“Understood. They won’t be talking to anyone. I’m going to see if I can find someone who knows something about fighting grizzlies. I’ve never fought one.” He was hoping he wouldn’t fight one now, either—not up close and personal—but he wanted as much information as possible. He didn’t think any Nokolai had had that experience, but he knew who had. Etorri’s territory was in Canada. A few years ago, two Etorri had been badly mauled and a third one killed by a grizzly. Benedict didn’t know how to reach those men directly, but he knew who could put him in touch with them.
“I told you to put the phone up.”
“You’ve forgotten what I said about asking.” Benedict had already sent a text to his men. Thinking it might be more diplomatic, being less obvious, he texted his brother instead of calling: Call me. Urgent. Rule would talk to the Etorri Lu Nuncio or Rho, who would have one of the surviving Etorri call him.
“It’s too damn late, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. But they won’t be gossiping, so there isn’t a problem.” Benedict put his phone up. “Has this deputy of yours hunted grizzlies?”
“No. His uncle has.”
“I’ll want to talk to him.”
“Mr. Turner.” Porter was angry. Benedict could hear the tension in his jaw when he spoke. “You seem to be under the impression you’re in charge here. You aren’t.”
Turner was his father’s surname, not his, but Benedict let that pass. “I’m in charge of what I do. I’m not in charge of you or your men—or your deputy’s uncle, for that matter. I’m not challenging your authority,” he added, thinking he needed to put it bluntly. Humans had different rules. He wasn’t used to operating under those rules and might be sending signals he didn’t intend to.
“But you don’t consider yourself under my authority.”
“No.” How could he be? Two people had the right to give Benedict an order—his Rho and his Lu Nuncio. No one else. Though he would probably obey if his Rhej told him to do something, that was a matter of service, not authority.
Arjenie spoke from the back seat. “Sheriff, when you say ‘authority,’ Benedict hears ‘submit.’ There’s a whole language of submission for lupi, so it gets complicated, but I don’t think he can submit to you. It might violate his duty to his Rho. He will, however, cooperate with you.”
Well, he could accord the sheriff the leadership of the hunt . . . but he didn’t think a human would understand what that meant. Besides, he didn’t know if the man was good enough to take lead. “Allies,” Benedict said suddenly. “That term means the same to you it does to me.” At least he thought it did. “We’re allies in this matter, but I’m in your territory, so I’ll defer to your wishes as much as possible.”
“Defer to my wishes.” Porter shook his head and slowed.
They’d nearly reached those headlights, which did, as Benedict had suspected, belong to another sheriff’s department car. A deputy stood beside it holding a rifle pointed at the ground. Good choice of weapon. He was talking to a man in civilian clothes—fifty or so, stringy hair, dark beard, also holding a rifle. There was a second vehicle parked on the shoulder—an old truck. “Is that your hunter?” he asked. “The misogynist?”
“That’s him. You can talk to him later, I suppose.” Porter sighed. “Robin, what have you gotten me into?”
So Benedict’s inclusion was Robin’s idea? Satisfaction flickered, deep down. Arjenie’s aunt must trust him more than he’d thought. “I’ll be useful,” he assured the sheriff. “You’ll be glad you brought me in.”
The body had been found near the portion of Moss Creek that ran through Foggy Draw. That surprised Arjenie—she hadn’t thought anyone lived near the draw. It was rough country. Also a lot closer to Delacroix land that it would seem from the time it took to get there. They’d had to go roundabout, to the far end of the draw where there was a bridge, then back again.
The deputy’s car marked the place where they had to turn off the county road onto a pair of ruts that didn’t really deserve the designation of road. Robin was telling Arjenie what they’d do as they headed down that tree-lined track. “First we’ll cast for traces of magic. We want to know if this is a normal bear or something else. Once we know that, I’ll try a Find, using that bit of fur they found as a focus. I may need to draw on the circle, depending on how close the creature is.”
Arjenie nodded. One reason Wicca had survived when magic grew so thin after the Purge was the way Wiccan circles could pool their power so the high priest or priestess could use it. “You’ll scry for magic first?”
“Yes. I’ll do it in circle so we’ll be ready to move to the defining spell if I find any traces of magic.”
Though a circle always helped, it wasn’t necessary to scry for magic. But the defining spell did take a circle, and the courts would only accept findings from a defining spell. It revealed the presence and type of magic to the entire circle, not just the principle caster, and having multiple witnesses testify to the same findings was supposed to eliminate individual bias or error. “If you’re needed to Find the creature, I can handle the defining spell.”
“If I’m not in the circle, the numbers are off.”
“Benedict could participate.”
Her eyebrows rose. “He can take part in a Wiccan circle?”
“I don’t see why not. He can’t cast spells, but he’s got plenty of power.”
Porter spoke. “This is as far as we go in the car.”
The dirt tracks ended in a make-do sort of turnaround where cars had come often enough to keep grass and weeds down. Directly ahead a dark wall of trees and foliage marked the edge of the draw; their headlights picked out a bright yellow strip of crime scene tape tied between a small tree and a bush. Arjenie figured that marked the path they’d take down into the draw.
They parked next to another sheriff’s department car. The deputy belonging to this one was female and stood outside her vehicle, holding a rifle. “Keep your weapon in the holster,” Porter told Benedict, then clicked something that unlocked the back doors. Arjenie climbed out, the backpack she’d borrowed from Sammy in one hand.
Clay and the twins were right behind them in the weathered Ford truck Robin used in her veterinary practice. He stopped the truck a few yards back of the sheriff’s car. There wasn’t much room.