Fall into Fire (Shamans of the Divide, Book 2)

Chapter Seven

Over lunch the next day, Billie hovered a little.

"I'm fine," I said with a shrug and it was mostly true. I really was fine.

"I know you are, but I'm still sorry," she said, sitting on the sofa.

"I'm really sorry I'm causing problems for you," I said as I hugged a pillow against me. "I just don't think Coyote is ever going to like me, no matter what I do or don't do."

Billie had brought a cup of coffee with her and she took a slow sip of it. She drank coffee all day long and into some nights, too.

"He's complicated, to put it lightly," Billie said. "It's a very long story that I'll catch you up on someday, but he's very complicated. Set in ways that aren't even his."

My interest was piqued, but by standing and excusing herself, Billie made it clear she wasn't going to spill any secrets anytime soon. Bummer.

"Shall we?"

She motioned toward the massive oak dining table surrounded by at least 12 chairs. Each breakfast and dinner was served here when Billie held court with her writer's groups. They'd all just finished soup and sandwiches and the Whalen's housekeeper, Jenny, was doing the dishes.

Settling into a chair, I pulled a notebook out of my backpack and uncapped my pen. Billie was teaching me about some of the more important myths this afternoon.

"So, as you know I was never born with special gifts," she said and opened her palms toward me, as though to show me she held no magical abilities up her sleeves. "But what I do have is a mind for culture and for literature. The greatest gift I can contribute to the council is to understand as many of the old cultures and stories as I can, because if we lose even one, we have lost a complete picture of a people. And that affects what we do as a council."

It made sense. To lose a myth or story along the way now and then may not seem like such a big deal, but added up over years and lifetimes and suddenly what one might think of as a complete understanding would actually be riddled with holes.

And those holes might turn out to be a long-toothed, cannibalistic wolverine or vampiric drummer that crosses the divide with no one around who knows what to do. So, true as it might be that Billie didn't have the ability to hear ghosts or to shape shift to a bear, what she brought to the game and what she passed on seemed just as valuable, if not more.

"You can't control who comes along with abilities," she said, as if reading my mind. "But you can work against ignorance and lack of preparation."

I'd had a little of both back in Shades when I'd decided to involve myself in that dzoavit fiasco, and while I should have been better prepared before jumping in a fight, I'm pretty sure my lack of preparation worked in my favor that one time. I probably wouldn't be so lucky a second time, though.

Looking at the stacks of papers and books Billie pulled onto the table, I felt a little overwhelmed. Was I going to have to try to remember every story from every tribe in the area? I'd never be able to—I could hardly remember phone numbers to people and places I called all the time. No way would I remember a chronological overview of creation myths of the Shoshone. Billie must have seen the terror on my face.

She smiled at me and patted my hand. She did that a lot. I was getting used to it.

"Relax," she said. "We're going to approach this like we do a college-level class. It's an overview of a theme, not a deep reading from beginning to end. You'll be fine."