meant…”
Ellery trailed off, unwilling to say the words. Even if it meant her death .
After a few moments, she mustered the will to continue. “In my coyote form, I ran all the way down the mesa to Roanhorse’s place. I knew I’d never see my sister again—that she wouldn’t make it out of that situation alive. I decided as I ran that I’d convince Roanhorse to come with me, and we’d leave the Rez for good. It was just too dangerous for people like us to live among those who had no interest in learning about Changers—no interest in accepting us for who we truly are.
“And as I ran from my home, I hear the sound of a rifle shot. That was when I knew my sister was gone.”
Ellery picked up the glass and downed half the lemonade in one long draft. Her throat was dry and constricted. Now it tasted too sweet, so sweet she could have choked on it.
“Well,” she said lightly as she set the glass back down, “now you understand why I don’t talk to Typs much—not about this kind of thing. People like you don’t want to understand people like me. You Typs think you’ve got Paras all figured out, that you’re right and we’re wrong, and your righteousness is all that matters to you. It’s better for Paras to keep their mouths shut, to keep our heads down and avoid the danger. If we can.”
Hosteen nodded in bleak acceptance of Ellery’s stance. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he said, “I can see how that makes sense, from your perspective. But now… now there’s a killer on the loose. And we know that killer is a Changer—or at least we suspect it. The danger isn’t just from the Typicals. Not anymore.”
“I know.” Ellery sighed, suddenly flooded by an unspeakable weariness. The ache of two long flights surged up in her body. “There’s more to tell, too. But it’s stuff I really don’t think a Typ can understand. Something has changed about our magic, and I don’t know what or why, or even how to explain to you why it’s different, why it’s so frightening. Everything is changing so fast. I barely recognize my own world anymore.”
“Can you try to explain it to me?” Hosteen asked. “I want to help, if I can. And maybe that difference will lead to some clues about Mr. Roanhorse’s murder.”
Ellery fiddled with her owl bracelet, twisting it around her wrist. “Maybe. Though it’s hard to trust you, Hosteen.”
He held up his hands in a gesture of apology. “I know I should have told you in advance that I’d asked my partner to meet us at the crime scene.”
“It’s not only that. It’s… everything I’ve gone through in my life. No Typ can be trusted—not completely.”
“I wish you could see me as more than just a Typ, Ellery. I take my work seriously; I want to find this killer before he strikes again. Whatever some people might think of Changers like Mr. Roanhorse, I respected him as a member of our tribe and our community. And you might think this makes me a rarity among police, but I don’t take the loss of any life lightly, whether Typical or Paranormal. Roanhorse is just as important to me as any other murder victim. I want to do my job, and do it well. I want to catch his killer, no matter what it takes. And I think if I’m going to catch him, I need to understand Changers a whole lot better than I currently do.”
Ellery sagged back against the sofa, relenting. “All right. I’ll tell you what I can, if you promise to believe what I tell you. Forget everything you think you know about shapeshifters.”
“You’re the authority,” Hosteen said. “I promise.”
“Well,” she began, feeling more than a little uncertain, “I already explained the differences between Chanters, Casters, and Changers.”
He nodded. “Can you tell me exactly how Changing works? Maybe that will give me some direction in pinpointing a suspect.”
“I don’t think I can tell you, and not because you’re a Typical. The truth is, I don’t think anybody really
Ellery trailed off, unwilling to say the words. Even if it meant her death .
After a few moments, she mustered the will to continue. “In my coyote form, I ran all the way down the mesa to Roanhorse’s place. I knew I’d never see my sister again—that she wouldn’t make it out of that situation alive. I decided as I ran that I’d convince Roanhorse to come with me, and we’d leave the Rez for good. It was just too dangerous for people like us to live among those who had no interest in learning about Changers—no interest in accepting us for who we truly are.
“And as I ran from my home, I hear the sound of a rifle shot. That was when I knew my sister was gone.”
Ellery picked up the glass and downed half the lemonade in one long draft. Her throat was dry and constricted. Now it tasted too sweet, so sweet she could have choked on it.
“Well,” she said lightly as she set the glass back down, “now you understand why I don’t talk to Typs much—not about this kind of thing. People like you don’t want to understand people like me. You Typs think you’ve got Paras all figured out, that you’re right and we’re wrong, and your righteousness is all that matters to you. It’s better for Paras to keep their mouths shut, to keep our heads down and avoid the danger. If we can.”
Hosteen nodded in bleak acceptance of Ellery’s stance. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he said, “I can see how that makes sense, from your perspective. But now… now there’s a killer on the loose. And we know that killer is a Changer—or at least we suspect it. The danger isn’t just from the Typicals. Not anymore.”
“I know.” Ellery sighed, suddenly flooded by an unspeakable weariness. The ache of two long flights surged up in her body. “There’s more to tell, too. But it’s stuff I really don’t think a Typ can understand. Something has changed about our magic, and I don’t know what or why, or even how to explain to you why it’s different, why it’s so frightening. Everything is changing so fast. I barely recognize my own world anymore.”
“Can you try to explain it to me?” Hosteen asked. “I want to help, if I can. And maybe that difference will lead to some clues about Mr. Roanhorse’s murder.”
Ellery fiddled with her owl bracelet, twisting it around her wrist. “Maybe. Though it’s hard to trust you, Hosteen.”
He held up his hands in a gesture of apology. “I know I should have told you in advance that I’d asked my partner to meet us at the crime scene.”
“It’s not only that. It’s… everything I’ve gone through in my life. No Typ can be trusted—not completely.”
“I wish you could see me as more than just a Typ, Ellery. I take my work seriously; I want to find this killer before he strikes again. Whatever some people might think of Changers like Mr. Roanhorse, I respected him as a member of our tribe and our community. And you might think this makes me a rarity among police, but I don’t take the loss of any life lightly, whether Typical or Paranormal. Roanhorse is just as important to me as any other murder victim. I want to do my job, and do it well. I want to catch his killer, no matter what it takes. And I think if I’m going to catch him, I need to understand Changers a whole lot better than I currently do.”
Ellery sagged back against the sofa, relenting. “All right. I’ll tell you what I can, if you promise to believe what I tell you. Forget everything you think you know about shapeshifters.”
“You’re the authority,” Hosteen said. “I promise.”
“Well,” she began, feeling more than a little uncertain, “I already explained the differences between Chanters, Casters, and Changers.”
He nodded. “Can you tell me exactly how Changing works? Maybe that will give me some direction in pinpointing a suspect.”
“I don’t think I can tell you, and not because you’re a Typical. The truth is, I don’t think anybody really
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