“I hope you are comfortable, Coyote,” Grand-père said, “because I fear this may take us awhile.”
Chapter Twenty-two
I t was noon the next day before Jack found himself cruising back down the lake. He felt surprisingly well rested, though his head still hurt from the rousing arguments he’d had with his ancestors, which had inevitably ended with long-winded lectures from each of them. Walker had dropped off to sleep after only two hours, and every so often Jack had glanced at his brother with envy.
When the Old Ones had finally left just before dawn, Jack nudged Walker awake, and had just finished dressing when their mother entered the lodge looking for her older son. She and Walker had sat with Jack while he’d eaten a breakfast of power bars, and they’d chatted about any number of mundane things. Jack was sad his mother hadn’t brought his son for him to play with, but Jack’s father was babysitting. Walker was immensely pleased to learn the baby might be named after him. Then, when Jack’s eyelids had grown heavy, his mother had cradled his head in her lap and sung him to sleep.
When he’d awakened just before noon, he’d been alone and a bit chilled because the fire had long gone out. He’d quickly dismantled his makeshift shelter, hiked down the mountain to his sled, and raced toward Pine Creek with a firm resolve and a heart filled with hope.
Maybe the Old Ones did know what they were talking about when they’d explained there was no escaping his shadow; that he’d always find it right behind him, attached to his heels. And it was at that precise place of attachment, the Ancients had said, that Jack needed to focus his energy if he wished to be effectual. He couldn’t walk in only one or the other; shadow and light were complementary, not adversarial.
Yeah, yeah, he got it now.
While he’d had their collective wisdom at his disposal, Jack had asked for suggestions on how he could deal with each of the current problems he was juggling. That little request had started a whole new round of arguments—between him and his ancestors, and then between the Old Ones themselves. Hopefully the results would be worth the headache.
Which was why when Jack entered Frog Cove he veered east toward the Bear Mountain shoreline instead of toward his home on Frog Point. He stopped on the lake in front of Matt and Winter Gregor’s cabin, shut off his sled, and was just climbing the porch stairs when he heard a pickup pull up out back. He walked to the end of the porch just as Matt Gregor got out of the truck and spotted him.
“Chief Stone,” Gregor said, coming toward him. “What can I do for you?”
It appeared Matt was a to-the-point kind of guy. Jack usually got along well with men with that quality.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve come to ask you for a favor,” he told Matt, getting directly to the point himself. He stepped back when Gregor climbed the stairs and faced him. “I’m in need of some sort of natural disaster,” Jack explained, ignoring Matt’s raised eyebrow. “Nothing too big or destructive, just a simple…oh, earthquake, maybe?”
Matt just stared at Jack.
“It would be up on the Canadian tundra, so you don’t have to worry about people getting hurt. And if you could limit its scope, even the animals should fare okay.”
Matt folded his arms over his chest. “Are you drunk, Stone?”
Jack sighed. “Look, I know you don’t really know me, other than what Megan may have told you. But I promise, I’m perfectly sober and admittedly desperate. Believe me, it’s a hell of a lot harder for me to ask you for a favor than it will be for you to grant it.”
“And this favor is a limited, nondestructive earthquake somewhere up on the Canadian tundra,” Matt repeated. “May I inquire why you’ve come to me? I build jet engines, which have nothing to do with geological science.”
“Engines don’t have much to do with magic, either,” Jack said. “But drùidhs are supposed to serve the good of mankind, and this earthquake will definitely be a good thing for a lot of people—especially Megan.”
Matt eyed Jack with guarded interest. “Drùidh is a rather unusual word for you to use,” he said softly.
“But one you’re quite familiar with.”
“Says who?”
“Say my ancestors.” Jack shrugged. “And for all I know, there may have been a few of your ancestors kicking around in my dream, too. Look, the bottom line is, I know you’re a powerful drùidh. So I’m asking you to create a natural disaster for me, just big enough to expose the oil sitting under that tundra. Once it’s common knowledge that it exists, the company Mark Collins is working for will lose its competitive edge. The Canadian government will hold on to the mineral rights, and it will be their decision what to do with that oil. Collins will no longer have any reason to come after Megan, and your father-in-law won’t go after Collins. Everyone wins—except for Mark Collins and the oil company he’s working for.”
Matt was silent for several seconds, then quietly asked, “If you’re so knowledgeable in the ways of our ancestors, why don’t you simply create your own natural disaster?”
“Just because I know what needs to be done doesn’t necessarily mean I can do it.”
Matt continued studying Jack, this time the silence stretching interminably. “So the reason that man was murdered in Canada, and you sent Megan home, and the threat followed her here, is all because there’s oil under the tundra?”
“Yup. And best as I can figure, someone hired Collins to make sure the oil wasn’t discovered until they could secure the rights to that area. That’s why he planted one of his students in the survey Megan was working on: to report if something was discovered. But once the government knows the oil is there, Collins will be out of a job and Megan will be safe.”
“And so you need an earthquake just big enough to make the oil…what? Bubble up to the surface?”
Jack nodded. “The moment the seismic alarms go off, that section of tundra will be crawling with geologists. They’ll find the oil, and it will be on every news station around the world by noon that day.”
“You want an earthquake,” Matt repeated yet again. “So that Greylen won’t have to deal with Collins himself.”
“Simply getting rid of Collins will only solve Megan’s problem temporarily. The oil company would just hire another Mark Collins, and the new man would discover Megan was part of the original mess.”
Matt nodded. “That makes sense.” He looked directly at Jack. “In fact, everything you’ve told me so far makes sense—except that I can’t quite reconcile how you’re handling Megan’s problem with how you’re handling my brother’s.”
“I gave Kenzie a week, and I’ll honor my promise,” Jack told Matt. “So instead of brewing a storm cloud over my head, why don’t you wave your magic wand and send that slimy beast back where it came from?”
“Because Kenzie has asked me not to.”
Great. Just damn great. “So anything the brother of a powerful drùidh wants, he gets? Even if it means a dragon is running around Pine Creek, breaking into shops? What happens when someone is working late in one of those shops? Are you willing to tempt fate just to indulge your brother?”
Matt laughed, though he sounded anything but amused. “Hell, Stone, I all but sold my soul for Kenzie. Tell me, what lengths would you go to for Megan and your son? Or for any member of your family? Would you be willing to walk through the fires of hell for them?”
“I already have.” Jack turned and walked off the porch toward his snowmobile. He stopped on the edge of the shoreline and looked back. “The sooner that earthquake happens, Cùram, the better for all of us. And I’d appreciate it if we could keep this little matter between ourselves.”
“Megan hasn’t told you about the magic yet,” Matt stated. He suddenly lifted one brow. “Or is it you who haven’t told her yet, Coyote?”
Jack smiled. “We’ll both get there eventually.”