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Chapter One
ERIN
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“Hurry up, Erin!” Pippa hollered.
My sister was all the way over on the porch of the main house, but she had the lungs of an opera singer, as her father liked to say. That, and we three sisters — Pippa, Abby, and I — had always been tuned in to one another in a way the laws of physics couldn’t explain.
“Coming,” I murmured, though I didn’t budge. The sunset was too spectacular to miss.
Well, every sunset in Sedona was a miracle of color and light, but this one was especially bold. Streaks of orange, pink, and yellow split the sky and made the rocky red landscape glow.
I closed my eyes and took deep, deliberate breaths, soaking in the peace. A trick my dad had taught me at a young age when it was abundantly clear I hadn’t inherited his easygoing nature.
Mind over matter,he liked to say. That and,It’s the journey, not the destination.
Easy to say for a guy who roamed the West with a motorcycle gang — er, club.
The first stars winked just like my dad’s eyes, telling me,One thing at a time. You’ll reach your dreams…eventually.
My stomach rumbled, hinting that dinner should be first on my list. Still, I stood there, hugging myself against the cold. The stars were so bright and clear on our ranch, miles away from the nearest paved road.
Roscoe, our speckled Australian shepherd, leaned against my legs, scanning the desert for a jackrabbit to chase. Nothing so far, though, just the dry winter breeze that made the scrub whisper and sway. A lone wren trilled a cheery tune, while a chorus of crickets hummed in the background.
As serene as it all was, a sense of unease prickled my soul. As if trouble was creeping up from around the corner, and chaos was about to erupt.
Roscoe didn’t seem concerned, though. Should I be?
I sniffed the air again, then turned to the base of the cliff, my favorite sunset lookout point. The rocky red surface glowed back at the sun in a beauty contest that could only end in a tie. One patch of the cliff — aligned with the summer and winter solstices, or so legend claimed — was full of petroglyphs etched by ancient artists.
Some of the rock carvings were enigmatic squiggles. Others were deer. A few resembled turtles, and another was a centipede, crawling across the same inch of rock for all eternity. Pippa always claimed to see a penis, but I didn’t. Just squares, stick figures, and lighting bolts. It was all a jumble, but one symbol stood out to me — the one in the middle, exactly at the height of my heart.
It was a spiral, or rather, a spinning galaxy, with two loose ends that spun around in a tight design.
The one you weren’t supposed to touch.
Actually, you weren’t supposed to touchanyof the petroglyphs, but especially not that one.
So, of course, as a kid, I had.
One touch. Once. Never again.
I shivered as electricity tingled through my arms. Or was that just in my memory?
Roscoe laid his ears back as I inched my hand between the sun’s last rays and the spiral. I felt nothing…nothing…
Then,wham!My hand jerked back, blasted by an invisible force. I snatched it away, staring at the cliff.
Roscoe whimpered and backed away.
I wiggled my fingers, then tried again.
Whoosh! The invisible jet slammed my hand back.
Roscoe growled and paced nervously.
