Coyote stuck his nose under my hand and wrapped a long tongue around my wrist. “Yeah,” he said, “you are. I said so.”
I smiled a little. “But Coyote’s a trickster.”
“A trickster. Not a killer. You’ll make it, Jo. Listen to-”
“Don’t,” I interrupted. “Don’t even think about saying ‘listen to your heart’ or ‘your soul’. I can’t handle that tonight.”
His tongue lolled out again, a coyote grin. “Listen to the rhythms of the city,” he said, like it was what he’d planned to say all along. “Listen to the heartbeats of the people. Follow them and you’ll find what you’re looking for.”
“What am I looking for?” I asked plaintively, and Coyote shook his head and shrugged, a very manlike movement for the rangy canine. Then the water turned to ice and I scrambled to my feet, gasping. I washed my hair in cold water, shivering, and jumped out of the shower to wrap up in an excessive number of towels. I felt like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man, but at least I was warm.
I was weirdly awake. I made a note to myself to try a cold shower and a chat with a spirit guide next time I was too tired to think. Rubbing my hair dry, I went to check my e-mail again. There are those who would say I’m addicted. I’m sure I could find a pithy rebuttal to the accusation somewhere on the Net.
Unfortunately, I had mail. the child leads them to the souls they can harvest and leads them back to the Otherworld when the ride is over. without the child theres nothing to stop them from riding forever. i dont think your crazy. i just think your going to die.
I stared at the message for a long, long time, the towels doing nothing to keep me warm any longer. i just think your going to die. your going to die going to die
Coyote had said I wasn’t going to die. Somebody had to be wrong.
I decided to bet on the coyote as winner-take-all, and slapped the computer screen off. I had better things to do than die. It struck me that I’d had that revelation half a dozen times in the past couple of days, and somehow my faith in it had been wiped out every time. If I didn’t keep believing I would stay alive, Herne, or Cernunnos, or whoever else was out there, had me already. I didn’t used to think belief had anything to do with staying alive. I smiled a little and went to check the last of the coffee. It was an hour and a half old and had been strong to begin with, but it was still warm, so I drowned it with milk and sugar and went into the bedroom to stare out the window.
At least I knew what I was looking for, now. I was looking for Herne, I was looking for Cernunnos, but mostly, I was looking for that kid. Herne and the Hunt were both in Seattle. It stood to reason that the missing child was, too. All I had to do was find him.
All.
I got dressed, printed out a copy of the painting, and went to the police station.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I stopped by The Missing O on the way and got not only an apple fritter, but also a four-man police escort, headed up by Bruce, to the station. “It hasn’t been that long,” I pointed out. “I’m pretty sure I can still find my own way in.”
Bruce grinned and put his hand on top of my head, pushing me into a slump. I was ushered past Morrison’s office in a little herd of grinning cops.
“You’re going to get in trouble.” The other three peeled off, leaving me walking down the hall toward Missing Persons with Bruce.
“My car really needs a tune-up.” Bruce shrugged. I laughed. “You could set up your own cottage industry, Joanie. Become the department’s personal mechanic. It’d beat foot patrol.”
“In exchange for meals?” I asked, amused. “I still need to pay rent, Bruce.”
“Well, you don’t have to take it out in trade. You could, y’know. Charge.”
“Right, except for you, ’cuz Elise makes awesome tamales, and except for Billy, because he and Melinda bring me clothes shopping, and except for-”
“All right, all right.” Bruce laughed, waving a hand. “I get your point.”
“And then the guys who aren’t taking it out in trade get jealous,” I went on, feeling ridiculously cheerful, “and next thing I know the Better Business Bureau busts me-”
“Very alliterate,” Bruce interrupted approvingly.
“Thanks. And then I’m on the wrong side of your bars here and not only do your cars break down horribly, but I get all gray and long in the tooth and none of you will sneak me doughnuts in the morning. It’d be a terrible tragedy, Bruce, I’m telling you.”
He laughed. “You forgot fat. If we’re sneaking you all those doughnuts, you’d not only get long in the tooth and gray, but fat. We don’t exactly have exercise equipment in the cells.”
“I said you wouldn’t bring me doughnuts, but so what, now you’re bringing doughnuts but not letting me out for my morning constitutional? Man, you think you’ve got friends, and look what happens.”
Bruce pulled the Missing Persons’ office door open and leaned heavily on the knob, looking at me. “You’re in a good mood this morning.”
“What you mean is, I’m remarkably chipper for someone who got switched to a job she never wanted and then suspended, and who’s been running all over hell and breakfast getting herself involved in murder cases, right?” I leaned in the door frame and lifted my eyebrows at him.
He pursed his lips. “Obviously that’s not how I would have put it, but yeah, that’s about what I mean. Morrison was already in when I got here this morning. Came out to tell me not to let you in, then went back into his office. He’s wearing the same clothes he was yesterday.”
I clucked my tongue to mask a sudden seizure of guilt. “I told him he should still be letting his mother dress him. Why’d you sneak me by him if he said not to let me in?”
Bruce held up three fingers in a Scout’s oath. “I never saw her, Captain. She must’ve come by while I was in the bathroom.” He blinked, wide-eyed and innocent.
I laughed. “The other guys gonna say the same thing?”
“What other guys?”
“You’re a doll, Bruce. If Elise weren’t scary, I’d give you a kiss for being such a good guy.”
Bruce held up a hand at a fraction over five feet and raised his eyebrows. “Elise? This Elise? Little Elise?”
“Little is hardly synonymous with sweet-tempered. She’d beat me up.”
“Nah. You could just put a hand on her forehead and lean away. She wouldn’t be able to touch you.” Bruce fell silent for a moment, then cleared his throat. “You don’t, ah. Have to repeat that.”
I giggled. “If I ever need to blackmail you, I’ll use that.”
“You would, too.” Bruce smiled, then sobered. “Really, Joanie. You doing okay?”
“Aside from the murder, mayhem, inexplicable activities and new job description, I’m perfectly fine.” I saw the worry in his eyes and smiled. “I’m all right,” I said a little more gently. “A little giddy on caffeine and too little sleep this morning, and I’ve got an awful lot to do today.”
Bruce nodded. “Still coming over for dinner tomorrow?”
Oh, God. I’d forgotten. “Yeah, but call me before you leave work, or I’ll probably sleep through it. It’s gonna be a late night.” I just couldn’t fathom being lucky enough to wrap this whole mess up by noon. It was a nice thought, though.
“All right.” Bruce tilted his head at the main office. “You might want to pull a fire alarm instead of risking Morrison on your way back out. He really doesn’t want you to be here.”
“I know. But there’s stuff I need to do.” I ducked into the Missing Persons’ office.
Even Morrison’s desk wasn’t quite the picture of efficient chaos that the MPO was. Every spare inch was covered in photographs and drawings, sometimes years’ worth. Active cases were out on desks, and heavy dark gray steel cabinets lined most of the walls, so overstuffed they looked like caricatures.
For some reason, I found the MPO to be the most depressing branch of the department. It had a desperation
