ceremony.

  "I was already trying to contact our ancestors," Keoman admitted. "I thought it might help Nodinens if I could find some sort of comfort to give her. As always the last few months, I've been unsuccessful."

  Gagewin shook his head. "Nothing will help Nodinens except time. She's been through a lot in her long life. For now, I want to talk about Nenegean."

  "The one who frightens children?" Keoman asked. His stomach tightened in the recalled apprehension he thought he had left behind in his childhood. Some of his first memories were of his father warning him that if he toddled out that door after dark, Nenegean would capture him. He would never see any of the people he loved again. The fear lasted for years, until the day he noticed a flicker of amusement in his father's eyes when he once again made that tired threat.

  Was this why Gagewin, a man who liked comfort and adulation, had stirred himself to brave a blizzard, taking a chance he might not arrive at Keoman's safely? To speak about an ancient female boogeyman used in tales to frighten children?

  Midé Manido. Did Gagewin believe that Nenegean had something to do with the death of the child? The child whom, a phone call had indicated, might well be Nodinens' great-niece.

  Gagewin nodded. "You believe Nenegean was only a monster used to scare children, keep them from doing things that would irritate their parents or perhaps be dangerous."

  It wasn't a question, but Keoman said, "My father told me more than once that, if I didn't behave, Nenegean would take me away to her dark cave where no one would ever find me."

  "She might not have when you were growing up, but today she could."

  "What the hell are you tal
king about? That was just a…." Keoman's words trailed off at the look in Gagewin's eyes. "Are you saying that Nenegean was real at one time? That she wasn't just a scary tale to make misbehaving children mind their parents?"

  "She was real once. Her story has been somewhat twisted down through time, though. She didn't steal children. At least, not then. Now, I'm not so sure."

  "What are you trying to tell me?"

  "I'm saying that I've seen Nenegean."

  Chapter 7

  The phone continued to ring, and finally Channing laid her book down and rose from the sofa. Didn't Annalise have an answering system? You'd think every business would. The rings died before Channing reached the check-in desk, but the moment she turned back toward the parlor, they resumed. She sighed and picked up the receiver.

  "Dr. Drury," she said automatically, the greeting she'd used for so many years. Then, before anyone could respond, she went on, "Oh, sorry. This is the Lake Sunrise Bed and Breakfast."

  "Is Annalise there, Channing?" Pete Hjak's voice.

  "Well, I've seen her this morning," Channing replied. "But I'm not sure where she is now. Should I go look?"

  "That's O.K. Would you like to finish your statement now?"

  "I would," she said firmly. "Then I can check the weather and see when I can get on the road."

  "You probably should plan on at least one more night here," Hjak cautioned. "Now that the storm's stopped, we've got an army of equipment out clearing roads. But I doubt they'll all be passable until tomorrow. In fact, the warnings I'm getting here at the office are asking me to tell folks not to travel south unless it's an emergency."

  "I see." She glanced out the front window. Indeed, while she'd been lost in her book, the snow had ceased again. "How about the town sidewalks? And how far is your office from the B&B?"