wad of cash into her hand.
“Four hundred,” he said.
It would have broken the mood to stop and count the cash. Besides, Virgil had never stiffed them with a payment. So Cherelle murmured something that could have meant anything and passed the wad off to Tim, who had just caught up with her.
“I see the need is very strong in you tonight,” she said to Virgil. Then she bit the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. When you got right down to it, there wasn’t much difference between hooking and channeling. In both jobs the whole point was to make the mark feel good no matter how pathetic he actually was. “Would you be more comfortable inside?” she asked without real hope.
“No good inside,” he said impatiently. “Let’s move on. Dawn’s coming sure as hell.”
Even before he finished talking, Virgil set off up the rise behind his cabin. The steeply sloping, rugged trail led to the base of a bluff that was a wide swath of black against the stars and moon. His steps were short but not hesitant. He didn’t bother with the pencil flashlight in his jacket pocket. He knew the way to the vortex spot Lady Faulkner had discovered on his property. At least, he let her think she had discovered it. He had led her there and then waited, seeing if she would pass the test. None of the others had.
Lady Faulkner did.
She knew right off he had himself a vortex place. A whacking good one, too. She told him she felt it like electricity the first time she touched the three big red rocks on the ridgetop. Like three men standing—leaning drunkenly, if you want the truth—the stones huddled at the base of a much bigger, much taller sandstone cliff that ran for several miles along a tiny creek.
Back when he had first moved here, he had poked around the ragged cliff face. He found old broken pottery, fallen-down walls, and mounds of stones that had once been houses. But he didn’t go prowling anymore. It was hard getting around, and the ghosts in those places had nothing to tell him that he didn’t already know.
People died. No one cared.
Chapter 8
Sedona
November 1
Very early
G rateful for the bright moon, Cherelle followed the old man’s footsteps. Her white clothes shimmered in the moonlight. The skirt and loose blouse lifted and swirled and billowed at the least hint of movement. Nice and atmospheric for the dumbs, but the clothes didn’t give her nearly enough warmth for predawn in the high cedar scrub forest around Sedona.
She had been going for angelic with her costume but had landed closer to winding sheets and goblins. God knew she felt cold enough to be a corpse. Her skin had roughened like the hair along a junkyard dog’s spine at the sight of a thief. Cursing silently, she rubbed her palms over her arms and wondered if Tim had remembered to bring a jacket. She doubted it. He was worse than a kid. If she didn’t think of it, it didn’t get done.
She was fed up with being mama-chick to every pretty baby-chick she stumbled over.
Silently she reminded herself that being poor wouldn’t last forever. Sooner or later she would make the big ol’ score that was waiting for her. She didn’t know what it would be, she just knew that it had to be. She wasn’t going to spend her whole life one bad break away from turning tricks again. She had too many brains for that.
She was the one who had figured out that there was money in the channeling gig after Tim came back from an all-expenses-paid sex holiday in Sedona with a fistfull of cash and a lot of lame one-liners about talking to ghosts. It had taken a year and more work than either of them liked, but she and her pretty boy-chick had put together a channeling business. Not a great one. Not a lousy one. Just a business.
Everything had been going okay until Tim’s old jailhouse buddy had showed up. Socks was a real pain in the ass. He kept wanting Tim to play when there was work to be done.
Not that she blamed Tim. This working all the time
“Four hundred,” he said.
It would have broken the mood to stop and count the cash. Besides, Virgil had never stiffed them with a payment. So Cherelle murmured something that could have meant anything and passed the wad off to Tim, who had just caught up with her.
“I see the need is very strong in you tonight,” she said to Virgil. Then she bit the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. When you got right down to it, there wasn’t much difference between hooking and channeling. In both jobs the whole point was to make the mark feel good no matter how pathetic he actually was. “Would you be more comfortable inside?” she asked without real hope.
“No good inside,” he said impatiently. “Let’s move on. Dawn’s coming sure as hell.”
Even before he finished talking, Virgil set off up the rise behind his cabin. The steeply sloping, rugged trail led to the base of a bluff that was a wide swath of black against the stars and moon. His steps were short but not hesitant. He didn’t bother with the pencil flashlight in his jacket pocket. He knew the way to the vortex spot Lady Faulkner had discovered on his property. At least, he let her think she had discovered it. He had led her there and then waited, seeing if she would pass the test. None of the others had.
Lady Faulkner did.
She knew right off he had himself a vortex place. A whacking good one, too. She told him she felt it like electricity the first time she touched the three big red rocks on the ridgetop. Like three men standing—leaning drunkenly, if you want the truth—the stones huddled at the base of a much bigger, much taller sandstone cliff that ran for several miles along a tiny creek.
Back when he had first moved here, he had poked around the ragged cliff face. He found old broken pottery, fallen-down walls, and mounds of stones that had once been houses. But he didn’t go prowling anymore. It was hard getting around, and the ghosts in those places had nothing to tell him that he didn’t already know.
People died. No one cared.
Chapter 8
Sedona
November 1
Very early
G rateful for the bright moon, Cherelle followed the old man’s footsteps. Her white clothes shimmered in the moonlight. The skirt and loose blouse lifted and swirled and billowed at the least hint of movement. Nice and atmospheric for the dumbs, but the clothes didn’t give her nearly enough warmth for predawn in the high cedar scrub forest around Sedona.
She had been going for angelic with her costume but had landed closer to winding sheets and goblins. God knew she felt cold enough to be a corpse. Her skin had roughened like the hair along a junkyard dog’s spine at the sight of a thief. Cursing silently, she rubbed her palms over her arms and wondered if Tim had remembered to bring a jacket. She doubted it. He was worse than a kid. If she didn’t think of it, it didn’t get done.
She was fed up with being mama-chick to every pretty baby-chick she stumbled over.
Silently she reminded herself that being poor wouldn’t last forever. Sooner or later she would make the big ol’ score that was waiting for her. She didn’t know what it would be, she just knew that it had to be. She wasn’t going to spend her whole life one bad break away from turning tricks again. She had too many brains for that.
She was the one who had figured out that there was money in the channeling gig after Tim came back from an all-expenses-paid sex holiday in Sedona with a fistfull of cash and a lot of lame one-liners about talking to ghosts. It had taken a year and more work than either of them liked, but she and her pretty boy-chick had put together a channeling business. Not a great one. Not a lousy one. Just a business.
Everything had been going okay until Tim’s old jailhouse buddy had showed up. Socks was a real pain in the ass. He kept wanting Tim to play when there was work to be done.
Not that she blamed Tim. This working all the time
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