Harvest Hunting

Page 23

Business was brisk at the cafe, with nearly every table fil ed. Scenic photos from around the area covered the wal s, 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 smel 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 rol ?"
Camil e broke into a grin. "What the hel . One of your big biscuits and honey, please. And a Sprite."
"I'l take a cinnamon rol . 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'l 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 al seemed to be on the thin side, lean and wiry, and most were tough. Marion had curly red hair--almost mahogany--pul ed 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 Cafe 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 rol and Camil e 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?"
Camil e 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 perpetual y tanned can turn. "In my office. Now. Bring your food."
We fol owed 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, spil 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 Camil e, she leaned forward.
"I'm going to tel 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'l 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 spel 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 tel 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 tel you a story. A legend among my people. This, my grandmother told me, in these words, and so I tel you now. You are the first non-coyote shifters to hear this story. At least from me."
"We're honored, and we wil not abuse your trust," Camil e 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 fol owed 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."
Camil e 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 al powerful gifts, the gem was two-faced, and Nukpana began to live 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 wil ingness to live in harmony with others. He used his knowledge of trickery and il usion 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 fol owed him, setting up their own vil age 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 Camil e 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 fel 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 fel , kil ed by the dust of time, the heirs of the Koyanni have searched for the gem, hoping that it wil help them fulfil what they believe is their destiny. They remain true to the twisted lessons Nukpana taught them, far from their origins, and the Great Trickster stil mourns the lost tribe."
"So . . . the Koyanni . . . who fol owed Nukpana . . ."
"They're considered the lost tribe by the rest of us. They turned from the teachings of the Great Trickster and fel 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."
"Thank you," I whispered. "Question: You said some of the shadow path tribes are local?"
"Oh yes," Marion said, her voice fal ing to a whisper. "They live up here, and they're dangerous and magical and enticing. They use il usion to get what they want, and poisons of al sorts. If they wanted your friend, she's dead and painful y so, unless they have a reason to keep her alive."
Camil e slid to the front of her chair, and the room seemed to take on a darker feel, as if the spel Marion had invoked was wearing off. "Do you know where they live?"
Marion looked up, meeting our eyes. She shuddered. "They walk the city streets. No wild places for them. They live in the urban areas; they haunt the suburbs. I don't have an address, but I know they live in the city--I've heard rumors of a house in Bel es-Faire, but I don't know exactly where. I'l see if I can find out anything. But you can be sure they've a hand in creating the Wolf Briar."
Feeling like the enemy was al too close for comfort, I thanked her, and we left.
"Let's head over to Mary Mae's." Camil e pul ed out of the parking lot. "It's close enough to the time she gave you."
"Sure." As we sped along the streets, I final y looked over at her and said, "So Amber has one of the spirit seals. The one Nukpana wore. And now the Koyanni are after her. They must be able to sense it. Nukpana wore it for so long that it must stil have some of his energy imprinted on it."
"And they fol owed her up here--or contacted friends up here--and took her out with Wolf Briar. But why didn't they just steal it off her when she was out in the hotel? Why kidnap her?" Camil e shook her head. "There's another piece of the puzzle we aren't getting."
"Yeah, and I don't like it. There--that must be the house." I pointed to a smal house set back on a narrow, tidily mowed lawn. Camil e paral el parked with an ease I'd never mastered, and we hopped out of the car.
I glanced at the house. Wel -kept but ragged. Mary Mae and Paulo might be lower income, but they didn't let that stop them from making the place as homey as possible. As I opened the chain-link gate, I could hear a dog bark--probably the backyard. We headed up the walk, but the place looked silent and too quiet.
Once we were standing on what passed for a porch, I noticed that the door was ajar. I gestured to it with a nod of the head, and Camil e caught my gaze. She backed up, and I could tel she was summoning the Moon Mother's energy just in case we needed it. I didn't usual y carry my dagger along with me, but I had a tidy little stiletto affixed to my wrist. Chase would have chewed me out if he knew I wore it--the blade was entirely il egal. But that never stopped us before.
I motioned for Camil e to step back, and she plastered herself against the side of the house. Raising one booted foot, I slammed the door open and darted in, Camil e right behind me. A glance around showed the living room was empty, but Camil e tugged on my arm and nodded to the kitchen.
"I hear something," she mouthed.
We raced toward the open archway. I ducked through, and my first impression was one of blood. Everywhere. The wal s were stained red, the floor covered in a pool of the thick, viscous fluid. And in the center of the pool--a woman, very pregnant. Very dead. Mary Mae. It had to be.
The scent made me reel, and I felt Panther waver, wanting to come forth.
Camil e darted around the blood toward the back door, which was standing open, and disappeared into the backyard. I fol owed just in time to see her shooting an energy bolt at a thin, gaunt man who was racing for the back fence. It hit him, and he turned, snarling.
I raced past her, flipping the wrist blade open. "Stop right there!"
He pul ed something out of his pocket and threw it toward me. The thing exploded on the ground. Wolf Briar. Fuck!
My senses reeling, I screamed for Camil e to stay back, but those were the only words I managed to get out before Panther took over and I found myself shifting, transforming. The minute I was on al fours, I bounded after the man, who was clambering over the fence. In one leap, I cleared the chain-link and was on his heels. I chased him down the al ey and got in a good swipe. The second swipe took him down, and he rol ed over on his back, his eyes wide with fear.
I landed on his chest, growling, knowing I needed to keep him alive, but the scent of the woman's blood was thick on his jacket, and a terrible anger wel ed up inside--fury that he'd taken her life, her child's life, that he had put my sister in danger. Without thinking, I caught his throat in my teeth.
"No, no--" He tried to break free, his arms wrapping around my neck, but I clenched harder, and he let go. A crazed look fil ed his eyes, and I saw my own bloodlust reflected back at me--he was a kil er, al right, I could feel it in his soul. And I could feel something else, too--he was Were. A coyote shifter.
Without realizing what I was doing or how I was doing it, I began to read his thoughts, sensing him lash out at Mary Mae, seeing him thril as he slashed her life away, feeling his relief that she wouldn't be able to say a word about Paulo. He'd kil ed her to keep her quiet, and he'd enjoyed every second of it.
The man was mad like a devil, and it was his time to go.
Startled, I felt Greta next to me, and she gently rubbed my fur as I held him. She knelt beside me and whispered, "No--it's not time for you to learn this.
Delilah, back away."
But I ignored her plea and with one garbled growl, I shook the life out of the coyote shifter. As he dropped to the ground, a limp dishrag, I nuzzled him, rol ing him over. I felt so alive it terrified me.
CHAPTER 14
By the time I'd licked her blood off of his chest, along with some of his own, Camil e found me. She cautiously approached, her hand out.
"Delilah? Delilah, back away. We have to identify him. We have to cal Chase because of Mary Mae. It's time to come back, Delilah." Her voice was soothing and yet commanding, and I found myself paying attention to her.