Hūnā

by Tazlet

When an old family friend of Steve's asks for his help in a murder investigation, Danny insists on tagging along.

Hūnā
by Taz (aka Quisp)

That first time, I didn't know where he'd gone, and didn't have a chance to think about it. I reached for him; he wasn't there. My brain was trying to put together that there was an empty place where there should be a warm body, when he slipped next to me all cool and damp and limber from swimming. Even if it had occurred to me something was off, a little fishy, all I can say is that he managed an effective distraction.

It happened shortly after we had become lovers.

Lovers. Yeah, seriously. Thinking about that still makes me happy in my pants.

I won't say I knew it was going to go that route the first minute that I saw him. What happens when you're face to face with the business end of a P226 is your eyes flick from the hand that's holding the gun to the eyes of the guy attached to the hand that's holding the gun. You're looking to see if the hand is trembling, and the finger's tightening—or if the eyes are blinking like mad, and maybe there's a chance he'll back down.

This guy—McGarrett—hand like a rock, and eyes like a laser. Not a blink. Zip. Zilch. Nada. I twigged he was in control of himself, and intended to stand his ground, and outshout me—which is impossible. (Though, I will say he gave nearly as good as he got, which is pretty damn good for someone who wasn't born in Jersey.) Ended up, neither of us shot the other, and I was intrigued in a 'What's with the Looney Tune?' kind of way.

That didn't mean I liked him.

Warming up was a gradual process, one near-death experience at a time. You'd think—take a fella out, buy him dinner, take him to a movie—treat him nice—then, on the third date, maybe you go on your first shoot-out together. He doesn't know my name even 24 hours before he nearly gets me killed, and don't get me started on yoiking me out of HPD without as much as a kiss my thumb. I've tried to tell him people appreciate a little consideration, and plenty of lube, but we were working up to that…

Just to make myself clear, I wasn't happy about the whole thing, except shaking off McGarrett is like trying to pick burrs off your socks.

It didn't hurt that I was lonesome. This place: you're not a tourist; you don't have family; you're malihini, a stranger. That's why I call it pineapple hell. But McGarrett worked fast. He scooped up Chin, and then Kono, and within weeks we're going out for beers and sharing a few laughs. One day, I noticed that I was thinking of McGarrett as Steve. I admit, it was a bit like thinking of an IED as a friend; I never knew when he was going to blow but, eventually, I caught a clue. It was his eyes. They're changeable as the ocean, all the shades of blue and green and gray, and when they were dark, time to duck and cover! Right in the middle of one really big blow, we're all over each other, and I'm having my wicked way with him on the fold-out couch (Second time, I took the trouble to fold it out).

We had a few tussles, but I was kind of surprised to find out that he didn't need to be top dog everywhere. Even without that, I'd never known anybody who so completely took over my mind, and body that way. Rachel and me? Even in the first rush, I could see a future that made sense. McGarrett and me? I couldn't see. I couldn't think. The only thing I was aware of was the feel of his body moving and straining against mine, and me sliding around him, my arms full of him, and my cock sliding in and out that glorious mouth. Half the time I couldn't tell which of us was which—I mean we were so inside each other's skin—high as kites on adrenaline and dopamine. If I been capable of rational thinking, I would have told myself that things would work out. Then reality punched me in the gut.

Maybe I should have spotted the signs when I started sleeping over at his place, but there was none of that 'occult' stuff—no fetishes, no feathers, no beads or amulets, or silver charms—nothing I saw, but then I'm not one of those nosy parkers who snoop in people's medicine cabinets. If I had seen any of that stuff, I would have thought it was Mary Ann's. There was a belt on the wall in the mud room, plush fur, but I've seen all kinds of belts—rattlesnake, alligator, lizard—and like I said, the first time he slipped out I was easily distracted. A swim first thing in the morning was exactly the kind of thing Macho Man would do. Since he didn't expect me to join him, I figured it burned off some of his excess energy. Not too much; most of the time he come back as randy as a pup, and ready to romp. I had nothing to complain about, except maybe his habit of eating raw poke after a swim, but I wasn't about to kick him out of bed; it was his bed.

Anyway, looking back, you get tuned to a lover's rhythms pretty quick and, within a couple of weeks, I'd feel the empty space beside me in my sleep and know exactly how long I had before he'd be plastering himself against me. One morning he wasn't back.

I woke up, and there was no getting back to sleep. I wasn't worried, but I strolled out onto the lanai. The moon was low and the sky was that blue-black color before night turns to morning. By moonlight, you can see the waves slapping the shore. The water was calm and reflective, and I could see two dark figures standing against it. McGarrett, and another guy. They were arguing and it went on until I saw McGarrett throw his hands in the air. He might as well have shouted, Fine! Give me a break! The other guy flings his arms around him, gives him this huge hug, turns and runs into the water. McGarrett started back to the house.

I watched the swimmer's head bob in and out of the waves until he disappeared.

What was I going to do? Nothing. There was no doubt in my mind that it was one of his old SEAL buddies, and I already hated every single one of them—bunch of testosterone junkies who think doing a triathlon before breakfast proves something about the size of your dick. I don't compete with that crap. I was going to fix breakfast, then I was going to go to work, and, then, that evening, it was Parent-Teacher night at Gracie's school.

I went downstairs. McGarrett was in the kitchen, stark naked and dripping all over the linoleum, which kind of surprised me because I thought he'd been wearing a wetsuit. He looked up from toweling his hair and I saw how dark his eyes were—like he can't figure out who I am, or what I'm doing there. I thought, Aw hell! I said, "What's up?"

He came back from wherever he was. "Change of plans for the weekend. I have to go to Kaua'i tomorrow. They found a body on a beach and it didn't wash up there."

"Great!" A change of plans is the name of the game when you're a cop. "When do we leave?" Anyway, I'd never been to Kaua'i.

"We don't," he said. "It's not a Five-O thing."

"Don't even." I held up my hands, and stopped him before he said another stupid word. "Whatever it is, you're not going without some kind of back up." He gives me that look. All right, I was jumping to conclusions but Kaua'i is where the Navy's Pacific Missile Range Facility is. "You hear me?"

"I hear you, but I haven't got a clue what you're on about."

"I saw you, and your SEAL buddy, by the water."

"My SEAL buddy…!" He made with the big-eyed surprise, but I wasn't buying it.

"I know you've got unlimited means and discretion, and everything, but if you think you're going off and play with the testosterone squad alone, you've got another think coming."

"The testosterone… You mean the Navy? You think this has something to do with the Navy? Is that what you think this is?"

"You know another bunch of hard cases who'd swim for miles rather than make a phone call?"

"Yes! No! Danny, listen to me!" He was wrapping the towel around his waist. "I'm doing this as a personal favor for a friend who works for the DLNR."

"The Department of Land and Natural Resources? Like a forest ranger?"

"Yes, only he's an archeologist. A site has been desecrated, and it's a sensitive situation."

"Then what the problem? I'm a sensitive guy."

He looked at me funny. "Are you jealous?"

"No. I'm fixing breakfast."

I dove into the fridge and started pulling out the milk and eggs, while he worked it out.

He came up behind me, slipped his arm around my waist, and nipped the back of my neck. "I'll ask. What if I can't?"

"We'll cross that bridge." If he thought he was distracting me, he was mistaken. I took the Tupperware container out of his hand, and put it back on the shelf. "Forget it. You can eat bacon and eggs this morning like a civilized person."

"I'm hungry!"

He reached. That time I slapped his hand.

"I'm not in the mood for your fishy breath this morning."

"My fishy breath…? You never complained before."

"I'm complaining now."

He acted all hurt and stomped off to the shower. He was back when breakfast was ready, though.

We didn't talk much about it on the way to work, but I went with the assumption that he'd work it out, somehow. In between prepping some reports, and making phone calls, I checked out maps of Kaua'i. I didn't have the remotest inkling how much of the island was under DLNR control. Chin stopped by while I had one of the maps up on the big screen. "Polihale?" he said.

"Easy for you to say."

"If you're going camping, be sure you take water."

"Who said anything about camping?" I give him a side-eye. "And why would I need to take water?"

"I just heard Steve the phone, talking about the north shore trail; you need to take supplies with you, if you're staying over." He clapped me on the shoulder, and hightailed it off. I looked up the North Shore trail.

Let me tell you how it is with cops. Five minutes later Jenna drifted by. "Are you and Steve going camping on Polihale?"

"The thing I love about this crew…" I raised my voice, so everyone could hear me, "is the way everybody knows everybody's business."

"Wow, you'd almost think we were detectives!" Kono mimed wadding up a ball of paper and tossed it at the trash can.

That was all the attention anyone paid to me, so I went to have words with McGarrett.

His office blinds were shut; I was about to beat the door down when I heard him barking someone out on the phone. Not that I make a habit of eavesdropping, or anything, but it was about me… The gist of it was: whoever asked for his help, I was part of the deal, and they could love it or shove it. It sounded like I was in. When I heard him hang up, I stuck my head around the door, and said, "Hey!"

"Did I say come in?" He looked frazzled.

"You were about to. I guess we're not staying at the Sheraton."

"No. Come in, and shut the door."

"I was just looking at the maps. Some pretty awesome scenery." I took a seat, and he pushed a file across the desk. I opened it, and broke out in a cold sweat when I understood what I was looking at. It's not pretty. A man without his skin... I got myself under control. "Where was this?"

"It was discovered on beach that's only accessible by one hiking trail…or by kayaking in from the ocean side."

I turned the picture. "What's he lying on?"

"A luakini heiau. It's where blood sacrifices took place."

"Is that where…?"

"No. It's not where he was killed."

I got why the DLRN was asking for help under the table—sacrilege as well as murder.

"Has he been identified?"

"Yes." McGarrett shook his head. "Hanson Chamberlain. He was a Desert Storm vet squatting in the park. There are a bunch of them—hermit types—who do it. The rangers go in and clean them out regularly, but they lay low and get by with a little farming and hunting, and practically have their own city back there. Maybe someone caught him poaching their goats, but…" He sighed and looked at me funny again. "You sure you're up for this? It's going to be a hard scramble."

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away," I said.

"All right." McGarrett sighed. "We're leaving early in the morning. I'll loan you a backpack. Pack light, and assume you're going to get wet."

I wasn't even tempted to make a joke. In any event, it was nearly five and I didn't have time to hang around. I raced home, grabbed my boots and threw some clothes in a bag.

Then I had to run and meet Rachel and Gracie at her school. Gracie only hugged me before she went to join her choral group. Me and Rachel spent 20 minutes with Gracie's teacher hearing what a great kid we have (This is not news, but it's good to have independent confirmation). We admired the mural her class had drawn of Endangered Animals. Then Stan showed up. The three of us went to the auditorium and sat like Hear No, See No and Say No, and listened to some kid stutter through a prize-winning essay about endangered animals. I learned that Hawaii is the Endangered Species Capital of the world, and we must all be respectful of our animal friends, because once an animal is gone from Hawaii it's gone from the world. But then the choral group sang beautiful traditional songs and chants, mostly about endangered animals—I pick up that it's a theme—and did some dancing. Finally, everyone sang 'Hawai`i Pono`i'.

I waited just long enough tell Gracie that she had the best voice of all of them. Then I kissed her, and ran.

I got to McGarrett's place around ten. He looked up from whatever he was working on at the computer, and said, "How did—"

"Don't ask!"

"—it go?"

He followed me into the kitchen. "What's wrong?"

"I've got a crick in my back, and I need a beer. You ever try to fit under a third grader's desk?"

"Stan came, didn't he?"

"Yeah, lucky Stan." I hate he knows me that well. I slammed the refrigerator door. "She's not his kid, why does he have to stick his nose in?"

"Because he's married to her mother, and he's trying to be a good step-dad." McGarrett came and hugged me. "Play nice."

He kind of nuzzled me. I kind of nuzzled him back. Some of the tension drained away.

"What time did you say we have to get up?"

"We have to be on the road by four."

"This day just gets better and better."

We caught a flight out of Rogers Field. I hate small planes—Dixie Stick propellers, and rubber band engines. The DLNR pilot's name was Mike. He was kanaka maoli,and all pleasant to McGarrett, but I caught him giving me the stink-eye as we were loading up. It wasn't because I was throwing his weight calculations off, either.

Like I said, I hate small planes. I had to fold myself double to fit in the back seat of that one. The sky was turning pearly when we took off. The ceiling, as they say, was low. Immediately, I see nothing but gray and white out the window. Nothing. And, see, we're over the water, so there's wind. It's like swing-dancing in a tin can in a cloud. We're up, down and sideways. Mike lets McGarrett take the yoke, and they've got headphones, so they're having a great time, yakking up a storm. I closed my eyes and tried to go to sleep, but it was impossible. All I could do was pretend I wasn't there. One point I felt McGarrett touch my knee. When I looked, he was pointing at the air-sick bag in the seatback pocket. Not a big help. I closed my eyes and went back to muttering Hail Mary full of grace…

Finally, after about a thousand years in purgatory, I felt the engine throttle back and opened my eyes.

We were coming in over Kaua'i. Everything was misty, but there was a greenish cast through the mist below and I was starting to think we were gonna get out alive. Except that good ol' Mike abruptly turned the plane on its ear and threw us straight into the side of a mountain.

Honest. That's what it felt like.

What he did was a short field landing on an unpaved strip that had been cut into the side of a mountain, rolling to a stop inches from the edge of a cliff. He did it on purpose and while I was trying to pull my stomach out of my mouth, he gunned the engine and the plane did a 180. We taxied up to another small plane parked beside a garden shed where a Jeep Cherokee was waiting for us. McGarrett acted like he did this every day. I had to unscrew myself from the seat springs.

The two DLNR guys waiting to take us down to the murder site introduced themselves as Josh Sims, and Ali Hale. Ali was an old acquaintance of McGarrett's. They were friendly enough, at least. Neither of them had Mike's attitude when it came to shaking hands with me.

We piled into the jeep, and Ali brought us up to speed. He said they had two boats out scouting the shoreline, rangers combing the brush and that someone named Jack was coordinating things. Then he asked McGarrett if he had told Ewe about bringing his makamaka along. That made me prick up my ears. I can follow pidgin pretty well, now, and I've picked up a few words of Hawaiian. Makamaka is one of those code words where the meaning depends on who's doing the talking about whom. It means 'close friend.' It can also mean 'friends with benefits'—only more so. I don't know what McGarrett said back to him, but it was short, and it was in Hawaiian. Ali just laughed, and said, "Your neck, brah." McGarrett got quiet during the drive—not that there was much time to chat.

We didn't have too far to go but the road down the mountain was all bumps and ruts dug into thick red mud. No way could we have done it without four-wheel drive. I peeled myself off the roof at one point and asked why there was a landing strip in the middle of nowhere. Josh told me that it was left from when the area was still private property back in the '30s. The DLNR maintains the strip as a convenient way into the back country. A few vertical miles took us to a hidden fork that veered onto a gravel road, and another mile brought us to the trail head.

There was a DLNR equipment station there. The door was padlocked, but Josh had the key. While he and Ali went to collect their stuff, McGarrett excused himself to make a phone call.

It was raining, of course, and there was nothing for me to do except duck into the shelter of the wild-life exhibit. I read about more endangered animals and studied pictures of plants to look out for on the trail. McGarrett came up behind me when I was clocking the warning not to drink unpurified water, or go swimming with an open wound. "We need to talk," he said.

I thought he was going to say something about the case, but he just looked at the exhibit, and said, "Oh, I meant to tell you about drinking the water. And look out for Wolf Spiders."

"Wolf Spiders?" There was nothing up there about Wolf Spiders. "What about Wolf Spiders?"

"Don't let yourself get bit," he said. "And they're endangered, so if you get one on you, don't squash it."

"What do you mean don't squash it? What happens if it bites me?"

"You turn into a were-spider."

"A were—! Oh, you think that's funny?"

"Danny they're blind. They only live in caves. Stay out of caves. Seriously, I need you to promise me you won't go off anywhere by yourself."

"I wasn't planning to…" I noticed he was looking funny. "And you're telling me this for what particular reason?" As stone-faced as he can be on the job, there's no way he can hide when it's personal—the tip of his nose turns pink.

"There's been a lot of rain lately. It's easy to get caught in a gully by a flash flood and people have gone straight off the cliff when the trail washed out." Josh and Ali came out with their backpacks on. "I have your word?"

"Yeah," I said. I was figuring it was a load of hockey pucks, but we'd have a chance to talk later.

As we walked out of the shelter I noticed there was a poster nailed to one of the posts. The paper was all curled from the rain. There was a $40,000 reward offered for information leading to the arrest and conviction of the person(s) responsible for the illegal killing of four monk seals. Someone had slaughtered four of the most endangered animals in the world, and if I hadn't gone to that parent-teacher thing, I wouldn't have known Hawaii even had seals.

Despite the never-ending journey with Mike, it was only a little after eight when we started down into a steep ravine. The trail ran along a river, and it was more of that red mud that turned out to be super slippery. I had to concentrate on where I was putting my feet. There wasn't much to see at first, anyway. The mist was so heavy it was like walking in a cloud.

I felt damp to the skin in minutes, and all sound and color was weirdly muted. But then the sun climbed high enough to shine down into our ravine. Within minutes, it had burned the mist away. There was greenery glistening with silver everywhere, birds calling, and light rippling on the water. I looked down river and there were rainbows arching across the stream as far as I could see—too many to count. They hung there and slowly dissolved into the air, one by one.

I stood there gawking, until McGarrett looked back and yelled, "Danno!" I picked up my jaw, and caught up with him.

"Did you see that?"

"Did you hear what I said about going off by yourself?"

"You didn't say there were magic rainbows."

"Keep up." He didn't even smile.

I have no idea how far downstream we hiked. At some random point where it was wider and shallow Josh led us across. There was another trail, more overgrown and rockier on the other side that took a sharper downward slope. About a hundred feet in we hit two poles of freshly cut bamboo, barring our way. They were crossed like an X with knobs made of white cloth tied around the tops of the cross pieces.

"What the hell?" I said.

"Kapu sign," Ali said. "Means no trespassing,"

"I know that. What the hell is it doing out here?"

"One of the squatters probably put it up as a warning."

"Warning of what?"

"Who knows?"

We went around it. The woods were getting denser and you had to be careful where you put your feet, because of the crawling vines. There's one thing that actually makes me happy about living in Hawaii: no snakes. Centipedes, and flying cockroaches, and wolf-spiders, but no snakes. Still, between the sloping trail, the creepers, and the mud I was starting to understand what Steve meant when he asked me if I was up to some heavy hiking. Not to mention there was something about the wind rustling in the leaves, and the creaking of the bamboo groves, that left me disinclined to talk.

It was relatively level ground when we hit the valley floor and stopped for a quick lunch. It took us another three hours to get across that valley.

From a distance it looked like paradise, but there were exposed outcrops of lava that were abrasive as hell, and washed out lava tubes hidden in the brush. But then, unexpectedly, there was the ocean in front of us—at the bottom of a sheer drop, and we had to climb two hundred steps down to the water. Each step had been cut by hand into the rock. My ankles were ready to divorce me by the time we got to the bottom.

That beach was one of the most perfectly beautiful places I've ever seen. It wasn't one of those groomed and curated beaches, where the stones have all been removed, so tourists won't stub their toes. But it was a perfect crescent of white sand and turquoise water hugged by towering pinnacles that sloped sharply into the ocean on either side. The pinnacles made a perfect defensive rampart, despite the gorgeous cascade of waterfalls that were busy carving a notch into one side. There was also a sort of bracelet of big black rocks out in the water.

The luakini heiau was in the middle of the beach, right at the water's edge. I've seen a couple of heiaus since I've moved to Hawaii. This one was old and really well preserved, probably because it was hard to get at. Basically it was a platform of basalt, about thirty feet square and six feet high. There were steps to the platform on the beach side. It was walled. I couldn't see in, and didn't know until later that there was a ramp down into the water on the opposite side.

I didn't see any immediate signs of life. As we approached Josh hallooed and heads popped up. I assumed the team inside was gathering evidence where the body had been found. I was wrong, they were destroying the evidence, but I didn't know that then.

Somebody hollered back, waving at us and Josh, Ali, and Steve all halted so fast I ran smack into Steve's back. "Hope you know what you're doing, brah," Josh said. He'd said something similar to McGarrett when we were getting into the Jeep.

There was a man storming down the steps. He was older, with that silver-frost hair that some Hawaiians have, and a little on the short side. Without the captain's tabs on his collar I still would have known he was the guy in charge. Pissed was how he looked. Royally pissed. Barely within spitting distance, he started shouting, "Keiki, what do you think you're…?" At exactly the same moment that Steve gritted, "Makua kāne makua Ewe, before you…"

And they were off!

I looked to Josh and Ali for a hint. Whatever it was that was going on, it was clear that McGarrett was trying to be respectful. At the same time, whatever had been bugging him since yesterday morning was erupting as spectacularly as Kilauea.

Josh gave me a sign to follow him and we left them to it.

Equipment and supplies had been helo'd in. A couple of temporary shelters had been set up on the other side of the heiau. The one for telemetry had a generator running behind it. The guy inside manning the computer was on the phone when we stuck our heads in. He only gave us a nod, so we ducked into the mess tent. I was glad to be rid of that backpack and suck up some coconut water but, with when that was taken care of, I told Josh that I would appreciate someone telling me what going on out there.

Josh simply shrugged. "Ewe thinks you shouldn't be here," he said.

"How is it any of Ewe's business?"

"Ewe's the kahuna ki‛i."

"That's the big guy, right?"

Ali kind of smiled. "Something like that."

Josh said, "Ewe's old school."

I knew how this was going to go—there would be lots of words and no info. But just then, I heard McGarrett yelling, "Danno!"

I hot-footed it back to where he and Ewe were standing like a pair of scowling tikis, side by side. Ewe had his arms crossed—talk about a wooden expression—and the tip of McGarrett's nose was bright pink. I'd had enough of the whole thing. I stomped up, and said, "Listen Ewe, regardless of why you asked McGarrett to come out here, I'm his partner, and—"

"Danny!" Steve took a hold like a vise-grip above my elbow, and squeezed. Hard.

"It's all right. I've explained everything." Everything? What the hell did that mean? "I'd like you to meet my uncle, Ewelani Hale. Uncle Ewe, allow me to introduce my partner, and makamaka, Danny Williams."

Hell of a way to meet the family. I could see a resemblance between Steve and Ewe; it was the stubborn.

I mean I kind of knew that somewhere, in his background, Steve was hapa but, at that point, I believed Mary Ann was the only family he had. To top it off—I didn't know what the rest of the squad had picked up—I mean they're detectives, so I assumed they'd detected something—this was the first time he'd flat out said anything to anyone about the two us being in a relationship. I still think he should have said something before we left. Then I wouldn't have been stuck trying to pull my foot out of my mouth.

"Uncle Ewe…" I started babbling. "Captain Hale. Listen, I'm sorry. I can't tell you how sorry. I can see you don't like that I'm here, but I'm a good cop—just ask McGarrett—the only thing I want to do is catch your killer. I know the DLNR doesn't have a lot of resources, and I think you'd use my help… "

See here's what was going through my head: Hawaiians tend to be fairly tolerant, but every family has its issues, and I thought if I assured him I was just going to be a cop, not run around like a stupid haole—not that I've never behaved like a stupid haole—we'd have some common ground, and…

The Williams' charm worked. Ewe's face almost broke. "Danno, is it?"

"Danny."

"I don't doubt that you're a good cop—"

"I give you my word, I won't go anywhere I'm not invited. I'll do my job; watch Steve's back, stay out of your hair and …"

"Got it!" Ewe said when I finally let him get a word in edgewise. "Here's the deal. You stick with Steve tighter than his shadow. Do not go off by yourself!"

"No way!" I crossed myself. "I heard about the wolf-spiders."

"Wolf-spiders?" I won't swear to it, but I think Ewe's lip twitched. He definitely gave McGarrett some kind of look. "All right, we're wasting time here. You and Steve go see Jack. He'll explain the set up." Ewe started to walk away. Then he stopped and said, "It's the circumstances, Danno. I'm glad to finally meet you."

Danno.

Great. Now I had two of them. Ewe was climbing into the heiau, before I fully appreciated what he'd said. I looked at McGarrett. "What did he mean 'finally'?"

"Can we talk about it later?"

"What circumstances was he talking about?"

"You wanted to come."

"There's something that you're not telling me, isn't there?"

"Can we talk about this later?"

"Count on it."

We went to talk with Jack. While he and McGarrett were looking at the map, I noticed that Jack's eyes were the blackest I'd ever seen, and he called Steve Coz. I noticed from his name tag that he was another Hale, too.

We were assigned a search area, grabbed a pack of water bottles and took off. With about three usable hours of daylight, we had our work cut out for us.

Given the terrain, and the shore line, it would have been difficult to carry a dead body down the cliffs to the heiau. Maybe you could bring it in from the ocean, but Chamberlain had been a squatter. The best guess was that he had come down the cliffs alive, either voluntarily or not. We were looking for anything that would indicate where he'd been killed and/or skinned; probably on the lower slopes of the pinnacles close to the water. From a distance those spires look as if they're upholstered in soft green velvet, but they're steep and knife-edged. Steve kept trying to give me rock-climbing lessons, while we poked into cracks and crannies.

One point, we climbed up to a place that was flat as a table. Steve told me it had been cut and flattened by an old waterfall, like the one still flowing on the other side of the beach. Another time, walking out along a spine of the rocks, I could see further up and down the coast. The ocean had poked sharp fingers into the land. Waves were rolling into those narrow points so hard that when they crashed, water spouted up like geysers blowing. I could see one of the search boats standing well off. But then I saw a black speck in the water, diving under the waves. At first I thought it was a monk seal, and got all excited. Then I saw it was a guy swimming back to the boat. "Isn't that dangerous?"

"Can be, but he knows what he's doing," McGarrett said.

I remembered the guy I'd seen swimming in the moonlight yesterday morning. I looked at Steve, and I said, "Any chance this is later enough for you?"

Our phones went off simultaneously. Jack was calling everyone in.

By the time we got back to base, everyone else was straggling in as well: about twenty uniformed DLNR guys and another bunch I learned later were anthropologists and a couple of biologists from Windward Islands University. Seems one of the teams searching the other end of the beach had found a dead monk seal and Ewe and a couple of others had gone out with a stretcher to bring the body back.

The rest of us stood around waiting. I started to get a serious out-of-the-loop feeling. You know when something's going on, and you're not part of it? This was like with Steve and Ewe, only ten times worse. I mean, all right, it was a dead monk seal, but everyone around me was standing around in solemn little groups like a close friend had died.

It didn't help that Steve had gone to see a man about a horse, and when he came back he leaned against the side of the heiau with his arms crossed and his work face on. I went and stood beside him and, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, he pulled me in front against him and wrapped his arms around me. "You okay?" I said. I felt his cheek brush the side of my ear. "Listen, I get that it's a dead monk seal, but I feel like I'm crashing a funeral."

He didn't answer me.

The afternoon had turned out cloudless, but now the sun was going down and Hawaiian sunsets don't last long. "You had any thoughts about where we're going to sleep tonight?"

"Jack's organized us a tarp and a sleeping bag."

"Sleeping under the stars. Great. Some people think that's romantic." I was trying to distract him but I was wondering why someone was blowing a conch horn. I could hear the low, mournful tone in the distance—a squatter, maybe—but it made me appreciate how much it meant that there was at least one thing here that I belonged to.

There was nothing to do until Ewe and the stretcher-party returned except watch the sun go down. I'll give it to Hawaii—it gives fantastic sunset. The neatest thing is the moment immediately after the sun disappears. There's this flash of intense emerald green. It's not a myth; blink and you miss it. And there's no twilight, either. Fifteen minutes after the sun has gone, the stars are out full.

That's when two naked guys walked out of the water. I know they were naked because they walked by us. There was no moon—no one had bothered with LED lanterns, or the generator—but starlight was plenty to see there wasn't a boat out there that they could have come off. I looked. And that was when it came to me that what I'd thought was maybe thirty people, was more like fifty, and then seventy—maybe more—most of them gathered in front of the steps up to the heiau.

"Steve…?" I said, turning cold. Some of those people had fur and solid black eyes, when they bothered to look at me.

McGarrett's arms tightened around me. "Whatever happens tonight, makamae, it's all right," he whispered.

Maybe for him. There was movement in the crowd. Everyone was backing away from the steps.

Ewe and the stretcher party were back and were carrying the body into the heiau. We followed. By we, I mean the naked ones, the fur covered ones, and the ones who were still wearing clothes. I wasn't sure that included me, at first, but Steve kept his arm around me, and I was clinging to it like a barnacle. It was the only thing keeping me upright and sane. Left to myself, I would have curled up in the sand and they would have found a gibbering pile of jelly next morning.

They set the stretcher at the top of a ramp that had been cut down into the basalt all the way to the water. Torches were being lit—I don't mean kitschy Tiki-torches or work lights—pitch and fire.

There was a guy walking up the ramp, one of the furry ones. He was all silver in the starlight and screaming his head off. When he got to the top, he went down on his knees beside the stretcher and unzipped the body bag.

The body was small, but that was no monk seal in that bag; it was a young girl, maybe seventeen or eighteen. Dead several days. I'm going with the smell on that. You could feel a wave of rage surge through the crowd. Silver guy took one look at her, wrapped his arms around himself, and began to rock and scream.

Ewe let him wail for a few minutes and then pulled him to his feet. He just stood there devastated—I could see that his eyes were solid black—with tears staining the fur on his face.

Everyone got very quiet when Ewe started to speak.

I had no idea what he said. It was in Hawaiian' I could tell it was a different dialect from the big island—a lot of clicks and barks—but that was all. There was some rumbling from the crowd when he was done, but one guy started yelling at Ewe. Whatever Ewe said back, everyone around that guy started backing away. Maybe he thought he'd get support from the silver guy. Nope. Silver guy said something that sounded like pan-kee, and you don't have to speak a language to know when someone has been told to shut their pie hole.

"Who's that?" I whispered.

"Marcus," Steve said.

"What's his problem?"

"He thinks we should go and hunt the haole who did this tonight." People were starting to move. McGarrett and I were getting bumped and shoved around. Not on purpose, just people trying to move quickly and get something organized. "Ewe says that we'll deal with the loko 'ino tomorrow. Tonight we're going to dance and mourn for Wanika."

What I said about crashing a funeral.

They placed that girl's body on a woven mat. She was naked. I could see black bruises in the shape of hand prints all over her shoulders and arms and legs. And bite marks. Sometimes it's not a good thing being a cop.

Speaking of naked, nearly everyone who still had clothes on was starting to take them off—including my makamaka—I asked, "Do I have to…?"

"You're fine," Steve said. We found a place out of the way near Ali and Josh. I saw that Ali's eyes had gone funny. He was watching Ewe. Everyone was watching Ewe, who was naked except for a dark belt around his waist, just standing there with his eyes closed.

Then the conch horns sounded again, followed by dead silence, except for the sound of the ocean.

I heard the rattle of split bamboo sticks being shaken together and water-worn rocks clicking softly. Ewe lifted his arms, and began to chant, "Whayiee, whayiee…"

I listened, and picked out the name Wanika. Then the silver guy started to dance. I didn't twig it was a dance at first, because he was pumping his fists, and slapping them against his shoulders and thighs, and stamping his feet in counterpoint to Ewe's chant. Three times, he threw his head back and screamed.

After the third time, Ewe changed his chant so that it was lower pitched, more like a song, but inexpressibly sad. Then silver furred dancer opened his hands and began making gestures that were wavy and gentle, as if he were swimming. I didn't understand the gestures. They were complicated until he mimed cradling a child. I knew that one. It came to me that he was expressing all the love he had felt for his daughter, Wanika.

I tried not to cry. I didn't know Wanika, or all that had happened to her, but she was young, and that guy, her father, was talking to me, telling me all of my feelings about Gracie, and what they were going to be, watching her grow up. I tried not to cry, but the tears slipped out anyway.

For a long time he danced by himself. Then Ewe stopped chanting, but the rhythm band went on. People who had been sitting began dancing with their hands. Gradually some of them stood up, Wanika's friends. They began dancing, too, and telling her story. Finally, the music stopped. Almost everyone sat down.

That's when Steve, Jack, Ali, and a few others who, like Ewe, were wearing nothing but belts around their waists got up. This group danced together in total silence. I'd never seen Steve dance before, much less naked. I didn't even know he could hula. I found out later that he was trained to perform dances that were only permitted on the heiau.

When it was over, it was that group of dancers, along with Wanika's father, who lifted the mat and carried her body down the ramp into the water and swam out with it until they disappeared in the dark.

While they were away, the torches were going out, and people were withdrawing, disappearing the way they had come, I guess. Josh stayed near me, though, and I was glad of the company. Remember, I said I was trying not to cry, because…well, everything.

I was wiping my eyes with my palms when I saw this guy frowning at me. It was Marcus, the guy who had challenged Ewe. Some people resent outsiders at funerals, but his glaring reminded me of Mike's attitude that morning.

Josh was pulling his khakis on. He had seen Marcus, too, and touched my arm.

"Come on," he said. "I could use a cup of coffee."

"Me, too."

The coffee was instant. I left it for Josh and helped myself to a beer from a cooler. There were maybe ten other people in the tent. All of them looked normal, human, except for one guy who was having this serious convo with a ranger. He had one hip hitched on the table, and was drinking a Longboard, like being covered with a pelt of silver and black spotted fur was the most natural thing in the world. He caught me staring, and winked. I felt like a butt.

"That's Howie," Josh said

"And Howie's a…?"

"Special Agent."

"So is every…uh…in the DLNR...a Special Agent…"

"No. But it's kind of a family tradition."

"I wish—I sincerely wish—that one person here would stop treating me like I was an idiot."

"Sorry," Josh said. "Hey! You okay?"

"I've had a few surprises today, and a little girl has died, so Josh, before I punch someone in the nose, tell me, are you a…a…?"

"Sila."

"What's that?"

"Selkie is how most people know us. You know what…uh; you do know you're shaking?"

"I feel perfectly fine. What's a Selkie?"

"You're not about to get sick, are you?"

"My ears are buzzing. Everything's going black. Other than that…"

"Come on—!" Josh hauled me out of the tent, and pushed me down in the sand. "Head between knees."

No idea how long I was out of it. When I got back, Josh was rubbing my back. "Steve didn't say a word to you, did he?"

"Not a peep."

"Wow! I mean good for him, but—"

"Josh!" Ewe was back, stomping toward us with McGarrett, Ali and Jack trailing him. "What's going on? I need you to set up the bonfire."

"Danno's just having a little reaction." Josh leaned close to me and whispered, "Let me know if you want help beating the shit out of him." He gave me a last pat and then got up, snagged Ali by the arm, and took off.

"Thanks," I called after them. "I will."

"You all right, Danno?" Ewe looked really concerned.

"Spiffy," I said. "Really. Just need to…" I waved my hand at McGarrett.

"Be back in half an hour," Ewe said to Steve, and then took off. He had stuff to do, I guess. That left McGarrett standing over me with his arms full of gear. "What's all that?" I said.

"Sleeping bag and tarp."

"Lose it somewhere." I was a little wobbly, but I got on my feet. "We gotta chat."

We were going to talk, but first we walked. I wanted to be as far away from Ewe and the gang as possible. Not for one minute did I doubt that it was going to be a full, and frank, exchange of views, or else I was walking back to Honolulu and forgetting the whole thing.

Almost made it to the pinnacles. I could hear the waterfall on the heights above us when McGarrett balked. "How much further? Ewe said to be back."

"Oh, right," I said. "Ewe said to be back. That's fine. Okay. I need you to come here to me, right now."

And he came, like a lamb to the slaughter, with his arms open. When he was close enough, I popped him one on the nose.

"Hey!" he yipped and ducked, spewing a gusher.

"Hey!" I said. "What do you mean hey?! That felt good. Come to Papa. I wanna do it again." I gestured with both hands for him to come, and the idiot actually came back.

"Danny—!" I swung. This time he ducked. "Dan—!"

I nailed him with a blind hook. It felt just as good the second time, especially when he stumbled backwards and landed on his ass. "Was there something you forgot to tell me?"

"Danny, please…" He started to get up. "I couldn't tell…"

I yelled, "Get up. We're not done." I punched him again. That time, when he rolled over and got on his knees, I was sure he was winding up to come charging at me. I didn't care. All I wanted was an excuse to keep hitting someone. That's when I saw his shoulders were shaking.

"No fair!" I said. "Don't do that!" I couldn't hit a man who was bleeding, and blubbing. "Get up!" I yelled again.

But, hell, I couldn't even… Then I was on my knees, too, holding him while he cried.

He kept touching my face and repeating, "I'm sorry," over and over.

All right, I was blubbing, too. And it was ugly.

By the time we cried ourselves out, my throat was raw and it hurt to breathe. I fell over on my back. Oh, god, that hurt and all I could hear was my own hoarse breathing.

Then the pounding of the surf slipped through and steadied me. I stared up at the sky. Moonlight was shining on the tops of the pinnacles, reflecting through the mist from the waterfall, creating bright arcs of purple and blue and green and yellow. That was when I learned how sudden wonder can literally drive out every other emotion.

I pointed and said, "Look! It's a moon-bow!"

I'd never seen one. I didn't know it was possible.

McGarrett was sniffling beside me. I pulled him against my side. He sniffled in my ear.

"This doesn't mean I forgive you," I said. "I may never forgive you. But the moonbow almost makes it worthwhile…"

"Danny… I should have…" He wiped his nose with his hand. Then he wiped his hand on my shirt. If he was anything to go by, we were a snotty, bloody, sand-covered pair of messes. "But I had to have Ewe's permission before I could tell you."

"You're some kind of were-seal."

"Sila."

"Whatever. You all turn into seals."

"No. Most of us are fairly human."

"Don't tell me you can't turn into a seal." I was sure I'd seen him.

"If I have something to focus on." He touched the fur belt at his waist. "Like this."

"Ewe…"

"I know, Ewe said to be back." The moon-bow was vanishing into the night, as the rainbows had vanished into the day.

While we were limping back, I thought about Wanika. It occurred to me to ask where all the lady Sila were. He said it was complicated, and asked me what I knew about lady seals. I had to admit I didn't know much—they lounged around on beaches, in harems, eating fishy bonbons, waiting for the big guy to take notice. McGarrett actually snickered. Apparently it's a lot more complicated than that.

The torches on the heiau were dead, but there was a pile of driftwood on the sand that hadn't been there before. It was growing taller. I didn't know if the Sila went in for wiener roasts but I hoped they did. I was so hungry by then, that I would have eaten Spam on white with mayo.

I checked the coolers in the mess tent, but they were empty. I used the ice water to wash my face and, since clothing was optional, I made an ice-pack for McGarrett's nose out my t-shirt. A few guys were still hanging around. When the conch horn blew again, Jack popped his head in the tent, and said, "Everyone out."

The campfire was burning, and there were two lines of guys sitting cross-legged on either side of it, with the musicians closing the end of the rectangle. Josh waved us over. He had saved places for us close to the fire. He grinned at me.

The conch blew again. Ewe got up in the middle, and began to talk. No, he began to dance again, using his hands, because it was the only way he ever told this story:

"In the days before the first haole came to the islands, following Cook, most of the Sila lived on the small islands and atolls northwest of Kaua'i and Niihau. We spoke almost the same language as the kanaka, but there was little competition, because fish was plenty and we were never many. The two peoples could breed together but it was kapu to do so. For the most part, the Sila avoided kanaka, and kanaka avoided the Sila.

"Then two hundred years ago haole came into our waters hunting whales. The whalers—many of them were from Northern Europe—where they knew fur seals—and it was natural for them to take seals when there were no whales. They hunted us. We were slaughtered. The mothers with pups were easy to kill. The ano nui Hawai'i tried to tell the haole about the Sila. The Christian priests said that it was all lies and superstition.

"Then, in 1879, the kahuna ki‛i of the Sila made a treaty with a haole who owned a large parcel of land on this island of Kaua'i. He let it be a safe place for us to live. But it was almost too late. Few female pups were born. Too few survived. Only the kahuna ki‛i could break the kapu against mating with the kanaka, and he did. That was my great-grandfather Aleka Hale. Everyone here is a descendant of Aleka Hale."

Ewe stopped dancing.

"It is still true," he said. "Too few of our females survive. Tonight we sent our precious Wanika home." He clapped his hands. It was punctuation. "We will deal with Wanika's murderer tomorrow, but the rest of the night we're going to celebrate by welcoming Danno to the family of Aleka Hale."

Josh gave me a slap on the shoulder. I looked around. Ali and Jack were grinning at me on the other side of him. I turned to Steve. "Did I just acquire like thirty-five new in-laws?"

Before he could answer, Ewe came up to me and said, "I'm sorry, not everyone could make it."

There was food. I'm not saying there wasn't food, but I think I already said how I feel about poke and when it's still flapping around… Fortunately, someone broke out the serious booze. I'm not keen on umbrella drinks, either, but who was I to refuse someone handing me a pineapple daiquiri in a coconut shell. I needed it.

The rhythm band started playing; the Sila started dancing.

I've seen some good hula—at Chin's wedding reception, and a couple of luaus, and the Merry Monarch on the news—Hawaiians dance. So do the Sila.

When Sila dance, they don't go in for the leis, leipo'o and kupe'e that kanaka wear. They're not into that kind of display—nothing that glitters or drags in the water. They wear their fur, or go bare ass with a belt. And that's it. The dancing is a lot of hip and arm action that imitates swimming underwater, or the motion of waves and wind. And sex. What I learned is that they display their erections.

Some of them weren't strictly human. My god, I still cannot believe—after everything that happened that day—thick as my wrist and shaped like torpedoes—and the colors. After three or four daiquiris—I don't remember my coconut shell ever being empty—it was wonderful, like the iridescent magic of the moon-bow.

Then Steve got up and danced—black eye, swollen nose, and all. He danced and I forgot everything except the fire gleaming off of his flat stomach, hips and thighs. He was so hard and so beautiful I started to want to dance, too.

Guys from Jersey don't hula, except no one told that to the Sila. Someone pulled me into a line dance. Guys from Jersey—we can line dance. I have no idea what happened to my shorts and briefs. All that bronze and brown and white skin gleaming, and all those hard-ons wagging at me. Maybe I danced out of them.

Steve was in front of me, and facing me when I started dancing. Sometimes he'd break out of his line, and come press his chest against mine, or rub himself against me, or give me a nip on the cheek or the shoulder. Then he'd drop back, but his cock was beckoning to me.

I wanted to go to him, but I'd feel some guy behind me holding me, touching and nipping. I started feeling these spurts of fiery hot liquid spattering my thighs and ass, dripping down my legs, making me harder. Then all I wanted was to be fucked.

I turned my head and was Jack was behind me, biting my neck. I pushed my ass against him and then I felt his slick fingers probing. I wanted him to open me. I wanted Steve's cock in me so bad, but it was Jack's fingers were slipping in and out.

Then Steve was in his face, snarling and barking. Jack backed off. I went crazy with frustration. I didn't know what I was doing. I wanted Steve's cock in me so bad, but what I were Jack's fingers. I shoved Steve, and turned, looking for Jack.

Steve picked me up, dropped me face down in the sand and threw himself on top of me. He had me around the waist, lifting me up and, and I could feel the hard bluntness of his cock pushing into me. Much as I wanted it, I had this moment of clear utter freaked-out panic, because Steve's a big guy. Doing this without a few crucial steps beforehand…

We'd been working up to it, but…

That was when I found out how the Sila make it work in the water. I felt this thick hot greasy glop of stuff dribbling on my asshole. It's not the female Sila who lubricates, it's the male. Steve's cock slid inside me.

I relaxed.

And then I wiggled, trying to tell him I wanted more. I have idea how he kept it together, but he took me slow and made me wholly a part of him. And the pleasure was indescribable. Maybe what I was feeling showed on my face, because it felt like hot oily rain was falling on my back and shoulders.

Steve's hands…other hands…started rubbing it into my skin. I saw Ewe's cock bobbing close in front of my mouth. I licked it and sucked in the tip. It felt different—hard under the end—like there was bone in it.

But it felt good. I sucked as hard as I could. Steve was started to thrust. I was perfectly complete. Thrilled when I got a mouthful of Ewe's salty come, and I was ready for the next one. But then Steve pulled out!

I was empty.

Crying. Screaming. Being manhandled. They turned over, feeling me, still massaging that greasy lube into me, rubbing their cocks all over me. Now I could get my hands on them. I wanted them all. I grabbed. A couple of guys let me hold them. They were so hard, and they used my slippery hands to stoke themselves and bring themselves off.

That just made it worse. Mouth, ass, I didn't care who fucked me as long I got fucked. But no one would do it. They just kept coming on me.

Finally, someone lifted up my legs up.

It was Steve, he was back and settling me on his cock. I wanted him all the way in, but he kept pulling in and out slow. I don't know how he could stand it. His eyes were as black as I've ever seen them. Then, suddenly, he lost it, and slammed into me, over and over, with a hard, slapping sound. And then he went stiff, except his hips were jerking.

I could feel him coming inside me and I came with him like I have never come before in my life, giving it all up. A bunch of the older fur covered guys who had been standing over us, watching, came too, then, and made a point of squirting over both of us.

I lay there, wide open, Steve's cock going soft inside me. Steve didn't move, but others, the older guys first, tasted me, delicately, with the tips of their fingers and tongues, or just a touch of my semen to their lips, like a sacrament. The Sila, they're considerate people. No one fondled me or patted me. That was a good thing. After an orgasm like that, you feel pure, and complete, and perfect. But the wrong touch will shatter you.

Thank God—I say this in all sincerity—for the letdown. For the moment that the wet spot grows cold or, as in this case, seriously sticky and your lover finally slips out of you. You're alone in your skin…and it's sad…but you're so, so tired… I was falling into a velvet abyss, but I remember bodies twining in the firelight…other couples around us…going at it…I swear, any other time…

Someone brought a mat and a piece of tapa cloth and laid us both in front of the fire.

There's a reason my old man taught me to eschew umbrella drinks. I have no idea how long I was asleep. I woke up feeling kind of muzzy, but definitely with a ferocious need to piss, and… I will spare you the description of what I smelled like. I pried my eyes open, and looked around. The moon was low. There were Sila sleeping in heaps around the dying fire. They are a lot like seals. I guess that's where Steve gets his need to cuddle.

I disentangled myself from McGarrett, and got up. There was a port-a-john behind the mess tent, but…party last night.

From a cat's point of view, I expect a beach is nothing but a big litter box. I wasn't feeling so good, but I was clearheaded enough, and a decent respect for the opinion of my fellow ma…excuse me—my fellow sentient creature—sent me weaving along the wet sand below the tide line.

From the lapping of the waves, I could tell that the tide was far out. I went out a good bit, too, searching for a nice, big, private rock. I found one, made a pretty yellow rainbow against it and started to feel better.

Dawn in Hawaii happens as quickly sundown does and the sky was turning blue-grey. From a cat's point of view, the ocean is nothing but a big bathtub, and I really needed a bath. I waded out up to my waist and dove under a few waves. I thought it might finish the job of sobering Danno. I might have gone out deeper, but there was something strange… I thought the tide was starting to turn, but suddenly, the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

I wasn't alone in the water.

When I think of danger and the ocean, I think rip-tide, and I think shark. I don't think cute fur seals popping their heads up out of the water. The lock upon my garden gate's a snail, that's what it is… My father used to sing that to me, and I still sing it to Gracie. Then their bodies were rising, as they turned into real live furrys before my eyes. First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain…

There were at least eight of them—big guys—I had no idea what was going on, but I knew it was dangerous as hell.

I backed out of the water, and got as far up the sand as I could, before they had me entirely surrounded. One of them, he was bigger and seemed to be the leader, came up to me, huffing and snuffing.

They were all snuffing, huffing and making this wonk-wonk noise. The chief huffer-snuffer was dark furred all over, and his eyes were solid black—that is even weirder in day light—but I recognized him in spite of the fur. It was Mike, the pilot from yesterday.

"Hey! What's up?" I said. Stupid question, but Mike thought it was hilarious and gave me good look at his fangs.

"One of the Hale's pets wants to know what's going on," he said. "What's going on is I can smell Hales all over you. I bet I even know which one of them claimed you." He gave me a friendly little flick on my shoulder. Except it felt like he'd flicked a burn. "That's McGarrett's sign, right?"

I risked a quick look. It looked like a burn, black and blistered. Then I saw it was a raw tattoo that looked as if it had been carved into my skin. Didn't remember when that had happened.

"How 'bout that?" I said, sounding like an idiot. "I've never even been to Hong Kong. My mother's going to have something to say."

"Your mother's never going to see it," another huffer-snuffer said. And it had to be Marcus, the guy with the nerve to back-chat Ewe. "We don't recognize Hales' claims. They're the ones who are destroying us."

"Seriously, man, Maybe you should talk to Ewe. Because, I don't know what your problem is."

"Ewe Hale and Steve McGarrett are the problem. Calling themselves Sila! Living like kanaka. Passing for human. We're being destroyed from within, and it's because of the Hales. There are no pure blooded pups. The females do as they like. Polluting our race!"

"Don't you mean your species? And, you know, you say human like it's a dirty word. How's that I supposed to make me feel? I'm human." I know that song when I hear it, and I know a nut job when I meet one. You keep them talking. Delay, and pray the cavalry comes galloping over the rise. "What are you going to do? You know how it is with females. There's no reasoning with them. Take it from me; I know; one of 'em's determined to go, she's gone."

The Williams' charm hadn't worked on Mike yesterday, and it didn't work today.

"The Hales keep the females for themselves! They breed with kanaka! They breed with haole. Half-breeds! Animals! It's got to stop. I'm stopping it." He was in my face, screaming, and I was never to complain about Steve's fishy breath again. "Females who go with kanaka have to be put in their place. Ones that go with haole learn better. As for the Hale's pets, if we can't have the females…"

Screaming wasn't all that Mike was doing. He was milking himself. I could see a glistening glob of that oily lube on the tip of his cock. The others were doing it too. The huffing and wuffing was getting urgent. Obviously, not all of them had come out that day to hear Mike's speech. "I'll leave what's left when we're done for McGarrett to bury."

"Like you left Wanika for her father to bury?" That was a shot in the dark, but I was starting to panic. I've seen guys who had a train run on them. Remember what I said about thick as my wrist, and shaped like a torpedo…? This gang was shoving and muttering, pushing their chests at me. It didn't sound like friendly competition, either.

But my shot hand gone home. "No," Mike said, "Wanika was an accident. I mean like the haole she degraded herself with. Want me to spell it out for you?"

"No, I got the picture." I'd seen what they'd left of Chamberlain.

That was when Marcus lost it. Whatever his thing was, he came all over me. It's a thing the Sila do. It didn't know then, but they're territorial, and when they're sexually excited…

Mike turned on him in a snarling rage, more seal than Sila, and Marcus snapped back. Whatever was so vital for the two of them to hash out; the others couldn't have cared less. They piled on top of me and I went down, praying that, unlike Wanika, I'd be smothered before they raped me.

The next bit I had to get the details on from Steve later:

The cavalry arrived, but I missed the charge. Shots were fired, but no one killed. Not at that point. It was just to get the attention of the guys who were busy trying to rape me. One guy in particular wasn't too quick on the up-take. Good thing I was out of it.

…someone was very gently patting my cheek. "Danno! Danno! Open your eyes. Look at me."

McGarrett's pale face floated in front of me. He looked funny. "Where'd you get the shiner?"

"You gave it to me."

"Huh!" I thought about it, and things started to come together. It didn't feel like it would be a good idea to move, but I swept my eyes over what I could see, and didn't see a thing that I recognized. "Where am I?"

"On a cot in the telemetry tent. What did I tell you about going off by yourself?"

"That better be a rhetorical question," I said. "Why do I feel so woozy?"

"You've had a shot of morphine. You've got a broken collar bone, and some bad bruises…" He was holding on to my hand, although I noticed that he wasn't making eye contact. "There's a helo coming evacuate you to the hospital in Lihue."

I could hear the beating of the rotor as he was speaking.

"Anything else I need to know?" I had to ask.

"No. Except, that I love you." He bent over and kissed me. "Like my life."

"Good enough…" I squeezed his hand. "Think I'm gonna go back to sleep…for now." It was fine by me if I missed the trip to Lihue.

It was at the hospital there, though, that I met my first lady Sila. She was Ewe's sister, Dr. Lani Hale. Normally, she's a pediatrician, but she came by after I'd been checked in, to meet me and tell me a few things, but what she told me is hūnā. I kept looking at her eyes. She has the prettiest eyes.

I should finish up this part by saying what happened to Mike.

Marcus and the others? They were condemned to being human for the rest of their lives. Their belts were destroyed, and it was named kapu for them to wear one. If that doesn't sound like much of a punishment for manslaughter and rape, remember that a population of people which numbers less than 2000 can't afford to lose even one of them, no matter how horny, stupid or narrow minded that individual might be.

The exception was Mike.

He had instigated the mobbing that killed Wanika. He'd been responsible for Chamberlain's death.

They're Sila. There was no human court where he could be prosecuted. The kahuna ki‛i took away his belt. Then every one of them who was there that morning nicked him or cut him. They drove him, bleeding, into deep water.

When Steve and I got back to Honolulu, I had plenty of time for research. I read about walrus women in Alaska, and found legends about Selkies from Ireland, Scotland and Norway. But the Sila…? There's nothing—no images, no legends, no chants. I read up on monk seals. They're a big deal on Kaua'i now because of eco-tourism. Monk seals don't even rate a mention.

Funny, I found exactly one, count it, one article commenting that there were no legends about monk seals in Hawaiian culture. And that one article? The anthropologist who wrote it teaches at Windward Islands University. Funny.

Kamekona pretty much confirmed that the fix is in. He knows more about what's going on than you'd expect. He told me that it was hūnā, a very serious secret, told in a language I didn't know, and passed down in words that most Hawaiians don't know anymore.

I only found out that much from Kamekona, because—when it healed—my tattoo was interlocking spirals inside a circle that matched part of the design on Steve's left shoulder. The reason it hurt like a son of bitch when Mike poked me was that it had been carved into my skin. Someone used a stone knife, not a needle.

Kamekona took one look at it, and said, "Guess you and McGarrett finally did it, huh, brah?"

We did. We do.

Finis
28 December 2012