Page 16 of Consumed
Isaac seemed agreeable, but then they disagreed over where to stay. According to the briefing document, Cottonwood was less than thirty minutes away from the coyotes and had a selection of hotels.
“I know somewhere way more interesting than that,” Isaac insisted. “It’s in Gerard. Which is even closer.”
“But the chief said—”
“The chief isn’t here. Look, if he bitches when we get back, I’ll take the heat, okay? But he won’t because there’s no reason he should. Especially after we’ve returned in triumph with new allies.”
“I don’t care about who gets blamed. That’s not the point. He told us to stay in Cottonwood and maybe he had a reason for that. It’s not a good idea to violate the rules.”
“It’s not a good idea to obsessively stick to them when they’re pointless.”
They went back and forth like that as they drove up a mountainside that was surprisingly forested for Arizona. Con hadn’t expected to see so many tall pines, and after a while he abandoned the argument in favor of sightseeing. Sometimes there were switchbacks that required slow going, and those spots often came with expansive views.
After cresting the mountain they arrived in Gerard, and somehow the issue seemed to have been decided. Isaac took them down a couple of steep zig-zags before turning off the main road and onto a very narrow street atop a ridge. He finally came to a stop in front of a sprawling yellow building with red awnings and roof.
“That seems kind of big for a town this size,” said Con. It looked as if it had been there a long while.
“Used to be the hospital. This was a mining town, which meant there were a lot of injuries. It was state-of-the-art for the 1920s.”
Well, that was more interesting than a Best Western.
The interior looked suitably antique, including what the clerk proudly told them was the original elevator. It was roomy—all the better for transporting medical equipment—but its antiquity made Con nervous. Still, he was stiff from the drive and didn’t want to climb the two flights of stairs to their room. Of course, Isaac loved the elevator. He admired the metalwork door and wondered aloud how many people had been carried up and down over the decades.
Their room was barely big enough for two twin beds, an antique dresser, a single nightstand, and an upholstered chair. But, as Isaac pointed out, it had a lot of character, as well as a view of the valley below. There was also a closet-sized shower and, in a separate space, a toilet and sink.
“Dibs on the shower!” Isaac announced almost as soon as he’d set down his bag.
“Help yourself.”
Again, when the water began to run, Con’s mind traveled to all the places it shouldn’t, although at least now he knew that Isaac wouldn’t be offended. Heck, he’d probably be really pleased about it. Con allowed his memories to linger on his first view of Isaac’s naked chest, but it turned out that imagination wasn’t much required. Isaac soon emerged wearing nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips.
“Water pressure’s surprisingly good. Soap’s not very sudsy, though. I bet the water here is hella hard.”
Con tried to gather a towel and fresh clothes with as much dignity as he could muster, but he knew Isaac was grinning at him. When Con glanced over his shoulder just before entering the shower room, Isaac had dropped the towel and was watching him with a smirk.
Con ducked inside and slammed the door harder than he’d intended.
By three thirty they were freshly groomed and tucked into conservative black suits. Isaac’s tie wasn’t quite straight and a few of his curls had already escaped from whatever he’d used to stick them down. Considering that bit of disarray, Con wondered how Isaac had managed to keep his suit so unwrinkled in his duffel.
Trish had been specific about the route they should take, and in fact, finding their way was easy. Once Isaac had piloted them down a couple of steep switchbacks on the main road, he turned onto a side road that, despite being paved, didn’t look promising. It was barely wide enough for a single vehicle, and it twisted, rose, and fell as wildly as a roller coaster. They passed low scrub vegetation, rocks, and yellow soil. At one point Con caught a glimpse of an old open mine dropping precipitously on their left, and then the road turned again and the mine disappeared.
“This would be fun on a motorcycle,” Isaac said.
“But if you fell, you’d go halfway down the mountain. There’d be nothing left of you but little pieces.”
“Well, it would be fun until then.”
About another mile later, the pavement was replaced by gravel. They kicked up a heavy cloud of dust, causing Isaac to slow down even more. He didn’t look tense behind the wheel, however, and Con had the solace of knowing that his own anxiety about the road was almost making him forget his anxiety about the upcoming meeting.
Until, of course, they came to a road—if you wanted to call it that—that was even less impressive than the current one. They followed it for a few minutes, first down into a valley, then around a hill, and then down into a bowl-shaped indentation that housed the coyote shifters.
It was far too small to be called a town or even a village.Compoundwas probably the most accurate term. It consisted of three somewhat ramshackle small houses, two mobile homes, three camping trailers, and an assortment of vehicles in varying stages of deterioration. A mob of children came running up to greet the SUV, all of them naked and dusty and looking thrilled to have visitors. Approximately twenty adults emerged too, most of them dressed scantily if at all. Although Con knew that shifters of most species avoided clothing when they could—it didn’t feel natural to them and interfered when they wanted to change shape—it was still more than a little disconcerting.
But as soon as Isaac parked, Con got out of the SUV and did his best to look polite and professional. Isaac came to stand at his side and was, naturally, cool as a cucumber.
The coyote shifters were small people, short and wiry, with deeply tanned skin and long, bushy hair—tawny, blond, or gray. They had intelligent eyes and, in the adults’ case, expressions that somehow mixed wariness and humor. In general, according to the briefing papers, coyotes weren’t malicious, but they did enjoy mischief and pot-stirring.
A woman with long gray hair and a deeply wrinkled face approached them, her stride confident and her bearing regal. She wore clothes—a simple sundress and a braided twine bracelet—although her feet were bare.
