by Eileen Wilks
“Later.” She waved it away. “If Sheriff Porter has decided Benedict’s beast-lost, does he think he’s dangerous? Is he going to have people hunting the bear, or hunting Benedict?”
Uncle Clay’s frown kept digging deeper into his face. “The bear will be his first priority, but . . . maybe we should call Porter.” That seemed to be directed at Robin.
“I’ll call him,” Arjenie said, and bent to dig out her phone.
“No, let me.” Robin had her phone out already. She gave Arjenie an apologetic smile. “He’ll listen to me better. He still thinks of you as the young girl he met so tragically all those years ago.”
He wasn’t the only one who didn’t seem to notice that Arjenie had grown up. It was distressing. She was thirty-two. Her aunt and uncle had treated her like a responsible adult for years. What was it about her falling in love that made them think she was thirteen?
Maybe because it happened so suddenly. And with someone they’d never met. Someone who turned into a wolf at times, brought her into his clan, caused her to move across the country all of a sudden . . . She sighed. This was why she had to tell them about the mate bond. They’d probably still worry, but they’d be worrying based on fact, not imagination.
Robin had connected with the sheriff and was using her Voice of Authority—the one that combined CEO with Wiccan High Priestess. It worked on almost everyone.
“You’re planning something,” Uncle Clay said suddenly.
“Well, it’s up to me to figure out what Benedict expects me to do, isn’t it? Then do it.”
“Arjenie.” Her uncle spoke firmly. “The only thing he could possibly expect of you is that you’ll go home and wait for him.”
“No, he knows me better than that. Never mind. There’s something I need to tell you, and something we should discuss. I’m going to hit the second one first. I think we’re dealing with a skinwalker.”
Dead silence. Finally Clay said, “You ought to be joking, but you aren’t.”
“Hear me out. I don’t know how many of those bullets actually hit the bear, but some of them must have. The sheriff and both his deputies kept firing. Did you see that they had any effect on it at all?”
“No,” Robin said, “but that doesn’t mean the bullets didn’t hit. That was one huge heaping of bear. And even if you’re right about that, a magically defended bear does not equal a skinwalker.”
“There’s more that does suggest it, however. First, we know that Coyote’s here. He had to have a reason to show up, and it wasn’t to protect me from Benedict, despite whatever Sammy and Seri had in mind. So there’s a connection to Native Powers.”
“Maybe it was Coyote, maybe not. I agree that there may be some connection between this bear and one or more Native Powers, but none of that adds up to skinwalker.”
“Plus there’s the way that cow just happened to show up and draw everyone’s attention, giving the skinwalker a chance to attack. That was planned.”
“That’s a possibility, I guess. But so is coincidence.”
“I think the cow was directed there, but you’re right, it’s possible the bear just took advantage of the distraction the cow provided. Either way, there was conscious planning behind that attack—which was deliberate and seemed to be directed at us. The bear didn’t charge the deputies shooting at it. It came at us.”
“The bear didn’t know who was shooting at it!”
“It came at us, not the deputies,” Arjenie repeated. “Now, bears will guard their kills, but the body was gone, so that’s not what happened. A mother bear will attack to protect her cubs, but there weren’t any cubs. That just wasn’t normal bear behavior.”
Robin was silent longer this time. “It might be rabid.”
“It shouldn’t be here at all,” Arjenie retorted. “Someone imported a Kodiak bear—or the hide from one, which they used to turn themselves into a bear.”
“Skinwalkers are myth. Legend. Nothing more.”
“Dragons were myth and legend until they returned last year.”
“Dragons were also theoretically possible. Skinwalkers aren’t. For heaven’s sake, Arjenie! You know enough about how magic works to know that skinwalkers aren’t possible. The stories about them . . . well, some anthropologists believe there may have been early contact between the Native populations and lupi. That could easily have started the skinwalker stories.”
She was not making a dent in what looked more and more like Wiccan bias on her aunt’s part. If it wasn’t possible in Wicca, it wasn’t possible at all. She twisted to look her aunt in the eye. “Earth, Air, Fire, Water . . . and the fifth element is spirit.”
For a moment Robin was confused. Then her eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “You’re claiming that skinwalking uses spirit to accomplish what magic alone couldn’t do. But spirit uplifts. Enlarges. It doesn’t turn someone into a bloodthirsty killer—which all the skinwalker stories say happens to someone who takes an animal form that way.”
“Spirit in Wicca uplifts and enlarges because we call on the Lord, the Lady, and the Source. There are other spiritual practices. Other powers and beings to call on. That bear was tainted by death magic, Aunt Robin. What is death magic but a perverted spiritual practice?”
Robin could not agree that death magic had anything to do with spirit. It was a blind spot Arjenie hadn’t realized her aunt possessed. In her mind, spirit meant “good.” Evil practices and energies, therefore, could not be spiritual, so the fifth element could not be used to create a skinwalker.
Religiously, “spirit equals good” was probably a perfectly fine doctrine. Magically, though, it was limiting. In the normal way of things, that limitation wouldn’t matter, but it mattered a great deal now. If there was a skinwalker and he had attacked her family the way Arjenie thought, her aunt and uncle and everyone were in great danger.
They argued about it for another four or five miles. Finally Arjenie said, “I’m expecting a call from a shaman I know. She’s trained in Navajo ways, and she’s extremely accomplished. She’ll be able to tell me if I’m off base about this.”
“Well.” Robin took a deep breath, as if settling herself down. “My ego might like it better if you’d take my word for it, but my ego isn’t always the best guide. If you’ll listen to this shaman, I’ll be satisfied.”
Arjenie wasn’t at all sure that was true, if it turned out Nettie disagreed with Robin. But she let it drop. “What can you tell me about K. J. Miller? Do you think he might have some Native blood? Have you ever wondered if he might be Gifted?”
“K. J.?” Robin was incredulous. “Don’t tell me you think he’s your skinwalker.”
“Not many people would have access to the skin of a Kodiak bear. He’s hunted bear in Alaska.”
Robin waved it away. “The man’s deranged and downright nasty at times, but that’s a long way from being a homicidal maniac.”
“K. J.’s got some ancestor or another who was Apache,” Clay said suddenly. “I don’t remember how far back, but a great-granddaddy or something like that.”
Robin gave her husband an accusing look. “Do not encourage her.”
Clay returned her glance mildly. “I think we should listen to her. Not accept it as fact straight out, but listen.”
“I’ve been listening.”
“You’ve been arguing.”
This silence was even heavier than the others had been. It made Arjenie’s stomach knot.
About the time the quiet got too thick to breathe, Clay said, “I don’t know half of what either of you do about magical theory, but it seems like we should hear what that shaman has to say before we makes up our minds.”
Robin’s breath huffed out. “Before I make up my mind, you mean.” But there was a thread of humor in her voice. “All right. Maybe I’m being a bit dogmatic.”
Arjenie managed not to say, You think? Mostly because she loved her aunt dearly, but partly because they’d have gone off in another wrong direction then and they were nearly home and she
still had to tell them the other thing. “I have something else to tell you that has nothing to do with Native Powers and magical theory. Well, possibly with spirit,” she conceded. “At least I have the idea that it partakes of all five elements, but that’s not my reason for telling you.”
“I didn’t follow that at all,” Clay said.
“You have to agree to hold this as secret as you do the land-tie.”
Robin gave her a sharp glance. “This is about Benedict.”
When her aunt wasn’t being close-minded, she was very bright. “Yes. It’s a big lupi secret. Do you agree?”
They did, so she told them about the mate bond. How it was a gift from the lupi’s Lady, who might be an avatar of the feminine half of Deity, but the lupi didn’t think of her that way, so maybe not, and besides, the Lady didn’t want worship. How the bond was a physical tie that let her know where Benedict was and vice versa; that it made them physically highly compatible; that it could only be severed by death. Also that a lupus would be utterly faithful to his bonded mate and that the bond placed limits on how far apart they could be.
“. . . so I couldn’t come visit when you asked,” she finished, “because Benedict couldn’t get away then. He wasn’t being all Svengali and controlling, and I wasn’t being all weak and dependent. We just can’t put that much distance between us.”
“This is . . . a lot to take in,” Robin said. “You think this Lady the lupi believe in placed this bond on you? Not Benedict?”
“That part is certain. The Lady is real,” she added. “Not a belief system or a creation myth. I haven’t heard her, but I know those who have, and they are entirely reliable. She’s an Old One.”
Robin chewed that over a moment. “That’s a rather large concept to digest. That you know people who have talked with an Old One, I mean.”
Actually, she knew people who had fought an Old One. Not face-to-face, maybe, but they’d fought her and continued to do so. In her own way, Arjenie was, too.
Uncle Clay turned into their lane. “I’m bothered by one thing.”
“Only one?” She smiled at him. “That’s less than I expected.”
“This mate bond . . . I could have sworn you and Benedict were in love.”
“Oh, I didn’t tell it right! We are. The bond makes us lovers, but it doesn’t make us love each other. We did that part on our own.”
“Ah.” His face creased in a smile that made his beard look much happier. “That’s all right, then.”
“You know where he is right now,” Aunt Robin said suddenly. “Can you tell what’s happening to him?”
“No, I only get a sort of directional sense and a really rough idea of how far away he is.” She pointed. “He’s thataway, more than five miles but less than twenty.”
Her aunt’s face took on a severe cast, one that went well with the Voice of Authority she used next. “Arjenie, you aren’t planning to go looking for him, are you?”
Arjenie’s eyes widened in surprise. She had to ask? “Of course I am.”
Chapter Eleven
The wind had died. The temperature had dropped. Fat white flakes drifted down, reflecting light as they pirouetted toward earth. Benedict limped up yet another hill and snarled at the air.
His leg had gone from painful to searing every time something pulled on the damaged muscle. He moved it as little as possible, but why couldn’t the damn bear have gotten his foreleg instead?
A foolish thought. The bear had meant to kill him. He’d twisted in midair and taken the blow on his haunch, which was vastly better than the gut wound he would otherwise have gotten. Pain was making him stupid as well as cross.
It didn’t help that he didn’t know where he was. He’d gotten spoiled. He could see that now. Back home he could have oriented himself easily anywhere within a couple hundred miles of Clanhome. Here . . . well, he’d looked over a couple maps before they came, but that, it turned out, wasn’t enough. Had he stayed two-footed it might have been, but wolves don’t orient themselves spatially the same way men do. At some point, he’d gotten lost.
We’re about five miles from the south border of the Delacroix land, Coyote told him cheerily.
I wasn’t thinking at you.
Then don’t think so loudly.
Benedict glanced at the little dog trotting tirelessly beside him. How could fifteen pounds of terrier keep going for mile after mile? How are Havoc’s pads holding up?
They’ll do. I may not have enough power to maintain my own body, but I try to be a good guest.
Did that mean Coyote was extending some kind of magical assistance to the little dog? Benedict hoped so.
The terrier stopped. Cocked her head. And something very like a sigh, coated with sadness, washed over Benedict. I was afraid of that.
What?
I’ll tell you as we go. We have to hurry now.
There was a great deal of commotion when they got home. Arjenie expected that. She expected her aunt and uncle to try to talk her out of going to find Benedict, too, and so they did.
She did not expect to find the twins on her side.
“We’ll go with you,” Sammy said.
She looked up from lacing up one of the custom-made hiking boots she’d recently added to her wardrobe. “You will?”
“Of course we will,” Seri said.
“You most certainly will not,” Robin said crisply, then frowned as her phone tolled. Her ringtone sounded like cathedral bells. She pulled it from her purse and her frown deepened. “Don’t anyone go anywhere until I take care of this.”
“I’ll go with you, too,” Uncle Stephen said quietly.
Arjenie beamed at him. Uncle Stephen would be excellent backup.
Clay turned to his brother, frowning. “I don’t appreciate—”
“She’s going to go, Clay. Whether anyone goes with her or not, she’ll go. Best if one of us is with her, don’t you think?”
“It’s not as if I’m going alone.” Arjenie pulled on the other boot. “Remember Josh and Adam?” Who were in the kitchen now. She’d briefed them when she called, including instructions to eat plenty of dinner first. “They’re going with me. Or perhaps I’m going with them, because the big reason for me to go is so I can bring Benedict’s men to him. He’ll need them.”
Stephen’s eyebrow cocked up. “You think you can find him, then? I don’t recall that your finding spell was anything special.”
“I won’t actually use a finding spell. It’s something else, and I can’t tell you what, but I can certainly find him.” Now she’d better get herself a sandwich or something. Unlike most Gifted, her magic was drawn in part from her physical body. Use much of it and she got terribly hungry. Use too much, and she passed out.
She’d used a pretty good wallop of it when she set all those mage lights blazing. She stood up. “Those who are going with me need to dress for a hike. Most of it will be cross-country, probably several miles.”
“Arjenie.” Seri was exasperated. “You aren’t up for miles of hiking across rough country.”
“I’ve been working out with Benedict—or rather, he’s been training me. He’s very good. I’ve gone for all-day hikes up and down the mountains out there without turning my ankle.” Well, only one hike had lasted all day, and they’d taken several breaks, but that wasn’t the point. “That country is a lot rougher than this.”
“I suppose.” Seri looked dubious. “I’ll get my—”
“Clay.” Some note in Robin’s voice had everyone turning toward her.
She put up her phone. “That was Sheriff Porter. We’re needed. A little girl has gone missing. Snatched, they think. They need me to find her.”
In the end, Stephen went with Robin instead of Arjenie. So did Clay and Ambrose and Nate and Gary, whose Earth Gift was pretty weak, but he’d balance the circle. Hershey was staying here with Sheila and Carmen to protect the children. He was a powerful Fire Gifted, stronger even than Uncle Clay. And Carmen knew how to shoot.
&nb
sp; It should be enough. It had to be enough, because Sammy and Seri were determined to go with Arjenie. She only hoped that Benedict was on the trail of the skinwalker still, because that meant the evil creature was several miles from the Delacroix home.
They did drive part of the way, taking the rutted old road Clay’s grandfather had used to carry hay to the horses he’d raised back in the thirties. It took them to the edge of Delacroix land.
“Okay,” she said when they got out. “Here’s how this will work. I’m in charge of strategy, but Josh here—you’re senior, right, Josh?—Josh is field commander. Tactics, in other words.”
Josh was about five seven, burly, with dark hair and eyes and the sweetest smile. He offered it to her now. “Does that mean you’ll do what I say?”
“If it doesn’t interfere with strategy—which right now is to get to Benedict.”
“All right. Adam, we’ll be moving slow enough for you to take roving point. Change, please.”
Good thing she’d brought the backpack again. Adam’s clothes went in it, along with one of his two guns, a shoulder holster, phone, and shoes. The other gun went to Josh, who used Adam’s ankle holster to carry it. “Two guns?’ Arjenie said, eyebrows raised at the silvery wolf who wagged his tail at her.
“Adam likes to be prepared,” Josh said.
“I told you that bullets didn’t seem to do much damage to the bear. Maybe not any damage.”
Josh nodded. “You think it’s a skinwalker.”
“A skinwalker!” Sammy looked shocked.
“We didn’t hear that part,” Seri said. “In all the commotion when you got home, we didn’t have a chance to ask questions.”
Sammy nodded. “And we have a lot of questions.”
So for the first mile or so, Arjenie told them, in detail, why she thought the bear was a skinwalker. To be fair, she outlined her aunt’s objections to this theory, ending with her suspicions about who the skinwalker might be.
“K. J. Miller?” Seri wrinkled her nose. “He’s a complete asshole, but I don’t think—”
“I don’t know, Seri,” Sammy said darkly. “Remember the cat?”
