Shifting

Page 29

Filling my lungs with a breath of recycled hospital air, I answered, “Lead the way.”
Bridger got the room number from the woman at the information desk and together we walked to the other side of the hospital, to the intensive care unit. But when we got to Danni’s door, we were told by a nurse to stay out. ICU patients got visits only from immediate family.
We stared at Danni through a window. Bandages wrapped her arms, a heart monitor beeped with her pulse, and she lay utterly still beneath a white blanket. She could have been my aunt, except Danni’s lips weren’t blue. And the heart monitor was still registering life.
Movement from the side of the room forced my eyes from Danni’s slack face. A haggard-looking woman with brown hair and bloodshot eyes stood from a chair and opened the ICU door.
“Bridger.” She closed the door behind her and forced a smile to her face. Opening her arms, she took a step forward and wrapped Bridger in them. “Thanks for coming.”
“How is she?” he asked, returning the hug. The woman let go of Bridger and glanced at Danni through the window.
“She’s in stable condition. The doctors hope to move her out of ICU in the morning. Who did you bring with you?” she asked, turning to me.
I clenched my jaw shut.
“This is Maggie Mae,” Bridger said.
Danni’s mom frowned, as if trying to remember where she’d heard my name. “Oh. Maggie Mae. Mortensen? I’m sorry if you’re looking for your jacket.”
I looked between Danni’s mom and Bridger.
“What jacket?” I asked.
“Gray jacket with your name on the tag. Danni was wearing it last night when she got attacked. The doctors had to cut it off of her. I’m so sorry. I can buy you a new one if you want.” A film of tears glazed the woman’s eyes, making them look even redder than before.
“No. It’s no problem. It’s summer. I totally don’t need a new jacket.”
Mrs. Williams pulled a wadded tissue from her pocket and began dabbing her eyes.
“Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help,” Bridger said.
“Thank you, but at this point all you can do is pray.” She sniffled and went back to Danni’s room.
Bridger and I walked through the hospital in silence. When we got to the sliding doors and stepped out into sunshine, my entire body sighed.
“What was she talking about?” Bridger asked.
“Who?”
“Mrs. Williams. Danni was wearing your jacket?”
I shrugged. “She stole it from my gym locker. I’d written my name on the tag. Guess Danni liked it.”
Bridger didn’t say a word the whole drive home.
As I opened the barn doors, a whiff of chicken-scented air hit me and I prayed the barn room didn’t smell the same.
Kat started coughing. “Are you seriously going to live in a barn?” she asked. “Like a homeless vagabond?”
“Yep,” I said. Being a foster child felt like being a homeless vagabond at times. My own snug, sound room above a barn didn’t sound so bad.
Shash darted past me and jumped on Kat, trying to lick her face. She kneed him in the gut and brushed off her shirt.
“Stupid dog! He got dirt on my new Pierre Cardin sweater! I’m waiting in the car,” she insisted, striding away.
With Bridger at my side, I crossed to the far side of the barn and stopped at a narrow wooden stairway. I thrust my hand under the bottom step. My fingers snapped spiderwebs and I cringed, hoping the web didn’t belong to a black widow. I rummaged through the dirt and produced a grimy key.
Wooden stairs groaned beneath my feet. At the top of the stairs I paused, inserted the key into the door handle, and twisted. The door swung silently open and the smell of dust and sage and wool wafted out. I stepped inside and gasped, pressing a hand over my mouth.
“What’s wrong?” Bridger asked from the doorway. His first words since the hospital parking lot.
A wrinkled black face with wide, hollow eyes was staring at me. Matted hair framed the face and stark white outlined the eyes. I slowly lowered my hand and took a step closer.
“Did that scare you?” he asked, lingering in the doorway and pointing to a mask hanging from the wall.
I nodded. “Totally freaked me out.”
“It’s a ceremonial Navajo mask of Haschebaad, the goddess,” Bridger explained. “And it is probably a priceless antique.”
“It’s creepy.”
“Yeah. It’s supposed to be. It’s made to scare evil spirits away.”
“Do you really believe that?” I asked, looking at Bridger.
“Have you seen any evil spirits while you’ve been living here?”
I laughed under my breath. Evil spirits? No. Demon dogs were another story.
“So, can I come in?” he asked.
“Yeah, of course. Why are you so paranoid about being invited in?”
He stepped through the door. “Because I’m Navajo.”
“And the Navajo people are … vampires?”
He laughed. “No. But we have certain beliefs. If I enter your house uninvited, I run the risk of bringing all sorts of bad stuff in with me.”
“Bad stuff? Like what?”
“Anything. Death, chindi, bad luck … anything.”
“Chindi?”
“Evil spirits.”
I studied him for a hint of insincerity. “You’re serious.”
He nodded. “Warriors are often haunted by chindi, by the spirits of those they killed.”
“And this applies to you how?”
He shrugged. “It’s just a Navajo belief,” he said, and started walking around the room. I followed. There were more masks, one on each wall, and all of them were freaky beyond belief. They were made from leather, which looked like shriveled human skin, and had ratted, human-looking hair coming from the tops of their heads.
“I’ve got to get those out of here. I won’t be able to sleep with them watching me,” I said.
“You’re giving me a hard time about my beliefs, yet you’re the one too scared to sleep with them in the same room?”
“Sorry.”
Bridger carefully took the four masks from the four walls and laid them on the bed. “I’ll find somewhere safe in Mrs. C.’s house to store them,” he said.
I walked to a door on the right side of the room and opened it. “Thank goodness,” I whispered under my breath. Through the door was a small bathroom with a toilet, sink, and stand-up shower. I shut the door and went back to exploring the bedroom, pausing at a wide dresser.
“What is that?” I asked. A wooden bowl filled with pale gray powder sat on the dresser’s edge. Bridger dipped his fingers into the powder and blew on them. Dust filled the air and I sneezed.
“This is ash. Another form of protection.”
“Protection from what? I don’t get it. Protection masks, a protection ring around Mrs. Carpenter’s property, protection ashes, even a protection bracelet.” I held up my wrist. “Is Silver City located on top of an opening into hell or something?”
Bridger laughed and shook his head. “No. Silver City’s a good place to live. But evil is everywhere. You can never be too safe. Mrs. C.’s husband obviously loved her very much.” He looked at the door. “How about I go get Katie’s old clothes out of my SUV and bring them up.”
I nodded. “Thanks.” Bridger reverently picked up the Navajo masks and left. I kept examining the room. Sunlight streamed through the window, lighting dust particles that floated silently through the air. Burned sticks and bird feathers were nailed above the door and window. Bowls of crystals and turquoise sat on the dresser beside the bowl of ash. Inside the drawers I found individual bundles of twine-bound sage as long as my forearm and a little thicker than my thumb. I leaned my face into the drawer and inhaled. Something about this room spoke to me, making me feel calmer, stiller than normal. I’d been in this room for only a couple of minutes, yet already it felt like home. I picked up a bundle of sage and held it beneath my nose.
Bridger’s voice echoed up into the room from below. Not bothering to put the sage down, I walked to the door and opened it a crack. Bridger stood just outside the open barn door, cell phone pressed to his ear.
“… totally serious … I don’t know why they would, either, but the sooner you can come, the better.… That soon? Yeah. I’ll arrange it.” He took the phone from his ear. I stepped back to the dresser, holding the sage beneath my nose and inhaling again. A minute later the stairs thumped and Bridger walked into the room, two black trash bags in his hands. He set them on the bed.
“You like the smell?” he asked, looking at the sage.
“Yeah. It’s really nice. Calming.”
“Certain things have spiritual properties, like the beads in your bracelet. Sage has spiritual properties, too,” he explained. “That’s a smudge stick. Medicine men light them and purify a residence. Or a person.”
“How do you know all this stuff? Like about the masks. And the ashes and sage.”
“Family heritage.”
“Yeah, but your house isn’t like this room—there are no freaky masks.”
He shrugged. “You haven’t seen my whole house. And besides, a person’s religion and beliefs aren’t always visible to the naked eye. My family has always passed down Navajo teachings. Knowledge is power.” The way he said it, I could tell he believed it wholeheartedly. “Hand me that.” He held out his hand. I placed the smudge stick into it. “You didn’t happen to see a lighter in any of those drawers, did you?”
“Actually …” I reached into the sage-filled drawer and pulled out a silver lighter.
Bridger took it, then removed one of the feathers from above the door. “Eagle feather,” he said. He lit the smudge stick and began fanning the pungent smoke with the feather. In a deep, quiet voice he began to chant: