Chapters (25)
- Title Page
- Copyright Notice
- Dedication
- CHAPTER ONE
- CHAPTER TWO
- CHAPTER THREE
- CHAPTER FOUR
- CHAPTER FIVE
- CHAPTER SIX
- CHAPTER SEVEN
- CHAPTER EIGHT
- CHAPTER NINE
- CHAPTER TEN
- CHAPTER ELEVEN
- CHAPTER TWELVE
- CHAPTER THIRTEEN
- CHAPTER FOURTEEN
- CHAPTER FIFTEEN
- CHAPTER SIXTEEN
- CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- Tor Books by Mercedes Lackey
- Praise
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- Newsletter Sign-up
And if he couldn’t have anything else, he still wanted her as a friend and a Medicine mentor. He didn’t have so many people he called “friend” that he could afford to lose any of them, much less lose one over something as stupid as her family trying to play matchmaker.
“That’s it,” he said, as she looked up from a pile of papers. “I’ve got it all in there, but I haven’t spotted a pattern of artifact sales that correspond to anything that might have been taken from that gravesite. The only things positively identified as Osage are a couple of ribbon-work pieces that date to about 1890. There were some pots that could have been from the site, but they didn’t seem old enough.”
She sighed and rubbed her eyes. “You’re getting pretty good at spotting patterns,” she admitted. “If you don’t see it, I don’t think I would, either.” She stood up and stretched. “I need the sauna. As the sauna. Grandfather is doing the Medicine work on this; he’s so much better than I that it isn’t funny.”
“I’m going to call it a night,” he replied. He flexed his shoulders. “I don’t know how you can sit here and type for as long as you do. My eyes are tired, and I’ve got to meet some of Calligan’s men tomorrow, the ones that are still working.”
“More accidents already?” she said in surprise.
“Yeah—little ones, but a lot of them.” He stood up and shoved the chair back under the desk. “Oh, Mooncrow wants us to take him somewhere tomorrow, after I talk to the guys.”
Her eyes widened, and she nodded. As she had mentioned, Mooncrow had been doing some kind of Medicine for the past couple of days, “looking for something,” she’d said. Apparently he’d found it.
“Well, go enjoy your steam, kiddo,” he told her, and gave her a brotherly (he hoped) wink, and a peck on the cheek. “You’ve earned it. How about if tomorrow I buy you and Mooncrow some lunch?”
She laughed. “No you don’t. I know damn good and well that you’re on the end of your cash. I can’t pay you much, but at least I can feed you.”
He flushed, and shrugged. A few weeks ago he would have flatly denied he was in any financial trouble at all. A few months ago, he would have been angry at her for even suggesting he didn’t have everything under control.
That was then. This is now. And—hey, this gives me exactly the opening I need.