Chapter Nineteen #2
“Let’s go,” he said. “I’m ready to go. I have to go tell Elizabeth.”
Wyler gave his son what he needed, but there would be hell because he was an angry man, not wise. No one would hurt his son like this.
No.
One.
As they left the building, Ethan stopped dead in his tracks. Not far from him was a big, majestic raven, sitting on one of the rails of the decking.
It flapped its wings, and they were huge.
He was huge.
The air changed, and there was a wave of windchimes that floated through the trees, surrounding them.
They knew what that meant.
“Timothy is here,” Wyler said, as the bird cawed so loudly, it set off a symphony of sounds from the other birds in the trees. The birds sang to them, telling a story in their own way.
And no one moved.
Not at first.
When the big raven flapped its wings again, all the other birds took flight, filling the air around them as they flew in a pattern, circling.
But not the big bird. He stayed on his perch.
Blue black eyes met blue black eyes, and he knew what he needed to do.
Ethan approached it.
When he did, the bird jumped up, and landed on his arm, holding onto him. It sat on his shoulder, watching all around him.
Behind him, the doors opened, and council stepped out, and gasped.
Lance spoke.
“There is the sign we were looking for,” he admitted. “We asked Timothy, the last Shaman to show us, and he has. It has been foretold.”
At the name, the big bird cawed again, and an army of crows, ravens, and all kinds of birds landed. It looked like a scene from a horror movie, as they all stood there, staring at them.
“Ethan Jackson Blackhawk, we welcome you back into the fold, as Shaman to our reservation. The previous Shaman has sent his blessings, and his choice. You are now, ours.”
Wyler whispered to the bird.
“Thank you, Dad,” he said.
That was when the bird took off, and his army of birds followed, back into the trees. He’d left behind one more thing. A large, blue-black feather.
Wyler picked it up and handed it to his son.
“For your warbonnet. It’s time you built it, and here is the first feather. Not of eagles, but of ravens.”
Lance approached him.
“Ethan Blackhawk Raven Talker,” he said, taking a beaded necklace and placing it over the man’s head. “Welcome home.”
The men on the council all gave him trinkets, and gave him space.
That’s when his father approached.
“Shaman,” he said, staring into his son’s eyes. “It’s official,” he stated.
Ethan was grateful.
“Granddad always was a bossy old man who had to get his way,” he joked, his eyes filled with tears.
Wyler kissed him on each one of the soot smudges made from the smoke, and rested his forehead against his eldest son’s.
The words he whispered in their Native tongue were of love, adoration, and from the last Shaman. Timothy had told him on his deathbed to make sure Ethan was told the blessing.
As he said it, tears fell from his eyes.
He knew the words.
He’d listened to Timothy say them to his eldest son when he was born.
And he knew.
Callen James, his son, would follow in his footsteps. He’d raise his hell, and he’d come home—just like he had.
From eldest son to eldest son.
When Wyler was finished, he stared into his son’s blue-black eyes, and smiled.
“I’m so proud of you, Shaman. Welcome home.”
And it was true.
He was home.
Raphael pointed.
“Uh, what if they follow us home?” he asked, pointing at the birds who had yet to move.
Ethan laughed.
“I mean, Elizabeth has a pack of dogs. Why can’t the Raven Talker have a flock of birds?” he asked, moving right for them, and they separated for him to make room for him.
Raphael laughed.
It was a good point.
Clearly, anything went on the rez, and now with a new Shaman, it was going to be interesting.
Bet.
On.
It.
* * * The Blackhawk Family * * *
The City Morgue
Tuesday Morning
Day Two
It was official.
It was time to hit the ground running, and she was going to do just that.
As Ivan got her to the morgue, she hoped that everyone was working, and they were prepared to give her something. Because if she was playing games, the last thing she wanted was to be caught off guard.
She’d gotten a text from Wyler, telling her that Ethan was on his way, and that he was ready to work.
Since there was no bad news, she assumed that it went well, and she was grateful. While she’d love to have been there, she knew he had it under control. There was no doubt in her mind that Ethan was going to be the best Shaman the reservation had ever seen.
Call it a hunch.
As they pulled up, the two detectives were standing there, and they weren’t alone. Their boss was with them, and he seemed to be intently talking to them.
“Yeah, I don’t like that. No one browbeats cops but me,” she said, getting her ass out of her ride, as Ivan caught up.
As she approached, she could hear them being dressed down.
“You're supposed to check in with me first and foremost, keeping us in the loop. Your allegiance is with the cops you work with, not the FBI.”
Mac was getting red, and Elizabeth knew he was about to blow, simply because Captain Frank Volvia had his meaty finger in the female detective’s chest.
Yeah, no.
She didn’t like ballsy men, but she did like neutering an asshole.
She was fun like that.
“Yo,” she said, interrupting them. “When people say ‘FBI’, it makes me materialize,” she warned. “Is there an issue here?”
The man straightened his dress blues, and he, too, was red around the collar.
“I didn’t get a report from the detectives, so I came here, trying to figure out what was going on. This is Detective David Campora, who worked the grave robberies. We wanted an update.”
She didn’t care if he wanted a reach-around in a prison cell. This wasn’t his circus, or his rodeo.
“On top of that, we did get an autopsy report from our ME, and the eyes in the jars were embalmed. Somehow, we didn’t hear that from you.”
Yeah, well, she wasn’t shocked that the man was going to play this game. She’d told him off in his office yesterday, and there was no doubt he was stewing in his own juices.
Too.
Damn.
Bad.
When you danced with this devil, you sometimes got your feelings hurt.
“Oh, they were? Yeah, I was just coming in for my update. Did you also get the update about the new victim last night? And how that person was tied to this? The FBI, and by FBI, I mean me, believes that the person taking skulls and eyes is also killing them, so before you do the ‘this is my jurisdiction’ dance, it’s not. ”
Frank didn’t like her.
“You’re problematic.”
She laughed.
“Oh, my God! You’re just figuring that out? Well, you’re late to that party. Let me guess. You think I got my job because of my truly spectacular oral skills?” she said.
He sputtered.
“Or was it my tits? Ivan, which is it usually? It bounces back and forth. I’ve lost count?”
Ivan played along.
“It’s fifty-seven for homicide captains who think it’s tits, and only fifty-two for blowjobs. We did have a hand job, and some witchcraft thrown in, but they barely broke double digits.”
Tora actually laughed.
Then, she tried to cover it with a cough, but the captain wasn’t having it.
“You think that’s funny?” he asked.
She shrugged.
“I mean, yeah. As a woman who’s harassed daily in your division, I find it amusing when people like us,” she said, pointing at Elizabeth and her, “call that misogynistic bullshit out. She just does it amusingly.”
Elizabeth had to hand it to David Campora. He was saying NOTHING.
That was probably smart.
“You can get into my office, and we’re going to have a conversation.”
Tora paused.
Then, she went there.
“Actually, no, I’m not going to do that, you over-inflated jackass.
You give me shit cases, and when I do get a good one, and I solve it, you take the credit in a media junket.
You tell me to make your coffee, like I’m your housekeeper, and you talk down to me like my IQ is lower than yours.
I’m not going in there, so you can talk to me like I’m your child.
I’m not your fucking child, my dude, and you can take your ego, bend over, and shove it up your ass. ”
He gasped.
Then, Tora took off her badge, gun, and shoved them into the man’s chest.
“You can take this job and shove it, too. I’m out,” she said, staring at her partner. “Mac, it’s been real. I’m done.”
Then, she walked away.
Mac sighed.
“You just couldn’t treat everyone the same,” he said, doing the same thing his partner did. “You had to fixate on her, making her miserable when she told you she wasn’t interested.” Then, he followed Tora away from the man.
He stood there holding two badges and guns.
“Well, that was how not to retain employees,” Elizabeth said, shaking her head.
The man lost his cool.
“Good riddance!” he shouted. “You were shit detectives!”
Elizabeth waited for it, because there was no doubt the man was going to lose his mind—on her next.
“I want jurisdiction back. I’ll get it too. David, you’re up. Hang with the Director until she passes it off!”
Elizabeth had bad news for him.
“Uh, yeah, no. We have federal warrants in, and those graves are about to be opened at some point today. You can hope, wish, and do any dance you want, but I’m willing to bet that any of the federal judges that I know are going to shit all over your request. This person has likely killed over ten people, and you’re not equipped to handle it.
You just lost the two cops who could—no offense, Detective. I’m sure you’re capable.”
The man just shrugged.
“If you need help, Director, I’m more than willing to do what I can, since I feel like this started with the original graves being robbed.”
Oh, it did, but she wasn’t admitting that.
“I’ll make sure I send over an update when I get a chance,” she said to Frank. “I’m very busy. I wouldn’t hold your breath,” she admitted. “It might be a day or five.”
Then, she saluted with a tap of two fingers to her brow.
It was condescending, but you reaped what you sowed. Her daddy and the Bible taught her that.