“Maybe,” Naomi said grudgingly. “But Coyote should have checked on you.”
“He’s a god. He doesn’t follow our rules.”
“I’m just glad he was here to help you now.” She shivered, thinking of what might have been. Jamison tightened his hold on her, leaning her back against him.
They waited in silence. The railroad bed stretched to the horizon, a straight man-made line running across a land creased with winding arroyos.
An icy wind whispered across Naomi’s cheek. She turned to look north, in the direction of the wind, and squinted at something flickering out in the desert.
Footsteps sounded behind them on the platform. “Hey,” Coyote said. He wore his usual jeans and leather coat and carried a small duffel bag over his shoulder.
“Hey yourself,” Naomi answered. “Why are we here?”
Coyote grinned. “To see the real Ghost Train.”
“What are you up to?” Jamison asked him, but Coyote held up his hand.
“They’re coming. Look.”
The chill wind touched Naomi’s cheek again, and the flickering she’d seen grew brighter. A small cloud of dust drifted silently over the desert.
When the dust cleared, she saw figures moving along the railroad bed, walking single file on the raised earth. The figures were those of men and women, ghostly and nearly transparent. They were Native American, dressed in Navajo wool or in leather and skins. Silver glittered here and there along with the flash of turquoise.
“I feel this,” Jamison said softly. “This is real.”
“Who are they?” Naomi asked.
Coyote’s voice was slow and quiet. “Magellan is a crossroads. The way is thinner here between this world and the ones below it. On this night, the land remembers the crossing of so many from life to what lies beyond.”
Naomi’s eyes widened. “So the Ghost Train is a train of people?”
“It’s no coincidence that you refer to the place the highway ends and the bar there as the Crossroads.
The railroad was built on top of an ancient trail. It’s no coincidence that the service closed down either.”
“I thought it was because it was too expensive to run,” Naomi said.
Coyote chuckled. “Naomi the Unbeliever.”
“She believes now,” Jamison said. “She believes in what’s real.” Coyote’s grin vanished. “Look at the land around us. It looks flat, dry, empty. But you have lived here all your life—you know that there are hundreds of arroyos and canyons and washes that crease the land, their banks so sharp you don’t see them until you’re right on top of them.”
“Yes,” Naomi said impatiently. “I know that.”
“They are cracks in the earth. Things can fall into them. And things can come out of them.” So Jamison’s stories had told her. “Things,” Naomi repeated. “Like the skinwalker?”
“Worse than any skinwalker you will ever see. I know this. I came from the cracks in the earth.” He looked at them staring at him, but he didn’t laugh. “The time is coming when you will have to believe, Unbeliever. We will need you both.”
“We who?” Naomi asked, mystified.
Coyote watched the ghostly figures parading silently past without answering, then he shouldered his duffel bag.
“Time for me to go. I’ve got places to visit, people to save, villains to annoy.” He winked at Naomi.
“You two stay out of trouble. I can’t always be saving your asses.” Jamison tightened his arms around Naomi. “I’ll take care of her.”
“And she’ll take care of you.” Coyote laughed. “Have to go now.” He leaned over and kissed a startled Naomi full on the mouth. Then he hoisted his bag, jumped from the platform, ran up to the top of the railroad bed, and fell into step with the walking figures. Coyote was real, substantial and colorful against his pale companions.
He headed south with them, the line now stretching as far as they could see. A cold wind rippled the dried desert grasses, then the entire column of figures wavered and vanished. Coyote vanished with them.
The two on the platform stood in silence, staring at the empty desert.
Jamison blew out his breath. “I’ve seen a lot, but I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Was it real?” Naomi asked, her voice hushed.
“It was real,” a new voice grated beside them.
Naomi swung around. An elderly Navajo man, bundled in a fleece-lined jacket, was standing next to them, watching the place where Coyote had vanished.
“Grandfather,” Jamison said. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to pay my respects to the Ghost Train.”
Naomi noticed he spoke English, not Navajo. She wondered at the courtesy, the first he’d ever shown her.
Grandfather Kee looked at Jamison with warm, dark eyes. “You are strong, Jamison. Coyote did well for you.”
“Are you a Changer?” Naomi asked. “Jamison told me it ran in families.” The old man shook his head. “I am a descendant of the original Changer tribe, yes, but I do not have the talent. I did not know Jamison did, either, until Jamison told me Coyote was taking him away.” Tears gathered in his eyes. “But I knew that where Coyote sent you would strengthen you, prepare you.
And he was right. You made it home, you defeated a skinwalker. You are very strong, and he knew it.
He feared you.”
“How do you know all this?” Naomi asked him.
“Coyote told me.” Grandfather Kee smiled a little. “Coyote told me many things. About how you tried to bond like a Changer.”
Jamison nodded, and Naomi again felt the sadness of their failure. “We tried. It didn’t work.” To Naomi’s amazement, Grandfather Kee burst out laughing. She’d never heard him laugh before.
“Jamison, you are such a fool,” he said. “You think a ceremony with turquoise and smoke is what it takes to make a bond. Did you not tell me that when you took coffee with this woman the first time you knew she was meant for you?”
“Yes,” Jamison said slowly.
“When you were born, your grandmother prophesied that you would find happiness only outside your own kind. You were so angry about that, remember? And didn’t you tell me after you met Naomi that your grandmother had been right?”