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When Oaknail had said "garage," he wasn't kidding. Just off the extended carport and its modest collection of vehicles, a small building stood, looking equally modest. From the outside, it appeared to be a large two-car garage that might be found in many a suburban neighborhood. The bear entered a side door and found the control to raise the door for one of the bays. After Frank had left the car in position to be pushed in, if needed, we took the chance of trying to turn over the engine. The electrical seemed to have worked earlier, and the poor baby had drip-dried for the few minutes of time to get this far. I slid into the driver's seat, put in my key, crossed my fingers, and cranked. It fired up as quickly as it usually did, given its age and overall condition. With Darkstar's help as a spotter, I backed into the spacious bay with greater ease than I would have ordinarily. Backing up a car into a tight spot is not in my skill set.

Exiting the vehicle (how quickly the cop had returned to my vocabulary), I saw that the second space, currently empty, had a service pit dug into it and, at the far end of the garage, stairs to get down into the pit. The set-up would have looked at home in any speedy oil change place, right down to the retractable safety mesh of thick cloth bands that covered the hazardous hole in the floor. I nodded at it as I spoke to the lynx. "That looks handy."

"One or two of us actually have enough skill to use it. Oray has been known to get his paws dirty, sometimes, and Frank is a veritable wizard."

I smiled at the mountain lion. "Thank you for your help."

"Welcome." His tone was clipped, almost rude. He turned away and padded toward a shop-vac near the far wall.

Head down, I padded silently out of the garage and toward Oaknail, who carried the wooden box with Albion inside it. His expression was serious but not hostile. "We'll need to assemble everyone, tell them what's happened. Are you up to telling the tale?"

"As best I can." I looked into the bear's eyes, trying to understand what I was seeing, confused by the sense that his emotion was one made more of compassion than anything else. It seemed that he really was waiting to hear the entire tale. I found myself wondering what he would make of it. I almost flinched as he held out his forepaw to me. I took hold of it in my own, and he squeezed very gently, his eyes still holding mine.

"Your name is Max, isn't it?" The hint of a smile on his muzzle was amplified in his gaze.

"Yes. I hid rather than lied about..." I stopped, making a rueful snort. "Yes. My name is Max Luton. I usually have to say 'Detective Max Luton,' so much that I'm afraid of 'Detective' becoming my first name."

The bear released my forepaw as gently as he had held it. "Perhaps you just needed time to be 'Max' first." He nodded once. "Come on. Soonest begun, soonest done. I, for one, need to hear this story."

"Hey."

Oaknail and I turned toward the voice. Frank, with an ashamed glance at Darkstar's dark countenance, tried hailing me again.

"One of the reasons I'm not sure I'm ready to join the tribe."

I let my eyes ask the question.

Shifting from one hindpaw to the other, the mountain lion continued to look uncomfortable. "Darkstar's been trying to help me stop being so judgmental, or... Okay, look, I gotta knee-jerk reaction toward cops." He exhaled sharply, regained himself, made himself look me in the eye. "Ain't proud of it, but it's there, and finding out you were... I mean, I was getting to know you last night, like the rest of us, and it feels like maybe you were just lying about everything, and you were just spying on us." His shoulders were down, resigned, or simply tired. "I don't know what you're really here for, and I got..."

None of us moved. "Will you come in with us?" I asked him. "Listen to my story? I want to think Max is still in here, somewhere."

"I should vac out those carpets before they mildew."

"They'll wait. This is more important."

When the cat hesitated, Oaknail spoke up. "That thing'll shampoo as well as just vac. Come with us, Frank."

"Please," I added, then smiled a little. "No sense my having to tell it twice."

After a moment, he nodded.

"Quickly, then," Oaknail said, getting us moving. "We've got to prep the store in an hour."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

We assembled everyone into what was essentially a modern conference room, a space meant to hold perhaps eight to ten comfortably, so the dozen of us were very slightly crowded. Oaknail explained that it was a space where business was conducted, to let the rest of the house be home. "It's like any proper office space. It's important that work and home be kept separate." He rested a compassionate forepaw on my shoulder at that point. "I'm not trying to make telling your story into 'work,' Max. Truth is, the room is equipped for teleconferencing. I think we need to have as many of the tribe here as possible."

I nodded, swallowing past the horrible, necessary cliché of a lump in my throat. The bear gave my shoulder a reassuring squeeze, then set to work getting everything ready. The box containing Albion lay near to his paws and, although its presence caught the attention of a few in the room, no one commented on it. I tried to... I think the term is "take the temperature" of the others. Darkstar and Lightwing sat near me, the Husky with a forepaw gently on my own, discreetly, under the table. Frank sat furthest away from me, the look on his face working hard to be as neutral as possible; his tail had other opinions. His lady Dreamweaver felt his discomfort, and she looked worried; did she think this might be about Frank? Rainmist looked concerned but otherwise okay. Heartsinger looked faintly confused, as if calling the conclave was something of a mystery to him. Oray and Starshine, youngest and perhaps newest to the tribe, were equally puzzled. They sat cuddled, the 'coon in the firefox's lap, no doubt to conserve space. Moonsong entered with Stellamara, the lady bear faintly grim, but the doe...

This surprised me. Stellamara was so calm as to appear more brave than her family. She looked at me softly, letting me feel her heart through her glance. I felt sure that she knew what was happening -- not the specifics, not about Albion or even about Glover. Her empathy, her differently-wired brain (there's a term for that, they used it in that training seminar that most cops slept through), her sensitivity to others... to me... she knew the general shape of what was happening. She said it last night. Trust that you are safe. The rest is for tomorrow.

Today.

I heard voices through the speaker on the table in front of me, although none was introduced, at least not yet. After all were assembled, near and far, Oaknail announced, "We have a guest with us. Max Luton has brought news that I felt we must all hear together." He then nodded to me.

"Hello," I said, out of reflex. "Let me introduce myself more formally. I'm Detective Max Luton, a homicide detective from the city. I must tell you that Thomas Christian Thaddeus Glover, the tiger and co-founder you knew as Airdancer, is dead."

Those who did not know before had sharp reactions, even those who had never met Glover; he had lived on in the history and legend of Timewind. Moonsong and Rainmist both fought tears; Heartsinger leaned on Darkstar for support; Dreamweaver sought Frank's forepaw with her own; even the youngest couple seemed quiet, perhaps confused, as if this were something that simply couldn't happen.

"I am Unicorn," one voice said through the speaker. "My given name is Ezequiel Jeffries, and I'm the tribal attorney. I must ask if you are here on some official business."

"I'm not. In fact, counselor, I will tell you that I arrived last night, and I haven't identified myself as a police detective until this morning. There is no legal component to my presence."

"Thank you for your candor, Detective. Why did you come here?"

"In part, to tell you this news; in part, to find answers for my own questions."

No one spoke for a bit. At length, Unicorn asked, "Let me first ask: How did Thomas die?"

"He was shot through the head, in an apparent suicide." I saw many cringe. "The gun was found in his left forepaw."

"Wait a minute," Rainmist said, leaning forward. "Airdancer is right-pawed. Could someone else have--"

"That's why the brass sent a homicide detective. On arriving at the scene -- a large study in his mansion -- I found that he had apparently shot himself with his left forepaw. It was easy to see, from the placement of various items on his desk, that he was right-paw dominant, and his mate later confirmed it. The immediate idea was that someone trying to disguise murder as suicide."

As I spoke, I saw reactions to a few words -- mansion and mate in particular. They had no idea of these things. This was not the tiger and tribe member that they remembered. He had not been in touch with them in quite a long time.

"Several things didn't fit. Both his mate and his senior law partner could not imagine Glover being a target for homicide; as the law partner put it, Glover 'didn't have the right temperament,' that he wasn't aggressive enough to make enemies who would want to single him out to be 'worth' killing. The house and grounds were undisturbed, nothing was taken or left behind. His mate had no motive for killing him; facts suggested that his death actually might have harmed her. So then... If not murder, then suicide, right? But that couldn't be, my own bosses assured me, since very wealthy people simply don't kill themselves. There was no suicide note, they persisted. All that was left was a scratching of weird runes on a desk blotter. What I noticed was that his dominant paw held not the gun but a sword."

"Albion!" came another voice from the speaker. "He still had Albion."

Oaknail opened the wooden box and withdrew the sword carefully. "I'm holding it now. Max brought it back to us."

"I don't understand, Detective." Unicorn's voice had a slight edge to it. "What brought you here?"

"A ghost."

All eyes in the room turned to Stellamara, including mine.

"I saw it riding on your shoulder. Last night. When you were fighting it."

"Stellamara," a female's voice on the speaker asked gently, "can you tell us what you saw?"

The doe gathered herself a little, then continued. "Max found us last night. His car got stuck in the ditch, and we couldn't get it out in the storm, so he agreed to stay the night. He had dinner with us, and we all talked. We didn't know about Airdancer last night, but I felt... I was sure that something was haunting Max. I saw something on his shoulder, something trying to whisper to him. Lies. Pain. That was what brought him here."

In the resulting silence, I nodded. "You're right. You see, forensics confirmed that the death was suicide. I couldn't understand why he had done it. He had the whole millionaire's package: Solid income, a mate, dutiful kits in good private academies, all the house and possessions anyone could want. What had made him do this, and especially like that? What was the 'why' behind the sword?"

I shook my head. "My cap'n told me to forget it, that 'why' isn't our department, unless it's motive for a crime, to hunt down a perp. That wasn't the case here, but I just couldn't let it go. I had to know why he did it. I had to know... why I didn't do it."

Stellamara's eyes welled with tears, and I felt Lightwing's forepaw on my arm, gripping lightly. I covered it with my other forepaw, not concerning myself with who might notice.

"Two things happened. One is that, in Glover's study, I eventually found the lined wooden box that would have held Albion and, inside that, I found the comb-bound volume of The Tribal Manifesto. I tried reading it..."

"My deepest sympathies," Rainmist managed a small smile.

I reciprocated the smile, softly. "I'm told that I would do far better with a revised edition. That old volume at least led me to Timewind. The other thing that got me here was the sword itself. A young officer saw the sword for the first time only yesterday and, having been part of the Medieval Society for a time, he recognized the runes."

"Tolkein," Darkstar noted.

"Exactly. He read the name of the sword, as well as the inscription on it." I looked to Oaknail, and he obliged me by reciting it more from memory than from reading it.

"Justice by word and need; honor by loving deed."

"I mentioned a scratching of weird runes on his desk blotter. I can remember the translation pretty well. 'No justice by words, no honor in my deeds. I have betrayed us. Albion, forgive me.' He signed it, using the runes, with the name Airdancer."

After a long pause, the female voice on the phone spoke again. "Do you think we somehow caused him to kill himself?"

"He has said not, Stormsinger," Oaknail replied softly. "I believe him. And I believe Stellamara. Max has the sense of someone haunted."

I lowered my head. "I think Glover... Airdancer... had the ghost first. You see, when I finally had to admit that it really was suicide, I couldn't understand it, until I connected that note with the last case that he worked on. In a way, I think the case killed him."

"Was it that serious?" Unicorn asked.

"Not in the grand scheme of things, probably. It was a fairly simple real estate case. He seemed to have a special knack for that area of law."

"He was damned good at it," Oaknail noted with a tone sharper than I'd have expected. "He was the one who researched our initial legal issues in getting Timewind established as its own entity, in securing the property we now own. He had a solid feel for vagaries and intricacies, and he began to speak it, like a new language. We all agreed to put him through law school, and he'd take over all our legal work."

"He didn't, though."

"An overlooked part of the legend," Darkstar observed softly, without rancor. "He took some time in the Public Defender's office first. The tribe backed him up, as it was part of tribal idealism to fight for those who couldn't fight for themselves."

"Not quite that simple," Rainmist countered, her tail-tip thapping a tattoo on the floor behind her.

The lynx's ears folded back. "I didn't mean it like that."

The otter nodded, sighing. "He was a good defender, and he helped us with ordinary stuff when he could. Unicorn, what's it called?"

"Conveyance," the voice on the phone explained. "Transferring legal title. He helped me get through my own first year law courses. In a way, he was responsible for my becoming a lawyer."

"Because he left?" I asked.

"I prefer to think of it as being because I stayed." The lawyer's voice was soft. "It's not easy to speak ill of a mentor."

"I apologize for presuming." I couldn't help but notice Frank's surprise at my being polite; that was Max, not "the cop" Detective Luton. "Did he stay in touch with you?"

"I think he wandered away from us all, bit by bit." Rainmist sighed heavily. "The ideals were powerful, to start with. It's how Albion was born."

"The sword of justice." Oaknail had brought in a cloth to dry and polish the blade, and he tended it with great care. "He told us that he wanted to carry the torch of Timewind to the people, becoming a PD for a time. I crafted the blade myself, blending his description of what he wanted with some historical nods and my own vision."

"He was a defender for I don't know how many years," Unicorn put in. "His caseload was huge, right from the start, and he was... unable to do as much for his clients as he'd hoped. His correspondence with me became more and more sparse, more tired, more... despairing. He went from frustrated, to angry, to talking of quitting, in only four, maybe five years. I remember him creating a personal scoreboard, but the 'wins' were more like plea bargains rather than defenses, and the losses consisted of being unable to make proper defenses in court, unable to sway juries. It was a meat-grinder, to him. He finally had to give it up."

"He lasted for 12 years," I took up the tale. "He eventually went back to real estate law, started doing well at a small firm in Massachusetts. He was there for three years, amassing the beginnings of a fortune and attracting the attention of Langston, Kilgallen, and Mondekirke."

The frowns and angry faces appeared everywhere, to some degree or other. Whether or not Timewind hoped to be as non-judgmental as possible, their group opinion of the law firm was clearly evident, and it was certainly in alignment with my own. Frank seemed unable to restrain from voicing his views. "Langston is the greediest land-grabber in the state. He's bought up rental properties, forced out old tenants, and put in new ones at three times the rent. He bleeds people and places dry! Why would a member of Timewind go to work for him?"

"A member of Timewind wouldn't." I looked back to Oaknail. "That was the problem. Airdancer was a product of Timewind, whose back was broken by the so-called 'criminal justice system'."

"The greatest oxymoron in the world," Darkstar observed.

I nodded sadly. "As you might guess, I've seen too much of it myself."

Movement from across the room. I paused, seeing Frank wanting to speak, but he kept his maw shut. I gave him a slight nod before I continued.

"Airdancer, whose idealism was all but drained from him, tried going back to something he was good at, perhaps to take a step back. With neither salary nor safety net, it was Glover who had to practice real estate law. He got in over his head, that 'idyllic' rich life that I described. He immersed himself in it, not letting himself take that optimistic long view that had helped him to fashion Timewind with the rest of the founders. It, the Manifesto, the sword, all hid inside a wooden box that he probably hadn't even thought about for years. His conscience didn't have a chance to bother him... until recently."

I drew a deep breath and plunged in. "Glover's last case involved evicting squatters from a parcel of pine forest downstate. It didn't push any buttons for him, at first; he filed papers and took details without actually visiting the encampment itself. Just routine, distant, intangible. That changed when his senior partner told him to serve papers personally, perhaps to intimidate the squatters with the sheer 'shock and awe' of such an almighty behemoth as LK&M. Glover went there last week, and that would seem to be where it started.

"I visited the place myself a few days ago. I found a new definition of squalor. A half-dozen tents, two toilet sheds, a large army camp tent for cooking and taking meals. The small group there -- I saw five, although I sure there were more, somewhere --weren't terribly well-nourished, with poor clothing besides. They had taken up residence there sometime last fall, so say four or five months. What I described to you is all that there was there, save for a couple of older-model cars, like mine, and a plot of ground barely the size of the living room here, set with seedlings for their crops."

"That won't feed them," Heartsinger considered softly. "They couldn't grow enough to..."

Darkstar put an arm around him, then looked to Oaknail. "How did that compare with Timewind's origins?"

The bear shook his head. "We didn't plant until spring, of course, but we had a couple of sheds, at least, within the first month. I have to think we had more money behind us than they do. We bought the land; we didn't squat. We worked to improve..." He paused, hanging his head. "What went through his head? What did he see?"

"I can only guess," I said softly. "He had lost touch with you. He would remember what the founders had done in that short time. Even so, he might also have thought that the dream had died. It had died within him, and he saw it reflected in this image of failure, or that's what I imagine. It's a feeling, rather than anything I could prove. This group of squatters..." I took a moment just to breathe. "They weren't anything like Timewind's beginnings, but maybe he didn't remember it anymore. Maybe he only saw what appeared to be a complete failure of hope. Maybe that was the ghost, the dark spirit that pestered him, haunted him to death."

"And it frightened you, too."

All eyes turned to Stellamara.

"It's why you were so surprised by all this. It's why you were afraid of us. I understand now. I understand that black shape that I saw on your shoulder. I could almost hear it whispering to you."

I heard sounds around me and on the phone, and I raised a paw to forestall them. "She's right." I looked into her eyes, understanding for the first time. "It really was like a voice, something whispering to me, telling me not to trust this illusion of love and acceptance, because the world is only made to hurt and destroy all such dreams."

A pause before the voice of Stormsinger rose from the speaker. "Is that what you meant, when you said that you were looking for answers?"

"Yes. It was too easy for me to see and believe in Glover's despair. The one thing that drove me to keep looking past the obvious was the sword. Albion. It was more important to him than the weapon that he killed himself with. Paradoxically, the very symbol of the dream was the key to what drove him to destroy himself."

"And that paradox became your ghost."

All eyes, including mine, went again to Stellamara. "Yes. I kept pushing, searching, until the clues sent me to find you. Timewind. Starhold. To see if I could find out why. Or maybe to find out why not."

"Did you find your answers?"

"Some of them."

"Stay, then," Lightwing told me. "Stay until you find them all."

"We'll help," Darkstar added.

"We have lost one to the Void," Oaknail spoke solemnly. "Let us pledge to lose no other."

"May I suggest," Unicorn made himself known again, "that Detective Luton be set aside for another day, so that Max may find his answers?"

Voices on the phone and around the table assented. Like last night, I was welcomed. This time, however, there were no masks; I was welcomed. All of me.

Something at my shoulder whispered darkly, That's what he thought.