“What’s so funny?” her dad asked, which naturally set us off again.
“Nothing,” she said.
“Are you really?” I said. Now that the ice was broken, it seemed the most natural question in the world.
“Sort of. I don’t usually talk about it, because people then think I’m a New Age kook, which I’m not.” She sent a significant glance over toward her mom. “But, yes.”
She looked at me not with a challenge, but with resignation, like she knew what I was thinking.
“I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my time,” I said. She had no idea how true that was. “I’m not about to dismiss any possibilities.”
“Show him, why don’t you?” her mother repeated.
She cocked her head to one side, shrugged in defeat, and said, “Okay, why not? Give me your hands.”
I did so, reaching across the small table, palms down. She slid her hands under mine and grasped my wrists. Her hands were long and slim, and cool even in the hot atmosphere of the club. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let half of it out, just like a shooter on a target range. After a pause, she started breathing again, slow and measured. I wondered if I would feel any surge of energy coming off her. Many times, those who are termed psy chics have a small bit of unfocused and untrained talent. They just don’t realize what it is.
I felt nothing, though. Just a sense of calmness and peace. Morgan’s deep and even breathing was oddly soothing, and my mind started to wander. Then, with no warning, she gasped and abruptly released my wrists, jerking back in her chair so violently that it almost overbalanced.
Her mother reached over and touched her arm in concern. Morgan took a deep breath to steady herself.
“I’m fine,” she said. “But it’s getting late. Why don’t you and Dad get the car, and I’ll settle up here and meet you outside? My treat tonight.”
Mom and Dad both looked dubious, but they knew their daughter. They got up without too much protest, shook hands with me, and made their way toward the door.
Morgan didn’t get up right away, just sat staring at me across the table.
“You look like you want to say something to me,” I said, smiling, still trying to keep it light, though that ship had long since sailed. The smile was not returned.
“Okay, listen,” she said. “I know how weird this is going to sound, believe me. And I know how it makes me look. But I’ve got to tell you.
“Sometimes, when I do readings for people, nothing comes. When it does, mostly I get flashes and images, and a lot of what I can tell is just putting together those hints with what I already know about the person. But sometimes, I get a hit of something so strongly, it’s almost like being there. And when that happens, I’m never wrong. Well, almost never. And I got something when I grabbed your hands, the strongest images I’ve ever had. So whatever you think of me, no matter how crazy you think I am, I’ve got to warn you. I’ve just got to.”
“About what?” I said, genuinely curious. “What did you see?”
“You were in the woods. Tall trees were all around. In fact, I saw the place so clearly I even recognized where it was-I’ve been there. Muir Woods, and not too far from the entrance, I think. You weren’t alone-you had a companion, something like a dog, but it wasn’t a dog, not exactly.”
I sat up straight in my chair. That was not something I’d expected to hear from her.
“And there was something else. The wind was rushing through the trees, making a sighing, moaning sound. And high up in the branches, something odd-maybe dangerous.”
“What was it?”
“I couldn’t tell.”
“Then how did you know it was dangerous?” I said.
I realized she might think I was pointing out a logical flaw, but I really was seeking information. I’m not as skeptical as I used to be, and her reference to Lou, whom she’d never even met, gave her vision a lot of credibility. She paused a moment, thinking.
“I’m not sure it was. But it was the most peculiar thing I’ve ever felt. I didn’t like it-it made me very nervous. It wasn’t an animal, but it didn’t feel like a person, either. I know how that sounds, but if I were you, I’d stay away from there, really.” She reached across the table and took my hand, slightly embarrassed but determined to make her point. “You don’t have to believe me. Just stay away to ease the mind of this crazy woman you met, if you want to look at it that way.”
“I don’t think you’re crazy at all,” I said. “In fact, you may have helped me more than you know.” She let go of my hand and leaned back in her chair, suddenly suspicious.
“What do you mean by that?”
I really needed to work on my social skills. Instead of making things better, every time I opened my mouth, I made them worse.
“Nothing,” I said. “Sometimes I just say things.” She didn’t believe me, I could tell. But what else could I say?
“Well,” she said. “I’ve got to go. At least be careful.”
“Always.”
She walked away from the table without looking back. This could have gone better. I hadn’t got her number. I didn’t know where she lived. I realized I didn’t even know her last name. If Lou had only been around, he could have found her anytime, anywhere, but he has to have come in contact with a person before he can track them. Besides, I don’t like to use him for that. It feels too much like a cop running the license plate of an attractive woman to find out where she lives.
And I still had a third set to play. Dave and Roger were already up on the bandstand, waiting for me. But as I got up from the table, Morgan returned. She handed me a scrap of paper.
“My number,” she said. “Call me and let me know you’re all right. When I see something like this, I feel responsible, as if somehow my seeing it makes it come true.”
“I will,” I said, folding the paper and putting it carefully in my wallet. “But don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine, honest.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Call me anyway.” She turned and walked away, leaving me looking after her.
The last set was uninspired, but no one noticed. Customers coming in to eat that late were starving and tended to concentrate on their food, and the ones who had been there for a while were three sheets to the wind and couldn’t care less about the music.
I played on autopilot, thinking. It was ironic. The vision Morgan had told me about was meant to warn me off, but its effect was just the opposite. I knew the fake Ifrit had come out of that swirling pool of color and energy we’d created, but now, according to Rolf, there was something else roaming through the Bay Area as well. I’d promised to look into what it might be and what might have happened to his friend Richard Cory. Now I thought I knew where to start. Muir Woods was my next destination.
FIVE
IT’S ONLY ABOUT A FORTY-FIVE-MINUTE DRIVE over the Golden Gate Bridge to Muir Woods. Next morning, as I pulled into the parking lot entrance, the sun reflected off the leaves of the high trees, throwing a dappled pattern on the forest floor. There were only a few cars parked there, which was a relief. Usually it’s crowded, even on a weekday, and if anything odd were to happen, a bunch of freaked-out civilians was not something I wanted to deal with.
Since the parking lot was deserted I was able to check the shotgun without worry. The slug first, then the buckshot, five rounds in all-the mantra of first in, last out. I could have squeezed an extra round in if I’d racked a shell into the breech and carried it loaded, but I preferred to keep the breech empty for safety’s sake. Not to mention that the ugly sound of a round being racked in is enough in itself to discourage all sorts of potential threats. There’s a gut reaction to that distinctive sound, one that makes the mouth go dry, and even the bravest tend to freeze in place.