Page 19 of Harnessed in Gold

“Little psychic?—”

“I’m okay.”I’mnot angry.I’mnot afraid. It’s just energy, it’s just energy, it’s just energy.

“What are you feeling?”

I gulp down the saliva pooling in my mouth and list the emotions.

“I’ll bet this is where Aaron heard the gunfire.” Rime glances this way and that, as though a rifleman might come crashing out of the underbrush.

I nod. No doubt this river has seen its fair share of drownings, animal attacks, and hunting accidents, but the distinct vein of hate and anger I’m picking up suggests something out of the ordinary happened here. Some sort of human versus human conflict.

Rime keeps a supporting hand on my arm as he pulls his phone from the chest pocket of his jacket. He hands it to me and watches over my shoulder as, with shaky hands, I work the map app, letting the GPS find our current location. Sure enough, we’re standing right where Leo dropped the pin.

“Same spot,” I croak.

“Same spot,” Rime echoes.

He stays close as I meander about the space, trying to see how wide the energies stretch. They’re consistent—fury, fear, and horror—but as I walk about ten yards further, they begin to fade, just as they do when I get closer to the river. I swing wide on my walk back, hugging my own shoulders as I hug theedge of the woods. Somehow, I know I haven’t felt the worst of it yet.

The distance stretches between me and Rime. By yards and yards and yards. Even though I’m walking toward him. He’s speaking, but I’m not hearing. I’m drowning—I must be—because no air is getting into my lungs. I grip my chest, shocked to find it solid and whole. Anguish floods me, so intense my legs start to give.

“Enough!” barks a voice. Strong hands push me forward, one unsteady step after the next. The further we walk, the better I feel, until finally the band around my lungs releases and the fog around the edges of my thoughts recedes.

“I’m okay,” I gasp. “I’m fine.”

Rime halts, spins me around, and studies my eyes.

“Really,” I insist. I can breathe and I can stand. I can even think, sort of. What I obviouslycan’tdo? Walk through a tragic energy field without an escort.

“More of the same?” he asks.

“Worse.” I point in the direction we came from. “It goes that way for, like, twenty, thirty feet. It’s in that whole space.” I gesture to the line of trees, only half-aware that I’m walking back toward them. “Here is where?—”

“No, don’t go back up there,” Rime orders, echoing almost word for word what Leo said when I tried to run back to the mill-workers’ site. A realization powerful enough to drain the fight out of me.

I take one last glance at the trees. “Somebody died there. More than one person, I think. And violently.”

Rime’s blue eyes widen.

“Not because of the weapon, though,” I say. “At least I don’t think so.” The terror was toointimate, like the victims were looking directly into the eyes of their killers.

“Come on.” Rime’s throat bobs as he drops his phone back into his pocket. “Let’s get you away from here.”

“You don’t think we should go further?”

“The others already did. Leo said they walked nearly a mile out.”

I’m too shaken to argue with him. He takes me by the elbow and leads me, numb and trembling, away from the site.

As the increasing distance lifts the weight of the energies off my shoulders, relief loosens my tongue. “If I had to guess, I mean, if the settlement was here, and if there were muskets and all that… don’t you think… I mean, I wonder…”

Rime draws me up short. “Breathe, little psychic.”

Breathe? Oh yeah, I suppose I should. I let him coach me, yogi-style, through several deep breaths. It’s hard work, but finally my brain starts to clear. Leo would’ve probably calmed me with his magic ten minutes ago.

“Now, tell me what you think happened.” It’s a gentle command.

“This is pure speculation, but based on history, and based on what I felt, I think the settlers had some sort of fight with the Indigenous Americans. And some of them were killed.”