Soft gold power drew me upward, exiting my chest as it had done before, but without taking my sense of body with it. One last spirit to go home, I thought hazily. The tear in the sky had to still be there, so the thunderbird could return to the Upper World.

Two spirits, someone inside my own head corrected me. Nakaytah’s voice, oddly familiar in my own mind. I exhaled, somewhat foolishly, all the stress leaving my system as I finally recognized who had spoken through my mouth when I’d named Virissong properly.

I hoarded his name for all this time, Nakaytah said. Only a shaman speaking it could drive Amhuluk and Idlirvirissong back into the Lower World.

I wished I had some air to breathe, but I smiled a little anyway. Drowning turned out to be a surprisingly pleasant way to go after all. I was going to have to apologize to—well, somebody—for my sarcastic doubting earlier. You’re the Wakinyan’s host, too, you know? I asked her. Your name is a part of it, too, now. It can’t be banished unless the Enemy knows to call your name, too.

Nor released, she agreed, and because I could take a hint, I drew in a lungful of water and whispered, “Goodbye, Nakaytah Wakinyan.”

I like to think I was the only one who saw the golden ghost of a thunderbird rise upward from my chest and speed into the sky like a star falling in reverse.

Eventually it struck me that being dead was a great deal like floating in a giant swimming pool, my chest rising and falling just like I was still alive and breathing. My eyelids were so heavy I had to lift my eyebrows to get them far enough open to see. A handful of fuzzy bright stars came into sight, and I began to think I probably wasn’t dead after all. I’d lost my contacts in the lake water, but on a scale of one to ten, with ten being dead, losing my contacts was probably somewhere around a negative fourteen in matters of consequence.

The lake water was still incredibly warm from the heat wave, though the air itself seemed to have cooled. I drifted for probably half the night before it occurred to me that I could swim to shore. Getting there took a long time, and once I crawled onto the beach I didn’t want to do anything else. I sat there until the sun rose, like I was waiting for something.

And I was. A gray shape in the water became recognizable as morning sunlight began to pick its way across the lake’s surface. I got up and walked into the water again, striking out in a swim when the bottom fell away, and brought Colin’s body back to shore.

CHAPTER 35

Wednesday, June 22, 8:25 a. m.

I must have slept, because the next thing I remembered was Billy’s hand on my shoulder as he said, “It’s all right, Joanie. We’ve got him.”

The sun was higher in the sky, and the entire coven, including Melinda, was there. Billy wasn’t the only police officer, and someone had already called an ambulance. I didn’t want to look at any of them, but I couldn’t look away from Garth. He looked older and much more haggard, bags under his eyes that spoke both of sorrow and exhaustion.

But the worst of it was what he said. He met my eyes, then looked away, watching them take his brother’s body to the ambulance, and echoed Colin’s opinion: “It beats the cancer ward.”

Knots twisted in my stomach, until I couldn’t tell if I wanted or dreaded forgiveness. But I still had to say I was sorry. I’d fucked up so badly. “Garth,” I whispered.

“Don’t.” His answer snapped out, hard enough to be a blow. I flinched and closed my eyes, glad for the pain. “Don’t,” he said again. Controlled emotion bled through his voice, anger and despair. “Just…don’t.”

I lowered my chin to my chest and pressed my lips together, nodding. I felt Billy’s hand on my shoulder again, then heard him say, “C’mon, let’s get her to the hospital, too.”

“I’m fine,” I said very quietly. I was not fine. Two people had died because I’d screwed up, and a third almost had. I wasn’t sure I could face Gary again. I couldn’t bear the idea of facing Morrison. And Coyote might have abandoned me for good, which I couldn’t blame him for.

All of which was why I got to my feet and went with Billy to the hospital. I didn’t care if anybody else might be able to forgive me. I was not going to let myself off the hook.

The radio on the drive over said the heat wave had broken, that a cooler front was moving in. It coincided with the end of the global warming symposium, a fact which the commentator clearly thought had meaning, because he repeated it twice with a sort of nudge-nudge-wink-wink delivery. In more local news, there was already a petition to the city to leave the new Lake Washington waterfall in place. They were calling it Thunderbird Falls. The battle over the lake hadn’t gone unnoticed.

I wasn’t sure I was happy with that. It seemed harsh enough that the people I knew well were being made to accept magic into their daily lives, whether they wanted it or not. Now the things I’d done were becoming a real part of the world as total strangers knew it. I already knew there was no going back, but I honestly hadn’t thought I might push a whole city toward believing the monsters under the bed were real. I unfocused my eyes, feeling so disconnected that it was easy to let second sight slide over my normal, fuzzy vision.

The wrongness in the air was gone, the dark twist of power that had lain over Seattle for months dissipated. It felt and looked healthier, the murky colors washed clean again. I knew I hadn’t fixed that on my own. The thunderbird had cleared the air, and if I’d had any part in it, it was in being the Wakinyan’s conduit. I wasn’t about to take credit for it. I kept the double vision on all the way to the hospital, feeling like it might be at least a step toward using my gifts more reliably.

I was sitting on the edge of a hospital bed, my feet dangling toward the floor, when Morrison said, “Walker,” from the doorway. My fingers clenched on the mattress as I looked up.

“Captain. Didn’t think I’d see you.” The desert-inspired suntan was still with me, but it didn’t hide the whiteness of my knuckles as I squeezed the mattress.

“Thought you wouldn’t, or hoped you wouldn’t?” He came into the room and pulled a stool up to lean against, arms folded across his chest. I shook my head.

“Thought I was going to come see you after they let me out of here.”

“They going to do that?”

I shrugged one shoulder, watching his shoes. They were black polished leather, and considerably safer to look at than his eyes. “Nothing wrong with me that some sleep won’t cure.” Nothing physically, anyway. I swallowed and made myself look up. Morrison was frowning at me. At least some things never changed. “Captain, I—”

“Every single one of your buddies,” Morrison interrupted, loudly, “says that in the middle of a solstice party last night, Faye Kirkland flipped out, confessed to murdering Cassandra Tucker, and in a fit of regret killed herself. Everyone,” he repeated, “told me the same story. Including Melinda Holliday. They also said that Colin Johannsen, who was dying of cancer, left the hospital for a few hours and opted to drown himself in Lake Washington rather than return for further treatments.”

I stared at him. Morrison stared back, gimlet gaze. “Is that what happened, Officer Walker?”

The incredible thing was that it was the only possible real-world spin that could be put on what had really happened. I wet my lips and kept staring at him for what felt like a very long time, before straightening my spine and saying, “No, sir.”

There was not a single hint of surprise in Morrison’s blue eyes. “Would anyone with two rational brain cells to rub together believe what really did happen?”

I closed my eyes and lifted my eyebrows a little. “No, sir.”