Free Blood of the Earth by Faith Hunter Page B

die on my land. So I . . . helped.” I didn’t have to add,
If I hadn’t let him die the way he did, Pea would have killed her. Or you would have had to arrest your cat-woman
. He knew that. And he knew that I knew. “Paka was there when Brother Ephraim . . . departed. Neither of us lifted a hand or paw against him.” Not as humans understood it.
    Her words languid, Paka said to me, “The words you have claimed are true. I did not kill the male. The were-taint will not be spread. The male will not turn at the full moon. He will not return at all.” She looked at Rick. “This woman and I did not kill. Except to protect her, no one’s hand was lifted against him. He is gone.”
    Her word choice and syntax were odd, but she was a foreigner and maybe that was the way she spoke English, because it wasn’t her first language. Maybe an African language was first for her. Or cat.
    Rick glowered, the cop in him fully taking over from his other form, the cat who had been pleased to survive and eat and rest. I wondered for a moment how a cop could take off time to visit with me, but decided the answer might be in the name of his law enforcement organization, Psychometry Law Enforcement Division of Homeland Security. Living in the church with conspiracy theorists for so many years, I knew lots about the way the law worked, in principle.
    Paka said, “There is no crime scene. There is no body. There is no blood. There is nothing. This is her land in the way of the ancient among many tribal peoples, and her word rules over all. Also”—she shrugged slightly—“Pea is satisfied at the woman’s judgment.” I didn’t know what she meant about me ruling, but I’d take what I could get.
    “If someone reports a crime,” I said, “you can come back here and look. I give you my permission and you won’t even need a warrant.” The cop frowned, thinking things over, as if different scenarios were playing out at warp speed in his mind.
    “Thank you,” Rick said, finally.
    I didn’t want him to thank me. I frowned at him and went back to the last of the dishes in the tepid water. “Farmers’ market is in Market Square. There’s other markets, but the one in town is the best known and best attended. The churchmen drop off their women just after the traffic eases. The women set up the tables in the church booth and sell vegetables, honey, jellies, quilts—things made by the women—and handmade dough bowls, rolling pins, stools, tables, rocking chairs, and toys made by the men in the wood shop. Church pamphlets are on the booth table extolling a glorified version of the church. The market earns them money and goodwill from the townspeople and makes them look as humble and moral as the Amish. My mama and my maw-maw might be there, along with my sister Priscilla, one or the other or even all three, and if so, I can ask your questions. They might answer.” I gave a small shrug and pushed my hair out of my face. “They might not.”
    “Why have you decided to help us?” Paka asked.
    Reluctantly I said, “Because if you hadn’t come back to help me, I might be dead.” Or
entertaining
guests tonight in ways I didn’t even want to think about. Or I mighta had to kill them all, all three, and feed them to the earth. One possibility filled me with a dread and the other with an eagerness I couldn’t shake off.
    I arranged the plates and glasses so that they would dry easily and turned to the couple, crossing my arms over my chest, a habit of both self-protection and succor. “You said you wanted my help. How much do I get paid if I help you? I got five hundred dollars when I let the blood-suckers cross my land to rescue a blood-sucker that the colonel kidnapped, back when Yellowrock Security wanted my help.”
    Rick said, “You’ll be a consultant. Pay would be calculated based on what you can tell us and how much assistance you give.”
    I narrowed my eyes at him and walked to the desk John had used for business.