hands in hers. “Blessed be.”
She turned to Goose and held out her hands. Goose took them automatically and received kisses on both cheeks with surprised pleasure. “Blessed be, dear.”
“Ah . . . same to you,” Goose said.
Lila indicated a little love seat facing the bench and curled into her sunny window seat again, feet tucked neatly under her like a cat. Goose and Rush sat. It was a tight squeeze for two tall people, and the hard press of Rush’s thigh against hers sent a hot spark of awareness dancing in her stomach.
“Something’s happened,” Lila said, reaching for a delicate china teapot on the low table between them.
“Are you asking me or telling me?” Rush asked.
She handed him a steaming cup of tea. Goose wondered if she had cups and pots at the ready all over the house, or if she’d been expecting them. “Asking.” She handed Goose a cup, which she took and balanced on her knee.
“Agent di Guzman and I went down to the old mines yesterday,” Rush said.
“Really?” Lila turned cool eyes on Goose. “Looking for pitchforks?”
Goose glanced at Rush. “Ah . . .”
“We’ve moved somewhat beyond pitchforks at this point, Lila,” he said. “But it’s nice to know you’ve got my back. Thanks.”
Lila blinked at him. “You’re most welcome, Rush.” She leaned forward, her eyes direct and intense. “You always have been.”
He patted her hand, and she stared at him like he’d conjured a bouquet of tulips out of thin air. She turned to Goose again with considerably more warmth. “Whatever you’re doing, Agent di Guzman, you have my permission to continue.”
“Um, thanks.”
“So, the old mines,” Rush said. “We’d heard kids were partying down there and went to check it out.”
Lila raised her steaming cup to her lips. “And?”
“And there was nothing there.”
“Nothing?”
“No beer cans, no cigarette butts, no used condoms.”
“So that’s the good news out of the way.” She tipped her head. “What’s the bad news?”
“There was nothing else, either. No footprints, no tracks, no nests, no burrows.”
She set her cup onto the coffee table with a soft chink. “Well, now. That is unusual. Nature abhors a vacuum.”
“Exactly. But this was no vacuum.”
“Oh, dear.”
Goose listened as Rush described what they’d found in the old mine. The rough-hewn bowl on the low, flat rock. The traces of blood inside.
“Somebody’s using the Stone Altar,” Lila said, a tiny V creasing her brow.
“The Stone Altar?” Goose asked. “That was an altar we found?”
“Before it was a mine, it was an ancient structure our people used to honor the lunar standstill.”
Goose blinked at her, startled. “The lunar what now?”
“The lunar standstill,” Rush told her. “It’s an astrological phenomenon that occurs once every eighteen-point-six years. It’s a two-week period when the moon takes both its lowest possible route and its highest possible route through the night sky.”
“It’s also the time at which the moon rises at the northernmost point on the horizon of which it’s capable,” Lila said. “And when that happens—” She paused, gave Rush a significant look. He gave her a go-ahead shrug.
“And when that happens?” Goose prompted.
“It sends a beam of light directly down the mine shaft that illuminates the Stone Altar.” Lila sipped her tea. “The last one was in 2006.”
“Oh my God,” Goose said, wide-eyed. “I’ve heard about this. I thought it was destroyed or ruined or something.”
“No, just closed.” Lila wrinkled her nose. “I find the whole thing a little too Indiana Jones, to be frank. It panders to thrill seekers rather than true believers, and that’s not an element I’m interested in attracting to Mishkwa.”
Goose frowned as the argument she’d heard between Lila and Einar the other day started to make a great deal more sense. “Einar disagrees, though, doesn’t he? He thinks the Stone Altar is a
She turned to Goose and held out her hands. Goose took them automatically and received kisses on both cheeks with surprised pleasure. “Blessed be, dear.”
“Ah . . . same to you,” Goose said.
Lila indicated a little love seat facing the bench and curled into her sunny window seat again, feet tucked neatly under her like a cat. Goose and Rush sat. It was a tight squeeze for two tall people, and the hard press of Rush’s thigh against hers sent a hot spark of awareness dancing in her stomach.
“Something’s happened,” Lila said, reaching for a delicate china teapot on the low table between them.
“Are you asking me or telling me?” Rush asked.
She handed him a steaming cup of tea. Goose wondered if she had cups and pots at the ready all over the house, or if she’d been expecting them. “Asking.” She handed Goose a cup, which she took and balanced on her knee.
“Agent di Guzman and I went down to the old mines yesterday,” Rush said.
“Really?” Lila turned cool eyes on Goose. “Looking for pitchforks?”
Goose glanced at Rush. “Ah . . .”
“We’ve moved somewhat beyond pitchforks at this point, Lila,” he said. “But it’s nice to know you’ve got my back. Thanks.”
Lila blinked at him. “You’re most welcome, Rush.” She leaned forward, her eyes direct and intense. “You always have been.”
He patted her hand, and she stared at him like he’d conjured a bouquet of tulips out of thin air. She turned to Goose again with considerably more warmth. “Whatever you’re doing, Agent di Guzman, you have my permission to continue.”
“Um, thanks.”
“So, the old mines,” Rush said. “We’d heard kids were partying down there and went to check it out.”
Lila raised her steaming cup to her lips. “And?”
“And there was nothing there.”
“Nothing?”
“No beer cans, no cigarette butts, no used condoms.”
“So that’s the good news out of the way.” She tipped her head. “What’s the bad news?”
“There was nothing else, either. No footprints, no tracks, no nests, no burrows.”
She set her cup onto the coffee table with a soft chink. “Well, now. That is unusual. Nature abhors a vacuum.”
“Exactly. But this was no vacuum.”
“Oh, dear.”
Goose listened as Rush described what they’d found in the old mine. The rough-hewn bowl on the low, flat rock. The traces of blood inside.
“Somebody’s using the Stone Altar,” Lila said, a tiny V creasing her brow.
“The Stone Altar?” Goose asked. “That was an altar we found?”
“Before it was a mine, it was an ancient structure our people used to honor the lunar standstill.”
Goose blinked at her, startled. “The lunar what now?”
“The lunar standstill,” Rush told her. “It’s an astrological phenomenon that occurs once every eighteen-point-six years. It’s a two-week period when the moon takes both its lowest possible route and its highest possible route through the night sky.”
“It’s also the time at which the moon rises at the northernmost point on the horizon of which it’s capable,” Lila said. “And when that happens—” She paused, gave Rush a significant look. He gave her a go-ahead shrug.
“And when that happens?” Goose prompted.
“It sends a beam of light directly down the mine shaft that illuminates the Stone Altar.” Lila sipped her tea. “The last one was in 2006.”
“Oh my God,” Goose said, wide-eyed. “I’ve heard about this. I thought it was destroyed or ruined or something.”
“No, just closed.” Lila wrinkled her nose. “I find the whole thing a little too Indiana Jones, to be frank. It panders to thrill seekers rather than true believers, and that’s not an element I’m interested in attracting to Mishkwa.”
Goose frowned as the argument she’d heard between Lila and Einar the other day started to make a great deal more sense. “Einar disagrees, though, doesn’t he? He thinks the Stone Altar is a
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