He took one last, deep sniff and lifted his head. What he needed to tell them could not fit into a yes-and-no set of questions. Sometimes this form was limited, but . . . he trotted down toward the creek. The ground was damp here and bare of grass. Good. He looked over his shoulder at Arjenie and waited.
She hurried to him. “You want me to see something?”
He nodded once, then used his paw, holding it at an angle so one claw only dragged through the damp dirt. It was awkward and would win no penmanship awards, but it worked. She her mage light lower so she could follow as he scratched out: D-E-A-T-H M-A . . .
“Death magic?” Arjenie exclaimed. “Is that what you smell?”
He nodded and kept writing: B-E-A . . .
“Death magic and bear?”
This time when he nodded he sat to let her know that was the full message.
“What in the world does that mean?” Clay had moved closer. “Can he really smell death magic?”
“I’m told it has a distinctive and highly unpleasant smell,” Arjenie said. “Nothing we can detect, of course, and I don’t know if magically null animals smell it. But lupi definitely can.”
“If there’s enough death magic present, I’ll be able to detect it with the scrying spell,” Robin said. “If not, we’ll need the defining spell.” She looked at Benedict. “Would you say there’s a lot of death magic there?”
He shook his head. If the scent hadn’t been so distinctive—and so distinctly unpleasant—the reek of bear and blood would have covered it up.
“What could death magic possibly have to do with a bear?” Porter asked.
Arjenie answered. “I guess we’ll have to figure that out, but I can think of all sorts of possibilities. Maybe someone laid a compulsion on a bear using death magic. Or it might not be a real bear but some kind of phantasm summoned through death magic. Or someone used a bear somehow in a death magic ritual, then had him eat the body. Or it’s something we’ve never heard of that involves death magic and a bear—maybe something Native American? Because—”
“Pretty fanciful.” Aunt Robin gave her A Look.
Arjenie interpreted that to mean she wasn’t to mention that the twins had been experimenting with calling on Native Powers. She could see the reasoning. Whatever they’d done, it hadn’t involved death magic, and mentioning it now would probably mean lots of long explanations. Better to get on with what they came here for. “We can’t eliminate the fanciful without more data.”
“True.” Uncle Clay was brisk. “Sheriff, it does look like we’ll be needed. We’ll get our circle set, but if there’s death magic involved, you’ll want to call in the FBI.”
“I’m aware of that.”
Robin had placed her tote on the ground and knelt there to unpack it. Spell stuff, Benedict assumed. His nose identified sage and rue and lilac. She had a small brazier, too. “Let’s get started.”
Arjenie moved near her aunt to help. Seri and Sammy—who’d been whispering to each other, perhaps forgetting what good ears he had—came to join them.
Those two were guilty of something. Most of their whispers had been twin-speak and he lacked a translator, but he was pretty sure they’d been assuring each other that what they’d done couldn’t possibly have caused this.
He checked on the two deputies. They’d fanned out and faced out, like Porter told them. That was something, but the man should have sent one of them up onto that southern outcrop of granite. Good vantage point. Good place for something to launch an attack, too.
But he couldn’t correct the sheriff’s failings without speech, and at least those rocks were upwind. His nose should tell him if anything used them to approach their group. Better get on with what he came here for.
Clay came toward him. “We’ll check that bit of fur the sheriff has, but I’d like some dirt from the place where you smelled death magic, too. Can you show me where to get it?”
Clay would get blood as well as dirt. The ground was saturated with it. Would digging there disturb the scene? Benedict looked at the sheriff, but the man was asking Robin something, not paying attention to Benedict. Well, Porter had said they’d already searched for evidence. If he didn’t want Clay digging, he could say so.
Benedict pointed out the edge of the worst-smelling spot to Clay, then put his nose to work another way—following the bear-plus-death-magic reek the creature had left on the ground.
Following a scent trail was not as simple as humans seemed to think. It was easy to tell the difference between fresh scent and that laid down hours ago, but the scent he needed to track was at least a day old, and the bear had been all over this ground. That one spot smelled more strongly than the rest told Benedict the bear had lingered there with its kill for some time.
Yet it hadn’t eaten much. Benedict considered that as he moved around the edges of the open space, sniffing. Not only had the bear left much of its prey uneaten, it hadn’t bothered to cache the body for later. He didn’t know for sure if bears did that, but it was a common predator behavior. But this bear had gobbled up the treats—the liver and kidneys, maybe—and abandoned the rest.
Not a very hungry bear, was it?
He’d nearly finished his check of the perimeter when he found what was either one wide scent trail or two overlapping ones headed for the creek. A little more checking confirmed that it was the only scent trail out of here. Damn. He couldn’t track through water. Maybe he could pick up the trail on the other side of—
The sharp crack of a rifle split the air.