“I think I know a way,” I said, and guided the bike back to the motel.
I changed my clothing back from funeral black to pale white riding leathers over a pink long-sleeved shirt. I left the pants dark, though I roughened the fabric weave to denim. My shoes took on the solidity and toughness of riding boots.
I did it almost effortlessly this time, upon walking into the darkened, silent room. By the time I closed the door behind Luis, I’d changed completely. If it surprised him—if he even noticed—he said nothing. He sat down on the side of the neatly made bed and said, “What now?”
I opened a drawer near the bed and took out the maps that I had purchased along with the motorcycle. They were tough, encased in plastic, and I had New Mexico and one of several other states, including Colorado.
I unfolded both and flattened them out on the carpet, then took a cross-legged seat on one side. I indicated the other, and Luis folded himself down. “How does this help?” He was impatient and losing his temper. “We don’t need maps, we need—”
I grabbed his hand, took a small silver knife from my jacket pocket, and cut his finger with one swift jerk.
“Hey!” he yelped, and tried to pull away. I squeezed the cut. Ruby drops formed and dripped, hitting one map. I moved his finger until the drops were poised over the second drawing. Two drops were sufficient. I released him.
“We need blood,” I said. “You and Isabel share a tie of consanguinity. It’s not as strong as it would be if we had Manny or Angela’s blood, but I think it will do.”
He sucked on his cut finger, thinking it over, then slowly nodded. “You’re talking about finding similars on the aetheric.”
“The Wardens do this?”
“Not with the actual mutilation and bleeding,” he said. “Next time, ask before you cut me.”
I folded the knife and put it away. “Next time,” I said, “I doubt I’ll have to ask.”
The blood drops were formless blotches on the maps, signifying nothing without the application of will and energy. I held out my hand, and Luis sighed and offered his unwounded one for me to hold.
We focused together on the maps.
What we were doing was, in fact, harder than it might seem; the maps were only a representation of the earth, not the aetheric spirit. If the maps themselves had actually been carried through the distance that was shown, they would appear more fully in the aetheric. In fact, the route I had taken from Albuquerque to Sedona was clearly glowing in Oversight, when I went up to survey our work. The rest of the maps, except for certain parts of the town of Albuquerque, was pale and ghostly—and then Luis touched the map, in the real world, and added all of his experience into its reality, as well.
The map took on depth, dimension, life. A miniature of this section of the world. Luis, like his brother, had traveled widely in this part of the country.
The drops of his blood glowed like fireballs in the aetheric, but their glow would quickly fade as natural decomposition set in. It was an odd thing that the very fuel that drove blood cells—oxygen—was also what corroded them. Already, the iron content was showing a chemical change.
Isabel’s connection to Luis was, in mathematical terms, a small percentage. She had half of her father’s DNA, half of her mother’s; of Manny’s DNA, half would be identical to Luis’s. The best we could hope for would be a 25 percent connection between the two.
It was still a strong bond. Like calls to like. One of the founding principles of the world.
Luis’s blood drops glowed brighter, as I bathed them with the essence of the Earth. They rolled very slowly across the plastic, tracing a path in wet trails, from Albuquerque. . . . . . . Heading north, straight north, winding along the highway that led up to Colorado.
The blood drops on the New Mexico map trembled and stopped moving just before the town of Counselor.
On the other map, the drops showed the same.
“Jicarilla Apache reservation,” Luis said. “That’s where she is.”
The drops—only faintly glowing now on the aetheric—nudged forward another fraction of an inch.
“That’s where she is now,” I agreed. “But she’s moving.”
We dropped out of the aetheric, and I wiped the blood from the plastic-coated maps before folding them and placing them in the interior pocket of my jacket.
We studied each other for a long, silent moment, and then Luis said, “You going to be up for this?”
“To finding Isabel? Yes.” I was no longer holding his hand, and so had only the smallest access to the aetheric, but the darkness in his aura was very clear. “You aren’t.”
He blinked. “What?”
“You need rest, Luis. You can’t sleep on the motorcycle. I need for you to be awake and alert.”
He shook his head. “No time. Every minute counts, Cassiel. What if—what if they hurt her—” He did not want to think about all the terrible things that could happen to a child, and neither did I.
“If they hurt her,” I said, “we will know.” I felt that to be true. The bond we had formed was strong enough, and Luis’s Earth Warden powers only amplified it. “Luis, you must rest. If you don’t, you won’t have any power to give me, and this trip will be wasted. We accomplish nothing.”
He didn’t want to sleep. When I stretched him out on the bed and placed my hand on his forehead, he still fought against the descending darkness. Something in him was too weary to go on—I could sense it—but some other part refused to let go. He’d spent a massive amount of energy in the past twenty-four hours, and I didn’t understand his resistance.
His fingers wrapped around my wrist, but he didn’t pull my hand away from his forehead. Even at close range, in the dimness, his dark eyes looked like pools of shadow.
“Promise me,” he said. “You promise me that you’ll get her back even if something happens to me. Promise. ”
“I will,” I said.
“Again.”
“I will.”
His fingers tightened. “Again.”
“I will,” I said. I bent forward to brush my fingers on his parted lips. “Sleep.”
His eyes drifted closed, and his grip loosened on my wrist, falling away.
I had meant to give him only the slightest contact, but his lips felt warm and soft beneath my fingers, and I lingered.
I stayed where I was until I was certain he was asleep, and then I moved to the small, stained armchair near the window. I watched the parking lot. There was little activity, and no one seemed to take an interest in our room.
A thief approached my motorcycle once, looking around to see if anyone was watching; when he tried to roll it away, I softened the asphalt beneath his feet, trapping him, and opened the door. He stared at me, struggling to free himself from what must have seemed to him a nightmare.
“Leave,” I told him, and restored the ground beneath his feet. “Don’t come back.” It seemed I should say something more constructive, perhaps. “And don’t steal.”
He looked down at his oil-stained athletic shoes and ran.
I went back to the chair, and before dawn came, I slid into a light, dreaming sleep.
I woke up to the smell of brewing coffee and running water. The shower. Luis was bathing. I felt stiff and uncomfortable, but warm enough; I looked down and saw that he had given me a blanket sometime during my rest. I rose, folded the cover, and walked to the coffeepot. I poured two cups and carried them into the bathroom.
Luis was a shadowy form behind the plastic curtain. I set the cup on the countertop.
“Cassiel?” The curtain moved aside, revealing only his face. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Bringing you coffee,” I said.
“Yeah, okay, thanks, but—” He sighed. “Privacy’s not really a concept for you, is it?”
I gave him a slow, thin smile. “Do you imagine I long to see you naked?”
Put that way, he had no answer. He let the curtain drop back in place.