At precisely eight o'clock that Wednesday morning, Henry Lightstone and Bobby LaGrange entered the pancake house, stood inside the doorway, and looked around.
"You see him?" Lightstone asked.
"Yeah, the guy with the ratty beard and dark glasses in the back booth, next to the rest rooms." Bobby LaGrange nodded toward the rear of the restaurant.
"This the same crazy old fart who's supposedly blind, but rides a motorbike all over town?"
"Uh-huh." A pained expression darkened Bobby LaGrange's tanned features even more. "You sure we've got to go through with this, Henry?"
"You'd rather go over to the warehouse and help Larry figure out how to transfer 750 giant tarantulas and about thirty poisonous snakes into a couple hundred glass terrariums?"
"Yeah, right, never mind," LaGrange muttered as they walked toward the booth.
The Sage greeted Bobby LaGrange warmly.
"You brought a friend?" he noted the obvious as he motioned the two men to the opposite bench where Wintersole had sat the previous morning.
"He's an old school buddy of mine," LaGrange explained as they sat down. "Henry, Sage. Sage, Henry."
The two men nodded at each other.
"I told Henry about how we met at my ranch last weekend, and about those Indian battle charms you said you could get," Bobby LaGrange went on easily. "Figured you wouldn't mind if I brought along another potential customer."
"I'm always interested in trying to help fellow travelers in this terribly confusing world." The old man lifted his dark glasses and appraised Lightstone with his squinting, red-streaked eyes. "Do you believe in ancient superstitions, Henry?"
Lightstone shrugged. "I believe there's a whole bunch of things we don't understand. And my luck's certainly been down lately. Running across Bobby after twenty-some years is about the best thing that's happened to me since my girlfriend took off. So I figured, what the hell, an Indian battle charm might help some, and it sure as hell can't make things any worse."
"Things are never as they seem, but they can always be better than they are," the Sage replied wisely.
"You know" — Lightstone smiled — "my grandmother used to say things like that."
"Really?" The old man leaned forward in the booth with his thin arms wrapped protectively around his cup and saucer. "Was she a seer?"
"A what?"
"A seer — someone who sees glimpses of the future," the Sage explained.
"I have no idea. All I know is that she used to tell me stories about good and evil spirits."
"The ancient stories. Good against evil. Light against darkness," the old man whispered excitedly.
"Yes, that's exactly it," Lightstone replied, instinctively going with the flow of the conversation. "She talked about how the spirits were in balance, harmony — I think she called it — like the day and the night, one following the other into eternity… except — "
"Yes?" The Sage leaned forward so eagerly he seemed ready to pounce on Lightstone's next words.
"I don't know. It's been a long time." Lightstone smiled apologetically. "As I recall though, she said some kind of disaster would occur if anything ever destroyed the balance. The darkness could gain strength and overwhelm the light. She called it something, but I can't-"
"The Apocalypse?" the Sage whispered hopefully.
Henry Lightstone smiled, this time in apparent recognition.
"That's it, the Apocalypse. That's what she called it, too." He stared above the Sage's head at nothing, as if remembering something from his distant past. "Man, I'd forgotten all about those stories. You bring back some interesting memories."
"Your grandmother was a seer," the old man stated flatly. "Which means you possibly received the Gift as well."
"Really?" Lightstone eyed the old man skeptically. "I don't have any sense of that — being able to see the future."
"No, of course not." The old man quickly glanced around the restaurant and lowered his voice. "You wouldn't be aware of it, until something — or someone — awakens the spirit within you. And even then, you would only see glimpses. We're never allowed to see the whole truth."
Then, for thirty seconds or so, he seemed lost in thought, leaving the other two men to sit in silence.
"So, you think a genuine Apache Indian battle charm might help me make peace with my ranch spirits, and get my buddy's life back on track?" LaGrange finally pressed the old man gently.
The Sage appeared to rouse himself out of a deep trance.
"Oh yes, without a doubt." He spoke hesitantly at first, but his voice gradually grew stronger. "Unfortunately, my sources at the reservation couldn't talk a very stubborn woman out of the particular charm I wanted for you." He shrugged his narrow shoulders. "It happens sometimes. Most of the Apache women will usually sell their family artifacts for a reasonable amount. But every now and then — " He held his wrinkled hands out as if to say, "What can you do?"
"Do you think she's holding out for a better price?" LaGrange asked.
"I really don't think so, but I suppose that's always possible," the Sage conceded. "If you like, I can offer her more. Would you be willing to go as high as three hundred dollars?"
"For my buddy to change his luck? Hell, yes," Bobby LaGrange volunteered expansively.
"Oh." The old man blinked in surprise. "I didn't realize you intended to buy a bear charm for your friend, too…"
Without warning, he reached forward, took Lightstone's right wrist, pulled it toward him, and traced each of the major lines in the covert agent's palm with a wrinkled forefinger.
As Lightstone observed the process patiently, the old man's eyebrows suddenly furrowed.
Mumbling to himself, the Sage quickly retraced three of the lines. Still not satisfied, he pressed his fingertips firmly against Lightstone's knuckles and wrist, as if trying to judge strength and flexibility.
Finally, he released the agent's hand, sat back in the booth, and shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Henry," he spoke with what sounded like genuine regret while staring into Henry Lightstone's eyes through the dark lenses. "Your friend is a generous man, but the bear-claw necklace is not for you."
"Why not?" The federal wildlife agent felt his heart sink as he sensed his link to the Sage — and his miraculous last-minute escape from Halahan's malicious sense of humor — slipping from his grasp.
"You don't have a bear spirit," the old man announced with certainty.
"I don't?"
"Definitely not."
"But what — " Lightstone started to ask, but the Sage cut him off.
"When you were a child, did you have any pets?"
"Ah… I recall a dog or two. Tell you the truth, I really didn't pay much attention to them."
"But you have no animals now — no pets?"
Lightstone shook his head.
The Sage closed his eyes behind his dark glasses and rocked back and forth in his bench seat as he apparently digested this information. Suddenly he smiled, opened his eyes, and stared directly at Henry Lightstone.
"Did your grandmother own any animals?" the old man inquired softly.
It shocked Henry when the memory came back so quickly and vividly.
"An old black Manx used to hang around, but I wouldn't say she owned it."
"Then there's your answer." The Sage smiled in satisfaction.
"I… don't follow," Lightstone admitted hesitantly.
"You're a cat."
The revelation bothered Henry Lightstone far more than he thought it should.
"I beg your pardon?"
"Not literally, of course." The old man smiled understandingly. "You simply possess a cat spirit."
"I do?"
Bobby LaGrange burst into a brief fit of coughing that Lightstone thought sounded suspiciously like barely controlled laugher.
"Yes, of course you do. Didn't you know?"
"I guess I never thought much… about it," Lightstone confessed, starting to wonder if escaping warehouse duty for a day was worth all of the harassment he could expect to receive from his retired homicide detective buddy over the next few years.
"It's nothing you have to think about, or do anything about, for that matter," the Sage explained soothingly. "It's simply there for your use — if you choose to use it. Not everyone does."
"Well, uh, if a bear-claw necklace won't help my friend," Bobby LaGrange made an attempt to keep the conversation focused on the potential evidence, or at least what he thought might be potential evidence, "how about one of those Bigfoot artifacts you told me about?"
The old man cocked his head, stared into Henry Lightstone's eyes again for a few moments, and smiled.
"Do you know how to find the Dogsfire Inn?" he asked. "It's a small restaurant, post office, and community center at the intersection of Brandywine Road and Loggerhead Creek."
Henry Lightstone looked over at Bobby LaGrange, who shrugged, then nodded.
"We can find it," Lightstone replied.
"Not both of you. Just you," the old man insisted emphatically.
"Why would I want to do that?"
"Don't you wish to explore your cat spirit?"
"I'm not sure," Henry Lightstone responded after a particularly uneasy delay. "But I will admit you've made me curious."
"If you want to satisfy that curiosity, be at the Dogsfire Inn at four o'clock today," the Sage ordered as he pulled himself out of the booth. "There's somebody there you should meet."