earth.
“How could it do that? My mother is the monster, not me.”
Don’t worry. I’ll destroy you before you can do too much damage. I love you, Janet Begay, but that doesn’t mean I won’t put aside my feelings and kill you.
“It is always so comforting to talk to you.”
Coyote chuckled. I could do more than comfort, if you’d let me. Sex with you would be wicked.
“Restrain yourself.” I glanced at the corpse. “Do you know who it is?”
I know. And yes, a god would make this kill if they thought it necessary.
“And you’d do that to me? If you thought it necessary?”
Yes.
I stared down at the pile of bones and gore in disquiet. The vultures moved about it unhurriedly, their wings spread for balance. The dream was mercifully free of smell, but I remembered the stench.
“Tell me one thing,” I said. “Those people who gave us a ride in Death Valley, the Shoshone. They weren’t what they seemed, were they? Did you send them to help us?”
Coyote’s tongue lolled from his mouth as he started to pant. For that one, you’ll have to ask the lady Crow.
The crow. I hadn’t seen her in a while. “I’ll give her a call.”
She doesn’t like to talk on the phone.
“I know. I’ll ask her when I drive up again.”
Coyote winced. She’s quite a woman, your grandmother. She doesn’t like coyotes, and she wields a mean broom.
I had the satisfaction of laughing. “If she went after you, I’m sure you deserved it.”
Coyote didn’t bother to answer that. Time to wake up, Janet. But I have a little gift for you.
“Don’t give me anything. Really.” Gifts from gods, especially trickster gods, weren’t always what they seemed.
You’ll like it, Janet. Trust me.
Famous last words. I noticed as we talked that the corpse had disappeared, and so had the scavengers. Thunder rumbled in the distance, followed by a waft of rain-drenched air. I inhaled, my mind calming.
The dream dissolved, and I woke up in my bed. It was early morning, the sky gray, and rain poured down outside the window. Mick was gone, but he’d left me cocooned in a nice warm bed that smelled of him.
I lifted my hand as lightning struck a few miles away and let sparks dance between my fingers. A gift indeed.
I realized as I rolled out of bed and stepped out my back door to enjoy the storm that Coyote had never answered me directly about either the identity of the victim or whether he himself had done the murder.
Nine
The storm was an autumn storm, not as wild as the monsoons that swept through during spring and summer, but one that brought steady rain and languid rumbles of thunder. I threw back my head and inhaled the clean air.
Magellan sits on a plateau that slopes slowly from the Mogollon Rim and the ten-thousand-foot White Mountains to the vistas of the Painted Desert. Wide, deep washes and gorges like Chevelon Canyon crisscross the desert floor on the east side of the old railroad bed, fissures cut by eons of flowing water. Most of the time, these washes were dry, but they’d start filling if this kept up. A shallow one ran right through Magellan, the highway curving alongside it. A few of the side streets had bridges over Magellan Wash, but many were simply cut off when it flooded. Most towns in the desert have a wash or two or three to worry about, but bridges are expensive, and mostly we just put up with it.
The storm enhanced my healing spells, and I felt much better. My bathroom mirror showed me that the wound on my head had dwindled to a yellow green bruise, and the skin on my burned arm was healthy and brown again.
I wanted to go back to the scene of the crime now that the body would be gone, to see if I could read anything, especially with my storm powers to help me. The killing had been cruel and nasty, and I needed to know what kind of being had done this and where to hunt it down.
Cassandra volunteered the information that she’d seen Mick ride away north on his bike, so I’d have to go on my own.
“How could it do that? My mother is the monster, not me.”
Don’t worry. I’ll destroy you before you can do too much damage. I love you, Janet Begay, but that doesn’t mean I won’t put aside my feelings and kill you.
“It is always so comforting to talk to you.”
Coyote chuckled. I could do more than comfort, if you’d let me. Sex with you would be wicked.
“Restrain yourself.” I glanced at the corpse. “Do you know who it is?”
I know. And yes, a god would make this kill if they thought it necessary.
“And you’d do that to me? If you thought it necessary?”
Yes.
I stared down at the pile of bones and gore in disquiet. The vultures moved about it unhurriedly, their wings spread for balance. The dream was mercifully free of smell, but I remembered the stench.
“Tell me one thing,” I said. “Those people who gave us a ride in Death Valley, the Shoshone. They weren’t what they seemed, were they? Did you send them to help us?”
Coyote’s tongue lolled from his mouth as he started to pant. For that one, you’ll have to ask the lady Crow.
The crow. I hadn’t seen her in a while. “I’ll give her a call.”
She doesn’t like to talk on the phone.
“I know. I’ll ask her when I drive up again.”
Coyote winced. She’s quite a woman, your grandmother. She doesn’t like coyotes, and she wields a mean broom.
I had the satisfaction of laughing. “If she went after you, I’m sure you deserved it.”
Coyote didn’t bother to answer that. Time to wake up, Janet. But I have a little gift for you.
“Don’t give me anything. Really.” Gifts from gods, especially trickster gods, weren’t always what they seemed.
You’ll like it, Janet. Trust me.
Famous last words. I noticed as we talked that the corpse had disappeared, and so had the scavengers. Thunder rumbled in the distance, followed by a waft of rain-drenched air. I inhaled, my mind calming.
The dream dissolved, and I woke up in my bed. It was early morning, the sky gray, and rain poured down outside the window. Mick was gone, but he’d left me cocooned in a nice warm bed that smelled of him.
I lifted my hand as lightning struck a few miles away and let sparks dance between my fingers. A gift indeed.
I realized as I rolled out of bed and stepped out my back door to enjoy the storm that Coyote had never answered me directly about either the identity of the victim or whether he himself had done the murder.
Nine
The storm was an autumn storm, not as wild as the monsoons that swept through during spring and summer, but one that brought steady rain and languid rumbles of thunder. I threw back my head and inhaled the clean air.
Magellan sits on a plateau that slopes slowly from the Mogollon Rim and the ten-thousand-foot White Mountains to the vistas of the Painted Desert. Wide, deep washes and gorges like Chevelon Canyon crisscross the desert floor on the east side of the old railroad bed, fissures cut by eons of flowing water. Most of the time, these washes were dry, but they’d start filling if this kept up. A shallow one ran right through Magellan, the highway curving alongside it. A few of the side streets had bridges over Magellan Wash, but many were simply cut off when it flooded. Most towns in the desert have a wash or two or three to worry about, but bridges are expensive, and mostly we just put up with it.
The storm enhanced my healing spells, and I felt much better. My bathroom mirror showed me that the wound on my head had dwindled to a yellow green bruise, and the skin on my burned arm was healthy and brown again.
I wanted to go back to the scene of the crime now that the body would be gone, to see if I could read anything, especially with my storm powers to help me. The killing had been cruel and nasty, and I needed to know what kind of being had done this and where to hunt it down.
Cassandra volunteered the information that she’d seen Mick ride away north on his bike, so I’d have to go on my own.
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