(The prologue and Chapter One are available for public viewing. To read the rest of the story, go to Subscriber Only Snippet Series and sign up for my email list to get the password!)
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nine years later…
There were buzzards circling in the western Nevada skies.
Chaya Deneral examined them with a critical eye, watching their rotations in the still air. If there was wind, she would have assumed they were just riding the thermals. But their gleeful shrieks and dips down to earth spoke of only one thing.
Death.
It was over the hill and far off in the distance, impossible to see what— or who— the vultures were picking on from here. She’d have to ride out to check on it.
And here she was hoping for a day with no shenanigans.
She turned back inside, boots tapping crisply against the porch deck. Whatever it was, she wasn’t riding out there without her gun. Dead or not, she’d had enough run-ins with buzzards to know a starving bird wouldn’t hesitate to attack live victims.
Her rigid posture must have shown more than she thought, because the minute she walked into the living room, Peter’s head snapped up from his schoolwork.
“What’s up?” He asked, thankfully having the good sense to keep his voice low. She didn’t need to worry Marcus and Willa about something that could be a false alarm.
She glanced towards the kitchen table at the nine and six year olds, chatting away while they worked on their science. Thoroughly distracted. Good.
She pulled the gun from the mantle. “Buzzards to the south west. I’m going to check it out.”
He half jumped up from the couch, hands clasped in begging. “Please take me with you.”
She eyed the notebook scribblings that were supposed to be his algebra work. “I think I can manage.”
“My brain will rot if I shove in any more of that nonsense.” He shoved aside the textbook. “Come on, you always talk about how it’s not safe to go alone outside of property lines.”
“I doubt it’s outside of property lines.” Chaya hesitated, chewing her lower lip.
“Algebra is worthless anyway,” he muttered.
She shot him a sharp look. “You’ll be thinking differently when you’re my age.”
“When I’m you’re age I’m not going to be acting like a crochety old grandma when I’m only twenty-five.” He smirked. “Let me remind you, you’re only eight years my senior.”
There were a thousand sharp retorts on the tip of Chaya’s tongue, but she was wasting time and it would only be so long before Marcus and Willa got curious.
“Fine. You can come along.” She hoisted the gun higher. “But you’re making up that schoolwork when we get back.”
He started to groan but stopped when he caught her glare. “I’ll grab my boots.”
“You’ll thank me later that I made you do this when you start adulting.” Chaya said, tramping towards the door. She may have had to learn on her own that things like algebra and writing really were needed as good life skills, but the three wouldn’t have to. Not on her watch.
“Where ya going, Mocha?” Marcus’s question caught her halfway to the door. Dang it, she was hoping to get out unnoticed.
She turned back to the kitchen, forcing calm on her face. “Just some target practice, Mark. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Can we come?” Willa asked, her blue eyes shining with hopefulness.
“No, Wills. It’s just me and Peter this time.” She said.
Marcus huffed, crossing his arms. “Peter gets to do all the fun stuff.”
“You’ll get to do it all too when you’re my age, Mark.” Peter said, a twinge of annoyance in his voice. He tilted his head toward the door. “We taking Cinco and Milagro?”
“Sure.” Chaya adjusted her hat, then smoothed Willa’s frizzy blond hair. “We won’t be gone long. Keep doing your schoolwork and don’t burn the house down.”
“Okay.” Marcus and Willa said it at the same time, shades of disappointment in their tone, but they bent over the book again and resumed their chatting about the ecosystems of the Everglades.
She guessed she had fifteen minutes before they would suspect that target practice wasn’t all she had in mind for the trip.
By the time she got to the barn, Peter had already tacked up Milagro and cross-tied Cinco. The dapple gray stood like the gentleman he was, nickering a greeting.
“Hey, Cinc.” She pulled the saddlepad from the wall. “I know it’s the hottest part of the day, but we’ve got work to do.”
“Not even the chickens are out and about.” Peter nodded to the gleeful hens dust bathing in one of the empty stalls, enjoying the barn’s respite from the heat. “Whatever has the vultures excited probably died of heatstroke.”
“If it’s dead,” Chaya muttered, arranging the saddle on top of the pad. The likeliness of finding something still alive was slim, but stranger things had happened.
She grabbed the bosal bridal, preparing to unclip Cinco so she could put it on, but before she did, she paused, staring into the gelding’s dark gaze.
We’re about to go find something dead. It will smell like danger, but it will not be danger. I need you to remain calm and to reassure Milagro that it’s safe.
She waited for a response. Telling whether an animal had responded to her thought impression ability was harder than reading a human’s response to it, but Cinco was used to this exercise by now. He lowered his head, one ear tilted toward her, nose stretched toward the loop of the bridle.
Good. He accepted the thought.
She took off his halter and pulled on the bridle, scratching his jaw in a silent thanks for his cooperation. Animals always accepted her thought impressions more easily than humans, but she still found it important to make it as nonmanipulative as possible. It was the only way she could stomach even the thought of using her ability.
She mounted Cinco and tapped her heels against his sides, sending him into an easy trot. Peter mounted up on Milagro and followed.
From his post under the porch, Jinx, the Anatolian Shepherd, loped up to them, tongue lolling in a doggish grin.
“Stay here, Jinxy.” Chaya ordered. “You gotta guard the house while we’re gone.”
The extreme heat would cause mirages that would make the house hard to see from their location. With Jinx on guard, she would feel better about leaving the kids alone.
Jinx wagged his tail and moved back to his cool spot under the porch.
Desert dust stirred up around the horses’ hooves as they moved toward the wavering horizon and the congregated vultures. There were no more in the skies— they had settled to feed.
Hopefully, the victim was simply a coyote, or maybe a hare. It was the middle of the Nevada wilderness, after all. They were the only humans crazy enough to be out here in the midday heat.
So why was there a sinking feeling that whatever was being hounded by those vultures carried a bad omen?
The homestead shrank behind them, the farmhouse wiggling in the broiling air. Once they got over the hill, the place disappeared completely into the desert mirages.
Her best line of defense for the homestead from intruders. Once someone crossed this hill, they were close enough in range of the house for her to shoot without her targets knowing there was anything to see.
The vulture’s hunched bodies came into view, shrieking and squawking over something on the ground. Chaya put a hand on the gun, urging Cinco to move faster.
Buzzards scattered, shrouding the carcass in dust. Chaya stopped Cinco, holding up a hand to keep Peter from coming any closer.
The sound of violent coughing stilled both of them.
Chaya stared at the dust cloud, heart thundering in her ears.
It couldn’t be human.
No one was out here.
But then the dust settled, proving her wrong.
Slumped across the mesa soil, black hair tangled in wild knots, was a very sunburned teenage girl.
Still breathing.