THE HALFWAY POINT ON OUR TRIP WILL BE PHOENIX. Anyone who has traveled this route will tell you, the drive from San Diego to Phoenix is duller than dull. Butt-numbing stretches with not a Mickey D's in sight. Miles of nondescript desert. Habitual road construction projects that slow traffic to a crawl. Tempers and radiators overheat with enough regularity to keep state troopers and a dozen tow-truck companies in business.
The halfway point on the halfway point is El Centro. There the reclaimed desert is dotted with farms and patches of green. From the road, it appears like an oasis in the distance. Since we know there won't be much after El Centro, we pull off to get Frey some food.
El Centro is one of California's great mysteries. That is to say, the mystery is why anyone chooses to live here. The summer is unbearably hot, the winter can be frigid. Main Street stretches relentlessly east to west across town. There are two border crossings he. For the last ten years or so, El Centro has been poised to become Southern California's most promising new commercial and industrial region.
At least according to the El Centro Chamber of Commerce. It must be getting tired of holding the pose. It hasn't happened yet. Picking lettuce and melons remains the mainstay of the economy.
We pull into a Carl's Jr. and Frey orders a huge quantity of food: three cheeseburgers, a couple of chicken sandwiches, a large fry, an apple turnover and, with a glance to me for confirmation, two Cokes. I listen in awe. Frey doesn't have an ounce of fat on his body. I guess his feline alter ego contributes to his metabolism. I've never heard of a fat panther, either.
I watch as he walks to the counter to pick up his order. He looks damn good in those shorts. Nice ass. Lean muscled thighs. He and I were lovers once. Long time ago. Wonder what will happen when he sees his ex? Now that he and Layla are broken up, maybe things will heat up again between him and the mother of his child.
As soon as I catch myself having those thoughts, I give myself a mental slap alongside the head. Keep your mind on the purpose of this trip. We're not here on a matchmaking expedition.
Being happy in one's love life tends to make a person wish the same for those around them.
Or is it the guilt I feel because I may have been responsible for Frey's breakup?
Frey and I have hardly exchanged two words since we left Mission Beach. The rush of the wind coupled with road noise in the open Jeep makes simple conversation difficult. It's hardly an uncomfortable silence. After the last couple of days, it's a relief not to be peppered with questions. For Frey, I imagine thoughts of seeing his son are foremost in his mind.
But now, sitting at a Formica table with a watered-down Coke, being forced to watch Frey devour his burgers and chicken sandwiches, I have to do something to resist the urge to reach across and help myself to a handful of fries. I know the consequences of that. The memory of retching into the kitchen sink the first time I unwittingly ate real food after becoming vampire is vivid.
I take another sip of my Coke and break the silence. "Did you let your son know you were coming?"
Frey looks up, a tiny smear of catsup at the corner of his mouth. I want to lean over and lick it off-instead I use my napkin.
He grins and finishes the job, mopping his mouth with his own napkin. "No. Communication is iffy on the reservation."
"Will they be surprised?"
"Oh yeah. They'll be surprised."
His tone suggests not pleasantly.
It startles me into asking, "Is there a problem?"
He shakes his head, waiting until he's swallowed the last mouthful of sandwich to answer. "Not for me. My son's mother may not so be thrilled to see me."
There's definitely a story there. "Want to tell me why?"
"No."
"Did you and she have a bad breakup?"
"You sound like a reporter. Are you channeling your new boyfriend now?"
"Wait. How do you know-?"
"That you have a new boyfriend? Well, whse would you have disappeared from the radar for the last eight weeks?"
Whoa. There's a bitter ring to that last question. Softly, I say, "I didn't know about you and Layla breaking up."
"Maybe because you didn't call or drop by to see how I was doing. Not until you needed something."
He's right, of course. "I'm sorry."
A scowl darkens his face. He chomps into another sandwich, chews, swallows. Looks over at me again. "Let's talk about what you're going to do when you find this shaman."
A little of the edge has left his voice. I take that as a good sign and ask, "Do you think he exists?"
"I know he exists."
"You've heard of him?"
"Not before yesterday. But I did some research last night."
Excitement bubbles up. "What did you learn?"
He holds up a hand. "Don't get ahead of yourself. It wasn't much. Just that he is rumored to have the ability to bring the dead back to life. For obvious reasons, his existence is protected by the Navajo. It will be up to the tribal council to determine if you will be allowed to meet with him. This may be tricky, Anna. You may not get permission. And if you do, he may not be willing to speak with a vampire. I don't want you to be disappointed."
I twirl the straw in my Coke. I wish I'd known this before we started out. I'm sure Chael knew. But he wouldn't send me out here unless he thought there was a chance. Or is this another trick?
On the other hand, what's the worst that can happen? I can be pretty persuasive when I want to be.
Frey's sarcastic laugh pulls me back. "You should see your face. The expression tells me your thoughts are spinning like the hard drive on a computer. Sorting information. Weighing consequences. Wondering how far you'd have to go if you're turned down."
I squint up at him. "You think I'd resort to violence?"
"Did I say violence? I know how you operate. If you want something, you get it. What I don't know is what you want. You haven't talked about it."
I slurp up the rest of my Coke, stalling.
"You haven't made a decision yet, have you?" He pauses a heartbeat, frowning. "Whatever you decide, remember. Using magic exacts a price. And a thing like this takes magic-powerful magic. The bigger the magic, the bigger the price."
He says it as though I'm not aware that there's danger in challenging the natural way. I know it only too well. I still carry the mental image of Frey broken and near death, fighting to save Culebra from a witch's spell.
And yet, how natural was it that I became a vampire? How natural that I had to send my family off to protect them? That I have to distance myself from my friends?
No, the only natural thing is that I'd want to erase the last year of my life. I owe it to myself to find out if such a thing is possible.