Ella crouched down on the far side of the circle, trying to make out a pattern in the ashes that had been strewn there. "It looks like a dry painting, but it's made from ashes, not sand. And what's this?" She pointed to a human looking figure with two faces.
"Those are used in skinwalker rituals," Wilson said, his voice barely audible, "it depicts a person they intend to harm or kill. Come away from there."
Ella ignored his warning and studied the picture carefully. "It's so faint now. I can barely make anything out. The winds have almost obliterated it."
"Don't touch it."
"No one's here," she reassured him calmly. Wilson seemed increasingly edgy. Was he really that superstitious, or did he have some other motive for wanting her to leave?
"Your brother is right about you," Wilson grumbled. "you're just plain stubborn."
Ella was at a loss to explain how, but without any warning, the feel of the place suddenly changed, and she felt old all over. "Let's get back to the truck."
Wilson nodded. "Something's wrong. I sense it too."
Keep your eyes open." Ella was angry now. Was Wilson's mind-set about evil making her feel threatened or was it something about the place? She'd had this feeling before, with no ghosts in the vicinity. She recalled how the man in the diner had set her teeth on edge just before he'd started blasting away. Maybe her instincts for survival did function after all.
They strode back to the truck quickly. Working fast, motivated by a strong desire to leave, they extricated the pickup from the mud. Wilson accelerated slowly until they were out of the muddy arroyo, then braked to a stop, leaving the motor running. "I'm going to make sure the tires are still intact."
Ella took her pistol out of the glove compartment, fastened the holster to her belt, then stepped out of the truck. Her hair stood on end, as if she were about to be struck by lightning. She'd felt this way before, usually before a case went really sour.
