Harvest Hunting

by Galenorn, Yasmine

  The house sprite dipped her head. “You’ll know at some point. But for now, sleep well, my dear. Sleep well.”

  As I headed upstairs, I pondered what Iris could be keeping secret. It was enough that Camille had promised to visit the Northlands with her—a journey not for the faint of heart. In fact, it was a daunting journey and—with what we knew about Smoky’s father and him being on the rampage against my sister and her husband—potentially dangerous.

  My thoughts whirling, I slipped into my Hello Kitty night-shirt, flipped on the TV in my room, and settled in for an hour or two of late-night TV and junk food. And I realized that even though the other side of the bed was empty, I wasn’t lonely. I felt secure and comfortable, and for once I was glad to be alone with my thoughts. It was a soothing end to an otherwise stressful day.

  CHAPTER 13

  For once, a beam of sunlight broke through my window the next morning. I woke, blinking against the light, and found that I’d buried not only myself but the mostly empty bowl of Cheetos, a half-eaten Snickers bar, and a bottle of water under the brand-new quilt I’d bought a month ago. The Snickers bar was melted to my pillow. Delightful. The water bottle had come open, and I was lying in a wet spot. Lovely. The Cheetos had stained the sheets, but against the earthen tones of the comforter, the orange wasn’t that noticeable. One out of three isn’t too bad.

  Since I kept a mattress protector beneath the sheets—my hairballs were a constant threat—only the sheet had gotten wet and stained, and remembering Iris’s last reminder when she’d dumped my cat box on top of my bed, I stripped the sheet and put it in the hamper. She didn’t mind making the beds, but she and my sisters had pounded through my head just how much of a slob I was and how badly I’d abused her services. I was trying to make sure that I helped out more.

  I opened the window and immediately slammed it shut. The sun might be shining, but it couldn’t be more than forty degrees outside. Digging through my closet, I came out with a pair of brown cords and a green pullover. I slipped my feet into a pair of cowboy boots, spiked up my hair with a dab of gel, and brushed my teeth. Earthside had it all over Otherworld when it came to dental hygiene technology, that was for sure. And being half-human, our teeth weren’t as strong as our father’s people.

  When I was done, I grabbed my purse and headed downstairs. The smell of bacon and eggs drifted up the stairs, and I inhaled deeply, my stomach rumbling. We had a lot to do today, and in the back of my mind, I couldn’t forget the fact that every moment her captors had her, the danger to Amber grew.

  Iris and Camille were at the table, Maggie in her playpen. The kitchen was otherwise empty. I glanced around.

  “Wow. Where is everybody?” The breakfast table was usually jumping. I glanced over to the sink and saw the pile of rinsed dishes. “Looks like everybody’s already had a go at the food.”

  Camille grinned. She looked better. “Trillian, Smoky, and Morio have enlisted Roz and Vanzir to expand the studio into a multiroom apartment. It’s not the best weather for building, but I think they can get a lot done today if the rain holds off. The guys certainly could use the room, and now and then I really want my bedroom to myself and the three of them out of the house. Husbands or not, they can be a pain in the ass.” She dotted the corners of her lips with her napkin. “When do we head out for Mary Mae’s?”

  Iris handed me a sandwich of eggs, bacon, and toast. I wolfed it down, feeling oddly energized. My encounter the night before had done more than comfort me. I felt recharged.

  “She said to come over around ten A.M.”

  The phone rang, and she answered. After a moment, she handed it to me.

  “Luke here. I just heard from Jason.”

  “And?”

  “Rice has been placed in Arizona. He’s not up here. And something else—Jason told me that there’s some big to-do going on in the desert down there, among one of the minor Packs.”

  Damn it, that meant likely Rice had nothing to do with his wife’s disappearance, and we were back to square one. “What kind of to-do?”

  “A string of deaths occurred in one of the werewolf Packs down there. Five beta males, all turned up dissected, their scent glands and other organs missing. They’ve cleared all the rival clans in the lycanthrope community. But there’s more. The scent of magic was picked up at one of the bodies—trickster energy. Dark trickster energy.”

  Trickster. There were a few clans that fed on trickster energy. Rabbits, jackals, hyenas . . . coyotes. “Coyotes—coyote shifters. From what Wilbur said, the coyote shifters down in the jungle use Wolf Briar to take over territory and kill off their rivals.”

  “Fuck. Territory wars?” Luke fell silent for a moment, then said, “Coyotes—the good ones—are helpful to no end. But the bad ones . . . they’re dangerous and ruthless. They give Demonkin a run for their money.”

  “We’d better look into the coyote Packs around here. Although what they might want with Amber is anybody’s guess. Nothing against your sister, Luke, but she’s a solitary pregnant female, and she’s not the Alpha’s wife.”

  “Yeah, I hear you. So how’s Camille doing today? The Wolf Briar wear off?”

  “She’s feeling better. We’re going to talk to Paulo’s fiancée, and I think we’ll also drop in on Marion at the Supe-Urban Café and see what she can tell us. Meanwhile, you try to figure out what the hell a group of coyote shifters would want with your sister.”

  “The question for the win. I have no idea. I haven’t talked to her much over the years, until she called saying she needed to move up here. She sounded slightly crazed, but I thought it was the hormones from the pregnancy. Okay, I’ll let you get busy.” He hung up, and I stared at the phone before handing it back to Iris.

  “This is as bad as fighting the werespiders. We didn’t know what they wanted, but in the end, it wasn’t anything good.” I ran down what Luke had told me about the trickster energy and the werewolf deaths in Arizona.

  “Somebody in Arizona is producing Wolf Briar then. And so is someone up here. We have to make three stops today—Marion’s, Franco’s, and Madame Pompey’s Magical Emporium. I hate that we aren’t closer to finding Amber,” Camille said, carrying her dishes over to the sink and rinsing them off to stack them with the rest. “I keep thinking they’re torturing her or that she’s already dead. And there’s no good way to find out.”

  “Is there any way you could scry on her? Find out if she’s still alive?”

  Camille frowned, thinking. “I might. My spell of Finding won’t do anything more than point the way if she’s being held captive. Unless it backfired and dropped us into the captive’s lair.”

  “Hell, I’d almost go for that—but not without backup. One whiff of the Wolf Briar, and we’d both be down for the count.”

  “Yeah, about that. Sharah called today, told me be careful because I’m sensitized to it now, and subsequent exposures could cause an allergic reaction—which could be anything from mild to fatal.”

  “Wonderful. Okay, what about the scrying? Can you do it?”

  “Bring me a bowl of water. Use one of the crystal ones.” She sat back down at the table, closing her eyes and breathing softly as I prepared the water for her. We had several silver and crystal bowls that both she and Iris used for magic, and I pulled out the clearest one. Then, in a spurt of inspiration, I ran up to her study and found the Tygerian well water from back home in Otherworld. Couldn’t hurt to give it a little extra oomph by adding a bit of holy water to the mix.

  When I returned, I saw that Camille was holding Amber’s picture. A touchstone. I added a cup of the Tygerian water to the tap water, and it spread through the liquid like oil, then blended, and the liquid took on a startling clarity. Cautiously, I wrapped my arms around the massive bowl and carried it over to the table.

  Camille let out a long breath, and as I watched, she leaned over the bowl and opened her eyes. She searched the water, face pensive, scanning for—what I didn’t know. Magic confounded me, amazed
me, and frightened me.

  When Camille was wrapped up in the energy, it was as if she belonged to another realm, one that swept her away and consumed her. I couldn’t reach where she went. But then again, she couldn’t follow me into my realm as tabby and panther. We had our own private kingdoms—the same with Menolly and her bloodlust. And yet, each of us stood stronger together than apart.

  A swirl of mist rose from the water, and she gasped and sat back. “Look,” she whispered, pointing at the bowl.

  I gazed in at the still surface, waiting till the mist cleared. There she was—Amber. She was in a cage, holding on to the bars, a plaintive look on her face and—wait a second.

  “What’s that around her neck?”

  Camille leaned forward, squinting. After a moment, she jerked her head up, a frightened look on her face. “That can’t be what I think it is, can it?”

  Around the frightened Were’s neck was a golden chain, and on the chain a pendant of the clearest topaz, brilliant yellow and sparkling. The setting was ornate, carved, and looked extremely old. And the gem glistened, even in what appeared to be dim light.

  “It looks like the others, doesn’t it?” I sucked in a deep breath. Could Amber really have what we thought she did? And if so, how the hell did she get hold of a spirit seal?

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Camille frantically scanned the image again. “I can’t make out anything other than that she appears to be in a cell—a cage—and the light there is dim. I have no idea where she is, and I can’t see anything to give us a landmark.” She slammed the table with her hand. “If she has one of the seals, we have to find her before she’s killed.”

  “What would the coyote shifters want with the spirit seals? Would they even know what they were?”

  Camille grabbed her coat. “Iris, we’re heading over to Marion’s. She should be at her café by now.”

  I grabbed my jacket and purse. “Right behind you. Let’s take my—”

  “Not your Jeep. The sun may be out, but it’s cold and supposed to get colder today. We’re taking my Lexus.” She held up her keys. I shrugged, giving in before I even bothered arguing, and we headed down the steps.

  The Supe-Urban Café was on East Pike, and it was a hangout for Supes of all kinds, but especially Weres. We’d first met Marion—a coyote shifter, the owner—at a Supe Community meeting, and then, a few weeks back, she’d helped Camille and our friend Siobhan escape from a crazed psycho stalking the selkie.

  Business was brisk at the café, with nearly every table filled. Scenic photos from around the area covered the walls, landscape shots of Mount Rainier and the city of Seattle—the Space Needle, down at the docks, Seattle Center—urban scenes mingling with the wild. The tables were polished wood, and the chairs were simple but sturdy—wood and green leather.

  The smell of hot coffee, chicken soup, and fresh bread lingered in the air, and though we’d just eaten breakfast, the scents were enough to make my stomach growl. We took a table and motioned to Marion, who was behind the counter, making change for a customer.

  She meandered over, coffeepot in hand. “Coffee? Biscuits and honey? Cinnamon roll?”

  Camille broke into a grin. “What the hell. One of your big biscuits and honey, please. And a Sprite.”

  “I’ll take a cinnamon roll. And if possible, a few minutes of your time. We have a few questions we could use some help on.”

  Marion nodded. “Let me put in your order, then I’ll be right back to talk to you girls.” She headed toward the warming shelf and slapped our order up. Then, Sprite in hand, she returned and settled down at our table.

  The woman was gaunt, but not for lack of food. Coyote shifters all seemed to be on the thin side, lean and wiry, and most were tough. Marion had curly red hair—almost mahogany—pulled back in a neat ponytail, and her eyes flashed hazel. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt and a green apron that had the Supe-Urban Café logo embroidered on the corner. Leaning back against the chair, she folded her arms and smiled.

  A waitress came in with our order and handed me a gigantic cinnamon roll and Camille what was truly the biggest biscuit I’d ever seen, along with a nice big dab of butter and a miniature pitcher of honey. As the waitress excused herself, Marion motioned for us to eat up.

  “What can I do for you?”

  Camille glanced at me and nodded as she slathered the biscuit with butter and honey.

  I cleared my throat. “This is a delicate situation, Marion. We don’t want to appear accusatory, but a problem has come up, and we’d like your take on it.”

  Marion glanced around, but everybody seemed involved with their food, drink, books, and conversation. “Okay, what’s up?”

  I leaned forward and kept my voice low. “We may have a problem with some . . . coyote shifters making Wolf Briar. Or buying it.”

  “Fuck. Just fuck.” She paled, as pale as someone perpetually tanned can turn. “In my office. Now. Bring your food.”

  We followed her past the kitchen, with its steaming pots and pans, to the office in the back, where she dropped into the chair behind her desk and motioned for us to sit. “Now that we’re in private, spill it.”

  I ran down everything that had happened, leaving our speculation about the spirit seal out of the mix. Marion played with a piece of wood she’d been whittling into a figurine as she listened. When we came to the Wolf Briar traps hitting Camille, she leaned forward.

  “I’m going to tell you something my people don’t talk much about. For one thing, the coyote tribes keep to themselves, and we don’t like our secrets to get out. But another: We have some dark cousins among our midst, and to speak of them . . . it’s feared we’ll invoke them by doing so.” She opened a drawer and withdrew a figurine of a coyote. He was standing up, a mask across his face, carrying a bag over his shoulder. “May Coyote Master hear our words and keep them secret,” she whispered, touching the statue reverently.

  A tingle ran down my back. Magic. I may not always pick up on it, but this was tangible and felt comforting—like crawling into a warm bed with a thick quilt. A moment later, the room lay muffled and silent.

  “Now we can talk safely, away from prying eyes.” Marion glanced at the clock. “The spell should last for about fifteen minutes.”

  “I didn’t know you worked magic.” Since werewolves had an innate mistrust of magic, I had just assumed that most coyote shifters would, too. “I thought most canid Weres didn’t use magic.”

  “Werewolves don’t, but coyote shifters? Some of the most magical weres around. We run Trickster energy, my feline friend. The great Coyote is inherently magical, and so are those true to his path. But we can talk about that later. I need to tell you something, and this must remain secret—if anyone asks, you didn’t find out from me. Got it?” She folded her muscled but lean arms across her chest.

  “Got it.”

  “I’m going to tell you a story. A legend among my people. This, my grandmother told me, in these words, and so I tell you now. You are the first non-coyote shifters to hear this story. At least from me.”

  “We’re honored, and we will not abuse your trust,” Camille said.

  Marion nodded. “Then I begin. A thousand and a thousand years ago, the Great Trickster gave his people the power to shape-shift into coyotes. It was a gift from him, for his people followed his path and had grown wise from his teachings. And for being so attentive, the Trickster bestowed a special gift upon the leader of the first tribe of shifters, whose name was Nukpana. The gift was a gem, and the gem shone like the sun. Nukpana wore the gem around his neck, a sign of the covenant between the Great Trickster and the shifters.”

  Camille let out a little gasp but kept her tongue. Oh yeah, this was going just along the direction we wanted to hear. So the Great Trickster had possessed one of the spirit seals. Wonderful.

  “The gem strengthened the peoples’ powers to dance with chaos and live through the unexpected. But as with all powerful gifts, the gem was two-faced, and Nukpana began to l
ive for chaos rather than living with it.” Marion let out a long sigh. “Nukpana tipped the scales.”

  I licked my lips. “He began to toy with the balance of order and chaos?”

  “Correct. Nukpana began to practice dark magic, and his greed overcame his willingness to live in harmony with others. He used his knowledge of trickery and illusion for power rather than to make his peoples’ lives better. Soon, his son rose up with a group of those who were unhappy with the changes, and they forced Nukpana out, driving him into the desert. But there were some enticed by the sorcerer’s magic, and they followed him, setting up their own village where they threw themselves into learning the darker arts of chaos. They reverted to Koyaanisqatsi—a life out of balance. His descendents are known as the Koyanni.”

  “I don’t think I like where this is going,” I said softly.

  “The story does not end happily.” Marion shook her head. “Your friend is in grave danger if what I suspect is true.”

  She continued as Camille and I listened, eating our food.

  “The Great Trickster tried to turn the Koyanni from their path—it saddened him to see Nukpana use the great gift he’d been given to twist Coyote’s teachings. And so as the years went by and Nukpana fell further into the dark path, Coyote sent Akai, one of the Fox Brethren, into their midst to steal the gem and hide it. Nukpana, by now old far beyond any natural life span, abandoned his people and chased the cunning Akai through the centuries. Long after he fell, killed by the dust of time, the heirs of the Koyanni have searched for the gem, hoping that it will help them fulfill what they believe is their destiny. They remain true to the twisted lessons Nukpana taught them, far from their origins, and the Great Trickster still mourns the lost tribe.”

  “So . . . the Koyanni . . . who followed Nukpana . . .”

  “They’re considered the lost tribe by the rest of us. They turned from the teachings of the Great Trickster and fell into the shadows. The shadow tribes are scattered across the country now—but I know some live up here. And definitely down in Arizona. They could easily have chased down your friend and captured her, though I haven’t the faintest idea of why.” Marion shook her head. “The Koyanni are vicious and cruel . . . they use trickery to hurt. They don’t honor their word.”