Her eyebrows lifted. “This scent is that distinctive?”
“Scents are distinctive in ways that vision doesn’t approach. Coyote’s scent . . .” Like a coyote, of course, the very essence of coyote, which included the meaty musk of a predator . . . but also sage and sand and wind, sun-baked earth and beetles, and the thin, clear singing of stars through air cold enough to make your eyes water . . . “There is nothing like it.”
Arjenie nodded. “So you think Coyote pushed you into the Change—”
“I didn’t say that. Coyote is around, yes. He was in the barn. I don’t know if he’s the one who pushed me into Change.” Benedict shrugged. “It’s the sort of thing he would do, though. Stir things up. Laugh about it.”
Robin was frowning. “You think he’s here physically.”
“I smelled him. Your stallion did, too.”
“The tribes native to this area don’t include him in their lore.”
“Coyote isn’t always Coyote. Probably they knew him in some other guise.”
“I should have said that their lore doesn’t include a Coyote analogue. No trickster figures. I know some of the Native lore,” she added. “When Adam and Sarah Delacroix came here in 1814, they were careful to learn what they could and pass it on. Remnant powers, even if they’re no longer worshipped, can react unpredictably to Wiccan rites.”
He shrugged. “Could be that too many people died to pass down the relevant stories.” When Europeans showed up on this side of the ocean, they brought their diseases with them—smallpox, whooping cough, typhus, cholera. The experts argued about just how many died of the new diseases, but even conservative estimates put it well above the one-third kill rate of Europe’s Black Death. “And Coyote isn’t a remnant power, if I understand the way you mean that.”
“A power indigenous to the land that has faded over the centuries.”
“That’s what I thought. Coyote hasn’t faded.”
Arjenie spoke up. “Coyote range—I mean little-c coyote—has increased greatly since the eighteen hundreds. They exist in all forty-nine continental states now, including some urban areas. Maybe that’s why Coyote hasn’t faded.”
“Maybe.” He had to pause and smile at her. Arjenie collected facts the way some people collect stamps or coins or Star Wars figures. She loved them, shared them, sucked them up like a vacuum cleaner. “Or maybe his little brothers have prospered because he’s here.” He looked back at Robin. “You don’t believe it was Coyote.”
“I’m sorry. No.”
Arjenie shoved her chair back suddenly and stood. “We should take a walk.”
Her aunt frowned at her. “Arjenie—”
“He needs to know. We can all three take a walk, or it can be just me and Benedict.”
“You will not speak of it to him.” The words were quietly spoken, but for the first time, Robin’s authority was unsheathed. She meant it.
Arjenie didn’t say a word. Just looked at her aunt.
“Gods help me,” Robin muttered, standing. “You weren’t this stupidly lovesick as a teenager.”
Chapter Four
The problem with arguing with someone who raised you was that the other side had all the ammo. Arjenie considered her aunt’s comment unworthy of her, a cheap shot, but if she pointed that out, they’d still be arguing, only about the wrong thing.
Stupidly lovesick. That stung.
Everything kept going wrong. She’d wanted so much for everyone to see Benedict like he really was, to appreciate him and stop worrying about her. And he’d been so anxious, determined to do everything he could to get them to like him, or at least accept him, and then the whatever-it-was forced him to Change and Uncle Clay pulled a gun on him, and she was so mad at Clay, and now she was mad at her aunt, too, and she hated that.
So Arjenie maintained a dignified silence as the three of them put on jackets and went out the back door. Not without a lot of questioning looks—and a few spoken questions—from the rest of the family, but she let her aunt handle those.
The sun was well on its way down. Shadows were long and crisp and the air had a bite. Not yet freezing, she judged, but headed that way, and the breeze had grown up. It was wind now, and a frisky one, suggesting a front was blowing in. Maybe they would end up with the snow the forecast called for. Not that a sixty percent chance meant it was a sure thing, but snow on Yule would be wonderful and . . . and it was stupid to be worrying about snow when she had more important things to settle. Only she’d had this picture of snow outside and the family inside, all warm and together and . . .
Benedict took her hand. She sighed at herself and smiled at him.
“We’ll head toward the barn,” Robin announced as she shut the door behind her. “No, wait. Will Josh and Adam be able to hear us?”
“Josh is on the roof of the barn. He’d certainly hear. Adam is patrolling.”