That had seemed to be a constant stumbling block for Max and Liz, no matter how much they seemed to genuinely care about each other. And Liz knows Max is an alien. Jesse doesn't have a clue about me. How am I… we… supposed to deal with that? Isabel felt all knotted up inside. She needed to do something, but she had no idea what.

The child-thing knew me, she reminded herself. Maybe the child-thing didn't know my name, but it knew that I was different. It hated me for that difference. She watched Jesse with the state policemen, knowing that one way or another her life was going to change again.

Heart pounding inside his chest, Max stopped when River Dog did. They stood in front of a small house with peeling paint and a collection of dreamcatchers and chimes hanging from the leaning front porch. The slight breeze made the chimes tinkle, and the sound was barely audible over the crash of destruction coming from inside the house.

River Dog turned to the two small boys holding his hands. "Stay here. I will care for your mother." He glanced up and caught the eye of an older woman, who immediately came forward and took the boys by the hands.

Something crashed inside the house.

A group of young men arrived and stood in the narrow street before the house. Max figured they'd been working on a construction project because they carried sledgehammers, crowbars, and hammers.

"This is Cathy Callingcrow's house," one of the men said. "What is going on here?"

River Dog held up a hand. "Let me handle this."

Another man elbowed his way through the gathering crowd. Max recognized George Grayhawk at once. The man didn't look any happier to see him there.

"What is goig on?" Grayhawk demanded.

"Grampa's spirit," one of the two small boys yelped. "He's inside the house."

Max caught the brief blur of motion from the corner of his eye. As he started to turn, a chair crashed through the

window, hurtling glass over the porch and the gathering crowd.

The woman drew back the two small boys as they started screaming in fear. Some of the men stepped back as well, herding the small children and other women back from the house.

"River Dog," Grayhawk spat. "This thing with our ancestors' spirits grows worse. They've returned to our homes, to the homes of their descendants, and given us warning to leave, but never before have they hurt anyone." He locked eyes with Max. "This is all happening because of the Visitors. Because of your involvement with the Visitors."

A low wail of pain and fear came from the house.

George Grayhawk led four men into the house.

"Come," River Dog told Max.

Knowing the Mesaliko tribe blamed him, Max figured the last place he belonged was inside someone's house. He wanted to leave, just get back into his car and get back to Roswell.

River Dog never even glanced back for him, only stepped up onto the swaying porch and charged into the house after the other men.

Making his decision, Max followed the shaman into the home. The woman's screams sounded louder inside.

8

small as the house had seemed on the outside, the structure seemed even smaller on the inside. Max felt awkward and embarrassed and scared all at the same time.

A woman… Max had to assume she was Cathy Callingcrow… cowered in a corner with her hands over her head. Blood wept from a long cut on her cheek. Sobs and violent trembling wracked her slight frame. She wore jeans and a mans T-shirt, and didn't look thirty yet.

The furniture in the room had been overturned. Ragged tears across the material testified to the use of knives or claws. Holes showed in the walls. A kitchen chair stuck out from one wall, two of its legs curled and bent underneath while the other two legs pierced the wall. The chair was a match to the one out on the porch. Pictures lay scattered across the carpeted floor.

"Where is he?" Grayhawk demanded.

"I'm here, George Grayhawk!" a harsh voice roared.

Looking to the center of the room, amazed at the destruction that had already taken place, Max saw a tall man dressed in jeans, a khaki shirt, and stained work boots standing in the doorway to the small kitchen on the other side of the room. He wore his gray hair braided on either side of his head. A beaded headband crossed his forehead, marked with a twist of eagle feathers that hung down behind his head. His face was lined and parched like leather that had been left out in the sun too long.

River Dog looked at Max. "Do you see the spirit?" the shaman asked.

Max nodded. "You don't see him?"

"Henry Callingcrow is not my ancestor," River Dog said. "He is of my family, but not of my fathers blood. Where is he?"

Max pointed toward the doorway to the kitchen. "There."

"What is he doing?" River Dog asked.

"He's here to punish me," Cathy Callingcrow croaked from the corner. "He says our people should not be here. He says we are all going to be punished by violating the treaty that the Mesaliko agreed to with the spirits."

"I don't see anyone here," Grayhawk challenged.

"He knows you," Max replied. "He called you by name."

Uneasy, Grayhawk turned to peer at the doorway

"He's there." Cathy Callingcrow wiped at her face with a shaking hand. "He said he was going to kill me."

River Dog moved, staying away from the doorway and walking to a position in front of the woman. "I won't allow him to hurt you now, child," the shaman promised.

Henry Callingcrow darted into movement without warning, stepping into the group of men. His fists flailed, knocking the men down like a WWE wrestler mowing down ninety-eight-pound weaklings. Thunder crackled in the room, and lightning blasted a jagged streak down one wall. The burn pattern smoked and stank.

George Grayhawk and the other men yelled and cursed in fear and rage as they tried to regroup. Grayhawk managed to swing his crowbar, evidently judging the ghost's location from another man who suddenly flew backward. If the crowbar touched the spirit… and Max wasn't sure that it did… the heavy tool did nothing to slow it.

Henry Callingcrow stepped toward River Dog and the cowering woman. She screamed in terror and buried her face behind her arms.

Another group of men reached the doorway of the house and started to come inside.

River Dog held up a hand to the men. "Stay. You can do no good here."

The new arrivals didn't like the idea, but they also saw how the spirit had left George Grayhawk and his construction team sprawled on the floor.

Knowing he couldn't stand by and do nothing, though unsure if there was anything he could do, Max moved to intercept the ghost. He stopped in front of River Dog with a hand outstretched. In the small confines of the room, there wasn't much room to maneuver.

Henry Callingcrow's face was livid with rage. "Go away, outsider," he ordered in a hoarse voice. "Go away and maybe you'll live."

Max wanted to speak, but if the ghost was really some ethereal remnant of the man who had once lived, he didn't know what to say to him.

River Dog began to chant behind Max. "Listen to me, Cathy Callingcrow," the shaman said, "listen to me and don't be afraid. Vengeful spirits are powered by our fears. Our ancestors learned this the first time they faced them. If you are not afraid, they can't hurt you."

Max didn't believe that. But as he watched, the manifestation standing before him seemed to waver, like a computer monitor scrolling to refresh an image.

River Dog continued chanting.

"No!" Henry Callingcrow barked. Then he threw himself forward.

Moving on instinct, Max intercepted the ghost, putting out both hands to stop the creature. There was a momentary resistance, as if he were pushing through heavy pudding or gelatin, a terrible cold feeling, then lightning blazed into the room again.