He didn't say anything, which I took as answer enough.
His breathing grew labored until I started to be seriously worried for him.
"It's the earth's magic," Coyote said, sitting down beside me on the side opposite Adam's struggle.
Adam growled, a hoarse and pained sound that was nonetheless a threat.
"No harm to you or yours," Coyote told him. "I stand guard for you. They were supposed to tell you to change before you came here. I suppose the instructions got garbled in the translation from Jim to Calvin. Mother Earth does not change easily--that is an aspect of water or flame. Earth magic is interfering with his change, but it shouldn't make it impossible."
Impossible wasn't good--but I buttoned my lips because even I knew that intent and will played a part in any kind of magic. No sense putting doubts into Adam's head until he really failed to shift.
"What are we doing tonight?" I asked Coyote to give myself something else to think about.
"Probably wasting our time." He didn't look at me but stared out over the world spread beneath our feet. I noticed that he seldom spoke directly to me. Half the time it felt as though he addressed the open air instead.
"And if we aren't wasting our time?" I waited a minute, trying not to listen to Adam's struggles because he wouldn't want me to hear him. I could feel the claustrophobic panic that he was repressing. He couldn't afford for me to panic, too. "Come on, Coyote. It isn't a secret because even Calvin knows."
He laughed, slapping his leg. "Point to you. Fine. Fine. I'm hoping to call a little help. We aren't what we once were, and some of us never were much for interfering with people. But Raven is curious, and Otter should feel he has something at stake." He paused, glanced at me, and continued, "Nice black eye, Mercy. Upon reflection, Otter might be on the wrong side. That would be unfortunate."
"You're calling the others like you?" I asked.
"There are no others like me," he returned. "None as handsome or strong. None as clever or skilled. None with so many stories told about them. Who was it brought fire down so people could roast their food and keep warm in the winter? But I'm hoping to call the others, yes."
"Other what, exactly?" I asked. "Just what kind of creature are you?" The fae, some of them, had set themselves over the early residents of Europe as deities. The Coyote stories never had that feel to them. Coyote was a power but not one who asked to be worshipped.
"Have you read Plato?" he asked.
"Have you?" I returned because the idea of Coyote reading The Republic or Apology was absurd and somehow totally believable because of its very absurdity.
"You are familiar with his theory of forms," Coyote continued without answering my question.
"That our world isn't real but a reflection of reality. And in the real world there are archetypes of things that exist in our world, which is how we can look at a chair we've never seen before, and say, `Hey, look. It's a chair.' Because in the real world, there is an object that is the epitome of chairness." I used my history degree about twice a year whether I needed to or not.
"Close enough," he agreed. "I am the reality of all coyotes. The archetype. The epitome." He smiled out into the darkness. "You are just a reflection of me." "They should have called you Narcissus," I told him, trying not to flinch at the sounds that Adam made. "Too bad you aren't the enemy we need to defeat. We could just put out a mirror for you to admire yourself in."
"And then they wouldn't call you Mercy anymore," he said. "Your name would be She Who Traps Coyote." He reached over and took my hand, and said in a low voice, "It won't be much longer. But I'd wait until he invites you to look before you gaze into his eyes."
"Are your sisters really berries in your stomach?" I asked him.
"Ah," he said delightedly. "You need to find someone to teach you the rude versions of my stories. They are much more entertaining. Modesty prevents me from telling stories about myself."
I laughed, as he meant me to.
"My sisters aren't speaking to me right now," he finished with great--and I suspected entirely feigned--dignity, "so it does not matter what they are."
Beside me, Adam rose with a snarl. I lowered my head to show that I was no threat. After a bad change, it would be a few minutes before Adam had a leash on his wolf. To my surprise, Coyote bowed his head as well.
"I like this man, your husband," he told me. Maybe it was an explanation. "He would have attacked me for putting you in danger--even though the wolf knew exactly what I was. And yet, when you asked him to have patience, he did. It is proper that men listen to the counsel of women."
"Like you listen to your sisters?" I said, as the wolf put his nose just under my ear. I tilted my head to give him my throat. Sharp teeth brushed against my skin, and I shivered.
"Wise women," Coyote agreed. "But sometimes pushy and easy to rile. I think they need to develop their sense of fun. They do not agree with me, so maybe they are not so wise as all that, eh?"
Adam shook himself hard, his ears making a flapping sound--a signal.
I turned to look at him, and he jerked his nose up toward the monument. I changed into my coyote self--which did seem to take a little more effort than it normally did--and followed Adam up the hill, Coyote striding beside us.
At least he wasn't Baba Yaga or Yo-yo Girl, I thought. GORDON WAS TALKING QUIETLY WITH CALVIN AND JIM when we walked into the henge's circles. Jim was barefoot, dressed in new dark jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that looked to be blue in the light of the candles, though my coyote eyes are not always trustworthy with color at night. Gordon's boots, for instance, looked black, but I thought they were probably the same red boots he'd worn the rest of the times we'd seen him. He wore a flannel shirt over a plain T-shirt.