Axis: Dark Shaman

AXIS
DARK SHAMAN
Ashley Nebelsieck

PHOENICIAN FOUNDRY MARFA, TEXAS

ALSO BY ASHLEY NEBELSIECK The Backdoor to Enlightenment

Dark Shaman

AXIS

PUBLISHED BY PHOENICIAN FOUNDRY MARFA, TEXAS
Copyright © 2013 ASHLEY NEBELSIECK All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, in any form or by any means, without permission from the author. First paperback edition, Phoenician Foundry, Marfa, Texas, May 2013 Printed in the United States of America, baby. This is a work of fiction. All names characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. No reference to any real person is intended or should be inferred. ISBN-13: 978-0615813684

DEDICATION For Jeff, who seems to love me anyway.

1 Griffin Roark woke up to the sound of drums beating out a rhythm like a song. Even on his best days, the shady canyon of Coyote Creek could lull him to sleep, but today, he was dragging tired and dog lazy. After the three miles of barbed wire fence he’d just mended and tied, his hands were rusty and swollen and his back ached so much from bending down, it pained him to even think about standing upright. An unusual chill in the Mexican air cooled the stinging in his sunburned neck. In August, that could mean only one thing: a storm was moving in. The meaning of the rhythmic sound finally brought him to his feet. Those weren’t drums at all, but an old truck making its way across the mountainside. Resting his forearm against the split log post, Griffin listened. In the distance, the truck’s engine gurgled like a lawnmower and then paused to kick out rocks and gravel from beneath dusty tires as it climbed. His worst fears were confirmed: it was his dad’s truck returning home from Puerto Lobos, and though Griffin had done plenty that day, he hadn’t done nearly enough. Griffin whistled for his horse, Snip. Nothing. With a sigh, he crawled up a large boulder, scattering a family of quail. He kept low and peeked outside the canyon to the rolling Sonoran desert and to the white sands and grey waters of the sea just beyond. Squinting his grey eyes down at the trail lined with Saguaro cacti and Palo Verde trees, he could make out the truck, closer to his home than he would have liked to find it, but no Snip. Griffin slid back down the boulder and then stiffly kneeled on the sandy bank to rinse off in the cool water of Coyote Creek, staring at his own face staring back at him—his silly curls, long nose, long face, and light eyes that never quite made it to blue. He cupped the water in his hands and splashed his face as much to cool himself off as to make the image disappear. Hearing some stirring in the grasses beneath the cottonwood trees, he looked up expecting to find Snip.

“Looks like rain,” Lupe said, emerging from the bushes. Since they were children, the spot had always been like their own private oasis, but right around the time Griffin began to really notice Lupe was also about the time she stopped showing up there. But here she was, and wearing shorts. Her dad never let her wear shorts. Her long dark hair wasn’t in braids, but worn loose and straight. Griffin had to wonder if it was for him. He smiled. She didn’t smile back. Lightning flashed in the sky and thunder immediately followed. It was close. “See,” she said. “Now Xolotl is coming to get us. The clouds look like bones.” Even after a lifetime of summers with Griffin and his family, her English was rusty enough to make every sentence she uttered sound a little like a question. A little like maybe, but she didn’t look like she was saying maybe. She looked mad. “You and your Toltec superstitions,” he told her. “It looks like Xolotl’s coming to take someone to the Underworld. Did you hear the diableros drumming last night? They must have called him.” “More like gang-bangers. Just some drones drinking and partying in the desert. There’s no such thing as diableros—witches, Lupe.” “Is that what they teach you in your fancy American school? To forget about all the stories your grandpa used to tell us? To forget about who you are? I know you’re a gringo, but at least you used to be for real. Now every summer, I recognize you less and less. Maybe next time you come home, you’ll be a stranger,” Lupe said. “What are you talking about?” Griffin asked. “I thought the diableros got you last night. Why else wouldn’t you come? I waited here for over an hour.” She couldn’t even look at him. “We always sneak out the night before the cattle drive. You forgot.” The maybe in her voice soured. Maybe no. “Aw jeez, I’m so sorry. I didn’t forget.” He took a step towards her. She took a step back. “I didn’t think you wanted to meet me. You’ve been ignoring me all summer,” Griffin insisted. A shadow of satisfaction crossed Lupe’s face at his admission. “I didn’t think you were going to say good-bye,” Lupe said. “We won’t start the cattle out until four am. What do you say we meet tonight instead?” Griffin offered, trying to contain his excitement. This was his last chance. In less than fourteen hours, Griffin would be driving four hundred cattle, heading for the Rio Concepcion and then north with his family to their tiny winter home in Tucson for his first year of high school. Griffin probably wouldn’t get the chance to see Lupe alone again until winter break, when he’d
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come back down to the ranch to help his dad. “Won’t you be tired?” Lupe asked. Griffin shrugged. “No big deal.” Then his thoughts went to something that was a big deal. “Hey, chica,” he said. “Wanna walk back with me to the barn? I’ve gotta water those cattle and shoe the rest of the horses or my dad’ll kill me.” “No,” Lupe said. “No?” Griffin repeated. “I thought you might want a ride.” Lupe whistled and a chestnutcolored horse trotted out of the cottonwoods to the sandy bank of the pool. Snip. “Where’d you get off to, Snip?” Griffin asked the gelding. “Did you have him tied up out there?” he asked Lupe. She laughed. “I think he just likes me better.” Griffin couldn’t blame him. He took the reigns, hopped up, and pulled Lupe up on to Snip’s broad back behind him. She held on to him as he gave Snip a little kick. They rode in silence out of the canyon to a sandy road, across a dusty trailer park and then out just past the Roark’s barn to the east pasture and the old rusted water tower. When he saw it, Griffin swore under his breath. The local kids tagged the water tower again with their damn beehives. Three times in the past week he had painted over their graffiti. Wasn’t enough time to paint over this one before supper, which meant that particular mark would stay up all winter or Griffin’s dad would have to repaint it himself. Scattered across the field, four hundred white-faced cows mulled around, chewing on the ragged weeds. The inch or so of water in the trough was thick and swarming with mosquitoes. Griffin helped Lupe off Snip and opened the cistern valve. Water began to trickle out into the trough. A few of the cows roamed over to check out the noise while Snip drank cautiously. Now that they were face-to-face again, Griffin was embarrassed to look at Lupe. She touched his arm and his heart did that fluttering thing again. He couldn’t not look at her. “I wish you didn’t have to go back to el otra lado. Over to the other side,” she said. “Tucson’s only a few hours away. I’ll be back for Christmas,” Griffin said weakly, “and in a few years, I’ll have my own truck. It’s only a couple hours. I can come down here any time I want.”
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For a second Lupe looked convinced, but then she bit her lip. “What if you don’t come back?” “We have the roundup at the end of May. I have to come back then, for sure.” “No matter what?” Lupe demanded. “Oh like my dad would let me miss a roundup. Yeah. I promise I’ll come back.” Lupe took hold of Griffin’s hand, when something in the barn caught her attention. She quickly ducked down behind the trough. Griffin looked casually in the direction of the noise. Lupe’s father, José, came out of the barn dressed in his nicest shirt and a freshly pressed pair of jeans. His black hair was slicked over to one side. José nodded to Griffin and then headed off towards church. When he was gone, Lupe stood up and brushed herself off. “Why were you hiding, again?” “You’re the one that’s going to be riding with him for the next week. You’ll have plenty of time to explain what we were doing out here alone, no?” Lupe smirked. Griffin felt a victory then. She finally admitted that they could be up to something that her father wouldn’t approve of. Maybe yes, Griffin thought. “Then you better get out of here,” Griffin said with a smirk, eager to maintain his forbidden status. “I’ll see you tonight?” “Yes, ma’am. Twelve midnight.” “Don’t you leave without saying goodbye,” Lupe said. Griffin laughed. “I won’t, now git.” She turned to go and then changed her mind, spinning around. “So you don’t forget again,” she whispered and quickly stole a kiss. Griffin was pleasantly stunned. He smiled. “Git,” he whispered and swatted after her, eager to touch a piece of her again, but she was already out of reach. Griffin put his hand to his lips as he watched her hurry off. He’d never forget.

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2 There were plenty of horses that needed shoeing before his dad came looking for him; he’d work fast. He hoped that the rest of the family had enough packing to do to keep them busy at the house, but when he opened the barn door, he was surprised to see his mother, brushing her appaloosa stallion, her own long auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail. Titus, his mother’s horse, noticed Griffin and Snip at the door and eyed them, wary of the intrusion. “It’s okay, Titus,” Griffin said to his mom’s horse over his shoulder as he walked Snip to his stall. Titus appeared unconvinced. “Hey, kiddo,” his mother Jude said to him in the way of a greeting. “Everything’s wrapped up on the pasture and I’m just finishing in here.” Griffin closed Snip’s stall and went next to Big Paul, the black stallion, to work on his shoes. He took Big Paul’s right front hoof and pried off the old shoe. Then the left shoe. “Not too shabby, son,” she said with a smile from the stall across from him. “You just make sure you find time to rest up for tomorrow. You have a busy couple of days ahead.” She hoisted a blanket and a saddle on Titus and tugged on the cinch. Titus stomped his foot to warn her not too pull too tightly. “I imagine next year, Dad won’t even have to go on the drive. I think James and I could take care of it, if José, were there to help out,” Griffin said. “You probably could.” His mother smiled as she took a bridle from the hook on the wall and put it on Titus, but whenever Jude talked about ranch work, something in her tone always bothered Griffin. She didn’t take him seriously. Here he was, nearly old enough to drive a car, and in his mother’s eyes he would always be a little boy. “I can work this ranch, Mom,” Griffin insisted and went to her to reinforce his point. “I can handle whatever needs to be done.” His mother hung her house keys on a nail on the tool bench outside Titus’ stall. She stopped and turned back to him. “I know,” she said, almost to herself. Then she studied him there
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as if seeing him for the first time. “Hard work’s a big part of it, but real strength also comes from being true to yourself. Many people will have ideas about how you should live, Griffin. Don’t listen to any of them. Even me.” “Okay, Mom,” Griffin said trying to make light of her speech but he felt a knot in his throat as he said it. “When your grandpa started up this ranch it was a farm. He loved working the land. You were pretty little, but do you remember all the crops he and grandma used to grow on these hillsides? Tomatoes, cantaloupe, avocados? He loved what he did. “When your grandpa moved down south, he let your father work horses and cattle here because that’s what your father loves to do. You ever wonder how he works so hard, never taking a day off ? He gets up at 4 am every day because he can’t wait to get started with his day. Now I know you don’t feel that way about ranch work.” “No, Ma’am. I don’t.” Griffin studied his boots as he admitted this. “Someday you’ll find something you love to do, something you’re good at—and doing it will make you feel free and excited to be alive, even if the work’s hard and the hours are bad. That’s the life I want for both my boys.” “But I don’t know what I’m good at. Nothing, really,” Griffin said. “You’ll know it when you find it,” his mother answered. “Just because you’re surrounded by all these hard-riding dusty-boot cowboys doesn’t mean you’ve got to be one yourself. Your dad chose his own life. You choose yours.” “Easier said than done,” Griffin said. His mom stopped for a moment and thought. “I have an idea,” she said finally. “How would you like to go visit your grandfather before school starts?” The offer stunned Griffin. He hadn’t seen his Grandpa Leo since he was six or seven years old. He’d become so accustomed to hearing about his grandfather in the past tense, Griffin had just assumed that “moved south” meant he was gone forever. From what he remembered, Grandpa Leo was basically the most fascinating man on the planet. He worked the land and yet was the smartest guy Griffin had ever met. He knew everything about nature, all the names of the constellations, the different kinds of rocks and plants, he even knew the names of the winds that blew through. He had a green thumb, and a strong back, but most of all, he knew endless stories from every culture you could imagine. Stories about
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heroes and monsters and ancient wars and philosophies. Griffin’s bedtime stories where Greek and Roman myths, Patamuna traditional tales, and Dogon ritual songs, right along with stories from the Old Testament of the Bible. He had traveled everywhere and done everything. If ever there were a man that Griffin had hoped to become, that man would look just like his Grandpa Leo. Of course he wanted to visit him. Griffin nodded enthusiastically. “He called last night. Asked if you could bring something down to him. Maybe it would do you some good to get away for a few days. He’ll be staying through the spring not far from here. When you get the cattle to the North camp, I’ll get José, to drive you down,” his mother said. “Thanks,” Griffin said. His mother nodded. She put her foot in the stirrup and stepped up into Titus’s saddle. “Wait,” Griffin said. “Before you go. You said Dad and James love to work the ranch, and Grandpa loves the land. What do you love to do mom?” Griffin asked, suddenly realizing that he had no idea what her answer would be. “I love my family. I love to be with them when I can, do what I can for you boys.” Griffin nodded knowing this was true, and a little sad that he hadn’t seen it before. “All right then. I’ll see you after a while, son,” she said with a smile and rode out of the barn. His first instinct was to go after her and give her a hug, but he stopped himself. He didn’t know why he was feeling so emotional all of a sudden. He was being childish, and he had chores to do. Griffin worked for the next hour shoeing Big Paul and then Lady, reviewing Lupe’s unexpected kiss in his mind over and over again. The school year would seem so long when all he wanted to do was come back to Mexico and see her again. Christmas break wasn’t so far off, he told himself. Then he’d count the weeks until May. Then outside, something crashed and he could hear his father swearing in the pasture. “Griffin Roark, you get your skinny butt out here right now!” his dad’s voice boomed. When Griffin stepped out into the light, he couldn’t believe what he saw. The water trough was overflowing and a huge area around it was flooded. His dad stood ankle-deep in mud. His big brother James
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had scaled the water tower and was wrestling with the emergency valve. Griffin had forgotten to turn off the water. “I told you not to let the pressure build up, boy. The valve’s busted now,” his dad Sam said with a shake of his head. The rush of water finally slowed to a trickle. James climbed down the splintered ladder and hopped off at the fourth rung, landing with a squish. His tall, broad figure was drenched and dirty. “Safety’s closed, but the cistern’s pretty much empty,” James told their dad. He looked at Griffin and shook his head, hiding a bright smile beneath the brim of his cowboy hat. “Good job, Griffin,” he said. “Monsoon’s rolling in, too,” Sam said. “After all the rain we’re going to get tonight, we’re going to have mud-on-mud in the morning. And I found this out by the cistern.” He slapped a wrench into Griffin’s hand. “You just leaving it out to rust? Go put it up, boy.” Griffin brought the wrench to the tool bench in the barn. Something sparkled on the hook with his mother’s house keys, a golden ring. Her wedding ring. He slipped it into his pocket to give to her later. She was probably going crazy looking for it. He shuffled back outside. “No wonder you can’t get Lupe to look sideways at you,” James said as he scraped mud off his boots. “She’s probably afraid that if she gives you a kiss, some of your crazy’s going to rub off on her.” James laughed, all dimples. “Ha, ha,” Griffin replied, smiling to himself.

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3 Later that night, Griffin awoke to the sound of drums. Then the rhythm was gone, replaced by a broad smile and a word, a name: Lupe. Griffin sat up in his narrow bed, pulled on his jeans, and tugged at his belt. He slipped a T-shirt over his dark close-cropped curls. Across the room, his older brother James slept like the dead. Griffin turned his steely eyes out beyond the open window to the full moon dipping down over the quiet, warm waters of the gulf. His heart fluttered and then sank. Though it was still dark out, it was much later than he hoped, and now he couldn’t find his boots. He hurriedly felt around the dark bedroom for them, taking great care not to trip over the boxes and suitcases. James could sleep through anything, but it was critical that Griffin didn’t make any noise that could wake his parents. Griffin scanned the tiny living room. Spotted his boots near the sofa, slipped them on without socks, and hopped out the window of the stuffy living room into the fresh night air. Once he was out of earshot of the house, he sprinted down the long driveway into the stables to get Snip. “We going to put in a couple of extra hours today,” Griffin told Snip, who looked a little irritated to be awake at such an hour. He swatted Griffin hard with his tail as Griffin hauled a saddle on to the horse’s back. “Is that going to be a problem?” Snip just glanced back at him and adjusted the bit that Griffin thrust into his mouth, good-natured, but unwilling to make any promises. Once they were out in the night, Griffin tried to relax. There was nothing he liked better than to be free out in the warm night air under the countless Mexican stars. The little town was asleep; even the loud crowd at J.J.’s Cantina had wandered home to their casitas. Griffin led Snip off the dirt road and picked up the Boulder Wash through the desert. He prayed he wasn’t too late. He’d meet Lupe and
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they’d ride out to Coyote Creek like they did every year, only this time, one day late. But this year was different in other ways, too. She had ignored him all summer, which turned out to be well worth it because she also kissed him, but he still didn’t know what to expect from her. Moving bales of hay, working on his dad’s truck, Griffin’s focus was complete. In his mind, he only saw her, but Lupe was all over the board. She was usually with her new friends from school now, never even glancing his way. During the few moments they shared, she was fickle as a feather. One minute she’d be laughing with him, teasing him, even throwing things at him and then next, her big brown eyes would soften and she’d get so serious. The change in her was disturbing, but these were precisely the moments that Griffin thought he stood a chance with her. Griffin looked around. They had stopped moving. He had been so lost in his thoughts of Lupe that he didn’t even notice that Snip was now sleeping there on his feet. “Snip,” Griffin whispered out as loud as he could without breaking into a daytime voice. Snip shook himself awake, but before he could take a step forward Griffin heard the rattle of a snake. In that instant, Griffin wrenched away from the snake with such force that Snip lost his footing on the smooth river rocks. As the horse reared back and stumbled, Griffin was thrown and slammed his head on the rocks below. In his last second of consciousness, as the snake slithered leisurely by, Griffin fumbled to touch the blood at his temple and let his eyes fall closed.

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4 Griffin awoke in Boulder Wash to the sound of thunder and howling wind. The smell of wet creosote bushes choked him. Fat raindrops rolled down his cheeks like tears. He sat up stiffly in the dark, rubbing his head. A thin finger of water ran by him through the rocks and sand, and then another. And another. By the time Griffin stumbled to his feet, the water began to stream by. It was lucky he woke up when he did. In another few minutes, the desert wash would be swallowed by a torrent of muddy water. It had to be close to dawn. Griffin had missed Lupe. Snip waited nervously for him on higher ground. Griffin dragged himself up onto his horse’s back and rode for shelter as quickly as he could. The only place anywhere near by were the old Mission ruins he had seen once from the trail. The story was once the Mexican army had burned a hundred and fifty locals in that church, including some of Lupe’s ancestors. Griffin didn’t believe in ghost stories, but he kept clear of the old mission, just the same. Plus it was on government land. He told himself he’d only be in as long as the storm lasted, and anyway, no one else in their right mind would be out in the weather at this hour. Riding hard in the lightning, he jumped Snip over the cattle gate, and the keep out signs, and didn’t stop until he rode straight through the rotting doors of the old church. Once out of the storm, Griffin hopped down off Snip and tried to shake some of the wet off. “It’s a right goose drowner out there,” Griffin informed Snip. That’s when Griffin heard it. Over the whipping sounds of the storm, and the distant crack of lightning, it persisted quick and deep. A drum. He wandered towards the sound. It was coming from just behind what was left of the old altar. He saw some light coming up through the floor behind the altar. Griffin smelled a fire now and heard voices chanting. He wouldn’t get close enough to get caught, he told himself, just
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close enough to catch a peek at what those crazy drunks from the town were up to. Maybe it was even his brother’s friends and he could go home to Lupe with a good story. But something felt wrong. As he approached, Griffin heard the voices more clearly. It wasn’t English or even Spanish they were speaking; it was something else, and then he could hear rattles. What were they doing? Griffin stepped carefully on the floor and crouched down. The drumming sounds made Griffin dizzy. Putting his eye to the crack in the floor, he peered down into the basement. Wearing plain clothes and actively adding to a pile of beer cans, a small group was performing some kind of ritual. From what Griffin could see, a mountain of a man stood at their head drumming. Almost directly beneath the altar, another man, naked from the waist up lay tied in the middle of their circle, painted with a greasy yellow symbol. A beehive. Griffin couldn’t believe it. Drones. The others danced around him with their drums and rattles chanting. Griffin could only imagine it was some kind of initiation ritual. Something he shouldn’t be seeing. The rhythm of the drums and voices, the raining of the rattles, disoriented him, until, for the first time in months, he no longer felt the flutter in his heart and the lack of breath that he associated with being in love with Lupe. With each beat of the drum, there was only a heavy shift in his mind and vision, and then another, and another, until his concentration jarred free from the world entirely. The man beneath the altar looked up and met Griffin’s eye through the crack in the floor. His eyes grew wide with terror, and he began to scream to their leader, “Francisco!” Their leader stopped drumming, and looked directly up at Griffin. “Go get the boy!” Francisco shouted. Griffin didn’t need to hear any more. He jumped on Snip and rode back out into the storm. As the sky grew blacker and the rain came down, so did Griffin’s bad feeling. He ran Snip hard through the mud that had once been a dusty road. Despite the pain in his head, and the sick feeling in his stomach, he didn’t slow down until he reached Boulder Wash. The dry sand was now covered by raging muddy water and debris. An explosive CRACK! rang out in his ears. Lightning. The world around him lit up, electrified. He looked across the wash to the source of the blast. A large black plume of smoke rose angrily from the direction of the ranch. He could see a tower of flames in the
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distance. He rode Snip up a small knoll to confirm his worst fears. It was the ranch house. Even in the rain, the wind whipped the blaze into an enormous orange blossom unfolding across the purple sky. Before he could think about how to cross the wash, three ATVs came roaring up the muddy trail. The way the drones were driving, Griffin couldn’t imagine they were sober. Snip tensed up from the noise, so Griffin steered him quickly down the bank of the wash— away from the fire, away from home—looking for a place to dart across. “Hey!” one of the drones called out in the storm. With the ATVs in close pursuit, the drones shouting at him in Spanish, Griffin and Spin tore across the desert trail, jumping over rocks and dodging cactus, always looking for a place a horse could go that the drones’ ATVs could not follow. Always staying close to the muddy torrents looking for an avenue of escape across the wash. “Griffin!” Griffin heard his mother cry out to him from the far shore. It broke his heart that even with the ranch burning, she had rode out in the rain to look for him. Two more ATVs approached from down the stream, trapping Griffin and Snip between drones and flash flood as his mother watched helplessly from across the wash. Faced with the loud machines and the shouting drones closing in on them, it was no choice for Snip. He leapt into the water and immediately stumbled, left leg crumbling beneath him. Griffin was pitched off and dragged at an alarming speed through the muddy rapids. The strong current dragged Griffin under and swept him right past the ATVs to the left of him. When he surfaced 30 seconds later to gulp air, Griffin caught a glimpse of his mother to his right, riding Titus hard to keep up with her son’s body as it was washed and tumbled by the flood. When he tried to call to her, a wall of muddy water silenced him. Hopeless now and struggling against waves that dragged him under like a thousand wet hands, Griffin tired quickly. The next time Griffin surfaced, he could see a few yards up ahead where Boulder Wash rushed together to join Coyote Creek, now swollen to a raging river. Griffin saw the fallen cottonwood tree, four feet around, blasting at him like a torpedo, and he knew it was over. Griffin looked one last time to the face of his mother. He would have cried out to stop her, but she didn’t hesitate. She drove her beloved horse full speed into the tree, diverting it before it could
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crush him. Titus also did not hesitate to follow his master’s wishes, his beautiful body crumpling against the force it met, never to rise again. Griffin’s mother disappeared altogether. Even with the bulk of the force of the tree diverted, Griffin was beaten by branches, and dragged along the bottom of the river. The rain pushed down on him from the sky and the current dragged him under, until the world of light and the living disappeared above him. Griffin had drifted off. As his thoughts darkened, somewhere far away, through thousands of gallons of rushing water and the howling wind, he heard the drumming engines of the ATVs grow clearer, and wondered if Francisco’s drums had been hidden in every sound he heard that day, just waiting for him to listen.

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5 Griffin’s body looked small below him, and ridiculously delicate. From somewhere high above the trees, with the vision of a raptor, he watched it float and bob, bounce off of logs and stones until finally, the waters just left it on the shore like a discarded toy. Griffin himself might have grown bored watching his body, but whenever he tried to look at the other things around him—first the aerial view of his own home quickly burning to the ground and the fires that spread from it, but then the impossibly beautiful sun breaking through the calming storm, the complex and fascinating motion of dispersing thunderclouds—when he tried to lose himself in these things, a silvery cord that tied his sight, his attention, to his body below always pulled him back to that fragile lump of flesh tossed by the muddy waters beneath him. When his body finally came to rest on the shore, it looked useless and possibly broken beyond repair, so he didn’t mind much when the drones and Francisco caught up with it on the shore with their ATVs and began poking at it with a stick. Then slowly, his mother’s body, auburn hair spread out around her like a mermaid, drifted by outside the current. At the insistence of Francisco, two of the drones waded in to the water and towed it out. No cord grew from her body, no ethereal version of her floated in the clouds next to him. In all ways, she was absent. The drones hauled her body onto the back of one of the ATVs. One of them laughed. Held a flask in his hand. They were turning to leave. Griffin’s grief and outrage jerked him back to his body, but only so close. A drone now emerged from the desert, dragging Snip by the reins, stumbling on his broken leg. Francisco saw the broken leg. Shook his head. “Tire al caballo.” Shoot it. Before the drone could even draw his gun, something inside of Griffin—not the body on the bank, but whatever invisible part of
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him that remained hovering outside himself—lashed out at the sound of those words and knocked the man backwards. In the same motion , the disembodied Griffin whipped the horse’s hindquarters. “RUN,” Griffin growled at him in the tone the Griffin only used when he meant business. Somehow the horse heard him, felt him, and eyes rolling back in his head, it reared up, kicking away from the drones and thundered away into the hills. The drones laughed at their fellow gang member sitting on the ground. He got up and swore at them in Spanish, dusted himself off. Snip wasn’t the only one who heard Griffin. Francisco turned back to the boy’s body, examining it, reaching for it. Suddenly, an abnormally large, pale wolf appeared out of the desert, fur bristling. The animal sniffed that humid air and spun, suddenly bolting from the spot, tearing into the bank of the wash. Teeth bared, the beast leapt upon Griffin’s chest, scattered the group of drones. The wolf crouched down, threatening to spring onto anyone or thing that tried to approach Griffin’s lifeless body. Francisco stood back, unsurprised. “Hungry?” he said in English, not to the wolf, but to the desert around him. Within moments, a man emerged from the desert to answer Francisco. Wild grey hair, yellowed tee shirt clinging to his towering frame, chiseled jaw, snakeskin boots; he now approached, taking his time. The wolf waited. “He’s mine,” Francisco said to the man. “Then leave the woman,” the man answered carefully. He narrowed his steely gaze. Without a word Francisco turned and walked to his ATV, apparently unwilling to surrender his mother’s body. When the drones all drove away, the wolf stepped away from Griffin’s body. The man now unfolded a leather case on the ground next to Griffin’s body. He revealed an old pipe decorated with beads and large white-tipped feathers and an old gourd rattle the color of honey. Cradling his pipe in his enormous hands, the man lit it and inhaled the pungent smoke. He lowered his lips to Griffin’s chest and blew the smoke into him like he was blowing up a balloon. Then he blew smoke into the top of Griffin’s head through his mess of black curls. Above Griffin’s attention was coaxed back to his body, trying to make out what the strange man was doing. Finally, the man took the gourd rattle lightly in his hands. He
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shook it over Griffin from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. The man dipped his finger into a small pot and drew a circle of ash on Griffin’s chest. The stench of burning flesh wafted up to Griffin above his body. Then the man stepped back, satisfied. The sound of the rattle, the smell, dragged him into a dream.

Somewhere far away, Griffin heard the sound of drums, the beat of his own heart. A man with wild grey hair stood beside him in a fruit-laden grove of lemon trees. “You are ready,” the man said, and stretched upward, dropping his hands to his sides. Slowly, his skin gained an orange sheen, his head flattened, and his pupils arced into wide slits. Before Griffin’s eyes, the man metamorphosed into a fat orange snake. With a sharp whip of its tail, it wrapped itself around Griffin’s leg, climbing him like a small tree. The weight of the snake was immense. In his panic, Griffin realized that he could not move, did not have the breath to scream. Griffin could feel the cold tips of the snake’s forked tongue running over his warm face. A drop of venom from the snake’s fangs dripped onto Griffin’s chest. It ran down in a thin line and slowly began to take the shape of a small snake, burrowing into his chest and spiraling just beneath his flesh. “You are my own,” the snake hissed at him. “Awaken.”

Griffin’s eyelids fluttered and color returned to his skin as he choked, terrified, into consciousness. His hands clutched at his wet shirt, trying to tear the serpent from his chest. When Griffin calmed down enough to realize that it had just been a dream, he sank back down onto the ground, in agony and exhausted. The man gathered up his things. Not far off, Griffin could hear horses, the voices of James and his father. They had found him. “Next time, try to stay alive until I get here,” the man said with a chill in his voice as he slipped way. “You owe me your life, and I’ll be back to collect it. As the horses drew near, Griffin drifted off into a dreamless sleep, knowing that, for at least the moment, he was saved.

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6 “Get up.” Light flooded the tiny hospital room as the curtains were thrown back from the window. Griffin put his arm up to shield his eyes. Sam and James squinted from their chairs. The woman who said these words was visible only in outline against the bright Arizona sun. Despite her small and compact size, her presence commanded the room. Griffin hadn’t seen her in years but recognized her immediately. His grandmother. “You,” she turned to Griffin. “How long have you been in that bed?” Griffin was too stunned to do anything but answer her honestly. “With all my operations, my pneumonia. Now rehab? About three months,” he said trying to sound as if he had been there for a year. Truth was, he had gotten used to thinking of himself as something broken. It seemed like the hospital bed was not only where he belonged, but also where his father wanted him. James came to the hospital every day after school and did his homework by Griffin’s bedside. From day one, Sam Roark hardly left the hospital at all, and little by little, their lives fell apart. Lightning, they said, caused the fire at the ranch, and they never found Jude Roark’s body. Sam lost everything that day. He sold the house in Tucson and then what was left of the ranch in Mexico, the horses and cattle, to pay hospital bills, funeral bills. “Three months wasn’t long enough for you?” She flicked on the light switch and the details began to fill in. Her face was old, certainly, but unlined. Her hair and make-up were perfect. A modest strand of pearls gleamed against her black wool dress and her black furtrimmed coat. Her hands were covered in black leather gloves. “And you? What’s your excuse? You look like a healthy young man to me,” she said to James. “Are you just along for the ride? Don’t answer that.” James didn’t.
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Sam nodded and felt his chest tighten. He took off his worn cowboy hat and bowed his head. “Mafalda,” Sam said her complicated name like it was both a curse and a resignation. “Mr. Roark. I see you’re setting a fine example for my grandsons. It’s nearly noon. Big plans for the rest of the day?” “It’s only nine-thirty,” James said in their defense. Sam stood up finally, scattering crumbs and newspapers. “Now listen here,” he started. “When were you going to tell me about my daughter?” Mafalda asked him as a nurse joined them in the room. “I didn’t know where to find you. I’m sorry, Mafalda,” Sam said. “Yes, well so am I,” she said. Mafalda studied Griffin and pursed her lips. “The image of his grandfather. I will try to overlook that.” Then she studied Griffin’s thick helmet of curls that had grown unchecked for months and raised her eyebrows. “I’m pleased to see the boy got my hair though. Your grandfather has terrible hair,” she informed Griffin. When James laughed, she shot a piercing look in his direction. Maybe even a look that their mother had told them about, the malocchio: the evil eye. When their grandmother expertly wielded it, the malocchio could stop a charging rhino, their mom had told them. This time, it wasn’t the look that silenced James but rather what Mafalda said next. “By the time your grandfather was your age, he was nearly bald on top,” she told James. “We’ll have to wait and see whose hair you have. We won’t have to wait long.” As James reached for his hat, Mafalda next turned her attention to the nurse. “Remove the tubes and all the extra bits from that boy. We are on somewhat of a schedule.” The nurse nodded and began to remove the saline drip from Griffin’s arm. “What on earth are you doing?” Sam demanded. “He’s been discharged. He’s ready to go home,” the nurse said. “Discharged? He has another month of physical therapy ahead of him.” The nurse finished up. “Talk to her,” he said pointing to Mafalda and rolled the monitor out. “I spoke with the doctors this morning. As you know, after that business with Grandpa Leo, I swore never to travel farther south than the Mogollon Rim. Though I consider this a special circumstance, I do not intend to break my vow for any longer than absolutely necessary,” she informed Sam. “You have no business doing this,” Sam fumed.
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“I’m sorry we haven’t had the opportunity to spend much time together in the past ten years,” Mafalda said, “but as I explained, for me it was simply a matter of geography. Your parents were too stubborn to take you up north to see me.” She looked at Griffin. “Can you stand up?” He nodded. “Then get dressed.” She tossed James a bag. “Help your brother,” she said and closed the curtains around the bed on them. “He’s too weak to be moved, Mafalda. He’s having nightmares. Not only in the night. All the time,” Sam explained. “He blames what happened to us on diableros,” Sam continued. “Congratulations, Mafalda. Your family’s ghost stories have finally got to him. I can’t let you take him out of here.” Griffin looked wide-eyed at James. “Don’t listen to him, Griffin. You’ll be okay,” James told Griffin behind the curtain. James helped him get the new clothes his grandmother had brought him on over his head. Despite never having met the woman, he was shocked to discover the clothes fit him perfectly. “You can’t hide in this hospital forever,” Mafalda retorted. “It’s time to get on with your life. I see the way you’re living, Sam. These boys deserve better. It’s all taken care of.” Sam mumbled something that Griffin could not hear. “That too,” she replied. “There’s nothing left for you to do but get in the car.” James pulled open the curtain. Mafalda turned to them, “Boys, you’re coming to live with me, and then looked to Sam. “All of you.” Griffin and James were dumbfounded, and Sam wouldn’t even look at them. The nurse returned with the wheelchair to take Griffin to the front door. “No,” Mafalda told the nurse. “He’ll walk.” Before Sam could say anything Mafalda looked at Griffin. “A wise man uses his own head and feet as long as he is able.” She thought about it for a second. “It sounds much more elegant in Italian,” she decided. Grandma Mafalda, or Nonni, as she preferred to be called, waited for Sam and James to gather up their few possessions from their apartment. Griffin had nothing to speak of beyond the jeans he had drowned in, so there was little left to do but climb into her old Land Rover and head north. The ride across the great state of Arizona took the rest of the day. Slowly, the Saguaro cacti disappeared and the rocky hills turned to a
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rolling golden plain on top of a great mesa. Then all that were left were the prickly pear cactus and juniper. As their caravan climbed higher, the air grew frigid and the juniper gave way to towering ponderosa pines. A thick blanket of snow covered the ground and road, and they had to stop the car twice to let a herd of elk cross the road. Griffin would have never guessed that a winter wonderland could have been concealed anywhere in a state as hot as Arizona, but here it was, perched atop rock mountains at six thousand feet. Finally, Nonni turned down a dirt road and stopped the car in front of an old three-story Victorian house. A sign on the front porch read, “Merry Christmas.” “It’s Christmas?” Griffin said with a smile, feeling that things might be looking up. “Christmas was last week,” his grandmother said coldly and turned off the car.

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7 “Cold enough for you?” James said to Griffin across the passenger seat of his old green truck. Griffin hurried into the truck out of the freezing night air, pulling his suede and lambs’ wool jacket close around him. The wind whipped through his black curls. “You boys come directly back after the movie,” Sam said from the porch. “You got a big day tomorrow, first day of school. From the driver’s seat, James smiled and nodded, but Griffin slammed the truck door shut, and muttered, “Yeah, big day.” Before their father could respond, James started up the noisy truck. “Bye, Dad,” James called out with a curt wave and drove out of the driveway, not daring to look back. When his grandmother’s house was out of sight, James stopped abruptly. “What was that all about?” James demanded. “What?” Griffin said, shivering. He wished James would start up the truck again and get the heat going. “Why do you always have to give the old man a hard time? I told you not to say anything to dad. Now he’s going to know something’s up for sure. As if the ‘movie’ story wasn’t weak enough.” “He’d be more likely to think something was up if I didn’t give him a hard time,” Griffin started defensively. “Ain’t that the truth,” James said with a little laugh. “Good, then can we please get going,” Griffin said. “I’m freezing.” James must have been convinced because he started the truck up again. Griffin pointed the heater vent towards him and leaned in to let the warm air hit him right in the face. Slowly they made their way out of the residential area, and into the social and economic heart of Williams, Arizona. It wasn’t beating. In fact, the town looked entirely abandoned. “Someday, you’ll learn how to go with the flow,” James said. “It’s
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not so hard to just get along with him.” Griffin looked past the gang tags spray-painted on the side of the movie theatre as they drove by. Beehives. Stupid drones were everywhere. Williams wasn’t big, would always be smalltime, but the city’s center went on decaying and fostering poverty, keeping the secrets of a place ten times its size. Not many cars this late. Before Griffin could even finish forming his opinions about his new city, they had already driven by it. At the end of the street, James took the dirt road out of town. “Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Griffin asked. “Looks about right. The girl at the restaurant drew me a map. Some place called the Homestead. Said there’d be a DJ and everything,” James said. “We’ve been here two days, and already you’re meeting girls?” Griffin said. As they drove along the bumpy road, the light from the town was slowly replaced with the light from the full moon and the sparse old buildings replaced by an older denser forest. Then, from further away than they would have imagined, they could hear the thump-thumpthump of the bass. When they finally reached the party, they found the old slaughterhouse packed and nearly buzzing. Low pickup trucks and small cars crowded around the dilapidated wooden warehouse, headlights shining palely through the dust. Griffin and James stepped out of the old Ford into the crowded red dust parking lot in their cowboy boots and hats, staring. The guys in bandanas and puffy jackets, the girls in nearly nothing. The Mexican flags painted on naked backs in day glow paint. The puddles of beer cans they hopped and shuffled through. Glow-in-the dark-hair gel. The ecstatic people who were clearly out of their minds on Some Drug. The mumbling hopeless people who were clearly out of their minds on Some Other Drug. The glow sticks. The lasers shooting out of the cracks of the old Homestead walls. The only thing that looked familiar to Griffin and James were the stars above them. The whole place looked like it was under alien attack. “I wonder what they told their parents,” Griffin said, pointing out some kids that didn’t look any older than ten or eleven. He noticed a large white wolf-dog slunk around fringes of the crowd, dodging free, but James was focused on a group of girls that must have driven in from the college. The music continued thumping until Griffin felt positively dizzy.
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“Come on,” James said, the sight of so many good-looking girls fueling his impatience. He dragged Griffin to the doorman, a kid in a striped Cat-in-the-Hat hat about Griffin’s age. “You cowboys drones?” he asked. Called them cowboys like their clothes were some kind of costume. Griffin and James just looked at each other, unsure if this was a real question or just an insult. “Hive,” he said, like the brothers were suffering from some particularly humorous form of amnesia. “Are you guys Hive?” The door-kid pulled the sleeve back from his arm and revealed a small beehive tattoo just inside his elbow. Griffin never imagined he’d see that sign north of Tucson. “Let’s see it.” Griffin was speechless, but could not manage to close his gaping mouth. James stepped up. “We’re not Hive,” he admitted. “Oh no worries. New recruits always welcome. You cowboys have fun in there,” he said, moving aside to let them through the door. And just like that, they were in. An ocean of people stretched out before them up to the golden pulsing light of the makeshift stage. The tight crowds moving together as one, the flashing lights, the fog, the deafening rhythm. It was more than Griffin could have ever expected. So what if Williams was a creepy small town? This was a big-city party, and it was just getting started. Griffin smiled hard. He closed his eyes, grabbed on to the back of his brother’s jacket and let the crowd and the rhythm take him. The beat was like a current that swept them all up into another world, and the DJ on stage was the master moving and affecting the crowd like a wizard. Neither James or Griffin were much for dancing, but they spent a long time sweating there, hours, as part of the ecstatic body of the crowd, until finally Griffin shook off the spell enough to realize that he needed water. He left James, and rolled and pressed against the other damp partiers until the crowd coughed him up somewhere on the edge of an undefined dance floor by the troughs of water set up by the wall. Leaning against the wall, Griffin gulped down cups of water and tried to catch his breath. He slipped his jacket off, wishing there was somewhere to stash it. He was drenched—hopefully in more of his own sweat than the sweat of the strangers around him, he thought, but then smiled and realized, tapping his feet, looking up the old wooden walls, 20 feet high, to the old plank ceiling rotting up there
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where the cold air filtered in, that he didn’t care whose sweat it was. Then he saw her. First, just her teeth grinning glowing in the black lights and her damp white shirt, another body the crowd had kicked out to rehydrate, but then he really saw her, her black hair and amber eyes, about his age. Even in her uniform of skinny black jeans and Chuck Taylors, she was beautiful. Before he could get up the nerve to speak to her the beat of the music changed, and just about knocked his thoughts right out of his head. It was so fast that he couldn’t concentrate on anything. The people around him looked like drops in an undulating sea of light. As the beautiful girl slipped invisibly back into the thumping tribal gathering, Griffin was sure that somehow the beat had his eyes, too; at the door he saw his mother (not someone who looked like his mother—

actually his mother) beckoning to him. The whole room went pale and dull and there seemed to be lines outlining everything. Griffin looked back. He could make out James across the room, ten, twenty hot bodies between them dancing, if you could call his clumsy movements dancing, with a couple of the college girls he had seen at the door. There wasn’t time to tell James what was going on, their mother drifted out the back door of the party, and Griffin followed. Outside, beneath the full moon, a surprisingly warm breeze caressed Griffin. He followed his mother out across the dirt lot, past the cars, into the forest. “I have something for you,” his mother called to him as he hurried to catch up. “It’s not far now.” After walking a bit farther, Griffin came to a giant tree beneath which a present sat, gaily wrapped, his name printed boldly upon it in his mother’s hand. “Take it, Griffin. Don’t tell anyone. You’ll know what to do with it.” “What is it, Mom?” “Just take it, quickly, and get home. I love you, Griffin.” She turned and walked into the open field and disappeared into the dark. He could barely make out the outline of his mother far away between the trees. “Hey, Mom,” Griffin cried out. “Wait up.” He ran after her. She turned and stopped to wait for him. Everything would have been perfect had the big white wolf-dog not followed him out from the party, attempting to hinder each of his steps, pulling at his shirt, and nipping at his shins. When Griffin reached her,
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she seemed different. No longer sad, she just stood there smiling blankly with her arms outstretched to him. “I’ve missed you so much, Griffin. Come over here and give me a hug, and then we’ll go back and unwrap all your other presents,” she said to him. Griffin stepped one foot forward. Immediately, he was overcome with dizziness and teetered back. The wolf-dog growled. “Do you want to hurt my feelings? Come here and give me a hug,” his mother insisted. Griffin stepped forward again and, again, swayed with a dizziness that was this time accompanied by a sharp pang of nausea. This time the dog snapped at his pant leg catching a little bit of skin between his teeth. The dog didn’t let go. “Come on, Griffin,” his mother urged, her voice quivering. “Just lean forward.” Griffin did his best to lean forward, but then a loud thump of drumming distracted him. Between the dog’s growling and the drumming, he could hardly hear his mother at all. “Griffin. Look at me,” she commanded with desperation. He looked at her, but his eye was drawn downward. A small orange snake wrapped lazily around her ankle. As it climbed up her leg, it grew larger. “Mom, the snake!” he cried, and backed away from her. “Quickly, come to your mother,” she shrieked at him. “You won’t obey me? After what you did to me? I died for you. Now, come here.” She tried to shake off the serpent, but it wrapped itself firmly around her, growing larger and larger by the second until it was monstrous. As she groped out for Griffin, the snake drew itself up and wrapped itself tightly around her neck. Griffin instinctively reached up to help his mother, but he was in no way prepared for what he saw. As the mammoth squeezed her neck, her face melted into the visage of a howling wraith and her body transformed into a thick, putrid cloud of smoke.

Now the white dog leapt up at Griffin and seized his shirt in its teeth, pulling him backward off his feet. Griffin hit the ground hard, waking himself up with the dull smack of a railroad tie against his jaw. A train rushed by inches from where he stood a second earlier. Car after car rolled by until he heard the squeal of the emergency

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brakes and the alarm. He was not, as he had believed, in a grassy meadow. It was the dark of a frigid night, and he was in the forest on the edge of the train tracks. Griffin had been sleepwalking. The wolf was real and crouching over him, its face in his. Griffin was too terrified to move. “Griffin!” his brother called as he ran to him. Frightened by the shouting, the dog scampered into the woods looking back at Griffin from behind a tree some yards off and then slunk away. “What are you doing?” James yelled over the sound of the train when he could finally speak, even though he could see plain as day that his little brother was just lying there on the ground. “That dog…it attacked me,” Griffin stuttered the only thing he was sure of. “I didn’t see no dog, Griffin. Just one big train.” Griffin looked around. No dog. “Come on,” James said, dragging his little brother up to his feet and dusting him off like an old coat. “Gotta get you home. I’ve been out here looking for you hours. Dad’s gonna be on the shoot when we get in. Don’t expect me to bring you to another party with me, Buzzkill.” James cut the engine and the lights as they rolled into the driveway, and they were both careful to close the truck’s heavy door with a velvet hand. James padded quickly inside with the expertise of boy who’d spent a lifetime sneaking in late. Silent. Catlike. It was almost four in the morning. As Griffin caught his breath and climbed the porch steps, he noticed a small package under the old red bench off to the left of the door. He bent down and fished out the small, dusty parcel. It was wrapped in brown paper and tied with twine. Judging from the water stains on the paper, it had been there awhile. Griffin turned the package over and much to his surprise, he found his own name carefully written on the label above his grandmother’s address. Seeing his name like that brought tears to his eyes. It was his mother’s handwriting. He couldn’t help thinking of his dream earlier that night. Suddenly the porch light flicked on and his dad stood in the doorway in his underwear. “Griffin Roark, what are you doing sneaking around out there in the dark? Boy, you trying to catch your death again? Get in here this
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minute.” But Sam’s voice softened when he saw the box and the handwriting upon it. “Where’d you find that?” “Right under there, sir,” Griffin said, shaking. Sam took the box from Griffin’s hands. “Come on inside and let’s take a look at this.”

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8 “But it’s mine. It’s got my name on it,” Griffin said a little too loudly for a sleeping household. The dim living room glowed orange from the dying fire in the wood-burning stove as Griffin argued with his dad in his boxers. Griffin’s skin was still pink from being out in the night air, but he was too angry to feel the cold. “I’m not saying it ain’t yours,” Sam said. He slipped the box up on top of the china cabinet. “We’ll talk about this in the morning.” “No. If it’s mine, then give it to me now,” Griffin demanded. “Maybe she’s still alive. Did that thought ever cross your mind?” “Fool ideas like that are exactly why it’s not a good idea to open it just yet. You’ve been through a lot, boy, we all have, and opening this now won’t do anyone any good,” Sam insisted. “Let me see it,” Griffin’s grandmother said from the stairs. “You’ll have to excuse my bathrobe,” she said. “I’m used to starting my day a little later.” Her bathrobe and nightgown were like everything she owned, of excellent quality and immaculate. Griffin noticed she had taken the time to fix her hair and make-up. It was hard to imagine that the woman ever slept at all. Sam got the package down and handed over to her. Mafalda examined the postmark. “It’s been hidden out there under that bench for months. I’m sorry, Griffin. This package was mailed from Mexico on the ninth,” Mafalda said. She turned the parcel over in her hands weighing it, and then set it on the table. “The day before the drones got her,” Griffin said. “The day before she drowned trying to save you,” Sam said pointedly. “So can we please just stop this burro milk? She must have stopped at the post office when she went into town for groceries.” “Why would Mom send a package to Griffin here?” James said from behind them. He stood shivering in his boxers, rubbing his eyes like he’d been asleep all night. Behind his father’s back, Griffin
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gestured to James that he didn’t appreciate his performance. James responded with the slightest smile and continued, “We’ve never even been here.” “Doesn’t anyone in this house own pajamas?” Mafalda said exasperated. “Sorry, Nonni,” James said automatically and then looked back at his dad. “Why would she send him anything? She could have just handed it to him.” “Unless she knew,” Griffin said. “Maybe she had some sort of premonition. Maybe she knew what was going to happen.” A shadow crossed Mafalda’s face. “That’s just plain nonsense. How could anyone have known?” Sam insisted. “Maybe she had a dream,” Griffin started to say softly. “All the more reason to let it lie,” Sam snapped back. “Just open it, Griffin,” James said. “I was just explaining to Griffin that there’s no point opening up old wounds, at least until he’s able to accept what happened that day. We have to put this away until he’s strong enough to deal with it. “You mean until you’re ready to deal with it,” Griffin shouted at him. “You watch that tone with me, boy. I’ve made up my mind on this one.” “Since it has Griffin’s name on it and it was sent to my house,” Mafalda said to Sam, “I don’t see how you have a say in the matter at all. Tampering with other people’s mail is a federal crime, you know. I would not cross the United States Postal System if I were you. Here you go, young man,” she said, handing the box to Griffin. “Open it.” Griffin took the box in his hands. Unwilling to argue further with the stubborn woman, Sam started up the stairs back to bed, but he paused, unable to leave the room until he, too, knew what was in the box. Griffin weighed the package in his hands. “It feels solid,” he said to James. “Just open it, boy, would you?” Sam called down from the stairs. Griffin removed the paper, careful not to rip the part where his mom had written on it, and opened the box. Inside, sat a soft leather case, big enough to hold a large sweet potato. Griffin took it out and held it up. Mafalda and Sam looked at one another, recognizing the object immediately.
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“Okay, why don’t you hand that to me,” Mafalda said with some concern. “It’s got a lock on it,” Griffin said. He passed her the leather roll. “Well, thank the Lord for small favors,” Sam said. “There’s a note,” Griffin said. He took out a piece of paper folded in half, also took a deep breath preparing himself for his mother’s parting words. He read aloud, “For Grandpa Leo,” he said. Mafalda bristled at the name of her estranged husband. “What else does it say?” James asked, swiping the paper from Griffin’s limp grasp. His examination proved just as disappointing. “That’s it,” Griffin said, unable to disguise the disappointment in his voice. “It’s not even for me, and there’s no key.” “It don’t matter it’s locked. It’s not your property anyways,” Sam said, finally venturing back down the stairs. Griffin searched the box thoroughly, checking underneath the cardboard flaps, along the sides, even turning the box upside-down. “There’s nothing else in here. No note for me, nothing,” Griffin moaned. “Why would she send you something to give to your grandpa?” Sam asked Griffin. “We haven’t heard from him in years.” Griffin looked away, knowing differently. “Griffin,” Mafalda said, closing in on him, “do you know where your grandfather is?” Sam and James also looked interested in his answer. “Can’t say exactly. Mom was sending me to visit, after the cattle drive. Wanted me to bring something down to him. Maybe that leather case.” “Well, I would have had something to say about that.” Sam took the bundle and tucked it behind the clock on the mantel. “As I predicted, that was a box better left unopened. I’m going to go on up and get ready for work. I’ve got a long day ahead of me.” “How am I going to get that to Grandpa Leo?” Griffin insisted. “Boy, you leave it right there. I’ll take care of it when I get home. Make some calls. Track the old man down, if he wants to be found. Go on up and try to get some shuteye. You got school in a few hours.” “But Nonni,” Griffin appealed next to his grandmother, “Mom wanted me to bring it to Grandpa.” “I’m sorry to say I agree with your father on this one. I’ll even do you one better: if I find you’ve so much as touched that leather case, you’ll have me to deal with.”
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9 The fluorescent lights buzzed and flickered dimly, casting an overall yellowish shadow on the institutional grey walls and dull green lockers. Principal Gustafson’s thick heels clicked on the grey composite floor while Griffin shuffled along beside her. An antiseptic, athletic odor wafted through the air, the aroma of gym socks and Lysol competed with greasy meat and tomato sauce. Griffin’s new school, Williams Public, felt less like a school than a prison. “That’s the cafeteria,” Principal Gustafson continued her tour without turning her dull orange face to Griffin. She pointed to a dingy room lined with long folding tables. The fat on her arm waved from the effort. “Lunch is from 12:07 to 12:38. We have our lunch break inside when there’s snow on the ground.” Griffin peeked out a window as they passed. The sun cast an embarrassing amount of light on the shabby school illuminating patches of snow freckled on the unkempt sports field. Griffin paused before a cork covered wall, plastered with photos of children. “Have you seen me?” was spelled out in purple cardboard letters across the top. Beneath each face was printed a date and an age. Some of the kids were around Griffin’s age, but most of them were younger. “We’ve had quite a problem with runaways in Williams lately. These kids get involved in drugs or something, and they just disappear. Every full moon someone else seems to go missing. Another gone just last night.” She pointed to a picture of a young man. Griffin recognized the face immediately. It was the kid in the funny striped hat, working the door at the Homestead party the night before. He started to feel bad, but then remembered his own incident with the train, and realized how closely he came to a staring role on a poster of his very own. “You’re not going to be a problem, are you, Griffin?”
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“No?” Griffin said. “Good,” she said and resumed her brisk walking tour of the school. As they clicked and shuffled farther down the hall, Griffin lost himself in the rhythm of their footsteps. Left, right, left, right. His mind drifted away until he felt himself floating above his body in the hallway, up along the ceiling. Right, left, right, left. He felt himself propelled forward into some inevitable doom. He could see it like a shadow lurching through the half-lit hall. Left, right, left, right.

“I’m coming for you,” the presence seemed to hiss at him. “You are mine.” Griffin turned to look for the source of the voice. He slowed and peered into a slit in one of the lockers. The flattened head of what appeared to be an albino cobra struck out at him, Griffin stumbled back, as the snake turned to white smoke and dissipated into the air around him.

“Here it is, room thirty-five,” the principal announced. Griffin was jolted back into his body, his daydream washing out as the reality of the hallway flooded in. The horror of the previous moment had all but disappeared, leaving Griffin disoriented. There was no snake, no smoke, only a heavy metal door with the number 35 stenciled on it in a shaky hand. “English. Mrs. Driver’s room,” she said, swinging the door open wide. “New kid!” Mrs. Driver hadn’t even been able to emit a greeting before an unbelievably big pimply kid made this crack. Thirty-two blank faces looked up, and everyone began talking at once. The classroom was the shabbiest Griffin had seen. The kids hung into the aisles from broken desks covered with graffiti. The room itself was freezing. All the kids wore bulky jackets and some even wore ski hats, pulled down low on their heads. The kids had cell phones out texting each other and some wore headphones. Even the white kids seemed to speak with tough Mexican accents. Griffin shrunk back. “Oh look, Cowboy here thinks he’s too fancy for the hood,” the pimply kid said and laughed. Then he looked at Griffin. “You too good for us, Cowboy?” “Okay, Conrad, that’s enough.” The small and attractive teacher

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awarded the spotty boy with an irritated frown before she turned back to Griffin. “Please have a seat next to Taber,” she said, pointing to a good-looking kid in the back of the room. Where Griffin was tall and skinny, Taber Ruiz was tall and solid. He was nowhere near the size of Conrad in the front of the room, but he still outweighed Griffin by twenty pounds. Taber flashed a bright smile at Griffin. “Don’t worry about Conrad, he’ll get over it. He just shows off for the girls.” With his warm, blushing skin and glossy black hair, Griffin knew Taber was the one that had all the girls’ attention. Mrs. Driver yelled out over the chaos, “Okay, we were all supposed to read part two of Chapter Four.” The classroom filled with the furious shuffling of books and papers, each student flipping through the pages of the assigned reading, trying to skim what they had not read. Griffin’s eyes met a pale face at the back of the room, the beautiful girl from the Hive rave. Dressed in black with long dark hair, she had not whispered to anyone. Griffin smiled but she just continued to study him with her amber eyes. As the rest of the class focused in on their book discussion, Griffin became increasingly aware of the clock on the wall. It wasn’t the clock specifically that caught his attention, but the ticking. Rhythms like this had always drawn him into a daydream. Since his accident, it had gotten worse. The tick tock transported him out of his body suddenly, out the

window, to a towering pine forest. A group of boys crowded in front of a rock wall, viciously flinging stones at something huddled on the ground. Griffin silently, invisibly pushed his way to the center of the mob, like he was moving through a thick dream. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Griffin recognized some of the boys from his English class in the swarm. Conrad did not reserve his cruelty for Griffin, he noticed. The object of their torment was a boy with thick glasses. He used his body to protect a bike that had been pushed over in the freezing mud. Then the scene paused. The boy grasped Griffin’s hand. “Come to Buckskinner,” the boy appealed, as Griffin tried to release his hand from his grip. “They’re going to take my bike.” Griffin pulled his hand away from the boy, alarmed. As he did, the other boys began throwing rocks again.

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“Wait. Help me,” the boy called after Griffin. Terrified, Griffin backed away from the scene, as a shadow enveloped the mob, feeding on their frenzy and the boy’s fear. “Buckskinner!” the boy called out for the last time as the shadow devoured the mob completely.

The bell rang, shocking Griffin from his daydream. He caught his breath in a sharp intake, and shook his head as if to dislodge the vision from his mind. “Oh, you’re back with us Mr. Roark?” Mrs. Driver said. “Just in time to go to go to your next class.” “Sorry,” Griffin said. “Try and stay awake next time. I’ve asked India to spend a few minutes with you after school to go over what we’ve been working on.” The beautiful girl frowned at him. “Sure,” Griffin said, still shaken from his daydream. Mrs. Driver called out over the din of slamming books and between-class chatter. “Finish the chapter, by tomorrow. You can all expect a ten-point quiz at the beginning of class.” “Can you ride a bike in those boots?” Taber asked Griffin brusquely as the kids filtered out of the room into the halls. “Yeah,” Griffin said. “It’s outside.” “A few of us are going for a ride after school. You wanna come?” “All right,” Griffin said, grateful for Taber’s outgoing nature. Taber smiled affably. “Okay, then. I’ll wait for you over at the bike rack. We’re all riding up to Buckskinner.” “Buckskinner?” Taber glanced at Griffin over his shoulder as he pushed his way through the crowd. “Welcome to the ghetto,” Taber added with a puckish grin, holding three fingers up in the shape of a W, that presumably, Griffin guessed, stood for Williams. Forcing himself to smile, Griffin returned the hand sign, with mock solidarity. As soon as Taber was out of sight, Griffin’s face fell. Buckskinner. How could that place in his dream be real? Was it possible that he heard the name before? That it was just some sort of coincidence. He searched his memory. He was certain he never heard the word before the boy uttered it in his dream. “I guess that means you don’t want the notes,” a voice said from behind him. India. Griffin had gotten so caught up in the moment, meeting India had totally slipped his mind.

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“No, I do. I do,” Griffin back-peddled. “It’s just,” Griffin took a deep breath. “It’s just that you’re worried what those guys will think if you don’t tag along after them?” “I’m sorry.” What else could he say? “Don’t say you’re sorry to me, Cowboy. I already have the notes.” And then India walked away.

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10 After school, Taber and Griffin stopped by Dairy Queen to meet up with the rest of the guys. They rode their bikes down a dirt road out past the ranger station about a half a mile to a dead end in the middle of a big mud lot next to a small muddy lake. The lake wouldn’t even be there if it weren’t for a concrete retaining wall, keeping all the water from running out the one side, and Griffin wouldn’t even be there if he had known there was a lake. Since the accident, he wanted nothing to do with water. What was worse, Griffin recognized Conrad with some older kids hanging out at some concrete picnic benches smoking something. India sat with her friends on the edge of the concrete wall. Her two loud friends laughed and shrieked, but she just sat up there quietly, almost sadly, reaching to touch the toe of her black tennis shoe to the lake’s icy surface. If the lake could see her, Griffin thought, it would reach back. He remembered Lupe and felt a pang of guilt. Would he even be thinking about this girl if he were in Tucson, with Lupe only a few hours across the border? But he wasn’t in Tucson. He was in Williams, a stone’s throw from the Grand Canyon, and he didn’t know if he would ever see Lupe again. Taber’s voice brought Griffin away from his thoughts. “She’s pretty, huh?” Taber motioned to the girls on the wall. “The one on the end.” “India? Yeah.” Taber shook his head. “What a waste of a hot chick. Pretty enough to get with and weird enough that you couldn’t tell anybody.” “What?” Griffin asked, unsure if he had heard Taber right. “Look at her, she’s spooky. She listens to that weird techno music, dresses funny, always reading. Now Marita,” Taber said pointing to a blond sitting on the wall next to India. “She’s top-shelf.” “What does that mean?” Griffin said absently, without taking his eyes off India.
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“Like you can’t reach it, but you’d still want to try, I guess,” Taber said wistfully. “She’s all right.” As Griffin said this, India stood up and screamed out at Conrad and the other boys down by the lake. “Leave him alone!” she cried, jumping from the wall, and it seemed for a moment that Griffin’s grisly vision would be realized. His attention had only wandered for a few moments, but during that time, the events from his daydream looked as if they were going to play out. Conrad and the others were tightly thronged by the lakeshore, laughing and shouting. Some of them looked uncomfortable but didn’t have the strength to do anything but follow the other boys, even if it was reluctantly. Griffin watched in horror as one of the boys bent down and picked up a rock. Griffin took a deep breath and stormed the group of boys before his courage failed him, painfully aware of his proximity to the water’s edge. He didn’t have a clue what he was going to do, but he had to see. He had to know if these dreams of his had some meaning, if he could somehow predict the future. But when he got down to the shore, to his astonishment, he didn’t find a boy at the center of the group, but a terrified white wolf-dog, fur bristling—the very same dog that had attacked Griffin by the train the previous night. Though it snarled and gnashed his teeth, the animal looked less ominous in the daylight. It was large, but obviously still a pup, still growing into its enormous feet. The boys had the animal cornered. To escape its attackers, it would have to go through the boys or through the lake, and apparently, this dog was just as terrified of water as Griffin was. Where was the boy from his dream? Griffin wondered. Just a dream. India yelled at the guys to stop, but they weren’t listening to her. Enjoying her distress. One of them pushed her. “Stop it.” Griffin said it once, not even very loudly, but with such authority, a few of the boys actually did drop their stones. Immediately, everyone’s attention shifted from the animal to Griffin. The dog took advantage of this distraction and slipped through the crowd away into the woods. “It’s just some stray,” a gap-toothed kid called Enrico said. He redirected his rock sideways, skipping it on the lake. Conrad stepped up and pushed Griffin to the ground. “You sure you want to get involved here, Cowboy?” Griffin did not want to get involved, but now he didn’t exactly
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have a choice. He didn’t know what to say, so he just sat there. All around him, faces fell. “That’s it, Cowboy,” Conrad said. “You just keep your mouth shut, do what you’re told, and you’ll fit in here just fine.” Conrad turned away. “Well now, that might be a problem,” Griffin said standing up and brushing himself off. There was no way he was going to start taking orders from some kid. No matter how big or ugly he was. “What did you say?” Conrad asked. “I’ve never been much good at doing what I’m told, so why don’t you come back and tell me again. Maybe then I’ll get it.” Griffin spoke with all the resentment he’d held inside from years of quietly obeying his father. “Oh, you’ll get it all right.” Conrad rushed Griffin, and Griffin met him with his fist halfway. Griffin’s knuckles hit Conrad’s teeth hard. He had never punched anyone before. Griffin wondered if he broke his hand. He wiggled his fingers. Not broken. “I think I’m starting to get it,” Griffin said. “Maybe if you tell me just one more time, I’ll understand.” A few of the boys started to laugh, but Griffin braced himself. It had been worth it, but now he was about to get hurt. Conrad got up but before he could land a punch of his own, a big hand grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. “You boys looking for a fight?” One of the older kids that had been smoking with Conrad now held him like a whipped hound. A white teen. Wiry. Ashen. At once, Griffin noticed the tattoo on the inside of the older kid’s arm. Hive. “I’m not looking for trouble,” Conrad said from the end of the drone’s fist. “I thought we were cool?” “Oh we’re cool. What about you, son?” the drone said to Griffin. “You here for a fight?” He took a moment to study Griffin and then a smile spread over his face. “Or are you just looking to go for a swim?” He swiped out for Griffin, but Griffin stepped back, dodging his hand. The crowd of kids began to dissipate as a cloud of dread hung over the scene. The other older kids, more drones, Griffin figured, didn’t even look up from the picnic benches. Bored. The drone released the handful of Conrad’s shirt, and smoothed it out where it lay wrinkled and smudged from his grasp. “I tell you what. You boys go home to your mamas, and think hard before you start up another fight. We don’t want the police out here, do we? You either work with the Hive, or against it. But you feel free to stop by
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anytime.” Neither of the boys hesitated to take advantage of the drone’s offer and get out of there. On a whim, Griffin circled back a bit to India who walked silently out of the park, her eyes in the trees, apparently lost to the music playing in her headphones. “Oh, look at the cowboy,” Marita said a little too loudly in his direction. “Not so tough now, are you?” Griffin ignored her and gathered the courage to speak to India. He rode up along side her. “Hey, was that your dog?” he asked her. When she didn’t respond, Griffin noticed the white headphones in her ears and heard the pulsing rhythm softly thumping from them. She couldn’t hear him. He tapped her on the shoulder and startled, she slipped an earbud from her ear. “Was that your dog?” Griffin repeated. When India finally understood him, her stormy eyes met his for a second, and then flashed angrily. “Nope,” she answered, glancing back at the lake. “It’s just some stray.” All the way home, down that long dirt road, and then along the narrow streets lined with old cottages, Griffin played that exchange over in his head. Griffin peddled faster. He would just avoid that whole crowd. He had hit Conrad so hard, his knuckles still bled. He tried not to think about the drone, but that mark crept into Griffin’s mind displacing his other unpleasant thoughts about Conrad and India. He still couldn’t believe the seemingly smalltime gang spread so far north as Williams. Now he rode up his remote street, dense with pines. Griffin was so wrapped up in the horror of the afternoon’s fallout, he wasn’t aware that one lanky and lean hundred-pound white wolf trotted after him.

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11 Hard at work ruining dinner, James Roark didn’t notice Griffin finally pedaling his bike in from the long road home. Like many eighteen-year-old young men, James’ talents were stronger on the football field than in the kitchen, but unlike most other eighteen-yearold young men, he had recently discovered that he loved to cook. This passion for the kitchen didn’t make his experiments taste any better, it just meant that they were more frequent. Harder to avoid. But now that he had his grandmother’s nearly professional kitchen and exotic ingredients like capers and curry at his disposal, Griffin figured it was only a matter of time before James got something to taste right. James beamed up from the stove as his serious little brother came in, “Hey, Griffin. So? How was your first day at school?” “Oh exhilarating,” Griffin answered, returning the smile. “I can’t wait to wake up in the morning so I can go back. And how was yours?” “Fascinating. This meal,” James said shoveling some brown mush onto a yellow spatula, “I think this here might be some of my best work.” “Well, it looks exquisite,” Griffin said, “so... brown.” “Pork and beans. Not many cowboys out there can get this here color brown just right. Go get washed up for dinner,” James said. “Dad will be home any minute.” Griffin obediently went to the hall bath to wash his hands. In the kitchen, James scraped the spatula against the now smoking metal pan. The heat caused the pan to click rapidly against the hot element of the stovetop. Click click click click click click. “You’ll make someone a wonderful wife someday, James,” Griffin said as he took off his shirt. He soaped his hands and face. He leaned into the mirror and examined his torso. The sound from the kitchen made Griffin dizzy. Ever since his accident, most repetitive sounds had a strange effect on him.
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Click click click click click click. As he looked in the mirror, the incident with the diablero came flooding back to him, the venom

dripping on his chest. The snake coiling beneath his flesh. Shaking, Griffin reached up to flick it off, but the snake shot out beneath Griffin’s stretched skin, to strike at his hand. Griffin cried out quietly and jumped back, knocking a picture crooked on the bathroom wall.

In the kitchen, James took the pan off the heat. The clicking stopped, and Griffin was jarred back into reality. His naked chest was unmarked. The snake was gone. “Yeah, hope she can cook better than I can,” James replied. Griffin came back into the kitchen shaking off the effects of the dream. He pulled his shirt on over his head and dried his hands on it. “Who can cook?” Griffin asked. “Oh never mind, Griffin,” James mumbled. “Speaking of cooking, any sign of Nonni? I thought grandmothers were supposed to like to cook,” Griffin said. James looked at Griffin, his eyes wide, and gave him the slightest shake of his head. From behind Griffin, a woman coughed. “I’m here,” she said. “I have a life, a career, research. Forgive me for not springing into the role of kitchen wench because a few boys are inhabiting my guest rooms.” “Sorry, Nonni,” Griffin said. In the short time that they had known her, the boys had gotten used to the fact that she was always dressed in smart skirt suits with gold buttons, or rich woolen dresses and heels. Her glossy black bob was always styled and she always wore lipstick, jewelry, and perfume. When she cooked, which the family considered a rare and delicious break from James’ concoctions, she draped a crisp white apron over her clothes, but tonight she looked especially polished. “I’m having dinner in town with a colleague from the university,” she added for effect. “Do you have a date, Nonni?” James asked her. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a married woman! Besides, I have more important things to do than to bother with old men.” She gazed intently out the window. “That’s a fine looking animal,” she said pointedly. Griffin followed his grandmother’s gaze out the window. There, to Griffin’s surprise, pacing back and forth in front of their house was the white dog from the lake. “Looks almost like a wolf,” James marveled.

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“That’s the dog,” Griffin silently mouthed to James. “From last night.” “Why you so crazy, Griff ?” James said smiling. As Sam Roark’s truck pulled up in the driveway, the dog slipped behind the garage and remained out of sight while Sam Roark and his two boys shoveled down what Griffin had accurately predicted would be an unpleasant meal. The Roarks ate dinner precisely at five-thirty each night. Sam Roark had always been a stickler for tradition, routine. He still tried to run his household like he ran his ranch. Five-thirty dinner seemed to be the last bastion of normalcy left in the man’s otherwise ruined life. “So you’re having those dreams of yours?” Sam asked Griffin from the head of the table. “Yes, sir,” Griffin replied, taking his time. “They gettin’ any worse?” Sam inquired, ripping off a piece of stale white roll and stuffing it in his mouth. “No, sir,” Griffin lied. Sensing Griffin’s discomfort, James tried to change the subject. “So how’s your new job going?” he asked their father. Sam flinched. “Swinging a hammer is not like running cattle. Working on the pipeline will get us by. I’m not much concerned with my work on the pipeline right now; I’m concerned about your brother,” he said to James and then turned his attention back to Griffin. “So, you think you can fit in here at this school then, or not?” “I’m doing okay.” Griffin got up to remove his plate. “Don’t walk away when I’m speaking to you, boy,” Sam growled. Griffin carried his dish back to the table dragging his feet like he was wearing concrete slippers. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but this is what we got,” Sam continued. “You got a second chance, boy. Make the most of it. Your mother didn’t get a second chance.” Griffin sensed accusation in Sam’s tone. “If you say so,” Griffin answered. He felt like he was going crazy. If he kept his mouth shut maybe he could hide that unpleasant fact from his father, who certainly wouldn’t make things any easier. “May I be excused, sir?” “Yeah,” Sam answered as he choked down another bit of dry hamburger. “After you clear the table.” Sam Roark looked at the skinny animal out the window and thought of Atticus and Little Boo, the cattle dogs back at the ranch. Now, he had an idea.
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“I think there’s a dog out front who’d be mighty grateful for those scraps,” Sam said to Griffin. “Why don’t you go out and see if he wants ’em?” It was the closest thing to an apology Sam Roark had in him. “Dad, I think that dog attacked me last night,” Griffin said, less thinking than knowing. James rolled his eyes and playfully threw a piece of dinner roll at Griffin. Hit him in the forehead, square. “If I would’ve caught you sneaking out,” Sam said, “you would have got the same treatment from me. Go on, boy. He looks hungry.” Griffin gingerly stepped out on the porch and placed the bowl of leftovers on the dirt at the bottom of the stairs. The dog backed up. Griffin slid the bowl toward the dog with his foot. The animal sat down and watched Griffin. It didn’t look so scary in the daytime. Just a pup, really. “Go ahead. Eat it,” Griffin said, a little annoyed. As if the dog understood, he launched himself at the bowl and devoured the food in seconds. It took four more trips inside and four more bowls of food before the dog looked satisfied. That night, the big white wolf-dog slept on the floor in Griffin’s room as if it were where he had always belonged. Griffin called him Scout.

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Later that week in Mrs. Driver’s class, Griffin tried to concentrate on his reading. He could only get through a few sentences at a time. The droning sound of the fan in the central heater, vrrm, vrrm, vrrm, hypnotized him, tearing his mind away from the words in front of his eyes and transporting him to a place miles away from the classroom. “Griffin?” Taber’s low whisper from across the aisle shook Griffin from his daydream. There he was again, in Mrs. Driver’s room, pretending to read like everyone else. “Griffin, you comin’ to Buckskinner today?” Taber asked. “No,” Griffin offered over his book. “Come on. You’re not worried about Conrad are you?” “Taber, Griffin, keep it down back there,” Mrs. Driver said without looking up from her own book. Taber pretended to read again for about twenty-seconds before starting up again. “Marita asked all about you.” “What—who?” Griffin said. “Taber, Griffin, quiet,” Mrs. Driver repeated. A girl sitting in front of Griffin with thick blond streaks bleached into her dark hair turned around and blinked her blue frosted eyelashes at him, trying to listen in. “Marita. You know, the blonde from Buckskinner.” “Top shelf ?” Griffin said with a little grin. “That’s the one,” Taber said. Marita asked about him. So what. Griffin wondered if India had asked about him. He stole a look at her across the room. She was listening to her iPod, absorbed in her work. Just then, a crumpled up piece of paper hit Griffin in the side of the head. He smoothed it out. “Your dead, freek,” the note read in a heavy, labored scrawl.
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Back to Mexico.

Back with Lupe and Snip.

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Griffin looked up to see Conrad smiling and nodding at him. “See, no hard feelings. He likes you.” Taber continued in a conspiratorial tone. A nasally voice on the school’s intercom interrupted their conversation: “Griffin Roark, please come to the office. Griffin Roark, to the office.” For ten minutes, Griffin waited on a hard bench outside the principal’s office. Just when he was considering putting his feet up, the door finally opened. Mrs. Gustafson stood waiting for him, all pudgy and orange-haired. Reluctantly, Griffin entered her lair. “Griffin, how are you doing here at Williams?” she asked with a saccharine smile. Let’s see, Griffin thought, I got in a fight with the class bully, nearly stepped in front of a moving train, and I think I might be going crazy. “I’m fine,” Griffin summed up. “The workload is not a problem for you.” Griffin had to laugh. Between the visions of diablero snake-men, seeing that the gang that ruined his old life was now a part of his new life, and the dream of his recently deceased mother trying to make him get hit by a train, homework was fairly low on the list of menacing influences in his life. “No, the coursework is fine,” he assured her. “How are you fitting in?” “Oh, I’m fitting in just fine,” he said with a smile that had some edges to it. “Griffin, do you feel like you might be different from the other kids?” she asked. “Yes,” he said suddenly exhausted. “Yes, I do feel that I might be different.” It was all suddenly just too much for him. He sunk in his seat, so tired he could cry. Mrs. Gustafson smiled at the break in him, and prepared to push him to the point of humiliation. She pushed herself back from the desk with her short arms, and stood over him. “Conrad Gutierrez’ father called me this morning,” Mrs. Gustafson reported with great satisfaction. “Earlier this week, you attacked him after school at Buckskinner Park.” “I didn’t attack him,” Griffin said. “How could I attack him? You’ve seen him!” “That wasn’t a question, Mr. Roark,” Principal Gustafson said. “The Gutierrezes are a cornerstone in our community. You’ve just arrived yesterday, and already we have a problem on our hands.”
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“I don’t know how things were done in Tucson, Mr. Roark,” she continued, “but here, fighting is prohibited. I’ve read your file. You’re obviously troubled, but you must learn that there are consequences for your actions. You can’t expect special treatment just because you’re family’s been through some hard times lately.” Griffin was about to overflow with anger, but Principal Gustafson spoke again before he could start. “I intend to call your father this evening and discuss this behavior.” Griffin knew that whatever trouble he got in at school would be multiplied by ten when his father found out, but there was no point in arguing with this woman. She enjoyed delivering bad news. “Well, I guess that will be all, Griffin,” Mrs. Gustafson smiled at Griffin. “Be well aware that I have my eye on you. Consider this a warning. You should be grateful I didn’t decide to give you detention for this stunt.” Griffin was not grateful. He would have preferred weeks of detention to a single phone call to his father. Even when things were at their best, Sam Roark never sided with Griffin. If he got in any trouble at school, Griffin could always expect twice as much from his dad when he got home. Fighting was especially not tolerated. This fact had made Griffin a careful boy, outwardly quiet and obedient. But it seemed that no matter how careful he was, he couldn’t do anything right. He was ready to stop being careful. As soon as he was out the office door the last bell of the day rang. Griffin threw open the red double doors that separated the school from the rest of the world for seven hours each day. Outside, the tiny town of Williams waited for Griffin in all its dowdiness. The sky was sunny but the cold air whipped around the old brick buildings furiously. He walked up the street through the town’s meager business district; a single street lined with fifty-year-old motels and trinket shops, relying financially on their proximity to the Grand Canyon for tourist business. Stacks of Navajo blankets and Zuni pots decorated every storefront. A carved bear and a totem pole even flanked the doorway of one shop. Before he got far, Taber caught up with him on his bike. “So why were you called to the office? Did you get busted by Mrs. Disgustafson?” Taber said peddling up along side him. “Conrad,” Griffin summed up. “How did she find out about that? Conrad was just goofing off. He wasn’t mad about that dog or whatever. We talked about it this morning. He doesn’t even care,” Taber said. “He was more worried
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he had blown his chances with Hive for fighting. He’s been trying to become a drone since eighth grade.” Griffin stopped. “Doesn’t it bother you that your friend is joining a gang?” “Gang?” Taber said, confused. “Hive is more like a club. They have parties and stuff. Keep the peace. This used to be a pretty tough town before they came along a few years back. Now everything’s more… I don’t know…organized, I guess. If that drone wasn’t there yesterday, things would have easily gone bad with Conrad. He’s cool, but he’s got a pretty bad temper sometimes.” Taber was right. That drone saved him from a beating the day before. In Tucson, the Hive just seemed to have parties like the one he went to with his brother. Though it made him uncomfortable to see them around, Griffin had to admit that it was more likely that what happened with the drones in Mexico was the exception rather than the rule. An anomaly. Taber reached across his bike to pick something off Griffin’s shoulder. “Hair, or something,” he said. “Look, my dad’s going to be working all night Friday.” “So?” Griffin said. “Can you sneak out?” Taber said furtively. “I think Marita’s coming. We’re going up to the Homestead.” “No way,” Griffin answered. “I’m already in so much trouble. You have no idea.” That’s when he saw him. There was no doubt about it. Four doors up the street, slouching out of Dairy Queen just then was the kid from Griffin’s dream. He wore the visor, collared shirt, and ugly polyester pants of every fast-food worker across the planet, and the thickest pair of glasses he had ever seen. Griffin froze and watched him. The kid saw him staring and went for his bike, a brand new one. Griffin guessed the bike was the one that he told Griffin about in his dream. “Hey!” Griffin called out to him, but the kid looked back and just took off, peddling like the devil was after him. “You know Brandon Henrig?” Taber said with a crinkle of his nose, disappointed that Griffin would take any interest in such a geek. “That’s his name?” Griffin watched Brandon disappear down the street. “What’s with you, man?” Taber asked. Griffin looked at Taber, and for a second Taber gave him a soft,
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puzzled smile. The tension in Griffin eased a bit. Taber was just trying to be friendly. “Hey, Griffin!” James rolled up in his old mint green pickup, his cowboy hat sitting far back on his head. Griffin couldn’t believe he actually wore it to school here, but Griffin knew the very things he would be teased about mercilessly, looked effortlessly cool on James. His classmates probably called James “Cowboy” too, but they were probably thinking about John Wayne when they said it. “Look, I gotta go,” Griffin said. “It’s my brother.” Taber noticed the white wolf balancing happily in the back, panting. “That’s your dog?” Apparently, James found the question hilarious. He laughed aloud as he coaxed the complaining truck into gear. “Don’t know what it is, really,” said Griffin as he hopped into the noisy truck. The Roark boys drove away, leaving Taber with more questions than answers.

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13 Griffin had a fence to build before his father got home. Whether it was to keep the deer out or Griffin and his new wolf-dog in, didn’t matter. The fence would be nothing fancy, just wood posts and wire mesh. Even though it would clash terribly with his grandmother’s perfect Victorian house, that’s the way Sam Roark wanted it. That’s the way they would have built a fence on the ranch. Their dad was a no-nonsense kind of guy. James dug the holes and Griffin hammered in those fence posts sure and straight. By the time he had hammered in the last post, it was four-thirty. But then, way before schedule, he heard the telephone ring inside. James put down his shovel to respond. Griffin tried to distract him. Doing his best to hide the anxiety in his voice, Griffin called out to his older brother, “Come on, James. Quit beating the devil around the stump and help me out over here.” James turned around to see his little brother struggling a bit wildly with a large roll of chicken wire. “Hold on a sec,” James called out over his shoulder. As he opened the door, the phone stopped ringing. “There goes my date for Friday,” James said with a wink. “Seriously? You already have a date?” Griffin said, truly in awe of his big brother. “No.” James laughed. “Maybe?” Together they rolled out the fence wire and secured it to the posts. By five minutes to five o’clock, they were done. When Griffin stepped on to the front porch, Scout bolted out of the house with something in his mouth. Something dark brown. The dog loped out the unfinished gate and around the perimeter of the fence, bouncing gleefully, if not entirely gracefully, on giant paws. “That dog of yours is about to get you in a heap of trouble,” James announced as he took his gloves off and tossed his shovel into the garage. “You know that leather case you weren’t supposed to touch?” James pointed to the dog. There it was, plain as day, dangling from the animal’s jaws.
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“No,” Griffin said in disbelief. “Oh yes. He’s had his eye on that thing from the get-go. Dog’s a regular thief.” Whatever was in the leather case made a noise like rain. A rattle? “Come here, Scout,” Griffin called to him, but the dog shied away, hearing the tension in his voice. He made a lunge for the dog, and the animal streaked into the forest. James shook his head and giggled at Griffin’s predicament. “You go after him, Griffin. I’ve gotta get dinner on the table. Dad’s going to be home any minute.” By the time James said this, the dog was out of sight and Griffin, chasing him, was out of breath, the sound of the rattle making him feel weird. Dizzy. Every once in a while, to the music of the rattle, Griffin would catch a glimpse of the dog’s ear zooming behind a tree or the tip of his silvery tail hopping over a boulder, but as they sped on through the forest, Griffin saw and heard less and less of these clues until he stopped running altogether because he had no idea in which direction to continue. Silence. The sun was setting now and the air changed from chilly to downright cold. His first inclination was to turn back, but then he remembered the phone call from his teacher that his father had surely received by now. Next, Griffin realized that he really wasn’t sure how to find his way back even if he did want to get there. It had been at least fifteen minutes since he saw the last house, and he had been so focused on the chase, so distracted by the sound, that he hadn’t been paying much attention to landmarks or even to which direction he was running. Griffin made his way through the trees, unable to shake the trance of the rattling sound. He hadn’t been wandering long, maybe ten minutes, when he heard the rattling noise again, this time quick and urgent, combined with the sound of an animal moving quickly through

the pine needles. Hearing the rhythm like that, the whole forest seemed to transform from his everyday world into a shadowy ghost realm overlaid with grids of lines and geometric patterns. All at once, Scout was headed towards him with the leather case in his mouth, and then zoomed right by like he was being chased, dropping the case. “Stupid dog, Griffin muttered and hurried along to grab the leather case before Scout changed his mind and came back wanting to play keep-away again. Griffin stood in the forest with the case in his hand and gave it a
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shake. And then another. The more he shook it, the stronger the feeling was that the world around him wasn’t real, and the clearer he saw ghostly grids superimposed upon the trees, the rocks, and even the sky, as if the world he saw around him was merely a blueprint drawing. As he played with the rattle, he glanced up and saw Scout glaring out at him, growling from behind a tree. He looked real enough. Not ghostly at all. “What’s wrong, Scout,” Griffin said softly “Why are you growling at me, boy?” Griffin suddenly remembered what it was like to feel threatened by the large animal. In a feeble attempt to bribe the dog into not attacking him, he continued to shake the case and offered it back to the dog. When Scout didn’t respond, Griffin moved slowly a couple of steps to the right. Oddly, Scout’s gaze didn’t follow him. Then slowly it dawned on Griffin to look behind him. What Griffin would later think of as only a “black shadow on long legs” towered above him, apparently ready to swallow him whole. A deafening bellow shook the forest as what was left of daylight drained from the sky. The horrifying sound seemed to come from everywhere. Terrified, Griffin screamed and ran. As Griffin and Scout ran from the shadow creature through the ghostly woods, Griffin prayed that he was dreaming. The world around him, grey and sketchy, didn’t look real, the idea that a shadow monster would be chasing him through the woods didn’t seem real, in fact, the only thing that did seem real was his terror and the sound of the rattle. Trailing behind Scout along the top edge of a small horseshoe canyon, in what Griffin hoped was the direction of home, he looked over his shoulder as he ran to see how closely he was chased. There was nothing. Panicked, he spun around trying to look up, behind him, in all directions, as quickly a possible without slowing down. The whole forest seemed to hide shadows in its branches and behind its rocks and trunks. Before Griffin could regain his bearing, he tripped over something large in front of him. The world slipped out from beneath him. He slammed into the ground and rolled, stopping just short of the edge of the canyon. He looked up with the shock of what he had just seen still on his face. Another shocked face looked back at him. India. He had tripped over her, hiding up here listening to her iPod, spying on the chase she had seen by accident. The shadow gathered itself up and reformed into the long-legged
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monster. India screamed. “Shoot dang! You can see that?” he shouted. He would have been more comfortable thinking that he was going crazy than having to admit that the monster that prepared to pounce on them was real. “Give me that,” she said, snatching the leather case from Griffin. Instinctively, he fought to keep it, making it jangle loudly. Scout jumped into the mix and tried to snatch it away as well. “It’s an ally,” India shouted. “Whose ally is it?” Griffin demanded, eyes wide. “Not ours,” India answered. The ally turned its shadow head to Griffin and India, and charged them. “Quit it,” India yelled at Griffin and Scout, as she wrestled the case away from them and rolled on top of it, trapping it between her body and the ground, finally silencing it. One second, before the ally closed its enormous mouth around them all, it stopped, hovering above them. “Okay,” she said, out of breath. Slowly, without letting the case rattle at all, she removed one of her iPod earbuds from her own ear and handed it to Griffin. Griffin reluctantly put the earbud in his ear. The music was horrible. Some kind of weird jazz, like all of the musicians played their instruments at the same time, doing whatever they wanted. But the rhythm —or lack of it—quickly undid the effect of the fast steady rhythm of the rattle, it transported him out of the weird ghost forest and back into his own layer of reality. His own everyday world. Griffin squinted. Smoke, thin at first and then strong and white, seemed to billow into the air, forming a ladder into the ground. “See, it’s leaving.” India whispered. Vaguely, he could make out the fading scene of the ally sliding down the ladder like syrup, disappearing. The world had gone back to normal.

“Can it still get us?” Griffin demanded. “Not now. Only when we journey,” she said, finally relaxing. She gave him a hand to his feet. “We were wide-open targets.” “What just happened here?” Griffin asked “You were journeying,” India answered. “What?” “Any rhythm at three to six cycles per second produces an alpha/

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theta brain state in most people. It’s like a deep dream, only you’re wide-awake. That’s journeying. I first recognized what was happening when I was at an after hours Homestead party and saw everyone all tranced out.” “I saw you there the other night,” Griffin said. India continued, ignoring him “You used the rhythm from that rattle to travel outside of your body and see things that are normally invisible to us. Everyone can journey. Some people just do it more naturally than others.” “Like you,” Griffin surmised. “And you,” India added. Griffin had to wonder if it they didn’t have more to do with the ritual that the diablero did to him in Mexico, than any natural ability. “Yeah, I’ve been having these weird daydreams for a while,” he admitted, guardedly. “Journeys,” India corrected. In the time she had taken to explain, Scout had furiously dug a hole and was trying to bury the leather case. “No, no,” India said and took the case away from Scout, gently without making it rattle. “Whatever is in this case,” she said, “calls that thing. Where did you get it?” India asked and started walking. Griffin didn’t have much of a choice. He followed her. “It’s my grandfather’s. I was supposed to bring it to him,” Griffin said. “Well, your grandfather must be a very powerful shaman to have an ally like that. You really need to get that rattle back to him. Without a shaman to control it, an ally will run wild, devouring the souls of anything it meets.” They came to the edge of the forest to a dark street. Not a single car. Griffin would have appreciated some streetlights. “But I don’t know where my grandfather is,” Griffin said. “Why don’t we just destroy it? Then it can’t be called.” “And let that thing loose on the world to prey on anyone who gets too interested in the wrong rhythms?” India cried. “Are you crazy?” Griffin knew for certain he didn’t want that ally thing waiting for him the next time he accidentally heard a noisy ceiling fan or something and slipped into a journey. “My dad’s looking for my grandfather now. If he doesn’t find him, I will,” Griffin promised. “Meanwhile, the ally thinks you’re trying to command it—in place of its rightful shaman master. Stay out of the journey until you can find your grandpa.”
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“But I can’t, Griffin said. “I just doze off all the time.” “Then I would seriously consider trying to learn how to control that, unless you want to become an ally snack.” “Okay. I’ll learn,” Griffin resolved. “You can show me.” “I really don’t know that much about this stuff,” India said. She could see that Griffin was about to lose his temper, so she offered, “Wait, calm down. One of the world’s foremost experts in Shamanism lives right here in Williams. She wrote the book on most of this stuff, literally. And I read it. If anyone can help us, it’s her. She teaches anthropology at the university. Professor Catalano. She can show you how to get your journeys under control.” “Professor Catalano?” Griffin prayed he had heard her wrong. Watched his goal get even harder than he had imagined. Watched his hope disintegrate. “This is me,” India said pointing to the house before them. She climbed the steps up to her front door, and turned back to him. “You’ve heard of Professor Catalano? She’s brilliant,” India gushed. “Yeah, I’ve heard of her,” Griffin groaned. “Professor Mafalda Catalano is my grandmother.”

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14 “You’re a very bad dog,” Griffin said to Scout once India said goodnight and left them alone on the porch. Scout looked back at him happy again, clueless. “Very bad,” Griffin repeated. Scout’s tail thumped on the porch. Grinned a giant dog smile. “You have no idea what I’m saying do you?” Griffin said. Scout jumped up as if this interaction meant something wonderful was about to happen to him. Something like dinner. Griffin shook his head. Inside, India must have flicked the porch light off because Griffin and Scout were left out in the dark. After what he had seen in the forest, Griffin felt especially anxious. He felt like something was rushing out towards him from the woods with the wind. Try as he might, he could not force himself to step from the porch. The fur on Scout’s back bristled and he bared his teeth much the way he did when he saw the ally. The dog’s muscles tightened, poised for an attack. As Griffin’s heart pounded, he tried to think of what to do. Paralyzed by his fear, he couldn’t even bring himself to ring India’s doorbell because the ally could spring at him out of the woods when his back was turned. Then Griffin smelled something familiar burning. The distinctive scent of his grandmother’s living room wafted through the forest. It smelled like Christmas trees on fire. Like an explosion at a gin distillery. Then he heard a drum beating again, slowly. He heard one beat. And then one, two. And then one, two, three. And then one, two, three, four. The fear from the darkness disappeared as quickly as it surfaced. Scout’s fur laid flat on his back and again wagged his tail. He trotted off in the woods. Griffin followed, trying to shake off the eerie
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feeling. To Griffin’s amazement, it took him only ten minutes to walk home. Maybe he came the long way round when he was chasing Scout, but it really was just a straight shot from his back door and up a small ridge to India’s house. He tried to keep the leather case from making any noise. He had seen enough for one night. Though he stumbled a bit in the night, the ground was pretty even and he had Scout to follow. When he hit his property line, he checked his watch. It was almost six o’clock. Griffin couldn’t even begin to imagine the trouble he would be in. The last hour of his life had been so bizarre that he had almost completely forgotten that the principal had phoned his father and he had missed dinner. Griffin stashed the leather case behind the garage to retrieve at a more opportune time and opened the front door. He was shocked to find the table still set. A fire burned in the fireplace. His father and brother lounged on the sofa that looked as if it had never been sat on before the Roark boys rolled into town. They watched the game on television like nothing was wrong. Nonni was reading a book by the fire. Research. They looked up as Griffin wiped his shoes on the mat. “You sure took your time getting home,” his dad said pointedly. It didn’t seem to Griffin that his father was mad, just that he felt obligated to say something stern because he had delayed dinner. “Sorry, sir,” Griffin whispered. “Don’t say sorry to me. Apologize to James. He’s the one who went looking for you, after that animal of yours took off.” “Sorry, James,” Griffin said. He searched James’ face, and slowly began to gather that James hadn’t said anything and no one else had realized the leather case was missing. Further disaster narrowly averted. Postponed until further notice. He smiled gratefully at James. “No problem, Griffin,” James said with a smirk. “Now let’s go eat that dinner your brother fixed for us. I can’t imagine it will taste any better cold,” Sam said. “Your school called today, Griffin,” his grandmother said. Griffin’s heart went into his mouth. “Yeah?” he managed to choke out. “Your teacher said you got a one-hundred percent on your math quiz? Congratulations,” his grandmother said with no expression in her voice whatsoever. Griffin didn’t even have a math quiz that week. “How lucky that I was home to get the news,” she continued with a
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smile that didn’t touch her eyes. “Maybe tomorrow they’ll call to tell us Griffin finished all of his green beans at lunch,” James joked. No one responded. Griffin saw that his grandmother knew he had gotten in trouble, but—at least for the moment—she wasn’t talking. Later that night, Griffin rolled over in his bed, unable to sleep. When he got up to get a glass of water, Scout followed him down the hall. As he passed his grandmother’s study, he could see light dancing under the door. She had a fire still going in there. He knocked, not sure what he was after. She opened the door. Here it was after midnight, and she was still dressed like she was going to an important meeting in a big city. “It’s a little late, don’t you think?” Mafalda said. “Sorry,” Griffin said. “You’re always apologizing,” Mafalda said. “Bad habit.” Scout pushed his way beyond Mafalda and settled down between a pair of armchairs by the fire. Griffin followed, taking one of the chairs for himself as Mafalda closed the door behind them. The books in the room glowed eerily by the light of the fire and set strange foreboding shadows across the room. The pine smell was stronger in this room. Coming from the fireplace. Griffin didn’t know where to begin. How could he possibly tell her what was going on without her thinking he was insane? And what did he really expect her to do? “Nonni, how long do you think it will be before my dad finds Grandpa Leo?” “Your grandpa will be found when and if he wants to be found and not a second sooner,” she said. “Why? What’s this about?” “Nonni, what’s a shaman?” he asked. His grandmother sighed. Put on her professor voice. “Shamans are spirit travelers. In Alaska, China, in North and South America, in Pakistan, Singapore, India, Tibet, Australia, Mexico, Russia, Europe, and Africa—on every continent in every part of the world—people have been journeying with the help of drums and rattles since the dawn of humanity—each culture, each shaman in his own unique way.” “Are they like the diableros in Mexico? Witches?” Griffin surmised nervously. “No. Witches only produce illusions and perform rituals to procure a desired result, like doing what you think will be perceived as a nice thing to get someone to like you. A shaman recognizes that
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there is only one illusion, the fantasy that everything in this world appears to be separate from everything else,” Mafalda said. “And, because shamans can look beyond this veil of separateness, they are able to affect the world as if they were simply moving an extension of themselves.” “You believe that?” Griffin asked skeptically. “It sounds a little silly.” “It doesn’t matter what I believe. I’m an Anthropology professor. It’s not my job to believe; it’s my job to study. But I can tell you that shamans believe that everything in the world is alive, conscious, interconnected, and interdependent. Shamans negotiate a balance between humans and the rest of the natural world. But they usually go insane. Or maybe they start off insane,” Mafalda frowned thoughtfully. “I haven’t figured that out yet.” “Well, what if someone had to figure out a way to stop journeying? What’s the fastest way to do that?” Griffin said. Mafalda looked like she was going to demand an explanation but then stopped and did the unthinkable. She simply answered his question. “I suppose if a regular person wanted to control his journeys, he would become a shaman, a master of the journey.” Griffin couldn’t hide his disappointment. “That sounds hard. Isn’t there like a special charm or something the person could wear? Something easy?” “Oh like magic?” his grandmother answered brightly. “Yeah,” Griffin smiled. Now she was getting it. “There’s no such thing as magic, Griffin. Only cause and effect, and hard work.” Griffin felt like he had been slapped. “Fine,” he said, “then how would someone become a shaman?” “Shamans are called to their profession. Their power seeks them out, but I suppose the first step would be to go on a vision quest. journey to the directions. Ask them for help. But ultimately, to be truly initiated, a potential shaman must make contact with a power animal or an ally.” “An ally,” Griffin said. He was sure he didn’t want to make any further contact with an ally. “It’s all in my third book, Awake, the Dragon: Shamanism in the Twenty-First Century. If there isn’t a copy laying around here somewhere, I’m sure you could secure one at the local library.” “Can you help me?” he asked her.
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“I believe I just did,” she answered. “Thanks,” Griffin said, unsure if he had been helped or treated like an absolute stranger. Though she seemed to have shut down, he thought he’d try one more question that night. “Is Grandpa Leo a shaman?” It was as if he had never even spoken. “Traumatic accident, loss of a loved one, vivid dreams,” she muttered, reciting a list to herself. Finally, she looked back at him. “How old are you, Griffin? I never thought to ask.” “Fourteen. Fifteen in a few months,” Griffin replied. Mafalda smiled. “Of course you are.” She got up suddenly, and opened the door. “Good night, Griffin.” Thus curtly dismissed by his grandmother, Griffin and Scout went downstairs to get the glass of water he started out for and then went back to his bed. Before he turned the light off, he noticed a silver key glistening on his pillow. Looked to his door. No sign of his grandmother. No sound. No sign of anything at all. Curious, he snuck back downstairs, crept outside and found his grandfather’s leather case behind the garage. He tucked it under his shirt and went back upstairs to his room, careful not to jostle it too much. He tried the key in the lock on the leather case. It clicked open. Along with the rattle that called the ally, which turned out to be little more than a gourd filled with beans or pebbles and a piece of silver duct tape across a hole in the bottom to keep them from falling out, Griffin found a silver compass and a note that looked to him as old as donkey’s ears. “There are two kinds of people in the world: wise men who seek the truth and fools who do not,” it read. “Welcome, Seeker.”

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15 Griffin stared out the lunchroom window to the miserable grey field outside trying to bend a stale French-fry against the plastic tray. Ketchup, the wrong shade of red. Outdated. He pulled his jacket closed around himself. In his first week at school in Williams, he learned that all the kids wore jackets inside because the school didn’t have enough money in the budget to fix the central heater. Griffin had never been so cold in all his life. How could anyone choose to live in such a horrible climate when there was perfectly mild weather only a few hours south? Across the lunchroom Taber waved and made his way over to Griffin. The girls looked at him with a vague curiosity, but he hadn’t managed to get India alone to speak to her. All the guys pretty much ignored him after that first day. Taber was the only thing that made his life at school bearable. “Did you finish that worksheet for Driver’s class?” Taber asked him, slinging his backpack on the table. “Yeah,” Griffin said. “You wouldn’t happen to have it on you, would you?” Taber asked. Griffin pulled it out of his backpack and slid it across the lunchroom table to Taber. “Oh thanks, man. I have no idea what she is talking about, direct objects.” “I don’t either,” Griffin said. “My brother helped me. He talks like it makes sense to him, but I don’t know. This could be all wrong.” Covertly, Taber copied Griffin’s answers and then gave his paper back to him. “What are you doing in here? No one eats in the lunchroom,” Taber said, despite the fact that the room was full. “Come on,” he said grabbing Griffin’s fries and backpack. “We’re starting a pickup game. You play basketball don’t you?” “Sure,” Griffin said and followed him to the courts.
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The teams were already assembled. It was Conrad, Taber, Luis, and Griffin against Patrick, Enrico, Antwan, and a girl. She was big and it didn’t look like she was fooling around. “Who’s that?” Griffin asked “That is Julia Garza. You do not want to mess with her,” Taber told him. “Why are we playing with girls?” Griffin asked him under his breath. “You hear that Julia?” Conrad said. “Cowboy here wants to know why he has to play with girls.” “You done talking trash and ready to get smoked, Cowboy?” she called out to Griffin across the court. Griffin didn’t say anything so she threw the ball at him, hard. Griffin caught it. His hands stung. “That’s what I thought,” Julia said. Conrad won the tip off against Antwan, and sent the ball to Taber. Taber took it down the court and passed it to Luis but Patrick was too quick and snatched it easily away. He passed it to Enrico. Griffin was there but Enrico was a lot more graceful—and quicker— than he looked in his huge, puffy Raiders jacket and ski cap. Enrico passed the ball behind his back to Julia, who was waiting for it. She took the shot from the free throw line and scored her team three points. “That’s what I’m talking about,” she said to no one in particular and then tossed the ball over to Antwan. “Make it, take it.” Antwan took the ball to half court and then charged the basket. Griffin dove in and stole it out from under him. Griffin took the ball to the top of the key and passed the ball to Taber, who passed it right back to him with a smile. Enrico was guarding him close, but he went in for a lay-up and caught an elbow in the chin from Conrad. Missed. “Whose team are you on?” Griffin said. Just then Griffin noticed the ticking of the game clock and he began to feel dizzy. No, he

thought. Not here.

“If you couldn’t make the shot, you should have passed,” Conrad said. Griffin would have replied but the world around him started going

grey, and the telltale geometric lines outlining the world around him told him he was slipping into a journey. Meanwhile, Patrick took the ball back and passed it to Julia. She spun
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around and took the shot, but Taber swatted it away. “Julia got stuffed,” Luis taunted. They all looked like phantoms to Griffin. He had to get out of there, away from that clock. Just as he rushed to get off the court, Taber passed the ball to Griffin, but Conrad stepped in front of him and Griffin stumbled. Antwan picked the ball off, cleared it, and made a bank shot. Griffin picked himself up off the ground as the lights in the room began to dim. He looked around. No one else saw it. As the shadows in the room become more pronounced, he heard that terrible deafening bellow. The ally was coming. Griffin held his head trying to push out the sound of the clock. The rest of the kids oblivious to what was going on in Griffin’s parallel world, the basketball game went on. Taber got the ball, pushed his way by Enrico, and made a jump shot as Julia went for the ball. He took one to the chin, but the shot went in. “And one.” Taber said, passing the ball to a shocked Griffin. “Make it, take it.” Griffin stood holding the ball, but before he could get rid of it and get himself off the court, he saw Conrad running for him hard from one side and the ally, a great hungry shadow leaping towards him, from the other side. Griffin didn’t even have to think about it, he ran away from the ally right for Conrad, colliding with him mid-court. The impact knocked the ball from Griffin’s hand. The ball flew through the air in a high arc and went into the net without even touching the rim. Just then the buzzer rang, and the game clock stopped. As Griffin’s world went back to normal, the ally faded and disappeared down his ladder of smoke. None of the other kids had any idea what Griffin had just
gone through. “The pot of gold at the end of the rainbow,” Patrick said with funny accent. “Not bad, Cowboy. Next time you can wear my colors.” “Maybe then I won’t be hacked by my own team,” Griffin said, as much to Conrad as to Patrick. Conrad walked up to Griffin all puffed up, “What you saying, Cowboy? You can’t dance?” He pushed Griffin back, chest to chest. “I think Cowboy can shoot them hoops,” Julia, said, stepping up. “He’s all right by me.” “That boy got schooled,” Conrad said.
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“Yeah well next time why don’t you leave the schooling to the other team,” Luis said. “I actually don’t want to get beat by a girl.” This statement caused a lot talk from both sides, mostly from Julia, who answered their slams with the kind of confidence and humor that comes from knowing you’re one of the guys. Griffin wasn’t yet one of the guys so when he saw India standing courtside waiting to talk to him, he grabbed his bag and slipped away with her before the game clock started up again. “Did you see that?” Griffin asked. India turned off her iPod. “Yeah,” she said, so that just happens to you everywhere? That easily?” “I told you it did.” Griffin nearly shouted at her. “I thought you were exaggerating,” India said, trying to control her tone. People were starting to stare. “And that thing just came after me,” Griffin said, as quietly as he could. India pulled him into a doorway. The library. “No one ever comes in here,” she promised him. She led him behind the biography section, and they sat down on the carpet behind the shelves. “Whose idea was that, anyway?” India said as they walked down the hall. “Playing full-contact basketball with a guy that wants you dead?” “Taber’s.” “Hmm,” India said simply. “Taber’s cool,” Griffin said, a little defensively. “Yeah and he’s cute,” India said to Griffin’s dismay. “But Conrad hates you. Just actually think about what you’re doing before you do it, that’s all.” “I’ll make you a deal, I’ll be happy to steer clear of Conrad, if you’d hurry up and figure out how to stop these journeys—or that ally. I even asked my grandmother what to do. Useless.” India was suddenly very interested. “You asked her? What did she say?” “Said I had to become a shaman, do a vision quest or something. Get a power animal. She told me to look it up!” “Uh, duh. Didn’t you read Awake the Dragon, Shamanism in the Twenty-First Century?” “No,” Griffin admitted sheepishly. “Dark Shamans? The Mark of the Nephilim?” “I haven’t read any of that,” Griffin said. “No wonder she’s so irritated with you. She’s a genius, and you’re
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lazy.” “She did give me my grandpa’s compass,” Griffin said defensively. “Your grandfather, as in the famous shaman Leo Catalano? She gave you his compass?” India was impressed. “Sort of,” Griffin said. “But so what?” India was running out of patience. “It is so unfair that these are your grandparents and not mine. They are utterly wasted on you. To do a vision quest, you have to journey to the directions.” “Which directions?” Griffin asked, lost. “All of them. The directions are the guardian spirits of boundaries. They established time and space at the time of creation. Without the directions, our world would not have a framework within which to function. If the directions see potential in you, they’ll give you the gifts you need to become a shaman. Shamans need a power animal or ally to have power. You don’t have any power,” India summed up. “How do you know I don’t have any power?” Griffin said, offended. “Well, look at you. If you already had a power animal, I would see it near you when we journey. And that ally didn’t look like it was going to be taking orders from you anytime soon.” “You’re probably right,” Griffin said. “If you think you might be anything like your grandfather, maybe it’ll work. I’ll do some reading. Figure out how to do a vision quest,” India promised. Griffin thought about his Grandpa Leo. He didn’t think he’d ever know half as much as his grandfather knew about the old myths, the earth and the stars. He’d never be as strong and determined as Griffin remembered the old man. But he certainly wanted to try, especially if it meant saving his own skin in the process. And if he got the chance to see his grandfather again when he returned his rattle to him, he wanted him to be proud of what Griffin had become. “I can’t say for sure if I’m much like him. Haven’t seen him since I was little—I don’t even know where he is—but I’d appreciate whatever you could do,” Griffin said, accepting her offer. They headed back into the busy hallway. “You think this will work?” he asked. Lunch break was over and all the kids headed to their lockers to pick up their books for the second half of the day. Out of the corner of his eye, Griffin saw Julia give him a respectful nod. He nodded back.
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“You got any better ideas?” India countered. “No,” Griffin admitted. “Then you better hope it works,” India said, put her earbuds back in, and walked away.

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16 “Shamans must always choose their own path,” India read from the book by the light of the fire. “Everyone has special gifts and talents. You must find yours and strengthen them. Only by embracing your own individuality will you accumulate enough power to achieve your goal.” They sat out in the few acres behind India’s house, far enough away that her mom couldn’t look out the window and wonder what they were up to. Griffin had to be home by nine. The raging fire kept the cold back, and Griffin felt right at home on the split log bench. With the things India said and the drum, Griffin felt like he was a child again listening to his grandfather tell Toltec stories of Xolotl and Quetzalcoatl out by the fire on the beach. “Is our goal to make me a shaman or to journey to the directions?” Griffin asked. “I don’t think it matters. I think she’s saying that to achieve any goal you have to be what no other shaman can, whatever that is,” India said. “So you’re sure if we follow those instructions and ‘call in the directions,’ the ally won’t get me if I journey?” Griffin said. “Definitely sure,” India said, rescanning the book. “Yeah. It says here that the spirits of the directions will not let you be harmed while you journey to them as long as you call them in first. Now go close the gate and we’ll get started.” While Griffin walked to the property line and swung the gate shut, India struck the drum four times, turning after each beat to a different direction on his silver compass: east, south, west, north. He heard one beat. And then one, two. And then one, two, three. And then one, two, three, four. Scout laid down a good distance away and watched.
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“To the East, South, West, North,” India pronounced clearly, “to Father Sky, to Mother Earth, to the Center, the Axis Mundi the creator of all things. Please assist Griffin in his quest to become a shaman.” She handed him the compass and her iPod. “I’ve got a play list on here that will blow you right out of this world. DJ Z-Trip, Culprit One, Nightcore.” “Music?” “Not just any music, Griffin. Trance. The rhythm will help you journey. Not that you have much a problem with that.” Griffin put in the earbuds. “You’re sure the ally won’t get me?” he asked. “Positive.” India pressed play, and the music started up. Soft and slow at first and then it got faster and louder until Griffin’s chest began to vibrate. The music was more electronic than what he heard at the drone’s party. Happier. He closed his eyes and, in the darkness, a lightness spread over his body. Colors pulsated before Griffin’s closed eyes. The saturated hues danced in the blackness. His skin prickled to the chilly night air, and the

smoke from the fire assaulted his nose. All of his senses were heightened. The darkness seemed made for journeying. “Open your eyes,” her voice commanded. He did, though he didn’t open the eyes of the boy laying by the fire, but the eyes of his dream self. The whole forest was flat and boldly colored. The ground dropped out from beneath him. The trees danced. Bubbles of light floating by him. Moths with big smiley faces flew by the fire—the fire that now looked like a happy orange hedgehog with sharp teeth. Chattering intensely amongst themselves, like a little army, sparks attempted to launch themselves out of the fire, making a funny little “eeeeee!” sound, but trailing off as they extinguished and died before they hit the ground. Griffin tried hard not to laugh at them. “Uh, India,” Griffin said. “Everything looks a little… goofy. Like a Japanese cartoon?” India floated by him, her eyes huge and round in her funny big round head. She was colored light pink. Magenta and lavender hearts emitted from her chest and floated around Griffin. One sprouted big lips and planted a kiss on his cheek. Squeaked happily and popped. India giggled.

“Sorry,” India said. “Wrong track. This one will probably give you

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a better view.” Griffin closed his eyes, and India skipped to the next song. A heavier beat, almost tribal. Still dance music, Griffin noted with some regret, but real drums in there, at least. The colors sobered and

Griffin floated away through his grid-outlined ghost world, to the edge of the yard. In his journey, India’s backyard transformed into a vibrant blooming desert at sunrise; a great tree stood before him. It wasn’t the desert that caught his attention but the sky. It was so bright, it nearly blinded him. Somewhere high above, an eagle circled. Griffin didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He had to find the directions somehow, but he didn’t know where to look or even what he was looking for. He decided to just lie on the sandy ground and look up at the brilliant sky until an answer came to him. He didn’t have to wait long. As soon as his fixed his vision upon the sky, a towering pale yellow figure came into focus, so brilliant it was nearly transparent; so tall, its face was nearly beyond his scope of sight. He could make out two grey holes that seem to serve as eyes and a deep impression, little more than a line, that seemed to form its mouth. From its head, plumes of clouds like feathers rose upwards in a majestic headdress. If it was morning and the sun was rising behind the figure’s head, Griffin checked his compass and figured he must be looking at the spirit of the East. But it was so big that Griffin couldn’t figure out how he was supposed to communicate with it. “I think I’m supposed to ask you to help me become a shaman,” Griffin shouted up to it. “You see, this ally creature is trying to attack me, and…” It was going to be a long story. But the figure turned away and rose higher and higher into the sky with the sun. “Oh no,” Griffin said. “Wait!” But as easily as it had appeared to him, the East vanished. “Please!” he called after it. Griffin was alone in the desert. Now he was going to have to go back and tell India he had failed. He was just about to give up and try to wake himself, when Griffin noticed something wafting gently through the air towards him. A dark feather. He jumped up to catch it. He held it in his hands. An ordinary feather, but it was large. It didn’t seem terribly useful, but Griffin supposed
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it was better than being rejected. Before Griffin could think too much about it, he found the desert around him changing. The plant life was growing quickly around the central tree—green, lush, and abundant—until it was no longer a desert but a sweltering jungle. Through the canopy of leaves, he could see the sun, high in the sky now. This must be another direction, Griffin thought, but which? He checked his compass and looked around. From the south, a larger-than-life jaguar padded out of the jungle. Griffin froze. “So you’re the South,” Griffin said a little shakily. Then the jaguar began to bat something around on the ground, tentatively at first, but then with great animation. It spun around, ran halfway up a tree, and then back down. “Are you playing?” Griffin asked it. It answered with a terrifying growl but then rolled over on its back and scratched itself on the ground. “I feel a little stupid asking an animal this, but can you help me become a shaman?” He left it at that. Apparently, the directions weren’t interested in his explanations. The big cat toyed with something on the ground again and then slunk off into the jungle. Griffin went over to see what it left behind. It looked like some sort of volcanic rock. It was small but heavy, smooth to the touch and warm. He put it in his pocket with the feather. As he contemplated the rock, the jungle began to shrivel and wither at a terrifying rate right before Griffin’s eyes. The enormous tree turned grey and dropped its leaves. It began to rain, and a lake rose from the ground before him. A panic blew over Griffin with the cold breeze. The sun set, the landscape darkened, and the colors grew muddy. Suddenly, from behind the great mountains of decay, he heard the unmistakable sound of a bear growling and clawing its way toward him. Griffin didn’t know what to do. He had to get out of there. He had to figure out how to wake up. He could feel the cold wind in his hair, and smelled the foul odor of death. That’s when Griffin knew something was wrong. “India!” he screamed.
From a world away, India heard him cry out and pressed pause on the iPod. Griffin opened his eyes.
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“You just have to pause the music, Griffin. So it worked? You reached the directions,” India said with some amazement. “Yeah, but there’s something wrong,” Griffin said. “Everything is dying and there’s a giant bear!” “The West,” India said. “It is the autumn place of dreams and nightmares.” “There was this smell.” He looked at her. “Wait, it’s here, too. What’s that smell, India?” Scout was up from his position on the rock. He sniffed the air, his eyes sweeping the small canyon, on guard. India turned. “I smell it, too. Did you close the gate?” Griffin searched his mind. He remembered her saying something about a gate. “I... yeah. I did,” he offered weakly. “Did you latch it?” she grilled, as the foul odor grew stronger. “I . . . I . . . no.” He knew he hadn’t. At the time, it just didn’t seem like a big deal. The wind picked up. They both looked out into the darkness in the general direction of the gate. The tall grey grass bent and parted. Something was moving toward them in the brush, something fast. “India?” Griffin pointed farther over to the left. Three more things advanced on them from that direction. The smell of death was thick now in the air. The movement reached the edge of the clearing; a dark shape stepped out of the grass ten meters in front of them. It wasn’t the ally. Griffin laughed heartily with relief. “It’s just a big raccoon, India.” India did not smile. Scout yelped furiously at it, but he did not chase it. “Look again, Griffin,” India said, motioning to the furry animal. It was a raccoon, but it certainly did not behave like one. It arched its back at them and approached slowly on large claws, unafraid. Its skin hung on it loosely, broken and crusty in some areas, eyes dull. It was a raccoon, indeed, but not a living one. Three more raccoons dragged themselves from the grass to the edge of the clearing. Griffin understood now the cause of the smell. The animals were rotting on their feet. Scout continued to yelp but retreated behind India. “What are they?” Griffin asked desperately. “I don’t know, but they’re obviously here to stop you. You have to finish your journey. Scout?” She motioned to the beasts lumbering
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toward them. Diffidently, Scout forced himself out from behind India. Nose down, teeth bared, and tail up, he walked slowly towards the largest creature, growling. It lashed out, taking a swipe at Scout’s nose with its black claws, leaving three red gashes in the dog’s snout. Scout leapt back with a painful yelp. The other raccoon took the opportunity to attack. “Scout!” Griffin cried. “India, we have to help him.” “Finish your journey, Griffin, but hurry,” India said as Scout threw one of the animals off him and crushed another in his jaws. Griffin pressed play, closed his eyes, and tried his best to concentrate in the chaos over the howling wind. Slowly, the other world seeped back into his mind. In Griffin’s journey, the giant bear lumbered toward him. It was close

now. He could see its smooth wet nose sniffing and snorting. It approached Griffin and growled in his face until Griffin was certain he could feel his hair blowing back from its foul breath. It dragged its colossal claws through the pile of decaying plant matter on the shore of the lake and rooted around for a second. Then it uncovered a cache of glowing white seashells the size of pebbles in the foul mud. How could they possibly be so clean in a place like this, Griffin wondered? The bear studied Griffin for a second and then trudged away. Griffin picked up some of the tiny shells and added them to the collection of things in his pocket. As the moon rose, a light snow blanketed the great tree, transforming the garden of death into a winter wonderland. Griffin’s fear subsided and he lost himself in his trance. He saw a white wolf trot out from the white-glazed forest, watching him from afar. It looked like Scout, but bigger and more awesome. Before Griffin could even ask for help, the wolf approached and dropped something from it mouth at Griffin’s feet. He bent down to pick it up: a small bone. The wolf gave him one last look and loped off into the woods.

“Hurry up!” India screamed. He thought about his hands back in the real world, and fumbled to press pause on that iPod that seemed so far away from him. The music stopped He looked over to her and there she was in her own back yard with Griffin and Scout. All the raccoons were on Scout now viciously fighting to get past him to Griffin.

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“I’m done,” Griffin cried out. “You can’t be. They are still trying to stop you.” India thought for a moment. “How many directions did you visit?” Griffin counted in his head. The bird, the jaguar, the bear, and the wolf. “Four!” Griffin cried out. “There are five directions in shamanism, Griffin. Go back and find the Center!” India grabbed a shovel from the porch and went to Scout’s aid as India tried to fend them off. Griffin pressed play again, squinted his eyes shut and tried to focus. In his journey, Griffin saw a small light glowing in a hollow of the tree

like a firefly. The raccoons were now in his journey standing between him and the tree. He held out his hand and the firefly flew to him and hovered above it. The raccoons and the world around him stopped. “Will you help me become a shaman?” he asked the light. The light grew until he saw a miniature of the great tree in the palm of his hand, with great spreading branches and great roots that extended out around it. In an instant, the picture flashed and disappeared. In its place in Griffin’s hand was a smooth forked stick. For some reason it was the most beautiful thing Griffin could imagine. “Thank you,” he said, pressed pause, and opened his eyes.

The dog was doing his best just to keep the raccoons from India and Griffin and India was swinging her shovel hard, knocking them off Scout one by one. But as Griffin returned to consciousness, the smallest of the raccoon succeeded in its advance. It leapt from Scout’s back onto India, and clawed its way up to her neck. The animal ripped a handful of her hair from her scalp and retreated as India batted it across the yard with the shovel. Unfazed, India held the drum over her head, beating it a single time. The raccoon bolted from the yard, running out of the open gate. The clouds swept away, uncovering the moon, and the wind dwindled to a light breeze. It was over. Scout collapsed exhausted and beat up, but without serious injury. Griffin inhaled deeply and sat down to rest, trembling, a smooth stick from another world in his hand and his pockets full of mysteries. “That was really gross,” India complained. “Did you smell them?” “Reminds me of when I was little. My grandfather used to tell us stories about the army of the Lost—diableros and evil spirits—you know, ghost stories,” Griffin said. “Well, it looks like we just wandered through our very own ghost
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story, but they’re gone now. Did you get that there?” India asked gesturing to indicate that “there” was far away. “Yeah, that’s not all,” he said showing her the feather, the volcanic rock, the shells, and the bone, before putting them back in his pockets. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” India said. “You physically brought objects back from a journey. That’s impossible.” Griffin couldn’t tell if she looked concerned or impressed. “What were you expecting?” Griffin asked. “I just wonder...” Griffin ventured, not wanting to insult her. “Well, how do I know I didn’t just make all of that up? That it wasn’t just a dream?” he asked meekly. India stopped and looked at him squarely. “You are making it up.” India motioned to her house and the forest beyond. “You’re making this all up. All of it. What you see and smell and taste and touch, all the information that your senses gather about the world around you is filtered and interpreted by your mind. It is, in effect, made up. Why should journeys be any different? We are only using senses that most people never even try out. Wait a sec.” India picked up Awake the Dragon and flipped to a bookmarked page. “When the mind doubts,” India read from Mafalda’s book, “and attempts to halt your progress by telling you that you’re just imagining everything, agree with it. Say, ‘yes, I am making all of this up,’ and continue your work. Don’t let it distract you. Not even your mind must be allowed to sway your intent.” “The directions didn’t tell me if they’d help me to be a shaman,” Griffin said. India laughed uncomfortably. “You are holding a piece of the Axis Mundi. You did it, Griffin,” she said. “You did it.”

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17 “Do you have a piece of red cloth?” Griffin asked his grandmother as she sat typing at her computer in her dark study. “Oh and some yellow yarn, too,” he added. She looked up to him from her keyboard, annoyed. “If you have it,” he added gingerly. “What are you doing up in that room of yours?” his grandmother demanded. She pushed her chair back from her computer, and gave him her full attention. “First you want something of your grandfather’s, and I understand, because even though I know that he is a good-for-nothing, you do not. So, I gave you his tie. Then you want something of mine, your mother’s—sorry I couldn’t help you there—and even something from your great grandmother.” “I’m feeling sentimental?” Griffin tried. “Then I saw you stealing some of those cigarettes your father smokes out behind the shed. Don’t try to deny it. I know he smokes. I can smell it on him. Disgusting. You better not be smoking.” She got up and he followed her downstairs to her craft closet. “No, I promise. I don’t smoke,” Griffin swore. “I saw a little square cut of your father’s work shirt. That was you, too, wasn’t it? Don’t answer that. I can’t stand it when people lie to me. It’s embarrassing to watch,” she mumbled, rifling through some boxes. “Here now,” she said finally. “Red cloth. Yellow yarn. And,” she said fishing a little further, “take the black white, and blue yarn, as well. That way it will all match,” she said without looking up. “All what will match?” Griffin asked, playing dumb. “Whatever it is you’re not making from my book Shaman’s Inheritance, Chapter Thirty-six.” Before Griffin could ask for her help she added, “You better not be making an ancestor stick to try to contact that no-good grandfather of yours. I expressly forbid it.” “Uh, thanks. It’s just for a school project,” Griffin said. “Embarrassing,” she repeated. He collected the items in his arms and headed for his room, finally
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admitting to himself that she would always be at least two steps ahead of him and at least seventy-five percent uncooperative. He hoped he could continue to count on her for the other twenty-five percent. “What is your brother burning down there in my kitchen?” she asked after him. “Spaghetti and meatballs?” Griffin guessed. “I thought I smelled burnt ketchup,” she said. “That I cannot bear. I’ll see if he needs help.” It was eerie, the way she seemed to know everything that went on under her roof. He was amazed. No wonder it made his dad feel uncomfortable. She was like the secret police, only meaner. “The Gestapo,” he said under his breath before he ducked inside his room. “I heard that,” she called up to him as she headed down the stairs. “And in the future, Griffin, stay out of my baking chocolate.” Griffin went back in his room and settled in at his desk with a curious selection of items spread out in front of him. First and foremost there was the stick, but there were also snips of fabric from different articles of clothing, a pile of tobacco from dismantled cigarettes, salt, the chocolate his grandmother complained about, dirt from the ranch in Mexico scraped off his dad’s old boots, different lengths of string, the red cloth, a feather from his grandmother’s hat, a black magic marker, and many other assorted tidbits. It had taken the greater part of two afternoons to collect them all. He opened Shaman’s Inheritance to chapter thirty-six and did a quick inventory; it was all there. Read over the instructions one last time. Took a deep breath. Time to get to work. If he put it together right, the assembled articles, together with the stick he retrieved from his journey would create something called an ancestor stick. Not only could he use it to find his power animal and become a shaman—hopefully capable of controlling his tendency to slip into a journey, but he could also put the stick under his pillow before he went to bed and contact any relative in a dream. At least that’s what India had told him. Since he wasn’t having any luck trying to find his grandfather’s address or phone number on the Internet, a dream was better than nothing. There was no way Griffin thought something so silly could work, but some small part of him must have believed because there he was, putting it together. Half of him felt like a scientist and half of him felt like an idiot. Griffin followed the instructions on the list very carefully. He
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drew a few lines on the stick to represent his face and a wavy line up the back of the stick to represent the communication between himself and his ancestors. At the bottom of the wavy line, he drew a cup to catch their communications so he wouldn’t forget them. Next, Griffin folded small pouches for all the fabric scraps and other small items he had collected. He wrapped the whole thing in the red cloth leaving only the stick’s “head” and “feet” and tied it around its waist with the different yarns to represent the directions. Around the waist, he also tied a string of pouches filled with tobacco and chocolate as an offering of thanks. He stuck the feather from his grandmother’s hat in the top, like it was a little headdress for the stick. He stepped back and studied his handiwork. Oh, no, Griffin thought. It looked like a doll. There was only one thing left. He needed something that belonged to his mother, but every keepsake he had of her had been burnt in the fire. He sat down on his bed with the stick doll. It was a demoralizing to think he had come this far, stooped to make a doll, and wouldn’t be able to accomplish his goal because he was short one small item. Staring at the stick, an idea suddenly occurred to him. It was a long shot, but it was worth a try. Griffin went to his dresser and hunted through his clothes for the only item he had left from his old life before the accident. There they were, tattered but clean, at the bottom of the drawer—his old jeans. He stuffed his hand in each pocket until he felt something in the smallest one in front. The pocket itself was barely big enough for him to get his finger into. Slowly he worked the item out into the light. Miraculously, it was still there. His mother’s wedding ring sparkled in his hand, still there from the last day he saw her alive in the barn. In the pocket of his jeans, somehow it survived the fierce flash flood, even when she did not. It was somehow not lost in the months it spent in the pocket of those jeans in the closet in the hospital. It even remained safe through a wash and dry cycle at his grandmother’s house. Griffin fit the ring over the head of the doll and pushed it down until the width of the stick stopped it. It remained snuggly there under the layers of cloth and yarn. The ancestor stick was complete. Taking the stick up again in his hands, he sat down on his bed to examine his handiwork. In only a few hours, he would go to sleep with it under his pillow, and either dream of his grandfather and get the answers he so desperately needed or know conclusively if he had been wasting his time to believe in such nonsense. The stick did feel
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powerful there in his hands, like it was pulsing with energy. Was it just his imagination? He took the other gifts from his journey—the volcanic rock, the feather, the shells, and the bone—wrapped them in and old handkerchief, and tucked the bundle in his sock drawer and then thought about the rattle. He fished the leather case out from behind his dresser and took the rattle out of the case. For the first time, he considered the duct taped the bottom of the gourd. He carefully peeled it back revealing a strangely shaped hole. Griffin looked at the bottom of his ancestor stick. They looked as if they would fit together perfectly. Without thinking much about it, Griffin slipped the stick into the gourd. Just as he’d thought. Perfect fit. But when he went to take it out again, he found they were stuck snugly together. The red felt covered the gourd so well, he would have never imagined it was there, had he not stuck it together himself. As struggled furiously to separate the stick from the rattle without the rattle making any noise, Griffin’s bedroom door swung open. “What are you doing in here?” Sam asked from the threshold. Griffin first impulse was to hide the stick from his father. He didn’t know why exactly, but he knew his father wouldn’t approve of the thing even before he knew what it was. After he found out what it was, he definitely wouldn’t approve. But there was no way to get it out of sight without drawing even more attention to himself and the object he held in his hands, so Griffin went with his standard response. “Nuthin.” “What is that? Are you making voodoo dolls, boy? Have you totally lost your mind?” “It’s not a voodoo doll,” Griffin said. But he stopped there. Griffin wasn’t a good liar. He didn’t know how to explain the presence of the stick, or its importance to him. His mind was an utter blank. “Don’t like the turn things are taking,” Sam said plainly. “I knew better than to let you open that box. We’re going to get one thing straight between us right now.” Sam moved in closer and dropped his voice to a whisper. “You will take that thing outside and throw it in the garbage can. There will be no discussion. And you will never let me catch you with anything like this again.” “But Dad,” Griffin began, but he had no other words, no argument that wouldn’t sound ridiculous. Then he got angry. “Have
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you even tried to look for Grandpa Leo? Or was that just a lie?” Griffin demanded. He didn’t have long to think about his hasty words, for his father’s hand came thundering down across Griffin’s face, knocking Griffin back. “Don’t talk back to me, boy. Not ever.” Griffin was shocked. In all his life, his father had never hit him. Sam picked up the doll and examined it for a second and then let it drop to the floor. ‘You don’t understand,” Griffin managed, holding in his sobs. “Neither do you, boy. Now get that thing to the trash and get yourself cleaned up for dinner. He left, slamming the door behind him. Griffin had to think fast. One of Scout’s rawhide dog bone on the floor inspired him. It was pretty chewed up but it would have to do, Griffin thought. With his magic marker, he drew a face on it, wrapped it in what remained of the red cloth, and tied at all together with some leftover yarn. Placing the real ancestor stick next to the dressed-up dog bone made his heart sink. They weren’t even close. The fake looked lumpy and crooked. The real one was magnificent. Without enough time to worry, Griffin stashed them both into his jacket and went downstairs. He threw the fake stick into the garbage can and hide the real one behind a can of paint in the garage. Griffin didn’t dare leave it in his room. As he went in for dinner, a single thought occupied his mind: If his father checked the garbage can, would the one pass for the other?

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18 “Raccoons,” Sam said plainly. When he saw the trash strewn all over the yard, the next morning, Griffin knew that it couldn’t be good, but he didn’t realize exactly how bad it was until his dad bent down next to him over the coffee grinds, paper towels, and even the remains of his dog-bone ancestor stick, to examine the ground. “They’ve never gotten in the trash before,” Mafalda said. “Are you sure it wasn’t kids from the neighborhood? It looks more like vandals.” She was right, the garbage cans were emptied entirely, but what was worse, they got into the garage and ripped everything apart in there, too. “I don’t know about vandals,” James said. “But we got raccoons, all right. Their little footprints are everywhere.” Griffin went into the garage. The boxes of Christmas decorations were ripped apart, leaving the garage with a holiday feel. Old blankets and pillows were shredded, and the paint cans were all tipped over. Immediately, Griffin checked behind the paint cans; his ancestor stick was gone. He vaguely scanned the garage between the tinsel and the old magazines and kicked over a box, but he knew it was useless. Whether it was drones or the raccoons, they got what they came for. He didn’t exactly know what the Hive could possibly do with his ancestor stick and the rattle, but he figured it probably wasn’t good that they got it. They’d be in for a terrible shock if they shook that thing too long and called the ally—though the thought did cross his mind that maybe the ally would start chasing some poor drone instead of him. Worse, he was dealing with the disappointment of losing not only the ancestor stick—which, now that Griffin really thought about it, probably wouldn’t have worked anyway—but also his grandfather’s rattle and mother’s wedding ring. It felt like he was losing her all over again. For the first time in Griffin’s life, he thought that maybe his dad was right. It was time for him to grow up and
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stop wasting his time with that sort of hocus-pocus nonsense. Griffin waited for India outside her first-hour Biology class that day. Every person in the hall raised suspicions. For all he knew the whole school was full of drones. Any one of them could have stolen the rattle. He had no idea what he was supposed to do about it. “So how did it go? With that stick thing? Did you get the dream?” She immediately asked as she came out of Biology. Griffin shook his head. “You didn’t get the dream,” she said as he walked her to her next class. “Just forget it,” he insisted. “Maybe you didn’t do it right. Did you get all the stuff you needed? Did you put it together right?” India asked. “I said forget it. It’s all just nonsense.” Griffin could almost hear his father’s voice coming out of his mouth as he said it, and he hated himself for it. “You didn’t even try did you? After all of that? Coming to my house in the middle of the night, bringing those horrible animals with you? And now you don’t believe in it? Whatever.” India started to walk away from him. He caught her arm. “They took it. I made it, but they took it,” he said simply. “Who?” she whispered. “Must have been the drones,” Griffin whispered. He looked at the kids passing by them in the hall and leaned in to India, making sure no one else could hear him. “Hive doesn’t have anything to do with this, Griffin. They have parties, drink beer; they’re cool. They’re not going to be sneaking around stealing sticks.” “Are you sure of that?” “So we’re back to square one?” India said. “Not exactly,” Griffin admitted. “It’s actually worse then that. I accidentally got the ally’s rattle stuck on the ancestor stick so… who ever got the stick might have gotten a little more than they bargained for.” “Oh no. What are you going to do?” India asked. “You have to find that rattle and get it back to your grandfather.” “Do? What’s left to do? I haven’t had any involuntary journeys lately, though. Maybe the journey to the directions helped?” The bell for the next class rang.
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“Dang,” Griffin said. “Gotta go.” “Such profanity,” India joked, but being the polite cowboy that he was, Griffin just blushed and said, “Pardon me, Ma’am,” before rushing off to his next class. “That was cute,” Marita said over India’s shoulder, catching the last part of their conversation. “It sure was,” India agreed as she watched him go. At the end of her second-hour class, Griffin was waiting for her again in the hall. “My dad caught me, too,” he told her. “Was right mad. And my grandma knows what I’m up to for sure.” All the way to her next class they talked about his family. On the way to her third hour class, they talked about her family. She lived alone with her mom, had never known her dad. By fourth hour, Taber was waiting outside Griffin’s class for him. “What are you doing?” Taber asked Griffin. “Nothing. I was just going to go find India.” “No, no, no, no. Everyone in school is talking about it. If you two are an item, I think you should play it down a little. She’s going to know she’s got you whipped,” Taber insisted. The whole notion that Griffin should be protecting his rep or calculating how to impress a girl when a drone could be wandering his school with a rattle that could call a giant monster seemed a little ridiculous to Griffin. “It’s not like that, Taber. We’re just friends.” “I have to say, I’m a little relieved to hear you say that,” Taber said. “Not that she ain’t hot. Just…we’ll you know. We-e-e-ird. Best be keeping that under wraps. No need to play it out in the open.” “There’s nothing to play out,” Griffin insisted. “Good man. That’s what I like to hear. Pickup game at lunch, don’t even let me hear you can’t make it.” “I’ll be there,” Griffin said. “Good, the team needs you.” Taber watched Griffin so closely all day it was after school before Griffin could catch up with India again. On her way to Dairy Queen. Griffin followed along. “Where’ve you been? I though we were going to talk,” India said. “Oh, just had some stuff to do with Taber,” Griffin said. “He doesn’t like me much does he?” “I wouldn’t say that. Just looking out for me, is all,” Griffin said and couldn’t imagine that she would possibly take that in a good way. But if it bothered her, she just brushed it off.
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“We have to do something,” India said. “Like what? Is there anything in any of my grandma’s books about finding things that have been stolen?” Griffin asked. “I don’t know, but I’m sure we can try something. If I can’t find anything in my books, I’ll look go to the university library and look over some of her old lecture notes. I’ll call you this weekend. Hopefully, it won’t be too late.” “Too late for some poor thieving drone?” Griffin asked. “I hope he gets what’s coming to him.” “No, too late for you,” she said under her breath. “Just stay out of the journey.” She met her friends coming out of Dairy Queen and caught a ride home with some of the older girls. Standing outside of Dairy Queen, Griffin looked in at the boy working behind the counter. Brandon Henrig. Griffin felt a pang of guilt. Here was the one person Griffin didn’t have to worry about being a drone—he’d never be cool enough for them to want him— and for the same reason, Griffin didn’t want to hang out with him either. Griffin opened the door and got in line. Inside, Brandon stood behind the counter taking orders. When it was Griffin’s turn in line, Brandon recognized him immediately. “Can I help you?” Brandon said, but his voice was strained. His boss was a few feet behind him, and he didn’t want to start a scene. “An ice cream cone, chocolate.” “Anything else?” Brandon asked, suspicious. “Yeah.” Griffin smiled. “I want to talk to you.” “I’m at work.” “Do you have a break?” Griffin asked. Brandon looked at the floor. Griffin pressed, “Look, I’m new here...” Brandon looked at Griffin for a moment, considering, then turned to his boss, a thick greasy man in his forties. “Can I take ten?” Brandon asked him. The man wrinkled his shiny forehead and frowned at Brandon. “Don’t go far,” he sneered over the counter, to the empty store. “This is our busy time.” Brandon got Griffin his ice cream cone, and they sat down together in a booth. “So that’s a pretty nice bike you’ve got,” Griffin started. “Yeah, my mom bought it for me for my sixteenth birthday. She’s
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a waitress down the street at Jessica’s Restaurant. She saved up her tips for years. She wanted to buy me a car,” he trailed off despondently. Now Griffin understood why Brandon’s bike was so important to him. “But that’s a great bike,” Griffin offered. He wasn’t used to being friendly to strangers, but it wasn’t so hard. “Where does your dad work?” he asked. “Works the pipeline,” Brandon said and abruptly changed the subject. “The other day after school, why were you chasing me?” “I wasn’t chasing you.” Griffin knew that this was going to be tough, but he took a stab at it. “Do you still cut through Buckskinner Park on your way home from school?” “No,” Brandon said. “The past month or so, I go up Second Street. Ever since more kids have been disappearing, my mom . . . I thought it would be better.” “Oh good,” Griffin said. “That’s great.” “Why?” Brandon asked. Before Griffin could figure out a way to warn him about his dream, a hand on Griffin’s shoulder brought his speech to a halt. It was Taber there in the Dairy Queen. Brandon’s eyes grew wide. “Hey, I was just passing by and saw you guys in here.” Taber studied Brandon carefully, and then sat down next to him. “I’m Taber.” “I know. I’ve seen you around,” Brandon said cautiously, but all in all, he must have thought that this was the luckiest day of his life. First, Griffin stopping in to meet him and now the most popular freshman at Williams Public was introducing himself. “So I heard you tell Griffin you don’t cut through Buckskinner anymore? We were all wondering why we haven’t seen you lately,” Taber said. “Well, it’s no big deal. I could ride through someday,” Brandon said, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, that would be great,” Taber said, smiling as Griffin watched his plan to keep Brandon safe fall apart. Just then, even though there was not a customer to be seen, the man behind the counter growled at Brandon, “Come on, enough jabbering. Back to work.” Taber shrugged and got up to let Brandon out of the booth. “See you later,” he called after Brandon. “Yeah, sure, Taber. Later, Griffin.” Brandon smiled to himself as
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he put his apron back on and returned behind the counter. “What was that all about?” Griffin asked Taber. “I thought you didn’t like him?” “Just being friendly,” Taber said. “What about you, first India now…him? Are you just collecting weirdoes now? Why’d you take off after school?” “No reason,” Griffin dodged. “Well then, you have no reason not to come over to Antwan’s with the rest of us. Shadow Master championship. Big screen TV. “Aren’t we a little old for video games?” Griffin asked. Antwan was a drone. Griffin had seen the mark. “Ha. Clearly you’ve never played Shadow Master. I won’t hold that against you. Obviously, I can’t let you out of my sight for five minutes without you attempting some form of social suicide,” Taber said. “Come on, let’s go.” That day, Griffin became the champion of Shadow Master, killing a record number of shadow creatures with bullets made from light. “If only it were that easy in real life,” Griffin thought, as he chewed a handful of chips and switched from his 9 mm to hand grenades.

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19 “I got it,” India said to Griffin over the phone Sunday. “I’ve been looking through your grandmother’s books all day and I think I’ve found something. It’s called the Web of Chaos.” Griffin was lying on the floor in front of the TV working on his algebra homework. He felt he could do the stuff with his eyes closed, but hearing the words web of chaos made him put his pencil down. “That sounds a little creepy,” Griffin informed her. “Well, I think it’s our best shot at finding the rattle. Want me to come over?” India asked. Griffin panicked. He looked around the house at his family. His dad was taking a nap on the sofa, James was eating popcorn, watching NASCAR, and his grandmother was in one of her obsessive moods, where she wiped the countertops so hard, she took the sheen off the Formica. No one looked like they were going anywhere. There was no way he could be alone with India long enough to journey with everyone hanging around. “Today’s no good,” he said in a low voice. “And tomorrow’s Martin Luther King Day. No school, but my dad’s also got the day off.” “It’s better to journey at night, anyway,” India said. “Tomorrow night?” Griffin tried. “My dad’s taking my grandma to some lecture in Flagstaff at eight.” “Perfect,” she said, and just hung up on him without saying another word. India showed up on Griffin’s doorstep the next night with a vaguely familiar big brown suede hardcover notebook tucked under her arm. It was the size of a phone book and the pages were just as yellowed. Once inside, India simply said, “Let’s go to your room.” From behind the kitchen counter, James paused assembling a sandwich long enough to give Griffin an impressed thumbs-up. “Your room?”
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“We’re studying,” Griffin told him, looking a little horrified. “Study all you want, Griffin. I love to study. I’d study with most of the girls in my class if I had the time. Just make sure you have the books put away by the time dad gets home at ten thirty,” James said with a wink. When they went up the stairs, India paused in front of a closed door. “Is that your grandmother’s study?” India asked. “Yup.” “Wow,” she said staring at the door as she walked by, but once she got in his room she was all business. “Okay,” India said, laying out the book on his bed. “You are going to love this. Do you have any idea what this is?” The book was all handwritten with diagrams and small drawings. Scout stuck his nose in the book and tried to look interested. As Griffin’s memory sharpened, his heart softened. “Is that my grandfather’s notebook? He sat next to India on the bed and took the book on his lap, touching the pages tenderly. “Your grandmother donated it to the library with the publication of her third book. I snuck it out of Special Collections yesterday.” She gently wrestled the book from Griffin and flipped through the pages for a moment. “Here it is, the Web of Chaos,” she read. “Apparently, you can journey to this Web place and locate anything within the three worlds. If your stick and rattle are in any one of those places, we can find it on the Web.” “Wait. Three worlds?” Griffin asked. “There are three worlds?” “Oh I forgot, you don’t read, even when your life depends on it. Yeah. In the journey there are three worlds. There’s here, which is the middle world.” “It looks all ghostly when I’m journeying. Like it’s just a drawing or something,” Griffin said puzzled. “That’s because the middle world is still being created every second. Everything we do affects the middle world. Then there’s the lower world, where the spirits of plants and animals live,” India said. “Where the ally disappears to on his smoke elevator. I don’t think I want to go there,” Griffin said. “Right, and then there’s the upper world. That’s like some kind of heaven, I guess. If your stick is in any one of those worlds, we can find it on the Web,” India concluded. “Do you still have those things you got from the directions? The feather?” Griffin went to his top drawer, pulled out his handkerchief, and
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took the black feather out from between the items that were wrapped within it. “I can’t believe you can bring things back,” she said. “Okay, so just get into the journey, focus your intention to take you to the Web. Then look around until you find the stick. We can go get it after school tomorrow,” India said. “Then we can figure out how to get it to your grandfather.” “You think it’ll be that easy?” Griffin asked. “I don’t see why not,” India said. “Where could it possibly be?” “What’s the feather for?” Griffin asked. “To explore a Web, one needs a guide that can fly—just in case there’s also a spider.” She laughed, but Griffin didn’t think her joke was very funny. “I think this feather might be able to help you find a guide.” “What about the ally?” Griffin asked. “You’ll have to be quick, but if you see it, just press pause. It should disappear. Do you want me to turn the lights off ?” she asked. In many ways the idea was very appealing to Griffin, but the thought of his dad walking in on him laying on his bed with a girl in the dark was too mortifying. The room was already dim enough. “No, that’s okay,” Griffin said. “Then cover your eyes,” India said. “All this light might distract you. It’s best if you are in complete darkness.” Griffin nodded and lay back on the bed with the feather in his hand. She slipped the white headphones into Griffin’s ears, and he covered his eyes with the crook of his arm. “You ready?” she asked. “None of that goofy cartoon music,” Griffin insisted. “You have my word,” India promised. “Remember, if you see the ally, just stop the music.” “Okay, then. Hit me,” he replied. India pressed play and Griffin was rocked into another world.

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20 Griffin’s body quickly dropped out from beneath him. At some level, Griffin could still hear the music, a sober rap with a fast backbeat, like he was in a movie. But soon he drifted out of his body,

his bedroom and his world until all he knew was the beat. The journey. He concentrated on finding the Web. “Welcome, Griffin,” a loud, rough voice croaked at him. Griffin opened his eyes to see a strange man. He appeared to be dressed in black, but Griffin’s head was spinning and he couldn’t really fix his eyes upon him. They seemed to be in the middle of the forest. “Can you take me to the Web of Chaos?” Griffin asked. The man shrugged. “Boy doesn’t mess around.” The man thought for a second. “You lost the rattle didn’t you?” Griffin nodded. The man positively squawked. “Come with me, then, fast, we won’t have much time before the Adversary discovers us.” The man turned and headed deeper into the forest. Griffin followed. “The Adversary?” Griffin called out to him as they moved. “That is the shadow ally’s name,” the man said. The man moved so quickly and Griffin’s focus on him was so poor that the man seemed to fly along the ground. Griffin marveled that he was able to keep up. Then, the man pointed to the light filtering through the trees. “And there it is. The Web.” When he examined the light more thoroughly, Griffin saw that it seemed to form an intricate net. “Isn’t it beautiful? In it is woven everything that exists in the three worlds, between the five directions,” the man said. Griffin was so hypnotized by the fabulous cathedral of light and dew that seemed to spiral up and out into infinity, he barely heard the man in black speaking to him.
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“Here you can begin to understand the relationship between all things,” the man continued. “Just wander around until you find your rattle. We still have a few minutes.” “This Web is in the forest in Williams, Arizona?” Griffin asked. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “The Web is everywhere. This is just a nice place to look at it. Not many people come through this area, so the Web is simple here. There’s nothing like human relations to make things outrageously complicated. In the cities, the Web is so complex and thick you can hardly make it out.” Griffin stared up into the pattern of light, tracing it up and out, following it with his mind. He studied the patterns and the longer he looked, the more intricate they appeared. At each place the Web intersected, a star shone. On closer inspection, he realized that they were bundles of light that pulsed with energy. Then he began to appreciate the relationships between them. “Don’t just stand there with your mouth gaping like a fish. Up you go.” “Up there? How?” “One foot after another; that usually works for most of your kind. Step up, up, up. Don’t touch the hot ones though; otherwise, you’ll mess up everything. Disaster.” Griffin noticed that some of the lines were bright. He assumed these were the hot ones. And so using only the dull cords of light, Griffin climbed. It was as if he were scaling the Web of light like he was ascending rungs on a rope ladder. Gradually, he became less and less aware of how high he was off the ground, and his legs stopped shaking. The farther he climbed, the brighter his surroundings got. As the strands of the Web grew thicker, the pattern got simpler until the threads were thick cords and then fat cables like tree trunks. “How am I supposed to find the stick? All I see is light.” Griffin called down to him. The man fluttered up next to him taking the form of a crow before turning back into the manlike figure. “You can’t See?” The way the bird-man said See, Griffin figured it must have a special meaning. “No. I don’t think I can.” “Then cash in your chips.” When he saw that Griffin didn’t
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understand, he said, “Give me my feather back. Seeing is a gift, but nothing is free.” “I guess that wasn’t an eagle feather,” Griffin said as he handed the bird-man the feather. The bird-man took it and stuck it back into himself. “Ahh,” he sighed with some relief. “I can’t come back to the Web without that feather, can I?” Griffin guessed. “Not until you get your own guide. But look on the bright side, kid, at least you’ll get to See. I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t See. I guess I’d just fly into everything.” The man put a black salve on each of Griffin’s eyelids. “Better?” he asked Griffin. Griffin opened his eyes and almost fell over. The whole Web was still composed of light but each stand now clearly represented people, objects, and places, all held together and in place by a Web of light that connected them to other bright jewels that represented other people objects, and places that extended out to the heavenly stars. When Griffin overcame his awe, he noticed before him a spiraling staircase of light that had been invisible to him before. He began to climb it, pausing to turn back and look at the geometry that his interactions had created. From this perspective, he recognized every point of light in that Web and understood the necessity of each of his physical interactions, from his life on the ranch, to his death, to his move to Williams. Everything that happened to him led him exactly where he was today, climbing on a ladder of light. Griffin felt as though he was looking back on the blueprint of a house that he had spent years building. The man in black fluttered up to him again. “I get it now,” Griffin said to him. “I See how everything is interdependent; I can See the relationships between everything. Everything is in perfect order—all interrelated and balanced. I can See what I’ve done and where I’m going. I understand perfectly.” “Well, wonderful. Wonderful. Why is it that only teenagers know everything? I also vaguely remember knowing everything when I was young. I am pleased to have achieved the ripe old age where I safely know nothing. Keep your eye on the prize, human. Get the stick, and let’s get out. See the way everything is growing dim? The Adversary isn’t far off now.” Griffin scanned the Web like he was looking at endless intertwining movie reels. He looked through his memories and found his mother’s ring
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back in the barn in Mexico and traced it through time until it found its way onto the stick. “I got it,” Griffin said. He followed the stick into the future to the garage, when he saw Conrad steal it. Conrad! He watched him carry it to the Homestead, and take it into the cellar. “Okay,” Griffin said. “I have the location.” “Let’s go,” the bird-man said. “Wait. If I can find the stick in here, maybe I can find my grandfather.” Griffin said. “It will only take a moment.” “No!” The bird-man cried. Instead of following the bird-man back down the Web, Griffin abandoned his guide and stubbornly headed back up, back to the time and place he had last seen his grandfather: Easter morning when Griffin was six years old. Griffin looked into the Web like he was watching a movie, images from his memories running and spiraling through the cords. He didn’t see any evidence of his grandfather after that last morning. In the Web images, he could see him there in the living room, but then, he was gone. It was like he had been erased from reality. When Griffin looked away from the images, the Web had gone dark. “It’s coming,” the bird-man cried. Griffin’s first thought went to the music, he had to stop the rhythm, but there was no evidence of the iPod or even his real body anywhere. So he climbed down the Web as quickly and carefully as he could go, but when Griffin stopped to look around, he noticed he hadn’t gotten anywhere at all. Next to him, his mother’s voice echoed through a thick cloud of smoke. “Looking for your grandfather?” “Get out of here,” the bird-man said. “It’s my mother,” Griffin told the bird-man. “The Adversary can take any shape. You need to wake up.” The bird-man did not stick around to give further instruction. When he turned around, all he saw was a flurry of black feathers left in the air. Left alone, Griffin backed away from the cloud of smoke to keep from choking. It took a shape very similar to his mother’s own, as she had been in real life, only bigger and darker. “What you’re looking at is Cosmos. Order. Beginner’s stuff. A real guide would tell you that. But this isn’t called the Web of Cosmos, is it
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Griffin?” Griffin shook his head. As terrified as he was, he began to be a little interested in what this dark version of his mother was saying. “If your grandfather really wants to hide, he doesn’t have to move it at all. He just has to slip into Chaos. Look.” The Adversary seemed to draw a square in thin air with her shadowy finger. She looked at Griffin and pushed the square open a crack, cleaving the very sky like it was a door—a door into nothing. Griffin reluctantly looked through the door. As he did, he realized that the step was only a shift in his mind, into a chaotic dream world. Where before, Griffin had seen only his own relationship to everything, here he saw everything’s relationship to everything. On the other side of the door, a simple staircase spiraled up and out in front of him. Now, Griffin stood at a point where an infinite number of spiraling staircases went off in every direction, all connected with a thick tangle of threads that seemed to come from everywhere, but he could not See what they represented. “Touch one,” the Adversary ordered. Griffin didn’t dare. “It’s the only way to See on this side.” Griffin didn’t trust her, but he couldn’t get away from her either. He carefully reached out to touch a tangle and found that it stuck to his hand. He tried to shake it loose, but he was somehow connected to it. A sudden clarity flashed through his mind. This tangle had to do with Mexico, a man there. Griffin was certain it was his grandfather. “See,” she said. “There he is.” He accidentally touched another tangle. As he connected to it, he understood that it had to do with India. As he touched each thread, each bundle, he understood more and more. “Let yourself go, Griffin,” the Adversary said with his mother’s voice. “If you would know all, become all.” Griffin looked down and for the first time realized that he was not afraid. Despite his own common sense, he let himself go. He slipped into the vast tangle and felt ecstasy. He fell without falling. He saw things, understood things that he would never be able to put into words. He felt now that he was truly close to understanding everything—the nature of reality, the secrets of life. Then, suddenly, his fall stopped. He was suspended over nothing and everything, over conscious infinity, by a small blue thread coming from the
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crown of his head. When he wondered about the thread, he traced it back with his mind. Back through the spirals, back through the door back through the Web, back to a body lying far away on his bed next to India. This spot in the middle of everything (or nothing) was just as far as that silver blue cord would stretch. He was nothing more than a bundle of light and energy himself. Just beyond the length of the cord, he could see his mother like a shimmering ghost, like an angel. It was glorious and it was agony—glorious to feel the power surging through his body and agony to have to stop before he could lose himself completely in that power. It was terrible thinking about going back to that tiny existence in that tiny room, going to school, building fences. It was agony not to become one with it all. He wanted nothing more than to merge completely with the thick bundles of energy around him, to know completely the infinite pattern that was chaos. He wanted to feel whole again, to return to the absolute. Nothing was as strong as this urge to be one with all things. He reexamined the cords around him and they no longer seemed to be simply made of light, they seemed to writhe now, transformed into thick snakes. He was suddenly jolted from this preoccupation by his awareness of the Adversary next to him with a large pair of his mother’s sewing shears, sharp and shiny. “All you have to do is cut the cord, Griffin,” she said, pointing to the silvery thread that connected Griffin to his body, but static interrupted the sound of her voice. The snakes intertwined with Griffin’s limbs now, merging his flesh with the Web of serpent and light. To Griffin’s horror, he could feel them under his skin, twisting like a viper beneath his flesh. When his mother’s voice cut back in, Griffin heard her say, “All of this will be yours.” The soundtrack in Griffin’s movie had changed as well. It took Griffin a minute, but he recognized the voice cutting into the rhythm of his brain. Johnny Cash. That was his guitar and his slow-rocking beat. Steady like a train. Now even his mother’s image was breaking up, giving way to the familiar form of the shadowy ally. Griffin felt himself being dragged back to his body at first, a slow tug and then he was whipping by the bundles of light until they were nothing but a blur. From somewhere far away Griffin could hear his mother insisting, “NO!” her voice transforming into the ally’s terrible bellow. Griffin saw his body rushing back towards him and put his dream arms out to slow himself down, accidentally grabbing one of the “hot” cords and
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making a horrible tangle of the Web. As he tried to release the cords, Griffin felt a jolt of electricity run through his body that he was certain would kill him. Then he saw Brandon in his mind being dragged into his own memory of the flash flood in Mexico. He saw Brandon’s face instead of his own, swallowing water, sinking, blue. As the snake coiled and thrashed beneath his flesh, he saw Brandon Henrig. Dead. Griffin woke

up in his body, knowing he had made a horrible mistake. Scout was barking furiously. Griffin cried out, clutching at the viper that he was certain now inhabited his chest. “I think I just killed him!”

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21 “Shhhh,” India said as Griffin sprung from his bed and tore the headphones from his ears. As soon as he opened his eyes, he realized something was wrong. The room looked different, Scout looked different, and India looked really different. Even though he was no longer journeying, Griffin was still Seeing. He wanted to get his shirt off, to see if the snake really did get beneath his skin—he was certain he could feel them—but not while India was there. She sat him down and urged him to be quiet. “You didn’t kill anyone,” India said. “But your dad’s home.” India was right; the most pressing problem now was the fact that his father was coming up the stairs. India opened the window and began to climb out. “What are you doing, girl?” Griffin whispered. “You’re gonna fall clear down there.” “Griffin?” His dad called out to him. “I can climb down. Don’t worry,” India said. “Hold up a sec,” Griffin called back to his dad. “Tell me about everything tomorrow,” India said as she disappeared into the darkness below. Griffin shut the window behind her as his dad opened the door. “Time to hit the hay, boy,” his father said. Griffin squinted at his dad, Seeing him as a dark torrent of energy, until, to Griffin’s relief, his father flicked the lights out. Griffin blinked and strained his eyes in the blackness to see if he had just imagined the strange sensation he experienced when he emerged from his journey, but it was simply too dark to know for sure. When he was certain that everyone had gone to bed, Griffin got up and crept across the hall to the bathroom. He flicked on the lights and lifted his shirt before the mirror. He brought his hand up to his mouth to stifle a scream. There was a deep purple bruise in his chest, beneath which, a small snake coiled around and around, spinning with an eerie dark light, chasing its own tail. The sight was enough to
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make him gag. Griffin caught his breath. He scratched at the swirling mark until it bled a little, but the snake snapped at his finger through his own flesh and then burrowed deeper. Seeing no other option, Griffin opened the medicine cabinet and took out his father’s straight razor. He leaned in closer to the mirror and went to work to try to cut the viper from his flesh. Twenty minutes later, Griffin returned to bed bleeding and defeated. He taped gauze pads to the wound he had carved into his own chest, as much to stop the bleeding as to cover the serpent from his Seeing eyes. Griffin lay in bed worrying about the thing that writhed within him, about what he had done to Brandon by touching the Web, and terrified that if he fell asleep the Adversary would find him again. Finally, Griffin’s fatigue won out over his anxiety. When he woke up the next morning, whatever had been wrong with his eyes the previous night was even more pronounced in the daylight. Griffin looked around the room to try to give his eyes a chance to adjust. At the foot of his bed, every hair on Scout’s body seemed alive and soft. The life he saw in his surroundings was not quite as vital as it was when he was journeying. The colors were not as bold. Still, this was not his everyday world by a long shot, and yet he was back in his body, wide-awake. He was still Seeing. He lifted the crusted gauze and checked the mirror again. The mark still appeared animated beneath the raw purple wound on his swollen chest, moving without moving. Alive. What was worse, it hurt. He quickly replaced the gauze pad and pulled on his shirt. Things only got worse when he went downstairs for breakfast. He looked at his grandmother. Instead of a person, Griffin saw before him an entity, ever shifting. He supposed that she was basically the same shape as his grandmother and her features remained familiar, but it was more like looking at a running river in the shape of Nonni, made of Nonni, instead of a solid unchanging object. She looked full and glowing. He had to get out of there before his dad came down. Sam would know in an instant that something wasn’t right with Griffin. “I’m not hungry this morning, Nonni,” Griffin said as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and hurried outside to his bike. The ride to school was even worse. He could see life coursing through the trees as they swayed in the wind. Far away through the thicket, he could see an elk looking on, through the woods. Everything looked so alive, vivid and in motion. Even the rocks on
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the ground pulsed gently with vitality, and seemed to be placed where they were for a reason, like they were at home. When he pulled up to the school he was overwhelmed by what he saw. The place was crowded with people, all rivers of energy, some small and dark, some bright and large, some full, some eerily deflated. He walked to his locker like an astronaut walking for the first time on the moon. The light in the school seemed green and felt like it was draining him. He was careful not to bump into anyone, because he could see that when other people bumped into each other, their energy rivers mixed for a second. Before he could get to his locker, he saw Brandon Henrig moving past him. He looked terrible, worse than anything Griffin could imagine. Instead of a river, Brandon looked like a dark empty bag. “Hey Griffin,” Brandon said quietly, as if he didn’t really expect a response. “Uh, hey Brandon,” Griffin said, as nicely as he could, given how freaked out he was. For a second, Brandon seemed to brighten from Griffin’s kindness, but then he darkened again. Griffin turned and watched Brandon walk down the hall. What he saw in his journey was no dream. Brandon looked like he was dying right before his eyes, and all because of Griffin’s mistake touching the hot lines in the Web. An arm reached out of the crowded hall and pushed Griffin. He felt like he was being stabbed in the chest. Griffin felt himself deflate a little. He looked up. Conrad. “Watch where you’re going, Cowboy,” Conrad said. “Hey, Griffin,” Taber said coming up next to him. “Are you drunk? You’re walking all over the place.” Griffin looked at Taber and tried to focus. He could see his intentions were good, but something in his coloring suggested he was concerned. “No,” Griffin laughed uncomfortably. “Well, where are you going? You have Tice first hour, right? You’re going the wrong way,” Taber said pointing down the other end of the hall. Griffin looked around. He was going the wrong way. Conrad leaned in and examined Griffin’s face. “You’re all messed up, aren’t you,” he said. “Look at his eyes! His pupils are all blown out.” Just then, India came to his rescue. She swirled before Griffin’s eyes. Vibrant, full, and beautiful.
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“Where have you been, Griffin?” she said taking him by the arm and moving him away from the other boys. “What are you doing?” she whispered when they got far enough away. “You’re acting like a freak.” “India,” Griffin said. “You have to get me out of here.” He didn’t know how else he was supposed to say it, so he just spit it out. “I’m Seeing. I think that’s what the bird-man called it.” “You’re Seeing? Right now? Wow. I read about Seeing. I tried it, but I can only get it to work for a few seconds at a time if I squint real hard when I’m journeying. Actually, I don’t know for sure that it was working,” India said. “Well, I got it working pretty good here, and now I’d like it to quit.” When Griffin got excited, his Southwestern accent became more pronounced. “Okay, come on.” She pulled him down the hallway and ducked out the orange doors into the cold Williams morning air. “Your grandma will know what to do.” Griffin tensed. “Fine, but you can’t tell her about what we did last night. I’ll have to make something up,” he negotiated. “Of course,” India said. “So how did it go? I mean with the rattle? Did you find it?” India asked as they dashed off campus. “I saw it in the Web. It was at the Homestead. Conrad stole it. Lucky you woke me up when you did. The ally found me. How did you know I was in trouble?” “I didn’t,” India admitted. “I saw your dad’s car truck pull up, so I switched your rhythm to try to wake you up. I tried every type of music I could think of to get you out, even the cartoon music! Your brain wasn’t even relying on the beats anymore. It was just maintaining the journey on its own. Finally, I streamed that horrible country music you listen to. And here you are.” “Yeah, and I’m hallucinating,” Griffin said. “That’ll be fine. You found the rattle, that’s all that matters,” India said warmly. “After school, we’ll go get it back.” India smiled a full spectrum of smiles at him, and he could physically feel her joy. Griffin hated to be the bearer of bad news. “We can’t just go marching into the drone’s clubhouse and take it back. We’ll have to think of a way to steal it. There’s more,” Griffin said. “I think when I was being pulled back I changed something in the Web.” “You didn’t touch the live threads?” India winced.
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“Well, you could have warned me. I think Brandon’s going to drown now. At Buckskinner. I wasn’t sure, but when I saw him today...” Griffin shuddered at the memory. “Brandon who?” “Some kid. He works at Dairy Queen.” “Brandon Henrig? What on earth do you have to do with him?” “Now? Plenty.” Somehow, everything Griffin did was just getting him deeper and deeper into trouble. He didn’t dare even mention the wound on his chest to her and the viper that swirled beneath it. He just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. He sighed. They reached Griffin’s house and stepped up on the porch. It looked like such a happy, sunny place while he was Seeing. He felt better, safe, just being there. “I’ll wait out here,” India offered to Griffin’s relief. “Don’t worry. I’ll do some research and figure something out. We’ll get the rattle back and nothing will happen to Brandon.” Her confidence filled the porch and something about the way he Saw her look at him made it very easy to be happy, despite all his setbacks.

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22 “Am I going to stay this way?” Griffin asked his grandmother as they sat out on her back patio. As he looked at her then, she had the same glowing fullness that his India had, but to a greater extent. It was almost like she was two people stuffed one inside the other. “Do you want to stay this way?” Mafalda asked him pointedly. “No, ma’am.” He knew if he saw everything this way for the rest of his life, he would be utterly distracted. He could never sit all day in a classroom like this, and he wouldn’t be able to navigate through life without feeling that he was disturbing so many other lives. How difficult it would have been, he thought, to dig those postholes for the new fence if he had seen like this. The earth looked like smooth brown skin. To dig into it would be to break that skin, to pull up rocks would be to pry them from their homes, their proper places. He could never do that. Even to walk through the forest, he would be painfully aware of the countless lives of bugs and plants that he crushed and broke beneath his feet. No, he determined, he did not want to stay this way. As he thought this, the Seeing diminished. His surroundings dulled until they faded back into the world he was used to. “Is that better?” Mafalda asked. Griffin nodded emphatically. “What happened? What did you do, Nonni?” His grandmother was herself now. “I don’t do anything, you silly boy. You did it with your own intent. You can use your intent to turn your Seeing on and off like a faucet. Though, once you See, you can never be fully blinded again.” Griffin couldn’t tell if this was a promise or a warning. “You say the Seeing just came on, out of nowhere?” she asked. Griffin nodded. He could see (or maybe See, he couldn’t really tell anymore) that she didn’t believe him. But that was the least of his troubles. He excused himself to go to the bathroom. Once inside, he pulled up his
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shirt and checked the mirror. Griffin was so relieved that he began to laugh. The wound on his chest looked ragged and vicious—and would undoubtedly scar—but there were no snakes within it. Other than its circular shape and the deep, regrettable cuts and burns Griffin had gouged into it the previous night, there was nothing supernatural about it at all. Mafalda knocked on the bathroom door. “Come on,” she said. “I’ll give you a ride back to school on my way in to work. I’ll get you and that young lady outside both excused from your first class.” But before he came out into the hall, he reminded himself that he still had quite a few problems that had not been solved.

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23 “Kids disappear all the time. I don’t see why the school is making such a big deal about Dan Benyshek,” Taber said. He passed the bowl of chips to Griffin, and doodled on his English book. It was after school, and Griffin, Taber, and Antwan sat out in Griffin’s living room finishing up their homework. Brandon sat at the end of the table grinning from ear to ear. Didn’t have any homework that day, but he was happy Griffin invited him. Griffin fed a few chips to Scout, before taking a few for himself. Griffin finished scribbling the final answer to his assignment. “There. That’s the last one,” he said closing his book. He had to think very hard about how to answer the question. “You have to admit, it does seem weird though. A different kid goes missing every full moon? At this rate our class will be empty before we graduate.” Taber and Antwan laughed. Griffin cringed. Not the response he had hoped for. “Round here, with all the dropouts, our class might be empty by then anyway,” Antwan said. “Look, maybe it’s been happening a lot more frequently lately, but kids always run away from Williams,” Taber said to Griffin, who wasn’t finding any of this amusing. “I heard he was a drug dealer,” Antwan offered. “He had plenty of money to get out of here. Vegas, baby. Wouldn’t you leave, if you had the chance?” “He was way too tall to be a drug dealer, but yeah, I liked it better in Tucson,” Griffin admitted. Williams hadn’t turned out as bad as he had expected, though. It had been a few weeks since Griffin journeyed to the Web of Chaos, and so far, everything had been relatively quiet. He still could turn on the Seeing whenever he wanted it by using his intent. He even learned how to stop himself from slipping into a journey the same way. It was handy to know what people were feeling, even if he couldn’t tell exactly what they were thinking. But other than acquiring that extra skill, Griffin didn’t have
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to think too much about allies or drones. He felt bad about losing the rattle and his mother’s wedding ring but figured if it was the worst thing that happened to him, he should consider himself lucky. It was a relief to have all that craziness stop; with the passage of time, it all seemed so far away and implausible. It felt good to hang out with his new friends, shoot some hoops at lunch, and just be normal. He’d even exchanged a few emails with his old friends in Tucson, and if he got the chance to go see Lupe again, he planned to stop by and give her a kiss. What’s more, he tried to include Brandon Henrig as much as he could. Despite being kind of small and weird looking, he was an ok guy actually. He could play the guitar like a wiz. If Griffin ever had a normal life, he wanted to start a band. Brandon could play guitar; Griffin thought he could figure out how to play drums. As long as Griffin didn’t See Brandon all dark and deflated, everything was fine. If he just looked the other way and didn’t think too much, his life wasn’t half bad. He threw Scout’s ball for him and Scout tore across the living room, finally trapping it under a coffee table. Scout barked to let everyone know he was in the mood to play. “Well, plenty of kids do want to run away,” Taber affirmed. “Couple of months ago that Lori Westrope disappeared, but she was seventeen and really pretty. I bet she moved to California.” “She looked just like that hot blond in Scarface,” Antwan reminisced, his eyes going all dreamy from the memory of her. Scout brought the ball to Antwan but then ran away when Antwan tried to get it from him and barked again. Griffin wrestled the ball out of his mouth and threw it. Scout chased it. Griffin was tiring of all this serious talk. “Yeah. I guess it’s not such a mystery, but there is one unsolved riddle that humankind might never figure out,” Griffin said. “And that’s why Conrad has to be such a tool.” Griffin smirked. The only obstacle to Griffin’s days of blissful ignorance was that he was still being persecuted by Conrad Gutierrez. “Maybe the drones have him brainwashed,” Griffin slipped in. Nobody bit. Scout threw the ball up in the air, showing off. No one looked. He didn’t catch it. “I’m telling you, Conrad’s always like this with new kids,” Taber answered. Griffin knew intuitively that it had to be more than this. “I’m not even new anymore. I’ve been here for over a month now. There have
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been two other new kids since I arrived, and Conrad hasn’t said anything to them at all,” he reasoned. “Told me he doesn’t like your hair,” Antwan offered. “Maybe it’s that.” “He doesn’t like me either,” Brandon chimed in. “He pushes me in the hall, tries to start fights in class, fouls me constantly when we play basketball, and you’re telling me it’s because I have curly hair?” Griffin said. Taber shrugged. He studied Griffin’s hair. If he hadn’t been busy thinking about other things, he might even have been put off by his strange hairdo. “If it wasn’t for you, the guy would have killed me by now,” Griffin added. “Thanks, for keeping him off my back, man.” Taber shook off the compliment. Now Scout ran around and around the room at top speed, his nails making ripping sounds in the carpet. Finally he had their attention. When everyone was finally looking at him, he stopped, squatted and peed. “Scout!” Griffin yelled, embarrassed. “I thought he was a he?” Brandon said. “He doesn’t know how to lift his leg yet,” Griffin called back from the kitchen where he was looking for something to mop up the mess with. “Did you ever call Marita?” Taber asked. Griffin came back in the room with a roll of paper towels and some Windex. He shook his head. “Call her. Call her right now,” Taber said. “I got something lined up Friday night on the down-low, and I was wondering if you’d be my wingman. My dad’s out of town and I thought we could rent some scary movies, have my brother try to get us some beer. Loosen the girls up a little bit before the big Technival at the Homestead? Why are you shaking your head? I need you! No one else can know about this.” Griffin smiled as he soaked up Scout’s pee. Taber was a sucker for the girls. “I got plans tomorrow. What about you, Antwan?” “Marita and I have some history, and it’s not pretty,” Antwan said. “We went out in eighth grade. Anyway, she likes you, Griffin.” “I seriously can’t,” Griffin said. He thought about volunteering Brandon, but the panicked look on Brandon’s face told him to just leave it alone. “Come on. This girl’s already suspicious that I’m trying to hit it and quit it, you know what I mean?” Taber said.
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“And you’re not?” Griffin said, and finally disposed of the pile of paper towels. “You fall in love with a new girl every week.” “Don’t get all technical on me. If you won’t help me out,” Taber started and then gave up. “Never mind. You’re right, Cowboy. This will be better. No witnesses. But she’ll always have the memory of getting with Taber Ruiz.” “Wow, what a lucky girl. You’re right generous,” Griffin reprimanded. “That’s what all the girls tell me,” Taber said, smiling like an angel.

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24 The something that Griffin had to do was meet India. Since the whole ally crisis seemed to be over, she pretty much went back to ignoring him. She had tried to talk to him once or twice at school, but Taber, Antwan, Luis, or the other guys were always around, and he didn’t want to be caught talking about shamans and journeys. They’d think he was ridiculous. And with the way she dressed, most of the guys did think she was strange. She got the hint. It didn’t take long for her to stop coming around. Then when he finally approached her alone, she just brushed him off like nothing had ever happened, but her coldness bothered him more than she knew. The days that followed were torture for Griffin: unwilling to try to talk with her in front of the other kids, unable to bear her indifference. Finally, she came up to him after class and asked to meet him on Friday. By now, Griffin was grateful for any attention from her at all, and jumped at the chance to see her again alone. He tried to See her, to get a feel for why she wanted to meet, but she appeared to his shamanic vision as an utter blank slate. Bright and beautiful, but blank. After school Friday, he waited until all of his crowd left for Dairy Queen, and went to meet her at the bike racks. “I forgot something in my locker,” he said when it was obvious she had been waiting. The school appeared to be abandoned. “You still want to get your grandfather’s rattle back to him?” she said. “India, I don’t know what to do. I can’t go back to the Web. That bird-man told me as much, not until I have one of those power animals you were talking about. And I finally got control of this journey thing…” “I found something else in Awake the Dragon. There’s a power, like Seeing—now don’t get spooked, this one isn’t as distracting. It’s called Feeling. I’m not bad at it. Maybe you can sneak into the Technival Friday night and use Feeling to find the rattle while
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everyone’s busy partying?” “If you’re so good at it, why can’t you use Feeling to find the rattle? Then if you find it, you can just give it to me,” Griffin reasoned with a grin. “Can’t you be serious? I already tried. It didn’t work. But the rattle belongs to you. Your Feeling for it will be stronger.” As far as Griffin was concerned the rattle was no longer his problem. Though he didn’t have any desire to see the rattle—or the ally it called—again, he did miss spending time with India. When he Saw her, she seemed distant. If he didn’t do something he knew he could lose her interest forever. He humored her. “All right then, teach me,” Griffin said. “Not here. We need a ride.” When they got to Griffin's house James’ truck was gone. Griffin and India sat at the counter in the kitchen without a plan. “Can your mom take us?” Griffin asked. “She’s at work. What about your dad?” “My dad? No way,” Griffin insisted. “Anyway he won’t be home until five.” “What about your Nonni?” His grandmother’s voice came from the doorway scaring both the kids. “You are always sneaking up on me, Nonni,” Griffin said. “Where do you need to go?” his grandmother asked. At precisely the same instant Griffin said, “nowhere,” India said, “Wupatki.” They looked at each other and then at Griffin’s grandmother. “It’s a long drive,” she said simply. “We better be leaving soon, if you want to get back before your father gets home. I’m assuming you do. Let me get my gloves.” They drove through Flagstaff and turned down a bumpy dirt road. Every time they tried to start up a conversation with her, or ask her a question, she either turned and began humming or flat out ignored them. They finally gave up and spent their time scolding Scout and trying to get him to settle down. After about an hour or so on the trail, they pulled off and parked. There were no signs of the pine forests of Williams, only the big blue sky and the small cedar trees and juniper bushes that dotted the yellow, wide-open desert plain. “I’ll wait for you here with my book,” Mafalda said. “There’s no point in me scuffing a heel out here. I’m sure you can manage without me.”
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She waved to them as they disappeared over a small black hill of lava rock. Scout followed him in his rangy, wild way. Never too close, but he never completely let them out of his sight, either. “Okay,” India said after they had been walking for a few minutes. “Did you bring the offering like I told you to?” Griffin fished around in the pockets of his flannel shirt. “I stole some more of my dad’s cigarettes. The book said tobacco was a good offering,” he pulled them out. What he didn’t tell India was that he had also brought the remaining gifts from the directions, just in case. “Hopefully, that will work,” she said. They walked a bit farther until they came to a giant, flat, ruddy boulder. On top of it, balanced a towering ancient Indian ruin made of red clay bricks. It looked as if it was growing out of the rock. “Wow, what is this place?” Griffin asked. “It’s an old Kayenta Anasazi pueblo called Wukoki. There’s a lot of them in the area, but a spirit lives at this one who can grant the gift of Feeling.” They climbed a set of crumbling stairs to the top of the rock and looked out at the high desert landscape with the monumental rosy pueblo behind them. India began. “Here, sit down.” They sat on the edge of the high rock facing one another. The wind blew gently, and the afternoon sun was low and warm. “You have to journey.” “Wait a sec,” Griffin said. “That wasn’t part of the deal. Last time, I couldn’t get out!” “Just stick close, and be quick. If the spirit of the place shows up, announce your intention to acquire the gift of Feeling and give it the offering. If it accepts, we’re good to go.” “What if the ally shows up?” Griffin asked. “I don’t know, start humming country music?” India guessed. She handed him her iPod. “You got it under control now. You said so yourself.” He wished he had kept his mouth shut. He took a deep breath and plugged in. “Here goes.” He pressed play and within a few seconds of listening to some guy rap about outer space, he found himself hovering outside his body.

He stood there a few minutes looking around the ghostly world. Then off in the distance, outlined by interlacing grids, he could see a small girl
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standing and watching him. “Hey!” he called out to her but she didn’t move. He walked towards her, but he didn’t seem to get any closer to her. Griffin grew tired of walking and remembered that India had told him to stay near. Remembering India, he turned around to look back at her, and the small girl appeared behind him. Griffin nearly jumped out of his skin. She had dark brown skin and wore a few pieces of rough cloth and leather. She was barefoot. Her staring eyes were enormous and entirely black. “I would like to have the gift of Feeling,” Griffin said. The girl reached her open hand out to him. Griffin took his dad’s cigarettes out and put them in her hand. They disappeared, as if incinerated, but the girl’s hand did not close. She took a step towards him. Griffin could feel heat coming off the child, and something about her changed, became more threatening. His offering didn’t work. “Okay, hold up. Let me see here, girl.” He checked his pockets. A pack of gum. No, that would really make her mad. His wallet. It only had two dollars in it, and he couldn’t see what use that would be to her. He took his watch off instead and placed it in her hand. The band actually caught fire there and disappeared in an instant. The girl stepped closer to him and opened her mouth in a horrible hungry grin. A blast of hot wind came out. Griffin felt the soles of his feet heating up. He had apparently stepped onto an old lava flow, but beneath the black earth, Griffin felt his weight shift something. Lava was seeping up towards him. The girl’s hand remained before him. This would be Griffin’s last chance. Pouring sweat, he checked his pockets again. What could he possibly give her that wouldn’t burn? The rock from his journey was in one pocket and the shells and bone in the other. The shells would crack, and the bone would catch fire like his watch, but the rock? Griffin didn’t have a doubt in his mind that this little girl could melt regular rocks, but this one was special, wasn’t it? The gift from the South. Griffin couldn’t bear the heat another second to continue his contemplation. He dropped the rock into the small girl’s palm. She closed her hand around it and giggled. She let it drop to the ground where it mixed with the countless other black rocks there. “I will grant you the gift of Feeling,” she said in a voice that sounded synthesized with a diesel engine. Before he could stop her, she took both of his hands in hers. Griffin screamed out as he could feel his hands melting in
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her grip. “You Feel?” she asked him with a coy smile.

Still screaming, Griffin opened his eyes. He jumped up, took the earphones out of his ears, and threw India’s iPod to the ground. Pacing around quickly, Griffin tried to calm himself. Checking his hands, he realized they no longer hurt. “Are you okay?” India asked. “No thanks to you! You said you did this before? Why didn’t you tell me that little girl was a pyromaniac?” “She seemed ok to me,” India said. “Oh did she? She almost lit me on fire!” Griffin shouted. “I take it she didn’t go for the cigarettes? “No, apparently, she isn’t a smoker.” “Well, at least you got the gift. It stings a little, huh?” India said. “Yeah, India. You could say that. So how am I supposed to use it?” “That’s easy,” she said. “Sit back down.” Reluctantly, Griffin forced himself to sit. “Now imagine the person you love most in the world. Can you picture that person?” India said. Griffin tried hard to see his mother, but he was having a hard time. Then he thought about Lupe; that was easier. “Yes.” India went on, “Now imagine this love as a warmth in your heart.” Griffin squinted hard. “Got it?” she asked. Griffin opened his eyes. “No, I don’t feel anything. Sorry.” “Here let me help you,” India said. She took his hands in hers. India immediately felt his hands tense up. She didn’t realize that it was because Griffin was having a hard time imagining anything but his hands in hers. “Loosen up,” she said and gave his arms a shake. “Okay, try again. Think about love.” India was glad that he had his eyes closed, because for some reason saying these words made her feel embarrassed. Griffin tried to concentrate on Lupe. She seemed so far away that it wasn’t the distant image of her that warmed his heart; it was the thought of India’s hands in his. “Do you feel it?” she asked. “Yes,” Griffin gulped. “Now consciously make the warmth stronger. Focus your intent.” As Griffin focused, a hot wave rushed over him. He was flooded
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by a soft glow, and it felt like his whole world was expanding. He opened his eyes and let go of her hands before he lost himself in that sensation. He could tell by the way that she trembled that India had felt something, too. “Okay well, you got it. We should head back to the car,” she said nervously. “Your grandma’s waiting.” She got up in a hurry to go, to leave all those uncomfortable feelings behind. “India, wait,” Griffin ventured. She looked up at him, her face flushed. “I just got my hand melted by a demon-child, and you’re not helping me learn how to use this Feeling thing.” Embarrassed of her awkward behavior, she sat back down on the edge of the rock. “I’m sorry, Griffin,” she said, looking away. She let her feet dangle free in the wind, while she collected her thoughts and attempted to bring her emotions under control. She started up again slowly. “Now you have to practice that Feeling, that warmth.” Griffin smiled boldly and held out his hands to her. “Want to try it again?” he asked. “No. I mean, practice making the feeling appear with your intent on your own. Practice until you can do it instantly.” Griffin knew that all he’d have to think about was her hands in his and the feeling would return at once, wherever he was. “Then what?” he inquired. “Then, you can use Feeling to communicate with animals, trees, or even rocks. You can use Feeling to figure out if something is good or bad for you, or—most importantly for us—you can use it to find something. I’ll show you.” She gave him a hand to stand up and they turned and faced the pueblo. “Most of Wukoki was rebuilt by archeologists in the sixties. They’re the ones who designed the front stairs that we came up. But, there is another way off this rock, the way that the people who lived here used,” she said, remembering the steep and narrow trail that ran down the backside of the edifice. “Close your eyes,” she told him. Griffin did. “Now call in your Feeling,” she said softly. He imagined the touch of her hands and the warmth in his chest exploded. “Now let the warmth come down your arm and heat your right hand,” India advised.
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With his will, Griffin was able to concentrate the warmth into his hand. “Now hold your hand out in front of you. Use your hand to guide you to find the proper way off this rock. When you are going the right way, your hand will feel hotter. When you are going the wrong way, it will feel cooler. And keep your eyes closed. No cheating.” Griffin quickly headed directly for the steep edge of the rock. As he approached the edge, he did not slow down, and, to India’s horror, he raised his foot to step off the edge. “Griffin, no!” she cried. He turned around to face her and opened one of his eyes. “Just kidding,” he said and offered her a crooked grin. Relieved, she giggled uncomfortably and smacked him on the arm. “That isn’t funny. Okay, try again, and stay away from the edge.” Griffin held his right hand out in front of him and concentrated on Feeling, then he repeated the question in his mind, “What is the original way to get down from this pueblo?” He headed for the tall adobe structure, and to India’s amazement, walked right through the center of the low door, even crouching a bit to avoid bumping his head. Now, India knew of the back trail from the ruin, which was east through the main chamber of the pueblo. Griffin crossed through the large space and, instead of turning east, turned west into a small dark shaft that appeared to be a window. This opened up into a perfectly pitch-black room, no larger than a closet. India wasn’t terribly comfortable cramped in the tiny dark space with him. “Excuse me,” Griffin said and switched places with her. She was about to tell Griffin that he was way off, that the back trail was accessible only from the main room, but then he dropped to his knees and felt along the floor. She held her tongue and watched him curiously. “Here it is,” he said, brushing some dirt from the area. He slid a large flat rock effortlessly aside on some hidden mechanism. This opened the way to a small tunnel heading downwards. India had no idea that a secret exit had existed. It was probably an old escape route, in case the village was under attack. Griffin barely paused, entering the shaft feet first. India’s anxiety heightened as she entered the crawl space. Descending further and further into the cool earth, she was certain that the light had gone out in her world. She felt strangely vulnerable, and sensed something in there with them,
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something cold and serpentine. It couldn’t be the ally. They weren’t in the journey. They inched their way down for another ten minutes in dark silence and found their feet on the ground of a small cave. As they felt around, it became apparent that there was no way out. The walls were solid, and it was not possible to return up the steep shaft by which they entered. India was close to tears. The cold presence surrounded her now, and she could hear it hissing in her ear. Griffin stopped. “India?” Griffin pronounced. His voice did not reassure her. Suddenly, she realized what she was afraid of. It was Griffin. “Yes,” she tried to disguise the panic in her voice. There was nowhere to go. In that instant, she was more terrified of Griffin than she had been of the ally. As if driven by her thoughts, the hissing got louder. “Give me your hand,” Griffin commanded. Reluctantly, as if she were reaching for a hot stove, she extended her hand in the direction of his voice. He took it and held it to his heart, pulling her close. Taking a deep breath and extending her Feeling, her fear immediately subsided. Now, without letting go of India’s hand, Griffin seemed to step up into the air, pulling India with him. Suddenly, they could stand upright. “Sorry about that, girl. I didn’t realize at first that we had to go back up through a different tunnel.” Already, India could see a ray of light up ahead. They ducked down, turned a sharp corner, and crawled out a small cave into the fresh air. Scout was waiting for them barking and wagging his tail, like they’d been gone a year. “Can I open my eyes now?” Griffin asked. “Yeah,” India said. She sat down on a red rock, exhausted from her fear, happy to be back out in the light. As they walked back to the Rover, India stared at Griffin whenever he looked away, trying to pin-down what it was that had terrified her in the darkness. Even using her Feeling, she was unable to shake the uncomfortable sensation she had below the ground. Griffin, meanwhile, was unable to shake the memory of India’s hand in his. “Do you want to stay for dinner?” Griffin said. “Because after that I was thinking we could hook up with a couple of my friends, and then go to that Technival, if you want, and try to find the rattle.”
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He prayed Taber’s invitation was still good. Watching movies with India all night was about the best think that Griffin could imagine, even if they had to ignore Taber and whatever poor girl he had suckered into making out with him. “I can’t, Griffin,” India said. “You’ll have to go to the party alone, but you’ll find the rattle.” Something felt odd with India, cool. Griffin could See her pulling back from him. “Okay, it’s no big deal. Let’s just forget all this shaman stuff for tonight, India. Let’s just have fun. I’ll talk to your mom if you don’t think she’ll let you go out.” He figured he could use this great combination of Seeing and Feeling to convince any one of anything. Then India said something that made him realize that that wasn’t necessarily true. “It’s not my mom. I can’t see you tonight because I’m already going out with someone else,” India began. Griffin wanted to cover his ears so he didn’t have to hear the dreadful news he knew was coming. “I’m going over to Taber’s tonight, Griffin.”

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25 All the way home Griffin managed to keep his mouth shut about what he heard Taber say the day before, but what could he say to India that wouldn’t sound like stupid jealousy? Taber was good-looking and popular and India had gone to school with him for years. She probably knew a lot more about him than Griffin did. No one had forced her to go watch movies with him that night. She was going because she wanted to be there—alone with Taber. Griffin looked over at India. He had to admit, nothing she had ever said or did gave any indication that she liked him as anything more than a friend, and during the walk back to the car, she’d been downright chilly. After India left his house that afternoon, Griffin considered calling Marita and asking her to meet him at Taber’s just so he could keep an eye on everyone, but he decided that that would be torture and India would think he was stalking her. In the end, he went along with his family to Rosa’s Cantina for dinner, not because he wanted to but because his father wouldn’t let him stay home alone. The restaurant used to be a bowling alley so the place was open and airy. The flowers on the table were plastic. A pretty Latino waitress came by and set down four red tumblers of ice water. “Hi James,” she said, blushing. “Hey Dulci, I didn’t know you worked here,” James returned as she hurried to her next table. “She’s in my third hour chemistry class,” James told Griffin. “See, aren’t you glad you came?” he said as watched Dulci balance six plates of enchiladas. Griffin shrugged and poked at his paper placemat with his fork. All through dinner, as James chatted with their waitress, and his father and grandmother argued about everything from automobile maintenance to how much to tip the guy who plowed the snow off their driveway, Griffin remained deep in thought. Finally, after they ordered desert, Griffin decided to take action. He excused himself
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and went to the pay phone near the restrooms. Taking a deep breath, Griffin dialed Taber’s number. The phone rang. It rang again. And again. Just as Griffin was about to hang up, Taber answered. “Hello?” he sounded out of breath. Griffin froze up. He hadn’t planned this far in advance. Now that Griffin had Taber on the phone, he realized that he had nothing to say to him. He didn’t even want to talk to India. Griffin couldn’t even remember why he had dialed the number. “Hello?” Taber said again. Griffin quickly hung up the phone. Dejected, he went into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face and headed back for his booth. Before he made it halfway across the restaurant, the door to the outside swung open, and a tall man with wild grey hair walked in from the cold. Looking at him made Griffin’s blood turn to ice. A character from his nightmares had just walked into his waking life. The snake-man. Griffin couldn’t believe it. He calmed himself and looked at the man with his Seeing. In the dimly lit room, the man looked like an enormous glowing egg, so full of energy it looked almost tight. Something about the egg undulated in serpentine waves. Griffin had not managed to escape the snakes in the Web and now they were coming for him in real life. The snake-man had said it himself back in Mexico the day he made a deal with the other diablero for Griffin’s unconscious body: Griffin owed him his life and he was going to come and to collect it Well, here he was. Before Griffin could inspect the egg that was the snake-man further, he noticed it turn its attention upon his family’s table in a hot spotlight. Something at his table shone back just as fiercely. Griffin shifted from his Seeing quickly enough to gather what was happening in the real world: His grandmother’s and the snake-man’s eyes were locked in recognition. Griffin didn’t have to use his Feeling to register the sharp laser of hatred coming off his grandmother, and the surprise coming from the snake-man at having met, firsthand, the power of his grandmother’s evil eye. The malocchio. Before Griffin’s brother and father even noticed that anything had happened, the man with the wild grey hair turned and left Rosa’s. Griffin crept back to the table uneasily. He could still feel the cool draft the man’s exit had left in the room. “Did you lock up that dog of yours?” Mafalda asked as he
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slipped back into the booth. “Yes, ma’am,” Griffin said. “I left him in the house.” He studied his grandmother more closely. He could never imagine someone as proper and uptight as her drumming and going on spirit journeys, even if she was an expert on the subject. She couldn’t be a shaman, he decided, and yet, the way she wielded her anger was exacting, with obvious intent and incredible power. It was unlike anything Griffin had ever Seen, and it frightened him. “Good,” she said, and reached for the small black folder that held the check. “Why, Nonni?” James asked. “You think that pup’s going to run away after it found itself a good roof to sleep under?” “On a cold night like this, he could wander off and you’d never see him again,” she said, examining the check. “Well, I didn’t think you’d taken a liking to the animal, Mafalda. Just goes to show, you might have a heart after all,” Sam said. He put some money on the table to cover his and his boys’ portion of the bill. Mafalda rolled her eyes at his gesture and laid out some crisp bills, and snapped the folder shut. There would be no discussion over the check. “Nonsense,” she said. “I’m just looking after what’s mine.”

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26 “So you’re a drone now?” Griffin hissed at his brother. He threw down his game control on to his brother’s bedroom floor. Pointed the remote at the TV. Game over. “Hey, I was winning,” James complained, and then laughed at his little brother’s temper. He figured Griffin wasn’t going to turn the TV back on so he got up off the floor, stepped over Scout, and started getting ready to go out. “Touchy as teased snake.” “That’s great. Any day now they’ll have you dealing crack at Buckskinner Park,” Griffin said. Home from dinner no more than twenty minutes, and his life was falling apart. James walked over and shut his bedroom door. “Keep it down, Griffin. Want Dad to see you acting all crazy?” “Well, are you or aren’t you?” Griffin demanded. “A drone?” James said. “I’d think you know me better than that by now. I’m just going to that big fandango they got going on at the Homestead. Half of Williams is going to turn out. Including Dulci.” James took off his shirt, and went to his closet for his best cowboy shirt. “Lemme see your arm,” Griffin demanded. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to wait til you grow up to see guns like these,” James said with a grin. Out of nowhere, Griffin rushed him, driving him back into his desk. Scout jumped up and started to bark, unsure whether he needed to back Griffin up, or just try to get in on the excitement. As James caught the lamp that tumbled from the desk Griffin grabbed his other arm. The left one. It was clean. Griffin backed off, feeling stupid. Scout relaxed. “You’re really going to that party?” he sulked. “What? You wanna come?” James asked, still smiling, hands up. Confused. All of a sudden Griffin’s hands felt hot. Could his Feeling really
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work like this? He looked back as his brother blankly. “Heck, you can come. Let’s go!” James said. James told their father he was taking Griffin out with him and Dulci to a dance, which wasn’t exactly a lie, though whatever was going through Sam’s head when he pictured this “dance” was undoubtedly quite a bit different from what Griffin and James saw when they rolled up to the Homestead in James’ old Ford. Or at least as close as they could roll up to the Homestead. The whole clearing around the old slaughter house was congested with cars parked randomly, tightly, half-mile radius around the place. It looked like a used car lot after an earthquake. And the music wasn’t that whirring whizzing Euro stuff that India had been playing, causing his occasional jettison into a cartoon universe. These beats sounded like sledgehammers and shotguns. Like a whole factory full of them. Griffin recognized that it was the music of the enemy. Dulci saw some her friends and ran ahead, leaving Griffin and James. “I don’t think you’re going to see Dulci again tonight, James,” Griffin said. They started for the Homestead. The rhythm was starting to make it nearly impossible for Griffin to think about his body, despite how good Griffin thought he was getting at controlling his tendency to slip into a journey. It just carried him away into the journey, and he was happy when they’d made it inside where his brother couldn’t scrutinize his behavior so closely. He finally had to let himself go.

From what he had seen before, he expected the mass of people, the heat coming off them and the smell of them, but never in his wildest imagination did he expect to see the enormous cavern at the center of the dance floor, a hole invisible to everyone else. Icicles hung from the entrance like teeth. Shadows of insects, snakes, and bat-like spirits of all sizes seemed to seep from the gaping mouth and latch on parasitically to the other ravers at the Homestead. These creatures seemed to be vibrant and real to Griffin who noticed the hordes of dancers, and even his brother looked dull in comparison, like ghosts. Griffin focused his intent to find the rattle but felt only a faint pull from the bottomless cave. It was down there. In the deepest pit of Hell. Great. As Griffin stared into the cavern, a tiny vampire bat with a turned up nose attempted to latch on to his egg light but couldn’t get it’s teeth into him
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because his egg was so full it was hard and tight. Somehow, Griffin seemed immune. James didn’t look like he was doing too badly either. None of the spirit pests were able to latch on to him at all.
“I don’t know. This music doesn’t do anything for me,” James yelled over the noise, obliviously standing on the edge of the chasm.

Griffin had to laugh. Everyone in the whole Homestead was pulsing to the same rhythm, Griffin included. But as abnormally gifted as Griffin was at journeying, James was abnormally challenged. His egg pulse was slow and irregular. He was even tapping his foot to the wrong beat. Un-tranceable, and therefore, at least in this situation, invincible. Maybe the saying was true, Griffin thought; real cowboys don’t dance. At all. Griffin surveyed the room. He didn’t see Taber or India anywhere. They were still together. Alone.

“Hey, there’s your, uh, friend,” James said pointing to Brandon in the dance floor. He was faring worse that any of them. Shadows were all over him, draining him. He looked like a pincushion. “Go on, say hi,” James said. “But you get back here directly. I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” James said. “Two minutes,” Griffin said.

A family of shadow bats, unable to latch on to James, slid off him as he adjusted his hat, the littlest one trampled by his tapping boot. It must be nice to be so oblivious, Griffin thought. He headed after Brandon but felt the heat change in his hands. He didn’t even have to look, he could feel it. Right next to Brandon, Conrad held his grandfather’s rattle. The shadow ally crouched on the edge of the Cavern, waiting for Conrad to shake it, poised to attack. Griffin couldn’t believe this was his job. To save the kid he despised most in the world from being eaten by the ally. Griffin dove at Conrad and knocked the rattle out of his hand. It skidded across the floor. “You!” Conrad said and hauled off and shoved Griffin in the chest. He might be journeying but he still had a body. The pain that came from the self-inflicted burns and cuts on his chest was unbelievable. Then Conrad punched him hard enough in the face to knock him off his feet. Instantly, the ally noticed him journeying in the middle world, and invisibly ran through the crowd, right through the dancers. Griffin scrambled across the floor after the rattle. Before he even got within ten feet of it, through the forest of legs, he saw a girl bend down and pick it up.

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She laughed and shook it like a toy, and materialized into Griffin’s journey. As soon as she did, the shadow ally stopped its pursuit of Griffin long enough to swallow her light orb. Before she slumped against her fellow dancers, she passed the rattle through the crowd of ravers and one after another, they fell victim to its curse and the ally devoured their lights. Griffin used this diversion to find James. “You seen enough?” James asked as Griffin rushed up to him. Griffin grabbed him by the arm and dragged him toward the door, pausing only to snag a handful of Brandon’s shirt and drag him out, too. Nearby, Conrad caught up with the rattle. Griffin saw him materialize into the middle world journey, growing vivid. Conrad didn’t even see the ally coming. Before the ally could attack Conrad, Griffin knocked the rattle from his hands. The DJ noticed a disturbance in the crowd, and sped up the beat. To Griffin it sounded like an alarm. Before he made it through the door, he saw a familiar face in the crowd. In a cloud of smoke journeying into the room, he saw Francisco, the Mexican diablero that had been responsible for his mother’s death. Francisco saw Griffin and smiled. “I knew I’d find you,” he called out across the journey. Griffin smiled and waited for the ally to attack the diablero. But it just crouched at his feet like a big ugly pet. “And this.” Francisco held up Griffin’s grandfather’s rattle. “It won’t attack me, boy. I am its master now, thanks to you.” Francisco motioned for the ally to attack Griffin, but Griffin was already out the door, running for the car. At the truck, Griffin reached through the window and opened the passenger door—the handle was broken from the outside—and pulled Brandon inside. There was no pause button on a party. Griffin couldn’t get out of the journey, couldn’t get his mind back into his own world “Pony up,” he yelled at James. “I’m coming,” said James, who truly was hurrying, now under the impression that Griffin had just been in a fight. “Come on, wake up, wake up,” Griffin said to himself. But the rhythm from the Homestead’s DJ, was too strong, even from the parking lot. Then Griffin got an idea. He ran back out and headed for the electrical box of the Homestead. Griffin pulled the main switch and killed the power to the entire party. The music stopped but Griffin still was stuck in the journey. Griffin made it back to the truck just as James finally got the truck started.
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As chaos erupted from inside, James looked at his little brother. “Did you just shut down that party? I can’t take you anywhere!” The ally got a lock on Griffin’s location again. “Just drive,” Griffin demanded. Griffin quickly pressed the old buttons on the radio, until finally, as the ally leapt on to the hood of the truck, Griffin found what he was looking for. “And another one of them old Southern tunes, from the master picker himself…” The man on the radio said in a slow drawl as the ally pushed its head in through the windshield. The song started up, and its slow, awkward beat jolted Griffin back fully into his body out of the grasp of the ally’s jaws in another, more dangerous, world.

“Oh, ‘Cry me a River!’” James said. “Now this here’s music.” James started singing in that horrible tone-deaf voice of his. Nothing had ever sounded better. Griffin just sang along. Just to make sure his mind stayed right there in his own world, in that old Ford truck. He and his brother sang all the way home. Brandon thought they were both crazy.

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27 “Blacklisted?” Griffin asked, making sure he had heard Antwan right. That Monday, Griffin was playing a lone hand in the empty hall at lunch, eating a piece of pizza that had about as much flavor as cardboard. He could hear all the other kids in the lunchroom yelling and having a good time, but today Griffin preferred to just take his sad lunch to the hallway and eat it on the floor next to his locker. Antwan had come looking for him. It wasn’t official Hive business, just one friend looking out for another. “Yup,” Antwan said. “The only other people on the Hive’s blacklists are, like, teachers and cops. Starting a fight with a drone at a Hive Technival, that’s pretty bad. Way to go. Good luck ever getting into any cool parties ever again, never mind ever getting into Hive.” Antwan truly looked as if he felt sorry for Griffin. Antwan slapped him on the shoulder sadly. “When I get a little more cred, I’ll see if I can put in a word for you,” Antwan promised him. “Thanks,” Griffin said. “You comin’ to shoot some hoops?” Antwan asked. Griffin shook his head. “I understand,” Antwan said solemnly, and let him be. On top of being a near Hive pariah for the fight he started at the Homestead party, he was doing his best to avoid Taber. He had him in his first hour and ran into him between classes; there was no way he wanted to hear anything about what happened between him and India on Friday night while Griffin had been exposing himself as a target to the ally and the diablero that wanted to kill him. Not that any of the other kids really liked him much anyway. Griffin had the feeling that most of the others only put up with him because of Taber, the exceptions being Antwan, Julia, who seemed to like him because he could play ball, and Luis, who just didn’t seemed to notice anyone at all.
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Even Brandon was all horns and rattles about Griffin pulling him out of the first party he’d ever been invited to. But now that Conrad had seen them together, he took a special liking to Brandon, undoubtedly to steer away the only real friend Griffin had left. Griffin started to feel sorry for himself. School had never been fun, but in Tucson, Griffin had friends. Getting their occasional emails was great, but in times like these, eating his lunch alone in the hall, he missed them. There was someone else Griffin missed, someone else he never told goodbye: Lupe. He would have given anything for an email from her, but she didn’t have an Internet connection at home or at school. She must have heard what happened to him, but still, when that Christmas passed by without his family’s return, had she missed him? He had promised that he would come back to see her. Knowing Lupe, even though his house had burned down, his mother died, and Griffin himself nearly drowned, she’d be mad he’d broken his promise. Her terrible temper was one of the things he secretly liked about her. Before long, it would be the time of year the Roarks used to return to Mexico and drive the cattle from the winter pasture to the seaside. This would be the first May he wouldn’t be seeing her. Then he had an idea. He pulled out his notebook and a pen. “Dear Lupe,” he wrote. “I’m sorry I haven’t kept in touch. So many crazy things have been happening here, I don’t even know where to begin.” Chewing on the end of his pencil, Griffin thought about it. He really didn’t know how to begin. He couldn’t tell Lupe the truth about the ally. That would be too weird. He couldn’t just tell her that he was trying become—briefly, before Francisco or the snake-man killed him —a shaman. Even though they’d heard all the same stories growing up, she would think he had lost it. He certainly couldn’t tell her about India. What exactly could he tell her? “Griffin?” He was so focused on his much overdue letter that he hadn’t even noticed India walking towards him. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Oh nothing,” he said and closed his notebook. “What’s up?” He prayed she wouldn’t bring up Taber or anything about anyone’s Friday night. “I heard you’re blacklisted,” India said. “You should’ve been more careful. You know three more kids disappeared Friday night? And the full moon isn’t even for another week.”
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Griffin looked around. He didn’t know why he still cared, but he made sure that no one was around that could hear his conversation. They were alone. “The ally got them. I saw it,” Griffin said. “Why didn’t you call me?” India said. I might have been able to help you.” “You were busy, remember. And by the way, why didn’t you tell me that the center of the Homestead is an ENORMOUS BLACK PIT with baby allies shooting out of it?” Griffin demanded. “Like another smoke ladder?” India ventured. “Ha. No, not at all like another smoke ladder. Like an opening to Hell,” Griffin said. “Oh, this is not good. A shaman must have found that stick of yours, and he’s using it,” India surmised. “Not a shaman, a diablero. He did. His name is Francisco, I think he followed me and that rattle here from Mexico. You meant rattle, right, not stick? Griffin clarified. “Stick, rattle; you’re the one who got them stuck together. But for the record, I meant stick. I told you that stick was a piece of the Axis Mundi? It is a sippapu, a spirit ladder that gives a shaman access to the upper and lower worlds. It looks this Francisco guy has just propped open the door to the lower world.” “Yeah,” Griffin said, “and with the help of the drones and that DJ, he’s hosting a feeding party for all the shadow allies down there,” Griffin said. “That’s how some shamans get their power,” India said solemnly. “That’s what I figured,” Griffin said. “I finished Shaman’s Inheritance. I know I don’t stand a chance against that diablero and his ally unless I can get my own power animal from the lower world. “And you can’t do that while the diablero has control of the Axis,” India added. “So I would recommend steering right clear of the Homestead this Friday night after the Rodeo comes through. What I saw this weekend was just a snack. Allies feed at the full moon. Shaman’s Inheritance, Chapter Nineteen.” “You’re going to just give up?” India asked. “Unless you think I should sneak back into the Homestead and throw myself into the pit.” He said it like a challenge. Aimed to impress. “You don’t have a power animal,” she said, teasing back. “I’ll just pick one up on my way down,” Griffin said, with a little
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too much mustard. “Well, if you want to be my date before you commit suicide.” India just stood there smiling at the tension between them. Griffin sensed an opening, and with nothing left to lose, he took it. “I had a great time the other day,” Griffin blurted into the awkward silence between them. “Look Griffin,” India continued. “I’m sorry for panicking down there in the cave, but there’s something I need to tell you.” “Oh. Go ahead,” Griffin held his breath, preparing for the worst. He could See her subtly shrinking away from him and Feel her coldness towards him. He did not want to hear about her Friday night with Taber, but he couldn’t stop her from speaking. “You know that not all people or spirits are good?” India began. Griffin exhaled. “This is about spirits?” he said, relieved. “When we were down there under Wukoki, I thought I Felt one of the shadow allies,” India said. “I thought it was you.” “Me?” Griffin said. “How could I be an ally? I’m a real person.” A group of senior girls were walking towards them, chatting. Griffin and India waited in silence until they disappeared down the hall. “It’s nothing,” she said when they were gone, “it's just that when a shaman gets an ally, part of the ally lives within the shaman, and part of the shaman lives within the ally. Down in that cave, I just could feel this chilly slithering,” India suddenly cut off. “Only a dark shaman—a diablero—would ever have a snake for an ally. I know it’s not true now, though.” But if she really felt that way, then why was she still backing away from him? His stomach turned. He reached up and touched the strange marking on his chest through his shirt. It was now very tender, hot to the touch and swollen. He had to keep it covered with gauze so the pus that continually broke through the scab wouldn’t stain his shirts. She couldn’t be talking about the same snake-man that he saw in his journeys and at dinner with his family. He hadn’t even felt it that day. Griffin had felt perfectly at home there underground, but maybe that was the point. “India,” Griffin said, unable to believe he was going to ask what he was going to ask, “Have you ever heard of an ally called the Adversary?” India laughed, “Uh yeah. Awake the Dragon. Chapter Ten. Not to
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mention the Good Book.” “My grandma wrote a book called the Good Book? I must have missed that one.” “The Good Book, as in the Bible. You know the devil, Satan, the Adversary? You’d be hard pressed to find a person in America that hasn’t heard of that shadow ally. Look, I’m sorry about the way I acted. I just got spooked thinking about all this stuff in the dark,” India smiled at him. “So what were you doing, sitting here all by yourself ?” “Who me? Nothing. Just eating lunch.” While the DEVIL is swirling under my skin, Griffin added to himself. Griffin had to stop himself from slipping into moroseness in front of India, so he added, “If you can call this,” Griffin wagged the stiff piece of pizza at her, “lunch.” He forced a smile. “Yeah, the pizza’s especially bad here. Next year, we can go off campus for lunch.” “Cool,” Griffin said absently. “So come on,” India demurred, “what were you writing?” “I was just writing a letter to a girl I know,” Griffin said. “Really? From your old school in Tucson?” India asked. “No. She lives in Mexico. We used to spend summers together.” Griffin reminisced of a happier time when he didn’t worry if he was about to be killed or claimed by the Adversary. Thinking about Lupe was just about the only thing that could have cheered him at this low point. “Oh that sounds nice,” India said flatly. “My family had a house down there on the beach, so Lupe and I...” “Lupe?” “Yeah,” Griffin said, closing his eyes and seeing it all clear enough that thoughts of his current predicament retreated, giving way to his sweetest memories. “Her name’s Lupe. We’d go swimming and sailing sometimes. Ride horses every day. You can do everything in Mexico.” “Everything,” India repeated. “Yeah. Everything. I love Mexico. Lupe’s dad used to work...” “You know what, Griffin?” India interrupted. “I have to go. Class is going to start soon.” “Oh no. We have, like, ten minutes,” Griffin said. “Perfect,” she said. “Then you have ten minutes to enjoy that pizza.” India turned around and walked away. Before Griffin could spend much time lamenting that he would never, ever, understand
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girls, he remembered the mark of the snake on his chest and realized that he had much bigger problems.

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28 The ice on the lake had completely thawed. The daffodils were starting to bloom. All of nature seemed to rejoice that the long winter was melting away. Spring was finally beginning to arrive. It seemed all good things came with the warmer weather, and the first event of every spring was the Bill Williams Days Rodeo and Powwow. Some of the best equestrians and cowboys in the area would ride for prizes in between traditional Navajo and Hopi dances calling the Kachina spirits down from the mountains. As soon as school let out on Friday, most of the kids immediately walked down the few blocks to the rodeo grounds. There, they could find Navajo tacos or fry bread with sugar and honey. Some of the older kids had to get ready to participate in the Kachina dances and the younger ones were excited to watch and dream about the future when they’d get to be out there in glorious costume, dancing for the crowd, but everyone was excited to watch the rodeo. Sam Roark and his boys arrived at the rodeo after supper. The livestock, the dust, and the corrals reminded Griffin so much of his old home many miles to the south, near Tucson. The sound of the dances—the rattle and drums and chants—brought back longforgotten memories of the powwows that the Roarks had attended as a family when Griffin was a toddler. James laughed when he saw the men trying to ride the broncos. “See that mail-order cowboy, Griffin?” he said to his little brother. “Dad could break that horse, no problem.” “So could you, son,” Sam was quick to retort to James. “I’ve seen you tame horses that would put that crow bait to shame.” Griffin searched the thick crowds for India, Taber and the rest of the guys, or even Brandon to hang out with. All he found was the skin on the back of his neck prickling. Instead of catching a glimpse of his friends, Griffin locked eyes with Francisco staring out at him from across the arena. This was not a journey. Francisco was there. Real life.
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He was all dressed up in a suit. When Griffin thought about it, he didn’t know why it surprised him. As an evil smile crossed Francisco’s lips, Griffin felt his blood run cold. Francisco transferred his gaze to Griffin’s father and brother, and laughed. “No,” Griffin said under his breath. He didn’t know what was going to happen, but he knew it couldn’t be good. Griffin Saw the ally’s black cloud rise from Francisco and wrap itself, slowly almost elegantly around the horse and rider in the arena, and then tighten like a swarm of African bees zeroing in for an attack. Then they all heard it. The crowds gasped as the horse crashed into the side of the arena, knocking the man from the saddle. The man’s foot was still caught in the stirrup, but the horse was crazed. The cowboy was tossed around the ring like a limp doll. The horse’s eyes rolled and he snorted, kicking his hindquarters in the air, trying to buck free of the unconscious man. Some men from the rodeo tried to corner the horse, which only fueled its frenzy. Francisco had taken away Griffin’s mother and now he was after the rest of his family, but Sam and James jumped in the ring before Griffin could stop them. They wasted no time. James’ hand was on a lasso, Sam approached from the other side of the animal, and they both began talking quietly to him. James quickly turned the rope in figure eights and with remarkable expertise, flung it onto the wild horse’s neck. As James pulled the rope taut, Sam jumped into the saddle, sweeping the dangling reins into his control. With one slash of his pocketknife, he cut loose a buckle, dropping the stirrup that held the man’s foot. Once free of the dragging man, and with a stern hand on its reins, amazingly, the horse calmed. They had beaten Francisco. Griffin’s eyes scanned the bleachers, but Francisco was gone. In the upper left quadrant of the bleachers, Conrad laughed heartily at the scene below and his friend Enrico gave him a slap on the back. Right next to Conrad sat Brandon, of all people, squinting behind his thick glasses. Antwan was there, too, and Taber, sitting close to India. Sam brought the horse out of the arena and dismounted. He noticed deep red welts in the horse’s hindquarters and legs. The animal looked thin and ragged. A broad old ranch hand with a short grey buzz-cut and a limp stood beside them in no time. “That was amazing roping and riding. Thank you, sir,” the ranch hand said to Sam, offering his hand. Sam took it, but didn’t look happy. “Scully,” the man said. “Is this your horse, Scully?” Sam asked. James and Griffin knew
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what this discussion was going to be about. “Horse belongs up at the ranch I work, if that’s what you mean, and Kiowa was a good horse, too, until today,” the man said and spat on the ground. “I don’t think it’s your horse who’s gone bad. This animal’s been whipped.” He pointed to the welts on the animal. They could tell by Scully’s face that he knew nothing about the beating the horse had taken. “The man riding Kiowa,” Scully pointed to the gurney being carted out of the arena by two rodeo clowns, “that was the manager up at the ranch. I’m getting old. I’m not as involved as I should be.” “Well, looks like that man got what was coming to him. You keep a better eye out for your animals,” Sam said, and turned to walk away. “Sir,” Scully called after Sam. Sam turned to look at him. “You wouldn’t be looking for work would you? The owner up at Sky Nail Ranch just saw your riding and sent me down here to offer you a job. We seem to be out of one no good ranch hand.” Sam laughed. “Could be. Depending on what your boss is paying.” As the older men spoke, James and Griffin patted the horse’s nose. “Something spooked this horse,” James said to Griffin. The horse did seem like a completely different animal now, docile, almost timid. “You know, the same thing happened to you at your first rodeo. You remember, that?” Griffin nodded, even though the memory was bleached and fragmentary. “Here’s the bossman now,” Scully said. Then Griffin’s worst nightmare came true. The snake-man with his wild grey hair and snakeskin boots walked up through the crowd and shook his father’s hand. “I think you and I are going to have a very long partnership,” the snake-man said, and turned to Griffin with a sharp smile. Griffin quickly excused himself. While his dad and James continued their conversation with the snake-man, Griffin headed up the bleachers to tell India what he saw and to finally break down and ask her what she knew about the mark on his chest. Everything about that night was making Griffin feel sick: First seeing Francisco, then the snake-man offering his dad a job, the way Conrad and Enrico laughed at the man being dragged around the arena, but nothing was half as bad as the feeling he got when he reached the top of he bleachers and saw that India and Taber were holding hands.
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29 “Did you see that guy get dusted? That was incredible.” Conrad squealed with enthusiasm. In the arena, some young Hopi boys dressed in light blue danced, the rows of dried cocoons that hung from their legs rattling as they spun and stepped, but on the bleachers, something else had captured Griffin’s attention. Griffin came up behind his so-called friends, carefully registering their chatter. He didn’t want to listen in, but he couldn’t help himself. “Okay, forget about the show for a second and listen to the rest of my story,” Antwan said impatiently. “This is hilarious.” “I hate that Griffin kid,” Conrad threatened. Antwan ignored this comment and continued his story. “He basically begged me to get him into Hive. I told him no way, he was blacklisted. And then he started to cry.” “Oh that’s nothing,” Conrad said. “He actually cut the power to the last Homestead party.” “No, remember,” Taber laughed, “India explained that he was ‘journeying,’” he did the finger quotes, “when he did that because he thinks he’s a medicine man or something.” “That’s not what I said!” India objected. “His dog pees like a girl,” Brandon said. “You mean that scrawny thing that we saw down at Buckskinner Park?” Enrico laughed. “I bet Griffin pees sitting down, too. Like dog, like owner.” They all howled even louder. “I should have killed that thing when I had the chance,” Conrad said. All thoughts of Francisco left Griffin’s mind. Griffin had enough. He had been betrayed both by Taber, and worse yet, by India. This was all more than even India could take. The words were no more out of Conrad’s mouth when India stood up and walked away down the tinny steps.
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“Wait India!” Taber called after her. “Let her go,” Conrad said. “How did you ever get mixed up with such a weird chick? When you going to kick that freak to the curb?” Taber let her go. Antwan looked at Brandon. “Plenty of hotties waiting for you when you join Hive. You’ll see.” Once India was out of sight, Griffin struck. He appeared out of nowhere, and pushed Conrad hard, square in the chest, nearly knocking him backward from the bleachers. “Oh what, are you going to cast a spell on me?” Conrad laughed. “You and India are both crazy.” “Stand up,” Griffin ordered. Conrad looked at Taber, who shook his head imperceptibly. “What are you looking at him for? Stand up,” Griffin demanded. As the crowds parted below, Griffin glanced down and his eyes met his father’s, surveying the crowd to find him. Griffin didn’t care who saw this fight. Antwan caught the exchange. “Not here, Conrad,” he said in a low voice. “You know the rules. Tonight’s your big night. The full moon. Don’t screw it up for this loser.” Conrad was so angry that he was shaking. He had to use all of his self-control to remain seated on the bench. The crowd shifted again and Sam Roark slipped out of sight. “Then I’ll be looking for you,” Griffin growled when he realized that Conrad wasn’t biting. Unable to fight a seated opponent, Griffin stomped off down the bleachers. “Oh, I’ll be waiting. I got special orders from the Carnal to bring you in,” Conrad called after him. Griffin slunk through the crowd, mortified. How could India be so deceitful? He blamed himself for trusting both her and Taber. And Conrad seemed to be at the center of every nasty thing that happened to him. At that moment, he hated everyone. He hated Taber for being such a false friend. He hated India for betraying him. He just plain hated Conrad for being himself. He hated India for teaching him all of this ridiculous stuff to begin with. He even hated Scout for being the kind of dog that everyone laughed at. Griffin decided never to speak with India ever again. He pushed his way through the crowd, entirely wrapped up in his own hate. He barely even heard the excited voice that called to him. “Griffin?” Brandon. Griffin especially hated him now. If only he had never
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had that stupid dream. If only Griffin had never tried to help him. Brandon persisted, “Griffin, did you see that crazy horse? Those two guys were real cowboys.” “Yeah whatever, Brandon,” Griffin said and stomped by him. “I heard you up there.” Brandon rushed to keep up. “What? Your dog does pee like a girl. Hey, are you coming to the Technival tonight?” Brandon ventured, excited to broadcast that he was now part of the crowd that had shunned him for so long. “We’re all going to meet up there.” “I’m blacklisted remember?” Griffin said. “Oh yeah. Well, I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you all about it,” Brandon said. Griffin stopped in his tracks, so frustrated he could barely contain himself. “How stupid are you?” Griffin shouted at him. “They DON’T LIKE YOU.” “Yes, they do,” Brandon squeaked out. Something terrible broke free in Griffin. All of the rage that he was unable to express to Conrad, now flooded out of him as he thrust his arms out and knocked Brandon to the ground. “Just stay away from the Homestead, and stay away from me!” Griffin shouted and quickly turned away, leaving Brandon on the ground. Griffin was so angry, at that moment, he didn’t care what happened to Brandon. Griffin decided to leave immediately and walk home. He couldn’t stand to be surrounded by all of these people having a good time. Ducking out under the barricades, he made his way through the heart of all the activity, through the quiet town. He took the old dirt road back to his house. It might take an extra half-hour or so, but the night air was perfect for cooling his temper.

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30 Lost in the labyrinth of his own nasty thoughts, Griffin stomped along the dirt road. He didn’t notice the lovely full moon or the fact that the ravens were out. He just thought of India, Taber, and Conrad and how to get back at them. Then Griffin saw something that absolutely stopped him in his tracks. An elk, regal and giant emerged from the trees just twenty feet ahead. His antlers were like tree branches, and he was close enough that he could see the velvet on them. His hooves were the size of saucers. The animal’s breath turned to steam as it hit the chilly air, and he seemed to glow in the moonlight. They both seemed frozen there; Griffin shocked to find himself suddenly so close to an animal so massive, and the elk shocked to find his evening rounds interrupted by a human on this generally abandoned road. Neither wanted to be the first to move, neither knew what to expect from the other. Peripherally, Griffin was aware that a vehicle was approaching behind him. He was aware that he should not have been alone on this road at night, but he did not want to end this surreal encounter. He did not want to think about India, Brandon, or even Scout. He wanted to stay right there, feeling connected to such a majestic animal. He heard the raven scream, but he never took his eyes off the elk. He saw it turn slowly and walk away. Then Griffin realized he was watching the elk from the ground, with the hard road biting into his cheek. He didn’t feel the impact; he didn’t see the truck; but finally lying there on the ground, he realized that he had been hit. Then he heard a rough voice behind him. “Sorry, boy. I didn’t see you there in the dark. Are you okay?” An old man stepped from the truck. Griffin could only see his snakeskin boots and his tall broad frame silhouetted in the glaring headlights.
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“Let me give you a hand,” he said, extending a strong hand to Griffin. Reluctantly, Griffin took it. Once on his feet, Griffin realized how unstable he was. His head hurt and he was confused. His cheek stung from the abrasion and his shirt was torn. Blood seeped through the knees of his jeans. “Looks like someone needs a lift home,” said the man. Before Griffin knew it, the old man was rustling him into his truck. Griffin really didn’t know how to refuse without being rude, and he was in no condition to walk. Once the truck got moving, Griffin knew that he had made a dreadful mistake. By the light of the dashboard, Griffin saw the man’s face and knew he hadn’t been run down by accident. He recognized the man now, his light wild hair, and his distinctive hiss. Beside him sat the man from Rosa’s Cantina, the man from his dreams, the snake-man. The man’s silence was more than awkward. Unsure what to do Griffin spoke. “I live right up the street here.” “Oh you do, do you?” The friendly old-man persona was discarded like an old mismatched shoe. “Let’s get one thing clear,” the old man hissed at him. “If I want you to talk, I’ll tell you what to say. Is that understood? Say ‘yes, sir.’” “Yes, sir,” Griffin croaked. He was startled, injured, and bewildered. He reached for the door handle. The man ground his foot into the accelerator and laughed. “You keep your hands right where I can see them, or you’ll lose ’em.” Griffin replaced his hands in his lap. Out the window, he could see that they were speeding by the turnoff to his house. He could see that the porch light was on. His father and brother were already home. “I’m going to tell you right now, there’s nothing you can do. That boy’s going to die. You’re going to watch him drown like you watched your mother drown.” “Brandon?” Griffin guessed. “Hobble your lip, son. Ever s-since you were born, you’ve been a chicken-livered coward. You know that? An absolutely useless-s mama’s boy,” the old man muttered. His use of that word stung Griffin. “But you can be powerful.” The old man’s eyes glazed over when he said this, his cataracts glowing by the light of the dash. “You are powerful,” he purred at Griffin. “That pretty little India felt that
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power in the cave.” “No. That wasn’t me!” “The source of your s-s-strength is the same as mine. All you have to do is accept your power.” He spit chewing tobacco on to the floor of the truck, near Griffin’s feet. “You are young and strong. Nothing in the middle world could resist your will once you accept your destiny.” Griffin did not want to believe anything the man said. He refused to believe that snakes and the Adversary were his allies. He focused his intent on moving his arms. “Are you having doubts? Look deep. You know what you are. You are a warrior. Turn around and s-s-see your tail. You cannot save that boy. To save the boy you must do the thing that you cannot do. At some point, you must face your fears. Don’t worry, you will s-soon shed that ridiculous boy-skin costume and eliminate all that stands between you and your power. Become your power, son.” This statement inspired Griffin to do something. As the old man laughed, Griffin gathered up all his strength and courage and in one movement, released the door handle and rolled out onto the ditch. The truck came to a halt and the headlights swung slowly around as the truck made a U-turn. In the ditch, Griffin could hardly move. The headlights raced toward him and Griffin prepared to be hit by the truck a second and final time that evening. But the truck slowed as it approached him. From the window, the old man called out, “You best be running home, son. There are things out here in these woods that would s-s-steal your s-s-soul.” The truck sped off into the night raising a cloud of dust, leaving Griffin bruised and bloody in the ditch.

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Angrier now than ever, Griffin stood up and brushed himself off. Before he even knew why, he was walking, drawn forward off the road, through the black forest. His heart thumped faster and faster; his feet catching up with it. Hands hot. Sweating in the night, feeling like a wild animal. Hungry. Flying.

“Griffin!” a voice called out to him, shaking him. Then he realized he had been journeying. The thumping of the DJ at the Homestead was audible now. It had reeled him in like a fish. He stood at the tree line. The old slaughterhouse was less than a hundred meters away, all the land around it was packed with cars and people. Looked like the whole state of Arizona had showed up. Least twice as many cars as the week before. “Griffin,” India repeated, touching him. Waking him somehow. “Stay out of the journey,” she whispered. “You want the ally to see you?” She pulled him back into the dark trees, out of sight. He shook his head to sober himself, until the rush of the journey disappeared. “What happened to your face?” she asked. “You look different.” Griffin touched his scraped cheek. In his misery, he had almost forgot how bad he looked. “What do you care?” Griffin did not want to talk to anyone, least of all to India. “Did Conrad do that to you?” “No,” he snapped, glaring at her. He was furious that India would think that Conrad was capable of putting him in that condition. “What’s wrong, Griffin? Talk to me.” She looked at him with a sad smile. “You can drop the ‘concerned’ act. I heard Taber tonight.” Griffin decided to put all of his cards on the table. So, something under his skin was bad, potentially evil. Why should he have to suffer hiding it when no one around him had to hide their faults?

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“I’m sorry, Griffin.” India tried to grasp his hand, but he moved away. “I couldn’t figure out why you hung around those guys,” Griffin said. “They almost killed my dog. They’re probably going to kill Brandon tonight, and yet, they’re your friends. I used to wonder, how could someone like India want to be with people like that? She’s not like them. Now I finally see the truth.” “Griffin, Taber and I...” “Look India, you’re not who I thought you were, and I’m not who you think I am. We were both tricked. So, please, just go.” “What do you mean?” She asked. “In the cave... You were right,” he blurted out. Somehow, it made him feel better. India’s eyes filled with horror. “You’re a dark shaman?” she asked delicately, as if she were talking about a terminal illness. Griffin shrugged. “Not yet, but I’m about to have a hell of a night.” He took some satisfaction in saying these words. “I haven’t been totally honest with you about the ally. That’s not just any shadow ally, India. My grandfather’s rattle calls the Adversary.” “What?” India said, shocked. “I learned that in the Web of Chaos. I couldn’t tell you, but I can’t just let something like the Adversary run wild. I gotta get that rattle back to my grandfather so he can reel it in some.” “You’re not going in there?” she said. “I am. It’s the least I can do. I can’t save Brandon,” Griffin added. “Do you know what he told me? He’s going to the Technival tonight. With Conrad.” “I thought Conrad is getting initiated into Hive tonight. I heard him talking about it with Antwan,” India said. “Yup. And what do you think the Hive initiation is? I saw it once in Mexico, I just hadn’t known what he was seeing. I’ll give you a hint, every month on the full moon another kid disappears, right around the same time another drone is initiated into Hive.” India didn’t want to believe it but she knew it was true. Maybe she had suspected all along, but couldn’t admit it even to herself. “An ally’s got to be fed,” Griffin said. “Tonight, Brandon’s on the menu.” “You have to stop him, Griffin,” India cried. “Oh, I tried to stop him tonight. That went really well. I knocked him down and told him nobody liked him.” Now that he had cooled down a bit, Griffin was ashamed at what he had done, but he couldn’t
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stop his cold reporting of all the details of his terrible situation and behavior. “I’ll help you tonight, but you have to promise me, if you can help Brandon, you will,” India said. “What makes you think I need your help?” Griffin said. It was a bluff. He had no plan. If he had stopped to think about it, he couldn’t have even told her what he was doing there. He chose not to stop to think about it. “Because I have your grandfather’s notebook, the only book in the world that I know of that describes what you have to do to get your power animal. If you succeed, you’ll be a shaman, most likely a dark one, but you’ll stand a chance at getting that rattle away from the diablero and back to your grandfather. If you fail…well I think if Hive catches you, you won’t have to worry about power animals.” “Okay,” Griffin said. “Give me what you got.” “Under the Homestead are the Ice Caves.” Griffin remembered the black hole at the bottom of the rocky pit, the icicles that hung from the mouth of the cave like long treacherous teeth. Griffin shuddered. “When a volcano created the San Francisco Peaks,” she continued, “the caves were formed by lava rushing out from the center of the earth. Now, it’s a long tunnel into the earth, where Francisco has opened up the Axis to the lower world.” India looked up. “At the end of the physical tunnel, you’ll come to some sort of barrier. Like a membrane. You have to push your way through it to get to the lower world.” “Once you’re there, focus your intent to meet your power animal. When you find him, he will let you touch him three times and accept your offering. Do you have something to give as an offering?” Griffin patted his pocket. He still had two gifts left from the directions. The shells and the piece of bone. He’d been carrying them around since the day at Wupatki. “Your power animal will help you find the stick. If you see Brandon while you’re in there, do what you can for him. I’ll wait for you here.” Griffin nodded, ready to go. Now or never, he thought. India stopped him. “Wait Griffin. Two rules: First, don’t eat or drink anything down there, no matter what. Second, avoid any fanged animal or insects. This means bees, bats, snakes with fangs, spiders, ants—anything.” India handed him her iPod. “What this for?” Griffin asked. With
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that party going on, I got plenty of rhythms.” He didn’t want to say it, but he liked the drones’ music a whole lot more than India’s. “I put a playlist on there for you. It will keep you out of the journey until you get to the Axis so you can slip by Francisco and his ally,” India said. He turned the clickwheel and scrolled through the playlists. “I assume it’s this one?” Griffin highlighted a playlist called “Utter Crap.” “That’s the one,” India said. “Now we have to call in the directions,” she said. “India, we don’t have time for that. Brandon’s life is on the line here,” he said. Griffin was thinking about his own uncertain future as well. “If we’re going to save anyone, we’re going to need all the help we can get.” Griffin yielded to her stubborn demands. India recited: “To the East, where the Sun rises, where inspiration and originality are born. “To the South, where the jaguar swims, where playfulness comes from, “To the West, where the Sun sets, where intuition and dreams come from, “To the North, where the cold comes from, where wisdom and clarity lie, “To Father Sky, to Mother Earth, to the creator, the center of all things, “Please join us so that we may find Griffin’s ancestor stick. “We welcome you.” She handed him her iPod and then grabbed his hands. Warmth and love overcame Griffin. “Use Feeling like you did that day at Wukoki. I’ll be with you the whole way.” Griffin pressed play, this time, not to Journey but to remain in his own world until he got past the drones. “You got to know when to hold ’um,” Kenny Rogers sang through Griffin’s earbuds. “Now this ain’t crap a ’tall,” Griffin scolded. “Well, thanks, India, but tell me, why would you help me if you know, best-case scenario, I’m a monster?” She didn’t answer him.
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“You can tell me when I come out then,” Griffin said. He emerged from the forest. Sang to himself as he hurried through the crowd to the broken down wooden building, pale grey in the moon light, surrounded by crumbling barriers that used to steer the cattle to their executioner. Above the front door hung a familiar sign that he remembered well from his journey. It read, “The Homestead.” All looked much worse outside the journey. He fought the rhythm that crept in around his ear buds and stole down the cellar door into the bowels of the Homestead. Slowly, carefully, he let the warmth in his chest and hands guide him from the darkness into utter blackness.

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32 Darkness hung thick all about the building like smog. As Griffin approached the cellar door of the dilapidated slaughterhouse, a rancid smell overtook him. This was not the smell of snake, or anything living at all. It was the smell of death. Beyond this door, dark pens lined the room, the floors rotten with years of shed blood. Rusted meat hooks still hung from the walls. Here the odor of death mixed with the lingering sour smell of animal fear. Griffin made his way through the room as quickly and carefully as he could. Kenny’s voice singing “Lucille,” wouldn’t keep out the thump thump thump of the bass much longer, he could feel it in his chest, his heart was starting to mimic it. Soon his brain would follow. Through the rotting wall, Griffin saw a couple of drones in the next room descend stairs further into what must have been the meat cellar. He followed down, each wooden step sagging under his weight. The cold air moved through his sweat-soaked curls and clothing and froze him, but he hardly noticed. The drones were casually sitting in the mouth of the Ice Caves passing around a bottle. Griffin patiently waited trying to make himself a fortress against the rhythm, until finally, they finished their break and headed back upstairs. Griffin didn’t even have to press the pause button, as soon as the drones were out of sight he collapsed into the beat of the DJ above him,

surrendered to the pattern it imposed on his brain, in a near ecstasy of relief, and threw himself into the mouth of the Ice Caves. It wouldn’t be long until the shadow ally found him. He was in a terrible spot. From what he could tell the walls of the cave looked like they were made of ice and stone daggers. He didn’t need Francisco to kill him. One bad step and he’d be skewered right there. He climbed down to the entrance of the long, narrow cave, which now
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looked like the lair of a very large snake. As he shuffled down the slippery bank, he thought about the snake in his dream, letting his mind wander for an instant. It was one instant too long. He lost his footing on the slick ice and slid down five feet. He tore his jacket and the skin on his arm on the rough lava rock, leaving a trail of blood in the ice. Climbing down such steep and slippery terrain was almost impossible, and he had no idea how he was going to continue when the dim light from the cellar began to fade. So far, he had only gone down about twenty feet, and slid on his back a good quarter of that distance. As he entered the blackness, a chill came over him. He felt the presence of something down there, something massive. When the last sliver of light disappeared, he heard the loud hiss of a snake echo through the tunnel, shaking the very walls. His entire body froze, and he was not able to move a step farther. The stench of snake, a smell he knew well from growing up in the southwest, filled his nostrils—dead rodents, mold and ammonia— choking him. He strained his eyes, opening them widely to the hopeless lack of light. He repeated his intent. “I intend to journey to the lower world to find my grandfather’s rattle and my power animal.” The hiss answered him, “Come. I mus-s-st bite you.” Griffin steeled himself against the fear and forced himself onward, but pledged not to make another sound until he reached the other side. He scrambled up the glassy, ice-covered rocks, deeper and deeper into the cave, bouncing off the rock walls, listening to the rattle of the snake’s tail receding, fading away, until it was gone. Once Griffin struggled past the initial crags and boulders at the entrance to the Ice Caves, the terrain quickly flattened out, though the ground was still rocky and fretted with deep, narrow chasms. He stumbled through the long cavern by a dim glow that seemed to come from his own eyes. At the end of the cave, he reached a three-foot window in the rock, covered with a thick, yellowish gelatinous film. Griffin knew this was the membrane that India told him about. He tested it with his hand. The gelatin proved strong and sticky to the touch. Disgusted, Griffin forced one hand through, then his other hand, and then his arms. He held his breath and plunged his head into the thick elastic slime. He gasped out the other side as he wriggled his whole body through the opening into a completely different world. The lower world was green and lush beyond belief. Everything in this
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world pulsed with life, much like it did in Griffin’s own middle world when he was Seeing. Yet, it was more vibrant, more alive than his world. There was no evidence of human beings anywhere. No telephone wires or planes in the sky. No buildings or roads. No smog. He had emerged on a grassy meadow on the edge of a thick wood. The colors were richly saturated, and the air felt light and refreshing. Light seemed to be emanating from the edges of the close horizons, but Griffin could not make out any sun in the sky at all. Everything was perfect; all except there was not a creature to be found anywhere. He repeated his goal. “My intention is to meet my power animal,” he said aloud. His voice seemed to travel a great distance all at once. From behind him, Griffin smelled the fetid odor of snake. He turned quickly to see a very large reptilian head rising from the grass. “What you s-s-seek is before you, warrior,” it hissed to Griffin, leaning closer to him. “Accept your power. Touch me.” Its body appeared to be a grotesquely long neck that stretched preternaturally towards him, the bulk of which was still hidden in the grass. Instantly, the snake’s black tongue bridged the few feet separating them and felt down Griffin’s face to his chest like the fingers of a blind man. There, the tiny viper within him reached back to the giant snake stretching Griffin’s skin, confirming its presence within him. The giant cobra nodded in approval and flattened its upper body into a giant hood and its sightless milky eyes rolled in its head as it prepared to strike. If this was the spirit that had marked him, there was nothing he could do to resist it. Griffin stumbled backwards and ran into the woods, out of breath. The cobra slunk back into the grass, at least for a time, retreating. In the shade of the forest, Griffin felt safe from the snake. Not far from the edge of the wood, he spotted a tree stump. This wasn’t a fallen tree, but an old sawn off stump, the only evidence Griffin had seen that man had ever been here. He sat down on the stump, wondering what he was supposed to do now. He couldn’t return without meeting his power animal. Anyway, that monster snake seemed to be guarding the exit. He wished at least that he had some company. No sooner than he had this thought, a familiar shape trotted through the woods toward him. “Scout?” Griffin called out, unable to believe his eyes. The white wolf sat down next to him, and Griffin put his hand on the beast’s head. This wasn’t Scout. The animal was too large and magnificent,
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and his whole body seemed to glow. But the semblance was remarkable. Nor was it the enormous wolf of the North, but it seemed to be related to both of these animals, the father of all wolves. “Would you like to be my power animal?” Griffin asked it. The wolf ’s ears perked up at the word as if Griffin were saying “walk” or “treat” instead. Griffin couldn’t believe how easy it had been. “Can you go get my grandfather’s rattle?” Griffin asked it. The wolf instantly bound away as if it were playing a game. Within a few minutes it was back with a funny cloth package between its teeth. It dropped it at Griffin’s feet. He recognized the red felt right away. Beneath the cloth, there was his mother’s wedding ring. Still connected to the bottom of the stick was his grandfather’s rattle. Griffin felt like he could cry. Then he remembered the gift he was supposed to give his power animal. Shells or a bone? There was no question which one the wolf would prefer. The wolf took the bone, happily. Then Griffin heard a familiar voice somewhere high above him. “What are we doing at Buckskinner? I thought we were going out to the Homestead?” a squeaking voice cracked above the trees. Brandon. Griffin had completely forgotten about him. “Quick, please! Take me to Brandon,” he pleaded to the wolf. The wolf wasted no time and loped off, with Griffin following him close through the woods. He could feel himself being pulled by the sound of Brandon’s voice. It seemed to be floating up past the tops of the trees. Somewhere up there, a raven’s cry also appealed for Griffin’s attention. He was so frustrated. He could hear Brandon’s voice but he couldn’t find him. Griffin couldn’t even find Buckskinner Park. No lake. No road. No clues. He was lost in the middle of a forest, and time was running out for Brandon. Griffin traversed a small creek and sat down on a rock dejected. He had come this far and now was going to fail because he couldn’t find Brandon, never mind save him. The white wolf flopped down next to him, staring up at the treetop. “Where is Brandon?” Griffin asked no one in particular. “How do I get to him?” A tattered raven fluttered down next to him. The black bird ruffled his feathers and cawed busily at Griffin. With each caw, the bird seemed to grow larger, and the bird’s croaking slowly turned into a language that
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Griffin understood. Soon, before him stood the blurry dark figure from Griffin’s journey through the Web. “Griffin,” the bird-man complained, “you are so anthropocentric. You pay absolutely no attention to me when I am in bird form,” the bird-man said, exasperated. “If you would kindly recall, you followed your guide here to Buckskinner Park.” “This is Buckskinner Park?” Griffin studied his surroundings for clues. There was no mud lot, no picnic benches, no deep lake, or high wall. It was nothing like the wrecked mud pit that was the Buckskinner Park Griffin knew. This place was beautiful. A small clear creek wound through giant ponderosas. Granite boulders sparkled in the soft light. “You are in the Buckskinner Park in the lower world; The Buckskinner Park that is untainted by human hands. Brandon is in Buckskinner Park in the middle world,” the raven man pointed up to sky. “So you must climb back up. That is, unless you can fly? He raised an eyebrow at Griffin, who frowned, and shook his head. “I thought not, human,” the bird-man said, with a smirk. “Climb what, the air?” Griffin asked. “Why not use the Axis Mundi?” the bird-man said as he shook himself into a shrinking blur. “In your hand,” he said and the sound faded as he flew away, once again, a raven. Griffin reexamined the doll. He held it out in front of him and a great tree appeared from it. Stretching from the earth into the sky. Griffin slowly began to climb the tree, leaving the white wolf gazing up at him from the ground, chewing on his bone. It took him a while to remember that he was journeying and could move faster and with more strength than he could when he was awake. Finally, with the ground well out of sight but still nowhere near the top of the impossibly tall tree, Griffin arrived at the yellow gelatinous film blocking his further ascent, the boundary back into the middle world. Holding his breath and closing his eyes, he climbed right through it and found himself at once at the base of a tall tree in the Buckskinner Park of the middle world. Nearby Conrad shoved Brandon hard as he straddled his new bicycle. The boy backed up from his antagonist until the tire of his bike was up against the rock wall near the lake. Even though he was able to see Brandon and the other boys like he was standing next to them, they could not see him. Only the ghostly appearance of his surrounding and the faint grid-work superimposed upon the scenery reminded him that he was
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journeying. As Griffin concentrated his attention on Brandon, suddenly he felt that he was being drawn closer and closer to him, until finally it seemed Griffin was sucked right inside the boy’s head. Now he saw everything through Brandon’s blurred vision. It was so bad, it gave Griffin a headache. Griffin struggled to wrestle his way out of the boy, but try as he might, there he was, trapped inside this young man’s body with him, unable to escape. “Hey, mama’s boy,” Griffin heard one of the boys call out. Griffin had no idea who said this. He just saw a dark shirt. As Griffin strained to make out features on the beige blob that was the insulter’s face, a rock nailed him in the side of his head. Griffin was aware somehow that he had been hit, but surprisingly, it didn’t hurt him at all. The impact had an entirely different effect on Brandon, who began to sob. “Come on, give me your bike!” This was Conrad’s voice, Griffin was sure of that, and when the punch landed on Brandon’s face. Griffin could tell that only someone as big as Conrad could throw a hammer like that. The punch knocked Brandon off his bike, and his shoulder slammed hard into the cold ground. Unbelievably, Brandon still squeaked out a tiny defiant no. He could hear the other boys scrambling and splashing around him. Brandon opened his eyes and Griffin could finally see perfectly. He could tell that they were taking Brandon’s bike, but he would not turn his head so Griffin could see where they were going with it. Brandon fumbled along the ground, feeling for something. His glasses, of course! Griffin could see them out in front of him plain as day. Just then, someone planted a hard kick in his stomach, throwing him a few feet from his glasses. This was ridiculous, Griffin thought. If he could just get Brandon to move his arm a few feet to the left, he could have his glasses. Griffin tried to move his left arm, but his efforts had no effect on the boy’s arm. Out of pure frustration, Griffin screamed out, “To the left, you idiot!” Griffin never was certain if Brandon heard him or not, but the kid sure moved his arm quickly enough and recovered his glasses before the boys figured out to step on them. He shoved the coke-bottle lenses back onto his face, and Griffin’s vision again blurred. “Where’s my bike? Where is it?” Griffin heard the desperate cry from Brandon and could feel the frustration welling up within him. Griffin felt
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just as bad. He couldn’t help, but he was forced to watch. “Are you going to cry?” Enrico’s voice mocked. The other boys laughed. “Come on, Brandon,” Griffin thought, “let’s get out of here. It’s going to be a long cold walk home, wherever you live.” Griffin just hoped the boys were satisfied and would let him go. Brandon paused for just a second and then pushed beyond two of his attackers. He rushed into the lake after his bike. Oh no, Griffin thought. This is how it happens. The cold enveloped Brandon, and Griffin within him. First his feet and then splashing up his leg, next, his knees. He shivered as the water washed up to his stomach. “No,” Griffin cried out, but Brandon could not hear him. Griffin had no choice but to follow Brandon, in spirit, down into the icy depths. “Dive deep now. It’s all the way at the bottom.” Griffin could hear the boys shout after them. He repeated his intent to follow Brandon. “It’s farther out, weakling,” one of the boys teased. The loud sounds of their jeering and laughing contrasted sharply from the silence beneath the waters. Brandon dove under into the utter stillness again, frantic and confused. Griffin could sense Brandon growing weaker. Before he knew it, the end was near, and they were both becoming disoriented. Griffin somehow dropped his ancestor stick. Even he could not tell up from down. Again, he had been brought this far and was unable to help Brandon, who was quickly swallowing water. Then Griffin heard India’s voice, “Use Feeling, Griffin.” At the sound of her voice, Griffin felt the warmth in his chest and reached out for Brandon. As Griffin grasped his hand, Brandon turned to him, and for the first time saw him. A wave of recognition flooded over his face, and despite their terrible surroundings, he smiled, knowing that his friend was there with him. Unfortunately, the water was so murky that Griffin still could not tell which direction was up. India called to him again. “Call in Father Sky,” she shouted across the distance that separated them. Griffin tried his best. “To Father Sky,” Griffin called out, but he didn’t know what else to say, so he added: “the keeper of the sun and stars, father of all life on earth, let Brandon find you!”
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Then, as if by a miracle, a shaft of light penetrated the depths of the waters and guided Brandon up into the light like the hand of an angel. Griffin knew he should quickly follow, that his time too was running out. But there, only a few feet away, in the silt and weeds of the lake, he dropped his grandfather’s rattle. “No Griffin!” India called out to him from far away. “Leave it!” But he could not, or would not leave behind the thing had had come so far for. He could hear India from very far away now, but could not make out what she was saying. He was quickly headed to a place she could not follow. He was so entranced by his mother’s golden ring shining on the stick that he hardly realized he was being pulled under, through the bottom of the muddy lake, under, into silence.

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33 Back in the middle world, on the bank of Buckskinner Lake, only Enrico and Conrad were left waiting. The other drones had noticed that something had gone wrong and didn’t want to stick around long enough to learn the outcome. Now, the surface of the lake was calm and glassy. There was no sign of Brandon. No sign of the other terrible thing, either. All was silent. “Something went wrong,” Enrico accused. “The ally didn’t come for his sacrifice. Francisco said if we did this, the ally’d come and make us Hive.” “But where’s Brandon?” Conrad asked. “I don’t know,” Enrico said, “but I’m getting out of here.” Enrico got on his own bike and rode down the dirt road towards town. “You can’t leave!” Conrad shouted after him, but Enrico was already gone. Alone at Buckskinner, Conrad watched the moon and stars grow dim. Then he turned toward a hungry dark shadow that was already slinking toward him, furious. “It didn’t work,” Conrad called to it. “Brandon must have gotten away.” “Where are the other boys?” Francisco demanded from the center of the whirling darkness. “You said you’d have the other one here. Griffin.” “I... I... couldn’t get him, and Brandon. I didn’t see him come back up.” The shadow grew larger by the second. Francisco had been counting on feeding his ally’s power, and the boy did not hold up his end of the bargain. There was only one thing left to do. “Why didn’t it work?” Conrad asked Francisco again. As he drew closer, Conrad could see there was a lot less of Francisco—the Carnal of the drones, who had inspired them to turn the old slaughterhouse into a party every weekend—and a lot more of the inhuman shadow that always seemed to envelop him. As it drew
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closer, the color went from Conrad’s face and his courage waned. “It didn’t work because you didn’t do it right,” the shadow seethed, right before it sprung upon Conrad to finally slake its hunger.

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34 At the edge of the woods, India woke up from her journey—she had followed Griffin the whole way with her attention—unable to believe that she had lost Griffin in the lower world. She sprung to her feet and pushed through the crowds, down into the Homestead, into the cellar, and then down into the darkness of the Ice Caves after him, knowing very well that there was nothing she could do, but unwilling to accept it. She was so upset she couldn’t even journey. She slipped on the ice and hit her head. Crying now, she rushed onward into the darkness, and slammed directly into something. Something big. India screamed. It was Griffin. Griffin finally stumbled towards the shaft of light at the mouth of the cave as his eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness. He didn’t remember how he had made it out, or even if he was still journeying. Everything seemed so surreal in the light after spending such a long time in darkness, but there was a lovely face at the end of the tunnel that he was happy to see just the same. Griffin held up the rattle in the bands of light cutting into the darkness of the cave, careful to keep it silent. “I thought I lost you,” India said. “You sound disappointed,” Griffin said. As he came fully out into the cellar, he felt he was being reborn. Facing his fears had been empowering. He had gone into that terrifying cave, faced death—though not his own—and emerged victorious. He now felt ready for anything. Well, almost anything. There was one thing that he was not prepared for. India, so pleased to see him again, so relieved, she embraced him. Just as he thought he couldn’t get any happier, she kissed him softly on the cheek. “Am I dreaming?” he asked her as they hugged. He lifted her a few inches off the dirt floor to see if she was real.
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“Do you mean journeying?” she asked. “No, I mean dreaming.” He laughed and squeezed her tightly. At that moment, he didn’t even worry whether or not he had just become a dark shaman.

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35 Deep beneath the Homestead, under the floorboards that sagged from the weight of the hundreds of people packed in to the party above Griffin and India prepared for their escape. “Come on,” India said. “We have to get you out of here before you start journeying again.” Though Griffin did feel the beat begin to pull at his mind again, he noticed something. When he came in, Griffin hadn’t noticed the barrels of chemicals, burners and beakers lined up on found-wood tables against the cellar wall. Now coming out, the piles of what looked to him like junk struck him as suspicious. “Wait. What is this place, India?” Griffin asked. “What are they doing down here?” “It looks like some kind of drug lab,” India said. “What would Hive want with a drug lab?” Griffin asked. “Griffin, rhythms aren’t the only way to journey. My guess is whatever they’re trying to make would open up a whole new population to be victims of Francisco’s ally. “I have the rattle now,” Griffin said. “I’m not going to feel that it’s safe from Francisco until it is back in your grandfather’s hands. With all the souls he could feed to the ally using this drug, Francisco would be invincible.” “And depending on how much of this stuff they make, rich, too,” Griffin added. “Hive’s like a whole army in place just waiting to put this stuff on the streets. I don’t care if I am a dark shaman, we have to stop this.” There were two drones hiding in the shadows that also didn’t care if Griffin Roark was a dark shaman. Unlike most of the drones that had been on the lookout for a boy fitting Griffin’s description, it didn’t matter to them who he was. What did matter was that he was there, looking at the Hive’s most highly guarded secret. Most of the ingredients were common household items. Some, like ayahuasca vine from Ecuador were very rare and valuable, and
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the recipe itself was priceless. The two drones knew if the secret of the lab’s existence in Williams got out, and if it was their fault, the Carnal would kill them. They didn’t doubt it for an instant. And while they didn’t know how Griffin had gotten in without their knowledge, they weren’t about to let him or the girl back out. Ever. And Griffin and India could see as much in their dull faces. The feelings of rage that had visited Griffin so often in the past few days reignited. Once Griffin’s attention was called to the desperate drones that stood blocking his way out, Griffin went berserk. Instead of trying to run, or trying to protect India, or even attack his captors, Griffin shocked the drones, and India, by rushing at the lab, kicking barrels of chemicals over, smashing glass, turning over tables. Once he started, the drones didn’t even try to stop him. They simply took the stairs, two, three, at a time and got out. It took a moment for India to understand why they behaved the way they did, but when she smelled the open flame, she screamed because she knew there was no time for words. Her warning gave Griffin enough time to turn before the explosion blew him across the room, temporarily deafening him. The flames spread quickly and caused a chain of small but no less noxious explosions across the cellar. By the light of the flames, Griffin saw that there had been enough chemicals in the Homestead cellar to keep Williams drugged for years, or enough to blow the whole place sky-high. Griffin and India, both covered in soot, scampered up the stairs out as the floor collapsed, dumping stunned dancers into the cellar. They raced out of the building and into the trees before they looked back. Griffin pulled up the hood of his sweatshirt against the cold. The whole place was chaotic. People climbing over one another to get out of the tinderbox. Cars jammed at a standstill all trying to drive away at once. They heard the sirens from the volunteer fire trucks, and knew there was no way they’d be able to get within a mile of the scene of the disaster. Another string of explosions. “You idiot,” India said as they ran for home. “Don’t you watch the news? Drug labs are highly explosive!” “Yeah,” Griffin said icily. “I do remember hearing something to that effect.”

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36 “There was a riot out there tonight, but from the looks of you, you already know that. What the hell were you thinking, Griffin? Running off to some party in the woods? Have you gone completely out of your mind?” his father charged when he met him at the door. “Sorry, Dad.” Griffin had a realization at that moment. He thought his life had changed so much that day, finally achieving his goal, finally getting his grandfather’s rattle back, finally becoming a shaman. But nothing had changed. Not really. It wasn’t like he could share the good news, and having the rattle just meant that it was only a matter of time before Francisco would be coming after it. He thought that simply becoming a shaman would turn him into something invincible. Feeling the chemical burns on his head and back, feverish and generally weak, he realized that he was still far too human to be invincible. Nothing had changed there, and nothing had changed with his father, either. “What’s that smell?” James said, walking into the room. “It smells like burnt hotdogs.” “That’s your brother,” Sam growled. “He’s gone and got all his hair blown off.” “What?” James and Mafalda said at the same time as they rushed to see what on earth Sam was talking about. Even Griffin was a little curious. They all followed him—Sam cussing, and James and Mafalda gasping—to the bathroom mirror where Griffin saw it with his own eyes. From his ears all the way back, and even patches on top, his hair had completely disintegrated. There were a few superficial burns, but for the most part, it just looked like he had the mange. He turned his head to the side and then looked at himself again from the front, unable to process what he saw. From the front he could pass for totally normal. Almost. “Your beautiful hair!” Mafalda said. She ran her fingers through what was left of it, and a handful came out. Griffin had his suspicions that it was the only thing his grandmother had ever really
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liked about him, and now it was gone. Mafalda put her hand on his head, “You’re burning up, Griffin. Do you feel okay?” Griffin was pretty sure he didn’t feel okay. “Too much night air,” she concluded. “Let’s do something about that hair and put you to bed.” James had to chuckle. “It’ll grow back,” he said. Mafalda and Sam looked doubtful. His grandmother got him set him up on a chair in the kitchen with an old sheet tied around his neck and carefully took the clippers to the rest of his head, evening him out. “That’s not so bad,” Griffin said studying himself in a hand mirror. Between the beating he’d taken falling out of the snake-man’s truck, the burns from the explosion, and his new lack of a hairdo, Griffin figured he looked just like an action hero. Not a cowboy at all. As sick as he was feeling all of a sudden, he smiled, kinda liking what he saw. Mafalda scowled. “Now the transformation is complete. You look exactly like your grandfather, the devil help you.” “Stop smiling, boy. You’re grounded, Griffin,” Sam Roark said. “You’re not going anywhere or doing anything until the 1st of June. You’re not going out with your friends, not seeing that girl. Nothing.” When he realized that he couldn’t even visit India, Griffin became indignant. “But Dad, that’s almost a month! Nonni?” Griffin looked to his grandmother in the kitchen for support. “Don’t look at me. If you were my boy, I’d be chasing you around the house with a broom right now. But I’m too old for that.” “You should have thought about all this before you took off. You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself arrested, or even killed at that party.” Sam shook his head. “And I was so happy to tell you the news.” “You found grandpa Leo?” Griffin guessed. James poked his head out of the TV room when he heard that the yelling was over. “No, Griffin. Dad’s taken a ranch job,” James divulged suddenly. Griffin’s response was not what they imagined it would be. “Oh no,” he said, suddenly remembering the snake-man. “That’s what I said,” his grandmother agreed, “but you’ll be right around the corner where I can keep my eye on you, just on the edge of Williams,” she said as she drifted out of the room, upstairs.
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“You’d still be at Williams Public next year,” James said, anticipating Griffin’s concerns. When that old cowboy and his boss saw what a great horseman Dad was, they offered to let him manage his whole ranch,” James said, unable to contain his excitement. “Your brother and I are going over to take a look at the property in the morning—God you look bizarre—over five thousand acres and three hundred and fifty horses. Two separate herds of sheep. And they’re thinking about running cattle. We’d even have our own house on the property.” “The old man’s retiring. It’ll be tight for the first couple years, but I’m going to buy him out.” Pride and happiness filled Sam Roark’s face. “Griffin,” he said resolutely, “We’re going to own a ranch again. The Sky Nail Ranch.” “He said he’d give you and me summer jobs, too,” James interjected. “And not cleaning out the stables, either. Cowboyin’.” James was especially pleased because he had been less than a month away from his very own miserable job working on the pipeline. He might even be able to go to the state college in Flagstaff. He knew his grades were good enough. Maybe even culinary school. It sounded too good to be true and Griffin knew it was. He was horrified. Speechless. But too weak to argue. Then Sam handed him a business card. There in the corner of the card was the ranch brand and logo: a snake swallowing its own tail. His hand went up to clutch his chest. The logo looked exactly like the mark beneath his shirt. “The guy from the rodeo gave you this?” Griffin asked, a lump forming in his throat. “Yeah, or the bossman did, anyway,” James said. “You met him.” Griffin turned paler than usual. “Oh no,” he said, but in his shock, he was unable to say any more. “Well, you better get used to the idea because I’ve already decided I’m investing in the ranch,” Sam said. “It’s like barking at the knot, trying to make you happy.” So there it was. They were going to live at the Snake-man’s house, work the Snake-man’s ranch, until Griffin himself turned just like him. Dark. Griffin felt certain that his destiny could not be escaped. “Dad, there is no way you can work with this guy,” Griffin blurted out. “He is evil.” “What? Evil?” Sam was starting to get angry. “This guy you met at the rodeo, he ran me over with his truck. I don’t know how I escaped.” “Griffin Roark, before you put your foot in your mouth, maybe
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you’d like to take them fool words back,” Sam growled. “Look what he did to my face, Dad,” Griffin said, expecting Sam to notice his abrasions and change his mind. His dad pounded his fist on the countertop. “I wasn’t going to say anything, boy,” Sam exploded, “but I know exactly where those scrapes came from, and if you want to blame an old man for your own bad temper—” “My temper?” Griffin asked. “Give it a rest, Griffin,” James interjected. “Dad and I saw you start that fight at the rodeo.” Griffin realized that his brother and father had seen him confront Conrad but had not seen the anticlimactic outcome. “There was no fight!” Griffin said. “Dad, I’m not going to that ranch. I never want to see that man again. And if you’d seen what I’ve seen, neither would you.” “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, son. Fighting, lying. I raised a fine young man, Griffin. Where did he go?” Griffin had done his best to do the right thing, and it all turned out badly anyway. Maybe this was how it all began, he thought. Maybe this was just what it was like to be a dark shaman. “He went to Williams, Dad. Where you brought him. And I don’t think you have any idea what you raised,” Griffin challenged. “Pull in your horns, boy. Maybe you should go to your room and cool down a bit before someone says something they don’t mean,” Sam said through clenched teeth. Griffin didn’t need any convincing of that. He turned and headed off to his room without another word.

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37 He knew what needed to be done. Up in his room, Griffin packed a duffle bag. Somehow he had to get his grandfather’s rattle back into his grandfather’s hands where it belonged. He also brought the shell gift from his vision quest. His Grandpa Leo would be near Manzanita until May, his mother had said. She also said that José, would know where to find him. He sat for a moment on his bed and then thought to lie down. He felt hot and dizzy after all that he’d been through, and sick. He thought he’d just close his eyes for a moment but when he opened them again it was morning. He closed his eyes again. When he opened them next, it was nearly noon. India stood over him, staring. Griffin was so happy to see her, even if she did look as if she was going to cry. He figured when girls laughed or cried, that just meant they really liked you. He was just about to say something sweet, maybe even romantic, if he could come up with something when he heard a voice from across the room. “What happened to your hair?” Taber asked. “Not you!” Griffin said, using much of what was left of his strength to sit up. “What?” Taber said innocently. “I know, I know. India told me you were all mad about what I said last night, but we got bigger problems than that now. The drones are out looking for you, big time. There’s a rumor going around that you burned down the Homestead.” “I did,” Griffin said. “Some people got hurt out there,” Taber said, “and the drones are pissed. They even got their Carnal down here.” “The Carnal?” Griffin asked. “Who’s that?” “Only the head of the whole Hive.” Griffin was willing to bet he knew who this Carnal from Mexico
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was, and he bet that Francisco had come to do more than just smooth things over with the cops. He sunk back in his bed, too sick to even care. “It’s just a matter of time before they track you down,” Taber said. “How is that any of your business?” Griffin demanded. “Because you’re my friend, and so is India,” Taber said. “Tell him what you told me this morning, Taber,” India coached him. “I was at the Homestead last night and I saw something…wrong,” Taber admitted. Griffin was waiting. “For a second…” Taber took a breath. “It looked like there were little black bats everywhere, and there was a giant pit in the floor and then…” He looked to India. “Go on,” she said. “And then a big black shadow came out of a hole in the ground and ate Luis,” he spit out. “But then everything was fine, back to normal. Until you blew it up.” “I told him everything,” India said. Griffin began to protest, but Taber cut him off. “Look, I want to help you get out of here. India said you have to bring something to your grandfather down in Mexico? Maybe we should get you down there until all this blows over,” Taber offered. “I’m going myself,” Griffin said weakly. He tumbled out of bed, still in his clothes from the night before. “You can’t even walk,” India said. She was right. If he was going to succeed at all he was going to have to have some help, even if it was going to be torture being stuck in such close quarters with Taber and the girl he had stolen out from under Griffin. “Fine. There’s some money in James’ room under the bed,” Griffin said. “I’ll get it,” India said. “…In a box full of dirty magazines” Griffin added. “I’ll pay him back when we get home.” “Let me get it,” Taber insisted. India didn’t argue. They had not intended to steal anything else. They were just going to ask James to give them a ride out to the bus terminal, but he was still out at Sky Nail Ranch. They needed a ride to Mexico, and James’ old truck was just waiting in the driveway for them. Griffin squinted
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in the blinding daylight. He told Taber where he could find the sleeping bags and a tent, some supplies in the garage. Scout jumped into the back. Griffin found the keys above the visor and handed them to Taber. Griffin dragged his sore, feverish body in the truck and pressed his face against the cool vinyl of the seats. “You know how to drive?” Griffin asked Taber. “I already have my learner’s permit. Do I know how to drive?” Taber said, with a laugh. Before they even got out of the driveway, Griffin and India both realized the answer to that question was, “not really.” Apparently a learner’s permit did not necessarily make a driver. The ride was not smooth by any means. To give Taber some credit, the old stick shift was nearly impossible to master. Every time he switched gears, the truck would lurch forward. Every time he slowed down, he stalled. They were all scared, but no one said anything. They figured if they stayed on the dirt roads until they made it out to the Interstate, they could drive all the way to Mexico in fourth gear. By early afternoon, they had gotten a little south of Phoenix and India had dragged the story of Griffin meeting his power animal out of him. Taber listened without expression, but Griffin couldn’t tell if it was because he thought the whole thing was crazy, or if he was just using all of his attention to keep the truck on the road. He told her about his journey down, barely making it past the snake, (“No fanged animals; no insects,” she recited) but when it came time to tell her about the animal, she stopped him. “You’re not supposed to tell me,” she said. “You’re supposed to keep the identity of your power animal a secret.” They looked at her like she was a lunatic. Finding a power animal was supposed to be such a big deal, but now that he had got one, India didn’t want to hear anything about it. Even Taber was hooked on the story. “Oh come on, you can’t stop him there. It was just about to get interesting.” “It was Scout—or a dog just like him,” Griffin spilled. Hearing himself say the dog’s name, Griffin checked the rearview mirror. He was still there, standing up, looking out, tongue flapping in the wind. India frowned as she got her iPod out. “Dogs aren’t good.” “Sure they are,” Griffin said. “I love my dog. Maybe it was a wolf ? Is that any better?” India shook her head. “No, not really. Not for a power animal.
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Especially not for a shaman. At best, they’re followers, at worst, mercenaries. They’ll do whatever anyone tells them to do—as long as you feed them. And this dog wouldn’t even let you touch it three times?” she said. That part did bother Griffin a little bit. “No,” he said, “but he took the bone.” “Figures,” she said, “I’ve never met a dog that didn’t want a bone. Good job out there last night, Griffin,” India smiled weakly at him. But, judging from the look on India’s face, Griffin knew that somehow, even though he had gotten the rattle, he had failed.

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38 A patrol car was tailing them. Taber checked his rearview mirror and slowed down. The rattle of the car put Griffin and India to sleep. The whomp whomp whomp of the tires on the highway even made Taber feel a little funny. Relaxed. The patrol car switched lanes and pulled up next to them. Drove close. Just keeping pace with them window to window. The officer looked across at Taber, studying him. Taber smiled and nodded. The officer nodded back and drove on. “Ha!” Taber laughed aloud. “Did you guys see that? I can totally pull this off.” “Shut up, India mumbled. She rolled over without opening her eyes. The wide expanse of dirt and cactus was getting a little dull for Taber. No trees, only the rare lone mountain. How could people live like this? he wondered. The tires went whomp whomp whomp.

He felt like he was growing especially alert. The world just didn’t look the same to him. Like it had been bleached by the desert sun. He checked his rearview mirror again. Something far back on the road caught his eye, getting closer, and fast, leaping and bounding on long legs like an antelope…or was it a big jackrabbit? “Hey you guys?” “I said shut up!” India said and sat up. “Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep?” Then she saw what Taber was looking at in the rearview mirror. “Griffin,” she said, shaking him, “Come on, Griffin. Wake up!” “What is that thing?” Taber said. “That’s the Adversary!” she said. “It’s after Griffin.” Even Scout was barking now. Griffin sat up and looked around “I’m awake. What’s going on?” he asked. When he looked out the back window to see what Scout was barking at he saw it coming for them. “Griffin, you were journeying in your sleep. We all need to WAKE
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UP!” Taber looked again and saw the shadow closing in on them and sped up. The tires did double time. “NO!” Griffin and India both yelled. “That noise doesn’t help, Taber. Slow down.” India said as Griffin tried the radio. They were too far out to get anything but static. “Where’s your iPod, India?” he yelled. “Dead,” she said. “Okay so we need to break this rhythm. Someone sing something!” She and Griffin were too panicked, but Taber started immediately up. It wasn’t singing, not by a long shot.
“One, two, three, four. Get your booty on the dance floor, Work it out, Shake it little momma. Let me see you do the Jane Fonda.” Whomp whomp whomp.

“Five, six, seven now,” Taber continued in all seriousness. “If you don’t know, Let me show you how. To work it out. Work it little momma. I know you wanna do the Jane Fonda.” India had to admit, Taber’s rap was like a slap in the face, like a bucket of cold water. It was horrendous. She couldn’t see the Adversary at all anymore. The last Taber saw of the Adversary was it diving into the truck, headed right for him. “One two three,” Taber started another verse. “Okay, Okay.” Griffin said to Taber. “We’re all awake now. Thank you. That’s enough,” India said. “You told me to sing!” Taber argued. “Sorry to say it, man, but in no one’s book is that considered singing.” Griffin said. “I can rock them beats, ya’ll,” Taber said. “Taber, you are so not a gangster,” India said, and Griffin had to agree. Lucky for them, Taber couldn’t rock any beat. By nightfall, the three runaways were rolling through towns with
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“Are you trying to rap?” India said. “That’s terrible.” The Adversary was right behind them now. “Hush up, India,” Griffin said. “It’s working for me.”

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names like “Ajo” and “Why” and crossed the border into Mexico at Sonoyta about an hour later without raising any eyebrows. After a few more hours on the road, and a few fast food meals, Griffin directed Taber down a long dirt road. They bumped and thumped along until the motion and the long travel put everyone quiet. In the dark, over India’s sleeping body between them, Griffin watched Taber. He was driving a stolen car into a foreign country, carrying other minors, and possibly, now, a fugitive, and yet Taber’s face showed no stress, no signs of discomfort. He looked like he didn’t have a care in the world. The last time Griffin felt that free was precisely the last time he had left the spot they were now approaching. “Pull over here,” Griffin told Taber. Griffin stepped out of the truck away from the smell of gasoline and the road, and breathed in the smell of Coyote Creek for the first time in months. The creosote and Palo Verde, the Sonoran desert dirt. The sound of the creek running high, amplified through the canyon. Must have had a good winter for rain. As bad as he felt physically, spiritually, the whole world felt right again. After so long in that pine forest, Griffin was finally home. They set up camp in a flat sandy spot along the creek. India made a small fire, and Griffin dragged himself down to the creek to splash some cool water on his face. He was amazed at how quickly his condition was deteriorating. His whole body was a tangle of aches. As he bent down to drink in the dark, a big shadow came out of the cottonwoods across the creek and slowly stretched a long neck so that it was nose to nose with Griffin. Griffin didn’t dare move until the shadow snorted heavily and rammed Griffin backward. Griffin couldn’t believe his eyes. It was Snip. The horse nuzzled him gently as he tried to stand himself up while putting his weak arms around the neck of the horse he loved so much, that he thought he’d lost forever. “What’s going on out there?” India called out to the desert, which frankly scared her with all its sharp points and poisonous things. “Snip says you’re eight months late?” a soft voice said to Griffin out of the cottonwoods, a little like a question. “My dad saw your brother’s truck coming up the mountain. He sent me out to see if everything was okay. I hoped it was you.” Before he could even say her name, Lupe’s arms were tightly
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around him. She buried her face in the crook of his hot neck crying; she put her hands on his burned and shaved head. “What happened to your hair?” she said, rubbing it, lightly kissing his cheek countless times. They mumbled things back and forth between kisses, such as “ you’re taller,” and “ missed you so much.” Things that would have taken them years to say and do had they not been forcibly separated by tragedy. When they finally looked up Taber and India were standing there staring. “I never believed you…” Taber said, awed that somehow, Griffin’s fictional Mexican girlfriend had somehow materialized out of the desert, and she was much better looking than the fictional girlfriend Taber had imagined. “Taber, India, this is Lupe.” India forced a smile and went back to the fire. She was now sure she hated the desert. Lupe insisted they come home with her, so they left their camp where it stood. In the truck, Taber and India followed Lupe and Griffin on Snip down the dirt road to past Griffin’s old house. A new owner had picked up where the Roarks left off with the herd, but so far had left the old ranch house half burned out and untouched. Griffin steered against the urge to take a closer look, determined to put his past behind him. At Lupe’s house, José, showed Taber and India to small but comfortable beds, while Lupe stayed with Griffin trying to bring his fever down with herbal teas. Even though it was the middle of the night, within the hour, the local doctor was at his bedside. After seeing the infected gouges and burns on Griffin’s chest, there wasn’t much question about the origin of his illness. After a painful shot of antibiotics and Lupe’s help with the application of some ointment that had the smell and consistency of tar, the doctor predicted he’d soon be right as rain. “When we get that infection under control,” the doctor told him in Spanish. “You’ll shake this fever, but I’m afraid you’re stuck with that scar. You really sliced yourself up good.”

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39 Griffin woke up in Lupe’s room feeling much better. His fever had gone down and the self-inflicted wound on his chest was no longer hot and throbbing, just itched a little bit. He pushed back the curtain from his room and went to join Taber and India who sat alone at the dining table. A deep baking pan sat on the table in front of them, untouched. “Oh. Rosita’s chilaquiles,” Griffin said hungrily. “She makes these every Sunday. So good.” He spooned a big helping for himself and began eating immediately. “Aren’t you guys hungry?” “I don’t know,” Taber said. “Should we be?” “Do you think they have any cereal?” India asked. “Probably not,” Griffin said. “The Chilaquiles are delicious though.” He got back up again, and checked a saucepan on the small stove. “Yup. She also left us some Oaxacan hot chocolate. Mmmm,” Griffin said and filled his cup. Griffin devoured breakfast, while the others picked. They were nearly finished when Lupe came in looking upset. “My dad called your dad this morning, Griffin. I think he’s coming down to pick you up,” Lupe told him. “No,” Griffin said. “I told you, I need to get down to see my grandfather.” “I know,” Lupe said. “I’m taking you down to see Señor Leo. I know where he’s staying. It’s an overnight ride from here. My brothers are saddling up the horses now.” “Uh, I don’t ride horses,” India informed her. “Taber and I will take the truck.” Taber looked irritated that India had spoken for him. “You do now,” Lupe said, “unless you want to stay home and wait for Señor Roark. That truck will not make it.” “So are you coming with us or not?” Taber asked India. “Yeah,” India said. “Do I have time for a shower at least?” she asked Griffin.
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“No,” Lupe said. “We’re leaving right now. The four of them rode all day through the desert. India never let go of the saddle horn even though her horse was so slow it lagged a good fifty feet behind the rest of them. Scout, horse-shy lagged another fifty feet behind her. Taber’s horse, Pedro, apparently took an instant disliking to him. Periodically, Pedro would dump him on the ground and keep walking fast, like nothing happened, leaving Taber to jogging along side him trying to get back in the saddle. They stopped to camp that night on the top of a small mesa and had dinner. A lake about a mile up the trail provided water for the horses, and after they boiled the heck out of it, to drink. Taber and India were so sore they couldn’t even walk, and Scout’s feet were obviously tender. So when Lupe proposed a walk everyone elected to stay behind except Griffin, who was happy to be back under familiar stars again, even though he still felt a little queasy. Lupe brought him down the hill to an old fire circle below. Got a fire going. “I can see what you’re doing, Griffin. You’re becoming like your grandfather. Someday you will be a great shaman like he is,” Lupe said in the dark. “How can you tell what I’ve been doing?” Griffin asked, wondering if someone had told her while he was asleep. “Just by the way you look, the way you walk. The light in your eyes from Seeing.” She leaned over to kiss him and then stayed close. “See? It is in my eyes, too.” Griffin had always thought Lupe had beautiful eyes, but never knew the reason. When he looked closely in the dark, he did notice a soft glow coming from within, like they were giving off their own light. She kissed him again. Griffin decided right then and there he was going to love being a shaman. “Thanks for taking us out here, and thanks for getting me all fixed up, Lupe,” he said. “I was really feeling poorly.” “You aren’t all fixed up,” Lupe said. “I’m not?” Griffin asked. “A person is a little like a balloon. Power is what fills up the balloon. When you are full, there is no room for bad things to enter. You do not look full. Can’t you See that?” He had to admit he hadn’t even tried. When he did See himself, he was shocked to see he looked as dull and empty as Brandon had that day in school.” “So, how I am supposed to fill up my balloon?” he asked, unable
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to truly believe he was having this kind of conversation with Lupe. Lupe laughed. “Your teacher didn’t tell you?” “I don’t have a teacher. I’ve been getting all my information from India, and I think that question might be a little over both of our heads. I’d have to ask her to look it up.” “That white girl?” Lupe laughed and created some distance between them. “What does she know?” “Well, who’s your teacher,” Griffin asked. “Señor Leo.” The “ obviously” was implied. “My grandfather? When did he start teaching you?” Griffin asked. “The same time he started teaching you. Don’t you remember the stories by the fire? The songs? Telling us about the plants, the stars?” “Yes, but, that was just…” “He said you were immature. That sometimes it takes boys a very long time to grow up, but he said you’d come around, and you did,” Lupe said. “Power comes from recognizing your connection to the rest of the universe. The more connection you realize, the more power you have. Until you can fully understand that—and for you, I think it might take awhile—the easiest way is to call in your power. Do you have a rattle?” “Oh, I have a rattle. My grandfather’s.” “You have his rattle? Lupe asked. “Yeah, but I don’t think it’s such a good idea to use it, chica. Whenever it makes noise…bad things happen.” Lupe laughed. “No really, a big shadow comes out of the ground and tries to eat me,” Griffin summed up. “So if you have a rattle I could borrow...” “You just don’t know how to use it. I will show you.” “If you say so…” Griffin took the heavily padded rattle out of his pack. “Careful,” he warned her, “make sure it doesn’t make any noise at all.” “Making noise is the whole purpose of a rattle. To truly make it sing your own song, you have to put something of your own inside. Like some stone or maybe a tooth? Eventually, you’ll want each item rattling around in your gourd to be special, from a special place, or gifts from special people.” “I think I’m going to keep all my teeth tonight,” Griffin said. Then he had a thought. “Can they be something like shells?” Griffin took the handkerchief from his pocket and showed Lupe the small white shells—the Gift from the West. “If they’re special to you, use them,” Lupe said.
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“But see the stick is stuck in there,” as Griffin said this and tugged on the stick, which slid easily from the rattle, making a liar out of him. “It really was stuck.” Lupe took the rattle and dumped out its contents. A few black pebbles and a bone. Griffin fed the shells into the hole in the gourd. He reassembled the rattle. “Give it a shake,” Lupe said. “Don’t you trust me?” Ever so gently, Griffin shook the rattle. Nothing happened. No ally. He shook it again. Still nothing. He relaxed. “See it’s okay. All shamans have rattles,” Lupe said and took her own out of her bag, “or drums.” “But as soon as I journey, it will get, me,” Griffin said. “No. If you don’t want to see the ally, it won’t come. When you hold the rattle, you control the ally. Now to call in your power, you must have a song. Do you remember the song?” Lupe smiled. “No,” Griffin admitted. “No? You are stupid. Remember?” She shook her own rattle, and sang, “Sweet spirits Terrible spirits You are my power I call in my power Sweet spirits Terrible spirits You are my power I call in my power” Memories flooded back to him. He remembered singing at night around the fire, running around it like wildcat cubs. He had had so much fun. Such good memories. “I remember that,” he sad a little sadly, and hummed along until the words came back to him. Griffin paused for a second and looked to the camp. There was no way he wanted India and Taber to look down and see him singing and dancing around a fire. That would be far too embarrassing. “I think she’s still asleep,” Lupe said. “We are connected, Griffin, and I’m a lot smarter than you are. I know what you’re thinking before you even know what you are thinking.” Griffin believed her. He laughed and chased Lupe around the fire, chanting, “Sweet spirits, Terrible spirits.
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You are my power. I call in my power.” He was worried that the rhythm was going to take him the way it had on the way to the Homestead party that Friday, the way it did when he raged against the lab and blew the whole place up. His journeys were getting stronger and stronger. He was afraid if he gave into the journey, he’d lose all control, and this time there might be no coming back, no resisting the snake that lived within his breast. Lupe sensed his apprehension. “Just focus your intent, Griffin,” Lupe called out to him as they moved. “Open yourself completely to power. Abandon all other thoughts. Don’t hold back!” He cleared his mind of everything save the object of his intent and relaxed. Griffin moved around the fire with a will of steel. His intent

was to gain as much power as possible. He wanted to be rid of his fear of Francisco. Be rid of the fear of what he was becoming. He closed his eyes. When he shook his rattle, he could see the vibrations from the shells as they hit the cold air and transformed into a great wave of power from the West, the giant bear appeared, but this time Griffin wasn’t afraid of it. This time he knew it was on his side. Next, a short fat little man appeared, yellow and round. He was a gourd. Then he saw a tall pine tree man, because he had carved his rattle’s handle from pine. “You are my power. I call in my power,” he sang faster. He Saw the other spirits from his journey to the directions, the eagle, the jaguar, and the wolf. They all joined him there and moved around the fire with him as he sang. He did feel very powerful, like he could do almost anything. “Sweet spirits, terrible spirits,” Lupe and Griffin sang together. They moved even faster. Lupe shook her rattle frantically, laughing; Griffin chasing. Now Griffin could see the spirit of his father’s parents and all his ancestors. He was so filled with emotion, seeing them, that he wanted to cry, but he felt wonderful after feeling so bad for so long. Griffin was learning what power meant. He could barely feel his feet on the ground. Joyful, his heart raced. His body felt like it was ten times its normal size, like he towered over everything, full and invincible.

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40 Not far away, high above Griffin and Lupe, India and Taber sat upon a rocky hill looking across at the whole thing. Griffin was wrong; India was not laughing, but he did have her attention. A chill ran through her as she sat there with her iPod, watching him twist and turn with his rattle, singing. “What’s he doing?” Taber asked. “Calling in his power,” India said. “I think he might be a real shaman. He looks a lot stronger than I thought he would.” “Looks lame,” Taber said. Taber wasn’t journeying, so Griffin looked like he was just walking around a fire shaking a rattle. Though he envied Griffin. Taber was pretty much an expert with girls and he could see the way Griffin was chasing Lupe that she was going to let him catch her that night. He sighed, wistful. His words seemed to float right by India as she watched Griffin. Taber put his arm around India, partly to console himself and partly to remind her that he existed. She wriggled out from under his arm and focused persistently on Griffin. He seemed to have a whole parade of spirit helpers. In their excitement, no one—not India and Taber from the rocks above, not Griffin and Lupe in their power dance, not even the raven in the tree—noticed one spirit slinking in the shadows, a good distance away from the fire, not invited to join. It was one very large orange snake, whose terrible power at that moment could have crushed them all with one flick of its awful tail.

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41 Griffin woke up with the sun in the morning, feeling great. The coals in the fire pit were still warm. The ground was still hard. The girls were both still asleep and it looked as though Taber had wandered off to relieve himself. He unhobbled the horses and lead them over to a patch of grass for breakfast. Everything was silent. Too silent. He scanned the mesa top again, slowly realizing what was wrong. Scout was missing. He couldn’t even remember the last time he had heard or seen the animal. Griffin wandered down the trail back to the lake, figuring the dog had gotten thirsty. Enjoying the morning air, unconcerned until he noticed the dog’s red collar lying in the middle of the trail. Any thoughts of Lupe and shamanism went out of his mind; his intent was singular: to find Scout and get him back at any cost. When he finally made it down that long rocky trail to the lake, there was no sign of Scout. Oddly enough though, Taber sat alone up on the rock ledge above the lake, staring into the dark waters. “Taber,” Griffin called out with a hint of panic in his voice, “have you seen Scout?” Taber looked up. “I’ve been waiting for you. If you had been less focused on making out with Lupe—” “I’m not fooling around, Taber. I need to find Scout. Now.” Taber began to laugh, and then stopped and looked right at Griffin. “You are such an amateur. Scout isn’t missing, Griffin. I took him, and I took this back, too.” Taber held up the rattle for Griffin to see. For a second Griffin didn’t understand. Taber might have been a rat, but he was his friend. What was he talking about? Taber gathered something up from the ledge. After a second, he stood holding the large dog before him in outstretched arms. Taber’s strength seemed unnatural and he appeared to be nearly
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overshadowed by a presence darker than night. “Scout,” Griffin called to the animal desperately, choking back tears of anger and helplessness. Scout whimpered and wriggled a bit but was unable to free himself. Griffin noticed thin leather cords binding the dog. The reins from the horses. The fury built in Griffin. He felt like he was going to explode. “Taber let him go. You have no idea what you’re dealing with,” Griffin threatened trying to control his formidable temper. “I know exactly what I’m dealing with, but do you?” Griffin took a closer look at Taber. His eyes were blood red. His flesh barely looked able to contain a shadow that raged within him. Taber laughed and continued. “Only a child as conceited as you are could ever even begin to believe that the oldest of all shadow allies would ever serve you.” As he said the words, the darkness around Taber loomed larger. If good-natured, good-looking Taber would have told him this at any other time, Griffin would have laughed, but something about Taber’s carriage told Griffin that this was no laughing matter. The shadow ally and Taber were not separate things. The shadow was somehow Taber, and Taber was the shadow. Griffin’s mind reeled. He couldn’t believe it. He had finally resigned himself to his fate of being a dark shaman and now he received a reprieve from an unlikely source. “Some call me by the name Xolotl, some call me Skinwalker. I am the great Adversary! I feed on your kind, stealing souls, growing stronger and stronger until I have enough power to enslave you all.” The whites of Taber’s eyes were completely visible, and his voice sounded strained and splintery. This didn’t sound like Taber at all, Griffin thought, or any teenage boy that Griffin could think of. “Taber, have you totally lost your mind?” Griffin asked. Part of him still waited for Taber to start laughing and call his bluff. “No. I know exactly what I’m doing,” Taber said. “I’m going to throw your pathetic power animal into the water and laugh as you watch him sink. India was right. You shouldn’t tell other people what your power animal is. They just might use it against you.” The anger in Griffin grew stronger and stronger, confusing him, blurring his intent. He was no longer sure what he wanted more, to save Scout, or destroy Taber. Griffin shakily began the climb up to Taber on the ledge, careful not to look down at the water below, lest he lose his nerve. His head
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was spinning. Taber continued, “You are such a coward, Griffin. “You had the chance to save that boy, and instead of going to Buckskinner, you went to that hole in the ground, following your temper,” Taber mocked. His words sobered Griffin immediately. “What do you mean, I had a chance to save him? I saw Brandon swim to the surface. I beat you yesterday,” Griffin said. “You and Francisco.” “Yes, and what a victory. You helped one dead, drowned boy cross over into the light of the upper world, but there will be others,” Taber said looking at Griffin hungrily. “Many others.” So, Brandon was dead. After all his good intentions, Brandon was still dead. “What do you want with me?” Griffin asked, with morbid curiosity. “What do I want? I want your hate, your fear. I want your soul.” With that, Taber heaved the bound animal over the side of the cliff. The dog’s body bounced off the rock wall and slammed into the water’s glassy surface. Griffin froze, unable to believe what just happened. Scout bucked against the ropes but it was no use. His convulsing body began to sink. The hatred Griffin felt now for Taber was all consuming. “What are you waiting for, Griffin?” Taber said. “Are you going to journey to the bottom of the lake and watch him die like Brandon, or are you going to come up here so we can finish this off ?” If he journeyed, he’d be no match for the Adversary, Griffin knew that much. And even Taber, without being possessed, was stronger than he was. After everything Griffin had been through, he knew that there was a good chance that Taber would just hurl him off the cliff. Then it was clear what Griffin must do. He looked up at Taber. “Neither,” Griffin said. Taking a deep breath and concentrating his grief, anger, and crushing fear of the water into one clear and focused intent, he dove from the towering ledge into the water after Scout. The shock and force of the cold water knocked the wind out of Griffin. In his journeys, he had been submerged in this lake many times in the past few months, but this wasn’t a journey. This time he could feel everything. Griffin now better understood Brandon’s struggles. The water was so frigid that it drained all the strength from his limbs, and Griffin was finding it difficult to move. Worse yet, while Scout’s location was obvious from up on the wall, it was entirely hidden from down in the dark lake. Griffin dove under the
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black waters and painfully opened his eyes. He couldn’t see his hand in front of his face. Griffin swam hard for the bottom. Blindly, he groped along the slimy bottom of the lake, through slick plants and algae-covered rocks. Then he felt something. It was big and heavy. He pulled it close to his face so he could make out what it was and used his Seeing in the blackness. A young Mexican man’s lifeless open gaze glowed palely before him. Griffin violently pushed the dead body away from him. He flailed to the surface in shock and disgust, gasping for air. “Find something you liked down there, Griffin?” The shadow called down to him through Taber. “This is one of my favorite spots for breakfast.” Griffin didn’t respond. Time was running out for Scout. He dove under again and groped through the murky waters. His body was getting heavier, and he found he could stay under for shorter and shorter periods of time. His search for Scout grew less frantic until he was so exhausted, he could hardly move at all. His limbs were numb with cold, and the waters seemed to get heavier and heavier. He thought about how nice it would be to fall asleep, right there in the water. His body was so numb that he was almost as comfortable as he would have been in bed. When he first choked in the water, thoughts of dread raced through his mind; his instinct to live and struggle and breathe awakened, but now he realized how much easier it was to relax. He reached for his back pocket. He drifted like a tiny ship up, up into the black still waters of death.

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42 Then from out of the blackness, Griffin saw the menacing face of a large snake glowing before his eyes. Above him was a clear starry sky,

and he found himself lying comfortably in the snow. By this time, Griffin didn’t have enough energy to struggle even in his journey. He dropped the rattle. The bundle of power and energy that was Griffin Roark was quickly dissipating. The snake slithered toward him, coiled, and rose up into the air in a great display of power. Griffin looked away. “So this is what it’s like to die,” Griffin thought, apathetically. Too weak even to be terrified, he wondered only if it was going to hurt. The snake’s head flattened into an enormous hood and swayed from side to side, rising taller and taller in its terrible dance. Then it lunged to strike. In this last second before it struck, Griffin looked back at it and saw something truly amazing, but no less terrible. From the snake’s back had sprung expansive radiant wings, cloaked with shimmering orange, red, and gold feathers. The snake struck down at Griffin, burying its fangs deep within his head. The snake wrapped itself around Griffin again and again, folding its wings around their intertwined bodies. It tightened its grip and pumped hot venom into Griffin’s head. Slowly, Griffin began to feel more alive, warmer. Strong enough to be terrified, Griffin suddenly realized with horror that he was surrounded on all sides by thick coils of snake, and the serpent’s dagger-like fangs were planted deep into the top of his head. As it continued to inject its venom, he could feel the life being forced back into him. This was not the work of an evil creature, Griffin surmised. Slowly, the snake loosened its hold on Griffin, extracted its fangs from his head, and drew back from him. Griffin realized that it was not a regular snake before him, but a long, sinewy dragon-like creature. Fiery feathers and scales covered its body, and his face now looked just as much

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like a lion as a reptile. Griffin was thoroughly confused. “Where am I?” Griffin asked. A small happy voice spoke behind him, “You’re in the upper world, Griffin.” He turned to see Brandon standing next to him on a snowy expanse, smiling happily. Griffin panicked, and jumped to his feet. “Don’t worry; you’re not dead,” Brandon said, “just visiting.” Brandon looked much like he did when Griffin had last seen him, only he wasn’t wearing his glasses. Then the winged serpent spoke. “Do not be afraid. I am not the Adversary, Griffin. The Adversary could never breech the gates of the upper world. I am your true power animal,” the creature said with breath of flames. He flew up into the starry sky, sweeping through the clouds in giant figures-eight. “This is your power; your inheritance,” it said as it reared back. With a great intake of air, it breathed a stream of fire across the sky, shaming the stars. The beast landed softly beside Griffin. “I thought you were a shadow ally,” Griffin said, amazed. He had never before seen a creature quite like this, not a giant snake, but no less terrifying. He had to ask. “What are you?” “My power recognizes no boundaries. Master of both light and shadow, I am the winged serpent, Amaru. The old myths called me Quetzalcoatl. I am the spiral of infinity that runs through all life.” From the corner of his eye, Griffin could spot the white wolf from the North. Amaru spoke again: “Griffin, remember, there is nothing outside of our power when you recognize no boundaries. Forget your old ideas about yourself; forget your old limitations. Remember, you are Nature. You are One. You have a long journey back. Wolf will show you the way,” Amaru said in parting. “Thank you,” Griffin said to Amaru. The creature nodded his head and slipped away into the night sky and Griffin was left on the bright snowy plane with Brandon and the white wolf. “Are you okay?” Griffin asked Brandon. “Yeah, looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us with this Adversary thing though.” Brandon grinned sweetly. “We?” Griffin asked.
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“Well, you didn’t abandon me. Do you think I’d let you face it alone?” Brandon reassured him. “I’ll do what I can from here, you do what you can from there, and we’ll beat this thing together.” “Okay,” Griffin said with a nod. “Hey, have you seen my mother up here?” Griffin asked. Brandon looked puzzled. “No. I haven’t. Usually when you come to the upper world your relatives come and meet you. So she should be here. ‘Least that’s what they say. None of my folk are up here yet, though,” Brandon said. “Oh,” said Griffin, disappointed. “One more thing…what’s it like?” “To be dead?” Brandon asked. Griffin nodded, a little embarrassed to have asked. “I hope it’s a long time before you find out the answer to that question,” Brandon insisted. Griffin turned and followed the white wolf the long way back, out of the bright upper world, back to find Taber.

The Taber-Adversary waited hungrily on the high stone wall for the displaced spirit of Griffin Roark to drift up out of the water so he could feed upon it. He thought Griffin had been much too angry and confused to make it into the light of the upper world, though he had been mistaken before. Just yesterday, that weakling Brandon had made it past him, at the last minute, cheating him out of a meal. Taber paced back and forth on the wall. Then he saw motion in the water. He stopped and arched his back, throwing back his head, poised to inhale Griffin’s displaced spirit. The black shadow showed purple now all through his body. The Taber-Adversary knew that he had been wrong before, but he never imagined that he could be this wrong. What he saw he could not believe. It was Griffin Roark wading out of the lake, carrying Scout’s limp and dripping body.

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33 Griffin stepped out of the water, slowly, full of determination. When the Taber-Adversary saw Griffin, it turned and ran. Now, filled for the first time with his true power, Griffin chased it. Taber moved with tremendous speed through the desert, blackening the air wherever he passed. Griffin followed this inky trail over the ridge and into a small valley, where at the edge of a windy prairie sat a little ghost town, streets full of broken down wooden buildings, grey with age. Griffin could not see where Taber had disappeared, but the dense black cloud told him where his best chances lie. At the edge of the town stood the old mission, the church where Griffin and Snip had once sought shelter from the rain —where Griffin’s whole ordeal began. Griffin walked up the steps into the cathedral and pushed open the old rotting doors. In the daylight, he could see the church was decorated with pictures of deer and thousands of pictures of flowers. A huge colony of swallows made their mud nests high along the edges of the great crumbling dome, where daylight burst through, but Griffin knew his trials were in a darker place. He found the stairs that lead to the basement and carefully descended into the Adversary’s lair. Griffin was shocked at what he found. From the light that shone through the planks of the ceiling, he could tell he was in no ordinary cellar. Beneath, the old mission church lie something centuries older. An Aztec temple, almost a mirror image of the cathedral above it, stood supported by columns carved like warriors in the Toltec style. Then Griffin found what he was looking for. Out of the blackness, the flickering light of candles guided him into the next room. All around the large stone altar at the center of the room, candles, strange carvings, and countless seemingly empty glass bottles and jars of all sizes and shapes seemed to float in the darkness. Each jar had its lid on and a label made of masking tape. Each label had a name on it.
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Griffin picked up a jar. In it was a single thin brown hair. Bobby Marshbanks, the label read. He disappeared a few weeks earlier. He picked up another jar; in it was a scrap of cloth with a small spot of blood. That label had the name Lori Westrope scrawled across it. Tanya Kirkendoll. Conrad, Antwan. They all had jars with their names on them there. There was even a jar with a raccoon clawful of golden hair. The label read India. He read each of the jars, until finally, horribly, he found a small jar with his own name on it, Griffin Roark. The black hair that Taber had picked from his shoulder long ago curled in the bottom of it. Griffin rubbed his burnt and shorn head. He wouldn’t have to worry about that again, he thought. A quiet voice came from behind him. “Have you figured out what those bottles are yet, Griffin?” Griffin swung around to face the source of the voice, brandishing the bottle with his name on it like a weapon. Francisco. Of course. “Now, I’d be careful with those jars if I were you,” Francisco chuckled. “There’s precious cargo in each of them—pieces of souls gathered and kept safe here.” “Gathered? I’d say stolen,” Griffin said through clenched teeth. The Taber-Adversary stepped out from behind Francisco. “Yeah and I stole something else, too. Your girl.” He laughed. “India wasn’t ‘my girl,’ Taber. Any girl in school would’ve gone out with you,” Griffin said. “No, Griffin, I mean I stole her.” Taber ducked into a small alcove and came out with the bound and struggling body of India tossing over his shoulder. He flung her on to the stone altar. “India!” Griffin shouted. He went to run for her, but Francisco pushed him easily to the ground. “No. We’re saving her for dessert,” Francisco said. “How could you do this to India, Taber?” Griffin pleaded. “Oh what does it matter?” the Taber-Adversary said. “India is stupid with all her drums and Feeling and power animals. You want power? Look at me. There is an easier way. A much easier way.” “What, by keeping a bottle collection?” Griffin retorted, repulsed by this whining, stooping version of the strong Taber that he had come to know. “Not a bottle collection,” Francisco countered, “ a soul collection, a fear collection. And you haven’t even seen our Hive.” Griffin looked and suspended above India was a black beehive. “Careful not to wake them, Griffin. That would be a terrible way
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for India to go. That hive is filled with the souls of our drones. Thousands of them. All at the Adversary’s disposal. Each time any of these souls feel terror, in this life or the next, it feeds us, and with each soul the Adversary steals, we grow stronger.” “That’s no way to gain power!” Griffin shouted. “Oh, do you prefer India’s way? Banging on a drum and shaking a rattle like a trained monkey? Begging for it from power animals? I was not born to be a beggar. I am a great shaman!” Taber shouted. As he said this, two great javelinas charged out of the darkness and came to rest on either side of him; their hairy pig faces and long tusks covered in gore. “You too can be great. I can make you great,” Francisco said. “I don’t want to be great,” Griffin said plainly. “I only want to be who I am, and that’s not something that you can help me with.” “I thought we were friends, Griffin,” Taber pandered. “All you have to do is reject that nasty snake creature, who has poisoned you with his lies, and you can join me and your girlfriend here. We’ll let her go.” “To go live in a jar? I don’t think so.” Saying that, Griffin prepared for battle. “India never taught you how to do this,” Taber yelled. As Francisco proudly watched his young pupil, the TaberAdversary unleashed two giant javelinas from out of thin air. As the javelinas charged at Griffin, he instinctively backed up. Each pig split off in a different direction and circled back around to rest by Taber’s side. Griffin looked at India and he knew what he had to do. He began calling in the directions. “To the East, to the South, to the West, to the North.” He hoped the directions didn’t mind his abbreviated version, but time was running out.

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44 In the dim underground temple, filled with the power of the Adversary, Taber motioned to the beehive above him and tiny bits of shadow fell out of the very darkness transforming into black angry bees. The bees swarmed around Griffin forcing him back and back. “To Father Sky, to Mother Earth, to the center of all things,” Griffin shouted, stumbling back, and holding his arm up to protect his face from the bees. “Maybe you should be less concerned with reciting your lessons and more concerned with this.” As Taber spoke the floor beneath Griffin teemed with large rats that snapped at his feet and jumped for his legs. Griffin vaulted back from the spot, and began to chant. “Come to me Sweet spirits Terrible spirits You are my power I call in my power.” The disgusting creatures advanced on Griffin as he sang. Then he stumbled. Suddenly, he realized what they were doing. Directly behind him at ground level gaped an open well. He put his hand out to the dirt wall to support himself. “Are you calling on your fairytales to come and save you?” Taber hissed, laughing. “When you came out of the lake, I could see your silly Quetzalcoatl power. To me, it’s just an overgrown worm.” With those words pronounced, the solid walls turned into battlements of worms and leeches of all sizes. Griffin pulled his hand back from the crawling wall, balancing gingerly on the edge of the well. He sang harder, this time with his own words. “Amaru is my power Fly with me Through air and water With wings of fire
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And breath of truth This is my power I am my power!” Griffin could feel the power of Amaru coursing through his veins now. He remembered the words of the mysterious old man in the truck. “If I must eventually face my fears or die,” Griffin shouted, “ then I choose to do it here, and now.” Griffin took a deep breath, and focused his intent: To get India out of there. The javelinas circled around to make one last charge. Griffin staggered back to avoid their gory tusks. Francisco tired of the ineffective battle his pupil was waging. At that moment, he lashed out his giant hand and knocked Griffin sideways down into the pit. Griffin grasped at the ground with his hands while his feet scraped against the wall of the well, trying to find a foothold. The well opened like the black mouth of the void, waiting to swallow him. Taber approached as Griffin clung desperately to the edge of the well. “We’re friends, Griffin. I don’t want to see anything happen to you,” Taber said softly. “Just join us and everything will be like it used to be.” Taber held his hand out to Griffin. A shadow hand, alive as if it were composed of thousands of tiny ants, reached towards Griffin. “Take my hand. Accept the Adversary. Feel true power!” Griffin winced, doing his best to cling to the edge and avoid touching the teeming shadow that groped for him. “Oh are you feeling brave because of that slimy worm?” Francisco called out to Griffin. “Fine then. Have it your way. Either way, the Adversary will get fed.” He nodded to Taber and Taber kicked Griffin squarely in the forehead, knocking him down into the well. Griffin slammed down hard on the ground below, unconscious. “Disgusting,” Taber shouted down to Griffin’s unconscious body. He sniffed the air rising from the pit. “I can smell that snake’s venom on you from here.” From far away, Griffin seemed to hear this, and then he knew the truth. He knew it with every atom in his being. He stood up at the bottom of the pit defiantly. “It’s not only on me,” Griffin bellowed, “it’s in me.” Without a drum, without even India’s iPod, Griffin instantly slipped into a journey state.
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Venom seared out through his shirt like acid and Griffin’s mark shone brightly on his chest. His whole body began to change, reorganize to accommodate his newly found power. As Griffin threw his arms back, they turned into wings of fire. He rose from the pit, his neck lengthening, and slashing his long tail. He now truly owned his power; the winged serpent not only was his power animal, he was the winged serpent. This power was not new to him; it slept deep inside him all these years. Now it was awakening. Griffin rose high above Taber and Francisco, and with one breath, turned the entire room into a fireball. He slowly understood the truth about Taber’s abilities. The javelinas, the bees, the rats, the worms and leeches, were no more solid than the fire that washed them from the room. “Is that your mighty power, Taber?” Griffin challenged. “The power of illusion? You are an aberration of nature; I am nature!” “So am I, Griffin,” Taber retorted, “ I am the nature of fear!” Taber sunk to his knees and a great black wave rose from him, growing out of him like a tumor. In it howled the faces of all the souls that the Adversary had imprisoned. “Does this,” the face of his father yelled from the mass, “look like a cheap trick to you?” the mouth of India finished the sentence. The monster rolled across the floor, dragging Taber’s body along with it like a toy. Griffin gathered up his strength and breathed fire onto the beast. The faces of the souls screamed in agony as they caught ablaze. The flames came dangerously close to the real India, bound on the altar. “You are only hurting them, Griffin. You cannot hurt us.” Francisco laughed from the sidelines of the battle. Griffin understood. To defeat the Adversary, Griffin had to release the souls whose fear fed it. Griffin crashed his mighty tail at the jars surrounding the altar, but all the bottles remained intact. “I never thought I’d have a weakling for a son,” the face of his father spoke through the howling mass. Griffin breathed fire at the bottles. The carvings burned, but the bottles did not break. Even gagged Griffin could hear India screaming. Too close with the flames, Griffin thought. “You don’t know very much do you,” the nasty face of India spat at Griffin. Griffin felt that she was trying to communicate something to him, but he
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didn’t understand. Her efforts weren’t overlooked by the blob, though, which pulled her, screaming, back into its center. The whole room was in flames now. The tumor shied away from the heat, blowing thick, dark yellow mucus on the smoldering floor to protect itself from the fire. Conrad’s torso wrestled its way from the living wreckage. “Look what you did to me, you freak. I’ve been waiting so long to do this,” he snarled, “this is for that cheap shot you took at me at Buckskinner.” In a fury, the unwieldy mass gathered itself up in a wave of hair and teeth and eyeballs and heaved itself at Griffin, smashing his serpent’s tail onto the cold stone floor. As the growth slunk across him, the face of Principal Gustafson tried to wrestle a bite out of his snakeskin hide. Then Taber’s arm grabbed a head by the hair and forced it out of the center of the disorganized body. “There’s someone who wants to talk to you, Griffin,” Taber said. Griffin’s own face looked out at him from the mass. “When you rejected the darkness within you, the Adversary took me in. I didn’t want to be with someone who couldn’t accept all of who I was,” it called out to him. “I never want to come back to you. Everyone here accepts my rage, my power.” Griffin wrapped his tail around one of the carved stone warrior columns, and tore it from the floor and ceiling. As the ceiling shifted and slumped, the malignant growth threw itself at him for a second time, Griffin whipped the statue through the air, smashing every bottle; though the hive, releasing the drones. The mass exploded and each of the soul parts were freed. They all scattered and flew from the fiery cellar like phantoms. Griffin’s own soul part flew into his chest knocking him to the ground as it rejoined him. For the first time in months, he felt calm and whole. He no longer doubted his nature and that part of him no longer felt isolated. The room was empty of the spirits and the blob now, leaving only the winged serpent, an unconscious Francisco and Taber, and India’s small crumpled body under a ceiling that was soon about to cave in. Taber weakly struggled to his feet. Oblivious to the danger of the failing structure, Griffin wielded the stone column over Taber, preparing to crush him with every ounce of hatred within him, but before Griffin could act, a great bear rose through a wall of fire and came to Taber’s defense. “No!” a voice echoed through the room.
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The voice was so much like Lupe’s that Griffin turned to it without thinking. In that instant, the bear disappeared. When Griffin looked back, the Taber-Adversary was gone, along with his grandfather’s rattle.

As Griffin awoke from his journey, he felt his body slowly morph back into its human shape. His wings, long neck, and tail retracted until they entirely disappeared. His scarlet scales and feathers became peachy human boy skin again. Griffin was back, and the temple—and the church above it—was coming down around him in pieces.

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45 With no time left to untie her, Griffin quickly snatched up India from the shifting rubble as he climbed out of the dusty collapsing temple, carrying India. He left Francisco’s body behind. He untied India and hugged her as the old mission caved into the earth. Suddenly displaced swallows filled the air. To their dismay, every sign of Taber had vanished. “He still has the rattle,” Griffin said. “We have to find him.” “After all the power he lost, the Adversary won’t be strong enough to command Taber’s body—if he really doesn’t want to be possessed.” India said. We have to get him fast.” “Where’s he going to find another body way out here in the desert? Oh no, Lupe!” Griffin said. “Uh, don’t worry, Griffin. If the Adversary isn’t strong enough to possess Taber, then he definitely won’t be able to handle Lupe. She actually knows what she’s doing,” India said—though India wouldn’t have minded if someone made the bossy, spirited girl disappear. “No, the Adversary will probably go after a dead or injured animal, like it did with the raccoons.” A chilling realization overcame Griffin, “Oh, no. Scout!” Griffin headed for the lake, running as fast as he could. India trailed behind. If he had waited a bit longer to change from the giant winged serpent, he could have flown in a journey. The serpent’s wings would have been much swifter than his tired feet, but if he had waited any longer, India would have been crushed. On the lake’s edge, possessed by the Adversary, Taber stood over Scout’s soaking dead body. Scout’s bindings had been untied, and now Taber held his hand flat out over the animal. The Adversary was now weak, but the body of a dead dog would be the perfect vehicle for him. The Adversary had used animal bodies like this before. Only the shamans and Native Americans of the area were familiar with this age-old tactic and could not be tricked. Skinwalker, they called him when he used the body of dead animals. They might recognize him,
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but their fear fed him just the same. The Adversary would just slink off into the woods in the rotting dog body, terrorizing the locals and feeding from the fear until he grew strong enough to take over another human. Griffin arrived as the legions of crawling spirits poured from Taber into the dog. “Griffin,” he heard the voice of Brandon in his head calling to him from the upper world. “Remember what happened to you when I went in the water.” Griffin understood. He wasn’t sure it would work, but it certainly was worth a shot. Griffin tackled Taber, knocking them both into the lake. As Taber plunged beneath the surface, the black and swarming spirit was forced from the top of his head, unable to endure the purging properties of the water. Shocked, Griffin jumped back and released Taber. Taber’s body did not struggle again. Griffin waded back to shore to meet India, leaving Taber’s drooping body floating behind him in the shallow water. As he stepped out of the water India finally arrived. “Is Taber okay?” India said, breathless from running. Griffin shook his head. India covered her mouth with her hand and sobbed. From out of the bushes, Scout’s body, like a grotesque puppet, leapt clumsily at Griffin’s throat, sinking its teeth into his shoulder. The wolf ’s teeth tore into Griffin’s flesh and poured its blackness into him through the wound. “Get in the water, India!” Griffin shouted. India dove into the lake. Unable to wrestle the possessed animal from his flesh, Griffin toppled over backwards. He could feel the cold blackness scurrying inside of him, overtaking him. He rolled over the animal’s body again and again, dragging it slowly to the bank of the lake. Then with one final effort, Griffin towed the dog into the water. Griffin dove under, dragging the dog down with him as the Adversary blew out of their bodies and scattered like grisly confetti into the ever-brightening sky. Griffin surfaced and all was quiet. Shivering, he surveyed the landscape. For now, the disembodied Adversary had flown away, a swarm of terror that now hid somewhere awaiting its next victim. Scout lifted his head from the water. Griffin leaped out of the way as Scout paddled to shore. The dog dragged himself from the lake and crouched on the sand, watching, waiting.
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46 Huddled together, shivering in the freezing shallows of the lake, Griffin and India pondered their next move. They would have to get out of the lake, past the possessed dog, and home somehow. They did not have to think long, though. Up the road, Griffin could make out a pair of headlights. A silver truck pulled up, and a bald older man stepped out, calm and strong. Even though he hadn’t seen him in years, Griffin would have recognized him anywhere. It was his grandfather, oblivious of the dangers that awaited him. “Watch out, Grandpa, the dog!” Griffin shouted, but before he could even get the words out, Scout bound at his Grandpa Leo knocking the old man to the ground. He licked his face enthusiastically. He struggled out from beneath the animal to his feet and patted the dog’s head. “The dog’s just fine, Griffin,” he said, walking out to the shore. “You did a great job releasing him from the Adversary. Lupe told me I might be able to find you up here.” Griffin ran out of the water and hugged his grandfather. India trudged out, exhausted. Scout leapt into the truck, stood up on the front seat, and gave a great shake, sending a fine mist of muddy water over everything. Griffin was having a difficult time accepting that his struggle, for now, was over. “He was dead, and now he’s up and walking around? How?” Griffin asked, forgetful of his own equally miraculous recovery one year earlier. “It looks like somebody out there is looking out for you,” Grandpa Leo said. “I’ve never seen it happen before, but it seems like the power from the Adversary was enough to jump-start his life. Death is only a state of mind.” “Are you saying Scout’s too stupid to know he should be dead? I guess Scout never had too much going on upstairs,” Griffin admitted. “We can talk about all that later at home, but right now, you two
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are going to have to help me get your friend there into the car. He’s a big one.” Grandpa Leo waded out to Taber, who still lay in the shallow muddy water. Hearing his name, he gave the slightest moan. “No!” Griffin cried out. “What are you doing?” “It’s all right, Griffin,” Grandpa Leo reassured him. “It’s not all right,” Griffin said. “Taber and his stupid drones killed a good friend of mine.” As he said it, he knew he meant it. Just then, he knew that somewhere, Brandon heard Griffin call him “ friend” and was smiling. Grandpa Leo and India grasped Taber under his arms, and helped him to his feet. “This boy didn’t kill anyone,” Leo said to Griffin. “He was possessed by the Adversary—But that’s all over for now. Who knows how long it will take the Adversary to reorganize itself ? You expelled the intrusion in this boy. Now we have to help him.” Reluctantly, Griffin gave them a hand helping Taber to the car, but still voiced his objections. “Intrusion? That thing was evil,” he said, pointing to his mauled shoulder. His grandfather shook his head, “The thing you saw was not good or bad. It was misplaced. Perhaps someday, you will be able to help it, like you’ve helped Taber. Until then, we must all be on guard.” Griffin nodded humbly. “Now let’s get you all home and get your arm cleaned up,” Leo said with a soft smile. The drive to his grandfather’s ranch proved long, wet, and generally uncomfortable. Griffin’s arm throbbed painfully. He was still a little angry with Scout and Taber, so he gave them both the silent treatment all the way there. India wasn’t very happy about being trapped in the backseat with the recently possessed, so she complained a lot. But all in all, Griffin was so happy to be back in Mexico and safe in the company of his grandfather, he couldn’t stop smiling. He had so many things he wanted to ask his grandfather, so many things he wanted to say. His grandfather truly looked happy to see him as well. There was one grim reminder of the previous day’s horrors: nailed to a telephone pole was a homemade flyer on florescent pink paper. “Missing,” it read in large black letters, and then below it, a Xeroxed school photograph of a Mexican child. Griffin looked down the road at the line of telephone poles that stretched out before them, each plastered with a flyer. One by one, they drove past them. Each had a
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different name, a different face. “Is it over now?” Griffin said of the posters and the missing children. “The Adversary takes many forms, Griffin,” his grandfather said. “I’m sorry, but it’ll take more than winning one battle to put the whole world back into balance.”

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47 When they arrived at Leo’s enormous white stucco ranch house, he and Griffin helped Taber out of the jeep. A kind servant woman rushed to wrap the kids in woolen blankets. “You both look terrible,” India declared. “Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Taber asked her. India just stood there, speechless. Scout bounced his muddy self from the back of the jeep and pushed his way in the house past India, eager to warm himself by the wood stove. “You’ve all had a rough day,” Leo said, “but everything is going to be fine.” The living room was big and elegant, and furnished like a cultural museum, with handmade rugs, and old artifacts framed and encased everywhere. While the kids made themselves comfortable on a giant cowhide, another one of Leo’s housekeepers brought them lunch on a big silver tray. Lupe was nowhere in sight. “Señor, the boy’s father has been calling here all morning,” the housekeeper said to Leo in Spanish. “Where have you been?” “Don’t even ask,” Taber said. “Gracias Delores, I’ll get to that,” Leo answered and dismissed her. Griffin pulled his grandfather’s rattle out of his jacket, careful with his injured arm. “This is yours,” he said to his grandfather, “and I’d like to give it back to you now, before I lose it again. Well, part of it is yours, anyway. The doll thing, I added. Sorry.” Griffin tried to pull the rattle off the bottom of the ancestor stick and it stuck again. “I guess we’ll just have to worry about that later,” Leo said, holding out his hand. “Wait, before I give this back to you, can I use it for just a minute? One thing has been bothering me” “Be my guest,” his grandfather said.
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“Tell me how to use the ancestor stick,” Griffin said to India. “Shouldn’t your grandpa tell you?” India said. “He’s the great shaman.” “You’ve done a bang-up job so far,” Griffin said. “One last lesson.” India nodded. “Okay. This stick represents your family tree, all your ancestors throughout all of time, but more than that, it is a piece of the Axis Mundi, the great tree at the center of the three worlds. Everything and everybody revolves around the Axis Mundi. It is everywhere and nowhere. This stick is like a portable sippapu, a ladder to travel between the worlds that you can carry with you. Is that right, Señor Leo?” “I’d say you know your stuff,” Leo said, “but what are you going to use it for, Griffin?” “I want to see my mother, wherever she is,” Griffin said. Grandpa Leo looked as if he were about to protest, but the remained silent. “Do you think you can journey?” India asked Griffin. “I know I can,” he told her. “India, lemme borrow your iPod again.” India took her iPod out of her bag. “You really need to get your own,” she said under her breath. “What is that?” Leo asked. India looked back at him sheepishly. “It said in your wife’s book— based on your material—that all that mattered was the rhythm was the right beats-per-second. It just so happens that there’s plenty of music out there that fulfills that requirement. I have over five thousand songs like that right here,” India said holding up her iPod. “I also,” India said, rifling through her bag, “burned a CD before we left if you want to check it out.” Even though India had burned the CD for Griffin, she handed it to Leo, who frowned but accepted it. “Hold on one second,” Leo said. He left the room and came back a few seconds later with a big flat buffalo drum. He handed it to Griffin. “Give it a try,” he said. “My grandson should at least know how to use a drum.” As soon as India turned off the lights, Taber fell fast asleep, snoring. “Now Griffin, are you sure you’re ready for this?” his grandfather asked. “There’s no guarantee she’ll talk to you. She might look the
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same, but…” “I have to know. I just want to see her, wherever her spirit is,” Griffin insisted. Griffin laid down on the sofa, placed the ancestor stick beneath his head, and closed his eyes. He drummed the best he could, as fast as he could. Before long, he found himself standing in the branches of a

large tree. “Where am I,” he asked. The large wolf stood at the base of the tree looking up at him. It didn’t say anything. “Dogs,” Griffin complained. He studied the tree more closely and realized that he was in fact connected to the branches. They extended out as far as he could see, and the roots of the tree extended far beneath him. The whole tree pulsed with life. On a branch directly below him was his mother’s golden ring. Suddenly, it occurred to Griffin that he was standing in the branches of a real-life ancestor tree, that his stick merely represented. “Mom!” he called out. “Where are you?” Suddenly the tree disappeared and he found himself in the hallway of a large house. The air was warmer than it was in Williams. Griffin walked to the window and looked outside to a familiar ocean, only dull and ghostly and full of the lines and grids he’d grown accustomed to when he was journeying. He even knew where he was: Puerto Lobos. “Mom!” he called out again. Suddenly his wolf stood beside him. It trotted down the hallway and Griffin followed. They came to a window looking out into a grand courtyard filled with columns and potted plants. There, in an oversized rattan chair, Griffin’s mother sat, wrapped in a blanket. She looked healthy and not unhappy. Griffin pounded on the window. “Mom!” he cried out, but she couldn’t hear him. Then it occurred to Griffin that maybe she didn’t respond because she couldn’t. Maybe, like India said, he was in a world far away from him, detached. Then India’s words came back to him. It didn’t mean she loved him any less, she had said. Griffin shouted to drown India’s voice in his head. “Mom!” The more upset he got, the blurrier the image was until Griffin was nearly crying and back on the floor of his grandfather’s living room.
“I saw her,” Griffin said pushing the drum aside, sobbing. “But

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she couldn’t hear me.” “I’m so sorry, Griffin,” India said and hugged him. “I saw her,” he continued. “She was in heaven or something.” “The upper world,” India sniffled quietly. His grandfather stood in silence. “Was it cold and icy? Like the cave where Superman goes and talks to the hologram of his father?” India asked. “No,” Griffin said, confused. India stopped to blow her nose. “Did you pass through a layer of fog, into a bright light?” she asked. “No,” Griffin said, getting a little frustrated. “It wasn’t like that at all.” “Why don’t you just tell us what you saw?” his grandfather said. “She was sitting in a chair in a courtyard, and I was trying to talk to her but she couldn’t hear me.” Griffin could feel the tears welling up within him again as he relived his memory. “I was in the house looking out through a window.” “A house?” India said. “There are no houses in the upper world.” “It was heaven—only it looked a lot like Mexico. With the boats in the bay and all. Maybe Puerto Lobos.” “Puerto Lobos? Griffin,” India said, finally stopping to wipe her own tears, “Your mother is alive!”

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48 “Very good,” Grandpa Leo said to India. “I see you’ve done your homework. Your friend is right, Griffin. Your mother is alive, and she’s waiting for you in Puerto Lobos. Lupe called her this morning.” “She is?” Griffin said. “Yes. She had a bad few months, as no doubt you did yourself, but she’s quite well now, and she can’t wait to see you again.” “But why didn’t she try to call us? At least tell us she was okay?” Griffin asked. The shock that she was alive had worn off and now that he was trying to make sense of the details, he could think of no excuse for her to treat her family the way she did. He was angry. “That’s a very long story, and we’ll get to it in private, when we get your friends on their way back home. Now, if you don’t mind, my rattle please?” Grandpa Leo held out his rough hand. “Don’t give it to him, Griffin.” His grandmother’s voice came from the front door. She marched in and stood between Griffin and her husband. “You look lovely as ever, Mafalda,” Grandpa Leo said to her, and looked as though he meant it. “You’re still getting the checks I send every month?” “I cash them, don’t I,” she said. “I’m grateful that you have not taken away the privilege of supporting my family. It’s nice to be back together again,” Grandpa Leo said with a wink, and mischievously reached over and pinched Mafalda’s bottom. Until that moment, Griffin would have never imagined anyone would dare pinch his proper and ill-tempered grandmother. So that’s where James got it, Griffin thought. She swatted him away. “It was you and your Hive that tore this family apart to begin with,” Mafalda sneered at him. “You took my daughter. You cannot have my grandson, too.” “He looks just like me, doesn’t he?” Leo said to Mafalda.
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“He had my hair.” Mafalda retorted. “Wait,” Griffin said. “What does she mean, ‘your Hive,’ Grandpa?” “Oh, the great Carnal, didn’t tell you about his international drug trade, his crime cartel of drones, his special ally?” Mafalda said. “Saving that topic for dinner conversation?” “You’re the Carnal of Hive?” Griffin said. Griffin shrunk back and clutched the rattle to his chest. “Grandpa, tell Grandma she’s wrong,” Griffin said. “Tell her she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.” His grandfather didn’t say anything. “No,” Griffin insisted. “You are not a criminal.” “I’m sure it’s not as dramatic as your grandmother has it made out to be. And look on the bright side, Griffin. When I die, all this will all be yours. Even the Hive. That’s why I called you down here.” “Over my dead body,” Mafalda said. “Why don’t you try telling him what you really needed him for? Your rattle had no handle.” “The Axis Mundi!” India blurted out. When everyone looked at her, she hid back behind the sofa. Taber was still sound asleep. “Well, Griffin, your lovely grandmother took the handle from my rattle when she left me. If my Hive knew I had lost control of the Axis and the Adversary, the whole organization would have fallen apart. I searched the world for years for another piece of the Axis. I had nearly given up, when your mother contacted me and told me you had inherited my gift. That you were a natural shaman, and you are. I knew you’d be able to find one, just as I had.” “Why didn’t you just ask me?” Griffin said. “I would have helped you. I didn’t know any better.” “You did help me. The rattle is complete again, and it’s still mine,” he said. He grinned and held out his hand as if he was expecting something very important were about to happen. Like he was expecting it to fly to him through the air. “HOLD ON TO IT, GRIFFIN,” his grandmother cried, also if something very important was going to happen. Nothing happened. “What did you do to my rattle?” his grandfather demanded. “Nothing,” Griffin swore. Griffin thought again. “Except, Lupe dumped some pebbles out of it, and I put some shells inside. Some shells I got from the West.” “Lupe told you to do that? That little sneaky witch,” Grandpa Leo mumbled, and looked seriously baffled. “What?” Griffin asked. “What did I do, Nonni?”
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“Griffin, the rattle is yours,” his grandfather conceded. “By the way, Griffin, that stunt you pulled in our aya lab set us back months. Now this rattle issue again…” “Enough,” a voice hissed from the door. His grandfather looked to the source of the order and then hurried to steal a passionate kiss from a weakly uncooperative Mafalda. “Lock up when you leave, darling,” he told her, and then he disappeared. Into thin air. But before Griffin could be relieved, he also saw the source of the voice, and wished he could somehow follow his evil grandfather, wherever he had gone. The snake-man with the long grey hair stood squarely beyond the threshold. He no longer looked old or feeble. Griffin was no longer sure if he was even Native American. He stood so straight and strong that, despite his grey hair, he looked like he was in the prime of his life and made of iron.

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49 “This man,” Griffin pointed at the snake-man in his grandfather’s living room, “this man ran me over with his truck.” “No, I didn’t,” the man quietly insisted. “Yes,” Griffin said emphatically, “you did.” India looked at the man quizzically. Mafalda had to bite her lip to keep from cursing him aloud. “After your previous associations with my husband, I warn you, I intend to watch you very closely.” “Okay, I did run him over,” the One Who Knows admitted, “but that was not my truck.” Then he looked to Mafalda. “You know how stubborn Griffin can be when he is angry.” This answer seemed satisfactory to India and Mafalda, but Griffin was aghast. “So you ran me over?” Griffin asked incredulously. “Dude, you got hit by a car?” Taber said, waking up on the couch, trying to catch up with the conversation. “Where did your grandpa go?” “I did what had to be done,” the man answered with a single nod of his head. “Harsh,” Taber whispered. “This is the One Who Knows, a former student of your grandfather’s. I don’t like to see any of your grandfather’s groupies hanging around, but it seems he’s gone solo, and he’s been helping you fight his former classmate, Francisco.” “We were once very good friends,” the One Who Knows acknowledged. “Back when I allowed myself to have personal relationships.” “So let me get this straight, the guy who ran me over with his truck…” Griffin started. “It is my cousin’s truck,” the One Who Knows said. “The guy who ran me over with his cousin’s truck,” Griffin corrected, “and then kidnapped me, he’s the good guy? What about the horrible mark you put on my chest?” Griffin asked.
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“Your grandfather had that mark,” Mafalda said and clicked her tongue as if to add, and it was a shame. “And so do I—although most of our marks are not so... visible. You’ve made quite a mess of it, but it’s the mark of the Nephilim,” the One Who Knows announced, “half-human, half-spirit beings. They are the fathers of all dark shamans. Now that you’ve been initiated into your power, you can wear that mark proudly.” Griffin was angry. “So who are you that you think you can just screw around with my life this way?” Griffin demanded of the medicine man. “What gives you the right?” “I gave you your life,” the One Who Knows said. “When a man saves another man’s life, a debt is owed. That is what gives me the right.” “I never asked for a second chance,” Griffin spat. “Well, lucky for you I wasn’t waiting on an invitation,” the One Who Knows retorted. “What do I owe you?” Griffin asked with a gulp. “Your life. Lucky for you I don’t need it. I’ve got my own. I do need an apprentice, though.” “To be a shaman?” Griffin asked. “A great shaman. You may follow in the footsteps of your grandfather and misuse your power, or you may become a true shaman and use your power to restore balance to the three worlds,” the One Who Knows said. His grandmother explained. “Ages ago, the Adversary stole a branch of the Axis Mundi, throwing the three worlds out of balance. He spread the pieces of it throughout the world, giving their owners great and terrible powers. The world has been caught in the battle between good and evil ever since. “You must use the rattle to find the lost pieces of the Axis, and by whatever means necessary, get them back and return them to the center. Only when the Axis is restored, can the world know peace.” “How am I supposed to do that?” Griffin asked. It sounded like a big job. “One piece at a time, Griffin,” the One Who Knows said, “and you’re going to need help. Your grandmother has agreed to begin teaching India privately. Taber, you seem to have an excellent gift for channeling spirits. That will come in handy in this line of work.” India smiled, excited that she’d finally get to learn from her academic idol. “Wait,” Taber said. “I have a special gift for being possessed, you
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mean? I have to go through that again?” “Griffin’s father is taking over my ranch,” the One Who Knows said. “There will be plenty of opportunity to talk about this all later.” “Where did Grandpa Leo go, Nonni?” Griffin asked. “I told you, that good-for-nothing grandfather of yours is always disappearing.” Mafalda noticed Griffin beginning to swoon from the pain in his arm. “India, why don’t you help the boys find some dry clothes in the master bedroom, and help Griffin clean up that wound. Then we’ll have the One Who Knows take a look at it.” When the kids were gone, Mafalda looked at the One Who Knows. “Griffin has been bitten by the Adversary. If it succeeds in changing him—” she said. “Even before the Adversary’s bite, Griffin was destined to be one of the Dark Ones,” the One Who Knows reminded her. “Only a shaman with knowledge of the dark and the light can restore the Axis and bring the balance that our world needs to continue. With every piece he returns to the Center, the more powerful his own piece will become. If he succeeds, he will be invincible.” “That is precisely when he’ll be in the greatest danger of changing from a dark shaman into one of the Lost, like the Adversary. Could you imagine what could happen if all the different Hives all over the world were led by a single invincible dark shaman?” “We cannot speak of those end times,” the One Who Knows said without emotion. “We can only wait and see.” He thought for a moment, “You know that in the end it will come down to the girl.” “It always does,” Mafalda said. “It always does.”

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50 Griffin and Taber followed India into a grand bedroom and opened the walk-in closet filled with rows of suits and fine men’s clothing. She went through the mahogany cabinets until finally, she hit the jackpot. She handed Taber a dry sweatshirt and some pajama bottoms and Griffin a blue and red plaid flannel shirt and some sweat pants. “They’re going to be big, but at least they’re dry,” she said. “This is all your grandpa’s stuff ?” Taber asked Griffin. “I don’t think he’d mind if we borrow some,” Griffin said. He had to admit, through it all, his grandfather had been very decent for an evil shaman. “Come on, Griffin, let’s go clean your arm,” India said dragging him into the giant mirrored bathroom. She shut the door, leaving Taber inside the bedroom to change. In the bathroom, Griffin reluctantly took off his wet shirt. His mark was now there, exposed to India. He looked at it in the mirror. “Oh Jeez, I think it’s getting darker.” The wound had finally closed, but the scar had turned a dark purple, nearly black. He had nothing left to hide. He just shook his head. Now she was looking at the worst of him. “So that’s it,” she said, touching it lightly. “The mark of the dark shaman.” “Swell isn’t it,” Griffin groaned. “It’s weird,” India said. “I can’t believe you did that to yourself.” Griffin’s heart sunk. “But,” she continued, “it’s a good weird. I’ve heard about the mark but I have never seen one in person. I don’t think anyone has, quite like this.” Griffin was so relieved. Even though he was different, maybe he wasn’t such an outsider after all. “Thanks,” he said. “No,” she said, “I should be the one thanking you. What you did
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for Taber, after everything that we did to you. It’s good to have him back.” Griffin’s stomach soured. “Yeah, you’re welcome,” he said. “No one wants a possessed boyfriend.” He could hardly get the word out. Boyfriend. “Griffin, Taber isn’t my boyfriend.” “He’s not?” “No. I tried to tell you. Nothing happened that Friday night.” “Really?” Griffin said. “Yeah. So don’t worry, okay?” She took out a dark amber medicine bottle and shook it vigorously. “I’d ask you to go to a party at the Homestead with me when we get home, but I suspect there’s not much left of it anymore,” Griffin said. “That’s okay, I think I might be done with raves for a while, and anyway, what about Lupe?” India said accusingly. “For one thing, Lupe lives in Mexico. And another thing, she’s one of my grandfather’s students. I don’t think she’s exactly on our side.” After what she had done with the rattle, Griffin wasn’t sure whose side she was on, or what she was after. That was one of the worst parts of the entire situation. Again, he had to leave her without saying goodbye. “Are you going to write to her again?” India fished. Griffin chose to dodge the question. “Wait, India. Were you mad about that? That I was writing a letter to another girl?” Griffin was elated. “You were jealous!” “Who me?” India said, taking his injured arm with a mischievous grin. She poured a thick, dark concoction from the bottle onto a cotton ball. “This is really going to hurt.” The End.

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