“Shot it with the same bead. The bead was cursed. They’re basically witches, and if you know how they worked a spell on someone, you can probably turn it back against them. These two ain’t like the ones I’ve seen in the past, though. They don’t use ceremonial magic. They just physically punish people. Can’t fight back against ’em that way.”
“Well, if they tend to come out at night, we’d better get inside before sundown.”
“Yep,” the hataalii agreed, and then he patted his chest as Coyote helped him stand. “Damn. Where’d my bolo tie go?” he said.
“It kind of popped off and sailed away over there,” Coyote said, pointing.
As everyone looked around uncertainly, I shot a quick thought to my hound.
Oberon, think you can find it and bring it to me?
He trotted off in the direction of the turquoise’s last known trajectory.
I rose from the ground and retrieved Moralltach, but Frank stopped me before I could take a step back toward the hogan site. “Whatever you are, Mr. Collins-if that’s your name-I get the feeling that you were brought here as Plan B.” His eyes shifted to indicate Coyote. “Except now you’re Plan A.”
I favored Coyote with another glare. “Yeah, the plan is sort of revealing itself to me as we go,” I said. “How many of the others are in on this plan, Frank?”
“Oh, you mean Darren and Sophie and everybody? They all know about the skinwalkers.”
“Damn it, Frank,” Coyote grated softly.
“What? He wasn’t supposed to know? Then why’s he here?”
“Too late now. Tell me everything,” I said.
“Well, Mr. Benally says we’re buildin’ a mine and stuff, but we’re also baiting the skinwalkers with where we’re buildin’ it. Not everyone believes in them, you know. Lot o’ people think they’re just myths-I mean a lot o’ the Dine who buy into the idea that there ain’t nothin’ in the world but science. And they also think I’m crazy and oughtta be locked up for sayin’ they’re real. But Mr. Benally believes me, and so does Sophie and the rest of this crew. What about you, Mr. Collins? Would you be willing to believe in skinwalkers?”
“Yeah, I’d be willing to believe most any monster is real-or was real at some point.”
“Yeah, I figured,” Frank said. “Guy who talks to Norse goddesses oughtta believe in a monster or two.”
“I’m going to stop at the car for a minute. Meet you up at the site,” I told Frank. He waved and started up to the mesa, but I held Coyote behind with my eyes.
“You, sir,” I said, “have all the dignity of a badger with the clap. Shark shit has more fiber than you. I’m going to tie you nuts-first to a monkey’s cage and make a mix tape of the resulting noise. Then I’m going to take a bag of marshmallows and a pair of granny panties and-”
Coyote held up his hands in surrender and spoke in low tones to prevent the departing Frank from overhearing. “I hear ya, Mr. Druid, but, look, it really don’t make any differ’nce. You wanted to make a trade and you agreed to the terms.”
“I didn’t agree to kill any skinwalkers for you.”
“And Frank didn’t agree to kill those blue-skinned zombie things.”
“No, but I didn’t lead Frank here to confront them either. Don’t expect me to give you any bonus services. The skinwalkers are your problem.”
Coyote chuckled. “Well, they might be your problem now too, if that goddess o’ death takes her knife to ’em. Can’t blame me for that, Mr. Druid. She didn’t show up here at my invitation with her hungry silverware.”
Oberon returned with Frank’s turquoise in his mouth. he said.
“Thanks, Oberon,” I said, wiping the turquoise off on my jeans. “Let’s go see if we can find you one in the car.” I turned my back on Coyote without saying another word. He didn’t want to know what I was going to do with those granny panties.
Surprisingly, Granuaile did. “Sensei, what were you going to do with those marshmallows and panties?” she whispered as we walked together. “I mean, I’m sure it had to be dire, but it just didn’t sound as threatening as the potential havoc a monkey could wreak on his sack.”
“There was more to that recipe,” I admitted. “He cut me off before I could get to the Icy Hot and the gopher snake.”
“Ew. What would you do with that?”
“I will leave it to you as an exercise.”
I decided it would be best to keep Moralltach on me from now on. It wouldn’t be conducive to maintaining the fiction that I was nothing but a geologist, but that wasn’t much of a priority now, if it ever was. Frank and the rest of them could think whatever they liked about me; they’d never guess the truth.
Of more concern to me was who Hel might talk to now that she’d discovered the slayer of the Norns in Arizona a couple of days after said slayer was supposed to have died. My elaborate attempt to disappear through faking my death would all come to naught if Hel spread it around that I was still walking the earth. She needed to be faked out as well-or eliminated. But trying to invade Niflheim to take on Hel in her home territory didn’t sound like a win to me. She’d have a nearly infinite supply of draugar at her command, a moon-devouring wolf hiding in her basement and itching for action, and the original Helhound, Garm, would probably consider me to be a light snack.
Retrieving the scabbard from Granuaile’s trunk, I sheathed Moralltach and slung it over my back, fastening the leather strap across my chest. I fished out a treat for Oberon before I closed the trunk and tossed it into his mouth.
Oberon asked. Using the new road, the three of us began to walk up to the proposed mine site.
I paused to think about it. Well, I suppose I do, I replied.
Oberon reflected sadly.
Your shoulders aren’t wide enough, I explained.
Hmm. That sounds plausible. It would require a rather elaborate harness, though. Would the discomfort be worth it?
Yes, Oberon, I imagine you would, but, unfortunately, those rocket launchers exist only as props and CGI.
Hound 4, Druid 2, I said, glad to finally score a solid point.
You didn’t call it, so the game continues.
The workers on the mesa noticed the sword, and so did Darren and Sophie, but no one said anything about it; they were too polite.
Asking Oberon to stand sentinel outside, I entered the hogan with Granuaile to survey the interior. Hogans are not particularly large buildings, only about 250 square feet inside, but they’re important to ceremonial life and thus crucial to the beginnings of large enterprises like this one. This hogan was one of the more modern plans, built in an octagonal shape; the walls were fairly free of gaps, since they were constructed with precut logs, and the roof was a latticework of beams covered over with black plastic sheeting at this point, a four-plane design. Tomorrow the roof would be finished and covered with mud, insulating it well, and the exterior walls would be covered too. I thought it interesting that this particular hogan included no windows; circulation came solely from the door and the round chimney built at the meeting of the various beams. In the center of the floor was a fire pit, and Frank Chischilly was hunched down over it, tending a small fire. Lava rocks were arranged closely around it, and Frank had sprinkled some herbs on them. The burning herbs sent fingers of fragrant white smoke up through the chimney.
He shot a glance up at me and then spoke to Granuaile. “We’re going to stay in here tonight,” he said. “Safer that way.”
Granuaile noted the profound lack of facilities. “Guess I’d better visit the privy before sundown, then.”
“Yep. We’ll be startin’ the sing as soon as everyone’s ready.”
“Anything I can do to help?” she asked.
Frank’s eyes flicked over to me. “Well, if you happen to know any way to keep out or repel evil spirits,” he said, perfectly serious, “that would be helpful.”
That was an interesting challenge. “What kind of evil?” I asked, not knowing precisely what to ward against.
Frank stared at me in disbelief and then spat into the pit before asking, “Ain’t there only one kind?”
“No, there’s all kinds of evil, just like there’s all kinds of good. What I need to know is where the source is.
