and you have it for a reason. Perhaps in time you'll see that it's not frightening, and you'll know why it's been given to you. And that it's good."
Sometimes, he still wondered when the "good" would kick in. He had learned to use it, just as a policeman learned to use his weapon. There were times when he knew that his help changed lives, even made them bearable again.
But as for himself…
In the dream, he groaned.
It's time again
, his grandfather told him.
I know
, he replied.
I've felt it coming
.
His grandfather nodded.
So they stood together again in that valley near the Black Hills, and the mist began to swirl around them.
Those who thought that native peoples were stoic, that they did not show their emotions, were wrong. He felt, in the deep recesses of the dream, the love that came to him through time, through space. Through the darkest boundary of death.
He woke. And when he did, he sighed, looking at the rays of sun that streaked through his bedroom window.
Nothing to do about it. Go along with his life as it had been planned.
When he was needed, Adam would find him.
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Nikki awoke in the morning, feeling oddly exhausted.
She felt as if she had barely slept at all, and she knew it was because she had tossed and turned in a series of weird nightmares.
She couldn't remember her dreams; she just had the lingering sense of having spent the night in a whirl of very strange sensation. It left her with an odd feeling.
A foreboding.
Oh, man!
She tried to shake it off. It was a beautiful morning. The sun… she could just see it peeking in through her drapes.
She rose, thinking it must have been the conversation with Mrs. Montobello and then Contessa's reading.
This sense of unease wasn't something she usually felt. Even when the "ghosts" were around. The ghosts were benign… faint indentations upon the present that simply lingered. There was a sweet nostalgia to what she saw and felt, something that made her feel even more affectionate toward her home, reassured her that New Orleans was special.
But there had been something about the dreams last night. Something…
Something that was malignant rather than benign.
Something that seemed to be a warning.
"Hey, it's a beautiful day," she said aloud, and went into the bathroom, where she splashed her face with cold water.
Suddenly she was afraid to look up. Afraid to look in the mirror above the sink. If she looked into the mirror…
Would someone else be looking back at her?
She had to look up, of course. She couldn't remain in her bathroom forever, bent over the sink.
She looked up. And felt like a fool. There was nothing there but her own reflection.
She gave herself a shake, got ready quickly and left the house.
And still…
That sense of foreboding clung to her, like a gray mist, damp and chill against her flesh.
----
Chapter 3
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"A, first man wandered the earth with little thought as to the great beyond, to right or wrong, and the way that he should live. Then came the White Buffalo Woman. Two hunters were out one day, and she appeared. She was very beautiful, dressed in white skins, and she carried something in a pack that she wore on her back. Now, when I say beautiful, she was stunning. And one of the hunters thought, 'Hmm, now there's a woman I would like to have in my tepee,'" Brent Blackhawk said, scanning the eyes of his audience.
"Have in his tepee?" one of the older boys teased lightly.
"Do you mean date?" asked one of the girls.
"Something like that," Brent said dryly. "But, you see, she was the White Buffalo Woman, and not to be taken lightly. She saw that the hunter had designs on her, so she crooked her finger toward him, and thinking himself the big and mighty hunter and warrior, he approached her. But as he did so, white fog rolled out around the both of them. And when it dissipated, the great and mighty warrior had been turned to bone. And as the bones fell to the earth, they were covered