The Path of A Shaman by Rhianne

- Text Size +

Author's Notes:

This is the tenth story in the Shaman's Journey series. A list of links to the previous stories, in order, can be found here: http://community.livejournal.com/sentinellibrary/6399.html.

The Path of A Shaman follows directly on from Arianna's Fortune Teller. These stories will also all be archived at the main Shaman's Journey site (http://www.cluesby4.net/shaman/index.htm) very soon.

~*~*~
THE PATH OF A SHAMAN
by Rhianne

Artwork by Rhianne and Jessie
Beta by Bluewolf, Starwatcher & Arianna
~*~*~

The night was cold, even for Cascade; the air around him chilled and thick with fog. Blair moved cautiously through the incessant darkness, every fiber of his being telling him to be on the alert.

He was being watched.

Somewhere in the distance he could hear the normal sounds of the city; sirens blaring and car engines roaring, but closer to him there was nothing. No sound, no lights, and only the strong sense that the night itself was waiting for something. The very air around him was charged with anticipation, and the sense of impending danger made him shiver.

His feet made no sound on the concrete as he walked, and what little he could see around him was hazy and blurred around the edges. He cast no shadow on the ground.

It felt to Blair as if he'd been walking for miles, but in all that time he'd seen nothing. No people, no cars, no movement, just this narrow, fog-filled alleyway that never seemed to end.

To his left was a grimy, red brick wall that stood at least eight feet high, the top disappearing into the bank of fog that hovered above him and obscured the night sky. Water ran down the wall to form glistening puddles on the ground.

To his right was a derelict warehouse, all graffiti, decay and smashed windows. The glass littered at his feet, shining like tiny jewels in the darkness.

Every few feet there was a door into the building, but so far every one he’d seen was fitted with a heavy padlock and metal chain keeping it locked. Blair didn't have a key; didn’t even know what the warehouse was, and so he simply kept walking, no longer even sure what he was searching for.

Increasingly unnerved, Blair reached for his gun. The barrel was ice cold in his grip.

"Jim?" he called out, but the sound of his voice simply dissipated into the void.

//He's not here//

The soft voice echoed from the darkness like a whisper from within his own mind, and Blair whirled round in alarm.

There was nobody behind him.

//You're all alone//

"Who's there?" Blair called out.

//I told you I'd be watching//

With that, a dark shadow fell across his path, and Blair shivered as the temperature dropped. The air grew thick and cloying around him, and Blair trembled in fear, suddenly finding himself struggling to breathe as the darkness pressed down against his chest.

Gasping, he raised his gun uncertainly, turning to place his back to the wall as he searched in vain for the source of the shadow.

"Who's there?" he repeated, his voice shaking with fear. "Show yourself!"

All he got in return was condescending laughter. Then the voice came again, echoing down the alley around him.

//You cannot stop me, shaman, and I am not the only one who has plans for you. My time is approaching, and I will not be denied a second time//

The words chilled him and Blair moved in sudden terror, running blindly from the shadow.

The triumphant roar of a lion behind him caused Blair to stumble, crying out in alarm. He dropped his gun and it skittered away, disappearing into the darkness. Unwilling to risk going back for it, Blair regained his feet and continued to run. He was flying down the alleyway but it didn’t seem to matter how fast he moved, he was still unable to escape the confines of the darkness that pressed down upon him. The shadow enveloped him again and moved on, rushing along to fill the alleyway ahead of him until he could no longer see anything but the darkness.

With every step he took it grew harder to move; more and more difficult to stay upright as he ran. Blair began to gasp, fighting to draw breath into his body. His legs trembled and he fell to his knees, feeling ghostly fingers brushing lightly against his back in a horrifying caress. Twisting around, trying to shake them off as he cried out in protest, Blair found himself staring into a never ending nothingness, a black hole that threatened to engulf him.

Blair threw his arms up in front of his face, closing his eyes and cringing back as the darkness again rushed at him, pressing him back against the concrete and pinning him in place.

"No!" he cried out uselessly, unable to move or defend himself. But his voice was drowned out by the outraged, piercing screech of an eagle. The noise grew louder, and behind his closed eyes Blair could feel the sudden brush of fresh air that ruffled his hair, as if he was directly below the wings of a giant bird of prey.

The force pinning him to the concrete dissipated instantly and, before Blair was really aware of it he was up and moving, dashing away down the alley. From behind him he could hear the lion roaring again, but the menacing sound was already beginning to fade into the distance.

He could see the edges of the alley again now, and suddenly Blair saw that one of the doors to the warehouse was standing open, its chain discarded on the ground to one side. He ran inside without hesitation, desperately seeking shelter...

...only to find himself standing on the precipice of an enormous cliff. Blair skidded to a halt just inches from the edge, dragging in great gulps of air as he tried to calm his racing heart. Turning to look behind him, all he saw was a mass of trees and greenery as the rainforest stretched away into the distance. There was no sign of the alleyway, nor the darkness that had been chasing him.

Bending over and placing his hands on his thighs to brace himself, Blair concentrated on simply breathing, locking his knees against the wave of sheer relief that threatened to send him crashing to the ground.

In contrast to the darkness of the alleyway, the sun was beating down onto Blair's shoulders, making him wish for a pair of sunglasses as he shielded his eyes against the glare and tried to work out where he was.

The cliff edge just inches from him was thousands of feet in the air, and when he looked down, Blair could see millions of gallons of water thundering by in the river far below.

Swallowing hard, Blair closed his eyes against the sudden rush of vertigo.

//You face a formidable enemy//

The voice, when it came, was no less startling than it had been in the alley, and Blair gasped, taking a panicked step back towards the edge. It was a few seconds before he realized that this wasn't the same voice he'd heard before.

"Who are you?" he called out.

The voice continued as if he hadn't spoken.

//The path that you walk is crumbling, shaman, and you must make your decision before it is too late. We will not always be able to protect you//

With that, the ground gave way. Letting out a startled yell, Blair had just enough time to register the movement beneath his feet and the terrifying sound of the rocks breaking apart before he was falling, his own scream echoing in his ears as he plummeted helplessly towards the rushing water.

~*~*~

Blair woke up with a jolt, coming awake in the space of a single heartbeat. The loft was still and silent around him, and without conscious thought Blair sought out the light from the digital alarm clock, looking for reassurance that he really was home in bed, instead of falling to his death in the middle of a jungle.

02:17.

That simple act was enough to bring him fully out of the dream. Blair sat up in bed, gasping for breath and swinging his legs round to the side to place his feet on the floor. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his thighs before dropping his head wearily into his hands.

He forced himself to slow his breathing, uncomfortably aware of just how badly his hands were trembling. His face was slick with sweat, and tears ran unchecked down his face, just as they had every night for the last few weeks.

The visions were growing stronger, and each night it took that little bit longer for his body to recover from them once he'd woken up.

Behind him Jim turned over in bed in his sleep, blindly seeking the warmth of Blair's body. He didn't wake, instead settling with one hand stretched out on Blair's empty pillow.

Unwilling to risk waking Jim, Blair waited until he could be at least reasonably sure that his legs would hold him before moving quietly across to the stairs, navigating the loft using the faint moonlight coming in from the skylight above them.

The fact that the sentinel hadn’t woken was clear proof of just how exhausted they both were. Six weeks had passed since the night they'd banished Maxim LaForce from Jim's childhood home, and despite Ben's warning that time was running out, neither of them had done anything more about accepting, or even declining, Blair's apparent gifts as a shaman.

They'd both had every intention of getting it sorted out once and for all, but they’d been so busy, and there always seemed to be something else going on; some excuse to put it off until tomorrow.

Keeping a tight grip on the handrail as he headed downstairs, Blair poured himself a glass of water and moved to stand by the doors to the balcony, leaning his head against the glass and forcing himself to slowly sip the water. The loft was dark; shadowed but comforting, just as it had been almost since the day he’d moved in. Sure, they’d had a few bad times here over the years, when Lash, Chapel and others had invaded the sanctuary of their home, but even so Blair had always felt safe here.

Faint moonlight fell in bands across the wooden floor, and outside the windows the city seemed quiet and peaceful. If he squinted, Blair could just make out the outline of the skyscrapers across the water; dark shapes against the night sky.

He could still feel his heart beating wildly beneath his chest, the expected headache setting in on cue — he’d gone through this so often over the last few weeks that he could almost clock the passage of time during the aftermath of one of his visions.

First, his body had to come down from the extreme adrenaline response that the dream triggered. Then, once he'd stopped shaking and could breathe normally again, the headache would set in. Whether it became a fully-fledged migraine depended on how bad the vision had been. Thankfully this hadn’t been one of the worst, and while he knew that the pain behind his eyes was probably going to keep him up for most of the night, at least he could stand on his own two feet. He wasn't always that lucky.

The aftermath was uncomfortably like the first signs of shaman sickness, and looking back six months to when he'd first become sick, Blair was able to draw far too many parallels between how he'd felt then, and how he was feeling now.

He was smelling things that weren’t there again, hearing voices whispering in the back of his mind even during the day, and the constant visions every time he tried to close his eyes at night meant he was never getting enough sleep, leaving him too exhausted to concentrate properly during the day.

Ben Thundercloud had been right. He'd overexerted himself in helping to banish LaForce that night at William Ellison’s house, unconsciously reaching in and accessing the power that lay within him. Unfortunately, now he couldn't seem to shut it back off. He'd weakened the control that Mano D'Angeles had helped him put into place at the temple and, in doing so, had put himself right back in the position he was in after his death at the fountain. Somehow he had the feeling that, this time, a trip to the temple at Sierra Verde wasn't going to fix it.

He wasn't yet finding himself doodling dots and jagged lines on everything, though. That was a symptom that would probably come later, along with the blinding flashes of light and the sudden onslaught of stabbing pain that always sent him to his knees.

In fact, the symptoms so far were all internal; nothing had yet happened to draw Jim's attention to what was going on except for the visions, and they'd been working such long hours over the past weeks that Jim's own exhaustion was, more often than not, causing him to sleep through all but the very worst of them.

Deep down, Blair was ashamed to say he was grateful for that. As much as he so often relied on Jim to be his rock — the one constant against the insanity that his life had become — this time the one thing that Blair wanted more than anything was space to himself.

Even though people had been telling him he was a shaman for almost two years now, Blair still couldn't quite get his mind round what it all meant and what was really happening to him. His thoughts were in turmoil, and he knew that he had to make a final decision soon or risk his own health and, if he took LaForce’s threats seriously, risk the lives of everyone he held dear.

Everywhere he turned, Blair could feel the weight of everyone's expectations pressing down on his shoulders. Striving to find his place as a cop, juggling that with his role as Jim’s guide, dealing with people’s opinion of him as a good-for-nothing fraud, trying to come to terms with carrying a gun and the deaths that now played on his conscience — he had reached the end of his tether long ago. Then the spirits had apparently decided he was also a shaman, and suddenly he was supposed to find a way to deal with that as well as everything else? It was all too much for him to bear.

Every night, his visions told him the same thing that Ben had; he couldn't sit on the fence for much longer. He was going to have to make a decision soon, before LaForce returned, or someone else who could apparently sense the power of a nascent shaman. He either had to embrace his destiny or reject his abilities once and for all, but for the life of him, Blair had no idea which decision was the right one to make.

Shivering slightly in the cold of the early hours, Blair wished absently for a blanket to wrap around his shoulders as he gazed out at the sleeping, darkened city.

His city, apparently.

Even the thought of it made him shake his head in bemused wonder. How on earth could he ever hope to be a shaman in a city of two million people? Particularly in a city that no longer believed in such things.

All the research he'd done suggested that a shaman was almost always trained from early childhood, supported by the tribe and the elders, and even the ones who were called after a near-death experience, like him, had to then spend years in training before taking on their full responsibilities.

The idea that Blair Sandburg, the original hippy child who had struggled to support and instruct just one sentinel, was suddenly supposed to take on the mantle of protector to a city that considered him a liar and a fraud was ludicrous. But here he was, faced with that very decision.

It wasn’t enough that he had to make that choice; first he had to make sure he was making his decision for the right reasons, or else he risked destroying everything he held dear. The problem was, nobody seemed to be prepared to tell him which reasons were the right ones.

Blair sighed, knowing he was too tired to make any real sense tonight. All he wanted to do was curl up in the arms of his lover and sleep peacefully until morning. Admittedly he was unlikely to get any more sleep with his headache digging furrows into his skull, but the thought of lying quietly with Jim in the moonlight helped to soothe his fractured nerves. Blair decided to do just that, return to the safety of his lover’s arms and allow the morning to take care of itself. That was one choice that he could definitely get behind.

A soft footfall behind him broke the silence in the loft, and he looked up into the window to see his reflection as Jim walked down the stairs.

"Sandburg?" he asked softly, scrubbing a hand through his short hair as he hesitated at the base of the stairs. "You okay?"

Blair didn't turn around, instead smiling into the glass, knowing that Jim would clearly see the reflection. "Hey."

Apparently taking the quiet greeting as an invitation, Jim moved across the room, stepping up from behind and wrapping his arms around Blair's body.

Sighing contentedly, Blair leaned back into the embrace, welcoming the comfort that his lover offered so freely.

"You're cold," Jim noted, lowering his head and nuzzling into Blair's hair. "How long have you been down here?"

Blair just shrugged in response, bringing his hands up to cover Jim's where they rested against his chest. Jim's body was still warm from their bed and he closed his eyes as Jim pulled him closer, taking away the chill that had begun to settle in his bones.

Together they stood quietly, enjoying each other's presence until Jim finally broke the silence. "Did you have another vision?"

Blair opened his eyes at that, his surprised gaze meeting Jim's reflection. "How did you know...?"

Jim sighed. "I'm not blind, Blair. I know you've not been sleeping. I thought you'd come and talk to me when you were ready, but this can't go on much longer. You're exhausted."

"And you're not? We've both been working long hours trying to crack this home invasion case," Blair protested, trying to deflect the conversation that he knew was coming.

"At least I'm getting some sleep once we get home, Sandburg," Jim drawled, his expression in the window clearly telling Blair that, this time, he wasn't going to be able to change the subject.

Stiffening, Blair pulled away, ostensibly returning his glass to the kitchen and searching for a few seconds more time to think.

"Talk to me,'' Jim pleaded quietly, leaning against the pillar and crossing his arms.

The silence stretched between them, Blair keeping his gaze fixed on the counter top. How could he tell Jim what was really going on after so many weeks? After everything they'd said about being honest with each other, and promising to no longer keep any secrets, how could he now admit that he had been afraid to tell Jim that the visions were getting worse; that he had been too scared of what it all meant, and of what it might to do to their relationship?

But he also knew he couldn't put it off much longer, and that the alternative — keeping quiet about it the way he had before, until it as good as killed him — would be cruelty itself. He could still remember lying in his hospital bed, barely conscious as the shaman sickness ravaged his body. But even though he'd been close to death, the fear and helplessness in Jim's eyes had carried through the pain, and he knew that he wouldn't risk putting Jim through that nightmare again.

Taking a deep breath, and praying to anyone who would listen that he wasn't making a terrible mistake, Blair met Jim's worried gaze and began to speak.

"I'm having visions again," he began.

"I'd noticed."

"They're warnings, Jim," Blair continued, his fingernails picking nervously at the scratches in the countertop. "Do you remember what Ben's eagle said to me in my vision when we chased away LaForce's spirit animal?"

Jim's expression darkened at the reminder of the dark shaman who had threatened to steal Blair's soul, and it took him a few seconds to answer. "They said it was time that you chose to follow the path."

Blair nodded. "After it was all over, Ben warned me that I couldn't put it off much longer. He said I was walking a fence that was crumbling beneath me."

"I remember."

"Well..." Blair hesitated, unsure how to put what he was feeling into words. "I think I've left it too long."

The alarmed expression that immediately crossed Jim's features tore at Blair's heart. "What?" Jim crossed the room in two long strides, grabbing hold of Blair's arms. "What does that mean? Are you getting sick again?"

"No! At least...not exactly."

Jim's tone of voice made it clear that he was struggling to control his temper. "Sandburg..." he warned.

"I'm hearing things," he admitted. "They're like...whispers in the back of my mind. I can't work out what they're saying, but they're always there. It's like hearing a crossed line on a telephone. And...remember before, when I was smelling things that weren't there? That's happening again," he finished, his voice barely above a whisper. The dawning horror on Jim's face was too much for Blair to see, and he turned away, ashamed, pulling out of Jim's hold and crossing to slump down on the couch, resting his head in his hands.

Jim stared after him in shock. "Why the hell didn't you say something? Jesus, Blair..."

"I'm sorry! I just..." But Blair couldn't think of a single thing to say that would justify keeping something like this from his lover, and his voice simply trailed away.

After a few seconds, when all Blair could hear was the steady tick-tock of the clock on the far wall, Blair felt the seat next to him dip as Jim joined him on the couch. But instead of the furious censure that Blair was expecting, Jim remained silent. He leaned towards Blair until their arms were touching and merely waited, his silence encouraging Blair to continue.

"I'm scared..." he admitted, his voice the barest whisper as he forced the words out, knowing that they needed to be said.

"How could this happen?" Jim questioned. "I thought that the ritual we did with d’Angeles healed you."

"It's LaForce," Blair said. "I think...Ben said I'd overreached myself when we faced him down. I think I must have weakened the control that Mano gave me. These abilities...they're starting to leak out again."

Jim sighed, standing up from the couch and quickly heading for the phone. "That's it. I'm calling Dan Wolfe, and he can get hold of Thundercloud. We're dealing with this right now."

"You can't!" Blair exclaimed, stopping Jim in his tracks.

"Why the hell not, Sandburg?" Jim demanded, his voice husky with suppressed fear. "I am not going to risk losing you again!"

"I...I'm not ready! I don't even know if I want to be a shaman! Jim, I need more time!" The words tumbled out of him, running into each other in his desperate haste to stop Jim from picking up the phone. Jim turned to him, watching silently as Blair continued. "I can't think...I don't know what decision I'm supposed to make."

Biting his lip, Jim returned to the couch, sitting back down next to Sandburg and twisting sideways to face him. "I don't understand why you're so reluctant to accept your gifts," he admitted. "It's who you are, Blair. Just like I'm a sentinel, and you've always been the one encouraging me to embrace who I am. Why is this any different?"

"You've spent the last four years coming to terms with who you are," Blair replied miserably. "How can I be expected to make a decision like this in just a few weeks?"

"It's not been a few weeks, Blair," Jim scolded gently. "We've known about your gifts as a shaman for almost eight months now. I thought you'd accepted it

"How can I be a shaman? It takes years of study — I haven't had any of that. Just because I... I died...that doesn't make me a shaman. I'm not Incacha, or Mano...I don't know how!"

"How can you say that you're not a shaman?" Jim exclaimed. "You healed me, Blair. You saved my life twice! How do you think that happened if you didn't do it?"

"But...I don't know how to control it."

"Ben Thundercloud said he could teach you. He can show you how to control your abilities, just like you've helped me to control mine. I didn't know what I was doing when we first met, remember? But you supported me. You showed me how to deal with the zones, how to piggyback my senses, everything. This is no different!"

Deep down, Blair knew that the sentinel had a point. This was no different to all the times he'd badgered Jim not to give up when he was frustrated, or when the senses were causing him pain. He felt like such a coward — all these years of pushing Jim, and it was only now that he finally understood just how terrifying it must have been. Now it was his turn to accept his own gifts, just as he’d practically forced Jim to do…and yet he couldn’t do it. He was too scared of what might happen...what he might become. "What about LaForce?" he asked.

"What about him?"

Now Blair turned to face his lover, struggling to put his feelings into words and to make Jim understand. "Jim...LaForce is a shaman..."

"No. He's a monster," Jim interrupted firmly.

"Perhaps, but once upon a time he was a shaman, just like Incacha or Ben. He was no different. I've been doing some research about him, and from what I can make out he didn't start out as a bad man. I don't agree with what he's become, but his family was massacred in front of him, and that's why he went off the rails. What if something like that happens to me? I couldn't bear the thought that I might hurt someone."

Jim nodded, reaching out to take Blair's hand. "Do you realize we had a similar conversation when you first became a cop? You were scared to carry a gun in case you hurt someone."

"And look what happened," Blair replied. "I've killed three people."

"None of those people gave you any choice," Jim answered firmly.

"Doesn't matter. They died because I was carrying, man."

"And if you hadn't stopped them, then they'd have killed me. Or you'd be dead. They were all trying to hurt people, remember? Would you rather that had happened?"

"No, of course not!" Blair protested, appalled at the very idea. "How could you even ask me that?"

"When I first joined the army," Jim continued as if Blair hadn't spoken, "my basic training instructor told me something that’s stayed with me for all these years. It's not the gun that's dangerous, Blair, it's the person holding it. Almost anything can be used to do damage if you put your mind to it. A car could kill someone if you hit them with it, but you wouldn’t think twice about buying one, would you?"

"It's hardly the same thing," Blair muttered.

"It's exactly the same thing. We use knives to eat with, but they can kill people. A jolt of electricity can be deadly, but every home in the city is connected to the mains. None of those things are dangerous on their own, but they can all be used as a weapon. It's the intention of the person wielding it that determines whether or not it’s safe. Your shaman abilities are no different. You don't think that Incacha or Ben were dangerous, do you? Or Mano? They all have good intentions. Maxim LaForce is an anomaly; he's a parasite who feeds off other people. His intentions are purely selfish, Blair. I know he lost his family, but he still had a choice. He didn't have to turn into a monster. There is no way on this earth that you'd ever become someone like him."

But Blair just shook his head miserably. “You can’t know that.”

“Yes, I can.” Jim leaned across and took hold of Blair’s shoulders, gripping them tightly to make absolutely certain that he had Blair’s attention. “You know I’ve never been all that keen on this mystical shit,” he continued, and Blair couldn’t suppress a burst of laughter at Jim’s typical understatement. “But if everything that’s happened over the last few years has taught me anything, it’s that we can’t afford to dismiss any of this. Look how bad things got the last time we ignored what was happening with you.”

“I don’t know if this is even what I want,” Blair muttered with a sigh.

“The only way you’re ever going to know that is if you meet with Ben,” Jim urged. “He can tell you more about what it’s really like to be a shaman than you’ll ever learn from your books and your research.”

Blair hesitated, struggling to find the right words to really explain to Jim how he was feeling. “Everything I’ve read,” he began, “all my research says that learning to be a shaman takes years of training; studying by the side of an established, older shaman. If I do this it’ll be a major commitment of time, Jim, and I’m already struggling to fit being both a cop and your guide into a normal day. This isn’t just something I can learn and master in an afternoon.”

“I know that,” Jim replied quietly, shifting on the sofa and reaching up to rub the back of his neck with his hand. “But I think you’re underestimating just how developed your abilities already are. I’ve seen you do some pretty amazing things with no proper training at all. You just need to believe in yourself a little more.”

Blair smiled in spite of himself, touched that Jim was being so supportive and understanding after all the fights they’d had over the years about the mystical side of being a sentinel.

“A few years ago,” Jim continued, “the Blair Sandburg I knew would have jumped at the chance of learning something like this.”

“Yeah, well I didn’t know any better back then. Now I’ve met a real shaman, and I can see that I’m nothing like them.”

Blair was amazed when Jim burst out laughing, the sound ringing out across the quiet loft. “You have no idea,” he laughed, his amusement clear.

“What are you talking about?” Blair snapped, leaning back against the sofa and feeling more than a little hurt that Jim seemed so unbothered by the confession of Blair’s fears.

“You really don’t see it, do you?” Jim asked, surprise coloring his voice.

“What?”

“You’re not the only one who’s been observing these past few years, Chief. First and foremost, a shaman is a teacher — someone who looks after and protects his tribe. Right?”

Blair nodded slowly, not sure where Jim was going with this.

“Well, so are you! Sure, you might not be actively teaching anymore, but that doesn’t mean that you’re not a teacher. You help people, Blair. You always have. If I had to make a list of all the people whose lives you’ve had a positive impact on in the time since we’ve met, it would include almost everyone I know.”

Blair rolled his eyes and leaned back against the sofa, rejecting the comment, but Jim carried on.

“You don’t think so? You’ve taught me how to control my senses. You helped Joel deal with his fears over those church bombings. You showed Simon how to reconnect with Daryl. You managed to get me talking with Dad and Stephen again. You’ve helped Rafe adjust to taking care of Katrina. Hell, you spend most of your time coming up with herbal medicines to cure all our various ailments.”

With each sentence Jim held up another finger, counting his examples off on one hand. “Do you need me to go on?” he asked wryly. “Because I can keep this up until dawn.”

“No,” Blair said. “But Jim, just because people talk to me…”

“I’ve never told you much about my time in Peru, have I?” Jim asked, and the non-sequitur stopped Blair in his tracks, just as he suspected Jim knew it would. The eighteen months that Jim had spent living with Incacha’s Chopec tribe was probably the only time in his life that Jim had never been prepared to share, even after they had become lovers. Eventually, Blair had learned to swallow his curiosity and not to ask, but he’d never stopped wanting to know.

“I don’t know much about what happened in those first few weeks,” Jim admitted, his body language suddenly stiff with tension as he stared down at his hands. “I’d been injured in the helicopter crash, and a bad concussion kept me pretty out of it for a while. Afterwards, the doctors said that I’ll probably never remember it all, but what little I do recall is mostly just vague impressions. I remember the heat, the sounds of the jungle; lying in the dark thinking that the world had gone mad.”

Then, Jim’s voice dropped to the barest of whispers. “By the time I’d mostly recovered, the Chopec had stripped the helicopter bare of anything that they thought they could use, and had buried the rest of my men. My first clear memory after leaving Fort Lewis is of Incacha pressing the remains of their dog tags into my hand.”

Jim stopped then, clearing his throat and swallowing before speaking again. “I don’t know how, but he must have known that I was a sentinel before I’d even come to properly, because he was talking to me about men with eyes like a hawk before he’d even told me his name.”

Enthralled, Blair shifted closer to his partner, determined not to miss a single word of the tragic story he’d longed to hear since the day he’d discovered that the striking man he’d met at Cascade General was the former soldier who’d once been on the cover of Time magazine.

“It didn’t take me long to realize that rescue wasn’t coming. The Huey’s homing beacon had been smashed to pieces in the crash, we had no radio, and we’d been warned before the mission that we’d be on our own once we reached the jungle. I knew I was on my own, and I had to adapt myself to the tribe’s customs as quickly as I could if I had any chance of survival.”

Blair nodded. He’d learned from his own time on expeditions that the first few days as part of any new society were the most crucial. If you didn’t make it clear that you respected their beliefs and wanted to play an active role in their culture right away, then you would probably never be accepted at all. For Jim, who must have believed he might be permanently stranded with the Chopec, it could quite literally have meant the difference between life and death.

“Luckily, Incacha had taken me under his wing right from day one, so I spent most of my time with him, learning their ways. Every morning, once the men from the tribe had gone hunting, Incacha would sit and talk with the children, telling them stories and showing them the skills they’d need as they grew up. He used to make me sit in with them — he said I had the mind of a child because I didn’t know the ways of the Chopec — how to commune with the spirits or properly thank the forest for my food. I’d watch him with the children. Some of them were little brats, Blair, but every morning he’d have them all absolutely captivated with his stories about the guardian spirits and their ancestors. There was always such joy in the way he taught and the things he said, that you couldn’t help but get caught up in it. None of the children could ever bear to take their eyes off him, and neither could I.”

Blair smiled when Jim finished speaking. He’d only known Incacha for a few hours before the man’s death, but he could just imagine him holding court with a group of enraptured children sitting in front of him. The joy that Jim described in the shaman was something that he didn’t have to imagine; he could still clearly remember the thrill he used to feel when a class went well and he’d really gotten through to his students. It was something he missed every day.

“Incacha was the tribal shaman,” Jim continued. “Everybody looked up to him and they all turned to him for advice about anything, from the coming weather to marriage guidance. But it didn’t matter whether he was talking to the tribe’s leader or a two year-old child. When you looked into his yes, I’d swear you could see the wisdom of the ages.”

Jim trailed off, still staring down at the floor, and Blair had a feeling that his lover was lost in memories of another lifetime. He stayed still, not wanting to break the spell that Jim’s words had cast over the moonlit loft. Jim so rarely spoke about Incacha, and only now was Blair getting a real sense of just how much Jim must miss his old friend.

They sat together in silence, holding hands, until Jim finally looked up at Blair, his eyes shining into the darkness. “I saw that same wisdom in Mano’s eyes at the temple in Sierra Verde,” he revealed, “and I see it in yours every day.” He smiled at Blair’s shocked expression. “I saw the pleasure that you brought to your students when you taught; it’s no secret that your classes were the most oversubscribed at Rainier. You’re a born teacher, Blair, just as Incacha was, and I don’t know anyone more suited to becoming a shaman than you. You’re already a shaman; you just have to be ready to accept it, like I had to accept my sentinel abilities in Peru.”

“It won’t be easy.”

“I know,” Jim acknowledged, “but I don’t think it’ll be as difficult as you think either. Forget about being a cop, about the sentinel stuff — about everything else, Blair, and just think about that six year-old boy who used to follow Mano around and pretend to be a shaman.”

Blair laughed; it had obviously been too much to hope that Jim had forgotten that particular story.

“Does he still want to be a shaman? Even after everything that’s happened?”

Blair didn’t answer straight away. Biting his bottom lip, he stared down at his hand, entwined with Jim’s, and seriously considered the question.

Beneath all of his doubts and fears, all the concern that he wasn’t good enough or that this might take too much of his focus away from his role as Jim’s guide, Blair couldn’t deny that a part of him was fascinated by the idea. He could still remember the astonished wonder he’d felt as he’d gone on his first spirit walk and talked with the guardians, nor could he deny that his healing abilities had brought Jim back from the brink of death more than once.

Finally, his stomach churning with nervous energy, he nodded. “Yes. I do.”

Jim grinned, the relief plain on his face as he tightened his hold and pulled Blair into a hug. “Then we’ll go to see Thundercloud,” he said, burying his face in Blair’s hair. “I’ll call Dan Wolfe tomorrow.”

Turning his head, Blair rested his cheek against Jim’s shoulder, bringing his arms up to return the embrace. The decision had been made. Now all he had to do was see it through.

As if he’d heard Blair’s thoughts, Jim spoke again. “It’ll be okay,” he muttered, tightening his hold. “Whatever happens, you’re not like LaForce, you hear me?” Jim’s voice turned oddly savage, as if he could keep Blair safe by sheer force of will alone. “You’re surrounded by people who love you, and who will always care for you. No matter what, you’ll never be alone.”

On impulse, overwhelmed by a sudden need to return the love he could feel in Jim’s embrace and in his words, Blair reached up and grasped the back of Jim’s neck, pulling him down into a kiss.

Even after all these months a small, insecure part of Blair was still terrified that one day this was going to go wrong; Jim would wake up and realize that he’d made a big mistake, or that something would happen to tear the two of them apart. The added pressure of becoming a shaman was just one more reason for them to come to an end. Blair could feel his desperation showing in his erratic breathing, in the way his fingers clutched at the short hairs on the back of Jim’s neck.

Jim could obviously feel it too, because Blair felt a quiet murmur of concern against his lips as Jim tensed and tried to pull away. But Blair held on regardless, refusing to be moved, and eventually Jim relaxed back into the embrace.

Kneeling up on the sofa, Blair pushed Jim back against the soft cushions, bringing one leg across until he was settled firmly on Jim’s lap. Their bodies pressed against each other, and Blair could feel Jim’s heat through the thin cotton fabric that separated them. He ran his hands down Jim’s arms, feeling solid muscle rippling beneath his fingers. Marveling for the hundredth time that they’d ended up together in spite of all the obstacles in their path, Blair reluctantly broke the kiss, staring at Jim for a long second before reaching down and taking Jim’s hand. He stepped backwards off the sofa, pulling his lover with him, and together they walked in silence up the stairs to the bedroom.

Once there, Jim took the lead, turning Blair around and pressing him back down onto the bed. As he lifted his arms to allow Jim to remove his t-shirt, Blair vowed silently that nothing would ever be allowed to separate them again.

~*~*~

The few hours of sleep that they eventually managed wasn’t anything like enough to replenish Blair’s dwindling energy reserves, and Jim was up and showered before Blair had done much more than turn over in bed and bury his head under the pillow.

Even through the fabric he could hear Jim’s footsteps on the wooden stairs, and he groaned in defiance when the bed dipped as Jim sat down beside him.

“Come on, Sandburg,” he said, sounding disgustingly cheerful for such a stupid time in the morning.

“It’s too early,” Blair mumbled into the mattress beneath his face. “I’m sleeping.”

The next minute, Blair could feel fingers brush his hair to one side as Jim searched for an ear to speak in to. “If you get up now I’ll make you some coffee while you shower?” he offered, trailing his hand down the exposed skin on Blair’s back.

“And if I don’t?”

“You’ll be stuck with the sludge they serve in the break room all day,” Jim replied, and Blair could hear the grin in his voice. “Now up, before Simon sends a search party after us.” With that he pulled the pillow out of Blair’s hands and dropped it onto the floor by the bed, before disappearing downstairs.

“Slave driver,” Blair muttered, but he turned over anyway and dragged himself reluctantly out of bed before stumbling down and into the shower.

Ten minutes and the rest of the hot water tank later, Blair had joined Jim in the kitchen, both hands wrapped reverently round a mug of strong, black coffee. He’d swallowed half of it before he could even muster up the energy to form a proper sentence, but eventually he placed the mug back down on the table as a contented sigh escaped his lips. “You are a lifesaver,” he announced, not remotely phased by Jim’s amused expression.

“It has got to be wrong to need coffee as much as you do,” he said as he pulled a couple of eggs from the fridge. “What happens the next time we run out of grounds?”

“Never happen,” Blair drained the rest of his mug and placed it back in the sink. “You love me too much to let such a tragedy occur.”

“More like I have a strong sense of self-preservation,” Jim replied. “Trust me, Chief, you’re not a pretty sight before your morning coffee.”

Blair laughed, accepting the good-natured jibe as Jim leaned over and kissed him on the lips. Blair sighed contentedly and immediately deepened the kiss, pulling Jim to him and wishing desperately that they had time for more than this before they headed to work. Regretfully he broke away, grinning up at Jim before turning and getting on with breakfast.

The next thirty minutes were spent in their morning ritual of eggs, toast and yet more coffee. They talked about everything and nothing, simply enjoying their precious time together in the loft. Blair treasured these early morning traditions; they’d started almost the day he’d first moved in after the warehouse blew up, and though they’d rarely managed them when he’d been juggling an early morning teaching schedule as well as riding with Jim as an observer, now they made an effort to have breakfast together almost every morning.

It gave them a chance to reconnect as Jim and Blair, without the responsibilities they held as cops, as sentinel and guide, and even now apparently as a shaman. Here they could just spend some relaxed, quiet time together before leaving the loft and facing the pressures of the coming day.

~*~*~

The drive downtown was worse than normal, with traffic backed up almost to the corner of Prospect and LeGrange because of roadwork down on the highway. The weather was dreary and grey; spots of light rain appearing now and then on the windshield, even though it never grew regular enough to be classified as a shower.

“How much comp time do you have now?” Jim asked as they inched their way down towards the main city centre, the Puget Sound peering out from behind the row of buildings and warehouses on the waterfront.

“What?”

“You’ve been working here long enough to accrue some comp time, haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” Blair replied, idly watching the people sitting in traffic around them. “I think I’ve got three or four days owing now.”

“We’ll talk to Simon when we get in, then,” Jim decided.

“About what?”

Jim turned away from the wheel to look over at his partner. “About taking a few days off to go and see Ben Thundercloud,” he said. “We agreed last night, didn’t we?”

Blair nodded reluctantly.

“Blair?” Jim prompted again, and Blair turned to face him as he answered.

“Sorry, Jim. I guess I’m just nervous. It’s a lot to take in, you know? But you’re right; we should talk to Ben soon.”

Talking things over during the night, Jim had made it all seem so straightforward, but in the cold light of day Blair could see all the pitfalls and obstacles that were sitting in their path. Still, he kept his doubts quiet, knowing deep down that Jim was right. Whether or not he eventually decided to embrace his destiny as a shaman, either way he still had to talk to Ben Thundercloud. He couldn’t risk things staying as they were now, and having at least made that decision made the knot in his stomach ease, just a little.

Finally pulling into the underground parking garage, Jim was first out of the truck. It was busy; there were people coming and going, cars queued at the exit, waiting to join the flowing traffic out on the street. Blair stayed behind in the truck, taking just a moment to compose himself before he had to begin his day as a cop.

He still struggled with it; not the work itself, he loved the rush and the feeling of achievement that it gave him, but with everything else that went along with it. The scrutiny of the uniformed cops wore him down a little more each day, as they waited for him to screw up, or to do something that justified their belief that he was a liar and a fraud. Nor did it help to constantly have Internal Affairs on his back, examining every single move he made to find any excuse to drum him out of the force.

He’d hoped that he could disappear into the ranks somehow, that after the first few months of notoriety people would get bored with waiting and that it would get easier. He should have known better. If he’d learned anything in four years of riding with Jim, it was that he got the high-profile cases. Serial killers, arsonists, international conspiracies - the kinds of cases that held everyone’s attention. It was no surprise that while most cops went through their entire careers without ever firing a weapon — even in Cascade — Blair had shot and killed three people in the last year alone. It kept him in the limelight, kept people talking about him, and made it that much harder to shake off his history and start afresh.

Still, this was the life he’d chosen, and Blair knew that in spite of all the hardships, he was luckier than he had any right to be, given the mistakes he’d made. He was still living in Cascade, he had good friends, doing a job that was worthwhile and that he loved in spite of everything. Most importantly, he got to share his life with Jim. Whatever he had to endure to keep that, then so be it.

Taking a deep breath, Blair squared his shoulders and followed Jim out of the truck, closing the door behind him.

He could hear the whispers almost as soon as he stepped into the foyer; the same whispers he’d confessed to Jim the night before. Voices in the back of his mind, tickling the very edges of his consciousness. He never seemed to hear them when he was alone with Jim, but they followed him through the corridors of the building. They seemed louder today, calling to him, and Blair couldn’t help but glance nervously around. Only then did he notice that people were looking at him. The sergeant at the main desk looked up when they entered, and his eyes stayed on Blair as they passed. Two uniforms — Robinson and Levelle — fell silent as he walked by, both physically turning towards him before glancing back at each other. Levelle raised both eyebrows when he thought that Blair had walked past, and Blair quickened his steps to move closer to Jim.

The whispers grew even louder, but he still couldn’t make out the words, and Blair looked back at Levelle, wondering whether something had happened, or if his paranoia was simply growing stronger. It had been a quiet few weeks in terms of police work. They’d been working on these home invasions almost solidly, but there’d been no breaks in the case, nothing out of the ordinary to draw anyone’s attention. But Levelle was no longer looking in his direction. Instead he was deep in conversation with his partner, and after a few seconds of uncertainty Blair dismissed it as his imagination, and made a silent vow to talk to Dan Wolfe as soon as possible. He couldn’t go on like this for much longer.

The rest of the journey up to Major Crime passed without incident, but as they stepped into the bullpen, Blair still couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

“Morning Jim, Blair,” Joel greeted, glancing up from his paperwork with a smile.

“Hey, Joel.” Shedding his jacket, Blair hooked it onto the coat rack just behind his desk. The pile of folders and paperwork waiting for him seemed to be higher than it had when he’d left the day before, and Blair dropped into his chair with a sigh. The home invasions had started two weeks before, and six houses had already been hit. Although they had scoured each crime scene for clues and were now sifting through dozens of test results and witness statements, there was little to go on. The victims seemed to be chosen completely at random, and every attack was more vicious than the last. They both feared that it wouldn’t be long before the perpetrators killed, but they were no closer to finding them than when they first took over the case.

Brushing his hair behind one ear, Blair sorted through the folders to find the forensics reports for the most recent crime scene. A husband had returned home from work two days ago to find the front door ajar and his wife unconscious on the living room floor. No one had seen anything, no one knew anything, and a serious head injury had left Mrs. Matthews in a coma. The doctors had no way of knowing if, or when, she might wake up, which left the police with little evidence to follow to find her attackers.

“Blair!” Rafe walked into the bullpen just behind them and headed straight over to their desks.

“Hi Rafe, how’s Katrina?”

Leaning against Jim’s desk, Rafe smiled at the mention of his younger sister. “She’s doing okay. It’s taking her a while to adjust to American schools after living in Singapore for so long, but her grades are good and she’s starting to make some friends now, I think.”

“Good,” Blair smiled. They all knew how difficult it had been for Rafe when his parents were killed in the Singapore bombings, but he and Megan had pulled together when Katrina had come to stay with them, and things seemed to have settled down in the months since.

“Hey,” Rafe continued with a grin. “I hear that congratulations are in order.”

Blair blinked, not sure what Rafe was referring to. “They are?”

“Sure. The Captain and your mom are getting married.”

Blair glanced over at Jim, who shrugged back. “I had no idea that they were ready to go public.”

“Erm…” Joel came round his desk, looking slightly sheepish. “I…don’t think they planned to.”

Rafe’s smile faded. “Oops, have I spoken out of turn?” he looked nervously between Joel and Blair.

Joel shook his head. “I heard the desk sergeant talking as I came in. One of the guys from Burglary saw Simon and your mother shopping for wedding rings yesterday, Blair. It’s all over the station.”

Suddenly Blair’s paranoia that morning didn’t seem quite so far-fetched and he sighed, running both hands through his hair. So much for not wanting to be the centre of attention.

“What’s wrong?” Rafe asked. “Aren’t you pleased for them?”

“Yes! Of course I am!” Blair replied. “I’m thrilled that they’ve found each other. I’m just a little worried about how people are going to react to my Captain marrying my mom, that’s all.”

Jim rolled his chair closer, reached over and squeezed Blair’s shoulder, offering his silent support. Looking over at his lover, Blair smiled his thanks, but he couldn’t keep the concern from his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” Joel reassured him. “Everybody I’ve heard has only been saying how pleased they are for Simon.”

“Good morning, gentlemen,” Simon breezed cheerfully into the bullpen, cigar between his fingers and his long coat trailing behind him.

“Morning, sir,” Rafe said as he returned to his desk.

“Your meeting with the Commissioner went well, I take it?”

“I’ve had worse,” Simon replied. “He’s too busy laying into Vice to be too bothered about what we’re doing this week. A fact that I plan to make the most of for as long as it lasts.” He tucked the unlit cigar into his shirt pocket, and Jim nudged Blair’s shoulder, nodding in Simon’s direction. Following Jim’s gaze, Blair saw the shining glimmer of metal — a thick, gold ring with a Celtic pattern etched down the middle was sitting on the Captain’s wedding finger. Blair couldn’t hold back the smile; Naomi had always had a soft spot for Celtic jewelry.

“What’s going on with Vice?”

Simon shook his head. “You do not want to know. Let’s just say you should be glad you’re not on that squad anymore.”

Jim laughed wryly, some emotion that Blair couldn’t quite identify flashing across his face. “Every day, Simon,” he said. “Every damn day.”

Filing that tidbit away to dig into later, Blair dropped the file he was holding back on his desk and pushed himself to his feet. “I need coffee before I make a start with all this,” he said. “Anyone else want one?”

~*~*~

Blair’s offer to make a coffee run brought back pleasant memories, and Jim had to bite back the surge of warmth deep down inside him as he remembered waking Blair up earlier that morning. Despite their intense, draining discussions the night before, Jim had woken refreshed and contented, just as he did every morning when he started the day with his lover in his arms.

They didn’t even have to do anything, though he would be the first to declare that he’d never, ever get tired of sex for as long as he lived, but in some ways Jim almost preferred those quiet moments together. Lying with Sandburg’s warm body pressed up against him, the world closed off outside where it couldn’t interfere, just drifting in contented silence and drinking in every inch of Blair; the way he looked, the muscular feel of his body, the soft sound of his breathing — it was about as close as Jim could imagine to perfection.

Even with the craziness that seemed to delight in keeping them off-balance, Jim knew he would never swap the life he’d found for anything. He and Blair fit together; a perfect partnership — two halves of a whole — that was all there was too it. And if that wasn’t the sappiest thought to have ever crossed his mind…

Jim chuckled to himself, leaning back in his chair and looking round at the bullpen, half an ear listening to the steady tread of Blair’s footsteps down the hall. Even first thing in the morning the room was already bustling with activity, people arriving for their shifts, catching up with colleagues and updating each other on their active cases. In spite of the intense workload it was a good department, manned by men and women who were fiercely loyal to each other, who worked and played together and defended each other…Jim couldn’t have wished for a better group of friends.

Friends…

When he thought back to the cocky, arrogant attitude he’d carried with him when he first transferred into Major Crime, Jim was amazed that he’d lasted long enough to make it this far. He knew that was thanks, mainly, to Simon Banks, who’d somehow managed to see something underneath Jim’s devil-may-care attitude worth investing in, and to Jack Pendergast, who had ignored Jim’s legendary temper and smoothed his rough edges until he’d started seeing the rest of the department as a team to work within, instead of obstacles to bulldoze over.

But Jim could freely admit it was his time with Blair that had helped him make that transformation from colleague to friend with most of his colleagues. The poker nights, the ball games, drinking with the boys after work — they were all events that had foundations in the post-Sandburg era, when the hippy-wannabe grad student had danced into his life and made him see that there were other points of view than his own, and that his bull-in-a-china-shop routine wasn’t always the only option.

Jim thanked God for that every damn day.

Across the room, Joel was walking towards him with an indulgent smile, and Jim added one more thank you to his mental list…that his colleagues, and his friends, knew that he and Blair were together…and were pleased for them both.

Not all those who worked at the PD would feel the same way, he knew, but at least with these precious few they could truly be themselves without fear of repercussion.

“So, Jim,” Joel greeted him, stopping by the corner of his desk. “Did you decide whether you wanted those tickets to the game next weekend? Or should I go and ask Blair?”

Joel’s voice, added to the melee of conversations from all over the building was one focus too far, and reluctantly Jim dialed back his hearing, severing that last connection to Blair until all he could hear was the sounds within the bullpen.

~*~*~

The break room smelled of burnt coffee but at least it was empty, and Blair shut the door behind him.

The coffee in the pot was so stale it was almost black, so he poured the remnants down the sink and rinsed out the pot, replacing the filter and filling the machine with water.

The everyday task helped to soothe his frayed nerves, and he was so intent on it that at first he didn’t hear the door swing open on its hinges. Only the sound of the frosted glass rattling as it hit the wall caught his attention

“So that’s it.”

Turning around, one hand still on the spoon he was using to put sugar in Rafe’s coffee, Blair’s heart sank when he saw Vice Detective John Kidman standing in the doorway. Of course, filling the doorway was more like it, since the guy was at least as tall as Jim and as broad as Simon. A seriously unpleasant man, disliked even by his colleagues, he had never made any secret of his disdain for Blair, not even back when he’d only been with Major Crime as an observer. Blair had the feeling the dissertation fiasco had made Kidman feel like all his Christmases had come at once

“The badge was one thing,” Kidman continued, walking into the room with a smirk on his face. “And I still have no idea how Banks managed to get that past the Commissioner. But moving straight into Major Crime without spending any time in uniform? Now that was a mystery I simply couldn’t figure out.”

Clenching his jaw, Blair turned back to the coffee, doing his best to ignore the jibes. Unfortunately, Kidman didn’t seem to want to take the hint.

“But I come into work this morning and, suddenly, it all makes sense! Detective Sandburg gets a free pass to the Major Crime club, and surprise, surprise, a few months later it turns out that Banks is screwing your mother!” His voice raised, Kidman kept on walking up behind Blair until he was barely a foot away. Unnerved by the man’s presence, Blair turned round again, fists clenched in growing anger.

“Back off, Kidman.”

But his obvious ire only seemed to encourage Kidman further, and he stepped right up close to Sandburg, looming over him and placing a hand on the counter top either side of him so that Blair couldn’t move away. “What’s the matter, Sandy?” he asked snidely. “Don’t you want to face the truth? Or hell, didn’t you know?” Kidman’s face twisted into a rictus of delight at the thought. “Did you really think you’d got into Major Crime on credit alone? No, your mommy had to fuck your boss to get you a job. She must be one hell of a lay for Banks to put up with you at work day after day

“That’s enough!” he spat, shocked at what he was hearing. Blair shoved at Kidman’s chest to try and get him to move, but he was a good sixty pounds heavier and all Blair managed was to rock Kidman back on his heels.

In response, Kidman slammed both hands down on the counter, startling him as the loud bang echoed through the small room. “Of course, that still doesn’t explain why Ellison agreed to have you as a partner,” he continued gleefully, as if Blair hadn’t even spoken. “Unless… unless mommy dearest is fucking him as well? Does it feel good, Sandburg?” he crowed. “Knowing that you’ve turned your mother into a goddamn whore?”

His exhaustion, his fury, and all the pent-up emotions he’d been desperately holding back for weeks overwhelmed him at Kidman’s hateful words. Blair lashed out with his fist, catching Kidman right on the chin and sending him staggering back into the table behind him. For a second both men were frozen still; surprised fury spreading across Kidman’s face as Blair breathed heavily, making one last-ditch attempt to rein in his temper.

“Why you little bastard,” Kidman growled, one hand on his chin as he stepped forward, his intentions clear as he raised his other hand and clenched his fist.

“What the hell is going on?” Suddenly Joel was standing in the doorway, wide-eyed as he looked from Blair to Kidman and back again. The knowledge that there was someone else in the room stopped Kidman in his tracks. Blair seized his chance, shouldering past Joel without a word, only needing to get away before anything else could happen. Let Kidman put whatever spin on their confrontation that he wanted; Blair was too furious at what had happened to care.

He fled almost blindly back to Major Crime, bursting through the door and back to his desk without making eye contact with anyone. Instinctively he reached for his backpack, needing to get out of the building and away from this madness, but it was only as he was reaching for his pack that he realized it was no longer in its usual space beneath his desk. He’d stopped bringing a backpack to work the day he’d become a real cop.

Then, as his blind fury and the adrenaline rush of the unexpected confrontation began to fade, Blair gradually became aware of other things around him; Rafe asking what happened to the coffee, the growing pain in his knuckles where he’d hit Kidman, and Jim’s voice, raised in alarm, asking him what was wrong.

Too shaken to answer, Blair reflexively cradled his injured hand, staring down at his reddened knuckles, the skin split and seeping blood. His hands were trembling.

“Sandburg?” Jim tried again. “Blair!”

He looked up at Jim in bewilderment. “What the hell am I even doing here?” he muttered, shocked at what the innocent announcement of Simon and Naomi’s marriage had caused people to think. Kidman might be a bully and a thug, but if he was saying it, Blair was quite sure that a lot of other people were thinking it. What a godawful mess. Not only had Blair’s employment with the PD already permanently damaged Jim’s reputation with a lot of the people in the building, now it looked like he was going to destroy Simon as well.

Jim walked round Blair’s desk, crouching down and putting both hands on his shoulders. “What. Happened?” he demanded.

But Blair was saved from answering by Joel, who barreled into Major Crime and made a beeline for Blair’s desk.

“Blair! What happened? What did he do?”

“Who?” Jim demanded, his expression darkening in frustration.

“Kidman.”

Jim’s eyes widened in alarm; Kidman’s reputation as a thug was well-known throughout the building.

But the commotion had apparently drawn Simon’s attention, because the Captain appeared in the doorway, his voice booming across the bullpen. “Sandburg! Ellison! My office. Now.”

On autopilot, Blair followed Simon’s order. Uncomfortably aware that he held the gaze of everybody in the room, he crossed the few feet to Simon’s office with his partner following right behind. Simon stepped back to let them all pass, and Blair saw that Joel had followed them inside as he sank down into one of the empty chairs, dropping his head onto his aching hands in despair.

Simon moved back behind his desk as well, the precise tone of his words making it evident to everyone in the room that his patience was rapidly wearing thin. “Would one of you gentlemen like to explain to me what’s got everyone in my department so excited?”

Jim had taken the chair next to Blair, and Blair felt the brush of fabric against him as Jim shrugged helplessly, his shirt pressing briefly against Blair’s shoulder.

“I’m not sure, Simon.” Joel was the first to speak. “I walked in on something between Blair and John Kidman from Vice in the break room. Kidman looked angry; I thought Kidman was going to hit Blair, but all he said was that they’d been talking about family

“Detective?” Banks prompted again. “Would you care to explain why your knuckles are bleeding?”

Apparently Jim hadn’t noticed until Simon called his attention to it, because he immediately reached across and took Blair’s hand, examining the swelling that was rapidly forming around his fingers.

Blair knew there was no point in pretending that nothing important had happened, not when the others were all tag-teaming him like this. So, taking a deep breath he began to speak, relating the altercation word for word. Mortified that he’d lost it enough to resort to physical violence with a man who was twice his size, Blair kept his eyes firmly on the floor, too embarrassed to meet anyone else’s gaze.

Only when he was finished and the room had fallen silent did he finally look up, glancing nervously at Simon and waiting for the explosion. Simon looked aghast, staring at Blair as if he’d grown another head.

“Simon, I am so sorry,” Blair said, the words falling over each other as he prayed that his friend would believe him. “I swear there isn’t a thread of truth in what he said. Naomi loves you, I know she does, but if he’s thinking it…”

But he trailed off as Simon launched himself out of his chair. “Son of a bitch,” he snapped, ignoring both Jim and Blair and heading straight for the door of his office. Joel, who had only moved a few feet into the room, smoothly stepped in front of the door and blocked his path.

“Get out of my way, Joel,” Simon growled.

“No, Simon,” Joel said calmly, though Blair could see the anger brimming in his usually gentle features. “That won’t do any good.”

“It’ll make me feel a damn sight better.”

“Judging by the bruise that was swelling up on Kidman’s chin when I got there, Blair already beat you to it.”

Sighing, consciously having to slow his breathing as he nodded reluctantly, Simon turned back to face Blair. Silently they stared at each other for a long moment, neither one sure what to say. Eventually, Simon broke the impasse. “Did you know this would happen?” he demanded, but Jim was the one who answered.

“Not exactly,” he said, matching Simon’s gaze as if daring him to take this out on Blair. “But we were worried that some people might react like this when the news got out.” His voice was quiet; even soft, but Blair could plainly see the tension simmering in his rigid frame and narrowed eyes.

“Certain groups in the building are always looking for a stick to attack Blair with, Simon, you know that,” added Joel.

Simon ran a hand down his face, looking up at the ceiling for some kind of inspiration. “It never even occurred to me,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, Sandburg. Neither Naomi or I thought that in a million years that our engagement might reflect negatively on you.”

“People round here don’t seem to need much of an excuse,” Blair commented miserably. His bruised hand was throbbing painfully now, and he pulled it out of Jim’s grasp to cradle it against his chest, wincing as the bone cracked under the movement.

“It’s not broken,” Jim said, “but it’s going to hurt like hell for a while. I’ll go find you some ice for it.”

“You stay here, Jim,” Joel spoke up. “I’ll get the ice.”

“I’m perfectly capable of bringing back some ice, Joel,” Jim snapped, but Joel only smiled wryly.

“True, but at least if I get it, I know that Kidman isn’t going to take a tumble down a flight of stairs while I’m gone.”

Jim didn’t reply, but the slump of shoulders as Joel slipped out of the room and closed the door behind him was all the answer that Blair needed.

“What are we going to do?” Blair asked Jim in despair.

Jim glanced up, regarding Simon silently for a moment before shrugging his shoulders helplessly. “I don’t know,” he replied.

“Kidman’s well within his rights to go to IA with this,” Blair admitted. “I can’t believe I hit him. So much for controlling my emotions and having good intentions, huh, Jim?”

“Sounds to me like he had it coming,” Simon growled from behind his desk.

“Somehow I doubt Detective Martin’s going to see it like that,” Blair said, referring to the Internal Affairs officer who’d had it in for Blair since the first day he accepted his badge.

“Kidman’s not the kind of guy to go running to Internal Affairs,” Jim said, sounding less than certain even as he said the words. “He’s more likely to wait and return the favor one day when you don’t see it coming.”

“Not even if it could get me drummed out of the force? At the very least they’d suspend me,” Blair groaned. “How could I have been so stupid?”

“Lighten up on yourself a bit, Sandburg,” Jim said firmly. “This hasn’t exactly been an easy few months for any of us. You’re on edge, you’re exhausted, neither of us got any sleep last night.” They exchanged a smile, Blair remembering the more pleasant reason why they’d both been up the night before even as he acknowledged that it might not have been the best idea they’d ever had. “No one’s expecting you to be a saint here, remember? We’ll go to see Thundercloud and get all this shaman stuff sorted out, and everything else will be that much easier to deal with.”

Knowing that Jim was right there alongside him, supporting him just as he’d promised, helped to calm Blair even further, and eventually he nodded, releasing out a long, shaky breath as he reached out and squeezed Jim’s arm in a silent thanks.

Jim smiled back, though Blair could still see the fury glittering in his lover’s eyes. Supportive he might be, and he was obviously trying to keep a lid on his own emotions while he concentrated on calming Blair down, but it was clear that Jim was as angry at what Kidman had said as Simon.

Looking over at their Captain, sitting slumped at his desk, Blair spoke. “Now what?”

Simon frowned. “Jim’s right. I can’t see him going to IA with this either; he’d risk what he said about me and Jim getting out. I haven’t heard of anything like this being said, and there has to be a reason why.”

Jim nodded. “Of course there is! No one’s going to risk accusing the Captain of Major Crime, or the Cop of the Year,” he added with a grimace, “not if they can take it out on the rookie instead.”

Rising from his chair, Simon turned around and reached for his coffee pot, pouring out three black coffees and adding cream to one of them before passing them across to Jim and Blair, leaning back on his desk as he blew on his own mug. “Even if Kidman doesn’t go to IA, this problem isn’t going to go away. We haven’t even set a wedding date yet! I love Naomi,” he added, “and I resent the implication that I’m only with her because of some twisted arrangement between you and me! It’s crazy!”

“I know,” Blair added quietly, wishing for the hundredth time since they’d offered him the badge that he’d turned it down. He loved his job at the PD, and he loved working with Jim, but he’d give anything not to have brought so much trouble down on his friends. The longer he tried to ignore it, the more he was coming to realize that he was never going to be accepted here. Not as long as there were people like Kidman around to spread these kinds of rumors and ensure that no one forgot what a liar and a fraud he was.

“I can’t do much about Kidman unless you want to lodge a formal complaint with the Vice Squad Captain.”

Blair shook his head wearily. “Not a great idea, Simon,” he said. “I can just see the complaint now: Detective Kidman was mean to me, so I decked him. It’s a bit too much like telling tales in the schoolyard, you know?”

Simon agreed with him. “I’ll have a quiet word with Sheila in Internal Affairs, though. If people are spreading vicious rumors about me, or about any of my men, then I want to know about it. In the meantime, you should probably…”

But Simon trailed off when his office door was opened and Joel returned, his expression somber. “It looks like there’s been another home invasion, Simon,” he said, handing Blair a bag of ice wrapped in a damp towel. “I’ve just heard; homicide were called to two suspicious deaths on the edge of town, but they’ve asked for an MCU consult. Apparently it looks like the home invasion crime scenes Jim and Blair have been investigating.”

Sighing, Jim straightened in his chair and leaned over to place his mug on the edge of Simon’s desk. “We’d better get going,” he said, looking over at Blair, who was carefully wrapping the ice round his swollen hand. “You ready, Chief?”

Blair nodded. “It’s probably not a bad idea to get out of the station for a while,” he commented bitterly. “Thanks for the ice, Joel.”

Both men stood, and Blair led the way out of Simon’s office, careful not to meet the gaze of anyone in the bullpen as Jim grabbed both their jackets and they made their way to the elevator.

~*~*~

They’d barely been in the office for an hour, but during that time the weather had worsened; rain now descending in a steady stream across the windshield. The chill wind had swept through Blair’s clothes as they walked to the truck, leaving him feeling cold and miserable. There was a light mist drifting across from the Puget Sound, and Blair was uncomfortably reminded of his dream the night before, and of his walk down that endless, foggy alleyway and the dark shadow that had dogged his every step.

Hunching forward in his seat, seeking the meager warmth from his thin jacket, Blair fought back his instinctive shudder at the memory of just how terrified he’d felt. He could still vividly remember the stark warning he’d been given, hovering over his head like the Sword of Damocles.

He stared out the window as they drove through the city, seeing little of the streets and people that they passed. The towel was still wrapped around his throbbing hand, a testament to just how angry he’d been and how hard he’d lashed out at Kidman. The rapidly melting ice was just beginning to break through the thin, soaked fabric, small droplets of water running down his wrists and gather on his sleeve.

Jim was silent and had been since they left headquarters, but Blair could still see his anger, clear in the tension across his shoulders and the line of his jaw. He’d screwed up; there could be no question about that in spite of Simon and Jim’s support. He never should have hit a fellow officer, however sleazy the guy might be. But despite the seriousness of the situation, Blair couldn’t quite suppress a small, grateful smile at the way their lives had changed.

However awful the last few years had been, even with all the heartache they’d both lived through, Blair knew that he and Jim were closer now than ever, and not just because they now shared a bed. They’d both learned so much, trusted and supported each other more readily now. Blair couldn’t imagine that the Jim he’d first met all those years ago, so closed off and emotionally reticent, would have held himself back from going after Kidman, staying behind purely to give comfort and reassurance to his partner.

Nor was Jim the only one who had changed. Blair had finally learned that it was alright to allow himself to accept that comfort, to stay behind and let people see when he was badly affected by something, instead of covering his true emotions with ridiculous attempts at macho bluster, then disappearing to process his thoughts alone.

Still, the mess they’d left behind at the station couldn’t be ignored. A bad reputation like his could be a dangerous thing for a cop; these latest rumors risked alienating even those people who only tolerated him in deference to Jim and Simon, if they believed that Blair’s presence was corrupting them as well. Sighing, Blair straightened up in his seat, trying to push his worries and fears aside. They were coming up to the neighborhood where the home invasion had been reported, and he couldn’t afford to be taking his personal concerns onto a crime scene. It would all have to be dealt with, but right now, his only focus was this case.

The house had already been cordoned off when they arrived, and Jim pulled up on the street alongside several patrol cars and a coroner’s wagon. The sky above was dark, and deep puddles on the ground reflected the flashing red and blue lights of the patrol cars. There were far more people just milling around than were necessary for any crime scene, and Blair mentally separated the small number of officers on one side of the cordon from the large crowd of people who had gathered out on the sidewalk to watch the spectacle.

His heart sinking at implications of the coroner’s wagon, Blair opened the door and stepped out into the rain, waiting for Jim to join him before, together, they crossed the road to the police cordon.

Jim pushed through the throng of bystanders first, flashing his police badge at the young uniform whose job was to keep the crowds back. They ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, Blair pushing back curls that were quickly growing damp from the rain.

Blair stood back and allowed Jim to take the lead as he introduced himself to the uniform. It was a kid that Blair hadn’t seen before, and he was reminded that at least one more class had completed the academy in the months since his own graduation. This kid looked younger than some of his students had been, and Blair stifled a wry grin. The old adage of knowing you were getting old when the police looked young suddenly seemed all too appropriate. At thirty, he was by no means over the hill or even middle-aged, but some of the newest rookie recruits looked like they should still have been in senior high, never mind out on the streets with a badge and a gun.

“Who’s in charge here, Officer...?” Jim paused then, apparently not recognizing this guy any more than Blair did.

“Officer Malton, Detective,” Malton supplied, seeming nervous and ill-at-ease as he addressed them. “It’s Detective Williamson from the Homicide squad. He’s inside the house with the coroner.”

“Thanks, Malton,” Jim replied, turning to cast a quick glance out across the expectant crowd before turning to Blair. “Come on, Chief, let’s go find Dan.”

“What do you think,” Blair asked when they were safely out of earshot. “His first murder call-out?”

“Probably,” Jim sighed. “Careful Sandburg, you’re not exactly a twenty-year veteran cop, either.”

“No, but I’d been going to murder scenes with you for years before I even went near the police academy,” Blair reminded him.

Jim huffed slightly. “So we’d already turned you into a world-weary cynic by then, huh?”

But Blair was saved from replying as they walked into the house, stepping carefully over the wreck of the wooden front door. The strong sense of unease that had been dogging his thoughts since getting out of the truck grew stronger the second he crossed the threshold, and Blair glanced uncertainly around the room and up the staircase to their right, wishing that he could pinpoint what was causing it.

“Dan?” Jim called out, hesitating in the hallway.

There was a scuffling noise from behind the open doorway just ahead to their left and, after a second, Dan leaned out. “Hi Jim, Blair,” he greeted. His long black hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and Blair’s first thought was that the coroner looked tired and drawn. Surmising that this was probably going to be a long, difficult crime scene, Blair steeled himself and followed Dan into the other room. Before they’d even made it through the door Dan handed them each a pair of latex gloves, and Blair pulled them on as he took in the crime scene.

They found themselves in a long, L-shaped living room, with kitchen cabinets just visible through a door at the other end. Without speaking, both Jim and Blair moved across to crouch down by the two bodies sprawled on the floor in front of the sofa. This was obviously where the murders had occurred. Pools of dark blood surrounded both bodies, slowly congealing into the ruined cream carpet beneath their feet. The woman was lying on her back, shocked eyes staring sightlessly up at the ceiling and a terrified expression frozen on her face. Her throat had been slit almost to the spine, and glistening blood had turned her blue floral dress a deep red. Blair guessed her age at mid to late sixties, with the male body maybe three or four years older.

The sickly sweet, coppery smell of blood hovered thick in the air, and Blair took a deep breath, swallowing against the bile that rose unbidden into his throat at the gruesome sight. A quick glance told him that Jim looked as appalled as he felt, rocked back on his heels and covering his nose with the back of one hand. Uncomfortably aware of what the strong smell must be doing to sentinel senses, Blair reached over and placed a hand on the small of Jim’s back in mute comfort, hoping that the touch would help to ground Jim to the present.

Jim smiled his gratitude — a brief gesture that didn’t reach his eyes — before turning back to the corpse at his feet, fully focused on the case once more. Just behind the dead woman was the body of a man. Slumped half on and half off the sofa, one hand lying across the arm, fingers outstretched towards the cordless phone sitting on a small table barely a foot away from where he’d fallen. He had a black-hilted knife buried in his chest. It looked like he’d been trying to get to the phone, perhaps even in those few seconds after he’d been stabbed, before blood loss and shock had sealed his fate.

Blair wondered whether the victim had lived long enough to see his wife have her throat slit, or if he had, at least, been spared that.

“Forensics has just about finished,” Dan revealed, and Blair glanced up from the bodies to see him leaning against the door frame. “So you can look around as much as you want.”

Sure enough, the other two people in the room with them were packing up and leaving; the younger one carefully putting away an expensive-looking camera. “I’ll move the bodies once you two have finished looking around,” Dan continued, his gaze fixed on Jim. “Just let me know if you find anything we missed.” Then, with that one veiled reference to Jim’s senses he was gone, mutely drawing the two CSI people with him.

That simple gesture, and Dan’s easy acceptance and support of Jim’s abilities, touched Blair, going some small way towards making up for the obstacles he faced within the PD. At times like this it was easy to forget that he and Jim did have close friends in the department; people who knew and accepted them for what they were without judgment or condemnation. Dan had been a good friend to both of them.

Leaving Jim to start examining the bodies, Blair hauled himself to his feet, again wishing that he’d managed to get more sleep the night before.

Moving away from the sofa and its grisly occupants, Blair crossed to the opposite wall and the collection of framed photographs. The biggest picture was of the victims, taken maybe thirty years before. It wasn’t easy to recognize the smiling young bride in the photo as the same woman who now lay dead on the floor, but this wasn’t the first murder victim he’d seen.

Sadly, none of this was exactly new to him.

Most of the pictures hanging on top of the flowery wallpaper were of the couple’s wedding day; the bride and groom and two sets of parents sporting typical bouffant 1960s haircuts. People laughing, raising a toast, enjoying the best day of their lives. A fairytale wedding and, judging by the smiling holiday pictures in the adjacent frames, a wonderful life — with a horrific ending, half a lifetime later.

A wave of sadness washed over him as he stared at the photographs. No life should end like this — torn away from loved ones in an act of such senseless violence.

Blair found himself staring into the eyes of the murdered woman, wondering what she’d seen before she died. Perhaps she’d fought back, attempting to protect her husband. Or they’d taken the couple by surprise, breaking down the door and overpowering the couple before they’d even realized what was happening.

He felt drained, deeply saddened by the sheer brutality of the murders, and it was a few moments before he realized that Jim was saying something.

“…over here. Blair?” Blair turned his head slightly in Jim’s direction, still looking down at the photographs. “Sandburg!” Jim called sharply.

The irritation in Jim’s voice was finally what pulled Blair out of his thoughts with a start, and he had to physically tear himself away from the photographs. “Hmm? What?” he asked, sounding distracted.

“Snap out of it!”

“Out of what?” Blair asked, bewildered.

Jim was frowning, still crouched on the floor by the bodies but now his upper body was twisted around in Blair’s direction. “What are you doing over there?” Jim asked, rising slowly to his feet and taking a step towards Blair.

Still confused, feeling as if he’d walked straight into the middle of a conversation, Blair gestured towards the photographs on the wall. “I was looking…”

“I’ve been calling you. Didn’t you hear me?”

Reflexively checking his watch, Blair shook his head. “No. I was just…thinking…”

Jim didn’t look even remotely convinced and the frown lines across his forehead grew even deeper, but after another few moments of uncomfortable scrutiny, he eventually nodded.

“What did you want?” Blair prompted.

“There’s something here,” Jim replied, and Blair stepped back over to join him by the sofa.

Turning back to the body of the husband, Jim gestured to the man’s right arm. Beneath the drying blood and ruined the short-sleeved shirt his arms were sun-kissed and toned, but Blair shook his head. He couldn’t see what Jim was pointing at.

“There are faint indentations on his skin. Here,” Jim continued, pointing at his forearm just below the elbow, “and here,” he said, pointing at the same area on the man’s left arm.

Blair leaned down, moving closer to the body and having to consciously block out the smell of blood. Dial it down, he thought morbidly, wishing not for the first time that his senses allowed him to block things out as easily as Jim’s did. Nevertheless, he couldn’t make out what Jim had seen. Apparently though, Jim didn’t expect him to, because he carried on talking without waiting for Blair to reply.

“I’d say he was pinned down on the sofa before he was killed,” Jim straightened up again, running a hand across his face. “His assailant probably held him down — a hand on either arm to stop him from struggling, before letting go of one hand and stabbing him in the chest.” He paused, turning his head and shifting his shoulders slightly, his hands hovering over the body as if mentally measuring something out. “He possibly knelt on the man’s legs as well, bodily pinning him down to stop him from struggling. It happened too close to the time of death to be sure.”

Then Jim climbed to his feet and Blair followed suit. “I’m going to look around upstairs,” Jim said, “see if it looks like anything’s missing.

“I’ll do the same down here,” Blair replied, and Jim nodded before heading out of the room. A few seconds later, Blair could hear him climbing the stairs, the floorboards creaking with every step.

Blair surveyed the room again, for the moment ignoring the sofa and its grisly remains. There had obviously been quite a struggle; tables and chairs were smashed down the end of the room, papers and broken ornaments littering the carpet everywhere he looked.

Walking over to the kitchen doorway, Blair looked inside. Unlike the living room this was still in pristine order and, with the exception of an open drawer, it didn’t look as if their assailants had spent any time in here. Blair only had to take two steps into the galley-style room to confirm that it was the cutlery drawer — the one with the knives — that was open. It didn’t look like the killers had brought their murder weapon with them, so perhaps this was a crime of opportunity rather than pre-meditated murder? Either way, the result was the same.

Moving back into the living room, Blair crossed into the other half of the L-shaped space, to the smashed table and chairs. There had obviously been a pile of papers on top of the table, all of which were now littered over the wreckage and the floor, whatever order they had been in completely destroyed. Crouching down, Blair began looking through them; unpaid bills, bank statements, junk mail, nothing seemed especially out of the ordinary. Just more evidence of two lives that had come to an unexpected, violent end. Blair didn’t think that he’d ever get used to it.

Everywhere he looked were reminders of this couple’s life together. It was such a normal looking house; slightly dated décor as if they’d lived here a little too long, oak furniture, net curtains at the windows. Blair could just imagine them spending time here, sitting together on the flowery, two-seater sofa, watching the portable television in the corner. Eating dinner together, making love, sharing their lives with each other, the same way he did with Jim, until suddenly, one day, someone broke in and took that all away from them — no warning, no remorse.

Partly buried beneath the papers were several magazines; their pages wet, crumpled and stuck together. Pushing back his own sadness and wondering how they’d managed to get wet, Blair gingerly pushed aside this week’s TV Guide and a copy of Women’s Home Journal before finding pieces of broken glass and a drying puddle of liquid. Recognizing it as a glass of water that must have been smashed during the fatal struggle, Blair reached for one of the pieces, careful not to cut himself on the jagged edges.

Before his fingers could even touch the glass, the whispering began again. Louder now than ever before it screamed at him, thousands of distinct voices demanding his attention. Then it hit him; a wave of utter, heart-wrenching despair that took him completely by surprise, the sheer intensity knocking him back on his ass. The world spun around him and he squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden nausea. He could feel it battering at him from every direction; despair, blind terror and an almost palpable, uncontrollable rage. The glass dropped unnoticed from his fingers and Blair curled forward instinctively, one hand going to his head as he fought against the painful pressure building behind his eyes.

//Why do you care?//

The voice that echoed through his head was instantly recognizable as the same one from his dream the night before.

“What?” Blair muttered softly, the pain in his head throbbing far worse when he spoke.

//Why do you care?// the voice repeated. //You grieve for them, and you hurt for them, and yet you do not help them//

“I’m trying,” Blair whispered into the darkness, eyes still tightly shut.

//No//

“What do you want from me?” Blair demanded, anger and fear making his voice louder, followed swiftly by a tight whimper of pain as his head threatened to split in two.

//You have the power to do real good, and yet you choose not to use it. You reject your gifts, and you offend the Guardians//

But I’m afraid, Blair thought, and apparently the voice could hear his thoughts as well as his words, because the answer was swift and, he suspected from the tone, more than a little amused.

//Nothing in life is easy, Amaut’a Sanqo// The mention of his shamanic name brought back the memory of another waking vision, where he’d formally been anointed as Jim’s guide through the spirit realm.

A sharp slap across his face pulled him out of the vision, and Blair instantly toppled forward. There was a surprised gasp from somewhere above him, and hands grabbed him before he could hit the floor. His cheek pressing against thin cotton, Blair groggily opened his eyes and realized he was slumped against someone’s chest, a heavy beat still trying to force its way out through his head.

“Ellison!”

Somehow, he’d automatically expected that Jim would be the one holding him, but instead he heard Dan Wolfe’s voice echoing above him. He felt the vibration of the word buzzing into his ear as the deep voice rumbled from Dan’s chest. After a long moment, though his head was still spinning crazily around him, Blair began to try and sit up, placing a shaking hand against the worn carpeting.

“Oh hey, take it easy,” Dan cautioned, adjusting his grip until he was supporting Blair, one hand on his back and one tucked under his chin, tilting his head back to look into his dazed eyes. He nodded to himself as Blair watched silently, his mind still fighting to connect with reality. Then Dan turned his head away before again shouting loudly: “Ellison! Get in here!” Then he turned his attention back to Blair who was, at least, aware enough to recognize the anger gathering in Dan’s eyes. “Are you all right?”

“I think so,” Blair said, breathing heavily. Dan was on his knees next to where he was sprawled on the ground, only a few feet away from the bodies of the murder victims. The sight was doing nothing to help Blair’s residual nausea from the vision, and so he turned his head away. First rule of police work was never to contaminate the crime scene by throwing up, no matter how distressing the sight, but Blair didn’t think his legs would hold him yet if he tried to get to the door. The small piece of glass he’d found was right by his knees.

“Blair!” Jim’s voice was tight with fear as he appeared in the doorway, taking in the scene and striding over to them both. “What happened?”

Carefully releasing Blair, Dan stepped back to let Ellison reach his partner, shaking his head. “What’s happening is you two aren’t fit to be on the streets,” he hissed furiously. “What the hell do you think you’re playing at?”

“What are you talking about?” Jim snapped coldly.

“You had a vision, didn’t you?” Dan asked of Blair, who nodded silently. “I’ve seen Ben have them often enough over the years. I take it you haven’t done anything about your abilities yet?”

Blair glanced uneasily at Jim before quietly admitting that he hadn’t.

“What the hell’s the matter with you both?” Dan demanded. “It’s been months; did you have such a good time with the shaman sickness the last time that you thought you’d give it another go?”

“That’s enough,” Jim cut him off, stepping partially between Dan and Blair as he gently drew Blair to his feet. Still feeling shaky, uncomfortably aware of the black spots dancing across his vision, Blair gripped tightly on to Jim’s forearms to keep his balance.

But Dan was apparently immune to the infamous Ellison cold shoulder, because he ignored the warning in Jim’s tone and carried on speaking. “No, it’s not,” he stated flatly. “You have to do something about this now, one way or another, or you’re not safe to be around. What if this had happened in the middle of confronting a suspect? You could have got yourself killed. Or someone else,” he added for emphasis, glancing across at Jim. “This has got to stop!”

“I know,” Blair finally replied, his voice hoarse and croaking. “We were going to come and talk to you today anyway, Dan,” he added. “We want you to call Ben Thundercloud and see if he’ll help us. Please, I need his help.”

Sighing, Dan’s shoulders lost their tension and he nodded. “Go on, get out before you screw up my crime scene,” he said, but his voice held none of the tight-lipped fury that had been present just minutes before. “I’m about ready to transport the bodies back to the morgue. I’ll call Ben when I get back to the department. He’s been asking about the two of you anyway.”

“Thanks, Dan,” Jim said quietly, leading Blair out of the living room without another word.

Blair’s strength returned quickly, and by the time they reached the wrecked front door he’d shrugged off Jim’s steadying hand, unwilling to appear weak in front of cops who would seek out any excuse to belittle him. The rain was coming down steadily now, and together they threaded their way silently through the various people moving around outside until they were both leaning against the side of Jim’s truck. The drops of water landing steadily on Blair’s face helped to drive away the last of the cobwebs.

“What happened?” Jim asked quietly, once they were safely out of earshot of anyone else.

“A vision,” Blair went on to explain about the broken glass, the whispering and the voice inside his head.

“Two warnings in twenty-four hours,” Jim said soberly, and Blair nodded.

“I think they’re trying to tell me something.”

~*~*~

Once outside Blair’s strength returned quickly, and despite Jim’s suggestion that he should go home and rest, he insisted on staying to work the crime scene. This was the frustrating side of police work; the kind that never made it to the TV screens where cop shows were often just one long car chase. Long hours were spent painstakingly searching every crime scene and the nearby streets for any clue that might help them find the perpetrator. Dozens of witnesses had to be questioned, starting with everyone who had been milling around just outside the police cordon, and spreading out to nearby houses, passing cars and anyone who might conceivably have seen something.

Building up a picture of a life cut short took time, and every cop on duty was all too well aware that each passing hour was more time that the killers had to cover their tracks.

One small silver lining was, at least, the fact that a double homicide was one of the most serious crimes possible, even in a big city like Cascade. As a result, they had as many uniformed officers as they needed at their disposal to help with the investigation.

All the interviews were well underway by the time Jim and Blair had come outside but they pitched in anyway, separating to cover as much ground with potential witnesses as possible, while trained officers went through the rest of the house with a fine-toothed comb.

The basic picture started coming together pretty quickly. The victims’ names were Audrey and James Nelson. They were a quiet, unassuming couple by all accounts, who were devoted to each other and kept themselves to themselves. Married for thirty years, both were in their sixties and, as Blair had already assumed thanks to what had been missing from the small collection of photographs, neither had any children.

From what Blair could make out, both through his own interviews and the snatches of conversation he overheard from his fellow officers, most of the onlookers milling around outside the victims’ home were claiming to have seen nothing. Their attention had, instead, been attracted by the flashing lights and inevitable commotion after the bodies had been found.

In a less reputable neighborhood he might have believed that they were all hiding something, that the Nelsons had been the victims of some kind of gangland killing or retribution that people were too afraid to speak out about. But this street wasn’t in the heart of the gangland territories that littered the outskirts of Cascade. This was typical suburbia — middle-class houses people and houses with white picket fences.

Not your typical gangland territory, but all too familiar for the home invasions and robberies that so often took place. The sad thing was that this case normally wouldn’t even warrant the involvement of the Major Crime division, if there hadn’t been six other almost identical break-ins during the past two weeks.

It was difficult to work out when the attacks had started. Robberies took place all over Cascade every day, but gradually some had begun to stand out from the rest. At first they were more of a nuisance than anything else. Homes were wrecked; furniture slashed and drawers emptied out, but nothing was stolen and no-one was hurt. The break-ins hadn’t even been noticed at first. It was only in retrospect that the sheer ferocity of the destruction — present at all the crime scenes — made it clear that the same people were responsible.

Unfortunately, they hadn’t stuck at petty vandalism for long. It wasn’t long before red paint was being thrown around inside the houses, giving every room the appearance of a bloodbath. Then it had taken a more sinister turn, when the red paint had been replaced with the blood of a loved family pet.

Every cop on the case had known, then, that it wouldn’t be long before human blood was spilt. Two weeks on, four people were in the hospital, one languished in a coma and now two were dead, and there was no sign that any of it would stop unless the police stopped them. That knowledge pressed down on every cop working the crime scene, and yet no-one seemed to able to give a reliable description of the perpetrators. None of those who’d been hospitalized had seen anything useful; they’d all been ambushed from behind as they arrived home — some remembered nothing of the attacks at all. It was only after the attacks had put one woman in a coma, and the media had taken an interest, that the case was pushed up to Major Crime. Now all eyes were on Captain Banks and his team to produce some kind of miracle before anyone else got hurt.

They were already too late to save the Nelsons.

So Blair pressed on, making notes and talking to person after person until the names and faces all began to blur into one. The closest neighbor on the left hand side, a buxom, single Jamaican woman called Lora Mitchell, had moved into the street barely a month after the Nelsons, and seemed to have known them both pretty well.

Lora, in fact, was the one who had made the 911 call, but even so she hadn’t managed to see anything. It seemed that she had been in the shower when the door had been kicked in; she’d heard the sound of wood cracking but thought little of it until she’d glanced out of the window while drying herself off and seen the Nelsons’ front door hanging off its hinges.

“Well I called the police that very minute,” she explained to Blair, her damp, knotted hair and the thick red bathrobe she was currently wrapped in all supporting her story.

“And you didn’t see anyone acting suspiciously today at all? Anyone running away afterwards?”

“No, sugar, I didn’t,” Lora replied, her large brown eyes looking Blair up and down as she talked. “Someone rang my doorbell while I was in the shower, but that was a good ten minutes before I heard the wood crack, and I didn’t answer it. I wish I’d looked out the window as soon as I heard it. Maybe I’d have seen something, but I just figured it was kids messing around.”

“Didn’t you think they might have damaged something of yours?” Blair asked. “If the noise was loud enough for you to hear over the sound of the shower running?”

“Now, child, I wasn’t going to be able to do much about it then, was I?” she sounded surprised. “Running outside dressed in nothing but a towel, dripping water all over my linoleum. Besides, you know what kids are like. I thought I’d look outside to find a football sitting in my flower beds. I plain wasn’t expecting to see something like this.” With that she put a hand up against her cheek, sneaking a glance at the Nelsons’ open doorway just in time to see the first of the Coroner’s stretchers being wheeled out. The sight of the black bodybag silenced more than one conversation out on the sidewalk. “Oh, poor Audrey,” she whispered to herself.

“Just one more question, Miss Mitchell,” Blair prompted, trying to draw her attention away from the distressing sight.

“Oh sugar, call me Lora,” she said automatically, turning back and offering him a thin, watery smile.

“Lora, did you hear anything further after the sound of the wood breaking?”

She thought for a moment before nodding slowly. “Now that you think about it, I do think I heard a car braking, screeching as if it was taking a corner too fast. About ten minutes after I heard the first noise, just as I was getting out of the shower. But that’s nothing out of the ordinary, you understand, the kids they use these streets like a race-track all manner of the day and night. I’ve called Congressman Taylor about it every week for a month, but it’s not an election year, so he just plain don’t want to know.”

Blair nodded, thanking her for her time and moving away before she could get too caught up in her tangent. Screeching car brakes supported their theory that this break-in was part of the case they were already investigating. Robert Matthews had vaguely remembered driving past a nondescript white van as he’d turned into his street before discovering his wife Laura’s unconscious body on their hall floor. It had been three interviews before he’d even recalled that much, the van only sticking in his distant memory because it had come round the corner on the wrong side of the road, nearly clipping the front of his sedan in the process. Unfortunately he’d noticed nothing but the vehicle’s color, and it wasn’t nearly enough for them to go on.

The crowd was quickly dispersing now that the bodies had been removed, and most of the officers would probably be able to head back to the station soon enough, ready to type up reports and begin the slow, laborious process of conducting second interviews and following-up on what little evidence they could find. While Jim and Blair were running the overall investigation, it wasn’t unusual in cases like this for uniformed officers to take on as much of the groundwork as possible, running down information that the detectives could then follow-up on.

Across the other side of the muddy, waterlogged lawn, Blair noticed that Jim appeared to be finishing his own interview with a lanky teenage kid who’d been hanging around, and he headed over to join his partner, shaking water out of his curls as the rain ran down his back, soaking his thin jacket and making him shiver.

“Find anything?” he asked as he crossed the last few feet, closing his notebook and tucking it away in an inside pocket to protect it from the rain. Jim shook his head, his features tight with tension and annoyance. “Just like the others, Chief,” he admitted. “No one saw anything.”

Blair sighed. “The neighbor next door called 911, said she heard the door splintering,” he pointed back to Lora Mitchell’s house. “And then heard a car take the corner too fast.”

Jim raised his eyebrows. “The van from the Matthews’ place?”

“Maybe, but she didn’t see anything. How can this have happened in broad daylight and no one saw anything?” he muttered in frustration. “There are plenty of people with enough spare time to mill about on the street now that the police are here.”

“That’s just morbid curiosity, Sandburg; you know that.”

Blair huffed in reply. They were going round in circles with this case, and now two people were dead and they still had nothing to go on. He simply couldn’t be as accepting of the painstakingly slow pace of police work as his more experienced partner. Somehow, Blair doubted that he ever would be.

Jim rubbed his hands together, blowing on his fingers to ward off the damp chill. “Doesn’t look like they had any children,” he commented.

“Lora at number ninety-two confirmed that,” Blair replied, ignoring Jim’s smirk at his use of the woman’s first name. “It’ll make it difficult to find out if anything’s been taken.”

“I took a quick look in their bedroom while I was upstairs,” Jim revealed. “The place is a mess, but there’s some nice looking jewelry still on the windowsill. It might be fake, but I don’t see these guys being particularly discerning thieves that would have told the difference. I don’t think that robbery was the real motivation here.”

“So what was?”

Jim shrugged. “The usual, Sandburg. Thrill seeking, random violence, maybe the killers were strung out on something.”

Blair shook his head. “Even paste jewelry is worth a couple of dollars for a fix, and whoever assaulted Mrs. Matthews got the money from their safe, remember? I don’t see this being drug motivated, otherwise there are plenty of houses on this street that seem like better prospects for a raid than the Nelsons.”

Jim nodded his agreement. The Nelsons’ home, for all that it was neat and tidy, looked as dated on the outside as it did on the inside. There was nothing major, but some of the wooden window frames needed attention, and the little flowerbed down by the sidewalk could have used a little care. In comparison, the house across the street was absolutely spotless, almost overly so, with a convertible in the driveway that clearly suggested whoever lived inside had spare cash to go around.

With that Jim’s gaze shifted to Blair’s left, and Blair turned round to find Officer Malton standing nervously behind them, looking cold, wet and thoroughly miserable. Even so he blushed, stammering when he realized that he was the center of their attention. “What is it, Officer?” Jim asked.

“The…the Homicide D…detectives are getting ready to leave,” Malton said. “Detective Rogansky wants to talk to you.”

Jim nodded, dismissing him as he turned to seek out Sue Rogansky. Her shock of red hair stood out even in the rain, plastered to her head as she stood talking to one of her colleagues. Catching her eye, Jim waved slightly and started walking over to them. “Come on, Sandburg,” he said, gesturing Blair to go ahead of him with a hand on his back like always.

“Hi Jim, Blair,” Sue greeted. “How are things up on the sixth floor?” she asked cheerfully.

“Not bad, Sue,” Jim replied with a soft smile. Jim and Rogansky had worked together in Vice in the years before they’d both transferred to different departments, and in that time had begun an easy, open friendship. “Have you put in for a transfer yet?” he prompted, and Sue shook her head with a smile and a wink in Blair’s direction. “How could I?” she asked. “Someone’s already nabbed my partner.”

“Sorry, Sue,” Blair said, at the same time as Jim chimed in, “What can I say? I’m a popular man!”

“I heard about Captain Banks’ engagement,” Sue added, and Blair felt Jim immediately stiffen beside him. “I’m not sure how I’d feel about having Banks as a stepfather,” she added. “But I hope it all goes well.” Blair muttered his thanks, glad that at least someone outside of Major Crime wasn’t automatically assuming nepotism. “This look like one of yours?” Sue continued, jerking her head in the direction of the Nelson house.

“It’s a bit early to tell,” Jim replied, “but I think so. It’s too coincidental otherwise, and we knew they were going to escalate.”

“Then it’s your case with my compliments,” Sue said, her southern drawl clear. “Better you than me, boys; there’s not much to go on here. You’ll have my report on your desk in the morning.”

With that she left, and with her departure the crime scene suddenly seemed empty. The rest of the homicide unit’s presence had gone with her, along with many of the uniforms, and only two uniforms were left behind to guard the house while the detailed sweep of the house itself continued.

Both Jim and Blair knew it would take hours to complete, and that, since Jim’s senses had failed to find much during his sweep, there was little more they could do but head back to the station and begin to run down the few leads they had.

Climbing into the truck and pulling a towel out from under the bench seats, Blair ran it over his face to get rid of the worst of the water. After giving orders to Malton and the rest of the uniforms, Jim joined him, buckling-up and starting the engine.

Blair passed the trip back downtown with a heavy heart, all too aware that time was getting away from them. With nothing particularly significant having been found at the crime scene, they were reliant on Forensics to come up with something, otherwise Blair had an awful feeling that this — like all the other home invasions — was going to end up as one of too many unsolved cases, offering little comfort for those left behind.

~*~*~

Searching the crime scene had taken pretty much the whole morning, and they stopped off to grab some lunch from a nearby sandwich bar before heading for the station. Back in the bullpen, Jim threw his paper bag down on the desk, wearily pulling off his coat and hanging it on the rack before slumping down into his chair.

At the next desk, Blair did the same, only his jacket ended up in a heap on the floor. The chicken sub he’d ordered was as unappetizing as it looked, and he chewed his way through three bites that tasted like cardboard before giving up and dumping it in the trash. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Jim watching him throw away most of his meal, and Blair braced himself for a lecture that, surprisingly, never came. Instead Jim said nothing while he finished his own food, then disappeared out of the bullpen without a word, returning a few minutes later with a black coffee that Blair accepted with a grateful smile. Coffee was about the limit of what he could stomach at the moment.

However macho and stoic he tried to be, the worst crime scenes always left him with no appetite whatsoever and, thanks to the kinds of cases they worked, this was becoming quite the regular thing for them. Blair was under no illusions though that the crime scene was the only reason why his stomach felt like lead. Coming back to the station had forcefully reminded him of the ugly scene with Kidman that morning, and Blair was still expecting Internal Affairs to come barreling through the door demanding his shield.

He wasn’t altogether sure he’d blame them if they did.

Then there was the knowledge that, even now, Dan Wolfe was probably down in the morgue on the phone to Ben Thundercloud, informing him that the sentinel and his shaman had finally come to their senses and needed his help. Blair was aware that he’d seriously screwed-up by waiting this long to face his preternatural abilities, and if Ben didn’t turn him away for being such an idiot he’d count himself very, very lucky.

One way or another, Blair hadn’t felt quite so like a little boy waiting to be hauled in front of the principal since he’d left grade school. Even Chancellor Edwards on one of her infamous tirades against Rainier’s social sciences faculties hadn’t made him this apprehensive.

Leaning both elbows on his desk, Blair pushed away the files waiting for his attention and wrapped his hands around his coffee cup, closing his eyes and taking a sip of the bitter liquid. The coffee was too hot but he sipped at it anyway, only giving the most cursory blow across the top in deference to the scalding temperature.

Still Jim said nothing.

It was all too much; too many things to deal with and Blair felt like he was fighting obstacles in every conceivable direction, each one determined to put him down. Blair desperately wanted someone to take over, someone he could just delegate all his decision-making too until he got back on more of an even keel.

He knew that Jim would take on that role gladly, and it was on the tip of his tongue to ask him to do just that, but he’d always been fiercely independent. Deep down Blair knew that he could no more hand over control to someone else than he could walk across water, even if he was learning that he could lean on Jim as their relationship deepened. Ultimately, these were his messes, his decisions to make and, however hard it was, he was just going to have to deal with the consequences of his actions, one thing at a time.

One step at a time.

As mantras went, he’d had worse.

Nodding to himself, Blair took a deep breath, the strong scent of the coffee under his nose strangely comforting, and opened his eyes to find Simon standing in front of his desk, staring down at him. The presence startled him, making him jump and the coffee sloshed over the rim and over his hand, spots of dark liquid already making a beeline for the closed folders on his desk.

“Shit,” Blair exclaimed angrily, reaching for something to mop it up before it ruined official paperwork. That was the last thing he needed right now, having to spend time going through and replacing everything all over again.

Jim pressed a wad of tissue into his hand, and Blair glanced up from his frantic task of moving all the papers that hadn’t yet been soiled just in time to see the quiet laughter dancing in Jim’s eyes. He couldn’t blame him, though, and the amusement was such a welcome change after the concern that had become ever-present, that Blair couldn’t stay angry for long. He began to chuckle despite himself, pent-up emotion starting to drain out of him like someone had opened the release valve.

When his desk was finally clear of coffee, if not exactly dry, Blair gathered up the files. Thankfully only one was stained, and that was just his own scribbled notes instead of anything official. Picking up the wet mess of paper towel he leaned over and tossed them into the trashcan, making a fist in celebration when his shot went straight into the center of the metal bin.

Nothing but net.

Small steps, right? Blair would take what he could get.

His mission accomplished, Blair looked up at the Captain, pasting on the biggest smile he could manage. “Can I help you, sir?” he asked, fighting back another grin as Simon’s eyebrows almost reached his hairline.

“Sir?” he echoed. “Damn, Sandburg, if I’d known that was what it would take to get a little respect around here,” he began, but the grin made it perfectly clear that he was only playing around.

Blair leaned back in his chair and spread his hands out to either side. “I’m only here to serve, Captain.”

Simon nodded, leaning over to snag a free chair at the empty desk next to Blair’s and wheeling it over between Jim and Blair’s desk before sitting down. “In that case, you can tell me about these latest murders,” he said, crossing his arms and waiting for a report.

But as the senior on the case it was Jim who answered him, briefly running through what little they’d found at the crime scene. Sadly it didn’t take long, and Jim’s words dried up with a grimace and a shrug. He was as frustrated with this case as Blair himself.

“So where does that leave us?” Simon prompted. “The Mayor is already hounding my ass about these home invasions; the press are having a field day. Things are only going to get worse now that people have died.”

Blair nodded; he’d seen the front pages himself. As serious as the cases were, the journalists who had once turned on him like so many vultures were now making things ten times worse, stirring up panic among Cascade’s residents with articles that suggested no one was safe, and that gangs of armed robbers were waiting around every corner to attack people in their own homes.

“Honestly, Simon? I’m not sure,” Jim replied, picking up a pen from his desk and fiddling with it as he spoke. “The first home invasion we think we’ve linked to this gang was just a straightforward robbery when no one was home, nothing taken but some jewelry and cash that was lying around. The second, three days later, happened on the other side of town when the occupants were home — a mother and her two small children,” his voice hardened as he spoke, as it always did when kids were involved. “The kids are just babies so the only witness we have is the mother, who was overpowered and blindfolded on her way into the house, so she didn’t see anything. Some ornaments were taken, but nothing of any value at all. That’s how it continues — no one ever sees anything, there’s never been a description, and each attack is more violent than the last. But as to how they’re choosing their victims, there doesn’t seem to be any discernible pattern at all.”

Simon sighed. “Jim, I can’t go back to the Mayor, shrug my shoulders and admit that we don’t have a clue,” he said. “At least give me something to work with while I tap-dance.” He paused and then, before Jim had a chance to come up with an answer, Simon spoke again. “Why are you so certain that it’s a gang?”

“Instinct. I don’t think any one person, short of someone who was ex-military, could have overpowered and subdued all these people without being seen, or without seriously risking someone getting away and raising the alarm.”

“There’s not even any real timescale to work on,” Blair added. “Sometimes the attacks happen a week apart, but sometimes they come one day after another.”

“Could it be kids? One of the neighborhood gangs looking for cheap thrills?”

“Absolutely, though they’re not usually known for being this good at staying under the radar,” Jim said. “Besides, the invasions are crossing the gang territories; there’d have been reprisals by now if it was one of the neighborhood gangs. I’ve put the word out to all my snitches and we’re doing everything by the book — running down recent parolees, unusual gang movement, and we’ve got uniform circulating descriptions of the missing jewelry to all the pawn shops, but so far we’re coming up empty.”

Simon didn’t look happy, so Blair spoke up again. “Maybe we’ll get lucky with the forensics report on the Nelsons’ house?” he offered.

“When’s that due back?”

“Not for a couple of days,” Blair said, watching Simon’s face fall all over again. “Forensics is still backed up from the other cases. I’ve already asked Sam to put a rush on the evidence from the Nelson crime scene and from the answer I got, man, I am not asking again, Simon, not even for you.” Blair shuddered, putting his hands up in front of him as if warding off an attacker of his own. “She’d probably dice me up and run me through her mass-spectrometer or something.”

That was enough to startle a chuckle out of Simon, who shook his head and stood up, evidently resigned that no cases were going to be miraculously solved that day.

Before he could walk back to his office, though, Blair took a deep breath and caught his attention. Needing to take a few days off wasn’t exactly a good timing with a major case to try and break, but Blair knew he couldn’t afford to put it off much longer. “Ah…Captain?” he began hesitantly, and Simon turned back to them, his expression instantly wary.

“Why does that word instantly make me nervous, Sandburg?” he asked, straightening his back and crossing his arms in front of him in his typical ‘Me, Captain’ stance.

“Jim and I were hoping that we could take some time off?” Glancing over at Jim, Blair mentally invited him to step in any time he felt like it. “I’ve been here long enough to earn some comp time,” he added in the hope that would make any difference.

“Is that all?” Simon asked. “I don’t see why not. Just see Rhonda and she’ll find you a slot in the schedule.”

“Actually,” Blair interrupted, “We were kind of hoping we could take this weekend off…and Friday as well.”

“What? In the middle of the most high-profile case you’ve had in months?” he echoed incredulously. “Sandburg, I can’t do that!”

“I know it’s bad timing,” Blair rushed on, “but we really need this weekend off.”

Banks apparently caught the stress in Blair’s voice because he immediately lowered his voice, glancing nervously around them and inadvertently attracting Rafe’s attention, who watched them curiously from across the bullpen. “Is this a sentinel thing?” Simon all but whispered.

“More like a shaman thing,” Jim chimed in softly, coming round from his desk and standing next to Simon.

Simon groaned, holding up his hand to stop them from saying any more. “Do you guys enjoy making my life difficult?” he asked wearily. “And to think things used to be so simple.”

Half a dozen different smart-alec remarks came to Blair’s mind, but he swallowed them back down again and wisely stayed silent. One thing he’d gradually learned over the years working both with, and for, Simon, was when they could have a laugh and a joke, and when things had to be strictly professional. Whatever jerks like Kidman might think of him, it was a lesson he was employing more and more now that his relationship with Simon was becoming increasingly complicated.

“Blair’s abilities are getting stronger again, Simon,” Jim explained as Blair looked on uncomfortably, feeling his face grow red with embarrassment as they talked.

Was this how hard Jim had always found it when he and Simon would talk about his sentinel abilities in front of him as if he wasn’t even there? Not for the first time since this had all started, Blair thought back with regret at just how often he’d been so utterly thoughtless working with Jim, often speaking out of turn with neither thought nor regard to Jim’s feelings and his intense need for privacy. “We need to get this sorted out once and for all, before it all gets completely out of hand.”

Blair’s face grew even redder when Simon’s look of frustration instantly became one of pure concern, and he turned back to regard Blair with such intense scrutiny that Blair squirmed under the attention, childishly fighting back the urge to scuff his feet against the floor like a ten-year-old child.

“Are you all right, son?”

He nodded. “Everything’s fine, Simon,” he assured, “but Jim’s right — it won’t be for much longer unless I can go to see Ben Thundercloud.”

Simon nodded, running a hand through his short hair and reaching for the cigar tucked into his shirt pocket. But he didn’t light it, instead just rolling it through his fingers as he stared down at the floor, obviously unsettled. “Fair enough,” he said quietly. “Maybe it’s for the best and it’ll let all this nonsense about my engagement to your mother settle down some.”

“Are you sure it won’t reflect badly on you that you’re giving us time off on such short notice?” Blair couldn’t help asking, well aware that certain people in the building would see it as just one more example of Simon’s favoritism of his soon-to-be son.

Simon’s features closed over, all the previous gentleness gone. “Just you let me worry about them,” he snapped, and Blair frowned, wondering what Simon had in mind. “You concentrate on keeping yourself safe,” he added gruffly. “I don’t want to be taking any last minute plane journeys to Sierra Verde in the near future, Sandburg, you hear me?”

Oddly touched, Blair nodded, feeling unable to respond. He wasn’t good at all this male bonding stuff and he probably never would be. For all the men who’d been present during his formative years, few of them had had any real time to spare on a small, geeky child when his mother was a far more appealing option.

As a result, he’d never really had a father figure to show him how men behaved with each other and, now, standing with Simon in what was a surprisingly awkward conversation, it occurred to Blair that he was getting a sudden, brief insight into what it might have been like to have a real father.

“Right,” Simon announced, clearing his throat and evidently ending the discussion. “You can have Friday and Saturday off, and you’re off the rota on Sunday already, so that’s settled. I’ll clear it with Rhonda. That gives you twenty-four hours before then to find me something to appease the Mayor and his media vultures,” he added wryly. “His Worship needs a sound bite for the eleven o’clock news.”

“Yes, sir,” Jim and Blair chorused together, grinning across at each other. Shaking his head in mock despair, Simon walked slowly back to his office, closing his door behind him.

Blair turned back to the files on his desk, determined to find something that could help them to break this case. If there was one thing he’d learned at the Academy, it was that there was no such thing as the perfect crime. There were clues everywhere, as long as you knew what to look for.

Only as he lifted his head from the papers, reaching for a pencil to scribble some notes down with, did Blair notice that Simon was staring at him from inside his office, a worried expression on his face.

~*~*~

Unfortunately, good intentions meant little when searching for cold, hard facts, and the afternoon dragged on into early evening without either man discovering a single thing. When Blair finally resorted to throwing his pen across the room in frustration, Jim physically removed him from the bullpen, steering Blair straight into the elevator and hitting the button for the basement.

“Come on, Chief,” he said flatly, his tone refusing to accept any argument. “Time to go and see Dan, then we’ll head home. We can’t do any more tonight.”

“Why can’t we find it?” Blair demanded. “If we’re so sure that these guys are opportunists, then surely they can’t have planned things so damn perfectly that they didn’t leave a single clue behind. We have to be missing something!”

Jim remained silent, and as the elevator doors slid open at the third floor to allow someone else on, Blair subsided with a weary sigh, unwilling to let anyone other than Jim see how badly this case was getting to him. Even though as he could — and had — spent days sitting patiently with indigenous tribes in the hopes that they would open up their way of life to him, Blair was all too well aware that he lacked that same patience when dealing with his own inadequacies. These people weren’t going to stop until the police made them.

Unfortunately, the police were just going round in circles, chasing ambulances and always getting there two hours too late.

Nevertheless, his anger subsided quickly as their ride started again, and he listened to two uniformed officers he didn’t recognize talking about last night’s baseball game. He and Jim had caught the end of it as well, flaked out on the sofa together with a beer, trying so hard to pretend that everything in their world was normal. That last sliver of normality seemed like so long ago — a dim and distant memory that he clung to. All the current uncertainty would pass soon enough, and they’d find the people responsible for the home invasions.

Blair refused to consider any other outcome.

The quiet bell that rang as the elevator doors opened in front of the morgue called him back from his thoughts, and Blair stepped out first, Jim staying close beside. The paranoid little voice inside his head wondered whether the uniforms would start talking about him once he was out of earshot, but he didn’t see any of the usual signs that Jim had overheard something he didn’t like.

Pushing open the door to his left, he held it open for Jim, bracing himself and idly wishing for his jacket as they moved into the cold, dry air of the mortuary. He’d never liked this place, even as a civilian, and while he was always happy to spend more time with Dan, these rooms had always held a certain, pervasive sadness about them that he avoided whenever he could. Once he’d have passed it off as the product of an overactive imagination, but after everything else he’d seen, Blair was beginning to wonder whether his shamanic abilities were picking up something tangible, as if the bodies that were brought here were leaving some kind of emotional mark on their final surroundings — a whisper of their forgotten souls. He made a mental note to ask Ben about it, aware not for the first time that he’d barely scratched the surface of what it truly meant to be a shaman.

Then Dan appeared, walking through the small door at the other side of his office to greet them with a tired smile. The door closed behind him; frosted glass panels offering an indistinguishable glimpse into the mortuary beyond. Judging by the drying blood splattered across Dan’s white overalls, Blair suspected that if the glass were clear he’d see the Nelsons’ bodies stretched out on metal tables, one or both of them opened up for autopsy.

“Hi guys.” Dan’s gaze flickered across them both before settling on Blair, looking him up and down as if assessing him. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” Blair replied with his own tight smile, stubbornly ignoring the flash of skepticism that crossed his friend’s face. “Have you finished the autopsies?”

Dan shook his head. “I’ve only just got started working on Audrey Nelson,” he said, “and I’ll start on her husband straight after. You probably won’t get any preliminary post-mortem reports until mid-morning at the earliest, I’m afraid, and it’ll be at least two days after that before we get all the tox results back from the lab.”

Jim nodded; all the departments had been warned last week that the forensics lab was backed up, thanks to a burst water pipe that had flooded the entire ground floor of the building, ruining the evidence from several cases and wiping out some of the processing labs completely. “Did you manage to get through to Ben?”

“I did. He’s away staying with the Okanogan, but he said he’ll be back at the reservation tomorrow morning. You can go up then.”

The relief on Jim’s face was plain to see, and Blair couldn’t ignore his own feelings of shame at putting his lover through this fear and uncertainty all over again. “Simon agreed to give us Friday off, so we’ll head up early that morning.”

“I’ll let him know. Oh, and Ben gave me a message for you, Blair. He said ‘it’s about time’.” Then Dan added, after a moment’s hesitation: “He also told me to tell you it’s not yet too late, but the longer you leave it, the harder your path will be and the more vulnerable you become.”

“We know,” Jim said quietly, his tone an overt warning for Dan to back off.

Blair nodded his thanks and turned away, automatically following Jim out of the room, his mind drawn to the increasingly frequent warnings he was getting from the spirit plane. Apparently the Ancestors were now concerned enough to be reaching him while he was awake, and not just in his visions. But Blair already knew he’d been pushing his luck, and the constant reminders of what an idiot he’d been lately weren’t helping his nerves much.

These days, he just seemed to be lurching from one mistake after another.

~*~*~

The next day proved to be little better; hours of laborious paperwork revealing nothing, and all the while Simon was on their backs demanding to know what progress they’d made. Blair held his tongue, resisting the urge to snap back at Simon only because he knew that the Captain was under just as much pressure from his superiors as they were from him.

Unfortunately, that didn’t make the constant scrutiny any easier to bear.

Their morning was spent researching the Nelsons’ lives, looking into their backgrounds, families and careers, searching through official records for anything that might be significant, then comparing what they’d found with their knowledge of the previous victims. It was slow, painstaking work that meant cross-referencing dozens of different databases scattered in the four corners of the building, but even after hours of reading they’d found little of note.

It seemed that the Nelson household was no different from all the other victims — law abiding citizens who didn’t stand out from 98% of the rest of Cascade’s population. None of them were rich, but nor were they on the poverty line. None of the home insurance policies showed any unusually expensive items, with the one exception of the Matthews family, whose $6,000 diamond eternity ring had been found securely locked away in the untouched safe after the break-in. In fact, the only thing that had been stolen from the Matthews’ household was a $100 man’s silver watch; hardly worth putting someone in hospital for.

It didn’t seem to be any kind of revenge attack, or a falling out between criminals either. None of the victims had shown up on NCIC with anything worse than a couple of unpaid parking tickets and one juvenile conviction for protesting back in the 1970s.

They were all so completely normal; unremarkable people with no connection between them that might explain why they had become targets. Still, as frustrating as the investigation was, everyone involved knew that they had to keep going, because you never knew what tiny, insignificant detail would be the one that enabled them to crack the case.

While Jim spent most of the day coordinating the formal witness reports, and writing their own reports from the crime scene, his sentinel senses allowing him to recall more details than most cops would have noticed in the first place, Blair’s research skills meant that he was the one dashing from one department to another, coordinating the different strands of the investigation. Apparently, word had leaked out that Simon knew of the accusations Kidman had made and was less than pleased, because despite passing half the cops in the department in the corridors, Blair got far less crap from the uniforms than he’d become used to.

Even the bullpen was subdued, everyone seeming to have figured out that he and Jim were off-limits. Their last-minute leave was recorded on the vacation chart with no comments at all, except for a raised eyebrow from Rafe that Blair only noticed because he was feeling paranoid.

Eventually they admitted defeat, leaving the bullpen in the early evening with all the paperwork done, written and sitting on Simon’s desk, waiting for his approval. Blair dropped the last of his reports off with a grimace. Several days away from Cascade visiting Ben Thundercloud meant that the trail would be ice cold by the time they got back. However remote the odds were of catching the killers now, they were going to be non-existent after the weekend.

Blair couldn’t help but think he was letting the Nelsons down, putting his own problems ahead of catching the people who had committed such callous acts of murder. But the one time he tentatively suggested they put their visit to Ben Thundercloud back a few days, he’d been met with an absolute refusal to even discuss it.

Blair couldn’t help but be touched by Jim’s determination to protect him at all costs.

~*~*~

The loft was cold when they finally made it home, bathed in streetlight and the weak rays of the dying sun. Locking the door behind them, Jim set about pulling the blinds and turning up the thermostat, letting artificial heat chase away the chill of the late spring day.

Blair followed Jim into the loft and headed straight for the sofa, dropping down onto it with a heartfelt sigh as he toed off his shoes, kicking them under the seat. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and just drifted, listening to Jim moving in the darkness: footsteps across the wooden floor, the snick of the lock as Jim turned the key, the sound of the fridge door swinging on its hinges.

It was the feel of cold water dripping onto the back of his hand that prompted him to open his eyes, and he reached gratefully for the beer that Jim was holding out to him. As he took his first gulp of ice cold liquid, Jim joined him on the sofa, stretching his legs out next to Blair’s.

They sat in silent companionship for a while, neither of them willing to broach the subject of the coming weekend. It hovered between them like the white elephant in the room until, eventually, Jim was the first to speak. “Are you ready for this?” he asked softly.

“No,” Blair replied. “Not really. But I think today’s little performance at the crime scene proves that we’re just about out of other options. Don’t worry, Jim,” he added. “I’ll go through with it.”

Jim just nodded. “Do you have any real idea what’s going to happen?”

Turning his head to glance over at Jim, Blair shrugged. “I’ve done a little research, but shamanic rituals vary so much from tribe to tribe that it’s hard to find that one common thread. There are some similarities across a lot of the tribes; some of them talk about a spiritual rebirth, where the shaman is devoured by his spirit animals, then put back together again, to prepare his mind and body for the gifts he receives,” he hesitated then, unsure whether Jim would thank him for finishing the sentence, but in the end he took a deep breath and pushed on. Secrets would do them no good here. “But you could argue that I’ve already done that by dying in the fountain.”

It was a mark of just how far they’d come in their relationship that mention of his death no longer caused an angry or defensive reaction in Jim. Instead, looking closely as Jim nodded, he could just see the slight tightening of the skin around his eyes — the merest hint of sadness and past regrets that would never quite fade, and that Blair suspected was probably mirrored on his own face.

He continued talking, falling back on long-forgotten habits — lecturing to his students — to get them both through as gently as possible.

“There’s a Lakota tribal ceremony called the Yuwipi — the spirit calling — where the shaman has his hands and fingers tied together behind his back, before being covered in a blanket and wrapped in an intricate design of rawhide ropes to allow him to contact the spirit world.” Blair revealed, and Jim shuddered slightly before replying.

“We get enough of that in our normal lives, thanks. What about Ben Thundercloud? Which tribe does he belong to?”

“He’s Colville. I don’t know all that much about them. Dan has told me a little, though; they used to be a nomadic tribe, but they settled up near the Canadian border on what’s now known as the Colville Reservation in 1938. The problem is,” he added with a sigh, “most of these rituals describe age-old traditions for how a shaman is initiated, and they traditionally take place at the beginning of years of study under the guidance of a tribal elder. Quite what the procedure is for someone like me, I have no idea.”

Blair could hear the uncertainty creeping back into his voice, and wasn’t remotely surprised when Jim nodded, drained the rest of his beer in one go and stood up, changing the subject. “Food,” he announced. “I’m starving. Any preference?”

Taking another mouthful of his own beer, Blair shrugged again. “I’m not really hungry, so get whatever you feel like.”

“Pizza?” Jim offered.

“Sure.” Blair could see the frown that crossed Jim’s face, but he refused to be distracted. Now that they’d finished work he had nothing to keep his mind off tomorrow’s trip, and he couldn’t deny the fact that he was still very worried about what was going to happen. He may have resigned himself to its necessity, but he couldn’t exactly pretend that he was looking forward to it. And that, in itself, disturbed him.

There would have been a time, not so long ago, when all this would have fascinated him. Getting to study as a shaman — with all the reverence and importance that such a position deserved — to learn at the feet of an experienced healer was the dream of a million anthropologists across the globe.

Even the world-renowned ones could spend their entire careers without being granted as much access to tribal cultures as he was being offered, and he was, as near as made no difference, a fraud. A charlatan. The lowest of the low as far as his peers were concerned, and he couldn’t ignore the irony in that. A failed anthropologist becoming the very thing he used to study.

Six months after he’d met Jim, after one gushing conversation too many that began “Jim said”, Eli Stoddard had pulled him to one side and warned him about the importance of remaining objective, of staying detached from his subjects. Blair had ignored his warnings at the time, but it seemed as if Eli was right — he’d taken the term ‘going native’ about as far as it was possible to go.

Unfortunately, just like his years of schooling had done little to ready him for the reality of working with Jim, no amount of research in the world could truly prepare him for this.

With the loss of his reputation, Blair had lost all his enthusiasm for the subject that had once consumed his every waking thought. Even before his leaked dissertation he’d been finding it harder to balance his loyalty to his work with his loyalty to Jim. Instead he’d found himself becoming increasingly frustrated with the prosaic, narrow-minded attitudes of so many of Rainier’s professors, who seemed content to sit in their ivory towers discussing theoretical principles and ideals, with no comprehension of what it was like to be out in the real world, on the front line.

Now, when he looked back at the way he treated Jim those first few months — the endless tests and utter disregard for how terrifying the senses must have been for Jim, suddenly no longer able to rely on things as fundamental as his own sight and sound — God, it made Blair want to prostrate himself in front of his lover and beg for his forgiveness. Insisting on tests that often left Jim with debilitating headaches, and making jokes about sending Stephen into the jungle to see if he developed his own heightened senses…how could he have been so thoughtless?

Now he was faced with his own shifting senses — these spiritual rather than physical, but no less terrifying for that — he’d become his own subject, someone who was, himself, worthy of study. Perhaps this was his own karma, coming back to bite him on the ass. And yet, even though the parallel must have occurred to Jim, he’d been nothing but supportive. Standing by Blair’s decisions when required, cajoling and encouraging him when he wavered. Blair couldn’t have asked for a better partner, and he could only wish that he’d once been as strong for Jim in return, now that he truly understood how daunting this experience was.

It was just a shame that they’d had to live through so much and endure so many changes, for him to finally wise up to himself.

And now everything was about to change again.

~*~*~

Even though he was placing the pizza order, Jim could hear Blair angsting from six feet away. “Stop worrying, Sandburg,” he scolded, and he could see Blair’s rueful smile reflected in the blank television screen. “Ben’s a good man. Whatever happens this weekend, he’ll make sure that you’re all right. I trust him.”

Jim could see the tension in Blair’s shoulders ease slightly, though he was as surprised as Blair must be that he was telling the truth, perhaps even more so. There was a time that he wouldn’t have trusted Blair’s safety to anyone but himself, regardless of how highly recommended they came. But that time had long since passed, and Jim was no longer arrogant enough to believe that he was the only one who could protect his partner. He’d failed in that charge once too often, and this whole shaman deal was so far beyond anything that Jim could even pretend to understand. If Mano d’Angeles had taught him anything, it was that. Besides, Ben Thundercloud had more than proved himself when he helped them to drive away Maxim LaForce, protecting Sandburg in the process.

“What about you?” Blair asked softly. “Are you ready for this?”

“Me?” The question surprised him a little, so he covered his hesitation by moving away and pinning the pizza leaflet back up onto the kitchen board. “I’m not the one being initiated into shaman school, Sandburg.”

Blair shrugged. “Maybe not,” he admitted, “but remember what Mano told us? You’re a shaman as well, just as much as I am. He made it clear in Sierra Verde that whatever we do, whatever decisions we make, we have to make together.”

Jim nodded. “True.”

The phone ringing interrupted their conversation, and Jim reached for the receiver automatically. “Hello?”

“Jim?” The voice on the phone was instantly recognizable; Jim could almost smell the sage wafting down the phone line.

“Hi, Naomi.”

“Hello, sweetie. Is Blair there?”

“Sure, he’s here. Hang on a second.” Blair was already standing, crossing the room and holding out his hand for the phone when Naomi spoke again.

“Jim? Simon told me what you’re doing this weekend. Look out for him for me, please?”

Jim smiled. Say what you like about Naomi, and he’d said plenty over the years, but in spite of her somewhat eccentric ways and the way she’d meddled in Blair’s life over the dissertation, you couldn’t deny that, in her own way, she really did care for her son. “Of course, Naomi,” he replied, holding up one hand to stop Blair from taking the phone. “You know I will.” With that he handed the phone to Blair, who was rolling his eyes as he took it.

“Hi, Mom.” Jim moved away, stepping out onto the balcony and giving them both as much privacy as he could, though from Blair’s side of the conversation it was clear that Naomi was worried. “…Everything’s fine…well, I didn’t want to worry you!...It’s only for a few days, I’ll be back by Monday…Naomi…”

Jim grinned, sliding the doors shut and cutting off Blair’s conversation. Apparently Blair hadn’t shared the gradual return of his shaman abilities with Naomi any more than he had with Jim, and Naomi was obviously pissed. Not that Jim could really blame her. He’d never seen Naomi as scared as she had been at the hospital during Blair’s bout of shaman sickness, and yet she’d trusted him completely, and done everything she could to help facilitate their desperate trip to Mexico.

Jim wasn’t too proud to admit that he’d long harbored resentment toward Naomi for sending Sandburg’s dissertation to that damn editor in the first place, but as far as he was concerned, she’d repaid that debt and then some by putting them in touch with Mano d’Angeles. He truly didn’t believe that Sandburg would have survived if it wasn’t for her.

In his wildest dreams he could never have imagined, when Incacha had passed on the way of the shaman to Blair, that it would ever have ended up like this. But it had, and burying their heads in the sand had only made things a thousand times worse.

Standing out on the balcony and looking down over his city, Jim breathed deeply, turning his head to follow the line of the buildings down to the harbor. Most people could see to the end of the street, maybe see the tops of the cranes in the distance, but with his senses he could see ten times that far, out to where the blue of the sea met the sky. Even with the fading sunlight turning the waves inky black, and the cranes little more than the pinpricks of the lanterns hanging off top, Jim could still make out their shapes, dialing up his sight until the night was as clear as the daytime.

He would never forget that Blair had given him that; reached in and found order amid the chaos. Blair had guided him through the worst, and most incredible, five years of his life.

Now it was his turn to return the favor.

The quiet slide of the balcony doors alerted him to Blair’s presence, and he glanced round to find his lover stepping out into the fresh air, the phone now switched off, but still in his hand.

“She’s worried,” Jim observed.

Blair nodded. “I can’t say I blame her. I’m not exactly looking forward to this either.” Moving across to the edge, Blair leaned both hands on top of the brick wall and following Jim’s gaze down the road. “It’s weird, though,” he added. “I’ve gone on more expeditions than I can remember; trips that were a dozen times more dangerous than this. She’s never been this concerned before; at least, not that she’s told me. The most I’ve had before is a comment about it being good for my aura to travel. I’m not used to her being so…so…”

“Motherly?” Jim suggested mildly, ducking as Blair aimed a good-natured punch in his direction.

“That’s my mom you’re talking about,” he protested, before grinning and nodding. “Yeah, maybe. I guess Simon’s being a good influence on her.”

Jim chuckled. “Simon as our father-in-law. Who’d have believed it?”

“Yeah, I know. We meet, and five years down the line I’m a cop, and my existential, aura-reading mother is settling down and marrying a police captain. Not exactly the way I’d imagined my life turning out. You’ve had one hell of an effect on my life, man.”

Jim turned away from the view of the harbor, leaning his hip against the wall and looking seriously at Blair. “You have any regrets?”

“About the destination?” Blair asked. “No. There are a few steps I wouldn’t have minded skipping along the way, maybe.”

Jim nodded. “I’m with you there, Chief.”

Blair reached out, interlocking his fingers with Jim’s. “But I’d live through it all again, to be with you.”

“All of it?” Jim couldn’t help but ask. “Even the shamanism?”

Blair sighed. “I once told mom that everything in the universe happens for a reason, and I have to believe that now. I was meant to be here.”

Jim pulled on Blair’s hand, drawing the smaller man into his embrace. “With me?” he added.

“With you.”

Leaning down and holding Blair within his embrace, Jim placed a kiss on his lips. Chaste at first, his lips just ghosting lightly over Blair’s, enthusiasm quickly deepened their embrace as Blair went up on tiptoes, arching up to meet him.

A soft moan passed Jim’s lips as Blair’s eyes drifted closed, giving himself completely over to his lover’s desire. Pulling back, Jim smiled down at him. “Let’s take this inside,” he suggested softly.

The kiss may have stopped but the embrace didn’t, and they kept in close contact as they left the balcony, closing off the outside world behind them.

Almost before the doors had slid shut Jim had pushed Blair up against the glass, burying his hands in Blair’s thick hair as he leaned in to re-ignite their kiss. Blair’s mouth parted as his eyes closed again, and Jim’s tongue darted out to trace against his lover’s lips. As he did so, Jim’s long fingers brushed against the back of Blair’s neck, unconsciously kneading the dark strands of hair as their kiss deepened.

Blair moaned, tiny whispers of need echoing from him as he reached up and began to explore Jim’s body in return. He traced the outline of muscle across Jim’s chest, fingers ghosting across Jim’s nipples even through the dark blue fabric of his shirt, and with his senses dialed up from the balcony, even that light touch threatened to send Jim to his knees. He ruthlessly tugged the dials down, determined to make this last as long as possible, as Blair began to struggle with the buttons, releasing each one until Jim’s shirt was hanging open.

If the merest touch of Blair’s fingers had lit a spark inside Jim, the firm caress of his hands, of skin against skin, as he ran them across Jim’s chest and over his ribs was like a furnace, heat sinking into his body. Without breaking their kiss Jim took firm hold of Blair’s shoulders and pulled him away from the door, carefully maneuvering them both the few steps across the room until the back of Blair’s knees hit the edge of the sofa.

Overbalancing, Blair went backwards with a soft grunt of surprise. Jim followed him down, half pushing and half supporting him, until Blair was lying sprawled across the sofa. With one knee balanced on either side of Blair’s thighs Jim was arched above him, the pressure of his kiss pushing Blair back into the upholstery. Still Blair wasn’t quiescent as his hands played down Jim’s chest and abdomen, following the thin line of fair hair below his stomach that disappeared beneath the waistband of his pants.

Jim’s cock stirred at the touch, his own flesh shivering in anticipation, but Jim pulled his hands from Blair’s hair and reached down, taking hold of Blair’s wrists and pulling them away just as his fingers reached the top of his boxers. Breaking off their kiss, Jim brought Blair’s hands up to his lips and kissed each one, before laying them down flat against the cushions.

“Let me?” he asked softly, and Blair simply nodded, his eyes dark and smoky with desire.

So Jim released Blair’s hands, half expecting him to raise them immediately, he was so bad at staying still for any length of time, but Blair didn’t move, simply watching silently as Jim reached down to undo the top button of his jeans.

The zipper was next, and Blair let out a soft hiss of relief as Jim opened his jeans, taking away the pressure on his swollen flesh before reaching down to cup his erection through the thin material of his boxers.

Blair gasped, reflexively bucking up into his touch and Jim could no longer hide his own smile of satisfaction. It was a source of daily wonder to him that he was lucky enough to have this; to have Blair by his side, and he treasured these quiet times together, when he could show Blair through his actions the love that he wasn’t always able to say with words.

Continuing to massage Blair’s growing erection, Jim leaned in to nuzzle Blair’s neck; his tongue finding the point where Blair’s neck and shoulder met. Blair shivered, turning his head to trying and return the kiss. His hands were clenching by his sides, frustrated by Jim’s command not to move them, and Jim chuckled as he moved down, sliding gracefully off the sofa to kneel at Blair’s feet as his mouth continued to move down Blair’s chest, suckling for the briefest moment at the nipple ring he could feel through Blair’s shirt.

Always sensitive, Blair cried out as Jim pulled gently on the metal with his teeth. A strong stroke across his cock at the same time had him arching his back, hips bucking and almost dislodging Jim from his teasing position.

It was too much, Jim’s own erection uncomfortably tight behind his pants, and he dropped down onto his knees, one hand drawing down his own zipper as he freed Blair’s cock with his other hand and immediately took the head into his mouth.

Blair moaned again, hands flying up to knead at Jim’s shoulders as Jim swallowed him down into his throat before pulling back until just the head was inside his mouth. He ran his tongue along the underside of Blair’s cock, humming softly and pushing Blair’s hips down into the sofa to stop him from bucking.

Blair was getting close, and Jim could feel his own erection stubbornly demanding attention…

The sound of footsteps on the stairs outside was an unwelcome intrusion on his senses, and one that Jim was all set to ignore until he heard the quiet muttering of their own apartment number.

Only then did he remember what he’d been doing just before Naomi called…

…he’d forgotten all about the fucking pizza...

With a groan he swallowed Blair down once more and sucked strongly. It was enough to push Blair over the edge and he came with a cry, Jim swallowing his seed before kneeling up and placing a gentle kiss against Blair’s lips. Shifting in his sprawl, Blair reached down to grasp the halves of Jim’s shirt and pull him up onto the sofa, but the doorbell rang before Jim could say anything.

Blair groaned in frustration; a deep, rumbling sound that Jim could feel vibrating against his own chest.

“We could ignore him?” Jim suggested.

“You were the one who ordered the damn pizza,” Blair said, his forehead leaning against Jim’s, their lips bare millimeters apart as he failed to hold back either his grin or his laughter. “Better go let him in,” he urged, untangling his fingers and letting go his hold on Jim’s crumpled shirt.

“I thought you weren’t hungry?” Jim asked, straightening up and automatically re-buttoning his shirt and zipping up his pants as he crossed the floor.

“I got my appetite back!” Blair shot back in reply, and behind him, Jim could hear Blair pulling their small coffee table closer to the sofa.

Walking was uncomfortable, but Jim could feel himself quickly beginning to soften, his rumpled shirt barely covering the outward signs of his flustered state.

His stomach rumbled as the smell of warm dough wafted in through the closed door, and Jim grinned in anticipation, looking forward to eating before returning to more interesting past-times.

Pizza, a beer and a lover. There were worse ways to spend an evening.

~*~*~

Post-coital contentment didn’t last longer than a few hours, and a long night followed for both Blair and Jim; the two of them turning restlessly in bed for half the night with little respite in sight. Of course, one benefit of getting such a small amount of sleep was the fact that Blair didn’t dream at all, the spirits apparently giving him a break now that he’d decided to follow their insistent advice.

Unfortunately, Blair’s fears were more than enough to keep him awake, and he stared through the skylight above his head, watching the stars. The night was clear and cold, the stars and moon shining down on the city and bathing their bed in patches of bright moonlight.

He’d done this so many times over the years, in so many different countries across the globe. Even as a child he’d been utterly fascinated by astronomy, taking any opportunity to sit outside at night, content to just lie on the ground and gaze up at the stars. He’d taken comfort in the fact that no matter where they were, whatever retreat or encampment Naomi had dragged him to, the stars would always be there, looking down and watching over him. Naomi would tell him stories — Greek and Egyptians myths of the Gods and goddesses that walked the night skies — and he’d whisper his secrets to them, believing that Orion and Pegasus were living a never-ending celestial story that he could hold on to and engage with, no matter where he was.

During the many times when they were living with people who only cared for Naomi; who had no use for an overly-bright child, he’d lose himself in his beloved myths, in the comfort and constancy they offered away from the shattered fragments of his own life.

His habit of gazing up at the night sky lasted long after he stopped believing in the legends themselves. Over the years he’d grown to know all the constellations of stars; learned that what he could see with his own eyes were only a small fragment of what was up there, millions of miles above the earth. The first night on any anthropological dig was always the most exciting, as he’d stare up at new stars that were no longer competing with city lights, discovering another small section of the night sky to add to his own memories.

No matter where his life had taken him, no matter where he was on the planet, the stars were always there, whispering long-forgotten secrets to him.

But he’d been in Cascade for many years; longer than he’d spent anywhere else in his entire life, and it had been an age since he’d stared up at a new sky, drinking in the distinct, twinkling patterns for himself. There had been a time when this stagnancy, this sameness, would have filled him with horror, but that night, as he stared up at the sky lying safely within Jim’s arms, Blair knew — finally knew without doubt or hesitation — that he’d made the right decision.

This was where he belonged; with these people, with this unlikely, unconventional family he’d made, under the stars whose patterns he’d known in his very soul for all these years.

Nothing else was important. Nothing mattered but making his life here, in whatever form he could, with whatever role he was permitted.

He was finally home.

~*~*~

It was a much calmer, more controlled Blair who opened his eyes the following morning, the sparse hours of sleep he’d managed refreshing him more than he could have imagined. It was as if, now the time had come, all his doubts and fears, all the worry was gone, leaving him ready for whatever the next few days were going to bring.

Somehow Jim seemed to sense this, and Blair could see the tension ease from his partner’s shoulders as he relaxed, evidently reassured by Blair’s quiet acceptance of the future. They prepared for their journey to the reservation in relative silence, carrying out their usual morning rituals and taking one last piece of comfort from the familiarity of it. A familiarity that, Blair knew, they would be returning to once all this was over. Whatever changes the shamanism had already brought into his life, and whatever happened over the next few days, Blair knew without doubt or hesitation that they would be returning to this.

The universe had done everything it could to tear him away from Jim, and had ultimately failed. Theirs was a love that was unconditional; that transcended life and had defied death itself, and Blair could feel Jim’s love and support in every quiet smile, every soft touch and gentle look. He returned each one in kind, embracing the connection that existed between them and reveling in it. This was the love he thought he’d go his whole life and never find, until he’d finally met Jim.

~*~*~

Something had changed, seemingly overnight. For weeks, Blair had been unsettled and ill-at-ease, his heart beating faster than normal even when he was supposedly at rest. Not that he’d been resting much; Jim had lost track of the number of times he’d woken in the dead of night to find Blair missing from their bed, the cold sheets beneath Jim’s skin proving just how long he’d been gone.

Last night, though, they’d slept peacefully in each other’s arms until morning, and Blair’s heart rate was as slow and steady as it should have always been. Blair had been quiet and contemplative as they began their journey, and Jim was happy to leave him to his thoughts as long as he gave no sign of being distressed or upset.

It was good to see a little of the old Blair back, so, when Blair fell asleep an hour into their journey, Jim didn’t wake him, hoping that the rest might help to ease away the dark circles that had gathered between his expressive eyes.

Instead he reached over and turned the radio down to its lowest setting; too quiet for anyone but dogs and sentinels to hear, and concentrated on driving.

The first three hundred miles went by surprisingly quickly, their surroundings gradually changing from the skyscrapers and traffic queues of Cascade to the bustle of the freeway. The last five years Jim had become so used to urban Cascade; concrete buildings covered in graffiti and streets littered with trash that it was always something of a surprise to see just how green Washington State really was. Lush forestry opened out behind them in their rearview mirror, the Cascade mountains rising up in the distance as they headed east past rushing rivers and berry orchards.

Slowly, as they got closer to the Reservation, the lush landscape darkened, the leaves turning a withered brown instead of green. Cracks appeared in the ground, splinters in the landscape from the lack of rain. Even the smaller towns petered out, leaving the scenery largely unmarked by human hands.

Ten miles from the Colville Reservation Blair was still asleep, and Jim reluctantly woke him, pulling the final directions from the glove box and handing them over to his partner.

Blair looked blearily around him, straightening up from where he’d slumped against the window. “Jim? Where are we?”

“We’re almost there,” Jim replied.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“A few hours.”

“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to check out on you.”

Jim just smiled, pointing at the papers on Blair’s lap. “You awake enough to guide us in?”

“Sure,” he picked up the directions, glancing between them and the windshield to work out where they were.

“We came off the I97 about five miles ago, on the road towards Brewster.”

“Well, we need to be heading towards Omak Lake — Dan said that Ben lives right on the waterfront. Keep on this road for another fifteen, then turn down Columbia River Road.”

Jim did as instructed, and it wasn’t long before houses started appearing along the sides of the road — the first sign that they were approaching the reservation. The land was rugged, the roads uneven and worn, pot holes making Jim once again grateful for the strong suspension on his truck that had seen them safely through so many difficult cases. Dust rose up from the ground behind them, kicked up from beneath the truck to swirl into the wind in their wake.

Unlike the brick-built buildings they’d left behind in Cascade, the houses they passed were clapboard, single-story, and spaced much further apart than they would have been back in the city. Many of the houses were in disrepair, the gardens wild around outbuildings and falling-down sheds.

Slowing down the truck as a tall, thin dog ran across the road a few feet in front of them and disappeared into the bushes to the left of the road, Jim was aware of just how few other cars were on the road. Few of the houses they passed had vehicles out front, and most of those that did had tires missing, or were up on bricks and obviously in need of work. As they turned into Columbia River Road, a cluster of people talking at the side of the road, just in front of what looked like a large vegetable patch, stopped to watch them as they drove by. Almost all male, dressed in jeans and boots, one of them called two children over to his side, who abandoned the ball they were kicking up against a crumbling wall to run back to what Jim assumed was their house.

Three more turns, each street smaller and in worse disrepair than the last, before Jim could see the lake stretching out ahead of them, behind a small cluster of painted, single-story houses set back slightly among the trees.

“Here we are,” Blair said. “Ben’s should be the house on the right hand side.”

Jim pulled off onto the small gravel patch of ground in front of Ben’s home, letting the engine idle for a moment as he looked over at his partner. “You ready for this?” he asked.

Blair smiled, nodding. “Yeah, I think I am.”

“Let’s do it.” Both men opened their doors at the same time, and Jim swung his legs down as he stepped out of the truck and took a proper look around. The trees were all at the back of the house, tall enough for the branches to hang clear over the roof. A narrow porch ran along the entire front of the building with four steps leading up to it. The house was painted white and in better repair than many of the buildings they had passed on their way in, though from where he stood Jim could clearly see that it was long overdue for another coat; the paint peeling off from the corners of almost every wooden balustrade.

Blair walked round the front of the truck to join him, his bag slung over his shoulder. Following Blair’s example, Jim pulled his own pack from the truck’s bed, hearing hinges creak from behind him as he did so. Turning, the bag hanging from his right hand, Jim saw the welcome figure of Ben Thundercloud walking down the steps from the house.

“Blair!” Ben greeted, arms outstretched as he crossed the short distance between them. The two men shook hands before Ben engulfed Blair in a brief hug, clapping him on the back before stepping back and turning to face Jim.

“Hey, Ben,” Jim greeted, shaking hands with the shaman. He looked exactly as Jim remembered from his visit to Cascade; his tall, strong frame relaxed beneath the denim jeans and checked shirt. “It’s good to see you.”

“You, too,” Ben replied with a wry smile. “Though I thought it would be long before now.” The gentle rebuke was well-taken, and Jim nodded as Blair ducked his head, acknowledging Ben’s scolding.

“That’s my fault, Ben,” he admitted. “It took me a little longer to come to terms with all this than maybe it should have.”

“Hmmm,” Ben muttered, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck underneath the long, silver braid that hung down between his shoulders. “I know it’s not been easy,” he agreed, “but you don’t have the luxury of that much time.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Jim protested, his innate instinct to step in and protect Sandburg leaving him unable to remain quiet.

Ben glanced across at him, his expression serious for a moment, making it clear with nothing more than a look that he was absolutely aware of what Jim was doing, and wasn’t all that impressed by it. Even so he said nothing, simply nodding once before breaking into a wide smile. “You must be exhausted from the long drive,” he said. “Come inside.”

“Not exactly,” Blair admitted with a rueful grin. “I slept most of the way.”

“Perhaps you needed it,” Ben suggested, though his tone made it clear that it wasn’t a question.

“Probably. I’ve not exactly been sleeping all that well.”

Ben didn’t look even remotely surprised at that, just nodding as he led them through the front door into his home. Jim had to duck down slightly as he passed under the door jam, blinking to adjust to the dim light filtering into the room through the narrow window blinds. “You know about the dreams he’d been having?”

“I do.” Walking into the kitchen, Ben reached down and pulled three beers out of the fridge before joining them back in what looked to be the main living room. Passing them each a bottle, Ben moved to sit in the worn-looking rocking chair, waving them to the beige two-seater sofa pushed up against the back wall.

“How?” The surprise on Blair’s face made Ben chuckle.

“I told you once, Blair, that many people walk the spirit plane, and they’re all very aware of what’s been happening to you.”

“A bit of warning would have been nice,” Jim muttered, dragging Ben’s attention across to him.

“Blair is not a baby that needs to be spoon-fed, Jim,” Ben scolded. “Neither are you. The spirit world is open to all those who are ready to walk the path, but it’s a decision each person has to make on their own.” He hesitated then, his expression sobering. “You have chosen to go ahead with your destiny as a shaman, haven’t you?” he asked.

Jim stayed silent, looking to Blair for his decision. This was the last chance that he had to change his mind.

“I have,” Blair confirmed, though he looked anything but excited about it. “But I’ve got to tell you, Ben, I’m worried.”

“You should be,” Ben replied, and Jim bristled, leaning forward in his chair and opening his mouth to speak, but at a somber glance from Ben he subsided. “This isn’t an easy path that you’ve chosen to walk,” he continued, “and it’s not something to be taken lightly.”

“I’m not,” Blair protested. “That’s why it’s taken me so long to come to this decision.”

At that Ben smiled, relaxing back into his chair. “I know,” he reassured Blair, “and over the next couple of days I can help to give you some of the answers you need, now that your decision has been made. But you need to understand one thing above all else, Blair. If you’re having any doubts beyond natural uncertainty, you need to deal with them in the next few days. Once you have truly embarked on this path, you’ll be opening up to powers within yourself that you won’t be able to turn away from.”

“But how can I do that?” Blair asked. “How can I banish my doubts when I don’t know exactly what it is that I’m committing too? Everything I’ve heard, everything I’ve been told about these abilities suggests that they’re dangerous, and that it’s going to be so easy to slip and turn into someone like Maxim.” Blair leaned his elbows down onto his knees, his fears written clear across his face as he turned the bottle round and round between his fingers. “I’m afraid that I’m going to hurt someone.”

Jim reached across, placing one hand on his lover’s leg in a silent show of reassurance.

“You are nothing like Maxim,” Ben replied firmly. “You’ve not had an easy initiation into shamanism, Blair, and the spirit plane is a demanding, very critical place. Those that walk in the shadows, like Maxim, have been banished there because they’ve forgotten how to love, because they walk alone and their powers have been corrupted by hate. But the ancestors have been watching you — we all have, and we see so much good in you. Otherwise they wouldn’t still be prepared to help you. The visions you’ve been having may have been terrifying, but the spirit world wouldn’t have been warning you that time was running out, and they wouldn’t have protected you from Maxim, if they’d given up on you.”

“I wish I had your confidence, Ben.” Blair said wistfully.

Jim could almost taste Blair’s fears, could sense the uncertainty coming off of him in waves, and he ached for him, wishing that he could give him the comfort he so desperately needed. But Jim knew that the only one who could do that was sitting across from them both, regarding Blair with a twinkle in his eye that gave him a small sliver of hope.

“You’re going to have a lot of choices to make over the coming years, Blair, and it’s inevitable that you’re going to screw-up along the way. But you know something? The fact that you’re worried, and that you acknowledge just how dangerous this is, is exactly why I have no doubts whatsoever about your initiation. You have great honor, and your integrity is part of what made the Ancestors choose you in the first place. Frankly, if you weren’t worried about this, then I’d really be concerned.”

Blair smiled uncertainly, taking a long swig from his bottle to cover up his response to Ben’s words. Then Ben turned his attention to Jim, his tone such that Jim instinctively straightened his back, a physical response to authority drummed into him during his time as a soldier. The innate wisdom in Ben’s form reminded him almost painfully of Incacha — a wise soul looking out from behind his eyes, and an odd sense of pride swelled up within him that Blair, a man who he knew would one day be worthy of standing side by side with great, spiritual men such as Incacha, was also the man who had chosen to spend the rest of his life by Jim’s side.

“You have to be ready to play your part as well, Jim,” Ben warned. “A large part of the reason why Maxim and those like him become corrupted is because they are essentially alone, and they allow their quest for improvement and power to consume everything they once were. You must be prepared to stand by Blair’s side, to protect him, and even to act as his conscience if that is what’s needed. A shaman’s abilities are a heady rush, and they can sweep you off your feet if you’re not prepared for it.”

Jim simply nodded, taking his responsibilities as a foregone conclusion. He’d long ago pledged to stand with Blair no matter what — as close to ‘for better or worse’ as they could manage in the United States — and he refused to let this change his mind.

Ben regarded him for a moment, seemingly assessing his response. Apparently he liked what he saw, because after an awkward silence he broke into a wide smile, nodded, and slapped both hands down onto his thighs. “Right, that’s enough of that,” he announced cheerfully. “We’ll get into this later, you must both be starving! I’ll go see what I’ve got in the fridge.”

With that he disappeared into the small kitchen, leaving Jim and Blair sitting side-by-side on the couch. Glancing across at his partner, Jim was almost amused to see that Blair looked a little shell-shocked, and he gently squeezed Blair’s leg beneath his fingers, drawing his attention to him. “You all right?” he prompted.

“Honestly? I have no idea,” Blair replied wearily, the shaky smile he managed to rustle up doing little to hide just how nervous he was. “I think so,” he amended. “This is just going to be a lot to take in, you know?”

Jim nodded, getting up off the couch and crossing over to look out the window. The blinds were down but not closed, and through the slats Jim could clearly see the lake just a few feet away from the edge of Ben’s house. On a sudden whim he cast out his senses, easily hearing the gentle swish of the water lapping against the rocky shore. There was far less background noise here than he was used to hearing back in Cascade. It was a distraction that he’d become used to dealing with, almost without thought, over the years, so much so that not hearing cars and engines and voices in the back of his mind was almost a shock to his system. It always took a day or so for him to adjust his senses whenever they went camping or spent any real time away from the city, and he cautiously dialed up his hearing, embracing the nature that thrived all around him.

Beyond the waves he could hear animals playing in the forest that rose up on the other side of Omak Lake, squirrels scurrying in among the trees as they forage for food, and the sound was so strong, so present, that Jim could almost see them in his mind’s eye. He thought that maybe, if he reached out and piggybacked sight onto hearing he could even see through the trees, see round the corners, the sound was so clear in his head. But even as he began to try, as he started to follow the thread of sound through the maze, he could already see that it was too much, too quickly. With a sick feeling of dread he watched, helpless, as the light began to fracture at the edges of his sight, blinding him, colors suddenly merging together in a dizzying whirl —

— and then there was a whisper of sound just inches to his right, and the gentle brush of a hand against his back, and Jim snapped out of the zone. Just like that it was over, with none of the disorientation and dizziness he usually felt when his senses went haywire on him. Surprised, he turned to Blair, who was standing beside him with one hand hovering just an inch or so away from his back.

“Jim? Is everything okay?”

Jim wasn’t sure; didn’t even know how to answer him, because he’d never come out of a zone so easily in his life. So quickly that, apparently, Blair hadn’t even had a chance to really notice, even if he’d somehow managed to pull him out of it anyway.

“That’s what it’s going to be like.”

Both of them turned to see Ben standing in the doorway, leaning against the wood doorframe balancing three plates in his hands.

“What?”

“What just happened,” Ben said. “You’ve been doing things the hard way for all these years; it’ll take some time for you both to adjust properly.”

“I…I don’t understand,” Blair stammered. “What did just happen?”

“I zoned,” Jim was the one to answer, holding a hand up when Blair whirled back to face him in alarm.

“You what?”

“Don’t panic, Sandburg, I’m fine.”

“How? I didn’t pull you out of it.”

“Yes, you did,” Ben answered before Jim could. “You just didn’t realize it. Not consciously, anyway.” Moving into the room, Ben put the plates down on the coffee table just behind where they stood. “You might not have done the proper rituals yet,” he continued, “but the spirits have already heard your decision. Your powers are coming now, whether you’re ready for them or not.”

The frown line between Blair’s eyes deepened. “What does that have to do with Jim zoning?”

Ben sighed, frustration leaking into his voice. “When are you two going to realize that what happens to one of you affects the other? In different ways you’re both shamans, and your souls are connected. For want of a better term, you coming ‘on-line’ as a fully-fledged shaman is going to increase your abilities in every way, and that’s going to have a profound effect on your role as Guide to a Sentinel. In time, you’ll learn how to consciously recognize the signs of a zone the way you just did.”

“Hold on,” Blair protested, straightening his spine with a crack. “I already know how to recognize if Jim’s going into a zone.”

“No, you don’t. You recognize the signs when he’s already in a zone, when his senses have already overwhelmed him. But by then it’s too late, isn’t it?” But he didn’t wait for either of them to confirm his statement before he continued. “Just now, the shaman that’s inside you saw that Jim was in danger of zoning just before it happened, and stepped forward with a warning in time to stop it. That’s what your shaman abilities can do for you.”

Blair didn’t reply, awed at what Ben was telling them. Ben glanced out the window through the blinds, a soft smile playing at his lips. “Squirrels are noisy this time of year,” he remarked softly, glancing across at Jim. “Anyone else hungry?”

And with that, apparently, the subject was closed.

~*~*~

Two hours later saw them firmly ensconced at Ben’s house, bags packed away inside and empty dishes back in the kitchen. Ten feet from the back door the lake waters lapped gently up against the rocky shore, the quiet sounds of the water a calming influence on them all. Blair could feel himself relaxing as they all wandered down along the edge of the lake, nature’s influence washing away the last of his lingering doubts and fears.

Ben’s revelation about Jim’s senses had been the final proof; the magic trick that showed him he’d made the right decision. All this time he’d been worrying about the future, afraid that his emerging abilities would overwhelm him and draw his attention away from his duties as Jim’s guide. But ten minutes in Ben’s company had shown him that he was absolutely and utterly wrong. The thought that becoming a bona fide shaman might actually help him to help Jim as well was a powerful lure.

“Intoxicating, isn’t it,” Ben’s voice commented from behind him, and Blair glanced back over his shoulder.

“Sorry?”

“Learning a new skill, and honing the ones you already have.”

Blair smiled, turning around completely and walking backwards over the rocks so that he could see Ben as they moved.

“Forever the student, eh, Chief?” Jim commented with a wry grin.

“It’s amazing,” Blair replied. “I never thought that these abilities might help me to better help Jim,” he admitted. Actually being here and finally putting it into words was bringing home to him that this was real. The next few days were going to change his life in a way that he hadn’t fully comprehended before, and it was time to face it, even if the idea of him having abilities in the first place still seemed a little strange.

Ben chuckled, picking up speed and leading them over towards the trees.

“You’ve helped me just fine without them, Sandburg,” Jim said, and Blair smiled over at his partner, grateful for the support. Jim would never know just how much he’d already helped Blair deal with the madness that his life had been in the past few years. Perhaps, if his shamanism really did improve the help he gave Jim, Blair could finally feel as if their partnership was on more of an equal footing. Not that he’d ever admit that to Jim.

“You’ve both been luckier than you realize.” Nestled just inside the first line of trees were several fallen trunks, probably brought down in a storm. They’d obviously been there for a while, the ends rotted away and full of greenery as new plants made a home out of the wreckage of the old. Ben took a seat in the center of one of the trunks, and Jim and Blair followed suit opposite, looking past him and out over the water. “It’s difficult enough for a sentinel to simply survive in an urban environment,” he continued, “let alone to thrive and protect the city the way that you have for all these years.”

Jim shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the praise, and Blair inched closer in silent support.

“Most sentinels — and their guides — spend years learning their skills under strict supervision. It’s the same for shamans. It’s practically unheard of for anyone to cope with burgeoning shamanistic abilities without any training at all. The fact that you’ve both even got this far proves just how strong your bond is.”

“Well, Manuel d’Angeles saved my life when I developed shaman sickness. He helped me to shut off my abilities until I was ready to decide whether to take this further.”

“Blair, the ritual that Manuel used when you were sick was only ever supposed to stave off the effects for a few weeks at best. You’ve managed to cope for months! You have incredible natural control of your abilities — you both do — it’s the only way that you could have survived this long without going through the formal rituals.”

“So where do we go from here?” Jim asked, practical to the end.

Ben leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he replied. “Now that you’ve made your decision, Blair,” the finally was silent, but Blair heard it all the same. “It’s question time. Anything you want to know, any questions you have, now’s the time to ask them. I’ll tell you everything that I can, but some things only the guardians can tell you.”

“The guardians?” Jim interrupted. “Who are they?”

Blair turned to face him. “Do you remember at Christmas, when we all went up to the cabin? I saw them then, during a vision when I was meditating. Five guardians who introduced themselves to me and marked me according to what they called my gifts and strengths. They told me that they were giving me a piece of their soul.”

“You’ll see them again,” Ben revealed. “You might have already made your choice on this plane, but now you have to do so on the spirit plane as well, by declaring yourself to the guardians as a shaman.”

“Another spirit walk?”

“That’s right. We’ll take the rest of the afternoon to discuss all the questions you have, and prepare you for the formal ceremony. You have to understand, Blair, at the moment your abilities are leaking out untouched, and your control over them is instinctive, but it’s patchy at best. After your vision quest, when you’ve been formally recognized as a shaman, your abilities will come fully on-line. You’ll be better prepared for what you can do, but you’ll still need training on exactly how to control them. I can show you that.”

“Are you really going to be able to teach me all that in just a day?” Blair queried, a little daunted by what he was hearing.

Ben laughed, his deep voice echoing out into the forest. “Of course not! This isn’t going to be like learning how to ride a bike or tie your shoelaces. Honing your skills as a shaman is an ongoing process that will take years.”

“But we have to go back to Cascade in two days,” Blair protested. “How can I do that if I don’t have full control of my abilities?”

“It’s no different from Jim learning to control his senses,” Ben replied calmly. “Think about it. What’s the point of learning how to be a shaman in the middle of the forest, when you spend your life in an urban jungle? You’ll face very different challenges in the city — it’s those that you have to learn to deal with. I can give you guidance on what to watch out for and how to deal with it, but learning how to live with them on a daily basis is down to you.”

Jim frowned, but Ben continued before he could comment. “Don’t worry; it won’t be as difficult as it sounds. Part of the ritual you’ll go through tomorrow will help your body adjust to being a shaman. You’ll still have to practice, and train, but in time using your abilities will be no different from using any of your other senses.”

Trying to bite back his skepticism, Blair nodded. He was all too well aware that he didn’t really have any idea what the next few days were going to be like.

“You have a role to play here as well, Jim,” Jim hadn’t taken his eyes off Ben since he’d begun to speak, drinking in every word the shaman had to say. “When Blair spirit walks, or goes on a vision quest, his consciousness essentially leaves his body and travels to the spirit plane. But that means his body becomes vulnerable, unable to defend itself, and you have to act as his protector, to ensure that he comes to no harm.”

Jim grinned, nudging Blair’s shoulder with his own. “It looks like I’m your blessed protector after all.”

“In time, your abilities will truly grow to complement each other, allowing you to stand together, united against people like Maxim LaForce,” Ben finished, “if you let them. Now come,” Ben hauled himself to his feet and Blair followed suit, Jim a second behind him. “Let’s take a walk.”

~*~*~

They headed deeper into the forest, until leaves blocked out the heat of the sun and the ground felt damp beneath their feet. Even Jim could no longer hear the sounds of the reservation behind them, his senses calm and at rest, engulfed in the natural sounds of the forest.

“What do you know about shamanism?” Ben asked, glancing across to where Blair was walking a step behind.

“Well,” Blair hesitated, apparently a little surprised by the question. “From everything I’ve read, a shaman is a medicine man…or woman,” he added hurriedly, “with the ability to heal and to work with spiritual energies. There are shamanistic traditions in almost every culture across the globe, although the shamanic practices of many Western cultures were all but wiped out by Christianity. The word shaman actually originated among the Siberian Tungus tribe. It means ‘he who knows’.”

Jim smothered a grin as Blair settled into what Jim fondly thought of as his ‘teaching’ persona, his lecture just getting started. Ben, apparently, had other ideas.

“Good,” he interrupted, nodding as he changed direction, ducking down slightly to navigate an old oak tree. “You’ve done your research. But I’m not talking about what you can find in books. The knowledge of a shaman can’t truly be learned from books — it has to come from within, from the spirit at the heart of your very soul.”

Blair was silent, watching Ben with rapt attention, and Jim hustled to catch up and match pace with his partner, careful to make sure that Blair didn’t trip on the roots and branches that decorated the ground beneath their feet.

“Everything on the earth has a spirit, Blair, and all spirits are related. The Lakota have a saying: ‘mitakuya oyasin’. It means ‘for all my relations’. I’m not just talking about your mother or father, or your brothers and sisters. Your cat also has a spirit, and so does the bird your cat catches; the mites in the bird’s feathers, and the tree the bird lived in. As does the clouds it flew beneath, and the storm that lives within the clouds. All things are alive, and all things have a spirit that came, originally, from the same Grandparents — Grandfather Spirit and Grandmother Earth. To truly live as a son of the earth, you have to have respect for all living things. You must give thanks for the life of the animal that gave itself so that you could eat. That life is a precious gift that has been given to you, not a commodity to be taken without thought from a supermarket shelf.”

Jim nodded, hearing in Ben’s words the echo of Incacha’s teachings, so many years ago.

“That knowledge, that connection to all other spiritual and living things is what separates you from those like LaForce, those who would corrupt the teachings of the spirit world. He has become focused on power, on the riches and glory that he believes he deserves. He thinks these things should be his by some accident of birth, but he has forgotten all he should be giving thanks for. Now he takes the powers he has by force; the spirits do not give them willingly.”

“If the spirits don’t support him,” Jim asked, “then how can he still be a shaman?”

Ben’s expression grew solemn, then, and he sighed before replying, pausing in his walk through the forest. “LaForce lives in the shadows, and he has grown so powerful that he no longer needs the support of the spirits to survive. A shaman’s gifts, once bestowed, cannot be taken away, but if you do not live by the teachings of the spirit those gifts can be corrupted, twisted into a travesty of themselves. LaForce’s grief — his despair over losing his family — infected his very soul, and his gifts became a tool to use in his search for power and wealth; for something to replace the loss of his family. Now he is so powerful that the spirit world cannot stop him, but neither will they support him. They tried, once, but he bound his spirit animal to him in revenge, forcing it to serve his corruption. He no longer respects the spirits that exist in the world with him, for if he respected them, he would not wish to have power over them.”

Jim frowned, remembering Blair’s description of seeing Maxim on the spirit plane, and of seeing the evil shaman’s spirit animal — a bloody lion with a filthy mane, his body covered in rotting sores. He shivered, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he thought of his own black panther, of its piercing blue eyes and sleek black fur. The panther always appeared to him when either he, or Blair, were in serious trouble, and Jim couldn’t even imagine being able to control it. Forcing his spirit animal to do anything hinted of a power far above anything Jim had ever seen, and the knowledge that a man that powerful was determined to possess Blair just made his skin crawl with impotent despair.

“How can we possibly fight someone that powerful?” Jim asked, looking over to his partner to see that Blair looked as worried as he felt.

“LaForce’s corruption is both his greatest strength, and his greatest weakness,” Thundercloud replied, leaning on the cane he carried as he talked. “The spirits have been unable to fight him in their world, his powers now run too deep for that. But here, on this plane of existence, he is limited by his own mortality. You saw that when we faced him at your father’s house, where he could only direct his powers at one thing at a time. That’s because his spirit animal does not help him willingly.” Then Ben turned to face Blair. “Once your abilities are at full strength, and the two of you stand together as sentinel and shaman, then we will be able to finally vanquish him.”

Blair sighed, running a hand through his hair before reluctantly meeting Ben’s eyes. “How…how can we be so sure that I won’t turn out like Maxim?” he asked nervously. “I know I’ve asked this before, but Ben, you’ve said so much about how important it is to respect these abilities, not to use them for personal gain. Maxim didn’t start out as an evil man. How can I be so sure I won’t end up the same way?”

To Jim’s surprise, Ben smiled in reply. “Maxim’s corruption comes from forgetting to be thankful to the spirits. He takes as his right what was once bestowed upon him as a gift. These abilities aren’t given to you for your own personal gain, that’s true, but as long as you only use them to help others, to serve and protect your tribe, and don’t let anger and hatred dictate your intentions, you have nothing to fear. The guardians and the ancestors will support you. Your abilities are a tool, and a dangerous one in the wrong hands, just like the gun you carry while on duty. You’ve been taught when to draw your gun; when you should and shouldn’t fire, yes?” At Blair’s nod, Ben continued. “These are no different. They should never be used as an easy solution, or a replacement for your senses or your common sense, but they’re there to help guide you, when you need it.”

~*~*~

By the time they made it back to the reservation and Ben’s house the sun was beginning to set, and Blair had finally run out of questions to ask. Ben had explained some of the ritual for contacting the guardians later that evening, and his head was swimming with everything he had been told, until he barely knew whether he was coming or going.

He still had his own fair share of doubts, and Ben’s repeated reassurances hadn’t totally allayed his fears, but he nevertheless took some comfort from the fact that Ben clearly knew what he was talking about, and didn’t seem to be even slightly concerned that Blair might one day turn into some kind of monster.

Nor could he deny that the flutter in the pit of his stomach was as much down to his growing excitement as to nerves. Apparently the six-year-old child who had spent months at Mano d’Angeles’ feet, begging to be told story after story, was still in there somewhere. He was unable to keep still, and he ended up pacing restlessly in the front room while Jim helped Ben make them all a much-needed coffee. So much so, that Jim remarked on it when he came in carrying two mugs.

“Are you sure you need more caffeine, Chief?” he asked wryly. “You’re like a cat on a hot tin roof already.”

Blair grinned, smothering a yawn as he did so. “I feel like one, man,” he admitted. “I am pretty wiped, but at the same time I feel like I’m going to explode. I just can’t seem to relax — it’s like I’m twelve-years-old waiting to go to my first Jags game all over again.”

“The modern world thinks little of the wonder of childhood; it locks away our innocence,” Ben commented quietly from behind them. “But never be ashamed of those qualities, Blair. Children see so much of what is truly present in this world; so much of the magic and mystery that science teaches us doesn’t exist. But that simple wonder and imagination, that yearning for knowledge and wisdom is exactly what is required in a shaman.”

“No wonder they came to you,” Jim said with a grin. “I’ve never known anyone with such a desire to learn.”

Smiling back, Blair almost missed Ben’s next words. “That’s why you were chosen by the wolf,” he said. “Our animal spirits choose us, depending on our personalities and desires. Having a wolf as an animal spirit denotes instinct and intelligence, a focus on social and familial values and a steadfast skill when protecting yourself and your family — all traits I have seen in you. The wolf offers wisdom in death and rebirth, and the ability to face the end of one’s cycle with dignity and courage.”

Blair sobered then, aware of a similar emotional change in Jim, as his sketchy memories of Alex, and the fountain, returned.

“You are no different, Jim,” Ben continued, either unaware or uncaring of their sudden somber reflection. “The black panther’s wisdom offers the ability to know the dark, to walk in the shadows and do what is necessary to protect those under your care. It is the guardian’s spirit, and its understanding of death is what allowed you to bring Blair back from his demise.”

“At the fountain, Incacha did tell me to use the power of my animal spirit,” Jim commented, and Blair listened in stunned surprise on learning something about that fateful day that Jim had never mentioned before.

But Ben didn’t seem even slightly surprised. “If the black panther hadn’t deemed you worthy of his protection, then you would never have been able to call Blair’s soul back from the afterlife.” Then he nodded, took a sip of his hot coffee and placed the mug down on the table by his side. “Now, I have to go out and gather some supplies ready for tonight’s ceremony. The vision quest itself could take several hours, and is quite grueling, so I suggest you both get some rest in preparation. There’s a bedroom upstairs if you want to use it.”

~*~*~

They finished their coffee and took Ben’s advice, heading upstairs to the small second bedroom. The double bed was a welcome sight, but between Blair’s lingering exhaustion and Jim’s long drive earlier that morning, both men were asleep, fully dressed, almost as soon as their heads hit the pillow.

It didn’t seem like more than a few moments before Ben was shaking them both awake, but when Blair glanced out of the window the full moon was already high in the sky.

“Come,” Ben said, before turning and walking out the door. “It’s time.”

Blair was already scrambling up from the bed, his skin pale. Jim didn’t bother turning on the light, instead gesturing for Blair to walk ahead of him as he dialed up his sight, making full use of the soft moonlight to stop either of them from walking into the furniture in the darkened room.

Ben led them straight out of the house, stopping only to scoop up a small brown sack that had been left on the kitchen table. The three men made their way down to the edge of the lake in silence, picking their way over the rocks that littered the shoreline, occasionally disappearing beneath the small waves that rippled across the water.

Blair had thought that the reservation was quiet during the day, especially in comparison to a bustling city like Cascade, but now it was eerily silent, as if the air itself was holding its breath in anticipation. Frowning, Blair crossed his arms in front of him, fighting back a sudden rush of last-minute nerves that made him want nothing more than to scurry back inside the house.

The only noise above the sound of the lake was the pounding of his heart, and Blair managed a grim smile when Jim put a hand on his shoulder, offering his support.

Though Blair was pretty certain that Jim could walk for miles in the pitch-darkness, he found himself pathetically grateful for the small lantern Ben was carrying. The light shining from Ben’s front porch didn’t carry far, and the moonlight did even less. This wasn’t like Cascade, where streetlights every few feet were powerful enough to block out the stars themselves

Ben led them around the edge of the lake until Blair could see the light from the house glistening across the other side of the water. Only then did Ben stop, looking critically around at their surroundings before letting the sack, and the lantern, drop to the floor at his feet.

“Here,” he said with a nod. “This is the place.”

Looking around automatically, Blair half expected to see a sign somewhere — ‘spirit walks here’ — but of course there was nothing but rocks, water, and the earth beneath their feet. With a sigh he clapped his hands together, balancing up on the balls of his feet as he took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for what was to come. “Okay,” he said. “What’s next?”

“Now I will return to the house. This path is open only to those who seek guidance.”

Then, before Blair could question him again, or ask him to go over the ritual one last time, Ben had turned and walked away, his figure quickly disappearing into the gloom.

“Well, that was enlightening,” Jim commented wryly, watching from nearer the water’s edge.

“I’m supposed to be a shaman, so I guess I’m also supposed to know what I’m doing from here on in,” Blair shrugged.

“Are you ready for this?” Jim asked, stepping closer to his partner.

“As I’ll ever be, man,” the heartfelt comment sounded miserable even to Blair’s ears. Before he could say anything more he found himself enveloped in a pair of strong arms, as Jim drew him close. Blair returned the embrace willingly, taking comfort from the knowledge that, whatever happened, Jim would be standing right beside him, watching over him like he always did.

After a long moment, Jim pressed a kiss into Blair’s hair, his arms tightening briefly before he let go and stepped back. “Okay,” he said calmly. “Let’s do it. What’s first?”

Biting on his lower lip, Blair glanced around him once more before walking over to a small gathering of rocks down by the water’s edge. “We have to form a natural circle of rocks to sit in,” he began, lifting a football-sized boulder and carrying it a little away from the water, up to where the ground was flatter. “That’s where the ritual takes place.”

Jim nodded, moving to follow suit. “Why a circle?” he asked.

“A circle has no place that is more important than any other,” Blair said, repeating back what Ben had told him earlier in the day. “All those who sit within it are considered equal. It’s a reflection of what Ben was saying — everything on this earth has a spirit, and none is any more or less valuable than any other.”

It didn’t take them long to mark out a rough circle with rocks and stones. Stepping inside, Blair picked up the bag that Ben had dropped and moved to sit with his back to one of the rocks, gesturing for Jim to follow suit. Crossing his legs, Blair shuffled around until he was comfortable, before widening the drawstring opening and tipping the contents out on the ground in front of him. He recognized most of the items easily from his years of anthropological study, and even those that he hadn’t seen on expeditions were familiar from his early childhood, traveling round the country with Naomi visiting one guru after another on her eternal quest for enlightenment.

Reaching over, Blair snagged the handle of the lantern and pulled it closer, throwing a little more light into the circle so that he could see clearly enough to begin the next stage.

“What do you need me to do?” Jim asked from opposite him, where he had mirrored Blair’s sitting position inside the circle.

“Nothing at the moment. It’ll take a little time to get everything ready, but once I’m meditating I won’t be aware of what’s happening here in the real world; someone needs to be here to make sure my body is safe.”

“So if Smokey the Bear should come along…” Jim joked, and Blair grinned back at him, a little surprised and very relieved that Jim was comfortable enough with this to make jokes.

“Then could you at least ask him to wait to eat me until after I’ve finished my spirit walk?”

Jim nodded, glancing past Blair and over at the forest behind him. Blair recognized the tension that appeared in Jim’s shoulders as he straightened up and scanned their surroundings for any dangers, but after a moment Jim relaxed and nodded, settling back down onto the ground. “No bears at the moment, Chief.”

“Well, that’s something,” he said. “I’m not exactly sure what’s going to happen here, Jim, but whatever you do, don’t pull me out of it, okay?” Then, taking a deep breath, Blair began, talking through each step with Jim as he did so.

Four small, leather bags were on the floor by his feet, having fallen there when Blair had emptied out the contents of Ben’s rucksack. Each was closed by a small black drawstring, which he opened in turn before tipping them into an ornate shell that had also been in the satchel.

Then he took four small, painted stones and laid them out in front of him in a rough diamond, one stone representing each point on a compass. “This is the simplest form of medicine wheel,” he told Jim. The shell was placed on top of the stones, carefully balanced until it was absolutely level.

“First we have to cleanse and purify ourselves, in preparation for meeting the guardians,” he said quietly. “It’s called smudging — the burning herbs produce smoke, which removes negative energies.” Picking up an eagle’s feather, he mixed the herbs together, careful not to let any get pushed out the sides of the shell. “We’re burning rosemary, lavender, white sage and frankincense,” he revealed, glancing up at Jim with a wry grin.

“Sage?” Jim echoed. “Why does it always have to be sage?”

When he was happy that the herbs had been properly mixed, Blair reached for the fifth bag, adding sweetgrass to the blend. “The sweetgrass gives blessing and invokes the spirits. Until fairly recently, it was still a fairly common custom in the UK to smudge houses after they’d been spring cleaned,” he said, “to encourage a happy, productive spring season.”

He then dropped a match into the shell, before cradling it in both hands as the herbs quickly caught light, sending a thick white smoke billowing into the air between them. The resulting smell was strong; almost cloyingly sweet, and Jim sneezed once as the sage reached his nose. There were so few herbs in the shell that the flames quickly died down, leaving behind a smoldering black mixture that still sent smoke into the night air.

“Here goes,” he muttered softly, before picking up the eagle feather again and dipping it into the shell, leaning through the smoke to dab the end onto Jim’s forehead, right between his eyes. Then he did the same to himself, his eyes watering from the smoke.

“I call upon the powers of the four directions and the Above and Below,” he said solemnly, his voice even deeper than usual. “This little one asks permission to use this sacred tool in a sacred manner for all my relations. I ask only to hold it in trust, knowing that it, like my own body and all that I own, will be passed one day to another.”

Then, with a final tight smile to Jim, Blair settled back on his haunches, closed his eyes and waited.

The transition from the real world to the spirit plane was far gentler than he remembered from his last visit. One minute he was sitting in front of Jim, acutely aware of the hard ground beneath his legs and the chill of the night air across his face, then for a few seconds he felt lightheaded, as if he was soaring above the highest mountain.

When that dizzying sensation stopped, he opened his eyes to the blinding light of the jungle.

“Amaut’a Sanqo,” Acat’s voice was the first thing to attract his attention, and he turned, smiling as he recognized his spiritual guide. Acat was taller than him, perhaps five-eleven, and his straight, black hair was tied back in a long ponytail that carried down his back almost to his waist. “Your time is finally here,” Acat continued. “We have been waiting.”

Blair felt his cheeks redden, embarrassed at the idea that he’d kept these incredible, spiritual men waiting for so long. “I — I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I had to be sure…”

But Acat held up his hand, gesturing for silence. “Do not apologize to us,” he smiled. “We are pleased that you were cautious before making your decision.” With that he turned and walked away, his loincloth moving with a wind that Blair could not feel as he followed. Glancing down, Blair was not surprised to see that he was naked again. He always seemed to be naked when he visited the spirit planes.

A walk of a few minutes took them into the forest, and he was soon standing in the same clearing that he’d been in the last time he’d visited the guardians. The remaining guardians were waiting for him; Natan, the silver-haired Apache shaman; Chaob, a Mayan shaman like Acat; and Jarawi and Shullka, who were both Incan.

All greeted him with a smile, moving to stand in a rough circle around him. Acat joined the circle as well, standing directly in front of Blair. “Why are you here?” he asked, and Blair’s shoulders tensed at his formal tone. After all the uncertainty, all his fears, he was finally here. This was it.

“I have come to learn how to be a shaman,” he said, his own voice raising against the sudden wind that was rustling through the trees. “I seek your guidance and your wisdom.”

Then Jarawi stepped forward from his position on Blair’s left side, and Blair turned slightly so he could see him. “What do you fear?”

A little surprised at the question, Blair hesitated. “Fear?” he echoed. “I don’t…”

“What do you fear?” This time from Shullka, standing to his right and taking a step closer.

Wondering if this was some kind of shamanic test, Blair was silent, trying to work out exactly what the right answer should be. Should he say he feared nothing? Or would they expect him to fear those who didn’t respect nature?

Then, from somewhere in the back of his mind, he could almost hear Manuel d’Angeles’ voice, scolding him for even thinking about trying to trick the guardians. They had been watching him for years now; they already knew exactly what he feared.

They just wanted to hear him say it.

Squaring his shoulders, Blair spoke, his voice only shaking slightly as he did so. “Failure,” he said simply. “I fear failing those I love.” At Acat’s slight nod, he continued. “I fear being corrupted by the gifts I have been given. I’m afraid of ending up like LaForce; of hurting someone.”

A tap on his shoulder made him turn round, and Natan held out a small, round wooden bowl for him to take. Automatically reaching for the plain, roughly carved cup, Blair saw the red liquid sloshing around inside and felt ridiculously like Indiana Jones drinking from the Holy Grail, as Natan gestured for him to take a sip.

The liquid was ice cold and surprisingly thick, making him gasp as it trickled down the back of his throat. He swallowed, surprised that the drink had almost no taste at all, and looked up at Natan, eyebrows raised in a silent query of what was supposed to happen now.

Natan only stared back at him, evidently waiting expectantly for something.

A searing pain erupted inside his head; a knife stabbing through his skull and behind his eyes. A guttural cry was torn from his throat, both hands cradling his head as he collapsed, every nerve-ending screaming in protest as images exploded like fireworks in his mind’s eye, tumbling over each other at a dizzying rate…

...a dark alleyway. Blair standing, silhouetted by light that glinted off the smoking gun in his hand. An eight-year old child with a gunshot wound lying at his feet…standing in a church, watching Jim walk down the aisle to stand by his side...a hospital waiting room, staring at a solemn doctor who is shaking his head, his scrubs covered in blood...holding Megan’s newborn baby in his hands, Rafe as the proud father sitting by her side...delivering the bad news, tears streaming down his own cheeks as Daryl crumbles into his arms...walking in front of the cameras with a smile, shaking hands with the talk show host as Ellison’s picture flashes up on the screen behind them. A single tagline — ‘The Sentinel Unmasked’...Thanksgiving. A huge table full of food, family and friends gathered in a room full of love and laughter...trapped by the flames, screaming as his friends burn around him...a silent graveyard with a single grave. James Joseph Ellison. RIP...

Blair came back to himself on his knees, his headache already fading but hands trembling at the horrors he’d seen. His fingers dug convulsively into the dirt as he gasped for breath, his heartbeat thudding almost out of control beneath his chest.

“What…?” he whispered, stunned, staring up bewildered into Acat’s sympathetic eyes.

Kneeling down beside him, Acat placed a warm hand on Blair’s shoulder, the contact comforting, helping to ease the tremors running through him.

“These are glimpses of what may come to pass,” Acat explained, gently bringing Blair back to his feet, holding on to his arm until Blair was steady enough to stand on his own. “A shaman’s path is not an easy one,” he warned, “and yours may be harder than most. You shine like a beacon in the darkness, and many will be drawn to you who would see you fall — those who would corrupt your gifts for themselves. You must be prepared.”

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Blair quipped shakily. “I hear you, believe me. But how can I stop them?”

“By remembering that you serve others, and not yourself,” Chaob scolded him. “By keeping love in your heart, and by remembering that your family, though your greatest weakness, is also your greatest strength.”

“You have a strong heart, Amaut’a Sanqo,” Natan added. “You are a teacher and a Guide. Have faith in yourself and heed the guidance of those you trust, and you will not be easily corrupted.”

~*~*~

Sitting in the darkness, Jim flexed his shoulders to stretch them out, his body growing uncomfortable at having to remain seated and still for so long.

Time was passing slowly, the hour or so they had been sitting here feeling like an eternity. At first nothing much had changed; after Blair had finished the incantation he had fallen silent, and with his eyes closed Jim couldn’t really tell whether he was in a deep trance or simply waiting for something to happen.

If Blair didn’t really know what to expect, Jim had even less of an idea, and so when Blair finally opened his eyes, more than two hours after the ritual had begun, it took Jim a few minutes to realize that it wasn’t over — that Blair wasn’t actually awake. His pupils were fixed and staring, a fine sheen of sweat glistening across his skin, and Jim was already alarmed, muscles tensed, even before Blair gasped and keeled over.

“Blair!”

Only long-developed Ranger instincts got Jim moving quickly enough to reach his partner in time, grabbing a handful of Blair’s shirt before he cracked his head open on the rocks behind. Gathering Blair to him, his own heart racing in fear, Jim twisted them both round and laid Blair flat out on the ground, one hand cradling the back of his head until the last possible moment.

“Sandburg?” he called, his voice a mixture of urgency and hushed uncertainty. Kneeling over Blair’s prone form, Jim hesitated. He had no idea what was going on — could this be a normal part of a vision quest? Blair hadn’t warned him to expect anything like this, but he had said that whatever happened, Jim shouldn’t try to wake him. The problem was, Blair’s limbs were trembling and he was clearly unconscious — this looked a little too much like a grand mal seizure for Jim’s liking.

He cursed, wishing he’d thought to bring his cellphone out with him — it would do neither of them any good if Jim had to waste time getting back to the house to call 911.

Finally Jim settled for reaching out and touching Blair’s shoulder, his grasp becoming firmer when Blair didn’t immediately respond. Closing his eyes, Jim cast out his senses, listening to his lover’s shallow breathing and the rapid beat of his heart. Nevertheless his heart rate was steady, and Jim couldn’t hear any sign that he was struggling to pull air into his lungs. Relaxing slightly, Jim opened his eyes again…

…and found that the forest around him had turned blue.

He was still kneeling inside the same stone circle, the lake glistening almost black in the darkness, but everything he could see was suffused with blue, all other colors simply washed away. Unlike the circle they’d created, a small fire was now crackling away in the center; little more than a few twigs and dry leaves, but the flames were flickering bright blue in the strange light. Other than that nothing had changed — except that Sandburg was gone.

Shooting to his feet, blind panic making his breath catch in his chest, Jim spun round, stepping out of the circle and looking for any sign of his suddenly missing partner. His search didn’t take long, and Jim stumbled to a stop when he saw Incacha watching him silently from just a few feet away, Jim’s black panther sitting quietly at his feet.

“Incacha?” he breathed. “What’s going on? Where’s Blair?”

“I’m right here, Jim,” Standing in the middle of a group of shamen, Blair stepped out from the trees behind Incacha, walking over to greet him with a warm embrace.

He was no longer dressed in the jeans and flannel shirt he’d been wearing when they left Ben’s house. Instead, Blair was naked, his skin adorned with painted symbols that Jim recognized from Incacha’s teachings during his time in Peru. A pipe — the symbol for Mother Earth, Father Sky and the seven sacred directions — appeared on his upper arm. The pipe signified the prayer, truth and harmony that could be achieved when entering a oneness with the spirits. Jim wasn’t surprised that a hand appeared on Blair’s upper left arm, since it symbolized the service to others that had defined so much of Blair’s adult life

His face and chest was covered with red and black paint; stripes that covered his eyes and disappeared out of sight beneath his long curls.

“Are you all right? What’s going on?” Jim asked, his voice hushed as he glanced nervously at Incacha. He loved his former shaman, sure; but Incacha’s passing on the way of the shaman to Blair was what had started this screwed up mess in the first place, and Jim wasn’t sure he trusted him all that much anymore.

He certainly hadn’t been expecting to see him here.

“Somehow you’ve joined my vision quest. But don’t worry, everything’s fine,” Blair assured him, but Jim could see the tale his body was telling, and the two didn’t match up. Even in the blue light his skin was pale and tight, and he was shaking as much here in the dreamscape as he had been out in the real world. Something bad had happened, Jim was sure of that.

Something that Blair was keeping from him.

Then Incacha stepped forward, and Jim couldn’t seem to stop his instinctive response, moving to stand slightly in front of Blair, shielding him from the older shaman. To his annoyance, Incacha merely looked amused.

“Welcome, Enquiri,” he greeted with a warm smile.

“What am I doing here, Incacha? I thought I was supposed to be looking after him?”

“You stand only half on the spirit plane,” one of the other shamen broke in. “To you we are still standing by the lake, the same forest surrounding us that surrounds your bodies. Your senses will let you know if anything approaches.”

Blair glanced around him in surprise. “You can still see the lake?” he echoed. “Can you see Ben’s house as well?”

Frowning, Jim was about to ask him what the hell he could see if not the lake, but Incacha continued before he had the chance. “It is time to complete the circle,” he said calmly. “You must both make the final choice to dedicate your lives and your souls.”

Jim grunted in reply, his skepticism obvious. “I don’t remember you giving Sandburg a chance to have his say when I had to choose. What makes me so special?”

“He was not a shaman then. Only now is he ready to walk the path he was chosen for.”

“Then what do you need me for?” he asked curtly.

“You must make the choice with one voice.” Incacha replied solemnly, before stepping away and joining the line of shamen watching them both. “Now or never, for all eternity.”

Dismissing them from his mind for the moment, Jim turned to his partner, reaching over to take both Blair’s hands in his. “This is it,” he said softly, pulling Blair a few steps closer to him, seeking mute comfort in the warmth of his touch. “Are you sure you’re ready, Blair? That this is what you want?”

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Blair glanced once over at the black panther by Incacha’s feet, which Jim saw had now been joined by a beautiful grey wolf. “I’m sure,” Blair said, leaning forward to kiss Jim gently on the lips. “I’m ready.”

“Then so am I,” Jim said, raising his voice and turning to face their audience, but keeping one hand tightly entwined in Blair’s. “We’ve made our choice.”

Half expecting Incacha or one of the other ancestors to begin the next part of the ritual, he was surprised when Blair let go of his hand and stepped away, moving to stand in the middle of the stone circle, the fire crackling just inches away from his feet. Their two spirit animals left Incacha’s side and followed, stopping opposite each other outside the circle.

“I pray to the four directions…hear me,” Blair called. “I pray to the West, which gives us rest and reflection.
I pray to the North, which gives us patience and purity. I pray to the East, which gives us energy and emotions. I pray to the South, which gives us discipline and direction. I thank you for these gifts, for without them we could not live. Grandmother, share with me your wisdom, and I thank you for this gift. Grandfather, share with me your strength, and I thank you for this gift.”

Blair had barely finished speaking, his words still echoing around the trees when the tiny fire at his feet suddenly exploded, the flames shooting up to 10 feet high and sending bright sparks of ash out to the edges of the circle. Jim gasped, horror clutching at his throat as fire engulfed Blair, the roar of the flames almost drowning out the sound of Blair’s terrified screams.

“No!” His momentary terror cost him precious seconds, and even as Jim leapt forward, desperately reaching to pull Blair’s burning body from the flames, he could see that he was too late. Fire licked along Blair’s skin as he collapsed, his screams cut off with an awful whimper as the fire took his throat. Jim could barely see him through the wall of fire, only just able to make out the curl of his side as Blair’s body curled reflexively in on itself on the filthy ground, a final, dying act as the flames and heat flayed his skin from his body.

“Blair!” Jim’s cry was visceral, primal in its despair, but something was stopping him from getting to his partner, making the few yards between them a chasm as wide as the Grand Canyon. His mind already shutting down in terror and grief, Jim stared helplessly behind him at Incacha, only slowly registering that it was his former shaman’s arm across his chest stopping him from getting to his dying lover.

Blinding rage erupted from within him and he turned, furious, his arms coming up to free himself with a move that was certain to kill his assailant, intent on driving Incacha’s septum back into his brain. But before he had the chance to do any more than twist around an unseen force was already pushing him away, sending him stumbling to his knees out of Incacha’s reach.

That same force refused to let him up, pinning him to the ground, and Jim had no choice but to remain where he was, eyes locked on the fire that was consuming Blair, the smell of burning, decaying flesh seeping into his nose and sending bile churning up in his throat. “Incacha!” he begged, only now aware of the tears streaming unchecked down his cheeks to pool on the ground at his feet. “Help him, god, please!”

//Be calm, Sentinel.//

Strange voices echoed in his head, making no sense.

//All will be well.//

Jim choked at that, staring in mute, helpless horror at the fire that was already dampening down, burning itself out almost as suddenly as it had appeared.

The instant the flames had died away Jim was moving, stumbling across the few feet that separated them and falling to his knees inside the circle, heedless of the hot embers burning at his own legs. Blair’s body was charred beyond recognition; what little remained of his skin was blackened, and Jim could see pieces of bone peeking through.

Fighting not to gag at the foul stench, feeling bile rising up in his own throat, Jim fell backwards, his eyes locked onto the shattered remains of his lover’s body.

The panther and the wolf stood by, neither one moving from their watchful positions outside the circle, though the wolf was howling to the heavens, and had been since the flames first rose up.

Then, before Jim’s eyes, something began to change. Parts of Blair’s body began to glow, and gradually Jim could see the patterns that had adorned his skin — the pipe, the hand and the painted stripes across his face — begin to reappear, shining red out of the charred embers.

Unable to fully comprehend what he was seeing, Jim watched in shock as the charring beneath the symbols flaked away, the burned skin falling to the ground around Blair’s body, where it crumbled away into little more than dust. In its place was pale, pink skin — the new skin that formed beneath a healing scar — but it had none of the burns or scarring that it should have after such a serious injury. Instead it was as smooth as a baby’s, and Jim’s hand hesitantly reached out to touch it, his fingers stayed only by a warning growl from the panther.

The metamorphosis spread across his whole body — where before there had been flashes of bone, Jim could see muscle and sinew growing rapidly over it, before being covered by the same pale, pink skin.

Before Jim’s eyes, Blair’s body was made whole again, until not a single trace of the fire’s devastating trail across his skin remained. Then, as he watched, the patterns on his skin changed until what looked like a loincloth was painted on his skin. Jim blinked, and when he looked again the paint was gone — but the pattern wasn’t. Naked before the fire came, Blair was now clothed in the Chopec’s native dress.

Transfixed, Jim stayed where he was until Blair’s eyes fluttered open with a soft groan, and then Jim surged forward, pulling Blair up from the ground and gathering him into his arms. Blair went willingly, his limbs hanging at his side, weak as a newborn’s, but after a few seconds he returned Jim’s embrace, the two of them clinging to each other in desperation.

“My God, Blair,” Jim muttered, pressing his lips against the side of Blair’s face, whispering into his ear beneath the knotted curls. “What just…I thought…you were…Jesus...” But words failed him, his mind still fighting to try and comprehend what he’d seen, and in the end he settled for simply tightening his hold even further, reassuring himself with every sense that Blair was here.

That he was alive.

“Sorry, Jim,” Blair’s voice was weak, trembling with every syllable, but he kept talking anyway, hands moving compulsively up and down Jim’s back. “I swear…I had no idea that was going to happen, or I never would have...” Then he trailed off in surprise, turning his head slightly as a wet nose burrowed between the two of them.

Jim followed his gaze to see Woot — Blair’s spirit animal — pushing his way between them, with the panther close on his heels. Jim could see his own distress radiating from the panther in the way it was prowling around them both, its tail swishing angrily behind him. Reaching out, Jim petted him, forcing himself to calm down with slow, deep breaths.

Jim had no idea how long the four of them stayed there, huddled together in the stone circle, but eventually Blair stiffened, giving Jim’s body one last, tight squeeze before turning his head to take in the waiting shamen. Before he turned his face away, Jim saw that it was tight with barely repressed anger.

“Damn it, Acat,” he snapped, his voice shaking with fury. “What the hell was that?”

But Acat seemed unaffected by Blair’s anger. “You are not blind to the ways of the shaman,” he remarked calmly. “This is the way it has always been. You are one of us, now.”

“Jim should never have seen that,” Blair protested, glancing back at Jim with sorrow in his eyes. “Why didn’t you warn me?”

It was Chaob who stepped forward, a note of warning in his voice. “Your Sentinel walks the same path,” he said sternly. “Would you seek to protect him from what must be done?”

“If it means forcing him to see something like that? Yes!”

But Chaob just shook his head. “Amaut’a Sanqo, Enquiri, now you stand together against the darkness, protecting all your relations against those with no respect, who would corrupt the teachings of the Ancestors. But you must stand united, for the secrets between you weaken your gifts, and give your enemies a powerful advantage.”

With a sigh, Blair nodded, resigned, turning back to Jim and pulling them both to their feet as Chaob continued. “Your gifts are now a part of you, Amaut’a Sanqo,” he said. “You stand named as shaman to a Great City, and Guide to a Sentinel.” With that he stepped forward and placed both hands on Blair’s shoulders, bowing his head to touch Blair’s forehead with his own.

Jim watched as the others followed suit one by one, recognizing Blair as a shaman. Then suddenly, as abruptly as it had begun, the vision ended, and Jim opened his eyes to find himself back at the lake, the air around him as black as the night, instead of the deep blue of the jungle.

Lying at his feet, Blair opened his eyes with a soft sigh. Incredibly, there seemed to be no physical evidence of his ordeal, though he seemed dazed, and his eyes were unfocused when they blinked up at Jim.

“Are you all right?” Jim asked, his voice hushed by their still, silent surroundings.

“I…I think so.” Blair’s voice was trembling, but he pushed himself to a sitting position all the same, keeping both hands flat on the ground to steady himself. “You?”

“I’ll live.” Levering himself to his feet, Jim looked around them, checking once again that there was no one else nearby before holding his hand out to his prone partner. “You think you can stand?”

In response Blair reached up, grasped Jim’s hand and stood shakily, though Jim wasn’t sure whether it was his hand resting around Blair’s shoulders, or Blair’s own feet, keeping him the most upright.

Blair leaned gratefully into his chest, resting his forehead against Jim’s broad frame with a heartfelt sigh, apparently content to just stay there.

“Come on, Chief,” Jim said finally, beginning to steer them both back across the rocks towards the single light, shining like a beacon from Ben Thundercloud’s front window. “Let’s get back inside.”

They moved in silence around the lake, Jim guiding them through the darkness. It was only when they’d reached the house, and Jim was helping his shuffling partner up the front steps, that he spoke. “What the hell just happened, Sandburg?” he asked, running his free hand wearily over the stubble on his chin.

Blair was almost asleep on his feet, his head resting heavily on Jim’s shoulder, and he had to dial up his hearing to completely understand the answer.

“Sometimes in these rituals the shaman initiate goes through a spiritual devouring,” he mumbled. “But not always, and I’ve never heard of fire being used. I’m sorry, Jim…” then he trailed off and Jim just shook his head, his own exhaustion preventing him from pushing further.

Between the two of them they made it up the narrow flight of stairs, stumbling to the guest bedroom where Jim knelt and pulled off Blair’s shoes and socks before easing him gently back onto the bed until his head hit the pillow.

“How do you feel?” he asked curiously, and Blair opened his eyes where they’d drifted shut.

“Tired.”

Jim smiled, smothering his own yawn. “What about the rest of it?” he continued. “You know, your abilities. Do you feel any different?” Sitting beside Blair, Jim pulled off his own shoes as he spoke, leaving his white socks on, then sprawled on the bed as well, nudging Blair with his hip to get him to move over and make room.

Blair was silent for so long that Jim thought he’d fallen asleep, his own eyes closing as the night’s events began to catch up with him. Just as he drifted away into his dreams, he thought he heard Blair speak again.

“I feel…whole.”

~*~*~

The sun was already high in the sky when Jim woke, light streaming in through the window and shining directly onto his face. At first he tried to ignore it, too comfortable where he lay to want to seriously consider moving, but eventually he was forced to accept that he wasn’t going to be able to get back to sleep.

They’d both fallen asleep on top of the covers the night before, but he was still fully clothed so it wasn’t cold. Sometime during the night Blair had turned over onto his side, and now he lay facing Jim, his head nestled below Jim’s shoulder with one arm thrown over his chest.

Settling his head back against the pillow, Jim closed his eyes and let himself drift, content just to listen to the snuffling sounds that Blair made as he slept. Gradually, he let his hand move up and rest in Blair’s curls, enjoying the feel of them between his fingers.

He couldn’t quite believe that it was finished. Not that this was the end, exactly; Jim had too many years of experience with his own senses not to be aware that Blair would still be learning new things about his abilities when he was ninety, but he firmly believed that the worst part was over. Blair was no longer at risk of shaman sickness; now that he’d been initiated his body was now completely in tune with his abilities, and prepared to handle the extra demands they placed on him.

That knowledge alone was going to let him sleep a little easier at night, whatever people like LaForce tried to throw at them in future.

Better men than him had failed to destroy them.

A whisper of sound somewhere to his right caught Jim’s attention, and he came silently alert, opening his eyes to find Ben Thundercloud leaning against the doorframe, watching them both with his arms folded in front of him, silver hair held in a clasp and trailing down his back. “All is well,” he said, and it wasn’t a question. Jim got the distinct impression that Ben knew exactly what had happened the previous night, and residual anger surfaced that Ben hadn’t thought to warn them, to prepare Blair for exactly what he was going to face.

He didn’t answer, instead sliding carefully out from under his partner, moving slowly so that he didn’t wake him. Blair shifted restlessly, voicing an unconscious murmur of protest at losing the source of heat he’d been curled up with. Jim hesitated long enough to make sure that he wasn’t going to wake before heading out of the room, gesturing silently for Ben to follow.

Jim preceded him down the stairs, awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck to try and iron out some of the kinks. In spite of the late hour Jim could still feel the urge for sleep calling to him, his body anxious to return to the warmth and comfort of his lover’s arms. Only anger, and his need for answers, kept him focused on the conversation.

As if anticipating the topic of conversation, Ben didn’t speak at all, merely standing in the front room and waiting for Jim to begin. Jim was only too eager to oblige.

“Why the hell didn’t you warn us?” he demanded, gesturing back at the stairs. “Or at the very least, you could have warned Blair! There was no way he was prepared. Don’t tell me you didn’t know what was going to happen.”

“The spirit walk is not meant to be simple,” Ben replied calmly. “It is the final test of a shaman’s determination and worth — the Ancestors do not make such a decision lightly.”

Jim moved a step closer, anger raising his voice even as he tried to keep the volume down, leaving his tone tight, sharp and shaking. “And everything he went through at the fountain wasn’t enough? That bitch drowned him! What, his death wasn’t enough of a test?”

“Did you think the final ritual would be like picking low-hanging fruit?” Ben scolded, seemingly unperturbed by Jim’s anger. “These are serious abilities that Blair has been gifted with, and he should not take them for granted. That way lies Maxim’s path. By knowing death, and returning from it, the shaman learns the secret of life and gains the power to heal. But all things in nature must balance, and there are always consequences. Blair’s death in Cascade prepared his mind for the test of being a shaman, but his body could not cope — that’s why it failed him. Last night, the Ancestors stripped him back to his most basic self, rebuilding him and ensuring that he is physically strong enough to bear his gifts. But there is no easy way to do that, Jim. Would you deny him that strength?”

“Of course not!” Jim protested wearily, running his hand over his face. “But damn it, Ben, when I was given the choice of whether I wanted to become a sentinel, all I had to do was make the decision and take a step. Why the hell did his choice have to be so much harder?”

“You are a sentinel, and a hereditary shaman, and have been since the day you were born,” Ben replied, moving to sit down in his faded chair. “Though your senses haven’t always been on-line, your body has always been prepared for them, and your spirit has always been able to cope with what your abilities asked of it. Blair’s was not, and his path has been much more difficult than yours, but it will be all the more rewarding for that. You have to put your trust in the Ancestors.”

Even though Jim could see the logic in Ben’s words; could understand why they’d been put through the horrors of the spirit walk, he wasn’t prepared to just let the argument drop. If he closed his eyes he could still see Blair’s charred, broken body lying at his feet, and he could still smell burnt flesh, lingering in the air and clogging his throat, trapping his screams in his mind. He shivered, the remembered horror threatening to overwhelm him again. He reached blindly behind him, hands searching for support from the edge of the table, when a soft voice called to him.

“Leave it, Jim.” Head snapping up in search of the sound, Jim saw Blair standing in the hallway just outside the room, looking in at the two of them. Blair was obviously tired, but there was a calm acceptance in his manner, a contented stillness radiating from him that Jim didn’t often see in his guide unless Blair was meditating.

Blair held out a hand. “Come back to bed,” he urged, glancing across at Ben with a quick, warm smile.

“But I…”

“Please?”

Suddenly Jim wanted nothing more than to hold his lover in his arms, to reassure himself that the vision was over and Blair was alive; whole and here with him. So Jim moved, crossing the room in two quick strides and following Blair up the stairs. His senses were already spiraling, burying themselves happily in the sounds and smells and images that all sang ‘Blair’ to him, and he barely heard Ben calling up after them that he was going out, and would be gone for several hours.

Blair was the only thing that mattered.

~*~*~

They landed on the bed in a tangle of limbs. The bed creaked as Jim pressed Blair down into the mattress, his own legs either side of Blair’s thighs as he leaned down to steal a kiss. Jim’s lips were soft and warm, and Blair allowed his own eyes to close as he reached up and pulled Jim closer to him, anxious to reconnect with his lover.

It felt like years since they’d had any time together in private, and Blair had missed this with every passing moment, even if the anxiety he’d been feeling had made it difficult for him to relax. But now the anxiety was over, and instead what he’d felt since waking up moments before to the sound of raised voices was a kind of giddy euphoria — relief and joy and love all rolled up into one overwhelming sensation.

It was such an incredible relief to feel whole again, to no longer feel as if he was fighting the shamanic abilities and his body’s own instincts with every single step he took. He felt strangely connected now, aware of the earth and the world and every natural, living thing which existed in it. That awareness hovered around him, the whispering voices he’d been hearing before the spirit walk now culminating in a prickling sensation dancing in his mind and running down the back of his neck. And yet it didn’t feel intrusive, instead it was just the barest hint of feeling that comforted and embraced him. It was reassuring, enriching his love of the world around him. Now, more than anything, he wanted to share that joy with the most important person in his life.

“Don’t be mad at Ben,” he said, breaking off the kiss barely long enough to get the words out, his own desire making him hurry, the words tumbling out over one another. “It’s over. We made the right decision.”

Jim leaned back, his gaze staring intently down at Blair as if trying to assess his honesty. “Are you sure?”

“God, yes,” Blair replied in a whisper. “Jim, it’s…it’s incredible.” Then he abandoned speech and pulled Jim back to him, burrowing his hands into the tiny space between them to begin pulling the bottom of Jim’s t-shirt up out of his pants. Despite the close quarters it wasn’t difficult; Jim was still rumpled from their exhausted sleep the night before, and his shirt was already hanging mostly loose around his hips.

Catching on quickly, Jim let go of him and leaned back, quickly raising his arms and pulling the fabric over his head, letting it fall to the floor by the bed. Blair’s own shirts were next, though the multiple layers he always wore meant his took a little longer to shed than Jim’s had.

The rush of cool air to his skin made him shiver, the hairs on his chest prickling in the chill, but his chuckle quickly morphed into a moan of desire as Jim bent down and engulfed Blair’s nipple into his mouth, tongue running round the sensitive skin. Blair arched up towards the heat, his hands reaching round to splay across Jim’s broad back, letting his head fall back against the pillow.

The maddening sensation was traveling straight to his cock, heat of his own rushing quickly to his groin, and it wasn’t long before Blair’s fingers stopped pressing against Jim’s back and began pushing instead, pushing against Jim’s arms to try and get him to move, damn it. At this rate there was a serious risk that Blair wouldn’t last long, and now that they finally had the time to really enjoy themselves the last thing he wanted was to come in his pants like a fourteen-year old schoolboy.

Mercifully Jim didn’t torture him for long, and he soon moved back up so that he was lying completely over Blair’s prone form, covering him like a blanket. Most of his weight was still resting on the legs either side of Blair’s and the arm that he was using for balance — Jim always looked out for him, the urge to do so instinctive even in the throes of passion, and Blair loved him all the more for it.

Smiling indulgently Jim gazed down at him, eyes dark with passion and amusement. “There’s no pizza delivery to interrupt us this time,” he teased quietly, and Blair returned the grin with one of his own, reaching up to press his hand against the growing bulge in Jim’s jeans. He let his fingers play firmly across the fabric, enjoying the responsive moans and the need telegraphed from every inch of Jim’s body.

“Make love to me?” he whispered softly, and those four words seemed to release Jim from his stupor, and he descended on Blair like a drowning man. The next few moments were a blur of sensation; Jim’s hands running through his hair, the sudden shock of cold metal as Blair lowered the zipper on Jim’s jeans, Jim’s legs tightening around Blair’s once they were both fully naked.

Jim’s skin was smooth, perfect, and Blair let his hands move across his chest as they kissed, relishing the feel of solid muscles rippling beneath his touch. Their bodies slid against each other, caressing, and he felt drunk on the strength of it — the heat and safety and love he could feel pouring from every touch.

Then the head of his erection brushed hard against Jim’s thigh, rubbing against the soft, silky expanse of skin, and he moaned deep in his throat, the sound choked off when Jim’s hand folded round his cock, holding him gently.

Blair came with a cry, white flashes shooting across his eyes as his mind shattered in ecstasy.

When he returned to himself, long moments later, Jim’s fingers were gently caressing his opening, cold and slick with lube. His body was still too sated, too languid to take much interest, but Blair let himself sink down into the bed, spreading his legs further to allow Jim better access.

This was his favorite way they made love. Sentinel senses and the stamina of a ranger meant that Jim usually lasted longer than he could, but one quick orgasm often took the edge off for Blair, allowing them to really make the most of it.

He reached up and grasped hold of Jim’s cock, caressing and stroking it to its full length as Jim eased one finger inside him, stretching him carefully, preparing him even as he gasped out his own desire. Unable to hide his delight, Blair allowed his hands to wander, running the length of Jim’s cock before beginning to explore his heavy balls, until he was caressing Jim’s opening in counterpoint to Jim’s finger thrusting into his own.

One finger became two, until a particularly strong caress of Jim’s cock caused his body to buck, Jim’s fingers driving hard into Blair. Pleasure washed over him as Jim caressed his prostate, and Blair pushed back hard, his body eager to feel more of that intense pressure deep inside him, sending heat exploding through his body.

His enthusiastic reaction only encouraged Jim, and soon he was taking three fingers with ease, the strokes across his prostate sending white flashes of pleasure across his tightly closed eyes, making him bite his lip against the urge to cry out.

Then Jim reached to pull Blair’s hand away from his own body, lightly kissing his palm before entwining their fingers together and leaning down to kiss him. Jim’s tongue thrust hard into Blair’s mouth, heat and warmth and desire flooding his every sense, and Blair responded with a muffled whimper as Jim’s fingers pushed harder, surging deeper into his body. The feel of being caressed, of being needed, was his final undoing. Blair gave himself completely over to the sensations, riding down as hard as he could on the intruders inside his body while his tongue dueled with Jim’s, urgently trying to give back as much pleasure as he could when Jim’s body was pinning him to the bed.

Blair’s own cock was now trapped between them, hard and throbbing, seeking every morsel of contact as Jim’s movements brushed against the tip. But before Blair could try to increase that contact Jim broke away from their passionate kiss, breathing hard as he stopped, fingers going still inside Blair as he gazed down into Blair’s lust-filled eyes.

“Beautiful,” he muttered, a thrill running through Blair at the hint of wonder in Jim’s voice. “What you do to me.”

Pushing down on the fingers, half-crazed with need and desperate for Jim to move, to do something, Blair reached up and tried to pull Jim back down to him, encouraging him. But instead Jim pushed his hand away, giving his prostate one last, hard stroke that had Blair bucking up beneath him before removing his fingers completely, leaving Blair feeling dazed and empty.

It was an eternity before Blair’s vision cleared enough to see what Jim was doing, and by the time he did Jim’s cock was sheathed, and Jim was kneeling up over him, one lubed hand slowly rubbing himself up and down as he waited.

“Oh God,” Blair whispered, his whole body screaming out at the loss of contact. He spread his legs even further apart, feeling the burn begin in his thighs. “Please Jim,” he said. “Please.”

A wicked smile slowly spread over his lover’s lips, and Jim eased closer until the tip of his cock was just resting against Blair’s opening, until Blair could just feel the pressure. He pushed up but it wasn’t enough, and Jim grasped his right hip, holding him still as he waited, one hand steadily brushing up and down his own cock. “Please what?” he prompted, his voice deep with lust and amusement.

The sight of Jim pleasuring himself so close was maddening and exciting but not enough, and Blair searched desperately for the right words. “Please,” he repeated. “Jim, just…just fuck me,” he begged, his voice shaking with need. “Fuck me!”

“All you had to do was ask,” Jim teased gently, his other hand grasping Blair’s left hip as he pushed. The familiar pressure built up as he eased the head of his cock past the ring of muscle, tight even after its earlier stretching, and Blair waited, biting his lip, as the pressure began to ease, quickly turning into the welcome pleasure, the first flutters of feeling that always descended so quickly once Jim began to thrust.

Only he didn’t. Instead Jim moved slowly, his cock easing into Blair, allowing Blair to feel every tiny, wonderful movement inside himself. It was incredible; the warmth spreading slowly over him, his prostate tingling as Jim’s cock moved, brushing over it inch by tantalizing inch. Jim didn’t stop until he was fully sheathed, and Blair could feel Jim’s balls pressing against his skin.

Then Jim stilled completely, arching his back so he could capture Blair’s mouth in another kiss, running his hands through Blair’s curls, fingers running through the strands.

Even though it was completely still, Blair could feel Jim’s cock pulsing deep inside him, his muscles contracting around it as Jim’s agonizingly slow pace threatened to drive him mad with desire. Only when Blair thought he’d lose his mind did Jim finally move; a sudden, strong thrust inside him that brushed firmly over his prostate and made Blair arch up underneath him, his strangled cry emptying into Jim’s mouth through their kiss.

Then Jim stilled again, waiting until Blair had got his breath back before doing it again, and again, until Blair was aware of nothing more than the repeated thrusts within him and the maddening, interminable wait between each one.

Clenching down on Jim’s cock as much as he could, trying to return the pleasure and encourage Jim to move faster, Blair was rewarded as he finally released Blair’s mouth and began thrusting in earnest, pounding into Blair’s willing body.

Blair felt his orgasm building again, his erection hard and ready between them. Every brush of Jim’s cock across his prostate sent jolts behind his eyes, the pleasure strong enough to take his breath away. A particularly strong thrust inside him was enough for Blair to throw his head back on the pillow with a shout, clenching his eyes tightly shut as he teetered on the brink.

Incongruously it wasn’t the stroking of his prostate that pushed him over the edge. Instead it was the sound of Jim’s own pleasure; the cry that broke through his lips as he thrust. With a wordless shout Blair bucked, riding down on Jim’s cock and wrapping his legs around Jim’s waist, pushing him in even further as he came.

A wave of ecstasy crashed over him, and he could feel Jim climax as well, drawn out as Blair’s muscles rippled around him. They clung together through the haze, slowly coming down from their high, making the most of the last of their pleasure.

Blair wasn’t even fully aware of Jim softening, easing gently out of him and disposing of the condom, aware only that the heat of his body was gone, and reaching up to pull him back down. Jim went willingly, settling by Blair’s side and throwing an arm across his chest before following his lover into a deep, welcome sleep.

~*~*~

Once Ben returned and Jim and Blair reluctantly hauled themselves out of bed, the day passed surprisingly quickly. They were both starving; polishing off a simple, if late, breakfast before Ben and Blair sequestered themselves off in Ben’s study. Jim chose not to join them, instead spending his time puttering around outside, working on his truck.

The sun had fully risen while they were in bed, the air around him hot and thick and muggy, and Jim stripped off his shirt, baring his shoulders to the light as he worked. The temperature was soon too high for any really strenuous work, but he’d been meaning to give the truck a good tune-up for a while, and had everything he needed stored in the bed of the truck, just waiting for the right moment.

So he worked steadily; tinkering away with the engine, tightening up the fan belt and repairing a worn radiator hose before it had the chance to split. Then he fetched a bucket of water and a sponge, settling in to clean her from top to toe, methodically checking tire treads and brake lines as he went.

Beads of sweat were soon forming, running in tiny rivers down his neck and back. While he worked, relishing the repetitive, surprisingly relaxing rhythm of soap, lather and rinse, he listened to Blair and Ben talking inside the house, their voices a whisper in the background.

“You must always remember to give thanks,” Ben said, his voice echoing with that tinny quality Jim often heard when he was listening from a distance. “Set up a natural altar — a sacred space smudged with sweet herbs that will become your spiritual focus, a sanctuary where you can meditate.” Jim could hear someone moving around inside the house, the quiet whoosh-snick of drawers opening and closing as somebody, presumably Ben, gathered a small pile of objects together. “The basic shape of every altar is the same — a medicine wheel to provide a place for the four directions to come together — but the exact structure is up to you. You should construct it out of things that are very personal to you — that denote your own spiritual journey and symbolize the power you hold.”

Jim wondered where Sandburg would choose to construct the altar back at the loft. He couldn’t deny that he was reluctant to have sage wafting through the loft every day, but he was sure there’d be a way to make it work.

“Remember not to weigh the altar down with too many serious things,” Ben warned. “The altar must be a happy, playful place — too much seriousness drives the spirits away.”

Jim chuckled at that; if the spirits like playful things then it was no wonder they’d been drawn to his partner, who had never quite managed to throw off that childlike sense of exuberance and wonder. His time working with Jim and all the things he’d seen might have dampened it slightly in recent years, but Blair’s eyes still lit up when he talked of the tribes he’d seen and the marvels of both the natural world and the human spirit.

Finished with the soapy water that had turned brown with dirt and grime, Jim emptied the bucket out onto the small, square planted area by the corner of Ben’s house and then walked over to connect up the old hose to the outside tap before turning it on. The tap was rusted shut, reluctant to turn, and it took the strength of both hands before Jim felt the rust begin to flake away as the metal moved, water gushing out into the hose.

The pipe itself was old and leaking, the water pressure pushing droplets out through tiny holes to fall across Jim’s legs. He sprayed the entire truck down, washing the soap suds away onto the ground beneath his feet. The water that bounced back from hitting the truck was cold, a welcome relief from the heat of the sun, and by the time the truck was completely free of soap, Jim was completely soaked, denim jeans clinging to his legs.

After the intense events of the past twenty-four hours, washing the truck was a welcome relief; a task he could perform with his eyes closed and his brain switched off, just listening to his lover’s conversation without really needing to pay too much attention. Only when he was halfway through detailing the car, carefully working the wax into the edges of the paintwork around the front grille, did the conversation really draw his full attention once more.

“You did well simply to survive those attempts at healing,” Ben was saying, “but you must learn to control your efforts better, or perhaps one day you will not be so lucky.”

Jim stopped waxing, his mood instantly turning serious and his expression morphing unnoticed into a frown as he turned to face the house. Blair had saved his life twice, almost at the expense of his own. While Jim was both awed and grateful that his lover had seemingly brought him back from the dead, it was that ability which scared him more than any other, because it seemed to carry with it the most risk to Blair himself.

“I wasn’t even really aware I was doing it at first,” Blair admitted quietly. “When Jim was shot by the hunter…I don’t really remember much about it. I saw him lying on the ground, and there was so much blood…” his voice trailed off, becoming a whisper in the darkness as Jim closed his eyes against his own memories of that terrible night. When Blair’s voice began again, Jim could hear the wave of emotion pent-up behind the words. “I remember clinging to him, pleading with him to stay with me, covering the hole in his chest with my hand. After that…there was just the cold…it was so cold…that’s all I remember until hours later, once we were back in the cabin.”

The truck forgotten, Jim slumped down to lean against the front wheel, resting his arms on his knees and leaning his head back against the hot metal. His eyes still closed, he fought to ignore the sudden chill that had settled deep inside him despite the heat of the sun, clinging to the sound of Blair’s voice even though he couldn’t bring himself to go back into the house to be with his lover.

“Your abilities then were uncontrolled, working on instinct alone,” Ben interrupted. “Your heightened emotional state — your fear and grief — triggered your abilities, prompting them to heal Jim, but because you didn’t consciously know what you were doing you didn’t focus them properly. Too much of your own energy was wasted, used up without doing anything to help heal his wounds. That’s why it affected you so badly.”

Jim perked up at that, and Blair’s next question mirrored his own. “So it shouldn’t have affected me like that?” he asked, hope creeping into his voice to match that rising inside Jim.

“No, not that badly,” Ben warned. “Don’t misunderstand me, Blair. Healing the sick or injured is the most powerful ability a shaman can possess, and it comes with its own side effects. A shaman is not God. He or she does not possess the power to decide who gets to live and who dies. From what you’ve told me Jim’s injury was a fatal one — no shaman should be able to bring people back from the dead, but the connection the two of you have is so strong, and you have incredible abilities, Blair. That’s why LaForce wants you so badly. If he could ever possess your strengths as his own, he would truly be unstoppable.”

“Are…are you saying I should never have been able to bring Jim back?”

“I’m saying that you shouldn’t have tried. Shamanic healing is not without its side effects on the shaman who performs it. Granted they aren’t usually as severe as those you suffered, because you used up more energy than you needed to, but the choice of who lives and who dies rests with the Ancestors, not with the shaman. The belief that you hold the power to hold off death is one step on the way to the dark side.”

“But I didn’t know what I was doing,” Blair protested, and Jim could hear him jump to his feet, pacing around the small room the way he often did when upset or agitated.

“I know, and so do the spirits. No one blames you for what you did, but you have to be aware that a shaman is simply a conduit for the spirits, and for the work that they choose to do. You cannot heal someone purely because you want to. The choice of who lives and who dies is not yours to make, and it won’t always work. You have to be prepared for that. Don’t ever take chances because you think that you can heal yourself — or someone else — if it goes wrong. That’s not the way it works.”

“I guess I’m not immortal, then,” Blair said; a poor attempt at a joke to lighten the serious mood. Then the conversation turned to more practical topics — the proper way to focus healing energies, and how to block people’s thoughts so that he could no longer hear them whispering in the back of his mind all hours of the day or night.

Eventually Jim rose from his crouch on the ground, wiping the back of his hand across watery eyes before turning back to the abandoned truck. The wax had smeared where he’d leaned against it, thin white streaks across the blue paintwork, and Jim wiped away the mess before reapplying a new layer, embracing the repetitive work as he tried not to worry about the dangers his lover now faced.

By the time Ben decided Blair had done enough work for one day, Jim had finished the overhaul of his truck and was sitting out on the front porch, staring out over the lake to his right. The sun was riding low in the sky, glistening off the water, and Jim was leaning on the railings, his legs dangling off the edge but not quite long enough to touch the ground below.

He’d stopped listening in to their conversation not long after they’d discussed Blair’s healing abilities, wanting to give Blair some semblance of privacy as he struggled to find the control he so desperately sought.

The footsteps behind him signaled someone’s approach, and Jim glanced up to see Blair heading towards him, carrying two cans of beer. Holding one out to his partner, they exchanged a smile and, as Jim flipped the ringpull and took a long, cold drink, Blair sat himself down next to him.

“You ready to head out in the morning?” he asked.

Jim nodded, looking his partner over critically and searching for the telltale signs that he’d overdone himself training. He was used to Blair looking exhausted from long nights writing essays or grading papers, and was expecting to see the same pale skin and tight lines around his tired eyes. Instead Blair looked content, eyes shining as if from hard, but ultimately satisfying, work. There was a barely suppressed energy around him now, a sense of power and expectancy and excitement that radiated all around him. If Jim didn’t know better, he’d guess that he was seeing Blair’s aura, or perhaps a physical manifestation of his new abilities, the energy they provided leaking out for all to see.

Idly wondering whether Naomi would comment on it when they saw her again, Jim kept quiet, instead redirecting the previous question back to Blair. “Are you?”

“As I’ll ever be, man,” Blair replied, pausing to drink from the beer can and glance out over the rippling water. “Ben said it’ll probably take quite a while before I’m comfortable using these abilities. I think I’ve got the basics down, but it’s much easier out here where there are no distractions. Back in Cascade things will be very different.”

Jim knew exactly what he meant. “Welcome to my world,” he said wryly, leaning over and clinking his beer can against Sandburg’s. “In the big cities everything is just so much ‘more’. More people, more noise, more to see, and smell, and touch — it’s hard.”

“You ever think about moving out somewhere quieter?” Blair asked curiously. “A small town somewhere, or even right out into the wilderness?”

“Every time I have to go near the sewers, or go trawling through a dumpster looking for evidence,” Jim admitted with a sigh. “Maybe one day, it’d be nice to live somewhere where the air isn’t so polluted, and there aren’t so many people,” he mused. “But not for a while.”

“Protect the tribe, huh?”

Jim chuckled wryly. “Something like that, Sandburg.”

“How much did you hear?”

“Some of it,” Jim admitted, searching for the same levity Blair had tried earlier. “Guess I won’t be jumping in front of any more arrows for a while, huh?” The barest hint of a smile told Jim he’d made the right decision in keeping things light, and he reached over and looped an arm round Blair’s shoulder, gently pulling him closer. Blair leaned his head against Jim’s side, closing his eyes in contentment, and Jim followed suit, grateful for every chance they had to just sit and spend time together without real life getting in the way.

Tomorrow morning they’d have to return to Cascade, head back to their hectic lives fighting to keep people safe, and Jim wasn’t sure he was looking forward to it very much.

~*~*~

A restless night followed for them both, and they began the long drive back to Cascade with Ben Thundercloud’s final words ringing in their ears. “Remember Blair,” he warned solemnly, hands gripping Blair’s shoulders as he stared directly into his eyes. “In a city the size of Cascade there is always going to be somebody who needs your help, everywhere you look. You have to do what you can to protect those you meet, but remember that you will not be able to save everyone, and are of no use to anyone if you run yourself into the ground trying. You have only taken the first steps of a lifelong journey, but for as long as you continue to welcome them into your heart, the Guardians will always support and guide you.”

Then, standing out on his front porch, Ben had embraced them both, watching as the truck reversed out of his overgrown yard and drove off into the distance. They were surprisingly lucky with the traffic on the highway and made good time, pulling into the truck’s usual spot on Prospect in the early afternoon.

Cutting the engine, Jim didn’t immediately move to get out of the truck, instead glancing up at their apartment window before turning in his seat to face Blair. “So…” he began.

Blair raised his eyebrows. “So?”

“How do you feel now that you’re back in Cascade?” Jim asked curiously.

Blair bit down on his lower lip, turning the question over thoughtfully in his mind. “Hungry,” he announced finally, grinning at Jim and ducking as his partner rolled his eyes and swatted Blair on the arm. “Come on, man,” he said, pushing open the passenger door and hopping out onto the asphalt. “Let’s get all this stuff inside.”

The elevator was out of order, as usual, but it only took a couple of trips before they had all their gear safely stowed inside the loft. Unlike a normal camping trip, when they’d be hauling tents up and down from the basement, both men had packed pretty light, and Blair didn’t protest when Jim proceeded to empty out all their bags and pack them away before doing anything else.

The weather was pretty good — dry and fairly warm for the time of year, and so, when they’d finished and the loft was back in pristine condition, Blair grabbed a bag of kettle chips and joined Jim out on the balcony. A slight breeze ruffled through his hair, cool enough to feel but not enough to make him shiver, and he sighed contentedly, resting his elbows on the brick wall and looking out over the city.

“Seriously, Sandburg,” Jim began, picking up their earlier conversation as if they’d never dropped it. “How do you feel now that it’s all over?”

Blair popped another handful of chips into his mouth before replying. “It’s weird,” he said finally. “I’ve been tired for so long, and now I just feel…energized. It’s like a massive caffeine high, but without the jitters you get with those. It’s like I’m connected to everything around me or something.”

Jim nodded. “There’s a presence around you now,” he revealed. “A tangible energy radiating all around you — I can sense it. I’m not sure where it’s coming from, but I can tell when you’re near me now. I always used to know, somehow, but it’s like I can really feel it now, like something inside you is reaching out and touching me, even if you’re across the other side of a room.”

“Oh man!” Blair breathed, his mind automatically coming up with a dozen different ways they could test what Jim was sensing. “We should do some research, see if we can work out exactly what it is you’re picking up on. We might be able to make it stronger, maybe you could use it to find me when I’m not around…”

Jim held up his hand with a chuckle, stopping Blair in his tracks. “Easy there, Chief. Why don’t we just let this one play out for a while, huh? Save the tests until later, okay?”

Blushing, Blair nodded. “Sure. Sorry, man, it’s just all new, you know?”

“I know, I just think that we should give it a few days to settle down. Ben warned you that it was going to take time to adjust to being in a big city — let’s not rush it?” Blair nodded, and Jim gestured back into the loft. “What about this spiritual altar that Ben said you had to set up?” he asked. “Any ideas where you’re going to put it?”

Blair turned to glance through the glass doors. “I was thinking maybe in my old room,” he revealed. “The altar doesn’t have to be very big, and if I rearrange some of the profiling books I have in there, I should be able to make plenty of space. Besides,” he added with a grin. “If I have to smudge sage in there, at least I can keep the fire door open while I’m doing it and let some of the smell out, otherwise it might overwhelm you if I’m doing it all the time.”

“What are you going to put on the altar?”

“I’m not sure yet.” Blair hesitated, wondering whether to reveal that he’d seriously considered including a small bottleful of water from Rainier’s fountain. “It’ll take me a while to gather everything together once I’ve decided, though.”

He suspected Jim would find it slightly morbid, but Blair was through trying to pretend that Alex Barnes had never happened. The events at the fountain had fundamentally changed his life, and had been largely responsible for setting him on this path in the first place. This would act as a permanent reminder of just how badly they’d both fucked up during those fateful few days, and just how serious the consequences had been. Still, that was a conversation for another day.

Maybe.

“What can you hear, Jim?” he asked on impulse, and Jim rolled his eyes with a mock groan.

“I thought we just said no tests, Sandburg!” he protested.

“No, seriously,” Blair pushed, undeterred. “What can you hear?”

With an exaggerated sigh, Jim turned to face the city below them, placing both hands on the railing as he stilled, his head moving slightly to one side as he listened. “I can hear the seagulls down at the harbor,” he began, his gaze drifting to the right, where Blair could just make out the hazy shapes of the cranes towering high over the distant water. “There’s a ship being unloaded by the docks. Heavy boxes of some kind; I can hear wooden crates scraping along the ground.” Then he frowned, turning his head slightly back to look over the center of the city. “There are sirens over by the freeway,” he muttered, the lines on his face deepening as he fought to listen at what Blair knew was the very edge of his range. “There’s been a car accident. It sounds bad.” Jim’s knuckles were white, gripping the wrought iron hard. “Someone’s calling for a jaws of life.”

Blair moved closer to Jim, placing a hand against his back for support. “Do you want to head over there?” he asked softly. “Is there anything we can do?”

After a moment, Jim shook his head. “No. They’ve got it in hand.”

“Okay, then dial it back, man. You don’t need to listen to that.” For a moment, he almost thought Jim was going to refuse, his innate need to protect the city and those who lived inside it making him unable to switch off when he knew that something was wrong, but after a moment he simply sighed, blinking a couple of times before turning to face Blair. “Sorry,” Blair said. “That didn’t go quite like I pictured.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Jim replied gruffly. “It’s not the first time I’ve heard something like that.”

Blair nodded, unsure what to say that wouldn’t sound insensitive, or as if he was looking to immediately start another round of tests. “It…it can be a mixed blessing sometimes, can’t it?” he finally ventured, and to his surprise Jim laughed softly.

“I won’t deny the senses have their drawbacks, particularly when we’re scrambling round dumpsters or wading through the sewers. But I think, all things considered, I’d rather be with them than without.”

Blair couldn’t deny the warm sense of pride which flooded through him at that simple statement. Jim had spent so many years railing against his senses, denying them and wishing they’d never come on-line, that to hear him finally seem at peace with their place in his life was a gift in itself. Blair found himself taking his own comfort from that, vowing to follow in Jim’s example with his own growing abilities.

“What about you?” Jim asked suddenly. “What can you sense?”

“What can I sense?” Blair echoed, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“Your shaman abilities. What are they telling you about the city?”

Still feeling a little confused, Blair turned to look at the view in front of him. The sun was still high in the sky, its reflection bouncing off the windows on the building opposite. Cars were driving steadily down Prospect, the engine noise a steady buzz beneath them. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Jim he couldn’t sense anything out of the ordinary, but he could still hear the whispers like a symphony in the back of his mind, just on the edge of his awareness.

Ben had talked to him about them, had explained that the sensations were a manifestation of his abilities, a way for his conscious mind to process everything that the shaman inside him was picking up on. He could still remember the sense of urgency, the surge of fear and rage he’d felt back at the scene of the Nelson murders, but he couldn’t feel any of that now.

Instead the whispers were reassuring, calming and centering him, as if he had something in the back of his mind telling him that everything around him was okay. Only time would tell just how much he was picking up, but he smiled, aware of some of the tension leeching from his shoulders. “Everything feels fine,” he said. “It’s calm, like the world is as it should be.” His words didn’t even begin to express what he was feeling, but Blair couldn’t find the words to explain it.

Jim smiled. “I know exactly what you mean,” he said, everything about his expression radiating contentment.

They fell silent, then, both men watching over the hustle and bustle of the city beneath them. Eventually, as the sun slowly began to lose its heat, and the gentle breeze picked up to become more of a biting wind, Jim turned to Blair, stealing a handful of chips out of the bag. “Want to go to the station?” he asked. “See what’s been going on with the case since we left?”

Blair grinned; whether it was the sentinel or the cop talking, Jim was never one to sit around when there was a crime to solve. Of course, that was a personality trait that Blair had picked up himself over the past few years.

Protect the tribe had become a mantra to them both.

~*~*~

For a Sunday evening, the station was surprisingly busy as they made their way through the foyer and into the elevator. Major Crime was no different, showing almost a full complement of detectives. Megan was standing by the photocopier, while H was sitting at his desk, deep in conversation with Joel.

It was Joel who noticed them first, glancing up automatically when Jim pushed the doors to the bullpen open and stepped inside. The smile that appeared when he recognized them made Jim immediately smile back in response, and he turned slightly to allow Blair to step in beside him.

“Hey Joel,” Blair greeted, as Joel left H’s desk and walked towards them. Jim shrugged off his jacket, hanging it on the rack behind his desk before rejoining his partner.

“Hi guys! We didn’t expect to see you in here till tomorrow.”

“You know us, we just can’t stay away from the place,” Blair joked, leaning over to snag a file from the precarious stack littering his desk. “We wanted to find out if anything had happened with the home invasions. There haven’t been any more, have there?”

“No, it’s been fairly quiet, I think,” Joel replied, and tension Jim hadn’t even been aware of lifted from his shoulders. As important as their trip to the Colville Reservation was, he’d been secretly worried that the gang might hit another home while they were away. Three days was a long time in any police investigation, and they were already playing catch-up. If another attack had taken place, Jim knew they’d have been hard pushed to cope with any further delays. “You’ve had the Nelsons’ tox screen back from forensics, Blair, it’s on your desk.”

Blair nodded, holding up the file in his hand. “Yeah, it’s here, but it was negative. Doesn’t tell us anything.”

Jim shrugged, masking his own disappointment. “I’m not surprised. There was nothing to suggest the Nelsons were taking drugs, or that they’d been doped before they were killed.”

A shadow flickered across Blair’s eyes, and Jim knew he was remembering the gruesome crime scene, though he didn’t comment on it. “The autopsy results are here too,” he paused, scanning the pieces of paper in front of him. “No surprise here, either. Audrey Nelson died from blood loss from having her throat cut, and James Nelson’s cause of death was the stab wound to the heart.” He flicked over the page, reading quickly through it. “There’s nothing here we didn’t already know,” he sighed. “We’re back at square one.”

“We didn’t really expect anything else, Sandburg.”

“I know, I should have known you’d have found anything if it was there to find. I just…we need a break, Jim. We’re floundering here, and the press and the Mayor are all over this case. If we don’t stop these guys soon, someone else is going to end up dead.”

“Speaking of which, where’s Simon?” Jim glanced over at the Captain’s office. The blinds were closed, the room shadowed and dark.

“It’s his day off,” Joel replied. “He had Daryl this weekend; I think they were going out somewhere. Hey, did you ever have a chance to think about those football tickets?”

“What tickets?” Blair glanced up from where he’d moved behind his desk, leaning over his computer and logging himself in.

“Sorry, Chief, with everything that’s been going on I forgot to mention it. Joel’s got two spare tickets to the Jags game on Saturday.”

Blair’s eyes lit up in excitement. “Hey, great! We’ll take them off your hands!”

“Sold,” Joel smiled. “I’ll bring them in tomorrow.”

“Hey Sandy, Jim.” Finished with the photocopier, Megan came over and joined them, rearranging the pile of papers in her hand as she walked. Glancing up at Blair, she stopped what she was doing and smiled. “It looks like you had a good weekend.”

Blair looked puzzled, reflexively glancing down at himself. “It does?” he echoed.

“Yeah! You were pretty down before you guys went away, but now you’re positively shining! What’s your secret?” she exclaimed, and Jim smothered a grin. Apparently this new aura Blair was emanating was visible to more than just sentinels, even if other people interpreted it simply as having a good hair day.

Blair blushed, muttering something about catching up on lost sleep before Jim took pity on him and stepped in, changing the subject. “Has there been any news from the hospital about Mrs. Matthews?” he asked Joel, aware that the former bomb squad Captain would be keeping himself up to date on the department’s current open cases, standing in for Simon when he was off-duty.

“I called this morning and there was no change,” Joel replied, and Megan turned back to her armful of paperwork, heading over to her own desk with one final smile at Blair. “I haven’t had a chance to check on her since, though.”

Jim leaned over Blair’s shoulder, reaching for the phone. “I’ll give them a call. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

He lost track of Blair’s conversation with Joel while he was preoccupied with dialing the hospital’s number and reaching the intensive care unit. He didn’t recognize the name of the first nurse who picked up the phone, but when she transferred him on to someone else in the department, the voice he heard was one he knew all too well.

“Doctor Patterson,” he greeted, his mind recalling the small, middle-aged woman with gray eyes who had initially taken care of Blair when the shaman sickness had first taken hold. “It’s Detective Jim Ellison of the Cascade PD.”

“Detective!” Warmth crept into her tone, a welcome contrast to the brisk professional who had answered the phone. “How are you? How’s my favorite miracle?” No one at the hospital had expected Blair to pull through after Jim had signed him out before their desperate journey to Sierra Verde, and the fact that he had was still a talking point.

“We’re both just fine, Doctor, thank you,” Jim smiled. “I was calling to check on another patient of yours — Laura Matthews. Has there been any change in her condition?”

“Actually, there has,” she replied, her pleasure obvious. “She’s still in a coma, but based on today’s test results I think she might be waking up soon. She’s certainly more responsive to stimuli than she has been.”

Jim perked up at the good news. “That’s great! What about her husband, is he still there?” Robert Matthews hadn’t left his wife’s bedside since she’d been admitted.

“No, Detective. We managed to convince him to go home for a couple of hours. I told him not to come back till the morning.”

Jim nodded and quickly terminated the call, relaying the information to his partner.

“We should check in on them tomorrow,” Blair suggested. “That way we can see if Robert’s remembered anything else at the same time.”

Though they were still technically off duty, Jim and Blair stayed at work for another hour, checking through the witness statements that had been processed in their absence. It was only when Jim’s stomach started rumbling insistently that he switched off his computer and returned the files to his in-tray.

Blair was on the phone with Naomi, who’d called his cell a few minutes before. Glancing across at Jim, Blair saw the switched-off computer and moved to do the same, tidying his desk while finishing up his conversation.

“Sure, Naomi…tonight? Hold on, I’ll ask Jim,” he covered the mouthpiece with his hand, and called across to his partner. “Dinner at Simon’s?” he suggested, and Jim nodded.

“Sounds good, Chief. Tell Naomi we’ll be there in half an hour.”

Blair did so, and it wasn’t long before they were heading down to the parking garage, jackets in hand. The building had largely emptied in the hour or so they’d been in the bullpen, the station running on a skeleton crew for the evening, as usual.

The few people they did meet in the corridors all glanced at the pair as they passed, and Jim mentally braced himself for another round of glares and snide whispers when they thought he couldn’t hear them. Surprisingly enough it didn’t happen, and Jim gradually allowed himself to relax, both surprised and pleased at the unexpected silence, even though he wasn’t quite sure what had prompted it. He and Blair had, unfortunately, become so used to the comments in recent months that it was almost a shock not to hear them, and Jim found himself wondering what had happened in the two days they’d been gone. Had Simon made his displeasure at Kidman’s remarks known? Or had the uniforms who held a grudge against Blair backed off, now that he’d stood up for himself and literally fought back against the bullying?

As they stood in the elevator, dropping through the building and down into the garage, Jim even wondered, perhaps fancifully, if something about Blair’s newfound abilities might be subconsciously influencing the way people interacted with him. As they threaded through the parked cars to where Jim’s truck was waiting, he made a mental note to ask Simon what was going on, as soon as he got the chance.

~*~*~

Simon answered the door when they arrived, gesturing them quickly inside so that they didn’t have to stand around in sopping wet coats for too long. The weather had changed for the worse while they’d been indoors, and water was now falling from the sky in sheets, quickly soaking anybody crazy enough to venture outside.

Simon’s home was pleasantly warm, and Jim ushered Blair inside before ducking out of the rain, shucking off his jacket and hanging it up in the hallway where it could drip water on the tiled floor to its heart’s content.

Blair did the same, and it wasn’t long before they were both comfortably ensconced on Simon’s leather sofa, beer in hand. Naomi came down the hall as they got settled, greeting Blair with a warm hug when he stood again to greet her.

“Blair, sweetie, look at you!” she exclaimed. “Your aura’s so bright, you’re practically shining! Such a vibrant shade of purple!”

Blair laughed, and Jim exchanged an amused look over his shoulder with Simon, though even he had to admit that he took more serious notice of Naomi’s comment than he once would have. After all, she’d been the first to exclaim that there was something wrong with LaForce’s aura, and she’d been absolutely bang on in her assessment.

Besides, Jim could plainly see that something had changed in Blair since his initiation, regardless of whether he described it as an aura or a presence. He’d long since learned — the hard way — not to ignore the mystical side of the world he lived in.

“It worked, then?” Naomi continued, pulling back from the hug and holding her son at arms’ length, examining him intently. “You’re a full-fledged shaman?”

“So I’m told,” Blair grinned back good-naturedly, a blush spreading rapidly over his cheeks. “Don’t ask me to do any party tricks with it yet though, Mom, okay?”

“It’s good to see you looking better, Sandburg,” Simon joined in, and Blair pulled away from Naomi, sitting back down next to Jim with an embarrassed smile in his direction.

“I’ll be better if you tell me that Kidman didn’t go to Internal Affairs, Simon,” Blair sighed, and Jim noticed Naomi frown to herself, glancing briefly in the direction of her fiancé. Apparently Simon hadn’t told Naomi what had happened at the station the week before. Shaking his head to himself at the complexities of having your step-father for a boss, Jim waited impatiently for Simon’s answer. For all his attempts at reassuring his partner, Jim was all too well aware that, if Kidman had gone to IA, Blair would be in serious trouble. Even though Kidman would have to admit what he’d said about Simon in return, the most he’d get for a few nasty words would be a reprimand. For physically assaulting a fellow officer, Blair could quite easily expect to be thrown back into uniform for a time, and Jim could only imagine what a nightmare that would be, given that half the uniformed officers believed Blair to be a self-professed fraud. All Jim could hope was that Kidman was too embarrassed at being laid out by the kid to take the incident any further.

Feeling the familiar pang of guilt at the part he played in Blair’s academic downfall, Jim reached over and placed his arm round Blair’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Blair went willingly, settling in by Jim’s side as he waited for Simon’s reply.

Dropping down into a slightly battered-looking armchair, Simon shook his head as Naomi crossed the room, perching on the armrest to Simon’s left. “No, he didn’t. I had a quiet word with Sheila, and she didn’t know anything about it.”

Jim could feel the relief flowing through Blair’s body as he relaxed against him with an audible sigh. “Thank God,” he muttered.

“What did Sheila say?” Jim asked, a little concerned that they might have inadvertently brought the matter to IA themselves by speaking to Sheila.

“Off the record? That Kidman’s had it coming for far too long,” Simon replied wryly, taking a swig out of his beer bottle. “By all accounts the guy’s got a thicker file with IA than even Jim here,” and Jim narrowed his eyes good-naturedly at the jibe. “Though she told me to warn you, in her capacity as an officer of Internal Affairs, to keep a better hold on your temper in future,” Simon added, with a stern look at Blair, who nodded solemnly. “Between these four walls, I think Kidman’s got a lot more to worry about than you, Sandburg.”

That was the second time Simon had mentioned that something was going on with the Vice department and Internal Affairs. Intrigued, Jim opened his mouth to call him on it, but Naomi got there first, springing up from her seat and clapping her hands. “Too much shop talk,” she declared, holding out her hand to her son. “Come on, Blair, we’ve got time before dinner’s ready. Come and meditate with me.”

Blair smiled, taking Naomi’s hand and hauling himself to his feet, disappearing willingly into the other room.

“Don’t get lost,” Jim called out with a smile, secretly suspecting that Blair had been itching to try out his new shamanic abilities ever since they got back to Cascade, something that he’d bet money Naomi had noticed. Naomi Sandburg was shrewder, and a lot more perceptive, than most people gave her credit for.

He and Simon watched them go in silence, waiting until they were out of the room before Jim leaned forward, keeping his voice low so that it wouldn’t carry into the other room. “Is Blair really all right with IA, Simon?” Jim asked, needing the added reassurance that this wasn’t going to be yet another thing that haunted his partner around the corridors of the building.

Simon nodded, biting his lower lip. “Yeah. If I’m reading between the lines, Jim, IA have far more to worry about than Blair losing his temper.”

“What’s going on?”

“Honestly? I don’t know. No one’s talking, but there are whispers that they’re doing some serious digging around in Vice. When I was in Sheila’s office I saw case files on her desk going back some ten years, and she cleared them all away the instant she realized I’d noticed them.” Then Simon paused, frowning as something occurred to him. “How long is it since you transferred out of that department?”

“Eight, maybe nine years.”

“In that case, if the investigation becomes public knowledge it wouldn’t surprise me if you got called in at some point. Did anything happen while you were there that might be causing this?”

Jim shook his head slowly, searching his memory. The Vice department, by its very nature, had always skirted close to the line, and Jim had seen some seriously questionable actions by his fellow detectives while he’d been stationed there. But anything that might suddenly cause a problem ten years later? Certainly nothing came to his mind. At least, not offhand, and most of the detectives who had been in that department at the same time as him had long since moved on

Still, Jim couldn’t shake a sense of foreboding, as if something was brewing that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Making a mental note to think more about this later, to try and think of anything that may have happened that he might have forgotten, Jim shifted the subject to matters slightly closer to home.

“How about the news of your wedding?” he asked. “Has the station settled down about that yet?”

Simon smiled; a wry, slightly amused smile that immediately made Jim tense, wary of the answer. “Ironically, Blair losing his temper might even have helped that a little bit. You know Kidman doesn’t exactly have many friends at the station — there must be a queue of people over the years who have wanted to do what Blair did. Officially what happened was a secret, but Kidman’s walking around the station with a black eye you can’t miss, so naturally the whole building knows all about it. If anything, Sandburg’s gone up in a lot of people’s estimation for standing up for his family and friends.”

“So no one’s putting any stock in what Kidman said?”

“I didn’t say that. No one is saying anything anywhere I might hear it, but I’m sure my marrying Naomi has raised a few eyebrows, at the very least. Hopefully, people know my reputation well enough to know that I wouldn’t be involved in something like that.”

Despite his positive words, there was a weariness in Simon’s voice that Jim agreed with wholeheartedly. Even if it was being brushed under the carpet, many of the cops had a habit of thinking the worst of people and, in their eyes, they’d already been proven right once. Particularly Kidman himself, who was enough of a bully that he wouldn’t be able to live with the idea of Sandburg getting one over on him for too long without planning some form of retribution.

As much as, officially, the incident with Kidman had never happened, Jim had a feeling they hadn’t heard the last of it.

Not by a long shot.

~*~*~

Jim and Simon’s voices in the other room faded into a quiet background hum, loud enough to hear the cadence, but not the words themselves. As Blair and Naomi settled onto the floor in the spare room, the space beside Simon’s oak table just big enough for their needs, he latched onto the sound, letting the reassuring ebb and flow of Jim’s voice soothe him into a meditative state.

Neither he nor Naomi spoke. They’d been meditating together for as long as Blair could remember, almost before he really understood what it was they were doing, and they fell back into the familiar habit instinctively, sitting directly opposite each other and closing their eyes at the same time.

His breathing slow and steady, Blair could feel his body beginning to relax into position. He became hyper-aware of everything around him; the cool feel of the wooden floor beneath his feet, the clock ticking on the table in the corner. His own heartbeat pounded loudly in his ears, slowly drowning out all other sound until every fiber of his body vibrated to the same beat.

Gradually the beat faded into the background, and Blair was no longer aware of the feel of his own body. Instead, he could hear things outside of himself; the sound of the cars driving by outside, footsteps of people hurrying through the rain and the wind whistling through the trees on the corner.

Then he was part of the wind, flying through the skies of Cascade like a bird, the entire city laid out beneath him.

Silently giving thanks to the Ancestors the way Ben had shown him, Blair looked down on the city through his closed eyes. The rain poured down around him but he wasn’t getting wet, his gaze following the droplets of water as they fell through the air onto the ground far below. A few moments of experimentation proved that he could slow his flight right down and he did so, coming to rest hovering above the familiar outline of the Wilkenson Towers, right in the center of downtown Cascade.

//Welcome, shaman//

The voice was familiar, the same one that had sent him the warnings just one week before, and Blair smiled, sending out his own greeting.

//You have returned as one of us. This is now your city.//

Nodding, Blair took a deep breath and allowed the city to flow into his senses. It spoke to him, embracing him in a way he never expected. It was as if Cascade was a real, living being; possessing a collective sentience — a soul formed of the thousands of people who lived within her borders.

Thousands of voices flowed up to him, a group song that talked of family, of laughter and hope. Blair could feel his heart swell with joy; his city was happy, the people who lived there full of love.

Sure, everyone had their problems, and Blair could also feel the hint of frustrations and sadness as the Cascadian’s battled with life’s ups and downs. But the city was largely content, and Blair could feel their happiness seeping into his own soul as he moved through the shadowlands. It was a heady feeling, simultaneously invigorating and humbling all at once.

//Your city has embraced you, and accepted your role as her shaman.// The voice came again. //She will tell you if she’s happy, and warn you if she is in pain. Listen to her, and guard her well.//

Blair couldn’t wipe the smile off his face, and he found himself thanking the Guardians all over again, giddy from the new sensations he was feeling.

Almost overwhelmed by what he was feeling and seeing, Blair had to make a conscious effort to calm himself, to stay objective about what he was being shown, the way Naomi had always taught him. Once he felt centered again, allowing the city to talk to him without weighing him down, Blair called to the Ancestors once more, asking if there was anything they wanted to show him.

//Are you now prepared, shaman?//

He’d barely nodded his consent before he was moving again, flying through the skies above the city. Moving incredibly fast, aware of the wind screaming past him and the rain flowing around him, Blair watched the landscape rushing by beneath him. He traveled past the business district that spread out from the center of Cascade, over Chinatown with its narrow streets and colorful neon signs, and out through the suburbs towards the very edges of the city, where the urban sprawl gave way to leafy streets and larger houses.

Navigating by landmark, Blair found himself slowing down by the freeway, where motels for businessmen and travelers flourished. These weren’t the five-star hotels found in the center of the city, instead functional buildings which merely served as a place to lay your head for a night, or as somewhere to sleep before continuing your journey on the interstate.

This was the city’s poor relation.

One minute Blair was soaring above the skies, the next his vision blurred, shimmering out of focus all around him, before he found himself standing in a motel parking lot. The nondescript rooms of the City Limits Motel stretched out in a line in front of him, several feet away from the flickering, filthy vacancy sign and the rundown office. Paint was flaking off almost every wall in sight, the parking lot covered in flattened grass and weeds where the asphalt had cracked in the heat of the Cascade summer. There were few cars around — an old, green Ford pickup and a dusty white van the only things in the lot.

Unlike the simple joy he’d felt while soaring above the skyline, all Blair could feel here was sadness and neglect — abandoned hopes and fears flowing all around him, threatening to seep into his very skin. Blair crossed his arms in front of him, instinctively hunching over against the onslaught as he looked around, searching for the reason the spirits had sent him here.

Then he heard it, a muffled scream coming from just behind one of the closed, battered doors. A strong sense of terror flooded through him, threatening to double him over as he stumbled over through the parking lot, searching for the right motel room.

They all looked the same, the sound too faint to do any more than seep through to echo around the concrete, and in desperation he sent up a mental cry for help, asking for the help he needed.

His vision blurred again, and in little more than the time it took to blink, Blair found himself standing inside a dank, musty motel room. It took a moment to process what he was seeing; a young girl, greasy blond hair falling in front of her face as she cowered against the wall, huddled in the corner. There were two men in the room with her — one standing a few feet away while the other had hold of the girl’s arms, fighting to pull her up and away from the wall.

She was sobbing, tears flowing down pale cheeks as she kicked out at her attacker, and he could clearly see the darkening imprint of a hand on her face where she’d been struck. Her white top was already torn down the front, and she was futilely gripping the fabric together with one hand. As Blair watched, disgusted, he realized the second man in the room was laughing in delight.

“Come on, Leo,” he whined, his voice thin and reedy. “Get on with it, will ya? I want a turn!”

Anger swelled within him and Blair stepped forward with a shout even as the dark-haired man, Leo, shoved the girl hard enough to knock her over, her back hitting the wall with a dull thud. No one in the room seemed to hear him.

“How about you give me a hand instead of just standing there?” Leo snapped, glancing briefly over his shoulder before turning back to the dazed girl. “Don’t make this any harder than it has to be, Gail,” he warned, his hands clenched into fists at his side. “You never know, you might even enjoy it.”

The blatant leer in his voice made Blair feel physically sick.

Sickened, his frustration growing at his inability to do anything to stop this, Blair shouted again, crossing the room and reaching for Leo, trying to pull him away before he could touch Gail again. But his hand simply flowed through Leo’s muscular shoulder as if it wasn’t even there, as if Blair was nothing more than a ghost.

A shiver flowed through Blair’s own body as he touched Leo, and he felt a sudden sense of fury and lust — sharp and bitter against his tongue. The lights in the motel room flickered around them, making Leo glance nervously up at the dusty light fixtures.

“Stop it!” Blair yelled, and the lights blinked in and out once again.

“What…?”

But Blair didn’t have the chance to see what happened next. Before the lights were even back on he felt dizzy, as if his body was weightless and he was falling, and in the next instant Blair found himself back in Simon’s dining room, sitting cross-legged on the ground opposite Naomi.

He was breathing heavily, sweat trickling down the back of his neck as if he’d just run a marathon, his hands trembling as he wiped them over his face and hauled himself to his feet. His stomach rolled as he moved, forcing him to grab onto one of Simon’s chairs for balance, pressing one hand over his mouth for fear he was going to be sick. The chair scraped across the wooden floor, startling Naomi out of her own meditation. She looked up at him for a moment, concern evident as his disheveled appearance prompted her to stand as well.

“Blair?” she asked. “Sweetheart, what is it? Are you okay?”

Blair had time for one sickened glance in her direction as he stumbled out of the room, heading almost blindly for the living room where he’d last seen Jim.

Evidently Jim had heard something of what Naomi had said, because he was already on his feet when Blair appeared in the doorway, half-turned to face Blair’s direction.

“Sandburg?” Jim asked, frowning. Behind him Simon was still sitting in his favorite chair, but he quickly stood when Blair appeared. “What’s happened?”

“We…we have to go,” Blair stammered, fighting to shake off the last remnants of his vision.

Naomi placed a hand on his arm, trying to turn him to face her. “What is it? What did you see?” But Blair shook her off impatiently, unable to spare a thought for anything but what he knew was happening in a rundown motel a few miles away.

“We have to go,” he repeated, all his usual articulation deserting him. “Now, Jim!”

Jim nodded, tight-lipped with concern, and headed for the door, fishing in his pocket for the keys to his truck. Almost weak-kneed with relief that Jim wasn’t wasting time asking questions — that he was trusting him — Blair whirled around and almost ran for the door.

Behind him, he heard Simon instructing Naomi to stay put, ignoring her confused protests, and then all three men were racing out of the house into the driving rain, heading for Jim’s truck.

~*~*~

Hands firmly braced around the wheel, Jim couldn’t stop himself from glancing across to where his partner was huddled in the passenger seat. The only one who knew where they were going, Blair was navigating almost automatically, his face pale from the vision.

His hands were trembling, and had been since he’d come bursting in on them in a blind panic at Simon’s, his words tripping over each other in his haste.

In the rearview mirror, Jim exchanged a worried glance with Simon, who was tight-lipped from his own concern.

They’d barely managed to get enough out of Blair to work out exactly what he’d seen, and the revelation had been enough for Jim to put his foot down even harder on the gas. He could feel Simon’s doubt and disbelief radiating like heat on the back of his neck — Simon had never been comfortable with the mystical stuff, and to be getting it from Blair now as well as Jim? He suspected it was going to take a bit of getting used to.

Still, to his credit the Captain had instantly pulled out his cell, dialing 911 and reporting an assault in progress. Eyes fixed on the road, Jim listened to both sides of the conversation, surprised when Simon ended the call the instant he was asked for his name.

On the verge of asking what Simon was up to, Jim kept quiet as Simon leaned over the front seat and switched on the police radio. Less than a minute later an alert went out about the anonymous call, and Simon flicked the on switch to connect them to central dispatch, requesting a uniform backup and instructing the dispatcher to show them as attending the scene.

Then he settled back into his own seat, shrugging at Jim in the rearview mirror. “How else can we say we had probably cause to burst in?” he asked, and Jim nodded, grateful to Simon for once again being prepared to back them up, as always.

The heavy rain was keeping a lot of cars off the road, and traffic was light this time on a Sunday evening anyway. Jim was, at least, thankful for that, which allowed him to speed through the streets far faster than he normally would, sirens blaring.

“We’ll get there, Chief,” Jim offered, trying to draw Blair out of his self-imposed huddle, but all he got in return was a pinched stare, which proved just how much Blair didn’t believe that.

To be honest, Jim wasn’t sure he believed it himself. Even though Simon lived near the outskirts of town, Jim couldn’t risk driving flat out because of the weather — rain was making the roads slick, and it would do no one any good if he totaled the truck by driving even more dangerously than he already was. And all three men knew just how quickly a crime such as rape could take place. The ten minutes it was going to take to get them to that area of town could easily be ten minutes too long.

“Just hurry up, Jim,” Blair’s whispered response was almost too quiet even for Jim to hear above the screaming of the siren, and Jim nodded, tightening his grip on the wheel and hitting the gas even harder as they sped through an intersection.

Surely the spirits wouldn’t be cruel enough to send Blair a vision that he could do nothing to prevent?

Five minutes away from the motel Blair had named, Jim reached down and cut the siren. This area of town was run-down enough that there would always be sirens audible in the distance, but Jim didn’t want to give them any advance warning if he could help it. With no idea who these two men were, Jim couldn’t risk them doing permanent harm to the girl if they thought they were being pursued. It was far better to take them by surprise.

Slowing right down to pull into the deserted parking lot, Jim parked smoothly next to a white van and cut the engine. There was no sign of the backup they’d requested yet, and Blair was out of the truck almost before it had stopped moving, pulling his gun automatically. Cursing, Jim jumped out and grabbed hold of his arm, physically hauling him back a couple of steps. Blair was still white as a sheet, his breathing heavy as he glared back at his partner.

“Calm down, Sandburg,” he snapped, fighting down his own concern as Simon joined them.

“We do this by the book, gentlemen,” Simon said calmly, and Jim felt Blair take a deep, slow breath, closing his eyes briefly before nodding.

Guns drawn, the three of them walked across the parking lot. Jim dialed up his senses, keeping an eye out for anyone around who might try to get in their way. The whole area seemed deserted, the only light in any of the rooms coming from the one they were interested in.

Simon and Blair took up positions on either side of the door, and Jim stepped up ready to kick it down, but before he could, he saw the curtains inside the room twitching as someone glanced out.

“Shit! Leo, cops!” The shout sounded loud enough that it could have come from their side of the door, but an alarmed glance across at his colleagues told Jim that he was the only one who’d heard it.

“They’ve seen us,” he whispered urgently, aware of the panicked commotion suddenly coming from inside the room.

“Go!” Blair urged, obviously worried about what would happen about the girl he’d seen in his vision.

Nodding, Jim took one step and kicked out at the lock. He felt the force of the impact shooting up his leg as the rotting wooden frame splintered, the door rocking back on its hinges to slam into the wall with a loud bang.

Raising his gun, Jim stepped through the doorway. “Cascade PD!” he shouted, taking in the occupants of the room as he did so. The two men were dashing towards the door to the small bathroom, and Jim caught sight of a glint of metal in one of their hands seconds before he heard the unmistakable sound of a gun’s safety being clicked off.

“Gun!” he shouted, spinning round to take cover back outside the motel room. Before he could take more than a step towards the door he felt a searing pain in his right arm, almost before the gunshot echoed through his head.

Crying out, he staggered more than ran to the door, throwing himself out into the rain before collapsing to the side, his back firmly planted against the wall. Behind him, he was dimly aware of the girl screaming and twisting away, scrambling off the bed and away from the shooting.

The pain took his breath away, burning up his arm and spreading through the rest of his body. He squeezed his eyes shut against the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him, resting his head back against the wall for a moment and letting the rain fall onto his face, soothing him.

“Jim!” Blair scrambled across to him, Simon taking up his position and firing into the bathroom where the two men were now hiding, shooting blindly out of the door. “Are you okay? Let me see!”

But Jim ignored him, reaching desperately for the spinning dials and wrenching them all down. His vision dimmed, everything growing darker as it always did when he turned the dials down too far, but the sharp bite of pain drained away, and after a second he opened his eyes, looking down at his arm.

The bullet had only just winged him, gouging a deep channel through the edge of his flesh before embedding itself in the wall behind him. Blood was running in watery rivers down his arm to pool on the floor behind him, but the bleeding was already beginning to slow. “I’m all right,” he reassured his partner, who was already ripping off part of his shirt to wrap around the wound. Jim let him, dialing up his hearing again as he listened to what was going on back in the motel room.

Simon had taken over as soon as he’d been shot, identifying them all as police and demanding that the two men surrender, but unsurprisingly they weren’t laying down their arms and coming out with their hands up. Apparently satisfied that they weren’t going anywhere for the moment, Simon reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone, calling for backup.

Jim hissed as Blair pressed the fabric down on his wound, but the pain settled again quickly, and Jim reached up with his other hand and awkwardly patting him on the shoulder before levering himself up to crouch against the wall.

“Jim?” Simon called out, never taking his eyes off the bathroom door.

“I’m fine, Simon.” Reaching down, Jim picked his gun up from the ground where he’d dropped it while Blair muttered something about superman and bullet wounds that made him smile. Nevertheless, Blair matched Jim’s position by the door, both of them gearing up to deal with the situation.

Risking a quick glance into the room, Jim could see that the bathroom door had been pushed partially closed, blocking their view into where the two men were hiding. Already there were bullet holes in the wood from Simon’s gun, but from what he could tell the suspects didn’t seem to have been hit.

The girl in the main room matched Blair’s brief description. She’d been lying on the bed when Jim had first burst into the room, but she’d had the presence of mind to seek shelter behind it when the bullets started firing, and Jim could just see the top of her blond hair as she cowered in the corner of the room, her arms pressed in front of her face.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and Jim swung back out of the doorway as Simon started firing, driving the suspects back into the bathroom before they could shoot again.

Still, Jim knew they had to get the girl out of harm’s way before they could properly turn their attention to the two armed men. Blair, it seemed, thought the same, and he leaned in to talk to his partner, raising his voice to be heard over Simon’s gunfire.

“We need to get to the girl,” he called. “Can you cover me if I make a run for it?” Glancing down, Jim checked his gun, nodding when he saw that the clip was almost full.

“Simon!” Blair caught the Captain’s attention, lowering his voice again so the people inside the room wouldn’t hear him. Quickly he outlined his plan, and Simon pursed his lips, obviously unhappy with Blair placing himself in the line of fire. Jim wasn’t exactly ecstatic about it either, but Blair was faster than both of them, and he couldn’t deny that he and Simon were better marksmen, far more able to keep the two men away from the door while Blair got the girl out.

“On three,” Simon mouthed, holding up his hand and counting down. “One. Two. Three!” Swinging round into the room, Jim and Simon both opened fire, an onslaught of bullets thudding into the wooden door that separated them. The girl screamed, and Jim heard cursing from inside the bathroom as the bullets came through the other side of the door, sending both men scrambling for better cover.

Keeping his head low, Blair ran for it, scrambling for shelter behind the bed before either of the men could try to retaliate. Jim kept one ear on his partner as he continued firing, searching through the cracks in the door to make sure the men were in no position to shoot at them.

He could hear Blair talking urgently to the girl, who flinched away from him at first, obviously terrified. But Jim had complete faith in his partner, and it wasn’t long before she’d uncurled from her fetal position by the wall, and huddled into Blair’s side instead.

Jim’s gun clicked on empty, and he pulled back, quickly emptying the clip and slotting in a new one. Simon covered him, reloading himself once Jim was back in position.

A cry from inside the bathroom was Jim’s only warning, and he yelled at Simon and Blair to get down just in time, as both men began firing blindly into the room. Bullets went in almost every direction and Jim, afraid that a bullet would ricochet onto either his partner or the girl, risked the deluge and leaned into the room to fire back.

Simon cursed, apparently thinking that Jim was going to get himself shot again. A bullet embedded itself into the doorframe right by Jim’s head, sending splinters of wood onto Jim’s face, but Jim kept firing. He could see the barrel of one of the men’s guns just coming round the edge of the shattered bathroom door, and he narrowed his eyes, his sight zooming in to take the shot.

“We’re ready, Jim!” Blair’s voice reached him from behind the bed, and Jim took the shot, sending a bullet straight through the crack in the door to strike the barrel. The gun flew out of the man’s hand, and the gunmen cried out in pain, falling back against the bath.

“Now!” Jim cried, continuing to fire in that direction. Simon did the same, firing high above where Jim was crouched, and Blair quickly hustled the girl out of the door, using his own body as a shield.

Only once they were both safely out of the room did Jim allow himself to relax, pulling back out of the line of fire to reload again. Now that any potential hostages were out of the room, they could, if necessary, simply wait this out until either the armed response unit arrived, or until the two men ran out of bullets. Time was on their side and, listening to the panicked conversation coming from inside the bathroom, the suspects knew that, as well.

“Leo! I’m almost out of bullets,” one of the men whined, the fear clear in his voice. “What are we going to do? I never wanted to get shot here, man!”

“Shut up,” Leo replied, but apparently he was paying attention, because the barrage of gunfire stopped.

“What if they know?” the other man continued. “Why else would they be here? Oh God, I bet they know everything. You told me no one could trace us to…” Jim heard the smack of flesh on flesh, and the words were abruptly silenced.

“Shut the fuck up, will you! No one can trace anything. It must be about Gail — someone must have heard us and called the cops, that’s all.”

Jim frowned, quickly relaying what he’d heard to the others. It seemed as if there was something more going on here than they’d first thought — their conversation didn’t make sense if they were only talking about their assault on the girl.

Keeping his hearing firmly focused on the whispered conversation coming from the bathroom, Jim turned to check on his partner. A few feet away from the door, Blair was kneeling on the wet ground. He had Simon’s long coat in his hand, and was carefully wrapping it around the shaking girl, his movements slow and careful so as not to spook her.

She had her face turned away from them all, eyes firmly fixed on the ground, and her arms were wrapped in front of her as if to keep out the world. She was obviously in shock, not responding to Blair’s attempts to talk to her at all, and Jim shook his head, turning back to the suspects. He could hear sirens in the distance, quickly getting closer — backup was almost here.

“This is the Cascade PD!” he called out, his gun ready in case the response they got came in the form of a bullet. “You’re completely surrounded, and more cops are on the way. There’s no way out of this, now put your guns down and come out with your hands up.”

There was a tense silence, then Leo’s voice sounded again, still whispering fiercely and totally unaware that Jim could hear every word. “All right, we give ourselves up, but you listen to me — you don’t say a word, you got that? Not a single word. At worst they can do is arrest us for fucking around with that bitch, but even that’s only if she gives them a statement. She knows what’ll happen to her if she does. Just do as I say, and we’ll be out of this by morning, right?”

Jim gritted his teeth at Leo’s callous words, even more irritated by the knowledge that he could be absolutely right. Whatever these two were really into, Jim had absolutely no idea what it could be, and it wasn’t as if what Blair saw in his vision could be admitted into evidence. All they’d be able to do was talk to the girl, and if she refused to admit that she’d been assaulted, there’d be nothing they could do. It was going to be difficult enough to explain why they’d been at the motel in the first place, despite the anonymous call Simon had placed.

Then Leo’s voice called out. “All right, we’re coming out! Don’t shoot!”

“First the guns!” Simon called out. “Throw them out into the main room.”

A few seconds of delay and two guns were thudding out onto the stained carpet. Then the bathroom door was slowly eased open, and two men stepped out, their arms raised in the very picture of compliance. Jim could immediately see that Gail had put up one hell of a struggle before they arrived — both men had bleeding scratches across their faces, and it looked like the thinner, younger man had quite the black eye forming. On the floor by one of the bedside cabinets a desk lamp lay in shattered pieces on the floor, and the entire room was in a shambles. He nodded in grim satisfaction; even though she must have been terrified, Gail had somehow managed to hold both men off long enough for them to get there.

Jim and Simon kept their guns trained on the two suspects, slowly moving into the main room. Jim kicked the two guns out of the way as Simon ordered them both to get up against the wall.

“Look,” the first man through the door said, spiky black hair plastered to his head with sweat as he attempted a friendly smile. “I’m sorry we shot at you. We didn’t realize you were the cops.” He brought his hands down as he shrugged, the smile making Jim’s skin crawl. “This isn’t exactly the best neighborhood, you know?”

Fighting down his anger that this kid would try to play them like this, Jim gestured at Leo with the gun, aware of Simon’s reassuring presence by his side. “Arms in the air, kid,” he snapped. “And face the wall. Right now.”

“Hey, sure, no problem!” and Leo did as he was told, his friend nervously following suit. Holstering his own weapon, Jim pulled out his handcuffs and quickly restrained Leo, Simon doing the same thing to the other one. Reaching around for the metal cuffs sent pain spiking through his arm again and he winced, but did his best to ignore it. Turning Leo roughly around, Jim quickly read both men their Miranda rights, arresting them both for attempted rape as patrol cars and an ambulance pulled into the parking lot outside.

Bizarrely, Leo’s shoulders lowered, as if he was breathing a sigh of relief, when he heard the charge. It was only the tiniest movement, but on seeing it Jim was absolutely convinced that these two were involved in something, and for them to be willing to risk a rape charge to cover it up, it had to be something pretty big.

“Rape?” Leo echoed, his voice dripping with sincerity. “Oh hey, look, there must be some mistake! Gail’s my girlfriend, we were just messing around, that’s all. If we got a bit noisy and someone called you guys, I’m really sorry, but we weren’t hurting her. I wouldn’t do that!”

“Right,” his friend echoed, his voice lackluster in comparison, and Jim took his first proper look at Leo’s playmate. Taller and thinner than Leo, this kid was younger, his hair a mousy dark blonde as he swayed on his feet. With a closer look, Jim could see that his pupils were completely blown, his eyes red-rimmed and teary — the kid was high as a kite.

“You’ll get your chance to give your side,” Jim replied firmly, taking Leo by the arm and pulling him towards the door. Simon did the same with the other kid, their own quiet conversation revealing that his name was Graham.

Heading out into the rain, Jim and Simon both handed their suspects over to the uniforms who were just spilling out of their cars, and it wasn’t long before both men were safely ensconced in the back of two different patrol cars, locked away until the police were ready to deal with them.

Only then did Jim let himself take a proper look at the girl they’d rescued. Her long blond hair was matted down to her shoulders, mascara drying in streaks down her cheeks as she curled up against the wall in the rain, seemingly trying to disappear into Simon’s coat. Blair was still with her, talking softly, and Jim moved over to join them, crouching down further away from her than Blair was.

“Gail?” Blair was saying softly, and she glanced up through her hair, her shoulders shaking as the tremors flooded through her. “It’s all over now, they can’t hurt you anymore.”

Beneath Simon’s long, tan coat, Jim could see that she was disheveled. She was almost naked from the waist up, an off-white bra her only protection. Jim couldn’t stop the relief that flooded through him when he realized she was still wearing blue jeans. The buttons were all undone, and at least one was missing, but the fact that she was still wearing them at all meant there was a chance — just maybe — that they’d got there in time.

“Gail?” Blair tried again and Jim stayed silent, worried about scaring her any more than she already was. The loud buzz of a busy crime scene carried on behind him, but Jim shut it all out, his attention focused on the scared girl on the ground in front of him. She was the only one who could tell them exactly what Leo and Graham had done, and what else they were apparently involved in. “Can you tell me what happened here?”

Shrinking away from Blair, Gail managed one, miserable shake of her head before bursting into tears again, and Blair straightened up, moving away from her slightly, shaking his own head at Jim. First and foremost she needed medical attention, and they needed to get her out of the rain and away from the motel. They’d have to try again later.

“Detectives?” A female voice from behind them made them both turn around to find a paramedic standing behind them. Jim didn’t recognize the woman from any other incidents, and he held out his uninjured hand to her.

“Jim Ellison,” he greeted. “This is my partner, Blair Sandburg.” The woman smiled back, sparing him a quick glance before turning her attention back to the girl

“I’m Joan,” she introduced herself. “What do we have here?”

“This is Gail,” Blair answered, keeping his voice as quiet as he could. “Possible rape victim, we’re not sure. I think she’s in shock, she’s barely responding to us.”

Joan nodded. “Okay, thanks guys.” Jim and Blair both moved back out of the paramedic’s way, as she knelt down and began talking to Gail. It was several more minutes before Joan could get a reaction, but eventually Gail took her hand, allowing Joan to help her up and walk her across to the waiting ambulance. “It looks like you have a wound you might need to get checked out as well, Detective Ellison,” Joan called as they walked past, and Jim nodded. He’d wanted someone to go to the hospital to keep an eye on Gail anyway, it may as well be him.

Clearing it with Simon and Blair, refusing to let Blair accompany him for what he knew was little more than a scratch, Jim hopped up into the back of the vehicle, taking the seat furthest away from Gail in deference to her obvious distress.

Waving the paramedics away to help Gail — his bullet wound had stopped bleeding and the dials were already doing as much as any painkillers could — Jim leaned back against the side of the ambulance and ran a hand through his dripping wet hair.

This was not how he’d expected their quiet evening at Simon’s to turn out.

~*~*~

Two hours later Jim’s arm was bandaged and he had a prescription in his jacket pocket he had no intention of getting filled. Instead, he was kicking his heels in Cascade General’s busy waiting room, a barely lukewarm cup of coffee in his hand to pass the time. Gail Newman was still being treated in Exam Room One, and it had been made perfectly clear that Jim wouldn’t be allowed in until the doctors were ready.

The only reason he knew her full name was because he’d overheard the first part of her examination while sitting in the next exam room as another doctor put stitches in his arm. They’d given him a light dose of something for the pain that had taken the edge off, but it had sent his dials haywire for a few minutes as the drug flooded his system, affecting his control over his senses until he couldn’t do anything to block out his hearing — or the light searing into his retinas — the way he usually would.

Luckily the effect hadn’t lasted long, and he’d managed to get his senses under control before they’d started the intensive part of Gail’s examination. While he’d have learned more if he’d listened in, the examination required in cases of suspected rape was intrusive and upsetting; there was a very good reason why the police weren’t allowed to be in the room while it was carried out. Jim had no desire to eavesdrop on something that private — the suspects were in custody, and they could all manage to wait a little longer.

Now, all he could hear was muted sound of her crying, but it was no louder than it would have been for anyone else. Still, the sound was an awful reminder of how they’d been too late to stop everything. Only the doctors would be able to tell him if they’d been in time to prevent her from being raped.

It was still going to be a while before they’d finished, though, and Jim was just contemplating going to check on Mrs. Matthews in case there’d been any change in her condition, when the shrill ring of his cell phone reminded him that he’d forgotten to switch it off when he’d first been brought in. The receptionist glared at him and he held up a hand in apology before reaching in and pulling out the offending object, levering himself up out of the uncomfortable plastic chair and heading outside, standing under the awning by the entrance to the hospital as he answered the call.

“Ellison.”

“Yo, G-man!”

Biting back a sigh, Jim leaned back against the outside wall and rubbed his eyes. “Hey, Sneaks.”

“Oh, don’t sound pleased to hear from me or anything!” Sneaks responded, playing his offense for everything it was worth. Which, usually, was about $30 on top of whatever Jim paid him for his information.

“It’s been a long night,” Jim replied wearily twisting his shoulder to try and work the kinks out of it, ignoring the dull ache it caused in his arm. “What have you got for me?”

“Oh this is good, man, really good!” Jim could almost hear Sneaks bouncing up and down with excitement at the other end of the phone. “You are going to love this…”

“…Sneaks…” Jim tried to interrupt, not in the mood for the usual prelude to their conversations tonight, but Sneaks just carried on talking as if he hadn’t spoken.

“…I think this might even be worth double my usual fee…”

“Double?” Jim echoed. “We’ll see about that. Come on, Sneaks, I haven’t got all night, here.”

“Hey, no problemo,” Sneaks said with smug anticipation in his voice. “I hear the cops have been having trouble solving these home invasions?”

That got Jim’s attention, and he straightened up, tightening his grip on the phone. “Go on.”

“See, my man! I always brings you the very best,” he crowed. “Word on the street is that there’s a new man in town. Calls himself the Book Man, and runs a gang of kids that travels from city to city, knocking places over for kicks.”

Jim frowned, trying to fit what Sneaks was telling him into what he knew of the home invasions. It didn’t seem to make any sense. Nothing of much value had been taken in any of the robberies — why would someone run the risk of deliberately sending a gang of kids to commit assault and murder without getting anything in return? Still, in all the years Jim had known him, Sneaks had rarely been wrong about a tip.

“You know who this Book Man is? Or where they are?”

“What, I gotta do all the work?” Sneaks asked cheekily. “I am just a humble servant, Mr. Police Officer.” That brought a tired smile to Jim’s lips. “Sorry, man, I got nothing else for ya. But I’ll keep my ear to the ground.”

“You do that,” Jim agreed, quickly agreeing to leave payment in the usual place before ending the call. He didn’t head back inside, though, instead biting on his lower lip for a moment before hitting the speed dial for Blair’s cell. Maybe the lead would make more sense to Blair than it did to him.

~*~*~

The strongest sense of déjà vu rocked through Blair as he stepped into the motel doorway, getting his first proper chance to look around inside the room since getting thrown out of his vision. Almost every detail was the same, right down to the stack of creased magazines, dumped on the floor by the chipped table. Only the bullet-ridden bathroom door and messed-up bed held any sign of what had happened here.

Forensics were already on their way, and for a place that had been practically deserted two hours ago, a sizeable crowd had now gathered, their curiosity aroused by all the flashing lights and uniforms. Leo and Graham had been carted off to booking by several of the uniforms, and Simon was overseeing the crime scene, dealing with the motel clerk who seemed to be more outraged by the state of the smashed doors than about what had been going on behind them.

Blair picked his way carefully through the motel room, glancing briefly into the bathroom before standing by the bed. Gail’s white shirt was in a torn heap on the floor along with a pair of men’s shoes, and Blair had to clench his fists at the anger that image provoked in him. Crimes against women had always been particularly difficult for him to remain detached from — even more so than normal. Naomi hadn’t always had the best taste in men, and he’d witnessed the results firsthand once too often as a child to be able to easily cope with it now.

Nor did it help that he could still recall what he’d felt in the vision — the cruel excitement those men had felt as Leo dragged her towards the bed, unmoved by her tears as she begged him to leave her alone. He could still sense it now, the feelings coming at him as if the very air itself was drowning in their arousal and her terror.

It was strong enough that he wanted to leave the room, to walk out and not go back in, to leave the search to Simon, or to the forensics team, but something was keeping him here all the same. Every instinct he had was telling him that there was something here, something important that he was missing, but he had no idea what that was. Pulling on a pair of latex gloves he began a careful search, doing everything he could not to touch anything he didn’t have to. The closet doors stood slightly open, and peering inside he could see a row of men’s clothes — smart but not too expensive — but nothing that suggested this was Gail’s room.

Making a mental note to ask the motel clerk who the room was registered to, and if Gail was booked in any of the other rooms, Blair moved on, but there was little to see. Apart from the clothes, a laptop computer and cell phone on the desk, and the guns that were still lying on the floor at his feet, the motel room was pretty much empty. The rest of it was just junk — half-eaten food wrappers, pizza boxes, magazines, a couple of budget DVDs — but nothing that might tell him what it was he was missing. The room was as musty and dirty as he remembered from his vision.

It was almost a relief when his cell rang, distracting him from his puzzle, and Blair stepped back out into the doorway, getting as close as he could to leaving the room while still sheltering from the incessant rain.

“Hi Jim,” he answered, seeing his lover’s name on the caller ID. “How’s your arm?”

“It’s fine, Sandburg,” Jim dismissed it, just as Blair expected him to. Neither of them were ever any good at admitting when they were hurt. Still, he was reassured that he couldn’t hear any suppressed pain in his partner’s voice as he changed the subject. “Sneaks just called; he knows something about the home invasions.”

“Yeah? Like what?” Blair glanced back into the motel room, half listening to Jim, and half wracking his brain to try and work out what he was missing.

“He said it’s a gang of kids, moving from city to city. Apparently someone’s orchestrating it — calls himself the Book Man.”

“Kids?” Blair echoed, taking in the peeling wallpaper and lack of belongings. “The violence makes sense, I guess, it wouldn’t be the first time we saw a gang go on a rampage, but why would someone be directing them? We already established there are no links between the victims, where’s the motive?” There really was nothing here at all — especially if you ignored the pizza boxes and scattered clothes. Just a few dog-eared magazines over in the corner by the bed. All different kinds, too; Blair could make out a copy of NME, the distinctive logo of the World Weekly News, and one that was slightly more unusual half underneath the others — something called the Women’s Home Journal.

“Who knows,” Jim replied, but Blair was no longer listening. The realization came down on him like a physical punch deep in his gut, spiking his adrenaline and sending him darting across the small room. Still wearing his latex gloves, he gingerly moved the other magazines aside, finding three copies of the Journal at the bottom of the pile. All from the same edition, the magazines were old-fashioned in style and content, reminiscent of something you’d see from the 1950s, and certainly not something he’d expect either of the suspects they’d arrested to read.

More importantly, they were an exact match for the one he’d found beneath the broken glass at Audrey and James Nelson’s home.

Staring in stunned surprise at what he was looking at, Blair slowly became aware of Jim’s voice echoing from the cell down by his side. “Sandburg? Blair! Answer me!”

“Sorry! Sorry, Jim, I’m here,” Blair said quickly, putting the magazine back where he’d found it and quickly walking out of the room. “I’ve found something. Sneaks was right, it’s the books! Well, magazines, but...”

“What?” Not surprisingly, Jim sounded confused. “What magazines?”

“What’s happening with Gail?”

“She’s still being assessed; it’ll be a while till they’ll let anyone interview her. What’s going on?”

“I’ve found something! I’m heading to the station, meet me back there as soon as you can. Get someone from uniform to stand guard over her for the time being — we’ll go back to the hospital together later.” With that he ended the call, dumping his cell phone back in his pocket and heading over to where Simon was standing, talking to the motel clerk.

“…records of when they checked in, any calls they’ve made, anything like that.”

“Captain!”

Simon turned to him, eyebrows raised in greeting. “What is it, Sandburg?”

“I need to get back to the station,” Blair said, taking Simon’s arm and pulling him a few steps away from the clerk. “I think this might be linked with the home invasions, but I need to go and check something.”

“The home invasions?” Simon glanced over at the motel room. “How?”

Blair shook his head. “I don’t want to say anything until I’m sure, Simon. Can you get one of the patrol cars to drive you back once you’ve finished here? Then I can take Jim’s truck with me.”

“Jim lets you drive that thing?” Simon queried, a slight smile playing at the edge of his lips. In reply, Blair held up his car keys, jangling them between his fingers with a grin. “All right,” Simon nodded. “I’ll finish things up here, but I want to know what you found as soon as you can. I’ve got a meeting with the Commissioner first thing in the morning, and I want to be able to tell him we’re finally making progress.”

Blair was already moving, brushing back his wet curls and jogging over to Jim’s truck. “You got it, Simon!” he called back. Climbing into the truck, he shrugged off his wet jacket and dumped it on the floor by the passenger seat, switching the engine on and turning up the heat. It would take a few minutes for the air to come through really hot, but anything was better than the chill that had set in as night descended.

He pulled out of the parking lot with a squeal of tires that had Simon glancing in his direction, and he forced himself to slow down, his excitement making him rush. This was the break they’d been looking for, he could feel it. The anticipation was surging through him as so many little things he’d overlooked began to come together — all pieces of the same jigsaw.

The vision he’d had in the Nelsons’ living room had occurred at almost the exact second he’d picked up the magazines scattered on the carpet, covered in broken glass. He’d felt the residual fear from the victims that seemed to have seeped into the walls, but far stronger than that had been an almost overpowering rage — a mindless fury that would not be denied. Blair suspected that, had he picked up the magazines from the hotel room, he’d have felt that same anger once more. He wasn’t sure exactly what the connection was, but the two men they’d arrested this evening were involved with the home invasions. Of that, he was certain.

Perhaps that was why the spirits had chosen to show him that vision in particular. Wrong as it was, Blair was all too aware that people were assaulted and beaten within Cascade on an all too regular basis, and the spirits had never attempted to intervene in the past, leaving the prevention of such crimes to more modern concepts of justice.

But they had spoken to him once already about the murders, cautioning him to embrace his shamanism or be prepared to stand by and do nothing. Perhaps, now that he had done so, they were showing him the clues they’d wanted him to see in the first place.

Blair drove through Cascade’s dark streets in a trance, his mind furiously going back over everything he could remember of the home invasions. If he was right, and the two they’d arrested had been involved in the murders, then they had to find the proof quickly, before they had any chance of being bailed out on the rape charges. Or was it attempted rape? Without speaking to the doctors who had examined her, he wasn’t even sure of that.

He made it back to headquarters in record time, and was already down in the evidence cages hunting through boxes by the time Jim joined him.

“What’s got you all worked up?” Jim asked in greeting, leaning against the doorway.

“Jim!” Blair barely glanced up from rummaging through the boxes, finally producing what he was looking for with a flourish. He held up a large, clear plastic evidence bag, with the copy of Women’s Home Journal they’d bagged at the earlier crime scene inside, a match for one already sitting on the table. “Here it is!”

Jim walked into the cages, joining Blair at the small foldout table. “I’m not following you, Sandburg,” he said, stifling a yawn. “What about it?”

Blair held out the magazine in his hand, showing Jim the cover. “There was a copy of this in the motel room tonight; I found it after you’d gone to the hospital. It’s an exact match — same issue, everything.”

Jim just looked blankly at him. “So?”

“So?” Blair was practically bouncing up and down on his feet, he was so excited. “So, I saw the same magazine — this one — at the Nelsons’ house.” He pointed to the second magazine on the table. “Just before I had that vision, remember?” Jim nodded, and he carried on. “And this,” he shook the plastic in his hand, “was taken from the Matthews’ house. Three different crime scenes containing three identical magazines? It’s a bit too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?”

Curious, Jim leaned forward, plucking the magazine out from Blair’s grip and holding it up to the light of the single, bare bulb that illuminated the cages. He turned it over and over in his hands, examining all sides. “It does seem strange,” he conceded, and Blair huffed impatiently.

“Strange? It’s the closest we’ve come to a link between the crimes yet. Simon checked with the motel clerk, those two we arrested tonight have been staying at the motel for a couple of weeks now. It was their room, and I don’t know about you, but they don’t strike me as the type to read the Women’s Home Journal for kicks.”

Jim grinned. “It’s a bit thin,” he cautioned, “but you’re right, it’s more than we’ve had to go on so far, and it might fit in with Sneaks’ tip about the Book Man. I say we find out a bit more about who runs this magazine.”

Breaking into a grin, Blair began to pack the rest of the evidence boxes away. “We should get this up to Forensics and ask Sam to check it for fingerprints, find out who’s handled it.”

“I’ll drop it up to Sam,” Jim offered, picking the bag up without waiting for Blair to agree. Blair nodded, refusing to have that particular argument again. Unlike most of their close colleagues, Sam had taken Blair’s declaration of fraud personally, interpreting it as further proof that he’d never been serious about their one-time relationship, and reminded him of that at every possible opportunity. He tried not to let it bother him. Sometimes, to Jim’s dismay, when he was in a more vindictive mood he even went out of his way to visit her department, just to remind her of his presence, but they didn’t have time for that now.

“I’ll meet you in the bullpen.”

~*~*~

If Major Crime had been quiet when they’d left it earlier that evening, at nearly three AM it was practically deserted, and Blair found himself sharing the bullpen just with a cleaner and Officer Andrew Waddingham, who had been seconded to Major Crime to work on the armed robbery case Rafe and Brown were involved in.

They exchanged little more than a hello; Andrew was practically asleep at his desk, chin resting on one hand as he typed on his computer, the line of empty coffee cups a clear sign of just how long he’d been here. Blair had been up long enough that the thought of coffee — even the sludge from the break room — sounded wonderful, but he couldn’t bring himself to trudge back down the corridor to get it. His adrenaline-fuelled excitement was already waning, being replaced with a bone-deep weariness that reminded him with every step just how long it had been since he’d awakened at Ben Thundercloud’s place the previous morning.

Still, they were on to something here, and Blair badly wanted to know what it was.

Slipping behind his own desk, Blair booted up the computer and went online. The screen defaulted to the Lycos search engine he usually used, and he started searching, cursing when tired fingers didn’t seem to want to hit the right keys.

It didn’t take long before he found a site devoted to the publication, hailing Women’s Home Journal as ‘a quality magazine for the dignified homemaker’. The website was equally as old-fashioned as the magazine itself seemed to be, full of phrases such as ‘enriching your browsing experience’, never using one word when ten would do just as well. Blair rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he scanned through the site.

Apart from the usual information about subscription costs and display advertising rates, the site had little that helped, and certainly not a handy pop-up box explaining exactly why their magazines had ended up at three separate crime scenes. Sighing, Blair clicked on ‘Contact Us’ to find out which publishing house the magazine belonged to…and his blood ran cold.

Berkshire Publishing.

The same Berkshire Publishing where Sid Graham worked. The company that had taken his dissertation, used it without his permission, and distributed copies of it to every major media company in the North-Western United States.

Unable to tear his eyes off the screen, Blair leaned back in his chair, shocked at what he was seeing. Was it really possible that someone in Berkshire was involved in this somehow?

“Blair?” he glanced up when his name was called to find Jim approaching with a frown on his face. “Sam said we should have the test results in the morning.”

“Did you ask her to check the prints against the two guys we’ve got in holding?” Blair asked, his gaze drifting back to stare at the screen once more.

“Yeah. What’s wrong?”

Blair wheeled his chair back with a sigh, gesturing at the screen as he made room for Jim beside him. “Take a look at who publishes the WHJ.”

Jim joined him behind the desk, placing one hand on Blair’s shoulder and squeezing it gently as he looked at the screen. “Oh, shit,” was his response a moment later, sounding as surprised as Blair felt.

“Yeah.”

“Is Sid Graham involved in this? Could he be the Book Man?”

“No, according to Naomi he was strictly in charge of editing non-fiction books. I doubt he’d be involved in the magazine side of the business at all. Publishing houses usually have separate departments for just about everything.” Blair managed a wan grin, even as his heart sank at the thought of raking over a particularly sordid part of his past. “As much as I’d like to make the guy out to be some kind of devil, whatever’s going on here can’t be him.”

“Surely it can’t be a coincidence, though, that of all the publishing houses in the country, this one turns up again?”

Blair shrugged. “Stranger things have happened, man.”

“True.” Jim glanced at his watch, turning to lean against the desk to his right. “It’s not even five AM yet; we need a lot more information here, and there’s no way we can get it at this time of night. We’ve been up almost twenty-four hours; what say we go and get a few hours’ sleep, and head over to the hospital in the morning, see what we can find out from the girl.”

Any suggestion that meant he could go and get a couple of hours sleep was just about perfect with him, and Blair was powering down the computer almost before Jim had finished speaking.

Jim hauled him to his feet, and together they headed back to the parking garage. In the elevator on the way down, halfway between floors two and three, Blair clicked his fingers together, groaning as he remembered something. “Hey, I never asked you what happened at the hospital.”

Jim was leaning against the elevator wall, arms folded in front of him as he propped himself upright. He wasn’t wearing a jacket, and Blair could clearly see the bandage on his arm where the bullet had grazed, and berated himself for not thinking to find out what the doctors had said as soon as he saw Jim.

But Jim, predictably, waved the question away impatiently. “I told you, Sandburg, it was just a scratch. Just a couple of stitches, that’s all.”

Blair’s heart leapt. “Stitches?”

“Stop fussing, Blair,” Jim interrupted. “Everything’s fine and all the dials are working just fine, all right?”

Blair couldn’t help but be skeptical. Jim tended to treat every injury the same, regardless of whether it was a paper cut or a sliced artery, and the fluorescent lights in the elevator were doing nothing to stop Jim’s complexion from seeming pale and drawn, but he bit his lip and said nothing. He knew from long experience that pushing would only make Jim antsy and even more inclined to write off the wound, so instead he just promised himself he’d keep a better eye on it in future.

And maybe find some of that soothing herbal tea he kept for when Jim’s senses were playing up, just in case. He was sure he still had some pushed to the back of the cupboard under the sink.

A pointed cough from Jim suggested that his lover knew exactly what Blair was thinking. Blair chuckled wryly, smiling up at his partner and nodding, knowing that Jim would correctly interpret it as tacit, good-natured agreement that he wouldn’t play the mother-hen too much once they got home. “What about Gail?” he asked instead, changing the subject.

“She was hysterical, so the doctors sedated her just before I left, said they’d keep her at least overnight. She’ll probably be released in the morning.”

“Was she…did we get there in time?”

That brought the first full smile to Jim’s lips that Blair had seen since they ran from Simon’s house the day before. “Yeah, we did.”

~*~*~

At nine AM the following morning, both Jim and Blair were back at the hospital, each clutching Starbucks coffee cups and at least awake, if not exactly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Visiting hours had just started, and Gail Newman was their first stop. She’d been placed in a single room on the wards, and after a warning from her doctor not to upset her, Jim let Blair go into her room first. It didn’t take a degree in psychology to think that she’d be more comfortable about the man that she’d trusted inside the motel room than an almost-stranger; she’d been too upset the night before to really pay any attention to the man who’d shared an ambulance ride with her.

“Hi, Gail,” Blair greeted, stopping at the foot of the bed until she turned her face towards them, instinctively shifting away from them in the bed. She was pale and still. Not a particularly tall girl anyway, the hospital clothes and the bed made her seem even smaller than she had the night before. An air of defeat hung in the air, and Jim could see the tear tracks down her face from clear across the room. “I’m Detective Blair Sandburg,” he said, his voice quiet and soothing. “Do you remember me from yesterday?”

She stared silently at him for a long time; her recently-washed blond hair spreading out across the pillow behind her head. Eventually, she nodded slowly, eyes flicking to Jim and back again.

“This is my partner, Detective Jim Ellison,” Blair introduced him, taking a step closer to the bed so that he was no longer standing in front of Jim.

Gail made no effort to look at Jim again, simply nodding. “Thanks,” she whispered, her voice hoarse and painful sounding. Moving carefully, Jim crossed to the wheeled table by the window and poured her out a plastic cup of water. He held it out to her — a silent query, and she raised a hand to take the glass, seeming to make a conscious effort not to let their hands touch. A thin tube trailed from the back of her hand, and she followed Jim’s gaze with an emotionless shrug. “The IV — doctor says said I’m dehydrated,” her voice was flat, as if none of it mattered.

Jim simply nodded back, stepping back again to stand next to Blair. She was still in shock.

“Thanks,” she said again, “for last night.”

Blair smiled at her, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Do you mind if we sit down?” he asked gently. “We’ve got some questions to ask you, if you feel up to it.”

She shrugged again and Blair reached over for the red plastic chair by the head of the bed, moving it further down the bed so as not to make her feel any more claustrophobic.

Jim did the same, pulling over another chair that had been discarded in the corner near the door. The metal legs squeaked as they dragged across the floor, and Jim winced at the sound as he sat down.

He was aware of Gail watching his every movement, her fingers picking nervously at the thin weave of the blanket on the bed. She was shivering slightly, tiny tremors coursing down her arms and through her fingers. “Would you like another blanket?” Jim asked, but she just shook her head.

“No. I’m fine. Thanks.” The words came out in short bursts, almost slipping out unnoticed, as if one or two words at a time was just about all she could manage to get out. Jim had seen this a million times before in other assault victims, and in women in particular, and he felt for every one of them. Still, he took small comfort in the knowledge that, in this case, both men responsible had already been caught, and were now kicking their heels in a holding cell back at the station. Interviewing them was a pleasure he was reserving for later in the day. “How did you find me?” she asked suddenly, and Blair hesitated, glancing over to Jim for help.

“We had an anonymous tip,” Jim said smoothly, deciding that was a far safer answer than mentioning spirits and visions, both for her and for their report. “Someone must have heard what was happening.”

“Oh.”

“Gail, can you tell us what happened last night?” Blair leaned forward in his chair, his entire body language radiating calm and safety. Jim would have thought this was another facet of his burgeoning shamanism, if he hadn’t already known for years how empathic Blair was. Or perhaps this was always part of Blair’s existence as a shaman, and it was only now that they knew what to call it.

“I…I don’t remember.”

That got Jim’s full attention. Gail was clearly lying; her heartbeat spiking as she looked away from them, her reaction more visceral than could be explained away by the typical victim response of shame or embarrassment.

Blair obviously saw it too, but he didn’t push her, instead changing tack with his next question. “The City Limits motel clerk we spoke to said you’ve been staying there for almost two weeks now, in the room next to where you were found. Why was that?”

Gail stared down at the bed, bringing one shaking hand up to rub at a bruise across her forehead.

“You’re not in any trouble here, Gail,” Blair assured her. “We’re just trying to find out what happened to you.”

“I…I’ve been…working here,” she stammered. “Just for a few weeks. We…I’m moving on soon.”

“Where are you working?” Jim asked, and she jumped, startled as if she’d forgotten he was there.

“Around,” she hedged, her heart rate growing even faster. “I’m in sales.”

“What do you sell?” Blair this time, and Jim subsided, allowing him to lead the questions to try and keep her from getting upset. Inside his jacket pocket, his cell began to vibrate, and Jim stood, stepping out of the room and heading out to the lobby before checking his voicemail.

There were two messages — the first was from Simon, demanding to know what Sandburg had found, as he put it, “before he had to go tap-dancing for the Commissioner”. Jim smiled to himself and deleted the message. All they had were suspicions, certainly nothing strong enough to take to the Captain, let alone anyone else. Simon would just have to tap-dance for a little while longer while they tried to figure this out.

Shaking off visions of Simon in a pink tutu and tap shoes, Jim listened as the voicemail began the second message. Sent just two minutes before, he was surprised to hear Sam’s deep voice echoing tinnily through the receiver.

“You’d better appreciate this, Jim,” she began testily, “I’ve had to put so many other things on hold to get these results so quickly, I’m going to have Vice on my back for a week.” Jim could believe that, actually, because Forensics was still backed up after the flooding. But he refused to believe that Sam was being altruistic in the slightest by putting his test at the front of the line. The mandate that anything connected to the home invasions was to have top priority had come down from the Mayor himself, and as much as Sam might inflate her own importance, she knew better than to anger his Honor. “We found a thumb print, a middle finger and a couple of smudges. Can’t do anything about the smudges, but the two prints came back as a 98% match for a Gail Newman. She’s 19, no previous convictions. If it wasn’t for a sealed juvenile record she wouldn’t be in the system at all. You got lucky. As usual.”

Never one for pleasantries, she ended the call.

Jim dropped the cell phone back in his pocket, already deep in thought. This was unexpected — he’d thought if they lifted any prints at all they’d be Leo’s, or maybe from that stoned kid, Graham. But this potentially placed Gail Newman at the scene of the Nelson murders, making her as much a suspect as she already was a victim.

Jim had his doubts, though. He wasn’t doubting the test results — Sam was a bitch but she was damn good at her job — but Gail didn’t strike him as a murderer. That could still mean she knew who was, though. Jim hustled back to her room, unwilling to leave Blair alone with her for too long, just in case.

His shoes squeaking slightly against the linoleum as he hurried, Jim returned to his partner’s side just in time to hear him say: “The two men we arrested at the motel are locked up at the station, we’ll be interviewing them today. I just want to find out what happened from you before we do that.”

But she just shook her head, eyes shining with unshed tears as she refused to look Blair in the eye.

It was on the tip of Jim’s tongue to end the interview there, to spare her obvious distress, but then he thought of Laura Matthews and her frightened husband, sitting in ICU for days on end, never knowing from one second to the next whether his wife was going to wake up or take her last breath. And he remembered the Nelsons’ home, thick with the cloying, sickly-sweet scent of drying blood and death. Jim sighed, and began to speak. “Gail? Have you ever heard of the Women’s Home Journal?”

That got a reaction that none of their other questions had. She gasped audibly, jerking in the bed, the tears that had been in her eyes beginning to fall as she bit down onto her lower lip.

Blair tried to cut in, visibly confused and alarmed, but Jim gestured for him to keep quiet and he did, albeit reluctantly, frowning at his partner.

“No,” she muttered. “No…I don’t…I haven’t…sorry…”

His heart sinking, Jim spoke again, beginning to wonder, from her extreme reaction, if perhaps she had been involved in the murders somehow. “Your fingerprints were found in a house in Carson Street where two people have been murdered,” he revealed gently, leaning forward to catch her gaze and ignoring Blair’s expression of startled surprise. “Can you tell me why?”

At that she dissolved into sobs, curling in on herself. Her hair fell in front of her face as she cried, great, heart-wrenching sobs that wracked her whole body. Between the tears, she was talking, the words almost incomprehensible, and soft enough that even Jim could only just make them out. “My fault…I didn’t mean…couldn’t…oh god…”

Reaching behind him, Blair pulled a handful of tissues out of a box on the windowsill and handed them to her. Feeling like an utter heel, Jim waited silently until she had begun to calm down, Blair following his lead as her cries echoed through the room.

She wiped the tissue across her eyes, but the tears came back quickly and eventually she gave up, picking at the paper with fingernails that were bitten and torn.

Just as Jim was beginning to wonder if he was actually going to have to arrest an assault victim on suspicion of murder, uncomfortably aware that she was the closest thing to a suspect that they’d had since starting this case, her tears began to subside.

“Did you kill them, Gail?” he asked softly.

“No!” she cried out, her voice high and thick with tears. “God, no…I…” her fingers tightened on the tissues and her lower lip trembled, but she took a deep breath, closed her eyes for a moment and this time the tears stayed away. “No,” she whispered.

“What happened?”

Silence settled over the room, Jim and Blair waiting in silent anticipation as she visibly composed herself, deep breaths slowly replacing her shaking shoulders.

“I didn’t want it,” she breathed. “I didn’t know. I swear.” Crumbling the tissue between her fist, she rubbed the heel of both hands into her eyes and straightened up, pushing her hair out of her face and looking at them both for the first time since the conversation began, her voice surprisingly steady. “I didn’t kill those people,” she said softly. “But it…it’s my fault they’re dead.”

Now utterly confused, Blair interrupted her. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?” he suggested, taking the plastic cup from where it had fallen onto the bed and refilling it.

She took it with a watery smile, taking a tiny sip before speaking again. “I was there,” she began. “I tried…I was…” she broke off again with a sigh, seemingly unsure exactly where to start from. Finally she nodded to herself, taking another sip and trying again. “I work for a company called Pinnacle Publishing Service. We sell magazine subscriptions door-to-door, traveling all across the country. We’ve been in Cascade for a little over three weeks; before that, we were in Jacksonville. The Women’s Home Journal is the title that the crew I’m on sells for, but there are dozens of others working right through the state, selling different titles.”

Jim nodded but stayed silent, willing to let the girl tell her story in her own words for now. Crumpling up the frayed tissue in her hand, she wiped it over her nose and continued.

“I come from Fort Worth, Texas, and I’ve been traveling with Pinnacle for six months. These guys came into a diner one day, recruiting for salespeople. I’ve had trouble finding a job since I left high school; this just seemed like the perfect solution.” Her voice broke with emotion and she coughed, biting her lip and glancing down at the bed for a moment before she could go on. “They had all these expensive clothes and nice jewelry; they made it sound so great, said we could travel all over the country, meeting people and earning commission on everything we sold. I said ‘yes’ right away, and left town with them two days later.”

“So what happened?” Blair asked.

“It’s not like they said it would be,” she replied, despair written in the way she was sitting, her body language utterly dejected. “Leo — he’s our crew’s manager — he sets our sales targets for each day. We have to give him everything we make, and he gives us back our commission. We don’t often get much back, though. Just a couple of dollars here or there. He decides how much we’ve earned, he keeps all the records, and we can’t argue with him if it’s wrong. We have to pay him for our own room and board — that takes most of what we earn.”

“Who decides where you stay?” Jim asked, unsurprised at the answer he got back.

“Leo. He chooses the motels, and tells us how much we owe him for our board.”

“What happens if you don’t make enough one day, Gail?” Blair asked.

“He gets angry.” Looking down, Jim could see that Gail’s hands were starting to shake again. “He shouts a lot. Sometimes he loses his temper.”

“Is that where you got the black eye?” Jim asked. Probably not visible to most people, he could still make out the last remnants of an angry bruise around her left eye.

She nodded, sounding ashamed. “I couldn’t make enough to cover the rent.”

“Why didn’t you leave?” Blair asked. “You could have gone back to Texas.”

“I don’t have enough for the bus fare home,” she admitted. “I wanted to call my mom, but I don’t have a cell, and they wouldn’t let me out of their sight long enough to find a payphone. I didn’t know where else to go.”

“What happened at the Nelsons’ house?”

Gail would no longer look either of them in the eye. “I overheard Leo talking to Graham that morning,” she said quietly. “We were on our way out to Carson Street to start work for the day. Graham liked this watch that Leo was wearing, and asked him where he’d got it from. I heard him say that he’d taken it from the house they’d turned over last week. When he said the street name, I remembered hearing about a break-in on the radio, where that lady was hurt. They didn’t realize I could hear them until afterwards.” The expression on her face turned angry, sickened as she became lost in her memories. “They were laughing about what they’d done. How they’d torn the houses apart and stabbed that poor little dog. They were getting off on it.”

Jim and Blair exchanged a sobering look with each other, Jim fighting to curb his rising excitement. If Gail was to be believed, and he couldn’t find any indication that she was lying to them, then they’d found their home invaders.

“He was so angry when he realized I knew. He hit me; said if I told anyone, he’d make sure I regretted it. Then he shoved a bag of magazines into my hands and pushed me out of the van. Told me to go earn my keep.”

“Was there anyone else in the van at the time?”

“No. I was the last one to be dropped off; everyone else was already out working the surrounding streets.” She hesitated, only going on when Jim nodded for her to continue. “I knocked at the first house but there was no one home, so I tried the second. The lady came to the door — she seemed nice. I tried to sell her the magazine, but I was upset and I started crying. She took me inside and her husband gave me a glass of water. They were only trying to be nice to me.” Tears were spilling over onto her cheeks again, and Jim sighed, already having a good idea where her story was heading. “They tried to get me to tell them what was wrong, but then the door was kicked down and Leo and Graham burst in. Leo was screaming — I’ve never seen him so angry. He tried to drag me out of the house. The man tried to stop him…and…he…Leo pulled out a knife from his jacket…”

She trailed off, shaking her head as she whispered: “It all happened so fast. I couldn’t stop him.”

“Leo killed them both?”

She nodded, wrapping both arms around herself. “Aft…afterwards, they dragged me out of the house…back to the motel. We’ve been there ever since. They wouldn’t let me leave.”

“Gail,” Blair spoke first, his face pale in the harsh light. “Before we arrived last night, did they rape you?”

To their relief, Gail shook her head. “They’ve pretty much ignored me ever since, but last night, when Leo came back to the room from seeing the rest of the crew, he started shouting at me for not earning my keep, and for costing him money. He said if I couldn’t be trusted to sell magazines, I could at least be useful for something… but you showed up before he had the chance.”

There was a knock on the door a split second before the nurse bustled in. Greeting both detectives with a smile, she quickly turned her attention to Gail. “How are you feeling, my dear?” she asked.

“Okay, I guess,” Gail shrugged.

“Great! The doctor said you could be discharged if you feel better this morning.”

“Okay,” she didn’t seem pleased at the idea of leaving. Hundreds of miles from home, with no money and surrounded by strangers, it didn’t take a genius to work out why.

“Do you want me to call someone, honey?”

“Would you come back to the station with us, Gail?” Blair stepped in. “We’d like you to give a formal statement about what happened. Then, maybe, you’d like us to call your parents? See if we can get you home to your family?”

“Where’s Leo?” she asked, her voice trembling at the very thought of him.

“He’s locked up in the cells,” Jim replied. “We won’t let him get anywhere near you, I promise.”

“If I give a statement, will he go to prison?”

“I hope so,” Jim said, unable to keep the anger out of his voice. “If I have my way, for a very long time.”

“Good,” Gail said, “I’ll do it.” The savage tone in her own voice made Jim want to stand up and applaud. She seemed like a good kid who’d just got caught up in something out of her own control. This kind of ordeal could easily break someone, and while she was obviously distraught, helping to send the man responsible to jail would go a long way towards giving her back the control over her own life that she’d lost over the past six months.

Nurse Hawley smiled. “I’ll go get the discharge papers.”

~*~*~

All three were back at the station an hour later, and Blair went to update the Captain on what they’d learned, while Jim took Gail into an interview room to take a formal statement.

Simon’s initial anger at not being told what was going on was quickly assuaged at the news that they may well have the two perpetrators in custody already, and by the time Blair escaped his office and headed back to his own desk, Simon was practically whistling with contentment.

Waiting for Jim to finish with Gail, Blair powered up his computer and went to look and see what he could find out about traveling magazine salesmen. What he found engrossed as much as appalled him, and he was still reading when Jim returned almost an hour later.

“Leo’s lawyered up,” Jim announce by way of a greeting. “Oh, and get this — his full name is Leo Bookham.”

“Bookham?” Blair echoed. “The Book Man?”

“Possibly,” Jim nodded. “It’s close enough that I think he might be who Sneaks was talking about. He’s certainly higher up the food chain than any of those poor kids he hires.”

“It’s nothing unusual, Jim,” Blair tapped his computer screen, gesturing for Jim to take a look for himself. “I’ve been doing some research. There have been stories in the national press for years about this industry, and apart from the murders, Gail’s story is nothing out of the ordinary. According to what I’ve read, anything up to 150,000 people — most just kids under twenty-three — are recruited every year to do this, and a lot of them work in appalling conditions. There are stories here about girls being raped, and getting forced into prostitution and drug-dealing if they don’t meet their targets. There have been several deaths — car crashes because of badly maintained vans, stuff like that. One guy had an asthma attack and the rest of his ‘crew’ just left him on the street. A passer-by called 911, but he was dead before the ambulance arrived.”

Jim frowned. “What about the publishers? Can’t they do something about it?”

“According to the Magazine Publishers of America, these kinds of subscriptions only make up one percent of US publications’ total circulation, but that’s still a huge amount of money. Problem is, the companies who run these kids are contracted by the magazines, not directly employed, so the magazines themselves can’t be held legally responsible for how the contractors work, even if they do know what’s going on.”

Jim crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Guess that means we won’t be going after Berkshire then, huh?”

“I doubt it. Not unless we can get one of the two downstairs to say that Berkshire was actively involved in the home invasions. Selling magazine subscriptions door-to-door just isn’t illegal.”

“Then I guess we concentrate on nailing these two for the home invasions, and for the attack on Gail. Berkshire will have to wait for another day.”

Blair agreed, not sure whether he was relieved or disappointed. Much as he’d love to nail Berkshire to the mast for some of its less ethical practices, he didn’t exactly relish the thought of all the bad feeling it would have dredged up.

“I tell you though, Chief,” Jim muttered. “The more I hear about Berkshire, the more I think it’s time someone took a good look at the way they work. If they can screw you over the way they did and get away with it, and now they’re employing companies like Pinnacle and exploiting these kids…” Blair heard the raw anger in his lover’s voice and nodded, reaching over to pat his shoulder in mute support. Jim took the abuse of people within his city very seriously, and Blair had a feeling that, now they had truly drawn his attention, it was only going to be a matter of time before Berkshire found out what it was like to face a furious sentinel.

Jim changed the subject before Blair’s mind could wander any further. “Gail’s given me a list of the rest of the people in her crew, and where they’re likely to be. I’ve sent some of the uniforms to round them up. From what she said I don’t think any of them were involved in the robberies — that seemed to all be down to Bookham and this kid Graham, but if they’re living anything like she was, the least we can do is get them home to their families.”

Switching off the computer monitor, Blair pushed back his chair and stood up, watching as Jim snagged the file on the Nelson murders from his desk. “Leo?” he asked, and Jim looked back at him with a determine gleam in his eyes.

“Leo,” he nodded. “After you, Sandburg.”

Blair led the way down to the interrogation suite where Leo had already been hauled out of his cell. His lawyer was waiting with him, and was on his feet the instant Jim and Blair entered the room.

“Detective Ellison!” Blair didn’t recognize him, though the pin-stripe suit and expensive watch was an echo of almost every other defense lawyer he’d met. “What do you think you’re playing at? My client has been kept in the cells all night without being interviewed, and he was injured during the arrest…”

“Don’t even bother, Slick,” Jim cut him off bluntly, his gaze firmly focused on where Leo Bookham was slumped in his chair with an irritating smirk on his face. It didn’t take more than a few seconds for Jim to switch on the interview tape and run through who was in the room for the record. “Your client was charged with aggravated assault and attempted rape, as well as assaulting a police officer when he was arrested. We’re well within our rights to keep him here overnight, and you can see he received medical attention.” Jim gestured to the bandage around Leo’s right wrist, where Jim had shot the gun out of his hand.

The lawyer’s bluster began again the instant Jim stopped talking, but surprisingly it was Leo who interrupted him, not Jim, speaking to Jim as if the lawyer wasn’t even there. “Hey, look, man, I’m sorry I shot at you, okay?” he began, repeating what he’d said back at the motel. “We didn’t realize you were cops at first — you took us by surprise and it’s a real bad neighborhood. And as for this rape thing, it wasn’t what it looked like. She was into it, I swear! You know how girls like her can be,” he added dismissively, and Blair could see Jim’s entire body stiffen in growing anger.

Inwardly wincing, Blair stepped away to lean against the back wall of the interrogation room, crossing his arms in front of him and leaving Leo to his partner. Jim didn’t speak at first, reaching out and turning the wooden chair in front of him around, straddling the seat and leaning his arms on its back. He flicked open the file in his hands, making a show of reading through the papers.

Leo squirmed in his seat, rubbing one hand through his greasy hair before speaking again. Apparently used to getting his own way immediately, he was rattled already, and Blair had to stifle a satisfied smile. Very few people could hold out against Jim when he was in this kind of mood, and Leo wasn’t anywhere near good enough to be one of the few.

“Seriously, man,” Leo began again, leaning forward and trying to catch Jim’s attention. “I wouldn’t do what she’s saying.”

“Mr. Bookham…” the lawyer warned softly.

“Oh?” This from Jim, who glanced up almost disinterestedly at Leo for a second before turning back to his papers. “And what is she saying?”

“Well…” Leo stammered then, suddenly realizing that if he was innocent, he should have no idea what Gail had told the police. “I don’t know,” he amended. “But you guys showed up for a reason, right? But if she’s saying I raped her, I didn’t. We didn’t.”

“Oh, I know that,” Jim replied softly, and Leo visibly relaxed. “The rape charge is being downgraded to attempted rape.”

”What? But I didn’t…”

“Mr Bookham, you work for Pinnacle Publishing Services, is that right?”

“I don’t work for it, I own it,” Leo boasted, surprising Blair. The kid didn’t look old enough to be the owner of a company, even one as twisted and unethical as this one apparently was. Stepping over behind his partner, Blair leaned down and pulled out Leo’s arrest sheet. Above the fingerprints that had been taken, his date of birth made him almost thirty — only a couple of years younger than Blair himself. Glancing up at Leo, Blair remained quiet and moved back to his spot by the wall, aware of Leo following his movements nervously.

When Jim pulled several color photographs out of his file and threw them on the table in front of Leo, the kid flinched back away from them, all the color draining out of his face. Leaning forward slightly, Blair could make out the crime scene photos of the Nelson murders, as well as pictures from the Matthews’ invasion. “Recognize these?” he asked mildly, staring at Leo as if daring him to deny his involvement.

Even the lawyer was silent, looking across at his client in surprise.

“What’s this?” Leo asked, but all the bluster had gone from his voice.

“Their names were Audrey and James Nelson,” Jim snapped. “I’m guessing you didn’t stop to ask that before you stabbed them to death.” Leo didn’t reply. “Then there’s Laura Matthews, who has been in a coma in the ICU for the last ten days since someone — I’m thinking you — bashed her head in with a blunt object. What did you use?”

“Don’t answer that,” interrupted the lawyer, but neither Leo nor Jim acted as if they’d heard him at all.

“What has that bitch been saying to you?” Leo snarled, his voice turning ugly as spittle flew across the table.

“Nothing that we can’t prove,” Jim’s voice was smooth with satisfaction, and Leo’s expression dropped into a sullen pout, though he remained silent. “Not only do we have a witness…”

“You can’t believe anything that little bitch tells you!” Leo shouted furiously, and Jim raised his voice as he talked over him.

“…who actually saw you and a…Graham…” Jim checked his own notes, “…Porter commit the Nelson murders, but a white van matching the description of the one at the motel — registered to you — was seen leaving the scene shortly after the murders were committed. What do you want to bet that once we let Forensics look at the van, we’ll find traces of the Nelsons’ blood inside?”

Leo looked away. “That’s a lie,” he muttered sullenly. “Besides, the van was valeted yesterday.”

“Cute,” Jim smiled, leaning across the table to whisper in Leo’s ear. “But I’m afraid valeting doesn’t get rid of everything. Blood’s kind of hard to get out of carpet fibers.”

Leo jerked away from Jim and Blair stepped forward, ready in case he tried anything with Jim so close. The kid did, at least, have some sense of self-preservation, though, because he just scraped his chair back a few feet, putting distance between the two of them and crossing his arms as he stood up. “She’s lying,” he retorted. “And if that’s all you have…?”

“Sit down!” Blair snapped angrily, taking several more steps towards him. Even though Leo was several inches taller, something in Blair’s manner must have cowed the bigger man, because after a few seconds of stand-off he meekly took his seat again.

“I’m going to go and talk to your friend Graham soon.” Jim leaned against the back of the chair, resting his arms on the top. “He should just about have come down from his high by now. You really think he’s going to keep quiet? He strikes me as the talkative type — I wonder what he’ll have to say.”

The lawyer stepped in again. “Detective, if all you have is a witness and a van…there must be a lot of white vans in Cascade…”

“The magazines that your company sell subscriptions to were found at the scenes of three recent home invasions,” Jim replied. “And there is one more thing. Take off your watch, Bookham.”

“What? No!”

Jim got out of his seat. “I said, take off your watch.”

“Why the hell should I?”

“A silver watch was taken from the house where Laura Matthews was assaulted. It belonged to her husband, and I have reason to believe that you’re wearing it.”

Reflexively, Leo pulled his sleeve down to cover the silver watch Blair could just see poking out from underneath the fabric. “Just because we have the same watch…” Leo muttered.

“Take off the watch, or I’ll do it for you,” Jim promised, his voice low and full of the promise of just how much he’d enjoy doing that. Mumbling too low for Blair to make out, Leo finally did as he was told, unsnapping the clasp and dropping the watch down onto the table. Jim picked it up, turning it over to look at the back of the watch face. He broke into a wide smile at what he saw. “You really should take more notice of the things you steal,” he said, holding up the watch so that everybody in the room could see there was an inscription engraved into the back. Blair couldn’t make out the words, but Jim read them out anyway. “‘To Robert, Happy Anniversary, love Laura.’ Do you think, just maybe, that might be Laura and Robert Matthews? It certainly doesn’t say ‘to Leo’ anywhere, does it?”

Blair could no longer keep silent. “Just tell me why?” he asked quietly, shaking his head as Leo fixed his gaze down at the table. Leo stayed quiet, biting his lower lip as Blair continued. “That watch can’t be worth more than a couple of hundred dollars, and you didn’t steal anything else from any of the houses. What did you possibly have to gain from killing those people?”

For a long moment Leo said nothing, then, before Blair could ask again, he spoke softly. “Do you have any idea what it’s like?” he asked bitterly. “Stuck babysitting those sniveling brats day in, day out? They’re always bitching about something or other.”

“That’s it?” Blair echoed incredulously. “You assaulted five people and killed two others because you were bored!”

But Leo just scowled and said nothing. The lawyer stepped in yet again, his forehead creased with surprise and disappointment. “Detective, I really must insist that I have a word with my client.”

Jim stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “Take as much time as you want,” he replied. “We’re finished here. Leo Bookham, I am arresting you for five counts of robbery, for the attempted rape and kidnapping of Gail Newman, the assault and battery of Laura Matthews, and for the first-degree murders of Audrey and James Nelson…”

Blair tuned out the rest of the Miranda rights as Jim went through them, moving over to the table and gathering up the papers Jim had brought in with them. He picked up the watch, carefully dropping it into a plastic evidence bag he still had in his pocket after going through the motel room. “We’ll take this with us,” he said as he snapped the bag shut, sealing the watch inside.

Leo remained silent, but Blair took great pleasure from just how pale he’d gone. They had him stone cold on all counts, and he knew it. Talking to Graham was just a formality.

“He’s all yours, Councilor,” Jim dismissed them both, ending the interview and steering Blair out of the room with a hand on the small of his back. Outside the door, Simon was waiting for them, leaning against the wall like the cat that got the cream, an unlit cigar hanging from his lips. The door next to theirs stood open, and it didn’t take a detective to realize that Simon had been watching from behind the one-way mirror.

“Congratulations, gentlemen,” he smiled broadly. “You just made my day. I think this deserves a cup of my special coffee.”

After Jim had told the uniformed officer standing guard by the door to escort Bookham back to his cell when he’d finished with his lawyer, the three men threaded their way back through the hallways up to Major Crime, where a cup of pure Colombian coffee was waiting for them. News had obviously spread quickly, and half the station stopped to congratulate them on the arrest before they made it up to the sixth floor.

They were all taking a welcome sip of hot coffee when Megan poked her head around the door. “Hey guys,” she greeted them with a warm smile. “I just got off the phone with Gail Newman’s parents — they’ve been worried sick about her, and they’re coming to pick her up on the next available flight. Should be in Cascade by this evening.” Blair couldn’t keep the smile off his face, and it became even wider when she continued. “Oh, and I heard from the hospital while you were downstairs. Laura Matthews woke up this morning. The Doc thinks she should make a full recovery.”

“Yes!” Blair exclaimed, grinning at Jim and delighted when Jim grinned back, equally as thrilled with the news.

“Well, well,” Simon added once Megan had closed the door behind her. “If solving five home invasions in less than twenty-four hours is what I can look forward to now that I have a Sentinel and a shaman working for me, I think life is going to get a lot less stressful around here.”

Blair laughed, taking another sip of his coffee to hide his sheer delight. He wasn’t deluding himself that every case was going to be like this, but he couldn’t deny that his own abilities had helped them to solve a case that had been all but dead and buried before he’d fully embraced who he was.

In just one day, Laura Matthews had come back to her husband, they’d helped reunite a lost girl with her family, and stopped a cold-blooded murderer before he could strike again.

Jim wrapped his arm around his lover, and they clinked their coffee cups together in mute celebration, the joy in Jim’s eyes promising Blair that they’d celebrate in a far more intimate way once they were alone.

He nodded, warmth flooding through him at the love shining from Jim’s eyes.

Whatever trials they faced in the future, together they were now Sentinel and Shaman, standing equal as protectors over the entire city.

And Blair wouldn’t have it any other way.

~*~*~

Author’s Notes:
* The facts and figures quoted about traveling sales agents have been paraphrased from real newspaper reports archived online.

* Many of the shamanic rituals and beliefs mentioned in The Path of a Shaman have been taken from the internet and from the following books, though I’ve used a lot of creative license with my research, so any and all mistakes/inaccuracies are mine.
- Drury, Nevill The Shaman and the Magician: Journeys Between the Worlds Arkana Paperbacks (London: 1982)
- Harner, Michael The Way of the Shaman HarperCollins (New York: 1990)
- Wood, Nicholas Voices from the Earth: A Handbook for the Modern Shaman Godsfield Press (London: 2000).

Thanks to StarWatcher, Arianna and Bluewolf for the betas, and for the chance to play in the Shaman’s Journey universe, and Arianna and Fluterbev for their patience and support while I was writing this. Any and all remaining mistakes are mine.

This site is maintained using efiction script 2.0. The skin design is a modified form of the Marauders skin, originally created by Carissa, and modified for use with this site by Rhianne.
Grateful thanks to Alyse and Calic0cat for their help setting up this site.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. Any original characters and plot are the property of Rhianne
and/or her co-authors. This site was created purely from a love of these shows, and no money is being made from its existence.
No copyright infringement is intended.